News: Nutcases and Nationalism

A couple of news stories from the mainland that caught my attention.

1) The first one concerns all-singing, all-dancing, all-acting, eternally youthful Hong Kong megastar Andy Lau (刘德华). His most notable recent roles have probably been in the superior original to Hollywood's The Departed, Infernal Affairs (无间道), and House of Flying Daggers opposite Zhang Ziyi.

Someone brought up this story (or in Chinese here) in News Listening class, and it sounded so extraordinary I had to take a look for myself. A 28 year-old obsessed fan of 13 years travelled to Hong Kong to meet the movie star, literally destroying her family in the process. According to reports, the father, not only failed to dissuade his daughter, who was so obssessed that she "didn't study or work since [the age of 15]", from getting some "one-on-one time" with Mr. Lau, but instead committed suicide "in hopes Lau would meet the daughter again". I wonder how it went so far?

Our Listening teacher said in response, with eyebrow-raising understatement "Of course it's alright to be a fan of celebrities, but sometimes it goes a bit far".

2) It's the China Open! There's a remarkable amount of attention being paid to it here, even though Ding Junhui is the only Chinese player who's playing at a world-class level. The pressure on him is extraordinary - the snooker expectations of a billion Chinese on his shoulders - and it shows. He ground out an interminable match against a relative unknown in the first round.

I'm supporting him for the duration - not only is he the plucky young underdog, even here on his home-turf, but there's something that stirs my confused Chinese roots when I see him beat other countries at their own game (I got the same feeling when Liu Xiang broke the world 110m Hurdles record!)

But the real joy of the tournament is the commentary ("好球!" and "有机会!"). There's a hilarious presenter on the sports channel who talks a lot of sense in Chinese, and speaks very decent English, then ruins it all by lapsing into totally inane questions when he's interviewing Western players. I couldn't forget him asking Ronnie O'Sullivan "What do you like about snooker?" last year, and I just heard him saying to Steve Davis "Please answer your fans who are really keen to know..." *expectant pause* *Steve Davis beings to look alarmed* "what's your earliest snooker memory?"

3) The last story involves a bit of Sino-British rivalry. I'm a fan of the London Eye, it's everything that the Millennium Dome wasn't and still isn't - iconic, useful, and profitable. It also stands as a symbol showing that English engineering and design is still world-class. So it was a bit disappointing to see a story reporting that a "160-meter-high Ferris wheel" is set to "replace the London Eye as the world’s tallest observation wheel".

How about adding a couple of splashes of insult to the pot of injury? It "only cost one-eighth the price [of the London eye] to build", and is in relatively poor, mid-tier province Jiangxi. An observation wheel over miles of NOTHING! It would have been a much less bitter pill to swallow had it been in City of the Future(tm) Shanghai.

Korean Cooking & Karaoke

Another Thursday and another evening of eating, drinking, and random activity fun! I gathered up anyone that wanted to go and set off for a branch of the popular Korean eaterie 高丽园 (Gao Li Yuan). The deal was 38RMB (£2.50) for all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-drink buffet.

The restaurant itself was plush, and the maitre d' disconcertingly smiley and polite. Normality returned further inside where the serving staff were typically impatient and rude. Wang Lei came along with his girlfriend, Guo Li, and Yudi brought a friend (Ren Zhen - neatly, an exact homophone for 'serious' or 'earnest'!) while Guanchen for his part brought Zhu Xing, Xiuli, his attractive female cousin and her friend. The classmates (Enxi, Mingrui and myself) found ourselves heavily outnumbered by 'authentic' Chinese people!

The food was great - a mix of Korean-style sushi roles, hybrid Chinese-Korean stir-fries and grills, Japanese tempura, little crabs, and a tasty Korean grill churning out plate after plate of beef and squid. The beer less so - light, flat and not cold enough to make it not matter.

I taught everyone the bunny-ears drinking game, whatever it's called, which lasted a few rounds before we attracted the stares of the entire restaurant. We abandoned it in favour of a reactions-based game which was like a spoken form of tag, before playing the toothpicks guessing game, which didn't take long to collapse too under the weight of remembering numbers with 12 players.

A couple of hours later, and the staff were making it very clear we'd overstayed our welcome, packing up around us and switching off the buffet. We set off for a nearby karaoke club where we collectively displayed a singular lack of talent for singing. The highlight was probably a shouty version of a 花儿 song, delivered in an exaggerated hard Beijing accent, by Mingrui.

We had to clear out in time for everyone to get home before their respective dormitories locked-down, so after another stirring rendition of 朋友 we jumped into three cabs homeward-bound. On the way, I turned around in my seat to Guanchen:

"How come your cousin is so good-looking and you look like this?" I teased him. Zhu Xing laughed.

"I've been thinking about that myself!" Guanchen replied and seemed to seriously consider the question.

"Ahh... I'm just kidding..."

"No, no... I've got a 表弟 (younger male cousin), and he's really handsome too. I don't know! I guess genetics isn't fair."

"Well, at least you have your charm", I suggested.

"Yup, I do have that", he conceded.

Disastrous Dobok Decisions

I mentioned briefly before my dobok, which is most excellent - not least because it's covered in fake adidas logos.

Yesterday though, it was totally upstaged by this masterpiece, brought in by one of the green-belts.

"Wow! Look at THAT!" the others laughed, and it was indeed spectacular.

I'd like to draw your attention to:

1) adidas stripes on both shoulders and down both legs

2) The giant logo on the left arm

3) The 道 ('way' or 'path') above a 阴阳 (yin-yang) symbol

4) ... and last but certainly not least the twin dragons chasing each other across his back.

If all that doesn't make you a better fighter, then I guess nothing will.

Homophonic Headaches

We were discussing Beethoven in class, when somehow the feudal system came up.

"... 你们英国人.... 女王有封吗？" Teacher Wang asked, referring to the position of nobility under Queen Elizabeth.

My mind, which had up til then been humming a jaunty tune and wandering around watching butterflies dance and skimming stones on Lake Ennui, snapped back to reality. Lips moved and brain cells melted as they wrestled with the question.

女王有疯? Is the Queen mad? Well I suppose she probably is, what with all the in-breeding... and yet, how DARE he!

"发疯的疯 (do you mean 'feng' from 'going crazy')?" I asked aloud. Titters all around, then a heavy disappointed sigh from Teacher Wang, before he turned around and rewrote the question on the board. A light flicks on and I went "OOhhhhhhh 封建的封 ('feng' from 'feudal')"

I haven't been that embarassed since I mixed up the tones on "你想我吗？" (You miss me?) for "你像我妈" (You're just like my mum). Stupid tonal language!

Hot Pot and Hot Politics

I finally got round to asking a few of my classmates at Taekwondo out for dinner during training today. It was a quiet session anyway, but I persuaded all six adults to come eat at a neighbouring hotpot restaurant after class, which after an 8:30pm finish meant suffering a rumbling stomach until 9:00pm.

As it turned out, by the time we'd changed and gathered outside our sports centre, one of the girls decided she'd better catch her bus home, taking the remaining girl with her, so I went with the three 师兄 (male senior classmates): Wang Lei - an HIT student with impressive language skills: incredibly good Japanese and respectable English; Wang Meisong - another HIT student whose English name, Bruce, was taken from Bruce Lee; and another guy whose name I've completely forgotten, who works as a 公务员 (public servant).

We picked our way through the drizzle and around the puddles in the pockmarked pavement to a 炭火锅 (coal-fired hotpot) a couple of doors down, and took a seat at one of the handful of tables in the cosy little restaurant.

The ceiling was covered in pipes, which descended to a couple of feet or so above each of the small tables. The waitress slid a tray onto our table which she filled with a shallow layer of water, then put a traditional coal-fired barbecue onto the tray before plugging it into the pipe over our table. By way of a small sliding tray, we could control the air intake on the thing, regulating the heat. Not exactly elaborate, but a quirky alternative to the simplicity of an electric hot-plate.

The downside is that it still got a bit smoky, and that the pot's capacity, around the hot central funnel, was limited. The flipside, I was reliably informed, was that this was the best-tasting method of hotpot in the world!

We ordered a couple of Harbin Beers. Wang Lei professed that he couldn't drink much and I jokingly asked what kind of Dongbei man couldn't drink. When he replied in turn that in that case he wasn't from Dongbei, the other two, confused, made startled exclamations and asked him where he was from! I've always thought effort is everything, and respect his attitude. Despite turning bright red after the first glass, he gamely drank with the rest of us, and even continued ordering beer.

The food was the usual mix of mushrooms, veggies, thin-sliced lamb, and tofu. Nothing spectacular but I imagined I could taste the different the coals were making. We got to talking. It turns out Meisong fancied himself a bit of a dissident. He argued passionately and surprisingly eloquently against the government's failures and I was a bit taken aback to find myself defending the regime.

Some of his arguments were surprisingly subtle, while others were pretty dogmatic "China is a country where success is not based on talent, but on 关系 (connections)".

I won't go too in-depth for fear of misrepresenting him, but I couldn't help but disagree with him quite strongly on some points. I asked him why he was so dissatisfied with his lot: middle-class, at a top-flight university, and with all the prospects in the world and he argued that he lacked freedom.

"Freedom to do what?" I asked.

"Freedom of speech for a start".

