Sunday, 2 August 2009
Saturday, 1 August 2009
The great firewall of China
Due to the great firewall, I had to use another blog host while in China. I will try to move the posts to this site, but in the meantime you can visit http://www.travelblog.org/Bloggers/geckozo/ to see what I got up to.
Friday, 31 July 2009
The National Stadium
I walked around the Bird's Nest stadium - it really is an impressive structure. I peered in. I thought of that moment when the first marathon runner enters the tunnel then comes out onto the track, and my scalp began to tingle. I remembered the drumming at the opening ceremony and tingled some more.
I walked around again at a lower level, looking for the tunnel. There were a couple to choose from and I looked through, letting my imagination play. Then I went and bought a ticket to go inside - I couldn't resist it. So I ran the last lap and a bit of the marathon. The sandals and daypack, dodging-the-tourists marathon. It felt fabulous. Well worth 50 yuan (about five pounds). I got some funny looks, but frankly the only thing that seemed funny to me was that no-one else was running. In fact, most people didn't even walk far from the entrance and I had the back straight almost to myself. I wandered round again, until on the brink of being overcome by that flood of familiar knowledge that I will never do, or be, anything great, I hoiked myself off to sit in the stand with an ice-cream and watch some olympic highlights on the big screen.
Walking round Olympic Green, I saw that the torch hadn't been removed as I'd thought from inside, but has been folded down onto the roof of the stand. The green itself is wide and pleasant and generously scattered with interesting sculptures adorned with children posing for photographs. And of course there are enough tacky bird's nest souvenirs being offered to have you running the other 26 miles.
I walked around again at a lower level, looking for the tunnel. There were a couple to choose from and I looked through, letting my imagination play. Then I went and bought a ticket to go inside - I couldn't resist it. So I ran the last lap and a bit of the marathon. The sandals and daypack, dodging-the-tourists marathon. It felt fabulous. Well worth 50 yuan (about five pounds). I got some funny looks, but frankly the only thing that seemed funny to me was that no-one else was running. In fact, most people didn't even walk far from the entrance and I had the back straight almost to myself. I wandered round again, until on the brink of being overcome by that flood of familiar knowledge that I will never do, or be, anything great, I hoiked myself off to sit in the stand with an ice-cream and watch some olympic highlights on the big screen.
Walking round Olympic Green, I saw that the torch hadn't been removed as I'd thought from inside, but has been folded down onto the roof of the stand. The green itself is wide and pleasant and generously scattered with interesting sculptures adorned with children posing for photographs. And of course there are enough tacky bird's nest souvenirs being offered to have you running the other 26 miles.
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Beijing
I've spent the last two days wandering the streets of Beijing. I haven't seen any sights, unless you count the Mongolian Embassy, but I have done what I love best - seen everyday life, navigating my way semi-randomly from one corner of the city to another.
I love the way that life is lived out on the streets - men hunched over games of Chinese chess on tiny stools on the pavements, old ladies in slightly saggy pyjamas and slightly saggy bodies taking their morning exercise, street vendors sizzling up more things on skewers than you could, well, shake a skewer at.
My essential Mandarin phrasebook has not been able to have me living up to the promise on it's cover of 'chatting away like a local'. Even pinyin is devillishly hard to get right and I still have to look up every letter and vowel combination before trying out the simplest phrase. And I still receive blank looks 95% of the time. Generally sign-language is more successful, but in trickier situations I can always point to the Chinese characters in the book. Some friendly shopkeepers have helped me practise my numbers, but even this can be tricky as some think I am questioning the price when I ask them to repeat a number or two. But all my attempts are greeted with appreciation and a huge amount of humour. I think the staff at the noodle shop near my guesthouse are probably still clutching their sides.
I love the way that life is lived out on the streets - men hunched over games of Chinese chess on tiny stools on the pavements, old ladies in slightly saggy pyjamas and slightly saggy bodies taking their morning exercise, street vendors sizzling up more things on skewers than you could, well, shake a skewer at.
