Those precious wasted moments…

Starbucks again for breakfast. I really like this city. It’s incredibly western. We walked through the shopping areas, surrounded by advertisements for Chanel, Polo and Gucci. Skyscrapers on all sides trying to out do one another. People are also dressed much more western, with more attention to skin and hair care. As a westerner, you feel at once home in this city. An expats’ haven.

The day of the first concert. The concert hall is very modern, with padded bleachers instead of actual chairs. I wonder how long people can sit without back support before they start throwing tomatoes.

As it turns out, the “Do Not Disturb” sign has absolutely no effect on the cleaning staff. At 9:00am, despite the sign hanging clearly on the outside doorknob, they tried to open the door. The chain stopped them, but they kept yelling (or talking at Chinese volumes) until I put on a shirt, opened the door and shoed them away. I pointed at the sign, which also boasts a Chinese translation… hmm… or maybe I shouldn’t assume that the Chinese characters mean the same as the English. We’ve noticed that red is often used for positive and green for negative. For instance, a taxi with a red light, means available for hire, whereas a green light means occupied.

Another sign that has little meaning is the crosswalk. China has clearly marked crosswalks, with clear traffic lights for pedestrians and cars, but only pedestrians seem to notice their existence. Very little jaywalking occurs and pedestrians wait obediently for the lights to change. Unfortunately, using the crosswalks only slightly improves your chances of not being run over by a honking car. Your best bet is to go in the middle of a large group, so the car will have slowed down a bit before it gets to you.

If you ask a Chinese person for directions and they end up talking you personally to your destination, do not misinterpret this as an incredible depth of generosity. The chances are much higher that either their English is not good enough, or they think their English is not good enough to explain how you should get there on your own. So, instead they save themselves the embarrassment and simply show you they way. Despite the motivation being shame rather than kindness, I think it still requires some amount of generosity to take the trouble to lead us there instead of just telling us to screw off, as enough taxi drivers have done when we couldn’t correctly pronounce our destination.

There is no translator for the concert, so we’ve asked around and the only one we can find costs €300. These international trips never end in profit, and we’re mostly happy to break even, but with these unexpected costs, we’re looking at a big, red number by the time we return home. Well, what do you do when things go wrong at the last minute? Same thing we do every time: improvise! We had some leads for students from the university that give personal tours in the city. On their website they also list translation services, but this means translating text. Well, we called and after a dozen calls and a dozen different people, we found one that could make it. She lived on the outskirts of town and we only had an hour before the concert. She showed up just in time to have a 15 minute walkthrough with Lavinia, digesting new musical terminology, country names and composers. It wasn’t the best translation in the world, but it was impressive considering the fact that the poor girl was terrified to stand in front of the audience. Total cost: €50 plus a bouquet of fresh flowers.

The concert was a success. This is the first experience with a Chinese audience and it was a good one. They were very quiet (unlike the Indonesian audiences) and very focused on listening. They gave tremendous applause and enjoyed each different style, including the theatrical “Mosquito Massacre.” A full Dutch contingent took up the first two rows, making it that much harder for the relatively small Chinese to see the podium. The Consul General, his wife and a dozen other Dutchies showed their support and stayed afterwards for drinks and stories. As it turns out, a group of them has been traveling across China for several weeks now, starting in Tibet and finishing in Shanghai, where they just happened across the concert of a well-known harpist. They also invited us to join them for a guided walk through the “old city” district tomorrow.

After the concert, a local music website did an interview with Lavinia. A dozen helpers, two translators and a grumpy director plodded along through a very slow and forced interview. The interviewer would ask a question, then it would be translated into broken English, which Lavinia would puzzle through, then answer in very vague terms, which would require another translation. Then the interviewer would shuffle her papers and look to the director for queues. Next question… uhm… do you like bread? Awkward.

Chinese toilets, are you fucking kidding me? A hole in the ground and no toilet paper? Really, in 2010 in Shanghai, the most western-oriented city of the region, the financial capital of China, host to the world expo and city of the future? Yeah, just make us squat over a porcelain hole and, by the way, it’s B.Y.O.T.P.! What the hell? There’s a Starbucks on every corner and Volkswagen is king of the road (Way to go VW!), but they refuse western diapers and western toilets. What gives? Some places, like the concert hall, have western toilets, but there’s a risk that people will stand on the toilet and squat, as they’re used to doing with the holes-in-the-ground. For this very reason, most western toilets also include an instructional sign, but I’ve seen more than one footprint on the toilet seats here… impressive balance, if you ask me. They probably think westerners are crazy to squat so dangerously high.