"Listen to yourself. You're criticising the government and the whole restaurant can hear you!"

"If I spoke like this in University, I'd disappear! I'd be taken away!"

At this, Wang Lei choked on his beer.

"Nonsense!"

I looked at the civil servant who shook his head.

"Unlikely... but maybe you'd get told off or even expelled..."

Wang Lei had a much more optimistic view of modern China.

"It's getting better and better. There's no other time I'd rather live than today".

"I'd rather have been born ten, twenty years earlier." Meisong responded. "That way, at least I would have had a job for life".

"铁饭碗 (an iron rice bowl)?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, referring to the long-gone concept of job-security for life.

"Me too" interjected the civil servant.

I argued against it on economic grounds - where would motivation for work to come from? - and Wang Lei nodded vigorously.

Ironically, the civil servant was a party member, although he was careful to point out that most people joined up to get ahead in their careers. Wang Lei was too, although in his case it was also because he supported the party. Meisong for his part said that he would never join.

By now, the rest of the restaurant's patrons had gone home, and we suddenly found ourselves surrounded by the staff - an extended family group, who sat at neighbouring tables, facing us and smoking while listening.

"Let's change the subject." Wang Lei suggested.

"... or these guys will report you and make you disappear." I cringed at how insensitive I was being, but the others laughed warmly.

The rest of the evening we taught each other slang (or just swore at each other), discussed movies and games, and talked about girls. Despite what we'd discussed before, it could have been any group of guys, anywhere in the world.

"Let's drink up and go" Wang Lei suggested, when even the boss, a plump and kind-faced middle-aged woman, came out and sat down nearby.

"Oh no, no need to rush. It's interesting to hear you all talk." She issued some orders and the waitress brought us a plate of cold pickled vegetables from the kitchen. "Eat! Eat!"

After another half hour it felt like we were taking the piss, so I repeated Wang Lei's suggestion. Outside, it had started to snow again, unusual at this time of year even for this part of the world, and we slid down the stairs and off on our respective ways.

A fascinating insight into some of the divergent opinions of China's modern youth. Good food, great company and an eye-opening experience. It doesn't get much better than that.

Initial Exchange Inquiries

Sometimes, a couple of students from the 对外汉语 (teaching Chinese to foreigners) department at Heilongjiang University come to sit in on our classes - cheap training for them and, I suppose, a stamp of approval on HIT's students for us foreigner students.

A couple of days ago, I got to chatting with one, called Jin Ran, before class.

"You're from England?" she asked quizzically.

I sighed, preparing to give my tiresomely well-versed explanation of "foreign-born Chinese".

"You mean a 华裔?" she interjected, leaving me gratified and shocked into a stunned silence. "Well I've got a friend, Yudi, who needs an English teacher. Would you meet up with her?"

Preferring to find language exchange-partners on my own terms, I threw up some evasive conditions.

"Is she a Chinese major?"

"Yup".

"Uhh... well Heilongjiang University's quite far..."

"Oh, don't worry, she's a fourth year too, and we don't have lectures this year - she can come to you."

I was almost out of excuses.

"She's a 美女 (a beauty)" Jin Ran said, reading my mind. I gave my best sceptical look. Her classmates nodded vigorously and made "uh huh" noises.

"I wasn't thinking that!" I lied. "Well let's exchange numbers and she can get in touch". I said, conceding privately that I probably needed a language-exchange partner after the weekend's debilitatingly spirit-crushing classes.

Honestly - and this is no doubt horribly un-PC mainlander bigotry creeping in here - female teachers are better than their male counterparts. Is it any wonder that the majority of students at teaching universities are female? Not only do they tend to be more patient, and easier on the ears, they smell nicer and have better standards of hygiene. On those terms anything would be an improvement on Paul, who enjoyed picking his nose with my pens and sneezing on my feet.

Fast-forward to today. I send Yudi a text. "Do you know the 正门 on 西大直街? I'll meet you there at 5pm. Blue jeans, brown jacket, and black bag. 注意阿！我是华裔而不是老外！(Take note! I'm Chinese, not a foreigner").

Yudi replies "哈哈 那你有没有老外血统呀：） 方便你便认我穿白色风衣象个淑女！(Haha, then do you have any foreigner blood in you? So you can tell who I am, I'm wearing a white jacket and look like a lady!) See you soon!"

I get to the gate a couple of minutes past five and a plain girl with short-hair in glasses and a blue jacket tries to catch my hair.

"That can't be right" I think to myself.

"Hey!" she smiles at me "Why look at me like that? You look like nothing like your photo".

"What!?" I manage just as a taxi pulls up and another, taller girl, in a white jacket steps out. A very confused five seconds as short-girl resolves her case of mistaken identity; I try to ascertain if taller-girl is Yudi while resolving said case of mistaken identity with short-girl; and taller-girl completely ignores us both (later: "I didn't think it was you because I thought you knew that girl.")

Happily, everything is soon resolved. Yudi and I go to Hamamas - a local cafe (apparently legendary among the local Western ex-pat community) serving real coffee and burgers - to discuss the terms of language exchange and get to know each other.

Harbin's air isn't noticeably worse than any other big city's but for some reason (probably all the burning coal for heating) there's a lot of air-borne particulates. On the way, I catch something in my eye, and have to walk a couple of hundred metres with tears streaming out from under one scrunched up eyelid. Real classy.

Over chocolate milkshakes we arrange an exchange schedule, ascertain each other's language needs and demands, and evaluate our respective language levels. Yudi knows her stuff, as you'd expect from someone specialising in Chinese, and was impressively keen on explaining words and elaborating on mistakes I made, before going on to embarass me with her grasp of the International Phonetic Alphabet and English grammar rules. On the flip side, she's cripplingly shy in English, despite scoring a level 6 of 8 in the English equivalent of the HSK.

It occurs to me, and not for the first time, that language has the capability to shape your thinking and personality hugely. Certainly the small obvious distinctions such as one word encompassing both "mouse" and "rat" in Chinese (actually in evolutionary terms they're totally distinct), or the lack of a concise concept of "schadenfreude" (deriving pleasure from others' misfortune) in English constitute a palpable difference.

It's probably a given that one is always going to be wittier in one's own mother tongue, and that most people are going to be shyer and less responsive in their second or third language. What effect does a different mother-tongue make to one's thinking though? I wonder if Oscar Wilde would have been as effective operating in a homophonic pun-heavy oeuvre such as Chinese, or if 相声 master Hou Baolin could have found fame if his mother-tongue was the comparatively rigidly-structured German?

And if your responsiveness and wit depends so much on your mother tongue, who's to say your power of reasoning and rhetoric aren't affected too? Only recently have I begun to realise what George Orwell was getting at, when he postulated that 'Newspeak' was a useful component of authoritarian rule.

But i digress. An hour and a half of discussion later (一个半小时而不是一个小时半！) and we're done. First proper language exchange session on Thursday!

奥林匹克运动会倒计时500天！

为了迎来奥林匹克运动会倒计时500天，北京昨天举办了各种庆祝活动。

虽然我觉得因为“500”这个数字没有什么特别意义所以北京的庆祝有一点过分，但是我也密切关注着2008奥运会的发展。为什么？

首先，2008年后，下一届要举办在英国。 最近，据报道，伦敦预备的各个方面都面临很多挫折。 尽管两个国家的经济情况差别挺大，把两届比起来，恐怕北京举办的比伦敦举办的成功。

其次，如果中国能够举办一届顺利而有益的奥运会的话， 难道明年的运动会象征中国开始恢复到一个超级大国的行列吗？

最后，说到已经过去的奥运会， 1996年，中国是世界排名第四的国家。 2000年，中国排到第三名。上一次，中国又进步到亚军位置。谁敢说这一次中国达不到冠军的位置呢？

虽然我是华裔，而不是“真正”的中国人，我还是为中国的成功十分感到自豪。

Examination Angst

My confidence took a battering today in 辅导课 (supplementary classes).

朗读 or reading aloud is a crucial component of the HSK high-level exam. Emphasis is on correct enunciation, tones, stress and intonation. The teacher assigned us all a short passage each and a few minutes to prepare before asking us to read to the class in turn. First up, are two Korean girls. They make a good fist of it and the teacher smiles.

"That's good. Level 9 easily, but if you're going for Level 10 you both might struggle a bit"

I'm privately encouraged. I could do that! Next, Korean girl #3. A definite hint of a Korean accent on certain consonants, but another good effort.

"Good too" beams the teacher, "but I'd encourage you to practise a couple of times a week." He addresses the first two. "You two should probably practise maybe once a week too".

Next, a Korean guy sitting next to Korean girl #3.

"Probably enough for a Level 9, but your tones are a bit off." He points at Korean girl #3. "If she needs to practice a couple of times a week, you should practise slightly more."

My turn. I finish reading my poem entitled 生活是多么广阔 ("How Vast Is Life") and there is a long pause. Behind the teacher's eyes, I can see the wheels of tact grinding up against the cogs of honesty.

"Your pronunciation is a bigger problem than your tones." The teacher says. Ouch. "Next time, I'll bring some exercises so you can work on it. I'd say your chance of passing Level 9 is 50-50". I can't help but look distressed. "The problems aren't serious, but they're consistent" the teacher says by way of reassurance. "If those mistakes come up in the exam, then it'll be tough to pass".