My essential Mandarin phrasebook has not been able to have me living up to the promise on it's cover of 'chatting away like a local'. Even pinyin is devillishly hard to get right and I still have to look up every letter and vowel combination before trying out the simplest phrase. And I still receive blank looks 95% of the time. Generally sign-language is more successful, but in trickier situations I can always point to the Chinese characters in the book. Some friendly shopkeepers have helped me practise my numbers, but even this can be tricky as some think I am questioning the price when I ask them to repeat a number or two. But all my attempts are greeted with appreciation and a huge amount of humour. I think the staff at the noodle shop near my guesthouse are probably still clutching their sides.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Tongli
Sadly, we had less than two hours to explore this medieval water-town, but it was still very pleasant to stroll along some of its canals and admire the traditional buildings. It has been much used as a film set, but interestingly it wasn't discovered by tourism until about five years ago. With a bit more time I'm sure I'd have enjoyed wandering further off the main tourist drag and there were also various museums and so on which I didn't even find. Still, a lovely little town, with some excellent roast pork.
Our return to Shanghai signalled the end of our tour, with another good meal. Despite my frustration at the pace of the tour and the lack of 'free time', I have enjoyed this trip a lot. I've met some really lovely people and enjoyed the company of everyone in the group - the odds of that must be pretty long. I'd say it's really been a 'taster tour' - lots of big highlight sights - and it's certainly given me some ideas about what I'd do or where I'd go if I come back to China again.
Our return to Shanghai signalled the end of our tour, with another good meal. Despite my frustration at the pace of the tour and the lack of 'free time', I have enjoyed this trip a lot. I've met some really lovely people and enjoyed the company of everyone in the group - the odds of that must be pretty long. I'd say it's really been a 'taster tour' - lots of big highlight sights - and it's certainly given me some ideas about what I'd do or where I'd go if I come back to China again.
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Suzhou
In Suzhou we visited another nice garden, the museum and a silk factory (with the compulsory shop at the end of the tour). The silk factory was quite fascinating as I'd always wondered how a cocoon can be so neatly unwrapped. In the example we watched, eight cocoons were unravelled by machine to make a single thread, although many more are used for higher quality threads. They bobbed in water, or some other liquid designed to make them amenable to unravelling, and as they neared their end a transparent blob was left, in which we could clearly see the pupa. Apparently these are eaten by those who like them, fried up as a little snack. Double cocoons are opened by hand and stretched over a bamboo frame, ten layered together. When dry, these are stretched out to make the filling for duvets - so now at last I know how my gorgeous duvet was made.
Later in the afternoon, we joined the thronging bike lane by taking rickshaw rides down to the river for a canal cruise. This city - once a charming small town, now still small with a population of only 6 million - is built on a maze of canals, and is no doubt dubbed the Venice of the East. Yesterday's heavy rains meant that many of the smaller channels into the old town were closed off, but we caught some enticing glimpses. Later we explored this area on foot, snacking on street food, drifting in and out of souvenir shops and stopping at a canal-side cafe for a bit of light refreshment.
Eventually exhausted, we decided to try to get a taxi back to the hotel, but before we could do so we were approached by a motor-rickshaw driver. The tiny box on the back of his bike hardly looked suitable for the four of us, but he insisted and we thought it was such a laugh that we didn't even consider haggling the price down. Gursh and I hopped in, choosing what we later found out was the more generous seat, which also had the advantage of being enclosed at the sides. Sian and Sandra got themselves and their shopping in, facing us on the seat next to the spaces that acted as doors, and when someone asked "Is everyone in OK?" Sandra merrily replied "No, not really," as we chugged off into the night with her right buttock slightly exposed to the traffic. I have to say she was pretty game, although we were all worried about the effects of sharp corners. Gursh suggested Sian and Sandra linked arms to help hold each other in, helpfully demonstrating by linking his through mine, which was rather nice so I didn't complain. We began to get the giggles, which only got worse when it became doubtful that the poor little motorbike was going to be able to get its weighty cargo up the incline of a longish bridge. Other rickshaw drivers and cyclists laughed and pointed, and despite Sian saying that we wouldn't be laughing so much if we were in their seats, all four of us were beside ourselves. We were still bubbling with it when we finally squeezed ourselves out, like some sort of a magic trick, popping back to our real size as onlookers on the pavement watched in disbelief. I woke up the next morning still giggling.
Later in the afternoon, we joined the thronging bike lane by taking rickshaw rides down to the river for a canal cruise. This city - once a charming small town, now still small with a population of only 6 million - is built on a maze of canals, and is no doubt dubbed the Venice of the East. Yesterday's heavy rains meant that many of the smaller channels into the old town were closed off, but we caught some enticing glimpses. Later we explored this area on foot, snacking on street food, drifting in and out of souvenir shops and stopping at a canal-side cafe for a bit of light refreshment.
