After far too many attempts, I'm throwing in the towel on Bing Bing Bao Bei. My final two or three weeks in China involved a dizzying and exhausting trip to Shanghai and back, a lot of goodbye dinners, and an unexpected amount of work to wrap up loose ends.
That only left me snatched minutes here and there to sketch out blog posts, and I just don't have the energy or will to fill out those missing days any more. It's a shame too, because some exciting stuff happened. Simon and I fed a duck to a tiger (only to be trumped by Mark's cow tipping into the lion's den); we each bought several bespoke tailored suits; we saw a guy get hit by a go-kart; and of course we packed in plenty more odd food, Harbin Beer, and pointlessly competitive 'sports'.
After I'd seen Simon off at Pudong Airport, it was back to Harbin but the pace never slackened. I found myself in a petty haggling competition settling my landlord's bill (in the end, we'd argued over everything in the flat - the door, furniture, even rent - but at least they gave me big packet of Harbin sausages for my journey home); checked out Harbin International Beer Festival (where short-skirted model after short-skirted model strolled down the catwalk holding identical bottles of beer); and I tried to get as many training sessions of TKD under my 绿带 as I could, managing a personal best of 24 hours total training in the final six days. It paid off - I found I'd lost 7 kilograms during my trip, even with my all-beer, all-meat diet!
I want to lay this blog to rest and avoid any more tweaking. I'll look back on it from time to time, just like a diary, but there'll be no more major additions or edits. It's not because of any reservations I might have about 'journalistic truth', it's just that I'm so tired of the whole thing.
I'm pleased with myself for avoiding the worst of my negative impulses, and devoting more time to the good things than the bad. I'd rather leave a record of the things that have interested and pleased me, rather than those that have frustrated, or horrified.
Sure, everyone might have a novel in them, but from this little taster, I don't think the majority of people have the patience or self-control to go through the self-examination, censorship and research needed to be a success. Add to that the vital ingredients of imagination, experience and inspiration, and I'm surprised anyone writes at all.
So that's it: Bye Bye Bing Bing Bao Bei!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Day Zero: Gangsters, A Guest And Gross Grub
After a series of delays, Simon finally arrived at Harbin's Taiping airport today, nineteen hours later than scheduled.
Eager to make use of every minute, we headed straight for Wu Ji for a selection of fried and/or greasy foods with Mai, Enxi, Heeya and Nanzhe.
The aim of Simon's three days here? To make this a compilation of Harbin's Greatest Hits, so naturally the first drinking destination was one of the outdoor beer tents along Central Street. At all of them, 10RMB (70p) gets you something like this.
On the way, Simon makes the timeless observation: "China is bigger than I thought it was".
To ease the beer down, both sides of the tent are lined with stalls selling everything from Donner kebabs to Malaysian fishballs, from tofu-on-a-stick to fried crispy bits.
Heeya contributed this fried squid, while I picked up a stick of deep-fried chicken heads, and some silkworm larvae.
Up to the challenge, Simon chomped down a stick of larva, leaving me awkwardly tearing the meat off the cheeks of the chicken heads. I cracked all three skulls open, exposing brains shaped like two kidney-beans, but couldn't bring myself to eat them. 1-0 to Simon!
A group of drunken middle-aged men approached me and asked if they could drink with my Russian friends. They looked upset when I informed them that Simon and Mai were English and Danish respectively, but quickly shook off their disappointment and reverted to their natural state of affable menace.
They repeatedly refused to answer any questions about their work, batting away any inquiries with a gruff aura of danger and impending violence. Instead, they insisted on buying us pitcher after pitcher of beer. By the eighth or ninth jug, Simon and I were absolutely convinced that they were gangsters on a night out.
One even insisted on accompanying Simon to the toilet, lest the 'Russian' get himself lost, or worse, shivved by a rival gang member.
Pretty soon, it was last orders. With palms softened with the blood of their enemies, the gangsters shook our hands and bid us goodnight, before staggering out of our lives forever. Simon and I returned to the flat and, so I wouldn't have to put up with his stink, dismantled my bed - Simon taking the mattress on the floor, while I got the wooden-slats-over-two-drawers combination that constituted the base of my bed.
Eager to make use of every minute, we headed straight for Wu Ji for a selection of fried and/or greasy foods with Mai, Enxi, Heeya and Nanzhe.
The aim of Simon's three days here? To make this a compilation of Harbin's Greatest Hits, so naturally the first drinking destination was one of the outdoor beer tents along Central Street. At all of them, 10RMB (70p) gets you something like this.On the way, Simon makes the timeless observation: "China is bigger than I thought it was".
To ease the beer down, both sides of the tent are lined with stalls selling everything from Donner kebabs to Malaysian fishballs, from tofu-on-a-stick to fried crispy bits.
Heeya contributed this fried squid, while I picked up a stick of deep-fried chicken heads, and some silkworm larvae.Up to the challenge, Simon chomped down a stick of larva, leaving me awkwardly tearing the meat off the cheeks of the chicken heads. I cracked all three skulls open, exposing brains shaped like two kidney-beans, but couldn't bring myself to eat them. 1-0 to Simon!
A group of drunken middle-aged men approached me and asked if they could drink with my Russian friends. They looked upset when I informed them that Simon and Mai were English and Danish respectively, but quickly shook off their disappointment and reverted to their natural state of affable menace.
They repeatedly refused to answer any questions about their work, batting away any inquiries with a gruff aura of danger and impending violence. Instead, they insisted on buying us pitcher after pitcher of beer. By the eighth or ninth jug, Simon and I were absolutely convinced that they were gangsters on a night out.One even insisted on accompanying Simon to the toilet, lest the 'Russian' get himself lost, or worse, shivved by a rival gang member.
Pretty soon, it was last orders. With palms softened with the blood of their enemies, the gangsters shook our hands and bid us goodnight, before staggering out of our lives forever. Simon and I returned to the flat and, so I wouldn't have to put up with his stink, dismantled my bed - Simon taking the mattress on the floor, while I got the wooden-slats-over-two-drawers combination that constituted the base of my bed.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Poor Pedestrians' Pavement Problem
Parking half off the road is one thing, taking a shortcut along several hundred metres of pavement is another.
Sometimes, traffic along West Big Straight Street gets a bit heavy. The solution? Going off-road.
Although the most egregious offenders are cars such as these, much more dangerous are the motorbikes and scooters that sneak up on unsuspecting pedestrians. That being said, this car was going at a good 20mph clip and will go on to narrowly avoid crushing those two pedestrians ahead.
I wish I were able to get a better, even more blatant shot, but the two dozen or so times I've seen this, I've always been too busy diving out of the way.
Sometimes, traffic along West Big Straight Street gets a bit heavy. The solution? Going off-road.
Although the most egregious offenders are cars such as these, much more dangerous are the motorbikes and scooters that sneak up on unsuspecting pedestrians. That being said, this car was going at a good 20mph clip and will go on to narrowly avoid crushing those two pedestrians ahead.I wish I were able to get a better, even more blatant shot, but the two dozen or so times I've seen this, I've always been too busy diving out of the way.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Freaky Foods - Feasting On A Fatty Face
When asked what I'm eating by 老外 friends in China, I've often found myself childishly amused by throwing out the name of a made-up or otherwise outlandish dish:"Oh it's just some monkey brain fried rice", or "I'm not sure, but it's made from foetus".
Of course, I've gradually discovered that fact more often than than not catches up with fiction. Here, it not only catches up, it tackles fiction to the ground, punches it in the head, then dances off waving to the crowd. For some reason, bull penis or silkworm larva just doesn't cut it any more.
That said, answering "Pig's face!" to the question "That looks good. What is it?" still retains a certain pleasing ring... that is, until today.
I chanced upon a restaurant featuring the dish buried at the bottom of the menu. "Fortune favours the brave?" I asked myself, and took the plunge, ordering a plate.
How was it? Actually, not bad at all. The meat was smoky and flavoursome, and much more tender than any pork chop. What was probably the highest crispy skin-to-meat ratio of any cut on a pig lent a helping hand I'm sure.
Not surprisingly, it was horribly fatty. Four of us barely made it through half of the dish because it was just too 油腻 - a Chinese description usually translated as 'greasy' or 'rich' but also carrying the connotations of 'sickening'. In our defence, there was a fair amount of meat. You wouldn't get many of these portions off an average pig.
Even though I only managed a couple of mouthfuls, at least my list of 'Unusual Things I Have Eaten' continues to grow. Tick!
Graduation and Goodbyes
Teacher Yang asked me to deliver the students' speech at the 结业典礼, the Graduation Ceremony.
It's quite the honour. Every term, a single student is picked to say a few words thanking the teachers and other staff for their efforts.
Why me though? I suspect it might be because Koreans seem to be over-represented in every other aspect of University life (Russians seem curiously disinterested in getting involved), and I was the only non-Korean to pass the High-Level HSK.
"Hell no! I ain't nobody's performing monkey!!!" I yelled in my head. Back in real life, I politely murmured something about being quite busy for the forseeable future.
Teacher Yang is a formidable woman though, and combined with the privilege of being selected for last month's Opera outing, I had no choice but to agree.
"Don't worry about it. I did it last term, and noone listened anyway," advised Mingrui "but then again, maybe it's just me" he added insecurely.
Typically, I spent much too long agonising over the content, checking and rechecking with anyone that was naive enough to offer their help. In the end, I simply plagiarised myself from a short article I'd written for the HIT website mid-way through the term, and threw in a whole bunch of digs at Harbin's hard-drinking culture. Part prop, part crutch, I even took a bottle of beer up on stage with me.
Below is the full text with a rough translation.
亲爱的领导，老师，同学们，你们好。我是G班的徐惇。2007年1月，我从英国来到哈工大，学习一个学期。
Dear leaders, teachers and fellow students, greetings. I am Xu Dun from Class G. In January 2007, I arrived at HIT from London, to study for one term.
今天，我很荣幸被杨老师指派代表全体同学致谢词。其实，今天是我第一次做发言。如果讲得不好，请大家多多包涵。
It's a great honour to have been selected by Mrs. Yang to deliver this thank-you speech today. Actually, this is the first time I've given a speech, so please bear with me.