Last up is the Russian girl. She stumbles through the text messing up a good half of the tones, and gets totally unstuck on at least ten characters. Good-Doun sitting on my shoulder makes a sympathetic humming noise, feels sorry for her, commends her effort, and wishes her the best of luck in the remaining few weeks before the exam. Evil-Doun on the other side snickers and says

"Well that was painful. You should give up, Red". I can feel schadenfreude wrap its grubby little tentacles around my soul.

"Among our Russian classmates," the teacher opines "that was already very good, but you have to pay more attention to your tones and pronunciation." He addresses us both. "You and Doun should both try and practice every day. Prepare the other passages and we'll go through them next time."

Hubris smacks me in the face like a shovel. I'm honestly mortified that he lumped me in with her! Horrified, I realise that my ear for Chinese is way, way off. It's not that my reading aloud is rubbish, more that I can't even hear where it's bad. How am I meant to overcome that in four weeks? The poisonous icing on this whole rotten, bitter cake, is that I'd reckoned on Speaking being my strongest section of the exam.

From that point on, my confidence fell faster than the market price of a previously patented product, which has suffered a bout of devious espionage from some cunning industrial spies, who've then sold on its design to be pirated by Chinese manufacturers, now engaged in a vigorous round of price-based competition, while ramping up output to dangerous levels of oversupply, because the government is distorting fundamentals to artificially encourage investment a cheap hooker that got hit in the stomach by a fat guy.

What really annoys me is that I've always been good at exams, but I'm lost when it comes to languages. My good grades in GCSE French and Spanish are more a testament to how easy those exams were, even back when I took them almost a decade ago, than any linguistic ability. I've been studying Chinese for a long time now, and at times it's really hard to detect any progress at all. I think there are some serious problems with my studying technique - which is probably more suited to the techniques and facts found in the hard sciences - and my fundamentals, which are sorely lacking. (What's a predicate anyway?)

Even writing off my countless Saturday mornings wasted in Chinese school as maybe a couple of term's worth of dedicated study, I still find myself way behind my peers here. This is my third year in China! I left class resolving to work my butt off and give a good account of myself at next month's exam. I don't do failure!

Speaking (Teacher), Soju (Drinking) and Singing (Badly)

In a moment of chatty digression, our Speaking teacher 张艳鑫 (Zhang Yanxin) confessed in class the other day that she'd never drunk soju (Korean rice spirit) before, despite the proliferation of Korean eateries in the Ice City. That alone was excuse enough to drag virtually the whole class out for some Thursday night eating and drinking activities.

We decided on somewhere near 黑龙江大学 (Heilongjiang University) which is where Teacher Zhang is doing her Master's degree in linguistics when she's not teaching us. To my surprise, even Karolina, our Russian classmate - who is rarely seen in class, let alone out and about with the rest of her classmates deigned to tag along. I invited Guan Chen too and he brought a little friend of his - 朱星 (Zhu Xing - literally Red Star) - another Computing Master's at HIT, originally from the Southern province of Jiangxi.

So it was that the nine of us - looking like a half-hearted United Colors of Benetton advert - found ourselves sat on the floor around a low table, gorging on a variety of pickles, pancakes, pork cutlets, and Korean-style hotpot.

Soju (or to give it it's Chinese name, 烧酒) is a clear, grain-based spirit, quite light in taste, and measuring in at a relatively restrained 20% alcohol. In the spirit of multiculturalism, the Koreans taught us a couple of drinking games, and even after Zhu Xin quit, red-faced, after two shots, and Karolina claimed a medical condition, we polished off a respectable fourteen bottles between seven drinkers.

Teacher Zhang, a Northeasterner giantess (in boots, taller than me) upheld the hard-drinking reputation of the region by enthusiastically chugging back shot after shot, and winning several rounds of the games.

On the way out, we stopped to say hello to a donkey which didn't like me much, before Teacher Zhang bought us all a slice of pineapple-on-a-stick each. On a whim, we trooped en masse down into the first bar we saw - the excellently-named Dreaming in Drinking Bar - which to my delight, had a projector and karaoke machine running.

The bartender was a young, cheeky and oddly excitable man-boy who I guessed was probably also a student. For entertainment, we demanded he juggle bottles like 汤姆·克鲁斯 (Tang Mu Ke Lu Si or Tom Cruise) from that movie 鸡尾 (literally Chicken Tail), which he did, badly.

After a couple of poorly-mixed cocktails - ordered by translating clumsily directly from English (B五十二 (B-52), 特其拉拍着 (Tequila Slam-Person)) - I felt emboldened enough to give the public karaoke machine a go. A few notes into Britney Spears' Crazy and I noticed I was getting some dirty looks from my fellow patrons. Halfway through the song and Mingrui and Enxi had had enough, wrestling the microphone from me and bodily dragging me out. Time to go home! Note to self: After a few drinks, you CANNOT sing as well as you think you can.

大学生的学习目的及经济状况

为了更了解目前中国大学生的学习目的及经济状况， 综合老师叫我们留学生去访问三位中国大学生。

我跟老师说： “调查上有很多内容属于个人隐私资料， 比如说家庭的经济情况， 勤工俭学收入， 诸如此类。 根据英国习惯，我如果告诉别人个人待遇不但没有礼貌，不太文明，而且翻了雇员准则的规矩”

老师回答： “在中国，除了问到爱情这个话题以外， 什么都可以问.”

为了“入乡随俗”我下午上跆拳道课时， 去问我的师兄，正如师说所说，被调查者果然都坦率地回答问题。

问到勤工俭学收入，刘志刚师兄回答：“2000RMB”。 我问： “每个月？”。 大家都哈哈大笑。 “怎么可能！？每年！”。 虽然住在中国已两年多了， 中西经济差别仍然使我惊奇！

我一共只调查了三位学生。 虽然所收集的资料不多， 希望这个调查还有一点意义。

首先，来自农村的学生与来自城市的学生的态度，看法，千差万别。 比如说，来自城市被调查者强调扩大经验。相比之下，来自农村的学生都胸有成竹地想立刻找到一份稳定的工作。

其次， 不少大学生不得不兼职， 而最流行的职业是当辅导老师。 在上海，我听说辅导老师的工资是50RMB/时。 相比之下，哈尔滨的平均工资仅仅是10RMB/时！听到这个消息，我又大吃一惊。

最后， 虽然和西方比起来，中国大学学费不算贵， 但是不少中国学生每年都收到一大笔奖学金。实际上很多来自农村的学生的学费全免。

[原本

为了更了解目前中国大学生的学习目的及经济状况， 综合老师问我们留学生去访问三位中国大学生。

我跟老师说： “调查上有很多内容属于个人隐私， 比如说家庭的经济情况， 勤工俭学收入， 诸如此类。 根据英国习惯与雇员准则，告诉别人个人待遇不用说没有礼貌，而且不太文明，就算犯规！ 换句话说，我告诉别人自己的工资就会被炒鱿鱼！”

老师回答： “在中国，除了问到爱情这个话题以外， 什么都可以问.”

之所以我下午就去跆拳道课， 调查我的师兄，是因为我舍不得不 “入乡随俗”。据老师说的话，被调查者果然都坦率地回答问题。

问到勤工俭学收入，刘志刚师兄回答：“2000RMB”。 我问： “每个月？”。 大家都哈哈大笑。 “怎么可能！？每年！”。 虽然住在中国已两年多了， 西中经济差别还能使我惊奇不已！

一共只调查了三位学生了。 尽管科学性肯定不高， 希望调查还有意义。

首先，来自农村的学生与来自城市的学生的态度，看法，千差万别。 比如，来自城市被调查者强调扩大经验。相比之下，来自农村的学生都胸有成竹地想立刻找一份稳定工作。

其次， 一来不少大学生不得不兼职， 二来最流行的职业是辅导老师。 在上海，我听说辅导老师的工资50RMB/时。 相比之下，哈尔滨的平均工资仅仅10RMB/时！听到这个消息，我又大吃一惊。

最后， 虽然和西方比起来，中国大学费不算多， 但是不少中国学生每年收到一大笔奖学金。实际上很多来自农村的学生的学费免费。]

Thank 上帝 It's 周五

As the weekend landed, I tried to enlist some of my classmates for some Friday night dinner and competitive (but pointless) activities (see bowling, pool, bar games). Most of my classmates, however, were otherwise occupied, leaving me with my slightly odd Polish classmate with whom I didn't much fancy going on a one-on-one date.

I tried Guan Chen. No luck. An 'activity with his course' for the evening. I suddenly realised how much of a loner I was in this city! All part of building character and independence I rationalised, and went to Taekwondo class instead.

In between 下劈 and 横踢 kicks, I got to chatting with my training partner for the evening - a fourth year Communications major at Harbin Institute of Technology. Encouraged, I asked the lead student after class, 王威松 (Wang - another one! - Wei Song) and some of the other older students if they wanted to get a bite to eat. They'd all already eaten though (not surprising, as it was 8:30pm by then).

"Let's go some other time. I'd like to ask you about English and England anyway" Wei Song said as I made my exit.

"Do you mean how to swear in English?" I asked.

He furiously denied it, but the other students laughed and confirmed it as true, setting them off on a barrage of light-hearted but fantastically coarse swearing in the North-Eastern dialect.

