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.

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.

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.]

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...

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.

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!"

# 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!

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.

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!]

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.

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...

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:

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...

... 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!

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.

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.

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.

Hans Freshly Brewed Beer Entertainment Supermarket

To commiserate/celebrate our HSK results, we went to Hans Freshly Brewed Beer Entertainment Supermarket - a popular chain of South American Barbecue Restaurants with a stubbornly incongruous Bavarian theme.

For 38RMB (£2.50), patrons get to enjoy an unlimited buffet of cakes, salad, and staples such as noodles and rice, in authentic Chinese/German/Brazilian style.

We were greeted at the door with the familiar "欢迎光临!", and this decidedly less familiar headscarf and apron combination.

A waitress then led us past Germanic murals into a substantial but crowded hall, where buxom, rosy-cheeked wenches with naughty smiles and hearty German men in lederhosen, had been replaced by unsmiling, skinny waitresses and invariably adolescent-looking waiters.

The latter weaved through between the tables carrying giant skewers of barbecued food products in their left hands, and a sizeable carving knife in their right.

Several televisions played a looping advertisement, singing the praises of ... Hans Freshly Brewed Beer Entertainment Supermarket! Surely a case of preaching to the choir? In an ill-advised move, the happy groups in the promotional videos were enjoying much better service than anyone in the restaurant itself, but on the positive side, they were also enjoying an encouragingly vast amount of beer.

We ordered all four types of beer that the Hans microbrewery turns out - Strawberry, Barley, Wheat and Black Beer.

Waiters visited our table periodically, carving off chunks from their skewers on to our plates. Apart from barbecue's usual suspects of sausage, pork chops and beefsteak, there was an awful lot of chicken heart, and ox tongue thrown in too.

After we'd eaten our share of salad, we noticed this waitress cleaning. With blatant disregard for anything approaching health and safety, or basic common sense, she busied herself spraying on cleaning solution underneath the sneeze guard and wiping it off again, right above the food. I'm sure I saw some detergent drip onto a lettuce. Yum! Lemony fresh!

The menu promises a minimum of twenty barbecued food products every night, which seems a lot, until you realise that portions are no more than a mouthful each, and the twenty include such cop-outs as barbecued banana, a square of pizza bread, and this honeydew melon!

Still, the beers were cold and alcoholic, and the wait staff sufficiently embarrassed and miserable in their ludicrous uniforms to make it all somehow worthwhile.

Picture Perfect

Teacher Wang Lie pressed us into entering the Foreign Students' photo competition. The requirement was simply to submit four photos representing "Foreign Students' Life in China".

"Almost all of you have spent a significant amount of time in this country, and have experienced a lot. There'll be prizes for the winners too."

Three days after the deadline, I finally got round to printing a selection of my photos. I took them into class and asked for help in picking some winners.

Teacher Wang almost immediately suggested I pick four under the caption "南北东西" - the four points of the compass, South, North, East, West under the Chinese ordering.

North was represented by a picture of the Saint Sophia Church in Winter, despite being a supremely generic postcard shot, and slightly wonky...

... East was a shot of one of Shanghai's seldom-explored alleyways with a couple of office blocks barely visible in the background - a contrast of old and new...

... South was a shot of a beach at sunset in Taiwan, taken back during my last visit in 2002...

... and West was a picture of me riding a yak during my trip to Tibet last summer.

A few shots didn't make the cut, to my regret.

There was a shot of some Buddhist monks' brightly coloured boots outside a Tibetan temple. I worried that the boots on their own lacked context...

...a picture of my parents and our tourguide relaxing in Huangshan. Unfortunately, it didn't have any connection to the "Foreigner Students' Life", and featured an ugly date-stamp down the side...

... and the courtyard to the hotel I stayed at, again in Tibet, which looked impressive but lacked a proper subject.


A few days later, the winners appeared on the Foreign Student Centre notice board. I was one of six First-prize winners and one of 21 Third-prize winners! I visited the office to pick up my prize...

... a face towel worth about 5.90RMB (39p), capably modelled here, in traditional Korean spa headwear style.

Drunk Driving

With the sheer amount of drinking going on in Harbin, and the rate of traffic accidents in China as a whole, I had expected to see quite a few crashes. Maybe it was because locals had become so quick at clearing up, or perhaps because many accidents are actually caused by hesitation, but I hadn't really seen anything at all until today.

A few days earlier, part of my route into university had been fenced up and dug up almost overnight, to be repaved. Instead of going around the construction site, some enterprising student had instead peeled back the corrugated iron fencing on both ends and made his own shortcut.

Every night, the workers would fold it back and nail it down, or even add another sheet, to the point where some places on the fence were three or four sheets of metal deep. Every day, the first student to the scene would make another gap, and every single student after him would contort themselves through that gap on their way to classes.

By accident, out of drunkenness, or in a fit of frustration, the driver of this Honda made a somewhat more comprehensive gap. Bafflingly enough, the road is actually set a few metres back from the accident site, and there doesn't seem to be any good reason why you might go off-road at this angle into a bright blue fence several metres long.

That night, the car was gone, and the fence repaired, but the very next morning, yet another hole made.