Please, give a thought to the banks!

Please, give a thought to the banks!

We need more posts like the following, using humour to counteract the dumb stupidty of mainstream media, who mindlessly repeat the press handouts from corporations and corporate-fed governments.

Remember when teachers, public employees, planned parenthood, and PBS crashed the stock market, wiped out half of our 401Ks, took trillions in TARP money, spilled oil in the Gulf of Mexico, gave themselves billions in bonuses, and paid no taxes? Yeah, me either.

We also need to wonder why governments, who provided billions in bail-out money to protect the banks, are now borrowing money from those banks to finance deficits… caused by bail-outs to the banks!

It really does boggle the mind!

Criticasters

Michael Quinion had this today in his "weird words" section of World Wide Words:

Criticaster  /krItI'kast@(r)/

---------------------------------------------------------

It's not much met with now, more's the pity. This is one of its rare modern appearances in print:

    If I were deemed kosher by that classist, racist,

misogynistic bunch of criticasters, I would consider it time to retire my pens and legal pads.

    [A letter by Erica Jong in The New York Times, 1 Feb.

1998, on learning that her book, Of Blessed Memory, had been nominated for The Literary Review's Bad Sex Award.]

You may gather it is uncomplimentary. It refers to those who set themselves up as arbiters of taste and literary discernment but whose sensibilities are inadequate to the task. A blast against such petty critics was penned 150 years ago:

    What amount of obtuseness will disqualify a criticaster who itches to be tinkering and cobbling the noblest passages of thought that ever issued from mortal brain, while at the same time he stumbles and bungles in sentences of that simplicity and grammatical clearness, as not to tax the powers of a third-form schoolboy to explain? [Notes and Queries, 11 Jun. 1853.]

It was coined in the late seventeenth century by adding the ending "-aster" to "critic". The suffix came directly into English from Latin, where it meant an incomplete resemblance. English adapted it to refer to a person of inferior or inadequate qualities. It turns up in a small number of words, of which "poetaster", a person who writes bad poetry, and "philosophaster", a shallow or pretentious philosopher, are the least rare. Others of similar form - though almost never employed by anybody - are "politicaster", a petty or contemptible politician, "mathematicaster", a minor or inferior mathematician, and "witticaster", an inferior wit or witling.

I thought it worth quoting in full since it could so well apply to a large majority of bloggers. I must remember "witling" for future use. 

What's in a name?

This probably should have been the first post on this blog...

What’s in a name?

When I chose the name for this blog, Atlantic Whispers, I had several ideas in mind. One was an allusion to Chinese whispers, that childhood party game when a sentence is whispered around a circle, with sometimes hilarious results. The standard example, from the period of the First World War, is:

Starting sentence: Send reinforcements we’re going to advance.

End sentence: Send three and fourpence we’re going to a dance.

Blogs are a little like that process of transformation. The writer, often in a hurry to post the next number, writes something that could have been better expressed, and before you can say “Jacques Robinson”, the intent of the message has been misread and passed on, transformed.

Secondly, I don’t expect my blog to have a big following, so “whispers” seemed more appropriate than, say “Shout Out”, or “Roar”.

Thirdly, positioned as I am on the extreme eastern edge of North America, and with friends and family (potential readers) in Britain, the Atlantic had to be included somehow.

Of course, since starting this activity (it’s hardly and enterprise) the name has become self-fulfilling: my voice is so quiet as to be barely audible beyond the few who have endorsed it. No comments yet.

So maybe, just maybe, I’ll try being a little more provocative in my posts…

Beijing Diary: Final Post

Saturday 23 April.

We got up in time to have breakfast, but discovered with a shock that the price we had been working on for the hotel breakfast was Y30, not Y10 as I had been told. While it was still a bargain, Heather said that we should not take breakfast there, so off I went to the local store to get a couple of pastries, quite enough to keep us going until the meal on the plane.

We then had to check out.  Heather, meticulous as always, spotted a couple of charges that were not ours, so it took a little while before the account was finally settled and we were able to set off for the airport by taxi.