来到哈尔滨之前，我对这个城市并没有太多的印象，除了只知道这里人说一口地道的普通话，和这是一个在冬天冷得让外人觉得痛苦的冰城。
Before I came here, I didn't know much about this city, only that the locals speak excellent Mandarin, and winters in the Ice City are so cold they hurt.
至于第一个印象，这个大学的老师们喜欢说: "要学中文，来中国。要学普通话，来哈尔滨。要学标准普通话，来哈工大。"
As for the first impression, teachers here are fond of saying: "To learn Chinese, come to China. To learn Mandarin, come to Harbin. To learn authentic Mandarin, come to HIT."
事实证明这个说法是对的。几个月来，我周围同学们的汉语水平逐步提高。并且，在与同学们，朋友们的学习，交流中，我自己的汉语水平也有一定的进步。
The facts have borne this statement out. These last few months, the Chinese of my fellow students has improved day by day. Moreover, through studying and communicating with friends and other students, my own Chinese has somewhat improved.
相反，第二个印象被证实是错误的。如果多穿几层暖衣服的话，零下20度竟然是可以忍受的。
On the other hand, the other impression was proved false. If you wear a few more layers of clothes, -20 degrees is surprisingly tolerable.
为了保暖，哈尔滨人还有一个比较独特的方法 -- 啤酒! 哈尔滨啤酒 -- 也叫做"哈啤"已有上百年的历史。一瓶只需要2块钱，再说，不仅是冬天能喝的。反而,夏天清凉爽口! 真是价廉物美!
Harbiners also have another, unique, method of staying warm - beer! Harbin Beer, also known as 'Hapi' has already enjoyed a history of over 100 years. One bottle is just 2RMB (13p). It's not just during winter you can drink it though. During summer, Hapi is cool and refreshing. Truly it's a great product at a low, low price!
难怪哈尔滨人那么喜欢喝哈啤. 我听说哈尔滨是世界上啤酒消费第二的城市. 我相信如果我们留学生努力帮助的话,本市会达到第一名! 大家加油!
No wonder that Harbiners love drinking Hapi. I heard that Harbin is the world's second greatest consumer of beer in the world. I trust that with the efforts of us foreign students, this city can become the world's number one! Do your best everyone!
最后，我要感谢G班的徐老师，张老师，还有三位王老师, 以及学校所有的工作人员。从晦涩的语言学到不寻常的方言俚语，从寻找室友到推荐餐馆，他们一直都非常乐意在课堂内外帮助我和我的同学。
Lastly, I'd like to thank Class G's, Teacher Xu, Teacher Zhang, and three Teacher Wangs, as well as all the staff here. From obscure linguistic questions to rare slang, from finding a roommate to recommending a restaurant, they've all been extremely willing to help me and my classmates inside and outside of the classrom.
6个月一晃就过。虽然我快要回国上班，虽然我不知道以后会不会有机会再回到这儿，但是我永远都不会忘记哈尔滨。我永远都不会忘记哈工大。我永远都不会忘掉我的哈尔滨朋友。谢谢大家。
Six months have passed in a flash. Although I'm going home to start work soon, and although I don't know if i'll every have the chance to come back here, I know I'll never forget Harbin. I'll never forget HIT. I'll never forget my Harbin friends. Thank you all.
How did it actually go? Well Mingrui wasn't far off - a good proportion of the crowd wasn't too interested in what I was saying, and I delivered the whole speech through a low hum of chatter. The teachers loved it though. I saw Teacher Wang Lie off to the side red-faced with hilarity, and Teacher Zhang came up to me after and congratulated me on a job well done.
We all picked up our end-of-term exam results, as well as a graduation certificate bound in a little red book. For those of us that were eligible, we received a little red packet containing our 满勤奖 and a certificate for that too.
Later, nine of us also lined up to pick up red packets containing prize money for passing the HSK. I never realised it until I arrived in Harbin, but among Asians, Koreans have a reputation for being short.
Finally, a 2000RMB prize was awarded to a Korean guy who'd won a province-wide singing competition, thus bringing fame and honour upon HIT.
Here I am with combined winnings of 500RMB. That's 250 bottles of beer!
It's quite the honour. Every term, a single student is picked to say a few words thanking the teachers and other staff for their efforts.
Why me though? I suspect it might be because Koreans seem to be over-represented in every other aspect of University life (Russians seem curiously disinterested in getting involved), and I was the only non-Korean to pass the High-Level HSK.
"Hell no! I ain't nobody's performing monkey!!!" I yelled in my head. Back in real life, I politely murmured something about being quite busy for the forseeable future.
Teacher Yang is a formidable woman though, and combined with the privilege of being selected for last month's Opera outing, I had no choice but to agree.
"Don't worry about it. I did it last term, and noone listened anyway," advised Mingrui "but then again, maybe it's just me" he added insecurely.
Typically, I spent much too long agonising over the content, checking and rechecking with anyone that was naive enough to offer their help. In the end, I simply plagiarised myself from a short article I'd written for the HIT website mid-way through the term, and threw in a whole bunch of digs at Harbin's hard-drinking culture. Part prop, part crutch, I even took a bottle of beer up on stage with me.
Below is the full text with a rough translation.亲爱的领导，老师，同学们，你们好。我是G班的徐惇。2007年1月，我从英国来到哈工大，学习一个学期。
Dear leaders, teachers and fellow students, greetings. I am Xu Dun from Class G. In January 2007, I arrived at HIT from London, to study for one term.
今天，我很荣幸被杨老师指派代表全体同学致谢词。其实，今天是我第一次做发言。如果讲得不好，请大家多多包涵。
It's a great honour to have been selected by Mrs. Yang to deliver this thank-you speech today. Actually, this is the first time I've given a speech, so please bear with me.
来到哈尔滨之前，我对这个城市并没有太多的印象，除了只知道这里人说一口地道的普通话，和这是一个在冬天冷得让外人觉得痛苦的冰城。
Before I came here, I didn't know much about this city, only that the locals speak excellent Mandarin, and winters in the Ice City are so cold they hurt.
至于第一个印象，这个大学的老师们喜欢说: "要学中文，来中国。要学普通话，来哈尔滨。要学标准普通话，来哈工大。"
As for the first impression, teachers here are fond of saying: "To learn Chinese, come to China. To learn Mandarin, come to Harbin. To learn authentic Mandarin, come to HIT."
事实证明这个说法是对的。几个月来，我周围同学们的汉语水平逐步提高。并且，在与同学们，朋友们的学习，交流中，我自己的汉语水平也有一定的进步。
The facts have borne this statement out. These last few months, the Chinese of my fellow students has improved day by day. Moreover, through studying and communicating with friends and other students, my own Chinese has somewhat improved.
相反，第二个印象被证实是错误的。如果多穿几层暖衣服的话，零下20度竟然是可以忍受的。
On the other hand, the other impression was proved false. If you wear a few more layers of clothes, -20 degrees is surprisingly tolerable.
为了保暖，哈尔滨人还有一个比较独特的方法 -- 啤酒! 哈尔滨啤酒 -- 也叫做"哈啤"已有上百年的历史。一瓶只需要2块钱，再说，不仅是冬天能喝的。反而,夏天清凉爽口! 真是价廉物美!
Harbiners also have another, unique, method of staying warm - beer! Harbin Beer, also known as 'Hapi' has already enjoyed a history of over 100 years. One bottle is just 2RMB (13p). It's not just during winter you can drink it though. During summer, Hapi is cool and refreshing. Truly it's a great product at a low, low price!
难怪哈尔滨人那么喜欢喝哈啤. 我听说哈尔滨是世界上啤酒消费第二的城市. 我相信如果我们留学生努力帮助的话,本市会达到第一名! 大家加油!
No wonder that Harbiners love drinking Hapi. I heard that Harbin is the world's second greatest consumer of beer in the world. I trust that with the efforts of us foreign students, this city can become the world's number one! Do your best everyone!
最后，我要感谢G班的徐老师，张老师，还有三位王老师, 以及学校所有的工作人员。从晦涩的语言学到不寻常的方言俚语，从寻找室友到推荐餐馆，他们一直都非常乐意在课堂内外帮助我和我的同学。
Lastly, I'd like to thank Class G's, Teacher Xu, Teacher Zhang, and three Teacher Wangs, as well as all the staff here. From obscure linguistic questions to rare slang, from finding a roommate to recommending a restaurant, they've all been extremely willing to help me and my classmates inside and outside of the classrom.
6个月一晃就过。虽然我快要回国上班，虽然我不知道以后会不会有机会再回到这儿，但是我永远都不会忘记哈尔滨。我永远都不会忘记哈工大。我永远都不会忘掉我的哈尔滨朋友。谢谢大家。
Six months have passed in a flash. Although I'm going home to start work soon, and although I don't know if i'll every have the chance to come back here, I know I'll never forget Harbin. I'll never forget HIT. I'll never forget my Harbin friends. Thank you all.
How did it actually go? Well Mingrui wasn't far off - a good proportion of the crowd wasn't too interested in what I was saying, and I delivered the whole speech through a low hum of chatter. The teachers loved it though. I saw Teacher Wang Lie off to the side red-faced with hilarity, and Teacher Zhang came up to me after and congratulated me on a job well done.
We all picked up our end-of-term exam results, as well as a graduation certificate bound in a little red book. For those of us that were eligible, we received a little red packet containing our 满勤奖 and a certificate for that too.Later, nine of us also lined up to pick up red packets containing prize money for passing the HSK. I never realised it until I arrived in Harbin, but among Asians, Koreans have a reputation for being short.
Finally, a 2000RMB prize was awarded to a Korean guy who'd won a province-wide singing competition, thus bringing fame and honour upon HIT.Here I am with combined winnings of 500RMB. That's 250 bottles of beer!
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
The Tower of Dragons
Harbin's handful of tall buildings are too spaced out for me to be sure, but it looks like the tallest player in town is the 龙塔, or Dragon Tower - a futuristic communications tower that looks like it shares some stylistic cues with Shanghai's Pearl Tower.Despite the name, the place looks nothing like a Dragon. In fact, the exterior is a parabolic lattice which supports a giant ball hovering above a flying saucer. Perhaps I would find the mythical creatures hiding inside? I went in to have a look.