Shanghai is ridiculously western, by the way. They call it the “Paris” of the East. I don’t know about that, but I do appreciate the colonial influence the French and the British left behind. The Shanghainese are sophisticated and cultured in a way that makes the Beijing look like a bunch of farmers. English, however, remains an elusive attribute. Levi blue jeans, A&E shirt, a pair of Ray Bans, drinking a latte at Starbucks while eating KFC… but doesn’t speak a lick of English.

Fortunately, the free breakfast offered at our hotel did not conflict with our existing impression of this hotel. Big, dusty room with flies buzzing. Toast, noodles, butter but no knife… and NO coffee! Starbucks again to the rescue! Fortunately, there is a Starbucks on every corner in Shanghai. The sign of a truly enlightened people! =P

Our vacation is temporarily on pause. Beijing was just for sightseeing, but Shanghai is for work. Lavinia has a concert in two days at the Dutch Cultural Centre and tonight we’re off for dinner at the consulate’s house. Back to work. We have one day of freedom on Sunday and will try to pack it full of all the sights. Wish us luck!

After a morning of harp practice, Lavinia gave a masterclass for harp students at the Shanghai Conservatory. I sat outside in the park and watched a feline drama unfold. The first actor to enter the stage was a little tabby kitten. It walked slowly, then pounced on an imaginary foe. Then rolled over, stretching and yawning, before curling into a little ball in the shade of tall grass. A gentle wind blowing at his twitching ears as he drifted off in to kitty dreamland. After a nice, long nap, the kitten took to exploring the area before disappearing into the tall grass. A little while later, the villain of the plot sauntered on to the scene. A big tomcat. He sniffed at the spot the kitten had been sleeping before lazily marking his territory. He then sauntered off in the same direction. The kitten returned, but was afraid to lay down in his napping spot after sniffing the big male’s spray. The kitten was taken by confusion and started looking in all directions, calling for help in his little kitten voice. Then, from the shadows cast by old tires and wooden boxes, a shaggy monster emerged, sprinting towards the kitten, long hair flapping in the wind like a superhero’s cape. Mommy! The shaggy monster cuddled the kitten, licking his head as the kitten wiggled underneath mom’s protective stance. The tomcat returned, but the mother’s hissing and bared teeth kept him at a safe distance, but the tension remained high and the kitten’s eyes remained wide with terror. The suspense was killing me! Would the tomcat backdown or would the mother be forced to flee and leave her kitten to its fate? I couldn’t remain an innocent bystander any longer. A nearby pebble found its way into my hand and was soon smashing into the ground at the tomcat’s feet. He jumped and ran, forgetting the mother and child trespassing in his territory. When he was safely out of sight, the mother licked the kitten a few more times as it nursed, before bounding off into the shadows and leaving the kitten to nap in the gentle summer breeze, once again.

The dinner at the consul’s residence was a very formal occasion, with suits and cocktail dresses. We were warmly received and enjoyed the company of representatives of the Dutch Cultural Centre, as well as artists involved with the World Expo currently going on in the city. We drank, we ate and we learned a great deal about the best sights and sounds to be had in the city. A photo of the Dutch crown prince and princess stood on the windowsill. Last week they hosted the Crown Prince and his wife. This week they are hosting Lavinia Meijer and her husband. Seems about right.

Where are the escalators! Thousands of people an hour, with thousands of heavy bags, catching the train to the airport from this station and there are no escalators! Waiting in line for the train, the Chinese are not ashamed to cut in or elbow you out of the way. The old fogies are the worst: tiny women with sharp elbows, fighting their way to the front, even yelling at a lady who was trying to exit the train to get out of the way. Best to just shake your head and get out of their way. By the way, these are the same women who refuse to close the door to the stall when they’re using the toilet.

The flight to Shanghai was uneventful, save for the middle-aged women in front of me that have apparently never been in a plane before and were just amazed at how far their seats could recline. Ouch.. ouch… ouch… ouch…

There’s a new maglev train from Shanghai airport to the city. Top speed 301kmh (187mph), this is how you do it. The rest of us should take note. We had written down the hotel’s address in Chinese, but suddenly couldn’t find it, so we dialed the number and handed the phone to the cabbie. Works like a charm. I sat in the front seat, so I had the best view of the terrifying journey across town, dodging busses, cutting off other cars and honking like mad. It’s like a video game in which you can finally drive like you’ve always wanted!