We got in line at the Air Canada counter 3 ½ hours ahead of time, but were, unfortunately, caught up in a school group from Calgary. Nether children nor most of the adults were well-behaved, so their antics made the wait even less bearable. The counter staff seemed incapable of dealing with a group booking where the individuals were listed on a sheet (as opposed to having individual tickets), nor with the regulations for luggage (the staff wanted to charge for the difference between international and domestic regulations. We waited over an hour before the problems were resolved and more counter staff brought in.

The formalities with the Chinese authorities were easily negotiated, although in the security check a 200ml tube of sun-screen was detected (it had been missed in Perth!) and we were obliged to surrender it.

The ten-day visit was far too short. And we have seen nothing outside Beijing. We plan on taking a similar route when next we are returning from Australia, but with more time spent in other cities, perhaps even a trip on the new train to Tibet.

Beijing Diary: Part 11

The rain eased off and we returned to the hotel to wait for Gordon who showed up promptly at 5 pm. We sat having a beer in the lobby, catching up on what we had been doing over the previous two days.  Gordon had been busy preparing for the opening of a show that was part of a large exhibition of photography and videos taking place in several galleries.

Then we set off to find the restaurant that had been recommended for Peking Duck. Since it was Friday night, the sidewalks were becoming crowded , so it was impossible to walk three abreast. Gordon had the address, and were were eventually on the right section, the east, of the right street. But the numbering system for businesses is not straightforward; as we first entered the east section, the first building on the corner was numbered 2-30, the second segment of the number then decreasing by two’s to about 2-20, then came 4-30, with a similarly decreasing number, then 6-xx,, 8-xx, then…28! The address we hd been given was number 26, but we had not passed a single restaurant in that section. Gordon knew that the next section of the road contained a large number of restaurants so we changed the focus of our search to look for a “good” restaurant, one that simply appealed to us. Most had barkers out front, trying to entice us in for a meal, but we eventually settled on one that had an interesting, if crowded interior.

It turned out o be a hot-pot restaurant. Each table for four had a recess in the middle with a gas burner. 

Gordon selected a number of plates of meat, fish balls and sauces for dipping, while we selected the vegetables. A large metal bowl was then set in the recess, the flame lit, and the broth we had selected (some kind of vegetable broth with wild mushrooms) was set to heat up. When that was ready we started adding sliced potatoes, and turnip sticks, and then waited for those to cook a little before adding some meat. We were the only westerners there, and in spite of Gordon’s expertise, were clearly not familiar with how the meal should proceed. At which point a waitress took charge. She indicated the order in which we were to add the various ingredients, and stepped in as well to help serve when they were cooked. At one point, Heather, who had added a fresh serving of thinly sliced marbled beef, removed some pieces to her plate, but Miss Dominant rushed in and ordered Heather to return them to the broth; in her opinion,they were not cooked. So much for medium rare!

It was a novel experience, and one I would love to repeat. Next time I would like to try have a supplementary bowl in the middle where fish can cook in its own broth, as we saw the adjacent table do.

When we left, it seemed that all the staff were lining up to say good-bye. We thanked them all with Xie! Xie!, and bowed just as they bowed to us. We strolled back in a leisurely fashion, taking in the sights and sounds for the last time on this trip.

At the hotel we said farewell to Gordon, with a promise to return to Beijing the next time we were on our way to Australia. He seemed a little sad to see us leave, as we were to leave him.

Beijing Diary: Part 10

Good Friday, 22 April.

Our last full day. But we are exhausted. So we decided, after looking at the possibilities both near and far, to head for the park on the other side of the main road that runs past the entrance to our hutong. It was sunny though cool when we left, and the previous day’s rain had obviously caused the poplar trees to shed more of their seeds; it was like walking through a light snow flurry!

We got to the lake and followed the bank towards the north. Some men were fishing, I would hope for sport and not for food, since the water did not look too clean, an impression supported by a dead fish which floated by. Further on we saw first one, then several men swimming across the lake. They had to make their way through a coating of poplar seeds on the water’s surface but they were obviously keen and not at all put off by the quality of the water or the cold. And then we saw the public notice with four warnings: one was in Chinese (with no translation, and the meaning of the graphic was not clear); a second one asked visitors to keep off the grass; and the third and fourth said “no fishing, no swimming.”