The first few floors housed a hodge-podge of disparate attractions. Apart from the obligatory gift-shop, there was a fountain, a creepy film set ...
... a plasticky temple, a couple of over-sized drum scrawled with graffiti in black marker pen, and finally a dinosaur museum. Not quite the pack of dragons I was hoping for, but close enough - after all 'dinosaur' in Chinese is rendered 恐龙, or 'fearsome dragon'.The flying saucer housed a revolving restaurant, much like that found at the top of Shanghai's Pearl Tower. I went up in the dizzying glass-fronted lift with rock-bottom expectations. After all, if even Shanghai's iconic skyscraper could manage to combine shoddy service and execrable food with international business traveller prices, what hope for this, a remote outpost in a frozen corner of the country?
In the end, my expectations were just about satisfied. Waitresses barked orders at us, forgot or ignored our various requests, and slammed down the bill as if affronted we had the cheek to disturb their scowly-faced loitering.
Meanwhile, the food was definitely middling buffet fare - a Cantonese-style roast meat carvery, salad bar, limp sushi, and for dessert, uninspired cakes and two flavours of ice-cream that both left a synthetic aftertaste.
One unexpected delight was an American-style grill serving up pork and lamb chops. Confusingly, sausages were of the sweetened, dry Chinese variety, and the most popular offering was a giant bowl of squid legs.
A decent grill alone does not a good restaurant make though, and business was sluggish.On the other hand, the view was very pleasant. The whole city was tinged in that odd haze which seemed to afflict every city in this country to a greater or lesser degree. I'd be tempted to call it smog, except it doesn't taste like pollution, and most days it's only visible from the air. Perhaps its just low-lying cloud.
At this height, Harbin no longer appeared as a slightly eccentric backwater, but finally looked like the humming, living metropolis of almost 10 million people that it always was. The city seemed endless, with distant lights smudging away in the distance. At intervals, someone would call out, spotting a landmark such as the twin commercial buildings near Hongbo square, or the Amusement Park's Ferris wheel.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Construction Commentary
A quick post to note that, while this is no Shanghai, the pace of construction still makes a mockery of construction works back home. Why should this be?
Well, the relaxed interpretation of Health and Safety laws is almost certainly a factor. However, there's a sense of purpose and drive found in even the most exhausted and malnourished worker that I suspect is linked to patriotism. From most people, there is a palpable love for this country and powerful desire to see it retake its former place on the world stage.
Whatever the case, a huge swathe of the area near University has been dug up, quite literally overnight. Heavy machinery has been rumbling around the area for days now, and the day-to-day progress is remarkable. There's a refreshing lack of builder's bum, tea-breaks in front of idle machinery, and wolf-whistling of any kind. In fact, work is so intense that many workers eat, live and sleep on-site.
Another related quirk to note is that nothing, but nothing, slows down a Chinaman in full flow. Even though there is an underpass a few metres further along, the three-minute delay is absolutely intolerable to 95% of the foot traffic I've observed.
Here, you can see that even citizens of pensionable age are happiest taking a short-cut. It can be absolutely heart-stopping to see gramps racing between two incoming tractors. Elsewhere, people climb over, between or through the barriers erected, and risk life and limb dodging lorries and diggers en route to the other side.
There's a public education campaign doing the rounds with the message that "Saving a minute could cost you a lifetime" and it is ignored with an almost deliberate relish.
I can't decide whether this is a sign that China will soon be the world's greatest economy, or that it's setting itself up for a hard fall. For now, I'll keep jumping the fence just like everyone else.
Well, the relaxed interpretation of Health and Safety laws is almost certainly a factor. However, there's a sense of purpose and drive found in even the most exhausted and malnourished worker that I suspect is linked to patriotism. From most people, there is a palpable love for this country and powerful desire to see it retake its former place on the world stage.
Whatever the case, a huge swathe of the area near University has been dug up, quite literally overnight. Heavy machinery has been rumbling around the area for days now, and the day-to-day progress is remarkable. There's a refreshing lack of builder's bum, tea-breaks in front of idle machinery, and wolf-whistling of any kind. In fact, work is so intense that many workers eat, live and sleep on-site.
Another related quirk to note is that nothing, but nothing, slows down a Chinaman in full flow. Even though there is an underpass a few metres further along, the three-minute delay is absolutely intolerable to 95% of the foot traffic I've observed.
Here, you can see that even citizens of pensionable age are happiest taking a short-cut. It can be absolutely heart-stopping to see gramps racing between two incoming tractors. Elsewhere, people climb over, between or through the barriers erected, and risk life and limb dodging lorries and diggers en route to the other side.There's a public education campaign doing the rounds with the message that "Saving a minute could cost you a lifetime" and it is ignored with an almost deliberate relish.
I can't decide whether this is a sign that China will soon be the world's greatest economy, or that it's setting itself up for a hard fall. For now, I'll keep jumping the fence just like everyone else.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Titanic!
One side-effect of having so many Korean schoolmates, and living in a city where the foreign population is predominantly Korean, is that I've gradually picked up a smattering of their culture.
The impression I have is that Korea has a great respect for hierarchy based on seniority and gender. It's an extremely patriarchal society, fiercely and sometimes violently patriotic, yet polite and sincerely so. Most importantly though, I've come to realise that Koreans absolutely adore drinking.
In that vein, I'd like to impart a bit of culture by teaching you a drinking game.
[Image courtesy of Wikipedia]
It's variously called Titanic, or the Korean word for 'bomb' and the rules are simple:
1) A glass is half-filled with beer, and a shotglass floated inside.
2) Each player in turn pours a bit of soju from the bottle into the shotglass. If any lands outside the shotglass into the beer, or outside of both glasses entirely, they must pour again, but otherwise they are allowed one and only one continous pour.
3) Play continues until the shotglass sinks, whereupon whoever touched the soju bottle last has to drink, irrespective of whether that player last poured.
At this last part, everyone cheers. Someone will grab a napkin and swirl the beer-ju mixture before slamming it down on the table, at once making a mess, mixing the two drinks, alerting everyone else that you're crazy fun-loving Koreans, and soaking the napkin. Finally, the sodden napkin is hurled at the ceiling where it hopefully sticks, and the unfortunate loser downs their punishment.
Touchingly, at this last stage, another player can offer to take the loser's punishment for them, in exchange for a dare or a gift. The former seemed to mostly revolve around finding an attractive girl in the bar and drinking with them, while the latter were invariably promises to treat the loser to dinner.
Here, Mai capably demonstrates what happens when you decide to take all the punishment yourself.
I asked Zhenyi what the point of the napkins on the ceiling was.
"It's so other tables know how much you've drunk" he replied.
Just then, a waitress came over.
"Umm... Please don't do that. It's quite difficult for us to remove napkins from the ceiling" she said apologetically.
Zhenyi grunted his agreement and spent the rest of the night throwing his wet napkins at the wall.
The impression I have is that Korea has a great respect for hierarchy based on seniority and gender. It's an extremely patriarchal society, fiercely and sometimes violently patriotic, yet polite and sincerely so. Most importantly though, I've come to realise that Koreans absolutely adore drinking.
In that vein, I'd like to impart a bit of culture by teaching you a drinking game.
[Image courtesy of Wikipedia]1) A glass is half-filled with beer, and a shotglass floated inside.
2) Each player in turn pours a bit of soju from the bottle into the shotglass. If any lands outside the shotglass into the beer, or outside of both glasses entirely, they must pour again, but otherwise they are allowed one and only one continous pour.
3) Play continues until the shotglass sinks, whereupon whoever touched the soju bottle last has to drink, irrespective of whether that player last poured.
At this last part, everyone cheers. Someone will grab a napkin and swirl the beer-ju mixture before slamming it down on the table, at once making a mess, mixing the two drinks, alerting everyone else that you're crazy fun-loving Koreans, and soaking the napkin. Finally, the sodden napkin is hurled at the ceiling where it hopefully sticks, and the unfortunate loser downs their punishment.
Touchingly, at this last stage, another player can offer to take the loser's punishment for them, in exchange for a dare or a gift. The former seemed to mostly revolve around finding an attractive girl in the bar and drinking with them, while the latter were invariably promises to treat the loser to dinner.
Here, Mai capably demonstrates what happens when you decide to take all the punishment yourself.I asked Zhenyi what the point of the napkins on the ceiling was.
"It's so other tables know how much you've drunk" he replied.
Just then, a waitress came over.
"Umm... Please don't do that. It's quite difficult for us to remove napkins from the ceiling" she said apologetically.
Zhenyi grunted his agreement and spent the rest of the night throwing his wet napkins at the wall.
Bavaria Beer City
Here, it seems that even the most tenuous connection is enough of an excuse to go out for a meal, so it was that I invited the members of the Tai Chi class, most of whom barely know each other, out for a meal. On the day, five other students turned up.
I'd heard good things about 巴伐利亚 啤酒城 (Bavaria Beer City) though, so I went over to book a table. As long as the food was good and the beer was cold, I knew the walls of unfamiliarity would come crashing down.
In China, a bafflingly ill-advised concept is no defense against pirates stealing your ideas. Bavaria was a case in point, enjoying a hauntingly familiar theme of German-themed, South American Barbecue with a distinctly Chinese flavour.
Even Hans Freshly Brewed Beer Entertainment Supermarket's four types of beer were present and accounted for. 3RMB bought you a pint of barley, wheat, black or fruit beer, with Hans' strawberry flavour replaced by an odd concoction which the waitress claimed was pineapple.
The buffet included old favourites such as pasta, noodles, and beancurd salad, while a large section was devoted to what I gathered was meant to be 'European-style' cakes and biscuits.
As we tucked into our various roasted meats, a troupe of scantily-clad dancers came out, jiggled their way through an outrageously provocative routine, and quickly exited again.
To the obvious delight of the male customers, this 90-second flesh-fest was repeated no less than three times over the course of a couple of hours. Each time legs were opened a little wider, booties shaken a touch lower, and hips thrust a smidgeon more aggressively.