"And introduce us to some foreign 美女 (fit girls)" one called out as I made my exit.

"He likes Koreans" his friend explained helpfully, and I called out over my shoulder that I'd try my best.

For dinner, I thought I'd get some more barbecue from the restaurant under my flat. Walking past the window, I thought I spied crazy, crazy Yu Yang in the corner so I spun on my heels and power-walked round the corner, then sought refuge in the first clean-ish restaurant I saw.

The speciality was Lion's Head Meatballs (狮子头), so I ordered a tofu and meatball soup, with a side of 扒肉 (stewed meat) for good measure. The 扒肉 came first - thick, fatty slices of pork stewed until they were crumbling, and served in a thick gravy. The tofu and dumpling soup was just as good. There was actually only one meatball, but it was a huge lump of spiced mince pork which took up over half the bowl like a fat guy in a small jacuzzi.

As I ate, I flicked through my Culture textbook and eavesdropped on the next table where two guys were having a heated discussion. Both were red-faced from drinking, and as I watched, they called out for more 白酒. The waitress came over with a plastic jerry-can which wouldn't have seemed out of place at a petrol station, which she hefted up above onto her forearm and deftly tipped out into their glasses.

Red Faced Guy #1 apparently was having problems with someone at work, and Red Faced Guy #2 was trying to pacify his friend. Gesturing angrily, RFG #1 knocked his glass off their table and onto the floor. I winced as he clumsily fished around under the table for the bulk of the smashed glass, but thankfully his coordination completely failed and, from a seated position, he fell hard out of his chair. RFG #2 watched his friend woozily but faintly surprised as he flailed about on the floor like an upturned beetle, until RFG #1 eventually pawed his way back up to the safety of his chair.

"喝多了, 喝多了(I've had too much, I've had too much)" RFG #1 slurred by way of explanation to the waitress who had come rushing over at the commotion.

"Let's get a bottle of soft drink" RFG #2 suggested.

"3 kuai? (20p) It's not worth it". RFG #1 replied. In my head, I humbly submitted that it probably was, considering the hangover he was in for the next day. Anyway, the RFGs settled on (free) tea instead, and I could hear them continue angrily with their discussion even as I left. North-Eastern men. Alcoholic nutters, the lot of them!

Arterial Attack

In totally unrelated news, I've discovered a little stall in the corner of campus near the foreigner's centre that sells fried meat-sticks. There was a shop like this near my first address in Shanghai, and I used to love going there, so this was great news for me (or bad, if you're speaking from a waist-line perspective).

Various skewers are once again offered, but the kicker this time is that they are fried, not grilled, and come in a variety of different shapes and sizes. Once they're done, they're sprinkled with chilli powder or an oily chilli paste.

Because even the stick has been fried too, a tiny square of tissue paper is wrapped around the handle and then they're bagged up or handed over as is. I was short on time, so I rushed up to class with this, one of my favourites. It's called 鸡皮 and it's delicious. 100% chicken skin, deep-fried, then slathered in an oily sauce. It's also the most unhealthy thing I've encountered since I used to work in a chippy and tried to batter and deep-fry chips in an idle moment.

Incidentally, apologies for the quality of the picture. Stupid auto-focus!

A Close Shave

A really crisp and sunny day today, and two of my classmates were inspired enough to climb out of the classroom window during the break.

On a mischievous whim, I locked one window before they rushed back, and Rong Shu was still halfway through the other window, one foot on a desk when the teacher came back in. Everyone froze, eyes widening, before sheepishly examining the ceiling intently, or checking the skirting board for flaws, except Rong Shu who clambered back in, and down off the desk as nonchalantly as she could manage, and tried to slink back to her place.

Teacher Wang broke the awkwardness with a load guffaw, and rolled his eyes as if to say "I was young once too", and we all laughed too - a bunch of kids relieved at being spared a verbal spanking.

カラオケ? OK!

I went to Karaoke today! Guan Chen called me up and I met him at the back gate, two Korean classmates and a Korean classmate's boyfriend in tow. Guan Chen for his part had with him two of his friends - girls from his old middle-school who were undergraduates in Harbin.

Slightly odd Polish classmate missed out because he was at the 班长会 - class representative meeting - where he was meant to be airing my grievances about our Culture teacher, but we passed him as we left the University.

"Come with! We're going to Karaoke!"

He looked less than convinced and excused himself saying that he had to write an essay - part of his University requirements back in Poland.

First though, fuel for the singing. Guan Chen took us to what is alleged to be the grandest, most historic barbecue shop in town, in 道外 (Dao Wai) district, a good 15-20 minutes taxi ride across town - suitably in keeping with the Chinese culinary tradition of going well out of one's way to eat well.

This is it. The sign says 大全烧烤 which literally means "Big Everything Barbecue". I'm not sure if the first two words are a compound (Complete-Collection Barbecue) or if the "Everything" refers to the Barbecue (Big Everything-Is-Barbecued) but in any case, the menu was a multi-page monstrosity comprehensively listing a veritable zoo of animals and animal parts for roasting.

We opted for a 包房 - a private room - which entailed a 300RMB (£20) total minimum figuring that this would be no problem for seven growling stomachs.

This was the first dish, barbecued spare rib, which was noticeable superior to the average street-side hawker stall's - meatier, with more refined spices, and cooked just so. We also had Brazilian-style barbecued pork, carved off giant metal skewers; whole chicken wings which were turkey-sized; and a dozen other selections, but by the time they arrived I was engrossed in eating and my camera sat in my pocket, forgotten. For the entire meal, I sat grinning inanely, sauce reddening both corners of my mouth, as a pile of discarded skewers steadily grew in front of me.

Guan Chen's two friends were third-year students called 张权 (Zhang Quan) and 常秀丽 (Chang Xiu Li) originally from Liaoning and Shanxi, respectively. Xiu Li was chatty and friendly, in the overly keen manner of someone a bit too excited at meeting outsiders for the first time. Quan in contrast was standoffish and boy-ish which I found hilarious, especially when she belched loudly and unashamedly twice.

After lunch, we jumped back into taxis and went to a branch of the optimistically-named 好乐迪 (Haoledi, literally Good-Happy-Enlighten) a national chain of Karaoke clubs - just off Central Street. Typically for the more upmarket joints, this had all the (faux-)marble, elaborate staircases, and over-dressed waiters that you could ever want, and we went up to our 包房 after some apparent haggling at the front desk by Guan Chen.

As a quick cultural aside, a Karaoke club in China can be a dodgy place. The impression I got in decadent Shanghai was that there was a definite difference between 'KTV' and 'Karaoke', with the former implying scantily-dressed ladies offering negotiable services, while the latter offered legitimate entertainment for aspirational singers. Up North though, the former simply seems to imply private rooms for groups of friends, while the latter suggests singing, willy-nilly, in front of a whole restaurant or bar.

Things got off to a dodgy start with Quan and Guan Chen delivering a shaky rendition of the difficult 千里之外 (by Jay Chou and Fei Yi Qing) before a much stronger 安静 (also by Jay Chou). En Xi and Rong Shu proved their singing chops belting out a couple of old Korean hits, before I took on Unchained Melody in a solo effort. Disappointingly, despite the extensive song list, the system only had Gareth Gates' inferior version. I did my heartfelt best though, even inspiring Rong Shu to slap at her boyfriend (in her best imitation of the heroine from My Sassy Girl) and scold him for not singing her a love-song.

The time flew by and we tumbled out after 8pm, light-headed from exertion. Even Quan was smiling by now, and the seven of us walked down Central Street suddenly hungry. The French Bakery, which I had somehow missed on my first trip, was a disappointment - a handful of uninspired pastries despite the extensive drinks list - so we settled for McDonald's instead, right at the Northern end of Central Street near the river.

Guan Chen continued teaching even as I sucked down a welcome chocolate milkshake - 砢碜, slang for ugly; 兼职, another job (i.e. apart from your main job or studying) - and I kicked myself again that I was doing such a bad job of getting a decent flatmate, before we parted ways an hour later, promising to play pool next time.

Barrels of Baijiu

Speaking of 白酒, this is a shot taken in downstairs' barbecue shop.

"Another cup." A be-jumpered middle-aged man shouted at the waitress from behind me. "Make that half a cup - a whole cup will be too much". The waitress carefully filled his small glass to the halfway mark, from what I had assumed was a tiny water cooler and I thought "Well that's an odd thing to say".

On closer inspection, I noticed the word 酒 or alcohol printed on the machine and the barrel's sticker.

"What is that? 白酒?" I asked the waitress.

"Sure. Do you want some?"

"怎么买?" (literally "how to buy") I asked, meaning to ask what the price was.

"We just buy a barrel of the stuff and stick it in the machine". She looked puzzled.

"Uhh 几块一杯" I rephrased myself - "How much per cup?"

"Oh right. 2 RMB (13p)". I did the sums. 200ml of 51% alcohol for 13p. Death for less than a pound.

"No thanks. Maybe next time."

Dogmeat Diaries

As promised, Wang Da Peng called me up and invited me out for a meal of dog meat. Ming Yue met me outside the flat and walked me to the bus stop where we hopped on a crowded #17. Three stops later, we disembarked next to an overpass, in an unpromisingly gritty neighbourhood.

"This way!" Ming Yue grabbed my arm and tottered in some alarming heels across the snice.