That was as far as we went, and so retraced our steps to the Drum Tower where we listened, outside, to the drum performance. Then lunch in the “Sculpting in Time” café, where we settled just ahead of a group of three German ladies, of a group of 10 Scottish persons, and of a thunderstorm. The café proprietors were in no hurry to move us out, so while Heather went to explore a nearby shop “for an umbrella”, I sat on watching the rain and the bicycle rickshaws now covered with tarpaulins, some completely leaving a small gap for passengers to look out, some just the roof.  Some drivers had adequate waterproof protection, some none at all, while a third class rode with one hand on the handlebar, the other holdng aloft an umbrella they had probably borrowed from their wife.

Beijing Diary: Part 9

Thursday 22 April.

The weather forecast for the day proved to be accurate and we awoke to overcast skies and then rain. Instead of going to the local store to buy pastries for breakfast, I decided to try the hotel’s and was pleasantly surprised. I’m not quite sure why we had not tried it before. There were various soft pastries and a version of croissants; toast, jam, coffee, sliced ham, and do-it-yourself fried eggs. Very wholesome! And filling!

I got Heather up in time to take advantage of it, as the rain came down even heavier. I was engaged in conversation by two elderly French ladies, one of whom was of Chinese extraction, about where to go on a rainy day in Beijing. In spite of my explaining that this was my first visit to China, they obviously thought I was an expert on all things in the capital, and proceeded to ask me where they should go to arrange for a large parcel to be sent by sea to France. They seemed quite put out when I indicated that I hadn’t a clue!

By the time Heather had had breakfast, the rain had eased and then stopped, but it was cooler so I was glad of the warmth from my LL Bean travel rainjacket. This time we were headed for the South Gate entrance to the Forbidden City and arrived there with no difficulty at all. Line 1, the first of the subway lines to be built, has distinctly older rolling stock with no electronic signs to help the foreign traveler. But announcements were still made in Chinese and in English. As we approached the entrance the usual soldiers were to be seen marching in pairs, but because of the rain, which had stopped, they were wearing green waterproof outfits that made them look like robots.

We paid our Y60 to enter and headed for the hall Gordon had told us of which contained a display of historical calligraphy and watercolours on scrolls. Signage was not great, and the hall is off the main axis of the courtyards, but we eventually found it and I was completely entranced. Paper scrolls dating back as far as the 7^th century were still fresh and in good condition. There were electronic displays, in English and Chinese, giving a brief biography of the artist and a sense of the historical and sometimes political context. From the Song Dynasty, to the Ming, and then the Qing dynasties one could detect the changes in style and approach. Some calligraphy was in the monastic style, some in cursive or “running” style. The electronic displays did not always correspond to what was actually on display, perhaps because of the cost of renewing the electronic material, but it did not deter from the experience. Definitely a place to come back to!

We sat for a while to rest our “gallery backs” while watching two videos about calligraphy. The sound commentary was in Chinese only, but we were happy to sit and enjoy the visual presentation.

When we emerged we spotted a museum bookstore and went in to explore. We were immediately welcomed by a young girl, in fact a woman 23 years old, called YouYou (pronounced yo-yo) who invited us into a back-room and set about making us a “little gift”, our names Heather and Tony, joined by the character for “love”, surmounted by the usual characters for good luck and long life. She then showed us examples of her work and of her “professor’s” and we were charmed into buying two of hers.

As we left the shop, she came running after us to give us her business card and Heather was able to get a couple of photos.

We returned to the main axis and proceeded through the succession of halls, each named with a variation on harmony or peace. Several of the translations provoked laughter, including one, describing, above an imperial throne, a plaque “written by the Emperor himself” which said “Doing nothing”.

We had not timed out lunch break very well, for when we went into a cafeteria (more like a coffee counter), they had stopped serving food and had only drinks available. So hot chocolate was the best food substitute we could find among the drinks offered. We did manage to find a few small gifts in the adjacent shop, though Hather’s alertness prevented us being ripped off by the cashier who managed to cock up the totalling to come up with Y235 instead of Y105. Since the visa charge had already gone through, we got a cash refund which actually helped our cash-in-hand situation.

After a fruitless attempt to locate the Hall of Arts and Crafts on the map, we were told that it was closed. Instead we contented ourselves with a stroll through to the Imperial Garden, by which time loudspeakers were announcing that the Palace would close at 5 pm and that we should plan the rest of our visit accordingly.

