Aand now I'm back...

The lack of posts has been due for a while to laziness, since I did do some nice things at the end of spring, including a trip to the mountains in the "country of the clouds" in Anhui province, and 3 very pleasant days in Shanghai just before I left, which included finding out the amazing story of how Japan-occupied Shanghai opened its arms to Jews, and spending a ton of money in the French concession.

Then I was back on the home turf. For 2 months. Where I can take white privilege for granted, make myself understood and get used to things not being (too) loud and messy. It's not a long time, but bound to lead to at least a little readjustment. Travelling to Ginseng was a bit of an adventure: my connection from Amsterdam was late (I think I'm going start boycotting KLM, because it's the second time something similar happened). When I got to Shanghai and schlepped my way to the station (1 hour and a half by subway) I was informed that there were no more trains to Gin Tonic, except one that arrived really late at night and left from another station. I subsequently learned that it's because it's Mid-Autumn festival on Monday, hence a lot of people moving around a lot. So I phone the hotel I stay in usually, which luckily had a room. Thus I was stranded 2 days in Shanghai (well, if you can get "stranded" in such a city, I took the opportunity to run a burocratic errand and have a meal at the famous Fairmont Peace Hotel, a gorgeous historical hotel).

Then, finally, I made it home. Or home away from home. Barring the corpse of one cockroach and a mysterious mini-flood in the balcony, the flat was in perfect condition (as perfect as it get from me). The university is still very ghostly, and it's hooooot (yes, there's always a reason to complain about weather in China). It looks like courses will start later than I expected, which means a slow and gentler transition.

So it's my first real "back to school" in China since I arrived mid-year and it will be my first fall. Let's see what it holds (hopefully more regular posts).

All the tea in China

I've had a brief initiation back home to the ritual of Chinese tea ceremony, and while I like good-quality tea as much as the next person, I'd never really got into it. And I've done tea ceremony in Japan, a dramatic, high mass of an affair including foamy bright green stuff which is more the stuff of ritual than an actual beverage.
In China,I was obviously motivated to make the most of the tea. My first close and personal encounter with Chinese tea (beyond the perfectly decent industrial stuff you get at the supermarket) was through a pu'er cake that a Chinese friend gave me. Then, in Shanghai, I came across by sheer luck the coolest little shop, ran by a charming young man, who was willing to serve me tea throughout the afternoon probably. There, I got more pu'er and some oolong. For the uniniated, pu'er is presented in roundish little buns, resembling this. The shapes and sizes the leaves are pressed in vary, but if you've never seen them and they're wrapped they're not even recognizeable as tea. Oolong is a smokey tea.

Then, one of the highlights of my trip to Hangzhou was the visit to the tea museum, complete with an investment in longjing, or "dragon well" tea, a grassy green tea, that, I've learned since,Chinese people don't like so much (an Earl Grey of China?) . Then, a few weeks ago, I went to Gin Tonic's very own tea market, which looks like this:

Yes, that's a massive mound of tea. Some part of me would like to jump and roll in it as if it were a heap of wonderful-smelling autumn leaves. It's not very fancy and it's mysteriously empty, though presumably the merchants do make a living out of it. The shopkeepers also do the whole schtick of washing the teapots, filling tiny little cups, spilling water all over special trays, but it didn't feel as friendly and intimate as the place in Shanghai. But still, I got some more green tea, more delicate than the long jing, as well as some "iron goddess of mercy" where the leaves are rolled in little balls that make a tinkling sound when they're put in a cup (so you don't just see, smell and taste tea, you get to listen to tea!).

Ware-wise, there's also a lot to discover,. A must have is the purple clay tea pot, which looks like a very plain thing but can cost a fortune (ok not a fortune, but way more that you'd expect a plain little terracotta teapot to cost). Then there are cups, trays, jugs, you name it. Right now, I got a cheap clay teapot off the flea market, I guess I'll start blowing money, but gradually.

The nice thing about Chinese still tea ceremony is that it might not be as elegant and grand as the Japanese one, but it feels a lot more convivial and normal. It's also easy to get obsessive about Chinese tea, as I've known some people to be, because there are so many varieties and so much stuff to fiddle with. Really feels like getting initiated in some mystery of the Orient. The slightly grating aspect I've noticed is that, where foreigners who are into tea are concerned, it's also easy to get a bit snobbish, maybe because you've admittedly gained a lot of knowledge, but still. There's no harm in admitting ignorance or to liking something that "only foreigners like." I've got a lot to learn, and want to learn (I've also invested in two books) but this is supposed to be fun, and a way to know China that overcomes language barriers and doesnt require any particular skills as say, calligraphy or martial arts would. And hey, at least by now I know that that is pu'er and not marzipan cakes!

