No longer just passing through

Tuesday 6^th December

I find that chapters in our lives, however exciting or dull, often appear to pass us by in the blink of an eye and yet somewhat paradoxically, upon more objective scrutiny, merit the passage of time that has elapsed.  The past three months in the People’s Republic, undoubtedly the most exotic and adventurous chapter of my life thus far, have been no different in this respect although I am increasingly recognising the acute difference between ‘living’ in China and not merely ‘being’ here. 

I am conscious, especially as we now roll into December, of the extent to which my appreciation of time has been somewhat skewed by the rather elongated summer I have enjoyed – particularly when you consider the British summer was in full swing before spring had subsided.  I was told that Fuzhou, a notoriously two-season climate, turns spitefully from ‘pants on the balcony’ weather to something altogether less appetising – chiefly cold and damp – in a matter of days.  This matter of days is elapsing as I write and whilst as a well-bred Englishman I fear not what is a comparatively mild winter by European standards I am increasingly interested and concerned by the rising damp!  There is infamously no central heating in a majority of Chinese homes and so whereas in the UK I could, courtesy of my father’s partiality for a clockwise twist of thermostat, promenade about the house in beach attire in China jumpers and scarves are required. 

I am certainly experiencing a greater sense of being part of an altogether new community now a couple of months have passed and routines and habits have emerged from what was initially an overwhelming broth of stimulating new experiences. 

The elaborate daily display of my local outdoor butcher!  

I recognise my neighbours, for example, and we exchange pleasantries as we pass on the stairs or congregate around the rat infested communal rubbish dump.  I have developed a friendship with the night porter of my complex – a 15 year old boy who hasn’t been to school in over a year.  He is seemingly so proud to have a laowei (foreigner) in his midst and his enthusiasm to communicate plays right into my hands as I’m equally enthusiastic about practicing Chinese.  I named him Stefan after a character in a Henning Mankell book I was reading upon our initial acquaintance – maybe it was the black hair, his pale skin, maybe something else altogether.  He likes it and it fits in a way so many students names don’t!  Our relationship is, however, bittersweet, laced as it is by my recognition of the all too tragic circumstance of his life.  He left his countryside home near Wuyi Shan (several hours by bus from Fuzhou) at 14 to live in the city with his uncle.  He works from 6pm until 6am everyday and sleeps, on the job, on a board that rests on top of two wicker chairs in a doorway. 

Zi Han going about her stuff, Nov 2011

Bian Rou, with Ban Mian in the foreground

I also know the entire family who run the restaurant below my apartment building.  The laoban or boss, his wife, his younger sister, his younger brother and his wife and their adorable daughter – Zi Han.  It would appear that if she’s not at kindergarten she’s in the restaurant – mimicking the way customers eat and speak and feeding her uncle cigarettes like one would feed an animal.  I have tried to teach her some English but she seems to be able to say thus far is ‘how do you say?’.  This restaurant, barely the size of my flat, is chiefly responsible for my growing appreciation of the Chinese breakfast with local Fujian specialities扁肉 (Bian Rou – wonton soup featuring wonton skin and a pork filling) and 拌面(Ban Mian – noodles with a peanut butter like sauce) now regular parts of my weekly diet.  

Te solitary English breakfast I have enjoyed since my arrival – in my Hong Kong hotel room almost three months ago – is now very much a decent memory.  However, judging by my reaction to finding Heinz Baked Beans in Carrefour you can never quell an Englishman’s longing for his national dish!

A regular part of my routine that I am pleased to report is my weekly Saturday night humiliation on the badminton court.  After finding the Fujian’s to be less than enthusiastic to a game of cricket I decided that badminton was a more suitable proposition for some regular ‘social’ exercise.  I joined a small club that plays at different venues on different nights.

They are not accustomed to having a foreigner strutting his stuff, squeaking his non-marking Li Ning’s around the court – sweating on the sideline like a fat guy on a running machine wearing a grey T-shirt.  They are, consequentially, all too keen to dance around elegantly on the other side of the net and put you through your paces.  The majority of opponents, seldom loosing control of the shuttlecock, politely entertain a rally for a period before unleashing a smash or well disguised drop shot to remind you whose boss.  There are, however, a few rather more mean spirited opponents, including a ruthless young lady, who seem to take great pleasure in putting you in your place.  This may sound embarrassing and like a complete waste of time but is really is great fun and a decent work out.  I have unsurprisingly made a marked improvement in a short space of time and the people, off court at least, are really friendly. 

