Christmas in Macau

Macau... one of the loveliest places I've been thus far. Who could have thought? Huge skyscrapers, obscenely ostentatious casinos, hotels with their own London Royal Guard (with M16s), commie-style apartment complexes... but all these are so tastefully placed among the narrow, cobbled streets and ancient-treed avenues, old fortresses, cathedrals and twisting alleys that they actually seem to fit. The city is pretty much a big Unesco site, it is so delightful. There are not the huge multilaned roads like Hong Kong or Wellington; people stop for pedestrians; no one spits; smoking is rare. It is a perfect example of a city modernising while still retaining its charm and class.
The only thing I wasn't impressed with (apart from the high prices) was the lack of pubs! I just wanted to sit down have a beer on Christmas day, while the girls crawled the make-up shops! There was not a pub to be seen. We found a horrendously expensive karaoke bar cluster, but that was it. I'll do a more thorough scout next time.

50th birthday

We spent a day doing the utmost of time-honoured and worthy activities - stuffing around! I must say, I was starting to get a bit frustrated at the way this is such an integral part of life. For instance, you would be told to rush to meet someone, and they'd get there 40 mins late; or you'd not find out about some important event till 5 mins before while everything was trying to be organised, and you could have taken care of stuff during the day...
but anyway, Lemon's dad had his 50th birthday, which a few slings of red wine made me forget my whingesome worries. I got introduced personally to 3 tables-worth of family and guests, which the booze helped with, then the tradition is to cheers every time you take a sip and drain the glass. And you go round the tables and interrupt people to cheers when appropriate. It was actually really fun, Lemon's dad was overjoyed - he's a doc, so doesn't often booze up. He did that night! Now it's Christmas yum cha, over and over!
Hope everyone's is as good.

Literature

If my posts seem a bit surgy or melodramatic at times, it's because I've had my head in 19th century literature my whole trip. I've gone through Moby Dick, Crime & Punishment, Count of Monte Cristo and just about to embark on Treasure Island and Hunchback of Notre Dame. I'm taking the oppo to read up some "Classic Literature', and besides, they're all out of copyright and cheapest at the bookshops.

The Family Village

I've just come back from three nights in the family village. I will never complain about being stared at again. Since the beginning of my trip I've been stared at, gawped at, ogled (I think), scowled at, appraised, observed, glanced at, idly gazed at, dismissed and completely ignored. The village people have no problem staring straight at you as if you're some bizarre animal, or laughing openly whilst pointing at your strange features. A couple of old ladies came to their gates and suspiciously (their expressions were those of someone offended by a rude comment) regarded me as I was passing along. One came up at walked slowly round me with wide-eyed disbelief and skittered away in shock when I turned to look back at her.
Because you never - NEVER - get told anyone's name (or get introduced), I had to work out for myself who were the family members and who were nosy neighbours. The aunties called me down from my balcony one avo and got me to have a toot on their long, broad bamboo bong. It was some kind of finely ground cigar tobacco they were smoking, but no one told me that you weren't supposed to inhale it, so I ended up almost swooning and spraying my face with the exhaled backwash. This was to the hysterical mirth of all. For the next hit, I chose to sit down, which again caused shrieks of laughter. Lemon's parents looked 0n with suspicious amusement. Later that night, the uncles had their turn throwing rice alcohol at me; the only way to refuse a top-up here is to forcefully push the pourer's hand away and growl, so naturally I kept getting more top-ups as I thought it was rude to say no. Lemon's dad took it upon himself to say when I'd had enough, and he was probably right.
In the middle of the night I was awoken by big bursts of firecrackers, which continued spasmodically till dawn. Apparently it was the first of the lunar month celebratory custom. The next morning, Lemon's dad was preparing breakfast of one of the chickens which had been freshly killed and cooked the night before. Although offered a carving knife, his expression seemed to imply that such bourgeois, city ways (like seatbelts) were strictly unnecessary, and a pair of strong hands were much better to divide up the sorry bird. The prized "phoenix talon", ie chicken foot, he thrust my way, and the boring old "flesh not on the bone" he dumped for the latecomers and second-grade guests. I only ate a small portion, being still full of hearts, blood-curd and lung soup of the night before. I also was still a bit reeling form the rice spirit.
This was a special bottle given to me to pass the time for the preceding couple of days, and though the rice fermentation gave it a sewery smell, and it was a bit like drinking farts, but you know, 'beggars can't be' and all that; 'any port', eh?
After a few dinners like that we made our way back here to Zhuhai. It is a relief to be only 'looked at', rather than causing accidents to people riding or driving past by their staring and not looking where they're going.

