Letters from China, Part 1
Eighteen hours. Two to Munich, another fourteen to Shanghai, where on the two hour layover we cleared customs manned by heads I'd be less likely to fuck with than shy town riot cops, fuzzy hats, grim expressions and red stars. Impressive airport full of cunts. That's the first lesson of China; Shanghai is full of mouthy cunts. Bought a beer at this stall in the state of the art cavernous Shanghai terminal, and was subjected to a barrage of authentic verbal abuse from this broad who asked me if she could practice her English on me, and seeing me check the authenticity and count of my change (as I had been advised to do by Florence) demonstrated a colourful and agile use of our language worthy of a pissed up mill wall fan. I later learn this is typical of Shanghai bitches. Back on the plane with about twelve other people (it was packed on the way from Munich) As the pride of the Luftwaffe ehem, I mean Lufthansa brings us down Florence's tally of new friends is reaching double figures, Chinese people need no introductions to start chatting with each other, they treat each other with an easy familiarity I can only emulate after at least four pints.
Guang Jo... Another impressive airport and it's onto the buss and off to the city. Roads the same as here, but bigger and more impressive and empty (it's the holidays) construction everywhere, mainly elevated roads. The peoples republic is apparently under the impression that spaghetti junction is the pinnacle of western architecture and seek to emulate it on a truly astronomical scale. I get the impression of watching a sleeping giant wake from his slumber. These little dudes are gonna leave us in the dust. Best start kissin' some ass.
Guang Jo is as big as London, and yet I never heard of it, just one of many great megopoloses springing up like stop action flowers all over this place. As we get into the city my impression of a well ordered western style country begins to dissolve. This country is crazy. Bicycles zip by with oil drums strapped to each side full of stuff. One's carrying a bundle of trees. Big ones. About twenty feet high. Give a china man a bike and he'll move anything anywhere. We get into the outskirts of the city, grimy cultural revolution apartment blocks with people just living casual all over. I'm reminded of films of Cuba. These dudes look happy. I turn and look at Florence. Florence who'd been cracking up a bit over the last few days in London looks two inches taller, her skin glows with healthy and if she doesn't stop smiling like that her lips are gonna start to stretch up to her ears.
We take a cab to the hood (it is a hood.) near her old school and it's time to eat. Little Mrs Happy takes me to her favourite restaurant in the world. Fish swim in the windows and like many buildings here the place is lit up like a Vegas casino. They have a thriving ramshackle street food set up outside run by the restaurant, but we got the pounds, so it's the tables for us, we sit down at a table with a stained table cloth, no napkins and the girl orders plate after plate of food the likes of which one does not see in what we stupid westerners optimistically refer to as 'Chinese restaurants'. I can see why English food pisses the poor girl off. Good shit it is. Good shit. Everything in this place is worn out, taped together and third world. The bathroom has a hole in the floor toilet, no toilet paper and a suspicious looking old metal pot by the sink. I hope I'm wrong about the bowl, you can buy tissues in the restaurant, but I think I'll wait. Get the bill, comes out under a fiver. The meal could of fed five of us. I start to understand the grin.
Time to go to the hotel and sleep. Fucking stuffed. We get on China's version of a mini-cab, a dude with a 150cc motorcycle held together with bits of string, Flo & me up behind him hoping the brakes hold as we get closer and closer to the big truck making an ill advised left. Chance of survival: 68%. Fate's coin lands heads and we check into the hotel. Upstairs it is, we're not trusted with the key, this dude down the hall lets us in and out. I'm pleasantly surprised by the standard of our accommodation. TV don't work, but it's nicer than any place we stayed in new york, and for the few quid it cost us I'd have slept on a shelf for the night. I start to think the hundred pounds I brought was a bit extravagant.
Out we go for the night on a wander. This place's got ghetto soul that'd make James Brown feel like a red headed accountant from Kansas. Cloths hanging from railings old and young alike playing ma jong on card tables with big fat piles of cash in the middle. I'm getting a lot of curious looks like, "who's givin' you the tour of the hood?" but they all seem friendly. I feel safe (these geezers are tiny, kung fu or no it'd honestly take at least five of 'em with bats to make me nervous, but they don't look like they'd beef even if I was a midget) I watch some gambling, we buy some new years decorations for Flo's ma and we crash.
Into the centre of town, Flo takes me to the train station that is surrounded by homeless dudes. A bit sad, but nothing you couldn't find in London. Then she takes me to a hotel with a shopping centre downstairs full of top-notch designer gear. I get the picture, this may be a republic, but not for all the people. Fucking capitalism. We shared a needle with the Chinese and now they got the dirty virus too. Again, construction everywhere. The giant snorts and starts to wiggle his toes.
Bus to Macau. Two hours through the surreal and smoky landscape of southern China. Hills, little farms, lots of humid fog and construction, mainly those raised roadways these people seem to worship in place of our pop stars. Beautiful landscape. The giant is stretching and yawning now.
Before we cross to Macau we go to the worlds greatest retail outlet. Ten thousand little market stall sized shops in a vast underground complex where pounds turn to metric tones. I buy some gear, north face Gore-Tex jacket for a bit under thirty quid comes to mind, I get an earful from Florence for spending two pounds on sunglasses. You got to bargain with these guys! I haven't seen another westerner since the airport and I'm beginning to wonder if someone's taped the word 'rich sucker' to my back. I use Florence to buy stuff. She's a barter-ninja. Drops every price by at least 50%. My hero.
Into Macau. We go through customs and things get a bit less wacky. Macau is a beautiful city, Hills with Portuguese churches on top share space with Buddhist Temple Mountains. The staring stops and I see another westerner. We meet up with Flo's mom, Nice lady, she's a Chinese doctor, got a couple storefronts right next to each other, one for medicine, one for chillin'. I'm staying at the chill one, Flo's staying with mom in her apartment down the road. I see Sefu (master) Flo's mom's boyfriend and a student of his from New York is staying with them. Met the guy a month ago, he knows Chinese as he grew up in Chinatown, but in many ways this place is as new to him as it is me.
End of chapter one. I gotta go eat.