I was recently invited to enjoy dinner with two dozen or so of the regular players on a Saturday evening.  It was a most remarkable of venues – a very small dark room downstairs with a few bare-chested old men smoking cigarettes and playing mahjong underneath a low hanging table light.  We walked through and then up a narrow, dimly lit staircase that led to the restaurant.  This may sound a little unusual but it really is nothing out of the ordinary and often these ‘underground’ restaurants serve some of the best food.  The remarkable quality of this restaurant was the extraordinary choice of individuals it’s owner decided merited an appearance in his wall.  I was immediately intrigued when reaching the top of the stairs I was confronted with a huge poster of Osama Bin Laden – a familiar face maybe, but not as restaurant décor!  There were also large intimidating posters of Gaddafi and, next to my table, Saddam Hussain.  When questioned, the restaurant owner said he decorated his restaurant in this manner because they were his ‘idols’ – I decided against asking for a fuller explanation.  The Sichuanese boiled fish he served up wasn’t bad either! 

Lost in translation!  One of the more hysterical occasions on which I was misunderstood.  I swear I asked the 'rice man' for a bowl of rice and not a bag!  That should last me a year or two! 

'One country, two systems' - Deng Xiaoping

I must firstly offer my apologies to those of you waiting with baited breath for another instalment of my blog and indeed those of you who harbour a healthy interest in it’s contents.  I myself can not believe that it has been over a month since I last put pen to paper or rather brush to scroll!  This absence, I am pleased to confirm, does not reflect writers block but rather the extent to which I have been occupied and positively amused. 

Stretching like a local, Xi Hu Park (2 mins from my apartment), October 2011

I spent a weekend last month in Hong Kong applying for and obtaining my working visa.  The process of acquiring a working visa in China is certainly not quick or simple but thankfully my school has basically taken care of everything and I’ve just had to sign a few papers here and there, have a medical, the odd photograph (with a red background) and travel to the Special Administrative Region (SAR).  I am a, wait for it, ‘foreign expert’ and even have a certificate to prove it!  The medical examination, which I had several weeks ago, was great fun.  I donned some white pyjamas, had a few x-rays, gave a urine sample, had a few electrodes stuck here and there and even enjoyed an ultrasound.  That is something I certainly never expected and just like a pregnant women I was looking at the screen with the nurse!  I tried to banter with the nurse asking if it was a boy or a girl etc. but she remained very stern faced indeed.  The medical concluded with a most amusing blood test that was very much a public spectacle.  There is no one in, one out private room, no queue and no softly spoken nurse to relax you.  Instead there is one large room, a lot of pushing and shoving and a nurse who looks like she does thousands of blood tests a day.  I was, of course, the subject of much curiosity and so my path to the front of the ‘queue’ was made all the more easy and everyone fell silent as my blood drained away. 

I decided against paying to fly to Hong Kong and instead took a twelve hour sleeper bus – £40 instead of £200.  This is an experience and I am glad to say that I’ve done it but it is certainly not something I recommend to anyone who is wider or taller than me.  The in-coach entertainment also confirmed something I have perhaps known subconsciously for some time – you don’t need to understand the dialogue to appreciate a Steven Seagal movie.

Settling down for the night on my way to Hong Kong, September 2011

It is pretty cool to walk into Hong Kong from China.  There were about 40 lines for Chinese Nationals and or Hong Kong Residents that were 50 deep.  There was one line for foreigners and there was just one ugly American.  That certainly went someway to offsetting the hours I must have spent cumulatively after midnight on Sunday evenings at Stansted airport trying to get home.           

October 1^st was National Day celebrating 62 years since the founding of the People’s Republic of China.  I got up early, wore my red Li Ning tracksuit top, bought a flag for 10p and waited patiently in Wuyi Square for the raising of the flag.  The majority of my foreign colleagues were still out partying when I got up and had thought me a little unusual for wishing to retire early in order to part-take in such festivities.  It was certainly not a wild celebration but rather one of respect.  The crowds, for example, didn’t sing along to the National anthem or the preceding Five Stars on the Red Flag (tune) or cheer and or clap once the flag finally reached it’s destination instead remaining silence and just wondering off.  It was also not a cold-war style ‘get’s your guns out’ parade instead just your typical military brass band and a few dozen troops.  They didn’t even come in military vehicles but hire coaches! 

