There are no direct flights to mainland China, so I had to go back to Hong Kong to catch the flight to Hangzhou. Taiwan and China have a strange relationship. Taiwan (who call themselves the Republic of China) sees itself as an independent state, holds democratic elections and has a much more westernized culture. The People’s Republic of China (i.e. the mainland), however, regards the island as a renegade province. They don’t recognize Taiwan’s elected leaders, and in the past have threatened to invade the island to force reunification. Tensions still run high, and it’s only economic threats from the international community that prevents this from happening.
Hangzhou is a city of 4 million a couple of hours south west of Shanghai in the east of the country. Brent has lived there for a few years, and has recently started a marketing and manufacturing business (along with George, also from St Mary’s, and Sheridan, from Eton). The first thing I notice on the drive from the airport are the peasant houses with Eiffel Tower-like TV antennas on their roofs. Some were really quite extravagant and phallic, so maybe it’s true what they say about Chinamen.
The Chinese say that ‘in heaven there is paradise, on earth there is Hangzhou’ because there is a lake that was once possibly visited by an emperor. Apparently, this is enough for the Chinese to make Hangzhou one of the country’s biggest tourist attractions. It’s all very nice, but it’s a stretch to call it paradise. It’s just a lake, and one that is actually hard to see through the mist and smog, not to mention the thousands of tourists. From the Chinese perspective, however, very few people have the chance to leave the country so I suppose it beats the paddy fields and smoke-spewing factories that they are used to seeing.
A group of ‘laowais’ (foreigners) walking around town is something for the locals to behold. Some will stop what they are doing and just stare. Others will just carry on talking on their mobiles whilst pedaling their ancient bikes through red lights and busy intersections with complete disregard for anything else. I thought the number of bikes was astonishing, but that was before I saw Beijing. In Taiwan everyone was on scooters but here it’s all about pedal-power, a clear indication of the relative wealth of the two populations. Driving in a cab is an experience in itself. Lanes seem irrelevant, and cutting people up seem a necessity. Horns honk incessantly to let other drivers know they are there. Despite all this there is no road rage, which is just as well as there’s no doubt that they would kill each other in no time at all. It’s madness, but amazingly I only saw one accident.
Lots of people have asked me how I got on with the food, and I have to say that the food was one of the highlights of my trip. Restaurants ranged from massive four story places with hundreds of tables, to a noodle shack on the street. Ordering food was a bit different too. There were no menus, just tables of vegetables and tanks full of fish, shellfish, snakes and even a shark at one place. I looked, and Brent ordered. Ten minutes later the fish that I had pointed out was on the table. Fortunately, the chicken, duck and pork dishes were displayed on tables and we didn’t see any caged animals, but then we didn’t go into the kitchens (as far as I know, I didn’t have any dog or rat). Obviously, it was a bit different to what I am accustomed, but at least I knew it was fresh.
I have to mention the drunken shrimp. As the name implies, the shrimp are literally drunk, marinated in some kind of alcoholic sauce. The thing is, they come to the table alive, still thrashing around like me on the dance floor after a couple of vodka Red Bulls. Unlike me (except on the odd occasion) they pass out and get eaten. You have to ensure they are completely shit-faced though, as otherwise they could give you a nasty nip on the lips (right, Brent?). As a result of all this eating I have become rather adept with the old chopsticks, and I think I’m going to continue using them. This time next week I’ll be catching flies.
Then there was the egg incident. We were at a bar having a few beers, as one does. Some acquaintances brought in a bag of food, including fried (I think) pigeon and some eggs. I’d had a few Tsingtaos, and seeing as there were no kebab shops or chili cheese dogs around (although there were possibly other types of dog available) I thought I’d try some. The pigeon was actually quite good, and then I picked up an egg, shelled it, and ate it. It tasted and felt a bit strange, but everyone else was eating them so I picked up another, shelled it, and nearly threw up. It was a fully formed chick, with feathers, eyes and everything. I threw it down in disgust, but I’m sure someone picked it up and ate it.
After a hard day’s chopstick practicing there’s nothing like a good massage to help you relax. Now I know what you little pervies are thinking, but I can assure you they were all above board (except the ones calling my hotel room in Beijing). I had a couple of wonderful head/shoulder massages, and a rather painful foot/calf massage. The girls found my pasty skin rather amusing, as well as my blond eyebrows and sensitive feet. My foot girl didn’t know a word of English, but I sarcastically called myself a wuss after incurring second-degree burns from the water, which she immediately picked up upon. She cracked us all up when she copied me and said, ‘What a wuss’ after making me wince in pain for the umpteenth time.
As I mentioned, being a laowai is something of a novelty in Hangzhou, and whilst most are ambivalent, some endeavour to be around you (although most of these hangers-on are complete tossers). There are, however, exceptions. Brent had told me stories of the gangsters he knew, and I wondered whether I would meet any. Then one night I met Mr. Big. He couldn’t speak a word of English, but he liked us, and we didn’t dare not like him. We ended up in the back room of a club, and it was like something out of Goodfellas. There was dancing and singing on a stage, and space was immediately made for us at some tables. Waiters hovered around at our beck and call, and then the show was stopped so that Mr. Big could do a spot of karaoke. If they had any John Denver I would have been up there as well. It was all quite surreal.
Following this, we decided to move on to another bar. I somehow ended up sandwiched in the back of a taxi between Mr. Big and a bodyguard with one of his women in the front, while Brent, George and a few others went in another car. They were jabbering away in Mandarin and smoking like chimneys, and I sat back wondering where on Earth we were going (and whether Arsenal had won over the weekend). We drove and drove, stopped at a bar or two, then dropped off the girl, and drove some more. We got out at some piss-stinking dark alley with some very shady characters wandering about. I was starting to get a little worried. OK, quite a bit worried. We then walked 500 yards or so to this little shack where, thankfully, George sat surrounded by Mr. Big’s goons. Lots of beer and food was forced upon us, and lots of toasting and smoking (wow can those boys smoke). I resorted to putting a cigarette behind my ear in an effort to stop being offered one every 74 seconds. It didn’t work.
Triad (Chinese mafia) tattoos and ritualistic cigar burn scars abounded. These were guys not to be messed with. Forget Lonely Planet, we’re talking Gangsta Planet. I had no idea what the hell was going on, and there was no point worrying about it, so I just drank when prompted, ate whatever was placed in front of me, and wondered if I had clean draws on for when the British Embassy flew my body home. I have no idea what they thought of me, but they were really very friendly and generous. Mean looking sons-of-bitches, but friendly nonetheless, and I never really felt threatened. Eventually we found Brent at another bar and the tequila came out and things got really going. I was just so thankful to see a familiar face, knowing that my chances of at least making it home safely had greatly improved.
So that was Hangzhou in an eggshell. Next stop was the capital city of Beijing, a couple of hours’ flight to the north.
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