The food compared very favourably to Hans. No filler, just generous chunks of assorted, and sometimes unidentifiable, animal flesh dumped onto our plates at speedy intervals.
The bill came to a little over 200RMB (£13) despite some heroic individual efforts to sample every type of beer twice. For breaking the 200RMB barrier, we were awarded a single membership card.
Somewhat incongruously for a self-styled 'Beer City', two bottles of a Chinese-branded red wine were also pressed upon us, in lieu of the traditional tax-evading discount. I haggled with the waitress until she gave us a further two bottles, before realising that noone wanted to drink the stuff anyway.
We rounded off our evening hitting a Korean bar called Haf Hof. Over a meatball soup hotpot, we indulged in a few games of Titanic, and a few too many bottles of soju. More about that here.
I'd heard good things about 巴伐利亚 啤酒城 (Bavaria Beer City) though, so I went over to book a table. As long as the food was good and the beer was cold, I knew the walls of unfamiliarity would come crashing down.
In China, a bafflingly ill-advised concept is no defense against pirates stealing your ideas. Bavaria was a case in point, enjoying a hauntingly familiar theme of German-themed, South American Barbecue with a distinctly Chinese flavour.
Even Hans Freshly Brewed Beer Entertainment Supermarket's four types of beer were present and accounted for. 3RMB bought you a pint of barley, wheat, black or fruit beer, with Hans' strawberry flavour replaced by an odd concoction which the waitress claimed was pineapple.
The buffet included old favourites such as pasta, noodles, and beancurd salad, while a large section was devoted to what I gathered was meant to be 'European-style' cakes and biscuits.As we tucked into our various roasted meats, a troupe of scantily-clad dancers came out, jiggled their way through an outrageously provocative routine, and quickly exited again.
To the obvious delight of the male customers, this 90-second flesh-fest was repeated no less than three times over the course of a couple of hours. Each time legs were opened a little wider, booties shaken a touch lower, and hips thrust a smidgeon more aggressively.The food compared very favourably to Hans. No filler, just generous chunks of assorted, and sometimes unidentifiable, animal flesh dumped onto our plates at speedy intervals.
The bill came to a little over 200RMB (£13) despite some heroic individual efforts to sample every type of beer twice. For breaking the 200RMB barrier, we were awarded a single membership card.
Somewhat incongruously for a self-styled 'Beer City', two bottles of a Chinese-branded red wine were also pressed upon us, in lieu of the traditional tax-evading discount. I haggled with the waitress until she gave us a further two bottles, before realising that noone wanted to drink the stuff anyway.We rounded off our evening hitting a Korean bar called Haf Hof. Over a meatball soup hotpot, we indulged in a few games of Titanic, and a few too many bottles of soju. More about that here.
Across the Bridge Noodles
According to legend - or at least according to what I remember of a story printed on a restaurant wall in Kunming - the Yunnanese dish of 过桥米线 (literally 'across bridge noodle strings') or 'Across the Bridge Noodles', was invented by the doting wife of a scholar.
Every day, the wife would cook her husband a bowl of noodles and deliver them to him, crossing a bridge on the way. Invariably, the noodles would be cold by the time she arrived.
One day, she discovered by accident that soup would stay warm as long as it had a layer of oil floating on top. Combining a bowl of noodles with soup just as she reached the bridge, she found that the ingredients were cooked by the time she reached her husband. From then on, she was able to deliver a piping hot meal every day.
Legend does not record why the husband didn't take a packed lunch.
When I visited the provincial capital of Yunnan, Kunming, a couple of years ago, the dish comprised a clay bowl of hot soup, and separate plates holding vegetables and finely sliced raw meat. I've never been averse to the cook-it-yourself school of eating out, even where it has resulted in some horrific bouts of food poisoning, so I happily got involved.
The verdict? 过桥米线 is a simple, light dish, that perhaps trades off tradition and the novelty factor at the cost of a little more variety and innovation.
Even so, I was inordinately excited to see a sign advertising 过桥米线 in Harbin. A feeling akin to shopping in a (fake) Tesco's in Tenerife overcame me. What would they do the same? What would be different?
Very much in line with the Dongbei school of over-eating, the bowl was huge. I figured it was easily eight times the size of what I'd eaten in Kunming, and was large enough to bathe a medium-sized dog in. For 20RMB (£1.30) we ordered a 'two-person bowl', which involved selecting four meats from a short menu. We had the pork tenderloin, fatty lamb, 'special' mushroom and meat balls, and chicken breast.
The soup base was stuffed with mushrooms, quail's eggs, an assortment of vegetables, and, oddly enough, crabsticks. Meanwhile, a condiments dish came piled high with either spicy- or meat-sauce. The waitress arrived with two large bowls of rice noodles and dumped these on top, obscuring the tastiness. Sure, the picture is uninspiring, but trust me, there was a lot going on under there.
It was fantastic stuff, and despite the giant electric fan blowing in my face, I worked up quite a sweat trying to eat through my half. Halfway through, it struck me that this was 过桥米线 in name only - the meat wasn't sliced thinly enough to cook itself, and any wife would struggle to carry a pot of these dimensions anywhere, let alone over a bridge! Still, it was immensely satisfying, and a powerful argument against authenticity for authenticity's sake.
[Update: A few days later, I went back on my own, and ordered a 'one person bowl'. To my astonishment, the portions were the exact same size, except I was given one bowl of rice noodles instead of two. The thing about this place that amazes me is no longer that Harbin has so many fatties, but that so many people can stay thin.]
Every day, the wife would cook her husband a bowl of noodles and deliver them to him, crossing a bridge on the way. Invariably, the noodles would be cold by the time she arrived.
One day, she discovered by accident that soup would stay warm as long as it had a layer of oil floating on top. Combining a bowl of noodles with soup just as she reached the bridge, she found that the ingredients were cooked by the time she reached her husband. From then on, she was able to deliver a piping hot meal every day.
Legend does not record why the husband didn't take a packed lunch.
When I visited the provincial capital of Yunnan, Kunming, a couple of years ago, the dish comprised a clay bowl of hot soup, and separate plates holding vegetables and finely sliced raw meat. I've never been averse to the cook-it-yourself school of eating out, even where it has resulted in some horrific bouts of food poisoning, so I happily got involved.
The verdict? 过桥米线 is a simple, light dish, that perhaps trades off tradition and the novelty factor at the cost of a little more variety and innovation.
Even so, I was inordinately excited to see a sign advertising 过桥米线 in Harbin. A feeling akin to shopping in a (fake) Tesco's in Tenerife overcame me. What would they do the same? What would be different?
Very much in line with the Dongbei school of over-eating, the bowl was huge. I figured it was easily eight times the size of what I'd eaten in Kunming, and was large enough to bathe a medium-sized dog in. For 20RMB (£1.30) we ordered a 'two-person bowl', which involved selecting four meats from a short menu. We had the pork tenderloin, fatty lamb, 'special' mushroom and meat balls, and chicken breast.The soup base was stuffed with mushrooms, quail's eggs, an assortment of vegetables, and, oddly enough, crabsticks. Meanwhile, a condiments dish came piled high with either spicy- or meat-sauce. The waitress arrived with two large bowls of rice noodles and dumped these on top, obscuring the tastiness. Sure, the picture is uninspiring, but trust me, there was a lot going on under there.
It was fantastic stuff, and despite the giant electric fan blowing in my face, I worked up quite a sweat trying to eat through my half. Halfway through, it struck me that this was 过桥米线 in name only - the meat wasn't sliced thinly enough to cook itself, and any wife would struggle to carry a pot of these dimensions anywhere, let alone over a bridge! Still, it was immensely satisfying, and a powerful argument against authenticity for authenticity's sake.
[Update: A few days later, I went back on my own, and ordered a 'one person bowl'. To my astonishment, the portions were the exact same size, except I was given one bowl of rice noodles instead of two. The thing about this place that amazes me is no longer that Harbin has so many fatties, but that so many people can stay thin.]
Health Hazard IV: Birds and Boats
In a sure sign that no lessons at all have been learned from the last bout of Avian Bird Flu, here are some chickens quite happily wandering around the streets besides University. Cognitive dissonance sets in: This city is one of China's industrial and technological powerhouses, isn't it?
I can hardly complain though. On the street I used to live on in Shanghai, poultry sellers would slaughter caged ducks and chickens in the open-air.
Once, a man hung a dog's body from a lamppost and skinned it with a big knife. Spatters of blood stained the mottled brown of the lamppost, and the surrounding pavement an unexpectedly dark crimson for days.
Back in Harbin, and adding fuel to the flames (incidentally, an idiom also found in Chinese, in the form 火上加油), a rusting boat sat nearby, the bottom awash with fetid, stagnating water.
Cholera, tetanus, typhoid, hepatitis...
I can hardly complain though. On the street I used to live on in Shanghai, poultry sellers would slaughter caged ducks and chickens in the open-air.
Once, a man hung a dog's body from a lamppost and skinned it with a big knife. Spatters of blood stained the mottled brown of the lamppost, and the surrounding pavement an unexpectedly dark crimson for days.Back in Harbin, and adding fuel to the flames (incidentally, an idiom also found in Chinese, in the form 火上加油), a rusting boat sat nearby, the bottom awash with fetid, stagnating water.
Cholera, tetanus, typhoid, hepatitis...
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Due Diligence
Fairly early on, I'd heard about the 满勤奖, literally full-diligence-prize, a cash award for 100% class attendance.
Teacher Wang Tong beamed that HIT was a traditional University, and wanted to encourage its students to do its best. It was a kind of honour for HIT for its students, even those in the foreigner department, to do well, hence the award.
Teacher Wang Shuangxi, in his infinite wisdom, joked that for some students, it was a good strategy to come to class every day. Even if they didn't listen and fell asleep, maybe they'd learn something by accident. On the other hand, sleeping could hurt the teacher's feelings, and it was much more comfortable sleeping at home!
Teacher Wang Lie agreed with me that for most students, the prize didn't have that much significance on its own. It was the recognition and feeling of accomplishment that most students were aiming for. The certificate bound in a shiny, red booklet didn't hurt either!