Eventually exhausted, we decided to try to get a taxi back to the hotel, but before we could do so we were approached by a motor-rickshaw driver. The tiny box on the back of his bike hardly looked suitable for the four of us, but he insisted and we thought it was such a laugh that we didn't even consider haggling the price down. Gursh and I hopped in, choosing what we later found out was the more generous seat, which also had the advantage of being enclosed at the sides. Sian and Sandra got themselves and their shopping in, facing us on the seat next to the spaces that acted as doors, and when someone asked "Is everyone in OK?" Sandra merrily replied "No, not really," as we chugged off into the night with her right buttock slightly exposed to the traffic. I have to say she was pretty game, although we were all worried about the effects of sharp corners. Gursh suggested Sian and Sandra linked arms to help hold each other in, helpfully demonstrating by linking his through mine, which was rather nice so I didn't complain. We began to get the giggles, which only got worse when it became doubtful that the poor little motorbike was going to be able to get its weighty cargo up the incline of a longish bridge. Other rickshaw drivers and cyclists laughed and pointed, and despite Sian saying that we wouldn't be laughing so much if we were in their seats, all four of us were beside ourselves. We were still bubbling with it when we finally squeezed ourselves out, like some sort of a magic trick, popping back to our real size as onlookers on the pavement watched in disbelief. I woke up the next morning still giggling.
Friday, 24 July 2009
Xidi (and some rain)
Leaving Huang Shan in the pouring rain, we sloshed along half flooded roads towards Xidi. Arriving in the pouring rain, the bus was quickly besieged by umbrella and poncho sellers. Kitted out in a fetching knee-length yellow polythene number, I waded into this charming Unesco heritage site. It really was quite amazing, though I had to keep reminding myself to look up from the rapidly moving four-inch-deep water that flowed down the gently sloping stone paved alleys. Away from the tourist-shops of the main road (alley), the village became even more fascinating. Open doorways offered glimpses into homes where a family dealt with baskets of corn cobs or an old man tinkered with some parts of something vaguely mechanical. On a tiny street, in which I couldn't have spread my arms full width, I noticed a rack of wooden racks - curious, I looked more closely. Fat white caterpillars crawled or at least wiggled a little. I struck up one of my better sign language conversations with the old lady inside, miming the caterpillar spinning a thread to make clothes. She nodded with a delighted smile - yes, they were silk worms. Gursh was still in sight so I called him to have a look and commissioned him to take some photos (my camera was left on the bus as it can't swim). Then we noticed that the other half of the floor was covered with silk worms on a bed of leaves, as an old man appeared through a small hole near the floor, presumably from an adjoining room. I love it when I stumble upon this sort of thing - one of the real delights of travel. We continued a silent but smiling conversation for some time, able only to utter our thanks in Mandarin, which we did many times as we left.
We carried on to Shanghai, though none of us (guide included) knew why, as it would have been closer and easier to go straight to tomorrow's destination. It was another five or six hours on the bus, but we passed a large chunk of the time playing a Chinese card game with Li as our teacher. It all got a bit complicated with four of us playing in teams of two, but only one person knowing whose team they are on. I won't even try to explain.
Arrived in Shanghai to find that my bag had spent most of the journey underwater. Not a happy camper. I spread every piece of clothing, battery chargers, shoes and books over every surface, including the floor, and surveyed the damage despondently. Began to think that what with the Bank of China swallowing my ATM card on day one, a snoring room-mate and now not a dry bra to be found, this trip was maybe not my luckiest ever. But as I flicked through the pages of my Lonely Planet with a hairdryer, I couldn't but think that these were minor irritations in the great scheme of things. And so to the roof-top terrace of the Youth Hostel down the road for a much-needed pint and a view across the river to the gleaming sky-scrapers of Shanghai.
We carried on to Shanghai, though none of us (guide included) knew why, as it would have been closer and easier to go straight to tomorrow's destination. It was another five or six hours on the bus, but we passed a large chunk of the time playing a Chinese card game with Li as our teacher. It all got a bit complicated with four of us playing in teams of two, but only one person knowing whose team they are on. I won't even try to explain.
Arrived in Shanghai to find that my bag had spent most of the journey underwater. Not a happy camper. I spread every piece of clothing, battery chargers, shoes and books over every surface, including the floor, and surveyed the damage despondently. Began to think that what with the Bank of China swallowing my ATM card on day one, a snoring room-mate and now not a dry bra to be found, this trip was maybe not my luckiest ever. But as I flicked through the pages of my Lonely Planet with a hairdryer, I couldn't but think that these were minor irritations in the great scheme of things. And so to the roof-top terrace of the Youth Hostel down the road for a much-needed pint and a view across the river to the gleaming sky-scrapers of Shanghai.