Though it was only a short visit (about four hours) we felt we had seen the best that was on offer. We could of course return and pay extra to see the House of Treasures, or the House of Clocks and Watches, but I’m not sure I would want to. The experience of the imperial grand scale of construction was enough for me.

By the time we got back to our district it was nearly 6 pm so we decided to treat ourselves to another meal at Little Saigon. After nearly six hours of being on our feet, it was very pleasant to sit and enjoy a kir cassis and then a well-prepared meal, ordered in French.

Beijing Diary: Part 8

Wednesday 20 April.

The weather forecast promised a sunny day on Wednesday, but rain on Thursday, so we changed our plans and chose to go to the Summer Palace first. And instead of taking a taxi, we decided to brave the experience of the subway. I had looked up a couple of sites on the web, and their descriptions of how to use the subway were rather daunting, involving paying different amounts to transfer to some lines. We asked at the desk and were told it was simple: buy a Y2 ticket each and go wherever you liked!

We were relying on a tourist map to identify the subway lines, and I misread it. We purchased the tickets without difficulty, proceeded to the platform and eventually, after a schematic outline of the stops got on the right train. Two stops along we had to change, and this was where my misreading led us astray as I confidently headed us for Line 13, a convoluted route up several escalators, along corridors, outside under covered walkways, then down staircases until we arrvived at the platform where none of the stations on the line seemed familiar. So we retraced our steps, following the signs now for Line 4. In no time we were at the station for the Summer Palace. The subway system is clean and swift, with clear indications on illuminated maps as to where you are, and announcements about which station you are approaching in Chinese and English.

In spite of various entreaties by rickshaw drivers to take their mode of transportation to the Palace, we walked there in just a few minutes, enjoying along the way the performance of a street-food seller who, on a large spinning metal disk spread out a kind of pancake mix, then broke an egg on top of that, before lifting and folding the product into a pie-shaped piece about a foot long. His assistant then took the folded pancake and, according to wishes of the customer, adding the various fillings before folding it over into a manageable size.

As we stood trying to make sense of the ticket prices, we were approached by a young woman who offered her services a s a guide for free. All we had to do was fill in a form at the end of the visit to give comments about her performance. The guide was training to be a professional, and she had to complete five such assignments as part of her training. It turned out that Sherri, her English name, was an English major at the university and that she was aiming to use the qualification only for the purposes of a part-time job. We agreed and I went off to buy the “through” tickets, ie that would let us in to most areas of interest.

Sherri’s English was good, and of course she had all the historical and cultural information we needed. But when Heather asked her questions about some of the plants and trees, aside from peonies, she was at a bit of a loss. Sherri kept up the flow of facts and figures as we went into certain rooms, including the theatre where three young girls were performing a version of the long sleeve dance. The stage was created solely for the Emperor and empress and their guests and was a three-tiered affair which allowed for three separate but simultaneous performances. The dance was followed by a traditional comic act between good and evil, the actors being dressed in white and black respectively so there could be no doubt as to their moral qualities. Our guided tour ended with a walk along part of the “long corridor”, an outdoor walkway some 750 metres long with over 40,000 decorative pictures. We walked only halfway, reaching the entrance to Longevity Hill, where, traditon has it, if one climbs the many hundreds of steps to the top, on can gain a longer life – if you don’t die in the attempt.

We filled in Sherri’s form, which gave her great pleasure, and off she went back to the entrance to find another group willing to help her fulfill her assignment. We did not attempt the climb, but stayed at the bottom for a rest and to get something to eat and drink.

We wandered back along the outside of the corridor – and bumped into Sherri guiding another group, this time Chinese by the looks of them. She beamed when she saw us. Close to the exit we sat a while listening to a man playing a Chinese flute accompanied by an instrumental cd and watching the pedalo boats on the lake. Then back to the subway and the trip back to the hotel. This second journey felt much more comfortable and we negotiated the transfer without a problem.

Again we felt too tired to go out to eat, so the simple expedient of nodles in a cannister had to suffice.