"Umm.... Down here! ... I think!" She pointed down a rickety flight of stairs under a sheet of tatty tarpaulin, and I let her lead the way lest we be jumped by a flock of knife-packing children, or a gang of rabid raccoons.

A few steps down, there was a small landing, a set of dirty doors, and beyond, a tiny restaurant, packed to the rafters with punters happily slurping down unidentifiable foods.

There were no tables free, and we were waiting for Da Peng anyway, so we parked ourselves near a group of policemen who looked like they were finished, and eyeballed them until they asked for the bill. I counted fifteen big bottles of beer and two small bottles of 白酒 for the four men. On the other hand, one small glass was still half-full. Wuss.

Da Peng arrived and I deferred to the happy couple on ordering decisions.

"Hand shredded dog meat, one plate; hotpot; and spicy dry tofu strips". He rattled off, barely glancing at the menu.

"Any drinks?"

"Let's start with six Harbin beers".Da Peng replied.

"Six?" I thought to myself, then "Start?" Well, this is going to be interesting.

By six, queues were starting to form. There were only perhaps a dozen small tables in the whole place anyway, but there were at least fifteen people milling about waiting for a table to come free by the time we left.

Back to the food. The dog meat arrived with a saucer heaped with some toxic-looking chilli sauce. It was meatier than I imagined, and looked like duck or turkey. The texture was much like chicken, but tougher, and the flavour relatively bland but not unpleasant. Yue cooed over the lighter-coloured thick strips at one end of the plate.

"That's dog fat" she explained. "The best bit".

Next arrived the hotpot which had chunks of tofu, cabbage, and dogmeat floating in an oily broth. Yue commented that it was too sweet, and it was true - the soup had a definite sugary tang. "It's because it's a 朝鲜 restaurant" Da Peng explained, using the historical shorthand for the entire greater Korean region (In this parlance, North Korea is often called 北朝鲜 while South Korea goes by 韩国). Be that as it may, some concessions had been made for the local market. A sprinkling of parsley topped the layer of chilli oil that coated the whole thing.

While we ate, Da Peng told me a story, apparently plucked straight from the news. Apologies if inaccuracies have crept in, in translation.

"In America, you can't eat dogs. They're only pets over there" he began "but there was a Chinese guy who'd emigrated and liked to eat dog. One day, he claimed that his dog fell in a pot of hot cooking oil, and was fried to death. Well, not wanting to waste the meat, he of course ate it. The police came, and because it's illegal to kill a dog for eating, did an investigation to determine the course of death." Da Peng paused for dramatic effect. "It turns out the dog was killed before it was fried. The police fined the man $10,000. Stupid huh?" I laughed, even though I couldn't tell whose side I was meant to be on. The story had it all - America-bashing, cultural relativity and cruelty to animals.

I'd had a big lunch, so wasn't eating a huge amount. Da Peng misconstrued that as not enjoying the dogmeat, so ordered another dish. This is 粉条 (vermicelli) with 芹菜 (Chinese celery). The vermicelli was made from potatoes, which surprised me somewhat, as I thought it should be made from rice powder. It was more al dente than I'm used to, and is apparently a North Eastern speciality. Not bad.

Late in the meal, Da Peng's colleague and friend 海淘 (Hai Tao) turned up, a young but severe-looking man in bookish glasses. He proceeded to order another six bottles of Hapi, and contemplated getting 白酒 too (because "It goes well with dogmeat"). Thankfully, Da Peng intervened, saying they'd stick to the 白酒 next time.

Bizarrely, perhaps relating to another conversation lost in the restaurant's hubbub, Hai Tao felt it important to tell me repeatedly that "There are no friends at work", going on to explain that business is business, and pleasure is pleasure, and never shall the twain meet.

I looked at Da Peng, who voiced his agreement.

"What about you two? Aren't you colleagues and friends?"

"That's different" Ming Yue reassured me "they're in slightly different departments". I was totally mystified, and will update this post if I ever find out what Hai Tao was trying to get at.

如何培养写作能力？

之所以从今天开始，我要写些中文博客文章， 是因为4月22日要考汉语水平考试。 考试的作文部分对我来说是非常难的。我对写作一窍不通！

一直以来，不要说日记，小品，就是连造句，回答问题之类的简单功课我也不怎么写。

几天前， 万婷说她看我博客就发现到她的英文词汇不大， 而且不得不用词典查些比较书面或者少见的词才能看得懂。 但是，她的很多博客是用英文写的。我真佩服这样的勇敢态度。很多老师都说：“不用怕犯错误。因为怕，所以不说，就难以把口语能力提高”。 不写，怎么培养写作能力呢？

所以这几个星期，我希望我也能用我外语写博客文章。 首先要把一些基本固定语式，句式写出来。 其次， 要用课文里的比较复杂句式，生词和成语表达自己的意见。 最后，希望越写错误越少，不断进步！

非常欢迎读者的改正和建议！


[原本

之所以从今天开始，我要写些中文博客文章， 因为4月22日要考汉语水平考试。 考试的作文部分对我来说是非常难的。我对写作一窍不通！

从来，不要说日记，小品，什么的都不写，就是连造句，回答问题之类的简单功课也不怎么写。

几天前， 万婷说她看我博客就发现到她的英文词汇不大， 而且不得不用词典查些比较书面或者少见的词才能看得懂。尽管，她自己的博客是用很多英文写的。我真佩服这样的勇敢态度。很多老师都说：“不用怕犯错误。因为怕，所以不说，就难以把口语能力提高”。不写，怎么培养写作能力呢？

所以这几个星期，我希望我也能用我外语写博客文章。 首先要把一些基本固定语式，句式写出来。 其次， 要用课文里的比较复杂句式，生词和成语表达自己的意见。 最后，希望愈写愈能把错误减少，步步高升！

非常欢迎读者的改正和建议！]

Bowling, Barbecue and Befriendification

My very first Ancient Chinese class today, and in walks another Teacher Wang. In this case, 王 双喜 (double happiness) - not only a great name but also an auspicious symbol and a brand of cigarettes! It put me in mind of Sue Perkins (from daytime television megastar duo Mel and Sue), whose name (said quickly) sounds like Superkings.

He immediately impressed by correctly identifying every student and their country of origin, without reference to the register, and pronouncing my seldom-seen name correctly. Even though he seemed very laid-back, he really knew his stuff and was good at the whole checking understanding routine without being dogmatic about it. Another good class.

Ancient Chinese is an odd thing. The trend within the modern language is towards double-barrelled characters for every word. This is often accomplished by adding a 子 character to the end of the main word (窗子 (window), 桌子(table)) or layering two synonymous words (谘询 (to consult)). One result is that conversational Chinese is rendered more understandable - ambiguity over many homophones is eradicated. In Ancient Chinese however, words mostly arise singly, which means texts are more difficult to decipher, but also much denser and rich.

Another thing. It's often the case that two cognate words in the modern language were originally a single word. Thus, 坐 (to sit) and 座 (a seat) were both written 坐 in ye olden days. Meaning had to be inferred from context.

Grammar rules used to be different too. Much like Shakespeare's English, while technically modern, used archaic structures, it adds yet another layer of difficulty to reading Ancient Chinese. I haven't even got round to learning the grammar of modern Chinese yet!

All in all, though, despite the difficulties, it looks like a good way to strengthen my grasp of tones, build my vocabulary, and gain some insight into some famous, notorious, or classical thinking.

Culture class was a travesty. The teacher proceeded from Chapter One (concerning Chinese characters) to Chapter Nine (concerning food), so naturally noone had managed any preparation. We took it in turns to painstakingly crawl through the text, before I took it upon myself to change the direction of the class by asking lots of irrelevant questions - a tried and tested tactic!

We started talking about things we had eaten, and Teacher Xu made some outrageously bigoted comments about the habits of the Cantonese (who have a reputation for eating anything). He seemed genuinely disgusted at the thought of eating cat, then waxed lyrical about how he liked nothing more than to pop open the roasted head of a chicken and suck out the brains. Wearing a disgusted expression, he wondered aloud how Southerners could eat mouse, before describing how his wife would eat fertilised, unborn chickens raw and straight from the egg, in order to preserve her youth.

This led to a lengthy digression on famed author Lu Xun's usage of 吃人 (literally 'eat man') in his writings - it turned out it's metaphorical - before I lowered the tone again by offering up the plot of a Hong Kong movie (in which triads kill a man and make his corpse into meat buns, which they then give to the police investigating the case) as gospel truth.

To close out the lesson in the most boring, pointless manner possible, Teacher Xu launched into a lengthy list of things to eat in various destinations in China (e.g. Tianjin - Dog's Ignore Buns; Fujian - fishballs).

During the break, Teacher Guo in the student centre gave me the contact details for a prospective flatmate - a Master's student at HIT called 王冠臣 or Wang (another one!) Guan Chen. Tall and thin, with a friendly face, he met me outside class when we were done. Along with two Koreans from my class, one of the Korean's boyfriends, and Mingrui, the six of us went to get some food while Guan Chen and I determined if we'd make good flatmates.

We settled on the Korean barbecue from the week before, if only to get out of the snow which was starting to fall heavily. Turns out the deal was 18RMB (£1.20) a head, for all-you-can-eat buffet meat, along with vegetables, noodles, mushrooms and various pickled things which you barbecued on a little skillet. It was unlike anything any of the three Koreans had seen before, and they were mystified as to why the restaurant would claim Korean heritage.