I mentioned to Wang Lei that I was on course to earn the 满勤奖.
"Aren't you getting some money for passing the HSK too?"
"Don't forget the consolation prize after singing my heart out, all the free trips, and that 5.90RMB towel!"
His jaw dropped in mock astonishment.
"Did you come here to study or to make money!?"
University posted up a list of the winners. By my reckoning, it's at least 80% Korean, with a couple of Russian names, and a smattering of 'Other'.
Class G managed three out of a possible maximum of seven. Not bad going considering the proportion as a whole was 59 out of over 500.
Teacher Wang Tong beamed that HIT was a traditional University, and wanted to encourage its students to do its best. It was a kind of honour for HIT for its students, even those in the foreigner department, to do well, hence the award.
Teacher Wang Shuangxi, in his infinite wisdom, joked that for some students, it was a good strategy to come to class every day. Even if they didn't listen and fell asleep, maybe they'd learn something by accident. On the other hand, sleeping could hurt the teacher's feelings, and it was much more comfortable sleeping at home!
Teacher Wang Lie agreed with me that for most students, the prize didn't have that much significance on its own. It was the recognition and feeling of accomplishment that most students were aiming for. The certificate bound in a shiny, red booklet didn't hurt either!
I mentioned to Wang Lei that I was on course to earn the 满勤奖.
"Aren't you getting some money for passing the HSK too?"
"Don't forget the consolation prize after singing my heart out, all the free trips, and that 5.90RMB towel!"
His jaw dropped in mock astonishment.
"Did you come here to study or to make money!?"
University posted up a list of the winners. By my reckoning, it's at least 80% Korean, with a couple of Russian names, and a smattering of 'Other'.
Class G managed three out of a possible maximum of seven. Not bad going considering the proportion as a whole was 59 out of over 500.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Taekwondo Test: Grading Greatness
Last week's grading was a success! During the warm-up today, the 教练 wandered off, returning with an armful of belts and a stack of certificates.
He called me up first, and tied a green belt from his multi-coloured assortment, around my waist. Then he handed me a shiny certificate printed in both English and Korean. I made sure to use both hands when handing things over, and narrowly avoided headbutting him during the bow. I was rewarded with a smattering of applause.
In a nice (but wasteful) touch, he also handed out the intermediate belts that we'd passed, and skipped. In my case, that meant a yellow belt, neatly bound up with elastic bands at both ends. It was a sharp contrast to the recycling of belts performed at my 道场 back home, which always struck me more as a cost-saving measure than symbolic act.
"What's the point of this? I'll never wear it." I whispered to Yu Hao as we forced ourselves into something resembling the box splits.
"Souvenir!"
He called me up first, and tied a green belt from his multi-coloured assortment, around my waist. Then he handed me a shiny certificate printed in both English and Korean. I made sure to use both hands when handing things over, and narrowly avoided headbutting him during the bow. I was rewarded with a smattering of applause.
In a nice (but wasteful) touch, he also handed out the intermediate belts that we'd passed, and skipped. In my case, that meant a yellow belt, neatly bound up with elastic bands at both ends. It was a sharp contrast to the recycling of belts performed at my 道场 back home, which always struck me more as a cost-saving measure than symbolic act.
"What's the point of this? I'll never wear it." I whispered to Yu Hao as we forced ourselves into something resembling the box splits.
"Souvenir!"
# Friends Will Be Friends (They're Running Naked Through The Sand) #
It's just after class, and I'm waiting outside the Foreign Student Centre for Guanchen, so I can give him some pictures from our big day out to the Fun Park.
An attractive Korean girl with big eyes so watery they're verging on tears, sidles over conspiratorially, and does an awkward little half-wave.
"Hi! I saw your performance..." then, without even a nod to causative logic, continues "...will you be my friend?"
"Wh... me??"
What little confidence she had evaporates, and she looks deeply unsure of herself. She tries again.
"Um... I saw your performance... We'll be friends. How about it?"
I look around for the gimpy-handed influence of Jeremy Beadle, or perhaps his Chinese equivalent, but there's noone around.
"Uh... alright". Despite my confusion, I force a smile, but she's already turned around and skipped away.
She didn't leave a name, let alone a number!
An attractive Korean girl with big eyes so watery they're verging on tears, sidles over conspiratorially, and does an awkward little half-wave.
"Hi! I saw your performance..." then, without even a nod to causative logic, continues "...will you be my friend?"
"Wh... me??"
What little confidence she had evaporates, and she looks deeply unsure of herself. She tries again.
"Um... I saw your performance... We'll be friends. How about it?"
I look around for the gimpy-handed influence of Jeremy Beadle, or perhaps his Chinese equivalent, but there's noone around.
"Uh... alright". Despite my confusion, I force a smile, but she's already turned around and skipped away.
She didn't leave a name, let alone a number!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Summer Sun, A Day of Fun, and a Winning Run
Situated opposite the Science and Engineering University, Harbin's Amusement Park is a collection of attractions, fairground games, and rides in various states of disrepair. The centrepiece is a huge, dilapidated Ferris wheel, visible for miles around, that moved so slowly and so sporadically that I struggled to tell if it was in use at all.
The route in was lined with trees, which suddenly gave way to a fast-food complex and a series of fairground games. 10RMB (70p) bought 20 shots with a BB gun. After some haggling, Guanchen and I sat down and tested our aim. Popping 19 or 20 balloons netted you a 'First Prize', with poorer accuracy yielding rapidly diminishing returns.
Both Guanchen and I were well on our way to bagging some monster prizes when our guns started acting up. Splintered or deformed BBs spewed out at odd angles, while under-inflated balloons shrugged off direct impacts with a mocking *poink*. Our chances wrecked, Guanchen and Yanxin had a good-natured shouting match with the husband and wife duo running the operation. Their venom was rewarded with this Patrick from everyone's favourite cartoon about a square-panted sponge, Spongebob Squarepants, which he two Koreans insisted on calling 'Doongi'.
After we'd all gone on the Log Flume and the Bumper Cars, Enxi and Yanxin went on the one ride that stood out by virtue of being in respectable condition. I politely declined. I like roller coasters just fine, but I'm not a fan of getting spun around in circles. If I wanted to make myself sick, my weapon of choice is soju.
As I stepped back to take this picture, a girl's shoe came hurtling out of the heavens. It impacted hard on the ground where I'd just been standing, throwing up a cloud of dust, and leaving a tiny crater. I took a few more steps back.
Next up were the Bumper Boats. I sat in a rubber ring with a motorboat engine humming right between my legs, and viciously attacked surrounding punters. A propeller churned the water into a white froth, and I imagined that it wouldn't be too hard to stretch out a foot and lose a toe.
After some consideration, I figured that if they spent so little on maintaining rides then the park probably wasn't worth suing. I pulled my foot back in and made sure all my extremities well within the so-called boat. Besides, I didn't want to cut short my Bumper Boat time, which was ten minutes of nauseating but exciting fun.
According to Aladdin, Xiuli was allowed on the rides. Just about.
Before we left, we tried our hand at some games again, assiduously avoiding those where the prize was a real, live animal. With practice, Guanchen and I just kept getting better and better, and we progressively won bigger and better prizes. For our troubles, we won a dolphin for Zhen'er and a teddy bear for Xiuli.
On the way out, I spent a few attempts at throwing heavy wooden balls through holes placed in a wall a few feet away. On the fourth attempt, I nailed ten out of ten, earning a 'First Prize'. Yanxin laughed at my dogged determination, but gave me a look which was more concerned than impressed.
"I know, I know. I have a problem with having to win. It's my greatest weakness... and my greatest strength!"
"Who wants it?" I continued, turning back to the others. Guanchen chivalrously deferred to the ladies in our group, but Enxi, Xiuli, and Zhen'er clutched their winnings and shook their heads. So, Yanxin got to take home a giant bunny rabbit.
Despite his protestations, I'm sure I caught Guanchen eyeing up a particularly fluffy puppy though.
The route in was lined with trees, which suddenly gave way to a fast-food complex and a series of fairground games. 10RMB (70p) bought 20 shots with a BB gun. After some haggling, Guanchen and I sat down and tested our aim. Popping 19 or 20 balloons netted you a 'First Prize', with poorer accuracy yielding rapidly diminishing returns.
Both Guanchen and I were well on our way to bagging some monster prizes when our guns started acting up. Splintered or deformed BBs spewed out at odd angles, while under-inflated balloons shrugged off direct impacts with a mocking *poink*. Our chances wrecked, Guanchen and Yanxin had a good-natured shouting match with the husband and wife duo running the operation. Their venom was rewarded with this Patrick from everyone's favourite cartoon about a square-panted sponge, Spongebob Squarepants, which he two Koreans insisted on calling 'Doongi'.After we'd all gone on the Log Flume and the Bumper Cars, Enxi and Yanxin went on the one ride that stood out by virtue of being in respectable condition. I politely declined. I like roller coasters just fine, but I'm not a fan of getting spun around in circles. If I wanted to make myself sick, my weapon of choice is soju.
As I stepped back to take this picture, a girl's shoe came hurtling out of the heavens. It impacted hard on the ground where I'd just been standing, throwing up a cloud of dust, and leaving a tiny crater. I took a few more steps back.Next up were the Bumper Boats. I sat in a rubber ring with a motorboat engine humming right between my legs, and viciously attacked surrounding punters. A propeller churned the water into a white froth, and I imagined that it wouldn't be too hard to stretch out a foot and lose a toe.
After some consideration, I figured that if they spent so little on maintaining rides then the park probably wasn't worth suing. I pulled my foot back in and made sure all my extremities well within the so-called boat. Besides, I didn't want to cut short my Bumper Boat time, which was ten minutes of nauseating but exciting fun.
According to Aladdin, Xiuli was allowed on the rides. Just about.Before we left, we tried our hand at some games again, assiduously avoiding those where the prize was a real, live animal. With practice, Guanchen and I just kept getting better and better, and we progressively won bigger and better prizes. For our troubles, we won a dolphin for Zhen'er and a teddy bear for Xiuli.