Drunken Train Drama

This is long, but it's full of gross things and implied violence, so it might be worth your while... i took no pics of it so here's one more of the Old Town.

We boarded the dirtiest train in China (no, I'm not exaggerating, it has that reputation, which only fuels the reality - not because of the cabins, which are quite nice, but the habits and actions of those aboard). The toilets have scarcely a drop of flushing water. The hot water is only available in one car, so you have to fill up a flask to use. The floors are grubby. We purchased a seated ticket, hoping to sit for a while and upgrade when it got a bit cheaper. But we had seats 113 and 114 - the seating only went up to 112! So after pushing through a noisy, smoky, messy chaotic crowd only to find we had no seat! So we upgraded to a sleeper immediately. Unfortunately, it was at the exact opposite end of the train, which was now moving. So we hauled our stuff some 12 cars to the diner, upgraded our ticket then hauled the 4 or so more cars to our berth. Which turned out to be deserted, and quiet and cleanish. Why did the bag at the station say there were none left then?!

All was well until from some bumhole town boarded a young couple, been out chugging rice wine, or pig-urine liquor or something. The girl threw off her knee-high pointy boots and climbed into the bunk above us. The guy saw me and "eeeehhh, laowai....!!!" he slurred. I know that word well, it means foro (foreigner). Then he clambered up to his bunk. Such was the potency of his favoured elixir, that he decided that he and his girlfriend might lie of the same bunk, so he dangerously clambered from his to hers, while we trembled below, thinking he would tumble on us. Girl was not as excited by this arrangement however, so she clambered to his vacated bunk, again to our apprehension. This exchange happened a couple of times more, Lemon starting to bristle as does the sun-sleeping cat when an annoying kid approaches. Finally Guy slumped down and engaged in the National Cleanseful Action Of Purity - hoiking. A great big hhhhcccchhhhh (I knew what was coming, and could feel my blood beginning to boil) and PTOUI! At the sight of this phlegmatic glob of mucoid throat-pus, I let out a very irate string of oaths. This frightened them for a bit so I hoped, but the drunk are slow learners.
When it happened a second time, I shouted and berated a little louder. Lemon left in search of the train police, and Girl tried to tell the idiot to go to sleep and stop it, suggesting he use a plastic bag she proffered. I took the plastic bag and gave her to understand that she might place it over his stupid face instead. Still he didn't learn. The third gob was the most unsightly and I leapt up in a fury and told Girl (it was no use telling Stupid, he was unsensical by now) that if I saw that one more time, he would find his person pulled strongly from his eyrie and onto his pathetic head amid the muck he'd made. She gave me an expression of "don't be so dramatic", so I took her advice and sat smugly awaiting Lemon with the police. My glances doorward reminded her of this, and she began trembling in nervousness. I felt a bit sorry for her now, since it was Dickbrain's fault really. Then the Controller arrived.
He saw the gobpit I'd tried to cover with toilet paper (and I'm ashamed to say, I played the haughty foro card, and as is the way in China the people are expected to show a positive view of their country in the presence of foreign guests, which this cabin expressly wasn't), and began giving Girl a severe berating, as Knobhead had passed out by this stage. He arranged a room-change for us, and as we left I took a more kindly tone to Girl, who was apologising again and again. I conveyed my vexation was not due to her, that she was indeed not so bad, but that she might like to suggest to her boyfriend that he was a scrofulous pig, upon his waking.
When they alighted, she was doing that utmost of contemptuous actions, walking in front while he trailed shamefully and vacu-headed behind.
I think he got the message.

Emperor's Park

We just went for an amble in the park that 'two Emperor's quite liked' according to the info sign. It was fairly impressive, the crystal-clear water flowing down from the backdrop thrustful snowcapped mount and the old gentlemen playing card games and counter games. The trees are in full Autumn bloom, with all the brilliant flares of colour one might expect. The leaves often fall onto the ponds and skiff about blown by the wind, looking like little boats. Sounds of the traditional Naxi-Tibetan music wafts across from the dance pagoda.
I'm reading my way through Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment"; I thought, you know, 'history', Russia borders with China, funny social quirks and protocols etc. We have one more night midst the cobbled streets and pointy roofs then it's the long journey back to the whanau.