Beijing Diary: Part 8

Monday 18 April

Today was a slightly less energetic day. We arranged to meet Gordon near his Gallery, which is close to the 798 Art District. Gordon had thoughtfully printed out a map to hand to the taxi driver, which we did, and he nodded his approval, an indication that he knew where he was going. The general direction was fine, but when we turned off the main Aiport Expressway, the fine detail was lacking. Fortunately, when the driver stopped to consult the map, once again, there was Gordon! He was on his way to the meeting point, not far from where we stopped.

He took us first to his gallery, which also contains his and Jing’s living quarters, as well as a small appartment for visiting artists. The main gallery space does not have a large floor area, but the ceiling is high and the light, of course, good. Down a short flight of stairs is a small kitchen where reception food can be served. And on the other side of the central stairwell is a small area that is used as an office and storage area. The back wall is largely glass with a very tall glass door leading out to a very narrow, one metre wide strip limited by a broken-down wall, beyond which is a waste land that is used, by its owners, as an occasional garden.

And there, lying in the sun, was a cat – dead! At first it seemed to be sleeping in the sun, but by the number of flies buzzing around it soon became clear that it was an ex-cat. Gordon seemed a little perturbed since it was not clear how he could dispose of it. There is no agency for clearing up dead animals. Those that are killed on the roads are simply pulled to one side and other animals, including rats, rapidly dispose of the carcass.

We then visited the rest of the gallery’s amenities. G & J’s quarters are at the top of the building. They consist of one large room sub-divided into a bedroom (and shower, free-standing behind a screen), and a living area with a “kitchen” (microwave and two hotplates), an “office” (desk with laptop computer), and a “studio” for Jing. On the floor below, where the guest quarters are, there is a small loft, accessible only by a steep companionway (ship-style) which is Gordon’s space (Jing is fearful of tackling the steep stairs). Since galleries are closed on Mondays (and some also on Tuesdays) we were limited in the number we could go into. Several were in the process of installing new exhibitions, so we could peek inside; at others, Gordon knew the owners well enough to get in. This area of galleries has been built within the last 7-10 years; some are a going concern, others last a year or so before running out of money. The gallery next door to Gordon’s has recently been refurbished as a coffee house and is set to open this week.

We wandered around Gordon’s village, looking at the various food stalls on the street. Many people recognised him and waved or said hello. There is a large illegal immigrant population there, mainly young people who are looking for any kind of work. We saw several groups walking around carrying their bedding, buckets, and whatever few personal belongings they might have. Beijing has an estimated illegal population of about 4 million!

It was time for lunch, so Gordon chose a good restaurant that he had visited before. The choices we made were soon served, starting with a plate of peanuts and greens sprinkled with vinegar. Picking up one peanut with chopsticks tested the limits of my chopstick technique! The dishes were a little spicy, spicier than Gordon remembered, but it was good, nourishing food.

After lunch we did a little more wandering, before taking a taxi back to the hotel. The afternoon doesn’t sound like much, but I find that there is so much to see and take in, that after a few hours, combined with the walking, I am mentally and physically tired.

We had not finished lunch until 3 pm, so did not feel like going out for a meal. Instead we took advantage of the containers of noodles in the hotel room. They are simple to prepare: open the container, open the spice sachet inside, and, in some brands, open out the fork that is provided. Then add boiling water up to the mark on the inside of the container, wait ten minutes, stir in the spices, and it’s ready!

Beijing Diary: Part 7

Sunday 17 April.

The alarm went off at 7 am, giving me time to go look for some breakfast for us both. The tour guide, Annie, was on time and walked us down the laneway of the Hutong to the waiting mini-van. Our first stop was not the Great Wall, as we had thought, but the National Jade Factory, the first of several commercial stops. First we were shown how the jade was cut and sculpted, then how it was polished to heighten the lustre. The “happy ball” was the most ingenious – a solid block of jade is chiseled into to a certain depth, then cut around to creat a sphere within a hollow ball, then the inner ball is treated in the same way as the first to create a third sphere, the whole now representing a happy family of three generations. The outer sphere is then carved with decorative motifs and the whole polished.

Then our guide in the factory, Maria, explained the different qualities of jade, the criteria for determining value, and how to tell real from fake. And then came the sell when we were led into a huge display area, brightly lit with cases containing all manner of jade pieces from small animals (we bought a rabbit) to enormous amphora costing Y320000.