The ghosts of China past

Now, Gin Tonic might be pleasant enough, but it's not on anybody tourist map. It might be a couple of thousand years old or so, but that's not exactly obvious. Most of it is a nondescript mass of cement and glass.
Unless you end up in the old town. I mentioned the old town before, I think, it's a couple of streets with traditional-ish houses and a flea market for all your perforated coin, Confucius statuettes and Mao paraphernalia needs.. But recently, in much nicer weather and a little more knowlege of the turf, I found there are some real hidden gems. The old town conceals some more street of very nicely kept (or fixed) old houses which have nothing to envy from the likes of Shaoxin. They organized as informal museums of sorts, with themes more or less deliberately chosen. Funnily enough, it feels a bit like Pompei, but a Pompei in which people still come and go and do stuff.

 This is the courtyard of the calligrapher's house. The house itself is some kind of calligraphy museum, with one of the masters there drinking tea and eating, and his wife trying to sell you his works.
 
Here's the calligrapy master and his acolytes in action.

This is the innter courtyard of the ghost's house. I call it the ghost's house because it's inhabited by a noble-looking fellow who habits one room where he has traditional furnitre and a flat screen tv. He seems like a kind of genie of the place. There was also a rooster in the garden, he didn't seem very happy to have visitors.

The door to another house. This was all about ceramic, if I remember correctly.

Marco's Paradise

It seems that Marco Polo thought Hangzhou was paradise  and you can see why. The misty lake, the graceful bridges, the greenery. This is Real Chinese Stuff (tm) as you can see from my present banner pic. Looks right out of a Chinese dish, right?

However, as is often the case, there is trouble in Paradise. The weather was crappy for one thing. It did add some kind of misty poetic dimension to the sights, but running around being a tourist is generally nicer when it's sunny and dry.

And then the taxi drivers. Those belong right into hell.

The first, driving us from the station to the hotel, managed to misread a street name in pynin, attempt to drop us in the middle of nowhere, then finally drove us back to the other side of the city. Another was apparently unable to read an address-in Chinese this time- and reacted by yelling. Note to Chinese people: if a foreigner doesn't get what you're saying it's because they can't speak Chinese, not because they're deaf. Raising your voice won't help. Finally, there was the surreal spectacle of seeing taxi after empty taxi not stopping by. This is one of the great mysteries of China, one of those things that are literally unexplainable (as in, you seek possible explainations, but find none that makes sense).

Apart from the taxi misfortunes, Hangzhou is a treasure chest of a city, and, if you excuse the mixed metaphor, I think I saw only the tip of the iceberg. Another place I hope to go back to, and stay smack in the middle of the city so I can avoid taxis like plague (either that, or acquire a deep knowledge of Hangzhou's public transportation network). Anyway, sights included:

Silk Street. Hangzhou is famous for its silk. It's nice, but a bit touristy. I got a cute, wearable cotton Mandarin dress, but once again the hues of the scarves look weird and unbecoming on me.

This West Lake. It looks like something out of a dream. There's an island in which there are smaller lakes (but no islands on said smaller lakes).

Hangzhou is also famous for its Dragon Well green tea. This is the tea museum, which is a massive tea field with some explainatory stuff in a building on the side. Again like something out of a dream.

A temple, which is the tomb of General Yue Fei, big national hero and model of filial piety:

And this is just a small part of what I saw, and an even smaller part of what there is to see.

Shangaied!

The week end before the last, I made my way to Shanghai, where I'd set foot before only when I got off the plane, to be whisked off immediately to my present location. Feeling like a country bumpkin, I made my way to the city of sin in a train absolutely crammed with people of all ages, eating, drinking and moving around.

The city turned out to be all what I expected--and more. What was striking is how European the city feels. You might think it makes sense, it was more or less created by and for Westerners after all, but the time of the concessions is over and done. So I was expecting a jumble of skyscapers and bright neon lights, à la Tokyo. There is a bit of that, but there is also a lot that feels, well, Mediterranean. Maybe it's because it's a harbour city? It feels like a city by the sea, though *technically* it's not one.