So, the hotel… yeah. Well, as I’ve explained before, we had to book and pay these ourselves, so we tried to find the cheapest place with the nicest reviews. This place has an amazing lobby, a bowling alley, restaurant and even a karaoke bar. Everything was grand, until we got to the room. For starters, it has a filthy carpet and has two single beds instead of one double, but we can live with that. What we can’t live with is that this is a smoking room. So, we went downstairs to complain, but they only have smoking room, as it turns out. The only solution is to remove the ashtray and spray some perfume in the air. Great. Then I noticed that we’re on the ground level and the window won’t lock. Fantastic. Pieces of ceiling paint are peeling off and the temperature of the water has no relation with the position of the shower hot and cold knobs. Dandy. We’ll just suffer and try for better luck next time. I’ll be fine, just relaxing in bed with a nice, cold be… what? No mini-bar! Just kick me while I’m down, why don’t you!

The food here is much more similar to the Chinese food we know and love in the West. Sweet and sour this and that, fried rice and a nice soup. Time for bed.

Most of the people here are dressed quite casual, as opposed to Japan, where everyone is wearing a nice shirt and slacks. Many shirts have incomprehensible English texts as decoration. “Happy start many explode” or “Kitten hair wild mango” I laugh, but it makes me wonder about the Japanese and Chinese characters we use as decoration on shirts or bags or even tattoos. Are they equally ridiculous? Do they look equally as cool?

In the hotel, all the power outlets will except American, European and Australian plugs. The British are out of luck, but that’s what they get for making the biggest, bulkiest, albeit safest, plug around. I thought this was just a feature of hotels, but the same plugs are found in every building we’ve visited: homes, museums, restaurants, music schools, you name it. I want to read in to this, what does it mean? Well, for one it means they can use any device, made in any country. So they evidently import a lot from the US, Europe and Australia. Practical.

After another morning of harp practice, we headed off to the Summer Palace. This is the last sightseeing we’ll do in Beijing, so we’d better enjoy it! Our guide insists on having lunch before entering the park, so she leads us down a decrepit alley way where half naked people are fixing mopeds and rummaging through trash. Bedraggled dogs fight over bones. Everyone stares at the white guy. We keep walking and I keep thinking where the hell are we going? Is she lost? Will we ever return?

“Famous restaurant here. Yes, very famous for students. Not far.”

So, we walked along, trying not to breath in the filthy stench from overrunning drainage pipes until we saw a run down building with a Coca-Cola sign hanging on greasy sliding glass doors. This is it? Famous, you say? Inside, a group of men was chewing on a meaty substance and spitting bones on the floor. (Oh how the Chinese love to spit.) Our guide started talking and soon we were upstairs in an air conditioned hallway staring at pictures of Mecca hanging on unpainted walls. It turns out, this is a muslim restaurant. There is a largely muslim area of China in the north-east of the country and their food is quite different from the rest. It’s more similar to Afghan food (if you’ve had it) or maybe a distant cousin of Persian food. Lots of bread, potatoes, noodles, beef, chicken, cumin, juniper berries, garlic, onions, paprika, coriander, parsley and oily, oily oil all mixed together in one big pan. Strange to look at, difficult to eat, but delicious and if my stomach can survive this, it can survive anything.

The Summer Palace wasn’t too impressive, but it offered a nice walk in the park around a large lake. A small island in the lake is accessible by boat or bridge. By the time we had taken the bridge to the island, the official boats had stopped, so we waited in the shade, dreading the long walk back when we heard the distant sound of a motorboat approaching. On thing about Beijing, no matter where you look, someone is selling something. Every park, every street, everywhere you look, someone is selling bottles of water or books or cheap plastic toys. Everywhere you look, regular people, without a business license, are trying to earn a buck. This island on the lake was no exception. These guys wait for the official boat to stop running and then start ferrying passengers back and forth for half the price of the official boat. It’s a win-win situation for everyone involved. It’s a funny system, but I enjoy the benefits, so no complaining here.