After that it was on to the Great Wall. According to Gordon, there are several places to visit the Great Wall near Beijing: one is in a poor state and difficult to access; a second one has been restored and the top can be accessed by cable car; our destination was a third one which has been fully restored, but you have to do the climbing. After finally leaving the city and climbing into the mountains the scenery changed quite dramatically; instead of acres of appartment blocks stretching into the distance, the motorway G6 wound through valleys and small villages, some of which had been cut in half by the road. We pssed a Disney type amusement park that has not been completed, and perhaps never will.  It looked somewhat forlorn. After about 45 minutes we arrived at a series of parking lots already filled with tour buses, but our driver, who spoke no English, got us eventually right to the entrance. Annie purchased the tickets (all included in the tour cost) and led us into the first courtyard to explain the temple that stands there and the massive statues of Samurai (?)warriors, fiece-looking individuals. Then, having arranged to meet at the exit in 90 minutes, we were left to choose our own path. To the left, the steps looked vey steep, so we chose the right, which initially was manageable, but then became suddenly steeper, with some of the risers being over two feet! So we got only about half way to the first “summit”, but it was well worth the effort to see the view up the valley and across to the other section of wall we had not chosen. It was amazing to see so many old people undertaking the climb, some so crippled they could hardly walk. For some the visit was a formal, even solemn occasion and they wore suits; for others it was a chance, as Annie said, “to become heroes.”

On the way, it began to get windy and we just managed to get to shelter before the shower came. It did not last long, but with the stronger wind it became clear how bad the littering problem is at this site. The Chinese don’t even look for a waste bin; they simply throw anything and everything to the ground. I felt sorry for the couple or so street cleaners who had to deal with the mess.

We went to a local restaurant for lunch, but the tour guide had not anticipated it would be so busy. There was one large table in the middle of the room, seating a dozen or so Chinese who were there to celebrate the birthday of an ancient lady. They were obviously the centre of the servers attentions as dish after dish arrived at their table. We had to wait about 15 minutes, but the three dishes eventually made their appearance with bowls of steamed rice, of course. The Columbian couple with us did not speak a lot of English, and neither of us speaks Spanish, so apart from the occasional exchange we kept to ourselves. Beer for men and cocacola for the ladies arrived and we thought it was included in the price. Towards the end of the meal, the confusion was cleared up. The dishes were tasty, with the first being unusual—julienne potatoes, not cooked but warmed through with ginger, hot chili peppers, garlic and onion in a light sauce of oil and vinegar.

After lunch we made a brief stop to photograph the Olympic Bird Nest Stadium and Water Cube… through railings! When the Columbian asked if we could get any closer he was told “maybe later”, ie no “it’s too windy”!

Then a series of commercial stops: the silk museum and shop where we were treated to an explanation of silk making, from the worms to the cocoons to the silk thread to the finished product; to the jewellers dealing only in pearls, where we learned the distinction between sea-water and freshwater pearls, and how to tell real from fake; and then a short ride to have a free foot-massage.

I had never had one before and was intrigued by the experience. First we had to soak our feet in hot (40C) water in which was placed what looked like a tea-bag. The young student explained that the bag contained herbs and flowers from Tibet, culled in the Himalaya and therefore “free from pesticide, herbicide and other chemicals.” Unfortunately her pronunciation of “Tibetan” sounded lke “teabagan”, and somewhat undermined her presentation. Then the foot massagers came in and proceeded to rub, slap, punch, and knead one foot for about ten minutes before the “professor” came in to examine my hand (not Heather’s) to determine the state of my blood and general health. He spoke only Chinese, but had a translator, who spoke gently in contrast to the “professor” who prodded his finger at me, glared and said sternly that my blood was sticky and if I wanted to live I would be wise to purchase his detoxification medicine, 6 bottles for Y5400! When I politely declined he urged me to purchase at least one packet of “teabags” which would doubtless save my life for Y40, and when I declined, again politely, he turned on his heel and left without another word, obviously expecting me to die on the spot. It was hard not to laugh.

The student finished my massage, I put on my shoes and socks and we left. The tour was over, and we were brought back to our hotel by 5 pm. A very full day.

Beijing Diary: Part 6

Saturday 16 April.