When I asked for a drinks menu, I was told that a selection of beers was 2RMB per bottle but 白酒 (rice spirit) was free! My decision made for me, we were soon all tucking into chunks of chicken (hearts), beef (kidney, tendons), pork (heart again) and squid (just the tentacles), all washed down with some decent 52% 白酒.

Guan Chen was a good conversationalist and a keen teacher - bringing in elements of language and culture at every opportunity, and explaining everything extremely clearly in an impeccable Harbinese accent. His English seemed pretty decent too. If I'm any judge of character (and I'm not) then it will be good to live with him. Unfortunately, he'd already paid two months rent in advance for living in student dormitories, so it'll all depend on whether that's refundable!

After we'd eaten, we decided to go bowling. We jumped into two taxis, and not ten minutes later arrived at "Join Us Plaza" - an upmarket hotel near Harbin train station. Bowling was 15RMB per person for us foreign students, but Guan Chen persuaded the girl at the counter that we were all Master's students, which brought down the price to 6RMB. Not cheap by Chinese standards, but the alley was pristine, and service attentive.

I bowled a strike with my first ball, before my form crumbled spectacularly. Three games hovering around the 100-point mark later, and we called it a day. I was keen to check out the local area, but was keenly aware of my Saturday morning HSK revision class, so after taking a couple of cheesy group photos (the prerogative of Orientals anywhere in the world), and a brief snowball fight, we all jumped back into a couple of cabs and set off home.

Monthiversary Meanderings

A quick post to mark my first month back in the Middle Kingdom. What have I learnt so far? In no particular order here are ten things I didn't know a month ago.

1) In terms of development, it feels like Harbin is to Shanghai as Shanghai is to London.

Aspirational Chinese in Shanghai look to working overseas or for multinational companies. Aspirational Chinese in Harbin look to work in Shanghai or Beijing. (Ironically, aspirational Londoners look to get a slice of the Chinese 派 and make their fortunes here.)

A Londoner is well-off (and adventurous) if he's holidayed by climbing an active volcano, or spent half a year building a school in Mali. A Shanghainese if he's gone to Hong Kong or even overseas. It seems that it's a rare Harbinese that's even left Heilongjiang province.

Londoners might spit if they're a footballer, or if they're a bit rough, or carefully, and into a bin. Shanghainese men might spit if they're of the older generation, or if they're 'less well-educated', or into the gutter. Harbinese women happily (and noisily) hock up half a lung and spit it onto your shoes, even when you're indoors.

2) Beer for breakfast? Or a glass or two of 100-proof 白酒 for lunch? Before you get back to driving your taxi? All well and good. When you sit down to eat, people don't ask you if you want tea, or what beverage you want, they assume you're drinking and ask what booze you want. Even middle-school kids will happily suck down a beer or two.

3) Harbin is an immensely practical city. Not many concessions to tourists at all. University took us on a whistle-stop tour of the city's attractions yesterday in two big coaches. The TV tower, St. Sofia Church, Central Street. And that was it. How about the white tigers you ask? Miles outside of the city centre.

4) Speaking of TV, Heilongjiang Station (HLJTV) is abysmal. Corny family drama/cop show serials on continous loop.

5) Harbinese are fiercely proud of Harbin. When pushed as to why, mainly it boils down to the standard-ness of the Chinese spoken. Odd, because that's really more a historical accident (because Putonghua is based on the Beijing/Northern dialect) than anything else. To be sure, everyone from University professors to taxi drivers speaks in a much more understandable manner than I've heard anywhere else.

6) -20C isn't too bad, as long as you wrap up warm. However many layers you have on, though, you still have to breathe. It's the super-frozen air burning your lungs on the way down that really gets you. Also, a hat is essential. I was seriously worried that I'd suffer frost-bite when I was outside for just ten minutes yesterday - it felt like my ears were being twisted off!

7) A 640ml bottle of beer is half the price of a 450ml bottle of orange juice. Also, twice as delicious, and more likely to make you start singing/hug your friends/engage in elaborate toasts. It's not a difficult decision to make.

8) (Many) Russians aren't very good at learning (accurate) Chinese.

9) Harbin is an early to rise, early to bed kind of place. I can hear my neighbours pottering about by 6:30am every morning. I'm guessing it's because it gets dark early and the lighting is generally pretty rubbish.

10) Korean influence is as pronounced, perhaps even more so, than Russian influence in today's Harbin. There are plenty of Korean eateries around, and even Korean shops and hairdressers. Despite, or perhaps because of, the ubiquity of Koreans, locals don't assume I'm Korean (or Japanese) as much as in Shanghai.

I'm happy I was eased into the cultural differences via a modern, rich metropolis like Shanghai. It can be pretty odd up here, and had I had my first experience of China via Harbin, my feelings about this country might have been very different. As it is, I find myself appreciating Harbin in context, and I'm loving every second of its quirky charms.

Busy-ness Business

A short spell of quiet solitude has suddenly turned to a flurry of activity now that term has started properly.

I'm committed to a thorough session of 预习 (pre-preparation) before , and a decent dose of 复习 (revision) after every class, as well as full attendance and punctuality. Studying at East China Normal University, while I managed near-perfect attendance, punctuality became increasingly problematic. Partly laziness, but also because classes would often take a while to get going in the morning.

This term, with only five or six students in my class anyway, and mixed morning and afternoon sessions, I'll have noone to blame but myself if class doesn't get started on time. In fact, Speaking class yesterday was very nearly a one-on-one with Teacher Zhang.

The head of the department popped her head round the door halfway through yesterday's comprehensive class.

"Anyone that wants to take the High Level HSK? There's a supplementary class running at the weekends. Register in Room 304. There's information on the wall."

I had a look. 950RMB (£63) for six weekends of four-hour days. 48 hours total, dedicated to one exam, and in all probability, very small classes. I probably wouldn't get up to much on weekend mornings anyway, I reasoned, so I slapped down a thick wad of cash and signed up. The textbook is a 400 page monster with the reassuring title 中国汉语水平考试应试指南"Chinese Mandarin Standard Examination (Examination Guidebook)".

While I was there, I signed up for the free 太极拳 (tai chi) classes (another two hours a week). When my form teacher heard, he recommended I take the calligraphy classes instead.

"But I'm looking for exercise (锻炼身体), not culture".

"锻炼身体? Calligraphy uses a lot of 气 （chi),　it'll toughen you up".

I was sceptical to say the least. The older generation of Chinese often ascribe exaggerated properties to the mystical 'chi' or 'vital energy'. I attempted a face-saving and meaningless excuse.

"... possibly, but then I'll only 锻炼 on one side of my body". It seemed to work - Teacher Wang laughed and left it at that.

After class, I went to a little Korean restaurant with Mingrui and two Korean classmates. In many ways, Korean culture, especially that around the dinner table, is still very traditional. Friends will inquire about each other's ages quite early on, and call their elders by honorifics such as Hyung (big brother) and Nuna (big sister), even if the age difference is marginal.

I ordered two bottles of 烧酒 (Soju, or Korean rice spirit) in my Pimsleur Korean ("Soju! Tu Pyong!") which raised a laugh and a flurry of Korean from the waiter, and embarassed looks from my classmates.

Drinking etiquette among Koreans dictates that drinks should be poured in order of descending seniority and that it's rude to pour for yourself. Using your free hand to hold your elbow, or resting it over your chest is a sign of respect. Juniors also shift in their seat to face away from the elder when drinking, which is a practise that features prominently in any self-respecting Korean romantic comedy. Another aspect is that seniors can make toasts at any time and everyone has to drink! How senior is senior? Well, I was eldest by a full seven months!

I'm convinced Mingrui is some sort of language genius, as he speaks decent Korean which he's picked up in six months from a few Korean friends. Not a little jealous, I punished him using my seniority and got him to down a few shots. I could get used to these rules!

In today's Culture class, Teacher Xu once again got on my nerves. The topic was on 六书 - the six categories of Chinese characters. They include 象形 or pictographic characters such as 水，鸟，or 马 which look (a bit) like water, a bird, and a horse, respectively; 指事 or ideographic characters such as 上 or 中 (up and middle) which commonly represent more abstract concepts.

"Can anyone give me an example of a 会意 or associative compound (logical aggregates in which meaningful elements are combined, but neither element is used to signify the sound)?", he asked.

"Well, how about 灭 (extinguish)? It's a picture of a fire, with a line over it - signifying extinguishing the fire".

In keeping with his condescending attitude, Teacher Xu rubbished the idea, saying that the character was a simplifed character (created since 1954 in an ongoing program to improve literacy) thus didn't count.

"But when the government chose to replace the simplified 滅 with 灭, they surely had this meaning in mind?"

Teacher Xu gave a smug smile and launched into a long-winded and pointless potted history of simplified characters, as if the reforms since the establishment of the PRC can be taken in isolation from the continuous evolution of characters since the dawn of Chinese civilisation! Anyway, I left the class completely in the dark as to what category 灭 falls into and why.