Lin Qin, my Chinese teacher, and I meet Chairmao Mao Zedong in Xiamen, October 2011

National Day marks the beginning of Golden Week which traditionally was a week long annual government reminder of how good they were.  It is now just a massive vacation where everyone is ‘encouraged’ to spend money to demonstrate their patriotism.  I decided, like many Chinese, to take the opportunity to do a little travelling.  I was a little tight after my trip to Hong Kong and so decided to go on a budget trip to Xiamen with my Chinese teacher.  My father tells a rather amusing anecdote (all too often) about when he, my brother and I went camping with some friends when we were small children and basically spend next to nothing fooling around in the New Forest.  I am, however, confident that my trip to Xiamen, even not accounting for inflation, blew that holiday away.  I spent less than £50 in three full days and that included a return trip on a state of the art high speed train – the kind of which we’ll have to wait until 2025 for in the UK. 

We stayed with friends of my Chinese teacher Lin Qin – Xiao Kai and Xie Xie…and their pet turtle that costs just 10p a year to feed.  The apartment was brand new.  However, in China a brand new apartment equates to something altogether different from Europe.  In short it has a smooth cement floor, a few plug sockets, no doors and yes, you’ve guessed it, no bathroom fittings, just a hole in the floor.  Lin Qin was very embarrassed not realising the extent to which her friends apartment was not ‘fully furnished’ but I was having a great time it especially as I knew I would not be staying in these ‘conditions’ indefinitely.  A curtain had been hastily put together prior to our arrival to offer some privacy which was greatly appreciated as I really was making a right fool of myself in the bathroom.  You realise what a privileged life you have led when you have to ask someone to explain to you how you take a shower in a bathroom with no shower or bath and only a cold tap with no basin and a hole in the floor.  The technique is to buy several kettles and have them all boil water simultaneously, fill a couple of buckets and add cold water as desired.  You then wet a towel and commence washing.  I soon discovered, untutored, that if you sufficiently spread you legs, squat and bend your back it is possible to fully submerge your head in a bucket of water offering you a moment of tranquillity. 

Xiamen itself is wonderful.  As a former treaty port European architecture is plentiful, particularly on the island of Gu Lang Yu where for many years the Chinese were prohibited from visiting.  There is also a strong classical music tradition which was welcome.  As we visited during Golden Week it was extremely busy.  This was at times a little frustrating like when queuing for tickets for the ferry (only 80p return) or just plain terrifying when boarding the boat.  You are basically hoarded onto the boat like cattle and, like cattle, are crammed in and have to stand bolt upright with no hand rails!  The previous day a record 150,000 people had caught the ferry to Gu Lang Yu so I shouldn’t have been surprised. 

I could write a lot about Gu Lang Yu as we really did enjoy a wonderful day there but, in spite of all the architecture, natural beauty, food and music I am most eager to report on the most hysterical line up on offer at the equivalent of Madame Tussauds.  I was obviously not surprised to see Mao enjoying a cigarette and a cup of tea – indeed it was an opportunity to get a snap with the Chairman (albeit for £1) that drew me inside – but I was surprised to cuddle up next to Hitler, Chiang Kai-shek, Tojo and Stalin.  Hitler in Chinese is 希特勒.  If you pump this into google translate you’ll discover why it is both amusing and rather apt.

I have been asked several times by both the Chinese and my friends and family at home what things I find myself missing about Europe and the UK.  I think it still far too early to really answer this question especially as I have spent some time in Shanghai and Hong Kong that are as modern and Western as anywhere in Europe.  I am, or rather was, missing English breakfast tea.  I brought a packet with me from the UK but they soon disappeared as I listened to Test Match Special on my balcony in my pants.  There is only one shop (at least that we know of) in Fuzhou that sells English breakfast tea, Metro, and it is sadly about one hour on a bus.  I was, thankfully, able to get three boxes into my bag in Hong Kong. 