On the way out, I spent a few attempts at throwing heavy wooden balls through holes placed in a wall a few feet away. On the fourth attempt, I nailed ten out of ten, earning a 'First Prize'. Yanxin laughed at my dogged determination, but gave me a look which was more concerned than impressed.
"I know, I know. I have a problem with having to win. It's my greatest weakness... and my greatest strength!"
"Who wants it?" I continued, turning back to the others. Guanchen chivalrously deferred to the ladies in our group, but Enxi, Xiuli, and Zhen'er clutched their winnings and shook their heads. So, Yanxin got to take home a giant bunny rabbit.
Despite his protestations, I'm sure I caught Guanchen eyeing up a particularly fluffy puppy though.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Most Countries With The Word Democratic In Their Name Are Anything But
This being China, food - preparing it, eating it, talking about it, thinking about it - occupies a staggering amount of time and effort. So it was no surprise finding myself spending a good thirty minutes with schoolmates debating the merits of various eating establishments before making a selection.
Zhenyi had heard good things about what was billed as "an authentic North Korean restaurant" downtown, so eager to try new things, and always happy to eat, I tagged along with Enxi and Zhen'er in tow.
[Image courtesy of Wikipedia]
The restaurant was located down one of the entertainment-packed side streets that intersected Central Street. The flag of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea adorned the front, while two waitresses in inch-thick makeup and traditional North Korean dress greeted customers and led them upstairs.
Zhenyi told me that the restaurant was run in collaboration with the governments of both the DPRK and China. The waitresses were authentically North Korean - he whispered to me that he could tell from their strong accents - and were strictly vetted and controlled, lest they flee Kim Jong-Il's regime deeper into the Middle Kingdom.
I had a hard time telling their accent from my Korean classmates', but I was reliably informed that their speech was even more different to that of South Koreans than even 朝鲜族 - Chinese-born ethnic Korean minorities found predominantly in the Yanbian region.
On the way in, we passed a couple tucking into a dish of raw 黑鱼. The flesh had been cut from both sides of the fish in two sweeping hunks, then sliced and artfully placed back on the torso.
I'd heard from older Korean friends in Shanghai that it was a hugely emotional experience to meet someone from the other side of the Korean DMZ. To form a connection, however shallow and tenuous, to a compatriot from the other side of that ugly scar, borne of war and politics, was a profound experience.
In reality though, my three South Korean eating companions looked distinctly unmoved. They chatted away, and asked for recommendations from the waitress. I asked Enxi how she felt about meeting someone from the North for the first time:
"It's nothing really. It's [the separation of North and South] been too long already" then, seeing my cheated look, "I'm sure it was different for your friend. It used to be a big deal, but most young people don't think reunification is even possible right now".
The food arrived - a spicy soup, some fatty-streaked pork, cold grey noodles. To my untrained palette, they were all identical to things I'd eaten in South Korean establishments over the years, right down to the Kimchi, or pickled cabbage. My schoolmates, though, thought otherwise, making appreciative noises and exclaiming "Tasty!" in Korean at every new dish.
On one wall was a huge mural of 长白山 (long white mountain) - the legendary birthplace of Korea - a volcanic mountain so historically and culturally significant to both Koreas that it is treated with religious reverence.
"Oh, it's 白头山 (white head mountain)" Zhenyi said, using its Korean name "I've been there", he continued, matter-of-factly, before returning to his food.
Just then, the 黑鱼 we saw on the way in decided to make a break for it. Despite having precious little muscle mass still attached to its bones, it thrashed its way off the plate, and towards the edge of the table, all gaping mouth and wild eyes. The fairer half of the couple - hitherto happily chomping away on the fish's flesh - leapt up and screamed, while her man carefully and deliberately put down the piece of fish hovering halfway to his mouth.
The scream had jolted Zhen'er out of her seat, but Enxi was unimpressed.
"I'm from a fishing town. That stuff happens all the time. Fish take forever before they realise they're dead" she said flatly, even as a waitress hurried over and gingerly recaptured the errant dish.
While we worked our way through the food, a performance began. Two dancers dressed up as dolls, and caked in even heavier makeup than our waitress, took to the stage to the sounds of some disjointed music. They went through some synchronised jerky, robotic movements together, until two similarly-attired men took the stage with them. The latter two dancers mimed controlling the former, as if they were puppets, and all four spasmed their way through the routine bearing four identical rigor mortis smiles.
To my regret, my camera took that opportunity to pack up, so I don't have any pictures.
The creepy show brought to mind a half-remembered segment from "Tarrant on TV", which I vaguely recall had a very similar dance. It was quickly followed by a North Korean propaganda video featuring child soldier cradling a gun and denouncing Western Imperialism. I couldn't find it online, but this cracked me up [Warning! Strong language!]
Zhenyi had heard good things about what was billed as "an authentic North Korean restaurant" downtown, so eager to try new things, and always happy to eat, I tagged along with Enxi and Zhen'er in tow.
[Image courtesy of Wikipedia]Zhenyi told me that the restaurant was run in collaboration with the governments of both the DPRK and China. The waitresses were authentically North Korean - he whispered to me that he could tell from their strong accents - and were strictly vetted and controlled, lest they flee Kim Jong-Il's regime deeper into the Middle Kingdom.
I had a hard time telling their accent from my Korean classmates', but I was reliably informed that their speech was even more different to that of South Koreans than even 朝鲜族 - Chinese-born ethnic Korean minorities found predominantly in the Yanbian region.
On the way in, we passed a couple tucking into a dish of raw 黑鱼. The flesh had been cut from both sides of the fish in two sweeping hunks, then sliced and artfully placed back on the torso.
I'd heard from older Korean friends in Shanghai that it was a hugely emotional experience to meet someone from the other side of the Korean DMZ. To form a connection, however shallow and tenuous, to a compatriot from the other side of that ugly scar, borne of war and politics, was a profound experience.
In reality though, my three South Korean eating companions looked distinctly unmoved. They chatted away, and asked for recommendations from the waitress. I asked Enxi how she felt about meeting someone from the North for the first time:
"It's nothing really. It's [the separation of North and South] been too long already" then, seeing my cheated look, "I'm sure it was different for your friend. It used to be a big deal, but most young people don't think reunification is even possible right now".
The food arrived - a spicy soup, some fatty-streaked pork, cold grey noodles. To my untrained palette, they were all identical to things I'd eaten in South Korean establishments over the years, right down to the Kimchi, or pickled cabbage. My schoolmates, though, thought otherwise, making appreciative noises and exclaiming "Tasty!" in Korean at every new dish.
On one wall was a huge mural of 长白山 (long white mountain) - the legendary birthplace of Korea - a volcanic mountain so historically and culturally significant to both Koreas that it is treated with religious reverence.
"Oh, it's 白头山 (white head mountain)" Zhenyi said, using its Korean name "I've been there", he continued, matter-of-factly, before returning to his food.
Just then, the 黑鱼 we saw on the way in decided to make a break for it. Despite having precious little muscle mass still attached to its bones, it thrashed its way off the plate, and towards the edge of the table, all gaping mouth and wild eyes. The fairer half of the couple - hitherto happily chomping away on the fish's flesh - leapt up and screamed, while her man carefully and deliberately put down the piece of fish hovering halfway to his mouth.
The scream had jolted Zhen'er out of her seat, but Enxi was unimpressed.
"I'm from a fishing town. That stuff happens all the time. Fish take forever before they realise they're dead" she said flatly, even as a waitress hurried over and gingerly recaptured the errant dish.
While we worked our way through the food, a performance began. Two dancers dressed up as dolls, and caked in even heavier makeup than our waitress, took to the stage to the sounds of some disjointed music. They went through some synchronised jerky, robotic movements together, until two similarly-attired men took the stage with them. The latter two dancers mimed controlling the former, as if they were puppets, and all four spasmed their way through the routine bearing four identical rigor mortis smiles.
To my regret, my camera took that opportunity to pack up, so I don't have any pictures.
The creepy show brought to mind a half-remembered segment from "Tarrant on TV", which I vaguely recall had a very similar dance. It was quickly followed by a North Korean propaganda video featuring child soldier cradling a gun and denouncing Western Imperialism. I couldn't find it online, but this cracked me up [Warning! Strong language!]
Dragon Boat Festival
It's 端午节, or the Dragon Boat Festival, held every year on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month to celebrate the life or death of some poet or other.More importantly, it's a chance to race dragon boats, and eat 粽子 or glutinous rice dumplings wrapped in fragrant lotus or bamboo leaves.
Personally, I'm a fan of Southern-style 粽子 which are typically stuffed with meat and red-beans. 粽子 in Harbin tend to be less substantial, and made sweet, using red dates. Yuk!
Enxi comes into class and tells a joke.
米饭和包子打群架，米饭仗着人多势众，见了包着的就打，豆沙包，糖包，蒸饺无一幸免，粽子被逼到墙角，情急之下把衣服一撕，大叫：
看清楚，我是卧底！
The Rice and The Buns are having a gang war. The Rice have strength in numbers.
Anyone that's Bun-like they attack. Bean-paste buns, sugar buns, even dumplings, nobody survives.
A 粽子 finds itself with its back to the wall. In desperation, it throws off its clothes, and shouts:
Take a good look! I'm an undercover agent!
We all have a good laugh.
Enxi asks Teacher Wang Lie if Songhua River has Dragon Boat races, and when the best time to go see them is.
"Go before 5am, tomorrow, or you won't be able to see anything".
She drags her three flatmates out with her, arriving at 4:30am.
In class later that day, in exhausted tones, she explains how she waited until 5:15am. Nothing to see but crowds, so the four of them took a taxi home again.
Mingrui interjects.
"What!? I arrived at 5:30am and they were just starting... I had a great view".
We all have another good laugh.It wasn't a total waste of time though. Enxi picked up these wristbands which apparently signify friendship.
They're traditionally thrown into water at the first sign of rain. It's yet another mystifying custom in a country that I still haven't even started to understand.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Taekwondo Test
Partly to put myself to the test, partly because I'm a sucker for punishment, but mostly because I wanted to distinguish myself from a sea of execrable white belts, I enrolled for the tri-monthly Taekwondo grading. I asked the coach, or 教练 if I could grade two belts at the same time.