Chinese fashion
Women are wearing alarming clothes. Puffball shorts are everywhere. These can be full bloomer length right up to something a toddler might wear over a nappy. Footwear is varied, but popsocks, usually ankle-length, are in. These are worn with all sorts of short skirts and shorts. Other leg-wear options include knee-highs and also down-to-the-knee leggings (coming out from under the shorts) which generally look like patterned tights, if not fishnets.
Maybe the rest of the world is also dressing like this this summer, and I have been spared the sight, living in blissful ignorance in the land of the abayya.
Men wear ankle length patterned navy blue popsocks with their shorts and sandals. Women's dresses range from five-year-olds' party frock to cocktail dress to tart - and those are just the styles you see being worn by sightseeing groups.
But it's this thing with the puffball shorts and the ruffly tops that gets me. No it isn't, it's the socks...
Maybe the rest of the world is also dressing like this this summer, and I have been spared the sight, living in blissful ignorance in the land of the abayya.
Men wear ankle length patterned navy blue popsocks with their shorts and sandals. Women's dresses range from five-year-olds' party frock to cocktail dress to tart - and those are just the styles you see being worn by sightseeing groups.
But it's this thing with the puffball shorts and the ruffly tops that gets me. No it isn't, it's the socks...
Thursday, 23 July 2009
Huang Shan
Huang Shan is stunning. It's the China of my imagination - sheer rocky peaks rising up from bamboo-clad foothills and forested upper slopes. Of course, it's been touristified and concrete pathways and flights of steps lead you from peak to viewpoint to peak. And ugly hotels perch on pretty summits and tour groups clog the paths. But find the right spot, block out the distractions and this place is amazing.
The views were atmospherically misty, clouds brushed the higher peaks and threatened rain (which thankfully never came). The signposting was somewhat inadequate, so with my trusty companions Alex and Gursh, I spent a pleasant day wandering the ups and downs of the mountainside, making guesses at each junction based on our pretty good instinct for what felt right. We didn't have time - or the psychic navigational skill - to find some of the more enticing features such as a natural rock bridge, the "Gleam of Sky" chasm and so on, but it was still a good day out. I'd love to go back when it's quieter and spend a couple of days hiking, spend a night at an ugly but perfectly situated hotel and stand above the cloud-filled valleys as the sun comes up.
Back in the town, I pottered around the pretty Old Street on my seized-up calves. This street is hung with red lanterns, brimming with tasteful tourist shops and flanked by lovely old shop-houses. Six of us shared an enormous but well-earned meal at a point-and-wait restaurant - you choose dishes displayed as sets of raw ingredients or, in the case of dumplings and various carbs ready cooked samples, and write down their number on your order pad. Handing this in to a member of staff you return to your table and soon dish after dish appears. After dinner we wandered some more, and I particularly enjoyed the calligraphy shops with their inks and brushes and pads of thick purple paper on which I was encouraged to practise my brushstrokes by a man who was delighted to help with my attempts at Chinese characters even though I had no intention of buying a thing.
The views were atmospherically misty, clouds brushed the higher peaks and threatened rain (which thankfully never came). The signposting was somewhat inadequate, so with my trusty companions Alex and Gursh, I spent a pleasant day wandering the ups and downs of the mountainside, making guesses at each junction based on our pretty good instinct for what felt right. We didn't have time - or the psychic navigational skill - to find some of the more enticing features such as a natural rock bridge, the "Gleam of Sky" chasm and so on, but it was still a good day out. I'd love to go back when it's quieter and spend a couple of days hiking, spend a night at an ugly but perfectly situated hotel and stand above the cloud-filled valleys as the sun comes up.
Back in the town, I pottered around the pretty Old Street on my seized-up calves. This street is hung with red lanterns, brimming with tasteful tourist shops and flanked by lovely old shop-houses. Six of us shared an enormous but well-earned meal at a point-and-wait restaurant - you choose dishes displayed as sets of raw ingredients or, in the case of dumplings and various carbs ready cooked samples, and write down their number on your order pad. Handing this in to a member of staff you return to your table and soon dish after dish appears. After dinner we wandered some more, and I particularly enjoyed the calligraphy shops with their inks and brushes and pads of thick purple paper on which I was encouraged to practise my brushstrokes by a man who was delighted to help with my attempts at Chinese characters even though I had no intention of buying a thing.
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