This is part of the "old town." You can imagine there were a lot more of this kind of little streets, before getting torn down. It feels poor, popular but oh-so-charming.

View of the Bund, with the old-style Western architecture.

The French concession-or Shanghai as you imagined it.

Other perks included a yue show, that is, a kind of opera that developed in Shanghai with women-only troupes (shame I had no frickin' clue what was going on), and the Shanghai Museum, or Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about China and Didn't Think You Could Ask.

I am officially in love with Shanghai. It might not be the most pretty-pretty place on earth but it's sophisticated and multilayered and has that big-city feel I miss. I hope the future holds many more escapades there!

More on shopping: the furniture issue

Every little thing can potentially turn into an adventure in China. Actually, cross the "potentially".

As it happens, my parents are coming and, duly expressing filial piety, I set out to look for a sofa-bed. An American friend, who is the resident "fixer", found out about a furniture mall and I set off in her company, since she actually speaks Chinese and knows her way around. So we set off to our destination, somewhere south. We took a taxi and arrived where we were supposed to arrive. It didn't look like a mall at all. There were stores, selling things for the house, but not furniture. Way more basic stuff such as floorings of various types, or toilets.
Then came a stretch of land filled with granite sculptures--Buddahs, bridges, lions, dragons, people playing golf, a winged horse, you name it. No sight of the mall, let alone beds. Finally, a bunch of workmen who seemed to have walked out of a 1950s propaganda who finally directed us to the mall.
There, I looked around and let Sarah bargain in Chinese. Somehow, the information emerged that there was some other place where you could find much cheaper, if lower quality stuff, which suited me just fine for the use I was planning to make of it. Apparently at this point the sellers went on a tirade about how the cheaper stuff was terrible, and it actually gives you cancer, how you're basically going to drop dead just looking at it.

Obviously it didn't work (I'm not even sure they were expecting it to work) and, another taxi ride later, we were at the cheap place, which was basically a great big warehouse full of whatever kind of furniture you can imagine, including ok-looking sofa-beds. I selected one in a pleasing green and brown 1970s design.

Now comes the really fun part. A delivery guy agreed to deliver the sofa-and Sarah and me ipso facto. He cleverly secured the sofa across the tow attached to his electric bike. Then the two of us jumped in and were towed home, probably making the day of everyone who saw us passing by. Finally the delivery guy propped the sofa upside down on his head and carried it five floors.

And now I'm the proud owner of a 1970s-style sofa bed-at a ridiculous price.

Retail therapy, Chinese style

Everyone who knows me  knows I love shopping (I've been accused of being a shopaholic, which is simply not true! I only buy what I need. And I can stop whenever I want). Before arriving in China, I'd been told clothing was cheap, but then China was still a blurry alien planet in my mind which wouldn't house anything as mundane as clothing stores. Someone reassured me that I shouldn't worry "because they have Armani and Prada everywhere in China." Right. Because it's like I can afford that kind of stuff. In China of all places. But we'll get to this.

When I arrived, I was pleased by the presence of H&M and Zara. Globalized retail within reach.
As I began to explore more, I became more aware of real "Made in China" clothing. I mentioned before that Chinese fashion is weird for my taste. Lots of frills, lace, sequins, cutesy designs, shiny bright colours that do the Caucasian complexion no favours. Good luck finding a simple, plain jacket or shirt or, for the matter, a skirt that's at least knee length, never mind longer. That's another thing, tiny mini skirts and hot pants (worn with tights underneath) are all the rage. It seems that the era of the blue and green Mao jackets and matching trousers is gone for good.

Still, perusing markets and malls leads to interesting discoveries and cute items-- at truly ridiculous prizes. We're talking the equivalent of six or seven euros per item. Which leads to the question of brands, and to perspective. Never mind Armani. You know H&M? The place you go to get cheap, if not amazing-quality clothing? Well, it starts feeling like Armani in comparison.

Another thing: the Chinese like to bargain. Hard, apparently. I consider myself a decent, though not exceptional bargainer, I'm from the Mediterranean after all. But I still don't feel up to it here, mainly because of the language barrier. Ok, I can say numbers, but can't pull the I'm-on-a-budget number. So right now, either I consider the price acceptable or I don't and just leave the item where I found it. As usual, we'll see how things progress.