"Well, you've studied Taekwondo before, and you're a regular in class. With a bit of work, you shouldn't have any problems."
Then, with typical Chinese bluntness, he addressed Zhang Dan and Du Ting who were poised to ask the same question.
"You two... not so much!"
I practised hard for the next few days, but suddenly, impossibly soon, it was time. First order of the day was saluting the twin South Korean and Chinese flags hanging at the back of the hall, and singing the Chinese national anthem，义勇军进行曲 or "March of the Volunteers" (sample lyrics: "Risking the enemy's cannon fire, advance! Advance! Advance!"). As I know the words for this even less than I do for "God Save the Queen" I just tried to stand still and look solemn, despite the jaunty tune. You can listen to it here.
After that was a warm-up, somewhat limited by there being at least fifty students at the grading. We ran around the 道场 in a frustratingly tight circle, hopping and jumping according to the 教练's commands.
Next on the itinerary was a performance. Five or six boys from the junior class went through a series of kicks on the kick pads before graduating to kicking balloons. This culminated in one of the most senior kids performing an impressive flying kick over four crouching adults.
Then it was time for the senior class. Balloons were popped once again, but this time routines were longer and trickier.
The penultimate performance was from our 教练. He attempted, and narrowly failed, to kick his way through four boards with one jump, then flashed an impressive 360 at what must have been seven feet, landing on his kicking leg. Awesome stuff from a quite short guy, but I wouldn't want a 教练 that couldn't beat me up!
I've blogged about the phenomenon of Little Emperors before, but for some reason I always subconsciously assumed that anyone at a halfway serious 道馆 like ours would be exempt. Not so. Every time the 教练 kiyup'ed, a chorus of giggles would erupt from the seated juniors. A round of shushing would then erupt, followed by a murmur of retaliatory accusations.
"It was him!"
"He was laughing more!"
Worse, the juniors munched away on their crisps and slurped away on bottles of yoghurt and soft drinks throughout. When they were called up for their gradings, they left behind them a carpet of crisp fragments and flecks of spilt yoghurt. This behaviour was encouraged by pushy parents who continually stepped up onto the mat, clutching armfuls of refreshments, and noisily inquired as to their well-being. As if they couldn't go an hour without snacks!
The final act was some board-breaking from the big boss, the 馆长. While I sensed that the 教练 was more than happy to show off his skills to a captive audience, the 馆长 - a young, lean, unsmiling man - looked bored and bitter, as if he was mortified we had the audacity to trouble him.
The 馆长 ordered two students to hold up a substantial wooden board, then had another two brace the first. Then, quite matter-of-factly, he lined up a finger strike and smacked his way through, with fingertips alone. Powerful stuff, and terrifying to think that that could go through your throat!
After the excitement of the performance, the grading itself was nothing particularly special. Six of us each found our designated spots in the 道场 and punched and kicked our way through the basic patterns and kicks for the yellow belt curriculum. Then, a few minutes later, a similar, slightly harder set of routines for the green belt curriculum.
There's a saying in Chinese: 男女有别, or "boys and girls aren't the same". As far as I'm aware, it's mostly used to explain away the differences between the sexes, but it's also something of a refreshingly blunt alternative to Western liberal norms.
Regardless of the intent, the boys were given twenty push-ups to do, while the girls were allowed to get away with twenty sit-ups. Oddly enough, there were no concessions at all to age. Even the smallest junior had to do the same.
An update in a few days on how I got on...
"Well, you've studied Taekwondo before, and you're a regular in class. With a bit of work, you shouldn't have any problems."
Then, with typical Chinese bluntness, he addressed Zhang Dan and Du Ting who were poised to ask the same question.
"You two... not so much!"
I practised hard for the next few days, but suddenly, impossibly soon, it was time. First order of the day was saluting the twin South Korean and Chinese flags hanging at the back of the hall, and singing the Chinese national anthem，义勇军进行曲 or "March of the Volunteers" (sample lyrics: "Risking the enemy's cannon fire, advance! Advance! Advance!"). As I know the words for this even less than I do for "God Save the Queen" I just tried to stand still and look solemn, despite the jaunty tune. You can listen to it here.
After that was a warm-up, somewhat limited by there being at least fifty students at the grading. We ran around the 道场 in a frustratingly tight circle, hopping and jumping according to the 教练's commands.
Next on the itinerary was a performance. Five or six boys from the junior class went through a series of kicks on the kick pads before graduating to kicking balloons. This culminated in one of the most senior kids performing an impressive flying kick over four crouching adults.
Then it was time for the senior class. Balloons were popped once again, but this time routines were longer and trickier.The penultimate performance was from our 教练. He attempted, and narrowly failed, to kick his way through four boards with one jump, then flashed an impressive 360 at what must have been seven feet, landing on his kicking leg. Awesome stuff from a quite short guy, but I wouldn't want a 教练 that couldn't beat me up!
I've blogged about the phenomenon of Little Emperors before, but for some reason I always subconsciously assumed that anyone at a halfway serious 道馆 like ours would be exempt. Not so. Every time the 教练 kiyup'ed, a chorus of giggles would erupt from the seated juniors. A round of shushing would then erupt, followed by a murmur of retaliatory accusations.
"It was him!"
"He was laughing more!"
Worse, the juniors munched away on their crisps and slurped away on bottles of yoghurt and soft drinks throughout. When they were called up for their gradings, they left behind them a carpet of crisp fragments and flecks of spilt yoghurt. This behaviour was encouraged by pushy parents who continually stepped up onto the mat, clutching armfuls of refreshments, and noisily inquired as to their well-being. As if they couldn't go an hour without snacks!
The final act was some board-breaking from the big boss, the 馆长. While I sensed that the 教练 was more than happy to show off his skills to a captive audience, the 馆长 - a young, lean, unsmiling man - looked bored and bitter, as if he was mortified we had the audacity to trouble him.
The 馆长 ordered two students to hold up a substantial wooden board, then had another two brace the first. Then, quite matter-of-factly, he lined up a finger strike and smacked his way through, with fingertips alone. Powerful stuff, and terrifying to think that that could go through your throat!
After the excitement of the performance, the grading itself was nothing particularly special. Six of us each found our designated spots in the 道场 and punched and kicked our way through the basic patterns and kicks for the yellow belt curriculum. Then, a few minutes later, a similar, slightly harder set of routines for the green belt curriculum.There's a saying in Chinese: 男女有别, or "boys and girls aren't the same". As far as I'm aware, it's mostly used to explain away the differences between the sexes, but it's also something of a refreshingly blunt alternative to Western liberal norms.
Regardless of the intent, the boys were given twenty push-ups to do, while the girls were allowed to get away with twenty sit-ups. Oddly enough, there were no concessions at all to age. Even the smallest junior had to do the same.
An update in a few days on how I got on...
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Opera Opportunities
The Foreign Student Centre's stern matriarch, Teacher Yang, intercepted me on the stairs rushing to class.
"There's a trip to the Opera next week. Are you going?"
I nodded.
"Well, the theatre has offered to give a few students make-up, dress them up. How about it? It'll be fun! Besides, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" she said with uncharacteristic cheer.
I was hesitant, but thought back to the slogan pinned up on the Centre's noticeboard:
It was the Chinese equivalent of carpe diem - Opportunities cannot be forgone, time lost will never return.
I sighed hoping I wouldn't regret this.
"Sure. What do I need to do?"
A teacher came to fetch us, a good two hours before showtime, and we took three taxis to the practically-named 黑龙江省京剧院, or Heilongjiang Province Peking Opera House.
We were led backstage where a good two dozen performers and stagehands were already busying themselves getting ready for the show.
Periodically, someone would come fetch one of us and sit us down in a vacant corner. Finally it was my turn. A severe man I presumed was the director barked at A Guy About My Age to take me and make me up as an 武生 - the warrior, and main hero role!
Using his left hand as a palette, AGAMA daubed my face with various unctuous balms, powders and oils, occasionally pulling out a tiny brush and dabbing away expertly at a particularly tricky corner.
I was too far from a mirror to see what was going on, so resigned myself to my fate. It was just like getting a haircut, just with much more complicated instructions. As AGAMA worked, I grilled him about his career.
"Lean forward!"
He informed me that he'd been studying Peking Opera for eleven years, since the age of 14. I marveled. I didn't have the drive to do anything for as long as eleven years.
"Lean all the way back!"
AGAMA lamented the decline in popularity of his art form in recent years, particularly among the young.
"Close your eyes!"
AGAMA laughed and said that the Asian bone structure was a lot easier to apply make-up for. The Russian student he'd just finished with had come out all wrong.
"Now look up!"
Before long I was done. I rushed over to the mirror to have a look.
"Great! I could get used to this!" I said to noone in particular. I liked the eyeliner, but could do without the lipstick. Still, I was impressed by the transformation.
In the absence of any further instructions, I took a peek at the performance from the wings...
... before wandering around and bothered everyone else.
Anna had been made up as a 旦, Peking Opera's female role. She laughed as she told me that the woman doing her makeup had muttered the whole time about "How to hide this foreigner's huge nose", but the overall effect wasn't too bad at all.
Next, I had a look at a pair of performers working on turning a schoolmates into a 净 - the painted face male role. Being of darker complexion, the two performers pointed and giggled uncontrollably as they told me that they hadn't bothered to apply the black undercoat.
We were due out during the interval. With minutes to go, an elite squad of performers and helpers hustled us through the dressing up process in a matter of seconds.
While Anna was taught to say a few lines about the 旦 role, a 净 taught the two HIT 净 some basic movements.
Then it was showtime.
We filed out in our colourful and intricate costumes, and the theatre director cracked a few jokes...
... before encouraging us to perform like his own personal team of circus monkeys. I got to do a little dance...
... and then it was all over. We rushed down to the front of the stage to catch the rest of the performance, which was dominated by stylised fighting and 武术 tricking.
Afterwards, I was still so excited from the experience that I kept on my makeup for far longer than was reasonable. Here I am on the bus back to school!
"There's a trip to the Opera next week. Are you going?"
I nodded.