After class, I braved the cold to find a place to get my haircut. Near school, in the restaurant/bar district, every third door seems to be a hairdressing salon. They're legitimate too, as far as I can tell, not fronts for 'Houses of Negotiable Virtue'. That's a post for another day, though. I asked at a little phone shop which I've been using to top up my pay-as-you-go for recommendations, and the owner pointed me to a trendy establishment across the road.

After getting my hair-washed by a girl whose hair would probably be best described as '80's biker chick', a Wong Lee Hong look-alike with tremendously elaborate hair sat me down and asked me what I'd like. In accordance with the superstition that hair （头发) and prosperity （发财) are homophones, I'd avoided getting my hair (hence wealth) cut (short) during the Spring Festival. I was suffering stylistically as a consequence, but it also offered me the opportunity to shape something interesting from the Chinese 'fro that I was now sporting.

"How's your hair done?" I wondered. Wong Lee Hong answered but I only caught the words "thinning" and "gel".

"Uhhh... sure. Then, let's try something like yours?" I hazarded.

Wong Lee Hong got busy with the thinning scissors, and got to chatting. After the usual overseas-Chinese confusion, he asked me about haircuts in England. I was embarassed to tell him that haircuts started from £10 (excepting those awful £6 clipper jobs dotted around Chinatown) and that £200 and above cuts weren't unheard of.

In comparison, even a haircut in a nice salon in Harbin will set you back maybe 15RMB (£1). In Shanghai, I used to go to a place that was committed to providing an inclusive 45-minute head and back massage too!

I was astonished, especially given how great his great hair was, that Wong Lee Hong was only nineteen, and had yet been doing this for four years already. He postulated, fairly, that my learning Chinese might not be that useful in London, and I told him I wanted to because I was ethnic Chinese, and in order to use it for future business in China. Later, though, he confessed that he was trying to learn English, which seemed bizarre given his career choice and what he'd said about my Chinese. I wonder if he has ambitions to cut hair in the English-speaking West?

Half an hour of stilted conversation and careful cutting later, I had a haircut which, while nice, looked nothing like Wong Lee Hong's. I asked his name for future reference (it's always nerve-wracking getting your haircut by someone you don't know) and he told me he was surnamed Yu. For a single terrifying moment, the thought that he might be related to Yu Yang crossed my mind.

The last order of the day was to sign up for Taekwondo class. I'd already checked out the local dojang a couple of times and it seemed decent enough. A lot of emphasis on conditioning and not so much on technique, but that suits me fine - I'm not going to make many gradings in the few months I'm in Harbin, but I do need something to work off all the Harbin Beer and meat. I dished out 480RMB (£32) for a 'term' of 54 two-hour classes, and a further 160RMB (£11) for a dobok which, despite clearly being some sort of local brand, had 'adidas' printed all over it.

The class itself was led by an earnest young WTF trained Second-Dan black belt, who didn't look like much, but exploded into some spectacular kicks during and after the class. The students were a mixture of University students (mostly from HIT), and some younger kids, and everyone seemed competent enough. I also realised halfway through the class that this is also a really good way to pick up some new vocab, and get some listening and speaking under my belt. For example, axe-kick is 下劈 (down split-open)! All in all, should be useful.

Excitable Eats

Winter once again chased away the encroaching warmth, snapping at the heels of Spring - which only managed a glance over the gate into Harbin - before being hounded away by icicle teeth and breath of Siberian wind.

Squalls of God's dandruff fell in thick, trichological flurries, huddling up against walls, then dancing and swirling away again in the lurid orange street lights - deceptively thin clouds of snow-fluff that sucked away at any remaining heat you might have somehow retained, and wriggled past sleeves and collars in a kamikaze raid on what little warmth you could still muster.

I was going to a local restaurant to celebrate the fifteenth and final day of the Spring Festival - 元宵节 or Lantern Festival. I must have misheard Auntie Xiao, or misunderstood, but I thought I was going to her house in the evening for a quick bowl of 汤圆 - glutinous rice dumplings in soup. Confident I wouldn't have very far to go, I'd given my jacket to a local shop to be dry-cleaned. To my surprise, Auntie Xiao called me up at 3pm telling me to come to lunch!

So that was why I was trudging through the snow, ridiculous because of, and shivering despite, three jumpers, two t-shirts and a thermal undershirt, with Auntie Xiao and a brace of crazy Russians. Through chattering teeth, I muttered that it was so cold that even my gums were hurting. The comment raised a shivery laugh, but I wasn't joking. With windchill it was -20C.

We arrived, vaulting over snow banks, and sliding on the snice, and went up to a private room. Uncle Zhang was there with his sub-normal intelligence dog Dou Dou, and six or seven members of his extended family. Uncle Zhang called up a waitress with a snap of his fingers and ordered a crate of beers which the Russians and Chinese men ripped through like wet, economy-grade, Chinese toilet paper.

The food came. Broccoli with black-ear mushrooms; crispy battered pork with even crispier green peppers; tofu cubes and fatty pork; tripe in a spicy broth; and a mound of melt-in-the-mouth spare-ribs in a peppery chilli sauce. We toasted each other's health as we ate, the Russians cajoling everyone into drinking with cries of "Won't you give me 面子 (face)?"

At some point, someone flicked on a battered karaoke machine in the corner, and Brother Zhang grabbed a microphone to give startlingly accurate renditions of the Righteous Brother's Unchained Melody, then Yesterday Once More by the Carpenters. He nailed every note and every word, despite speaking precious little English, and I marvelled at the power of music's effect on memory. I had a go at the popular standard 朋友 (Friend), then sang my heart out to Elvis' Suspicious Minds, before being welcomed back to the table with a smattering of applause.

Throughout the meal, friends, family and well-wishers turned up for a quick toast and a bite to eat, before leaving again - off to their next dinner and round of drinks. If ever I become localised enough to enjoy the same ritual, I know I'd be tempted to turn up late, stone-cold sober, and toast everyone under the table.

As the evening wore on, Uncle Zhang repeatedly professed his love for one and all, and launched into a series of slurred speeches on family, China, and prosperity. Hand on his heart he addressed me.

"Even though your family left China a long time ago, we are all of the Dragon [the symbolic representation of China]. We are family, you and I, and I'm happy to have met you." He continued on in an incomprehensible mumble, and I nodded and smiled as I raised my glass to his.

We had been eating for hours when Uncle Zhang began a new round of speeches. Auntie Xiao scowled and jabbed at Uncle Zhang in the chest with some chopsticks, annoyed at his verbosity, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if she was joking. The second time, she pushed so hard that the chopsticks snapped. Dou Dou sniffed at the splinters of wood which had fallen to the floor, expectantly, then returned to the table.

Past his tipping point, Uncle Zhang scooped his dog up, and stormed out. Everyone looked at each other, or down at their plates, embarassed for a few minutes, then got back to eating. Family and face are two megaliths towering over Chinese life, but all is over-shadowed by good food.

The Problem with Parsley

After class, I asked everyone if they wanted to get a bite to eat. Jingnan declined - he had to go eat with his family - while Enxi cautiously agreed. The other Korean girl said she'd already got plans but Monday, maybe? Lastly, a very enthusiastic yes from Mingrui.

The three of us walked to a street near the school, filled with bars and restaurants. Floral displays adorned the outside of one place.

"It looks like it's just opened. Maybe they're offering discounts" I hazarded, in the absence of any other ideas in the group. We trooped in and discovered it was Korean barbecue, but struggled to understand the complicated paying method - I think it might have been a combination of unlimited buffet and a la carte with a fixed fee for the barbecue itself. A few minutes later we trooped out again and settled for a place a couple of doors down.

Most Koreans I know don't eat 香菜 (parsley) which I surmise is because it's not really used in traditional Korean cooking - it's too unfamiliar to the Korean palate. Enxi was no exception and specified several times very carefully to not include the herb which is often scattered on top of Chinese dishes.

The first dish came - 家常凉菜 or home-style cool vegetables (thin shreds of salad vegetables and meat coated in a slightly sweet sauce) - covered in the stuff.

"Server!" Enxi called out "we said no parsley. Oh, and bring us three Harbin Beers".

"Oh! Sorry! We'll pick it out for you".

"No, don't worry, just make sure the next dish doesn't have any".

The waitress started to take away the dish.

"It's ok! Just tell the chef not to put parsley in our other dishes".

The second dish came - 水煮肉片 or pork slices in a spicy broth (chunks of lean pork in thick spicy, peppery broth with whole chillies and rice noodles). They'd garnished it with a liberal sprinkling of parsley which was starting to sink into the dish.

"Server! We said no parsley! Also, where are our beers?"

"We don't have any Harbin beer". The waitress replied, ignoring the parsley issue.

"Then three of your cheapest beers, please, and definitely no parsley in our other dish."

"Well, what else have you ordered?"

"锅包肉" we replied - deep-fried strips of pork in a sweet and sour sauce.

"Oh sure, well that doesn't have any parsley in it anyway."

A few minutes later, our beers had finally arrived and I was well on my way to teaching my classmates some new drinking games.

I was explaining to Mingrui the finer points of 十，十五 (ten-fifteen, a drinking game popular in Hong Kong) when Enxi grimaced and scrabbled to down her beer mid-chew.

"Did she lose or something? She wasn't even playing". Mingrui looked confused and a little alarmed.

"Parsley!" Enxi explained "They put parsley in the 锅包肉!"

Mingrui and I leant over and have a look.