After our long walks, we were ready for some chow. This being our last night in Beijing, it was time for some Peking Duck. I was always confused by the difference between Peking and Beijing. I though it was a dialect difference, but people tell me the actual name is Beijing and the British just took to calling it Peking, for some reason. So, it’s actually Beijing Duck, but it’s better known as Peking Duck. By any name, this is something everyone should experience at least once in their lives. As always, our guide had researched the best place nearby and we were not disappointed.

We started with duck’s feet in hot mustard. Yep, it turns out you can eat a duck’s feet. Not particularly good, but anyway. Then came the choice selections: the glazed skin from the underbelly, some piece of lean meat from somewhere inside the duck and half a duck’s head. As the “head” of the table, I got the duck’s head. Oh, joy… A small bite of brain, not bad, some meat here and there and the crisp skin off the beak. I couldn’t bring myself to eat the duck’s eye, so it lay there on my plate, staring at me accusingly, as I enjoyed the rest of the succulent dish. I thought back to a week I spent at a conference at a country resort last year. The bedrooms were built alongside a picturesque pond with hundreds of beautiful ducks basking in the sun. All was well and good, until it was time to sleep, because that’s when the ducks started with their quacking. Quack, quack, quack, quack. As I lay there, desperate for sleep, it sounded for the life of me as if they were laughing. Har, har, har, har. Quack, quack, quack, quack. Who’s laughing now, bitch!

The choice pieces of skin are dipped in pure sugar before being eaten… it’s so tasty, it should be illegal. Then we wrapped pieces of meat in rice “tortillas” along with thick soy sauce, cucumber and some other green stuff. When it was all done, the brought us a soup made from the bones of the duck we had just finished eating. I will never again order the Peking Duck at a restaurant in the West. The last one I had in Holland was dark brown, which I thought was normal, until I saw the light golden color of this tasty beast.

Lavinia hasn’t touched the harp since the concert in Semarang, five days ago, so her fingers are becoming soft and lazy. This explains why we’ve taken the metro, then a taxi ride and then a long walk through a gated-community to find a harp rental store where Lavinia can practice for a couple hours today and tomorrow. Forget your tuner? No problem, there’s an app for that! Clear Tune for the iPhone for all your tuning needs!

After a morning of sore fingers, we met up with our private tour guide for some serious shopping. Today’s mission is to find all shopping districts… and conquer them! We started at the lowest price range… and arguably also the lowest age of customers. Thousands of shops selling thousands of colorful, knock-offs to thousands of teenagers. Lavinia found a shirt or two and, with the help of Zhang, lowered the final price to 10% of the initial price. Haggling is fun!… if you’re a girl, that is. As it turns out, it’s well established that women can haggle better than men. For instance, the average woman will, on average, haggle the price down to 1/3 of the original price. This means a 66% percent reduction, on average. In contrast, the average man will, on average, only haggle the price down to 2/3 of the original price. This means a 33% reduction, on average. The theory is that women know the actual value of something and won’t pay a penny more, whereas men are happy to have achieved any reduction whatsoever and, therefore, give up as soon as the first reduction is made. After the kiddie mall, we moved to a more grown up place where Lavinia found some shoes for €3. Then, finally, a real grown up mall, where I found some nice dress shirts for €9 a piece.

During our march along the Wall yesterday, I noticed that one of my shoes was falling apart. These are old, cheap shoes, but they’re really comfy, which is why I brought them along on this trip. While at the malls, I searched for some new ones, but found it difficult to find my size. Instead, I tried sewing, gluing and even taping my shoe back together, but nothing seems to work. So, I’m stumbling and limping a bit, trying to make it last another two weeks. Were I a girl, I’d have six other pairs of shoes in my luggage from which to choose, but as I’m a guy… these are the only ones I brought, aside from black dress shoes to wear with my suit. I thought about wearing them with my shorts, but I think I’d rather stumble and limp.

After a full afternoon of shopping, it was time to relax… it was time for Karaoke! Our guide recommended a place called KTV. Sure, why not? Well, this place is much, much nicer than our hotel with a doorman, personal assistants, a full buffet and liquor store, huge LCDs and plush, private rooms for Karaoke magic! The price is steep, at €10 an hour to rent a room, but it’s completely worth it. Starting with Celine Dion and ending with Sinatra, we had a blast! By the time we left, it was getting late, so we had dinner at the vendors along the street: spiced mutton on a skewer, fermented tofu, spicy noodle soup (making me sweat) and sweet herbal tea. Delicious.