Old Town Life

Our guesthouse is over a wee bridge, overlooking a narrow street. We woke at a sensible hour, took tea on the second floor of a delightful teahouse aside the meandering canal. We'll take lunch in some small dining room, as and when we see fit, and have nought to do but wander around the most pleasant of surroundings and soak up the olde atmosphere, playing cards and reading. A true holiday from our holiday, it is. (Boring post, I know - told you the weird and awful stuff is always more interesting.)

Lijiang

...is a perfectly preserved old stone-paved, canal-threaded, ancient-building-ed old town. What a great place! It's up there with Bruuge (Belgium), Sarlat (France) and York (England) in my top old places visited. Tastefully modernised with electric lights and fire safety stuff, it is often used for movies and historical dramas, it is so well preserved. We are staying in a wee guesthouse above an alley. A step away is the canal and many shops, restaurants, tea-houses and bars.
I URGE ALL YE WHO HAVE NOT BEEN TO GET THERE NOW! Such is its beauty, you must see it before the tacky tourist shops take over. Also it has a few rises and dips, bridges and part of it slopes up the hillside to a temple. Google it, it's great!
(I'm impressed, if you hadn't noticed - it was worth the awful noisesome trainride here.)
This is the view from our room.

>>> ipod update <<<

Hear ye all who own an ipod - they don't work in Tibet! The low pressure or something messes them up! They too, it seems, get altitude sickness. Apple, you suck. I never ONCE was told about this. Lucky it's back to normal now, or it would be jabs for Jobs!!

Alleys

Kunming rivals Xi'an for impressively beautiful layout. There is a mix of bustling sidestreets with all kinds of foods, shuttlecock fletchers, false tax/meal receipt sellers arguing over their percentages and fruiterers. The silly old lonely planet says all the sidestreets have been swept away, but it just isn't so! We found a delightful little alley threading its way through ancient cottages and restaurants, much like the old old town that it all must have been at one time. After a brief sojourn by the tree-encrusted riverside, we dined at a lovely Muslim restaurant where the staff went out of their way to advise us on food and booze, then defiantly refused any tips. The temple we visited was exquisite, with an island Bhudda surrounded by a moatfull of lovely fat goldfish and turtles.
I even took this stealth shot of these two riverside gentlewomen. Note the tiny foot of the left one. I imagine she's seen some stuff in her life.

Chopstickity pick-pock

Well, I had been in Kunming for less than an hour and already was a target by a pickpocket! Standing next to me at the vege and rice stall, I caught him fiddling in my wallet-pocket with his chopsticks!
I landed a great punch to his face, causing him to fall on his tailbone, then with my knee on his chest I caught his chopsticks, snapped them and threw them in his face, roaring that if he ever tried it again I'd shove them up his nose and into his brain... hauling him to his feet I sent him on his way with a hefty kick to his spine and a hairful of hot noodles....!!!
...well in my mind afterward I did that. In reality I was so surprised (and dare I say impressed) with his sly use of chopsticks, that all he got was a mild push and a couple of reactionary words. I always love the sheepish 'what?' look that these guys give (I've seen it in Paris, and in Lhasa) even as they walk away, guiltily found out.

Chiang Kai-shek

This is Anand's favourite military leader. In Xi'an we climbed his old stronghold, and saw his barracks in the foothills of a mountain and hotsprings. He was leader of the Nationalists (Kuomintang) which earlier overthrew the dynasty and ended imperial rule. The communists allied with and then drove out the Kuomintang to Taiwan. Chiang Kai-shek was 'forced' into allying with the Commo's to drive out the Japanese during the revolutions. When the Commo's overtook his barracks, he ran away in hid in a crack up the mountain. He was captured and the rest is history.
When we were climbing, lo and behold - there he was! Sitting in a tent, with his female assistant. I suspect he didn't and remains there even now, forced to pose for humiliating photos taken with tourists. Poor old Shanky, if only he new he was the namesake of a reggae riddim.

Train to Kunming

We drew the short straw on this one. The bunks were open to the corridor, and the train was much shabbier. I'd had the notion that I'd never be able to abide the ubiquitous smoke, so I decided to join them. Yes, I procured a tin of quality Dutch cigars in Xi'an, and joined the fug in the smoking area (the corridor just outside the sleeping cabin, so that the smoke might waft in and please those who weren't smoking at that moment). The toilets overflowed and the beds gave me a backache, but it wasn't so bad.