"Well, the theatre has offered to give a few students make-up, dress them up. How about it? It'll be fun! Besides, it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" she said with uncharacteristic cheer.
I was hesitant, but thought back to the slogan pinned up on the Centre's noticeboard:
机不可失，时不再来
It was the Chinese equivalent of carpe diem - Opportunities cannot be forgone, time lost will never return.
I sighed hoping I wouldn't regret this.
"Sure. What do I need to do?"
A teacher came to fetch us, a good two hours before showtime, and we took three taxis to the practically-named 黑龙江省京剧院, or Heilongjiang Province Peking Opera House.
We were led backstage where a good two dozen performers and stagehands were already busying themselves getting ready for the show.Periodically, someone would come fetch one of us and sit us down in a vacant corner. Finally it was my turn. A severe man I presumed was the director barked at A Guy About My Age to take me and make me up as an 武生 - the warrior, and main hero role!
Using his left hand as a palette, AGAMA daubed my face with various unctuous balms, powders and oils, occasionally pulling out a tiny brush and dabbing away expertly at a particularly tricky corner.I was too far from a mirror to see what was going on, so resigned myself to my fate. It was just like getting a haircut, just with much more complicated instructions. As AGAMA worked, I grilled him about his career.
"Lean forward!"
He informed me that he'd been studying Peking Opera for eleven years, since the age of 14. I marveled. I didn't have the drive to do anything for as long as eleven years.
"Lean all the way back!"
AGAMA lamented the decline in popularity of his art form in recent years, particularly among the young."Close your eyes!"
AGAMA laughed and said that the Asian bone structure was a lot easier to apply make-up for. The Russian student he'd just finished with had come out all wrong.
"Now look up!"Before long I was done. I rushed over to the mirror to have a look.
"Great! I could get used to this!" I said to noone in particular. I liked the eyeliner, but could do without the lipstick. Still, I was impressed by the transformation.
In the absence of any further instructions, I took a peek at the performance from the wings...
... before wandering around and bothered everyone else.Anna had been made up as a 旦, Peking Opera's female role. She laughed as she told me that the woman doing her makeup had muttered the whole time about "How to hide this foreigner's huge nose", but the overall effect wasn't too bad at all.
Next, I had a look at a pair of performers working on turning a schoolmates into a 净 - the painted face male role. Being of darker complexion, the two performers pointed and giggled uncontrollably as they told me that they hadn't bothered to apply the black undercoat.We were due out during the interval. With minutes to go, an elite squad of performers and helpers hustled us through the dressing up process in a matter of seconds.
While Anna was taught to say a few lines about the 旦 role, a 净 taught the two HIT 净 some basic movements.
Then it was showtime.
We filed out in our colourful and intricate costumes, and the theatre director cracked a few jokes...
... and then it was all over. We rushed down to the front of the stage to catch the rest of the performance, which was dominated by stylised fighting and 武术 tricking.Afterwards, I was still so excited from the experience that I kept on my makeup for far longer than was reasonable. Here I am on the bus back to school!
Friday, June 15, 2007
Harbin International Fair for Trade and Economic Cooperation
University laid on yet another free trip for us. This time, the outing was to the Harbin International Fair for Trade and Economic Cooperation, called 哈洽会 in Chinese for short. Because of its perceived complexity, participants were restricted to the so-called 'high level' classes only.The expo is being held in the Harbin International Conference and Exhibition Center, which in turn was built inside a hotel funded by HIT, hence the free tickets.
It sounded pretty dry, and even though my degree was in Economics, I really didn't want to go. Teacher Wang Lie told us that if enough of us signed up though, classes for that day (the dreaded Culture, and the tricky Ancient Chinese classes) would be cancelled.
Even though school is 100% voluntary anyway, old habits die hard, and the offer of a day out of the classroom was a powerful draw.
Besides, there was something about the Eastern tradition of reverence for age above and beyond any and all other actual qualifications that made it almost impossible to say no to this kindly old man.
Thus it was that four Class G classmates found themselves on a rickety minivan, along with a dozen or so super-keen schoolmates.
Half an hour later, and after my efforts to get going a good round of "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round" had failed miserably, we disembarked and rushed through the scorching heat into the shiny, air-conditioned Conference Centre.
Seeing me idly snapping a couple of photos, an earnest American seated behind me offered to help out in broken Chinese. Something in his tone struck me as patronising though, so I engaged him in conversation in my best RP English in a petty attempt to surprise and embarrass him.
He and his Canadian friend helped confirm all the worst stereotypes of 老外, 'old outsiders' or foreigners, in China. Namely, they were directionless slackers, happily stuck in futureless jobs teaching English, who enjoyed nothing more than sleazing on local women in shoddy bars filled with like-minded 老外 and ropy women looking for a green card.
I avoided further conversation with the pair by pretening to be absorbed in the information packs we'd been given - a series of hefty manuals filled with facts and figures about the three provinces that make up Dongbei.
Suddenly, and without any fanfare, the show began. The master of ceremonies gave a brief overview of the day's program then introduced the first of three speakers. Each speaker gave a near-identical PowerPoint presentation concerning his respective province's favourable economic environment, reciting dry statistics and flashing up slides with even drier charts and graphs. There were no entertaining anecdotes, no attempts at humour, and no effort to undermine the two rival provinces with any unfavourable comparisons.
I stared longingly at the vast stage and hoped against hope that this was all an elaborate attempt to lull us into a gentle stupor before the real show began, that a troupe of breakdancers would soon appear and flail across the obscenely under-used stage in a celebration of athleticism and hip-hop.
To pass the time I tuned into the provided headsets which provided on-the-fly translations into Russian and English."Very impressive indeed!" I marveled at the speed and accuracy, until a choice phrase jogged something in my memory. I flicked back through our information packs and found a word-for-word rendition of the representative's speech.
"Hmph! Even I could do that!"
WuMing Street
Spotted on campus in HIT:
Literally, the sign says "Without Name Street". It's probably best translated as "Nameless Street", much like Jet Li's character in Hero, 无名 or "Nameless".
For me, that throws up a whole host of cod-philosophical conundrums: Can anything truly be nameless? If so, can it be described as such without impinging on that self-same nameless quality?
Wikipedia claims that U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name" refers to the Nicaraguan capital of Managua, where the streets have no names. I don't think that that's what is going on here.
Literally, the sign says "Without Name Street". It's probably best translated as "Nameless Street", much like Jet Li's character in Hero, 无名 or "Nameless".For me, that throws up a whole host of cod-philosophical conundrums: Can anything truly be nameless? If so, can it be described as such without impinging on that self-same nameless quality?
Wikipedia claims that U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name" refers to the Nicaraguan capital of Managua, where the streets have no names. I don't think that that's what is going on here.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Beetle Bucket
Neatly, I find myself following a post about bunnies with a post about bugs.
Spotted outside a restaurant, alongside the buckets of prawns, crayfish, and fish:
In keeping with the emphasis on freshness found in Chinese cooking, a big block of ice is used to keep this tub of live beetles cooled and refreshed, until such time as they're needed to make a tasty stir-fry.
Spotted outside a restaurant, alongside the buckets of prawns, crayfish, and fish:
In keeping with the emphasis on freshness found in Chinese cooking, a big block of ice is used to keep this tub of live beetles cooled and refreshed, until such time as they're needed to make a tasty stir-fry.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Rabbit Reason
Nothing much surprises me in Harbin any more.
It never occurred to me that any sensible adult would buy a pet in the street on a whim, but then again, there must be some reason why there are so many hawkers by the road with carts piled with cages, fishbowls and cardboard boxes.
Before Taekwondo class, I came across Liu Lina and a small crowd of classmates gathered around the stairs above our dojang. The girls were cooing over a couple of tiny white balls of fur, and the guys were sitting around pretending to look disinterested.
Seeing me, Lina waved me over:
"I bought some rabbits! One boy, one girl," while demonstrating the proper rabbit-handling technique.
"Yes. Yes you did." I struggle for an appropriate response "But why!?"
She seems baffled by this existential poser.
"They're cute?"
And that they were. While Tianyou fed the boy rabbit a chunk of orange ice lolly...
... and Tai Guang pretended to eat the girl rabbit, I took some photos of the poor, doomed creatures, and asked questions.
It turned out that they cost 20RMB (£1.30) and that Lina bought them with her parents' blessing. Put like that, I suppose the question becomes "Why wouldn't you buy a couple of pets?"
Two days later and disaster had struck.
"The boy rabbit died." Lina told me, somewhat forlornly.
"Why? What happened?"
"I think I fed it too much," she confessed "撑死了 (it died from overeating)", before doing an impression, arms askew, tongue lolling from her mouth.
She nodded sagely - a good death for a rabbit - then laughed as if to say it was alright, at least she still had another, before skipping away.
It never occurred to me that any sensible adult would buy a pet in the street on a whim, but then again, there must be some reason why there are so many hawkers by the road with carts piled with cages, fishbowls and cardboard boxes.
Before Taekwondo class, I came across Liu Lina and a small crowd of classmates gathered around the stairs above our dojang. The girls were cooing over a couple of tiny white balls of fur, and the guys were sitting around pretending to look disinterested.
Seeing me, Lina waved me over:
"I bought some rabbits! One boy, one girl," while demonstrating the proper rabbit-handling technique."Yes. Yes you did." I struggle for an appropriate response "But why!?"
She seems baffled by this existential poser.
"They're cute?"
And that they were. While Tianyou fed the boy rabbit a chunk of orange ice lolly...
... and Tai Guang pretended to eat the girl rabbit, I took some photos of the poor, doomed creatures, and asked questions.It turned out that they cost 20RMB (£1.30) and that Lina bought them with her parents' blessing. Put like that, I suppose the question becomes "Why wouldn't you buy a couple of pets?"
Two days later and disaster had struck.
"The boy rabbit died." Lina told me, somewhat forlornly.
"Why? What happened?"
"I think I fed it too much," she confessed "撑死了 (it died from overeating)", before doing an impression, arms askew, tongue lolling from her mouth.
She nodded sagely - a good death for a rabbit - then laughed as if to say it was alright, at least she still had another, before skipping away.
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