"So they have. I don't think they like us" said Mingrui.

We both spent a few minutes picking as many green bits out of the dish as possible, then continued our drinking games. Despite Eastern European stereotypes, Mingrui claimed he was a very light drinker, tolerating maybe a few glasses of wine at New Year at best. Standing at 1.88m he didn't look like he'd have many problems, though, and sure enough he chugged away at the 雪花 (literally snow flower) beers like a champion.

After a while I sneaked off to get the bill.

"67RMB (£4.50). Do you want a discount, or a receipt?" The waitress asked. I'd heard of this practise in Shanghai - apparently some sort of tax-dodge - but never been asked so directly.

"A discount?" I guessed.

"55RMB (£3.70) then".

We went down the road in search of 烧酒 (soju) a type of Korean rice spirit, and climbed up some rickety stairs into a dilapidated but busy Korean-Chinese restaurant.

"No soju. Beer?" the waitress wanted to know.

"Harbin beer. Let's start off with three. Is it ok if we don't order food? We just ate."

"No food? Not really..." the waitress looked unsure.

"Ok, a menu then". We pretended to look at the menu while playing drinking games for another two hours. Mingrui was starting to sway in his seat imperceptibly, and Enxi was thrashing me at 十，十五.

"Let's check out a bar!"

So we paid up for our 13p beers, and went downstairs into the first bar we saw. The decor was a mix of beach-front bar, industrial chic (a turbine inset in one wall), and karaoke bar, lit all in ugly-friendly dim bulbs and candles. A Shakira concert was playing on loop, and the clientele was an assorted mix of Russian students and noisy middle-aged locals.

After some failed attempts to teach each other dice games (including the game played in Pirates of the Caribbean 2), we dumbed it down a bit. One die each, which we slammed down on the table covered by our Budweiser-sponsored dice cups. Whoever had the highest number had to drink. These rules were deemed acceptable by all and we got through five bottles of tepid San Miguel Light in this way.

It was Enxi's turn to look a bit unsteady, and a couple of times she slammed dice off the table and towards the neighbours with some particularly erratic cup-slamming. After a while, all shyness gone, she started speaking English, before trying out some broken Japanese. Meanwhile, Mingrui was enthusiastically trying to outcompete a neighbouring table in the shouting stakes, yelling

"We're in the Northeast! Northeasterners are China's loudest! I like beer!"

Suddenly he quietened down, glassy-eyed and said

"I feel like Oreos". At that, we left in search of a shop that was still open.

Next door was a 仓买 (literally warehouse-buy). In Shanghai we called these small convenience stores 小卖铺 (literally little-sell-stall) but for some reason, the focus here is on the customer's buying experience (买) rather than the shopkeeper's (卖).

"No Oreos" observed Mingrui, scanning the biscuit shelf. We spent a few minutes browsing the toy-guns and Ultraman plastic figurines before Mingrui noticed a policeman's hat hanging on the wall.

"Oh! How much?" he asked the pair of middle-aged women tending the store.

"It's not for sale, it's my son's". One replied.

"Everything has a price. How much do you want for it?"

"It's a real policeman's hat! It's not for sale!"

Mingrui continued to try to break down the shopkeeper when suddenly Enxi found some Oreos buried under some inferior local biscuits.

"Oreos!" Distracted from the hat, Mingrui bought the biscuits and we stepped out into the cold.

As we munched on biscuits, I had a go at persuading the others to play pool or go bowling, but despite flagging energy levels perking up over the Oreos, everyone looked beat.

"Next time. The dormitory gets locked at midnight" the other two explained.

I started to ask if they could still get in, checking the time, but it was still only 11:30pm! We agreed to get the whole class out for a meal the next week, and maybe even get some pool or bowling done at the weekend.

So, with the chocolatey deliciousness of Oreos masking the lingering taste of parsley in my mouth, we went our separate ways. A good first night out on the town in Harbin!

[Edit: What I've translated here as 'parsley' is 香菜, which is apparently actually more commonly translated as either 'coriander' or 'Chinese parsley']

Second Servings of School

The second day of school: 综合 ('comprehensive') and 文化 ('culture') classes.

Comprehensive class is an amalgamation of all disciplines - reading, speaking, listening and writing - delivered by our 班主任 or form-teacher.

王老师 (Teacher Wang) is a kindly, white-haired 68 year-old ex-professor who came out of retirement for one last shot at the title to teach the foreigner class at HIT.

He certainly knows his stuff and broke off mid-sentence a couple of times to digress on matters such as the Anti-Rightist movement of the Cultural Revolution, or to write a poem from memory onto the blackboard.

Today Mingrui and I were joined by two Korean girls who wanted to move up from Class F. Later, 安娜 (Anna), an English girl, popped in for half a class too. Apparently she used to study at HIT, defected to Heilongjiang University, then returned to HIT after being unimpressed with with Heilongjiang's University's teaching. Jingnan didn't turn up until the second class, apparently through nothing more serious than laziness.

As 班主任, Teacher Wang is responsible for administrative duties and our general well-being. As such, he was full of concern and advice during and after class. When Teacher Wang left the room in the break 恩熙 (Enxi) - one of the Korean girls - commented that he was just like a loveable grandpa and everyone nodded and murmured their agreement. Another decent class, and another impressive teacher. I was starting to feel good about this term!

Next up, Culture class, taught by 徐老师 (Teacher Xu) - a middle-aged, balding man with bad teeth and milk-bottle glasses in thick plastic frames. For some reason he failed to give his full name. Hailing from Shandong, he suffered from what I felt was a pretty poor pronunciation for a teaching professional - all dropped final 'g's and lots of 's's substituting for 'sh'.

He landed right in my bad books by assuming I was Korean, then being entirely bemused when I told him I was from England. I went through my by now well-rehearsed explanation of the overseas Chinese distinctions. Seeing this kind of ignorance in uneducated working-class locals is one thing, but I expect a higher standard from a University teacher, especially one working in the foreigner department.

The text was on the link between religion and language. The text described a French missionary who saw the Hand of God in Chinese characters. One example was the word 船 or 'boat' which is composed of the radicals 舟 (vessel), 八 (eight), and 口 (mouths, or a counter for people). The minister believed that this referred directly to the story of Noah's Ark, because the boat's passengers totalled eight peope, namely Noah, his wife, and his three married offspring.

I'd heard the theory before and personally dismissed it as a bit silly - like numerology, the Bible Code, or seeing seeing Jesus in a cheese toastie, I've always felt that certain types of the strongly religious-inclined are more prone to detecting patterns where they might possibly not exist. On the other hand, I appreciate (but strongly disagree with) the (impossible to refute) argument that God can act in unknowable and inscrutable ways, and that these symbols are indeed a trace of the divine, put there for the faithful to interpret.

However, Teacher Xu gave a totally blinkered and unbalanced assessment of the situation, telling us that because of the development of characters (in many cases, originally pictographic representations of things like trees or people), this was totally impossible. I felt that he'd largely missed the missionary's point. The teacher then went on to criticise the foreign linguists as being dazzled by the charm of Chinese characters, characterising their arguments as misguided and ill-informed.

Something about his toothy guffaw whenever the topic touched upon the theory rubbed me the wrong way, and I found myself reacting quite strongly against his one-sided mockery. I spent a good twenty minutes trying and failing to render in my head a serviceable rendition and explanation of "God moves in mysterious ways" as a rebuttal.

Throughout the lesson, whenever Teacher Xu mentioned Christianity, he would glance knowingly over at me and Mingrui. After the fifth or sixth time, I asked him why he was doing that.

"Almost all Westerners are Christian" he stated flatly, adding "... in my experience".

"A lot of Americans, maybe, but a relatively small number of English, or Europeans as a whole, in my experience".

My Polish classmate voiced his agreement, before I added

"Actually, I believe that if anything that Korea is a quite strongly Christian country".

"No, no, no, they're mostly Buddhists" Teacher Xu shook his head.

Trivia alert: In actual fact, 11 of the world's 12 largest Churches are in Korea, and only 6% of Brits attend Church regularly. On the spot, and in lieu of hard facts, I conducted a quick, and unscientific straw-poll.

Jingnan, the Korean guy, laughed when I asked him and said that he did go to Church, he wouldn't be drawn on what his actual beliefs were though. One of the Korean girls said that she was indeed Christian, and Enxi said atheist. A 67% score for the Koreans!

Mingrui shook his head and said that he didn't know that any of his friends were Christian either, and I said strongly atheist, not knowing the words for Secular Humanist. Score a big fat 0 for 2, for the Europeans and a thumbs-down for Teacher Xu's cultural awareness.

Nothing else about Teacher Xu's teaching impressed me much either, and I caught a lot of bewildered looks from my classmates at things that he said or did. For example, he spent an age describing the pictographic characters 木, 林 and 森 (signifying wood, forest, and full of trees, respectively), which I thought was quite elementary, especially given the level of the text. Yet, he also digressed for several minutes into the technical rules governing the structure of classical poetry, seemingly more to kill time than anything else.

On the bright side, the text itself does seem perfectly serviceable, and with a bit of pre-preparation and hard work I think something can be salvaged. Culture is only two classes a week and isn't a section of the HSK so it's not a huge deal.

One teacher remaining and that'll be next Friday's Ancient Chinese!