Nightlife

We met some of Lemon's friends, many who studied in NZ, and went for some traditional dinners. Being a Muslim centre, the food is fantastic. We went to a BBQ house which was a little like Wellington yum char - they bring around kebabs, fish and beer and you just grab what you want. Lemon's friend Shuai was the best guide, and she took us to all the cool places to bargain and shop, and then to the local club. I thought it would be full of foreigners, but I was the only one there among throngs of rich, stylish locals all playing dice-assisted drinking games and dancing to American and Chinese pop. It was huge; easily the flashest club I've ever been to with posh bars, lights, big sound system, and windows overlooking immaculate courtyard gardens and ponds.
It was strange at first as security was so tight - they screen bags and you walk through a metal detector to enter, and around the perimeter of the bar guards with hard hats and vests stand about 10m apart overseeing things. It was odd at first, but no one else seemed to notice them.
What a great place Xi'an is!

Xi'an city

The best main streets I've ever seen. The have a sidewalk AND a footpath AND a pavement, hard shoulder, dedicated cycle lanes and FIVE(!) rows of trees! The treelined sidestreets are packed with Muslim foodstalls, all selling delicious delights. I FOUND THE PERFECT HAMBOBAO! A steamed flatbread filled with spicy lamb mince and local and exotic fresh veges. The city is chic and clean, with great landmarks like the belltower and drumtower. It's the best city I've seen so far.

Teracotta Warriors

I'm glad to have seen these guys when I did. The fascinating thing is that the dig is still ongoing, and at such a careful rate that they aren't expected to be fully unearthed for at least another century. And there are a suspected few hundred square km's of yet undiscovered treasures. We did the tour thing for the first time... a bit hectic but we only had to go to one greenstone shop, so it was ok really. A really misty surreal day lent atmosphere to the experience. Not as atmospheric, at least not in the same way, were the km's upon km's of tourist shops and malls leading up to the pits. They sold everything from life-size to miniature warrior replicas, food, clothes, goats and junk. I suspect this area will become the new centre of Xi'an, rivalling the beautiful city surrounded by ancient city walls. See them soon, while you can still do so easily!

Xi'an

Just arrived here in the land of Terracotta warriors and 30000-odd other historical sites. The hotel (yes, hotel - we've just jumped out of the sardine-can of a train cabin, so we're not up to 'roughing it') is top notch, and the city so far looks beautifully stylish.
And as I was writing this, I met a lovely British [sounding] gentleman who said "You're not Matt are you?". He's been travelling and reading my blog the whole way! Heh, I thought Wellington was small!
Turns out there is another 'Matt' travelling about, and it was this other guy's site he'd seen. O well, at least my mum still reads mine.

Trainy Quirks

There are some things that make one feel 'warm' to others. Just certain displays of unintentional charmingness that one observes. Here are some from the train trip:
- The guy I glimpsed politely sidling by me whilst I was having a beer, with his two tiny cucumbers clenched in his hand for dinner.
- The guy whose English was a skeric better than my Chinese, with whom I had a couple drinks, and halted convo, and by the end he gave me a charm he'd had for 5 years, and I'd given him some NZ coins for his little boy. (I'll send him some better stuff when I get home.)
- The soldier, just beginning his 3-month holiday after serving in Tibet; he carried a little Pekingese puppy, and he loved it so much as if it was his own baby, and let it run about the carriage to be petted by everyone, much to the disdain of the train police but not the train staff. (They hassled him about the dog, but only laughed at me when I tried to shut the door to prevent smoke coming into the cabin - it was a strictly non-smoking trip, especially during the oxo-zone, completely ignored by staff, cops and passengers alike.)
- The girl who would spend hours washing her face and slapping on the lippy and eyeline, but was completely at home with picking her nose as she greeted you. (Nose pickery, spittage, throatal hackment etc. is common and unashamedly indulged in by all, restauranteurs, conductors, commoners, inside and out.)
There were plenty more. I'll leave it there.

Oxygen

Of course I had a few good blasts of the oxygen, especially once over 5200m. I thought I may as well get my money's worth, so I kept sucking on it as continually as I could handle. It was an up-the-nose affair, as opposed to a mask, so I spent a lot of time trying to form a nasal seal, that I might suck only of the oxygenated air and not the common farts and ciggie smoke in the cabin. It was a shame when we finally got to normal level and they turned it off.
I've kept the tube, if anyone wants to feel what it's like - I could pump chili-infused air, from the top of a heater to approximate the burning dryness, but I'll have to substitute oxo for nitrous so you can get the comparison (of having nice breathable air to that cabin stuff aforementioned).