A. A. Dollimore & Son's, October 2011 

I think if I had gone to China twenty years ago I perhaps would be able to provide an answer to such a question with a greater degree of immediacy because, as it is, the internet enables one to feel very much in touch with matters in Europe should one be so inclined.  The purchase of a proxy server (approximately $40) enables me to watch or listen to anything on British TV or Radio respectively live and, furthermore, thanks to sites like the iPlayer I am not even inconvenienced by the time difference.  I have thus not been able to miss Radio 3, Radio 4 or even BBC4 – very much enjoying the recent documentary about the Regency for example.  I am also, thanks to my kindle, able to download my weekly copy of the Spectator, uncensored and cheaper than when I was at home. 

I think an easier question to answer already might be what things will you miss if and when you leave the People’s Republic.  This is already not an inconsiderable list and I could write at length about the obvious things like the food, the people and the railways.  There are also, however, many more other things that you can get all too quickly accustomed.  

I have, for example, stopped washing my own hair.  There is a salon underneath my building that will do that for me for only £1.20 (with a loyalty card in my Chinese name) and provide a 30 minute head, neck and shoulder massage.  If this was not outrageously good value enough it is also proving an excellent place to practice my Chinese as invariably other clients are intrigued by the presence of a foreigner and want to talk.   

Writing my name (Zhan Rui De) in Chinese under the
watchful eye of an intrigued local, October 2011

I think another thing I will miss, on a more comic note, are the comb-overs which are still very much the fashionable hairstyle for the balding gentleman.  I am sure few of you are surprised to hear that my Chinese is already sufficient to pass judgment on such matters.  I have found myself using it as an ice breaker – 今天早上我看见一个人,他的秃头看起来很帅 / jīntiān zǎoshang wǒ kànjiàn yīgè rén, tā de tūtóu kàn qǐlái hěn shuài - this morning I saw a man, his comb-over looked very handsome.  

The shifu and calligraphy teacher in Xi Hu Park...showing off his handsome comb over, October 2011 

Maria asked ‘What about drinking?  It would appear that, like in Germany, what you drink in China is dependent on which city or region you are in.  In Fuzhou there are essentially two brands of beer that are widely available - Sedrin and Tsingdao.  I am sure a majority of you are familiar with Tsingdao as it is readily available in many Chinese restaurants worldwide.  Sedrin, on the other hand, is not widely available outside Fujian!  It is possibly the weakest beer I have ever had the pleasure of drinking although, that said, it certainly doesn’t taste bad.  It seems to have acquired cult status amongst the foreigners in Fuzhou who enjoy all too regularly filling tables with empty beer bottles whilst eating dinner.            

If you exclude a very nice bottle of wine I drank with an old Bulgarian friend in Hong Kong, I have drunk just a single glass of wine in China – a mediocre yet expensive French wine at a friend’s birthday dinner.  This may seem incredibly prudent but when one considers the current annual per capita consumption of wine in China is only 0.35 litres it would appear I am something of a guzzler!  In fairness the vineyards of the People’s Republic are considerably further north and thus even palatable Chinese wine, let alone imported French or Italian wine is somewhat expensive.  A critical Frenchman suggested to me that the €5.00 vin de table you may enjoy in Bordeaux can cost over ¥500.00 (£50) in Fuzhou!

I feel that over the past several years I have acquired a not insignificant knowledge of my drink of choice – whisky, or more specifically, scotch – and therefore consider myself able to speak with some authority on the matter.  There is, regrettably, a poor and not inexpensive selection available in Fuzhou.  The best whisky I have found thus far has been Glenmorangie priced at ¥330.00 (£33) in Wal-Mart.  I had to travel to Hong Kong and part with nearly 500 HKD (£40) to enjoy some proper peaty Islay whisky. 

I am, once again, sorry this has been quite a lengthy account.  I really should try and be more disciplined and write less more frequently. 

    

This is testament to the standards of driving in China.  This bin has been hit by a car driving on the path! September, 2011

   

  

‘Let a hundred flowers bloom; let a hundred schools of thought contend’ – Mao Zedong

There is perhaps no better way to start a blog about life in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) than with a quote of Chairman Mao.  He may not, in this quote, be making explicit reference to the inquisitive mind of an Englishman abroad, but when read completely out of it’s original, politically charged context I feel it reads rather nicely for the purpose of kick-starting this blog!  

I slowly came around to the idea, following the advice and persuasion of several friends, to collate a written account of my trails and tribulations in the PRC some time before I left the UK.  I was, however, until recently unsure exactly which written medium would suffice.  My Albanian hairdresser was not the only acquaintance to suggest I write a book or even a novel based on my experiences but I soon concluded – during my haircut – that such an undertaking would not only be wildly ambitious but fail to provide my family and friends with a narrative of thoughts and events as they happen or, rather, when I choose to write about them.  I have, therefore, after several false starts with group emails and or facebook messages decided upon writing a blog which appears to be the most flexibility option at my disposal.  I did give some consideration to twittering incessantly but decided I lack the literary grace of a Rio Ferdinand or Joey Barton to do the equally flexible medium justice. 

I am aware that it has now been several weeks since I have communicated with the vast majority of my friends and am aware from the tone of some of your emails and messages that you may be jesting “I hope he’s alive!”.  Well, thus far I am pleased to confirm that I am doing fine although as many of you who have travelled to China will recognise health and safety is certainly not the obsession it is in the UK.  I remember the first time I travelled to Athens and whilst speedily making our way down Attica Road overtaking a pick-up truck with several gypsies standing up in the back enjoying the cool wind in their hair and their midriffs.  At the time I deemed this to be more than a little dangerous but after a couple of weeks living in Fuzhou I find myself drawing an altogether different conclusion. 

If one holds the view that China is not a free country then I advise they stand at the crossroads outside my apartment.  The chaos that seems to be in constant operation is almost beyond accurate description.  The road at least three lanes wide in each direction but many cars and mopeds are just as content using the path and even driving the wrong way to cut corners.  It was initially pretty scary – especially when I considered that I would be racing across this intersection at least twice a day – but I am starting to get used to it.  I initially tried just to cower behind the unimposing figure of some old Chinese women who may also be crossing the road!   

I have already witnessed one road accident – not outside my house but at the supermarket.  It was quite a shocking experience actually.  I didn’t see the actual impact – thankfully – just a man lying motionless in the middle of the road in front of a car with a crowd of people gathered round just looking at him.  I don’t know if an ambulance had even been called!  The only real urgency demonstrated by anyone was by the motorists fifty yards back who blew their horns impatiently in search of an explanation as to the root cause of the matter!  I think what was perhaps equally telling was the reaction of my colleagues with whom I was with at the time (an Englishman and two Americans) who basically said that you will see this if you spend time in China – get used to it! 

I thought I was getting used to the hilarity of taking a taxi in Fuzhou.  The constant use of the horn – whether it be to alert pedestrians in the city or to indicate you are overtaking on a motorway, the price – starting at 80p and seldom more than £1.50, the expressionless face of the driver when all manner of calamities is unfolding in front, the light jumping, the absence of seatbelts in the back, the use of the cycle lane and the negotiable number of persons the vehicle is licensed to carry.  Then I went to Shanghai.  It is not exaggeration to say that for approximately £3.00 we enjoyed a white knuckle ride around the ring road!  It started well hopping in at Renmin Square and skidding violently at the first intersection to avoid running down two women – one of which must have been inches from the bonnet – the driver even demonstrated a hint of concern as he pulled away.  The driver drove on the busy three lane ring road like I would on a computer game weaving all over the place, overtaking whenever he saw an opportunity manifest itself and, heaven forbid, if someone attempted to cut in front of him he put down the accelerator and veered in the direction of the opponent.  It was like he wanted to make a statement – no one overtakes me on the Shanghai ring road.  I was seated in the front and desperately wanted to put my seat belt on but resisted the temptation thinking he may interpret this as an invitation to go faster!  We arrived at our hotel unscathed! 

It is not only the taxi drivers who enjoy driving like they’re racing.  On a three day school trip to the Fujian countryside we took a coach through some incredible mountain scenery with narrow roads and huge steep gorges to the river below.  This didn’t inhibit our driver however who was overtaking not only other busses and lorries but cars and motorbikes.  I think I most enjoyed the way in which he would get right up behind the vehicle in front as if seeking to get a tow before moving out and eyeing up the pass whether it be diving down the inside on a blind corner or powering round the outside on an exposed cliff edge.  They are great journey’s to talk about of course but only when you survive! 