Newest, Highest Railway!

I'll start with the train ride. We checked into the top bunk (3rd level) of the new Qinghai-Tibet Railway. What a great ride... we passed frozen lakes, desert moonscapes, undulating plains, various cities and villages each a world away from the last. All to the punctuated voiceover in Chinese and American-trained English, beginning "Dear passengers and friends...." and going to to big-up the achievements of the railway and the virtues of the scenery. For instance, the local herdsmen of Tibet were so joyous at the "tranquility that was broken for the first time in 1000 years" by the train whistle that they decorated the train in ribbons of "celebration and curiosity"! So many landscapes, some quick and some never-ending. I am glad to be off even though it was cool.

Last night in Lhasa!

We are to spend our last night here in Lhasa, before taking the controversial railway to Xi'an (where the underground army is). Since our tickets cost twice as much as we'd hoped, we've booked into a "people's hotel". Small cell-like rooms, cold and grubby, but there are monks walking round and of course the obligatory telly in the room, taking up most of the space! The newest, highest railway in the world should be fascinating.
Bye Tibet - I must depart and get some water back into my self.

Song of the Hambobao (Hamburger)

On the bus from Gyantse back tho Lhasa, there was a song on the cassette that kept coming round. As often happens when listening to another language, the words seemed to take on a meaning of their own, in my brain. (Bear in mind that I had already learned that "Hambobao" is "Hamburger" in Chinese.)
The song's chorus seemed to run thus:

Maaake meee a hambobao;
Jeeelllyyyy [jelly] in me hambobao;
Why hail a logger man?
When a cool me hambobao.

I think I must be missing something from home...

Tea...?

In Shigatse, we bought a brick of tea from a local stall, you know, wanting to be all "cultural". Wrapped in yellow paper, it was highly compressed, dark, matted vegetable. I broke off a chunk for each of us, and on pouring the water noted the black nature of the water. It was stemmy and grassy, impossible to drink as the sticks caught in your throat. It tasted of grass.
They'd sold us a brick of yak fodder. Who were we to say it wasn't also to be used as tea?

Gyantse

This town is smaller and even more Tibetan feeling than Shigatse. There are a few hotels, so there MUST be other outsiders, but it doesn't feel like it. We caught a tractor to a tiny village about 20 mins away, to see this old Manor. The ice was caked in the roadside drains, the plains of various agricultural plots stretched out to the brown, jagged mountains. On the way back we caught a horse-cart, which was a complete novelty for us as well as the drovers and other passengers that got on. What a great place. If only there was a skeric of oxygen about, I might stay a bit.

The Palace kora

On walking the 'kora' (the clockwise circuit around the Palace Temple, lined with prayer wheels) we encountered some urchins. Thinking I'd be kind I got out our bag of biscuits. Suddenly we were surrounded by young and old, snatching calling, swearing, demanding and filching. Lemon tied to be diplomatic (one for everyone, wait a second, etc.) which was to no use. She was trying to reason with them, but gave up when one big girl started bitterly condemning her to some kind of purgatory after death. That's when we gave up.
The kora was the opposite - so tranquil and surreal, dotted with devout monks and nuns, and walked by pilgrims. We met a couple that did that prostrate-each-step thing, twice every day. Sheep run about free, with nought but a bell as sign of ownership; prayer flags littered the mountainside, bells jangled and prayer wheels rumbled.

Shigatse Tibet

We arrived here after a bumpy bus ride through steep upthrusts of rock, and narrow, deep gorges. The bus teetered on the edge of the road at times then hooned on to overtake horsecarts on blind corners. The scenery is so brown. I don't think I've ever seen so many shades of brown. All against a cloudless azure sky.
We cycle-taxied to our hotel (yes, hotel - 2 stars the sign said). The hotel was on "Butcher St.", where every 5 meters was a mini butchery. Each was different. There were:
about 20 headless, skinned goats, all sitting up to carcassy attention;
a pile of ox stomachs or lungs or something;
fresh yak pelts, in a big jumbled pile fresh off the cart;
yak halves, often for sale among tea and handicrafts;
piles of sheep heads - these were my favourite in a way... many of the expressions on the faces were of utter surprise, as if they had no idea they would be cut up to be eaten, as if it was their noble right to go munching and pooing all round the temples, safe from poachers, motorbikes and jackals. Others had a more resigned look of "right, so that's how it works" which seemed very true to the cyclic nature of the local belief.