I rented a bike in the beautiful city of Hangzhou to cycle around the enormous West Lake – or should I say I rented four bikes!  The first bike held up reasonably well for a few hours which included a hill that was all too steep when it’s over 35 degrees and the humidity is so high.  However, thankfully on a flat road, one of the peddles came clean off which saw me paddling or punting with one leg back to the pits.  Quite a spectacle you can imagine.  No sooner had I changed bikes and went to pull away that I discovered the chain was absence – less embarrassing but back to the pits nonetheless.  The third bike took me some distance before the steering column came loose – I went to turn and continued straight in almost Monty Python esque fashion.  The final bike was thankfully alright – at least when I gave it in!  I should point out that all the bikes available were terribly uncomfortable owing to my enormous stature – the seats we so low that there was a constant threat of bashing your knees on the handlebars.  I wasn’t too disheartened however when I came to settle the bill – 30p for a days cycling – not bad!    

The cost of living in Fuzhou at least is very cheap even compared to Shanghai which I found to be not much cheaper than London.  Eating out is so cheap that there is no point in cooking yourself unless there are several of you.  For example, in the restaurant several floors below where I live I can enjoy dumplings and vegetables for lunch for the equivalent of 90p.  A bottle of water is 15p and a bottle of genuine Coke-cola only 30p – in a Shanghai restaurant Coke-cola was over £2.00.  I have already discussed the price of a taxi but the bus is crazy – a 10p single ticket to anywhere in Fuzhou.  In the summer months there appears little point in walking anywhere given the heat and the fact that taxis and busses are air-conditioned but I have nonetheless wondered out frequently to try and get my bearings and immerse myself in the city – this usually finishes with my arrival home soaked. 

The heat really is incredible and certainly like nothing I have ever experienced in Europe.  I went to hit some balls at the driving range and despite being undercover, fanned and it being past 5pm I was drenched with sweat in a matter minutes – hitting golf balls!  I would need to run for 30 minutes on a treadmill in the UK to even approach this level of perspiration.  We played football on the beach one evening and looked more like a load of people who had decided to spend half an hour in the sauna with their clothes than athletes!  I understand that the weather shall cool down a little next month and I am already looking forward to that! 

I can not yet really comment on life as a teacher as I am yet to start teaching – that starts this week when I shall be covering the classes of two colleagues on vacation.  I have so far been the subject of a pretty comprehensive training schedule that has involved a lot of observation of other teachers.  This has certainly been a worthwhile use of my time as there is much to learn – particularly about how Chinese children behave and are or can be motivated.  It is also nice to have a period after your arrival in a foreign land when you’re cultural adjustment is made all the more difficult by the expectations that come with employment.  I am, nonetheless, now eager to get started.       

It is hard not to really like some of the children at the school – their enthusiasm, laughter, imagination and striking intelligence.  One of the most immediately interesting and amusing aspects of working with Chinese children is the English names with which the students baptise themselves. A colleague joked that all the girls choose ‘stripper names’ and that would be correct – there is a Coco, a Lilly, a Chocolate and even a Fanny.  I haven’t met a girl called Lady Gaga yet but I did meet a girl in Hangzhou with the most incredible blonde haircut.  It is the boys, however, that really come up trumps in this regard.  I have met a Salad, a Zeus, a Blade, a Yoyo and, my personal favourite, Obama! 

Obama, a very capable twelve year old student, is also quite a character and enjoys an entertaining classroom rivalry with his best friend Tony – known as Uncle Tony.  Uncle Tony is probably the strongest student I have seen and the fact that his wicked sense of humour is almost exclusively directed at a child called Obama is highly amusing.  If you ask Tony to talk about what he did yesterday or what he eat for lunch he will, with a huge smile on his face, say things like ‘Last night I slaughtered Obama…yesterday I executed Obama…for lunch I drank Obama’s blood’.  As I am sure you can imagine it is very hard to keep a straight face when Tony is on a roll!        

There is an eleven year old boy who has already read The Odyssey in English and is currently reading the Iliad.  He could hardly contain his enthusiasm when we talked about it – he told the story of Polyphemus as well as any Greek except without the accent! 

I am conscious that this blog entry is already becoming a little longer than is reasonable for me to expect anyone to bother reading so I shall attempt to draw it to a satisfactory close.  There is, in short, many more things I could of and indeed do intend to discuss in future blog entries but you shall have to wait.  For example, my first spot of bricklaying in public since I was a toddler and a detailed analysis of Chinese public toilets, my singing Chinese songs at the karaoke (KTV), the local cuisine, the health check, the ‘lao wai’ (foreigner) treatment in the Fujian countryside, the night clubs and more about my trip to Shanghai and Hangzhou.  I think that the next blog entry already looks likely to be a lengthy account.