I awoke at my normal time of 7 am, but lazed in bed for another half-hour, then showered and ventured out to purchase oranges, water, a bar of soap and styling gel for Heather. And to get money from the ATM. We have hardly used our visa card here – it’s cash for everything.

When Heather was ready we set out to hear the drumming performance in the Drum Tower, but soon discovered hat her camera wasn’t working. I returned to the hotel to swap memory cards with my camera, checked that her card had, in fact, died. Since my camera is not, for the moment, operational, there is no loss. But the delay meant that we got to the Drum Tower shortly before the 11.30 performance. By the time we bought tickets, negotiated the security check, the ticket check, and climbed the 70 steep stairs to the drum room the performances was just ending.   We could of course hear it as we climbed the stairs, but missed the visual presentation. Heather took quite a while t get her breath back after the climb. Each riser is close to one foot, and the angle of climb is steep.  Besides the drums which are now used almost exclusively for tourist performances, there are a number of replicas of historical drums, including one that had no information attached to it. It is very large, 2-3 metres in diameter, but no more than half a metre deep. Unlike the performance drums, which have plain cowhide for the drumming surface, this monster drum has very ornate decorations in red. And, at the back of the drummng room, covered in dust, is the remains of the old watchman drum, its skin surface half gone, and, as the plaque asserts, still showing knife cuts from the Eight Allied Forces who ravaged the city in 1900.  This was not the first reminder of the bad behaviour of the Allied forces during the Boxer rebellion; in the summer park yesterday, plaques also made note of items “ravaged away” or “robbed away” by those same troops. Even if young Chinese do not know their history, there are reminders of at least one event in the relatively recent past.

The tower also conatins two methods for keeping time, one based on the rate of water fall through four vessels, each named, the other based on the fall of brass balls through a series of tubes. The water-based one had a number of carefully marked thin planks that were held upright in the lowest container, each corresponding to a Chinese lunar month. By inserting the correct plank for the month, the watchman could read off the time of day and the day of the week, and strike the drum with the appropriate number of strokes.  The brass ball-based one struck a cymbal at the right time, again prompting the watchman to do his work.

I don’t think we will get to the Bell Tower. Its climb is even higher!

We had lunch in a little arts café called Sculpting in Time, in the square between the two towers. Very pleasant, although they had run out of croissants and waffles. We also bought a replacement memory card for Heather’s camera, Ithink at a good price of Y180 (initial offering Y260). With 4gig of memory it will give a little more flexibility than my 2gig card.

We had a rest in the afternoon, and got downstairs in time to meet Gordon. Since we still did not feel up to a long hike, Gordon chose a French/Vietnamese  restaurant just 100 yards down the road. Gordon was in fine form and we had a great evening, full of laughter. We then finished off the evening at the dessert shop next door. If we had not had an early start on Sunday, I think we would have prolonged the evening even further.

Beijing Diary: Part 5 (sort of)

This continues the previous post.

We started our perambulation by following a walkway next to the moat that surrounds the FC. At each corner stood two soldiers on ceremonial duty who marched (in an easy fashion) from that position to another and then returned. Our progress alongside the moat was then blocked by a series of private residences, so we continued along a main road until reaching a gate that could have led us into the FC, but was not open to visitors.  So, on we plodded, following the massive wall of the FC, now on the inside of the moat in which section pleasure boats could be hired.

We finally got to the courtyard that gets you into the FC, but by now we were too tired and too late to make it worthwhile going in. Instead we made for Tianamen Square, passing through two more courtyards and crossing over the moat before reaching the road that separates the Square from the FC.  There was no question of crossing the road, but we eventually found a pedestrian underpass, choosing unfortunately the wrong exit and finding ourselves still on the wrong side of another road that passes in front of the Great Hall of the People. We found a pedestrian crossing, passed through a perfunctory security system, and were finally in this massive area. The centre is dominated by the Memorial to the People’s Revolution, guarded of course by several soldier stations. Visitors could not approach the steps leading up to the Memorial itself, so we contented ourselves with looking at the immense video displays in front which showed off various regions of China.

We walked around the Memorial, looking for Mao’s tomb, but discovered that it was open only in the mornings. The high relief statuary on either side depicted in typically heroic terms the People’s struggle, led by Mao, to overcome the capitalst domination of China. Sun Yat Sen, the father of the revolution, is remebered in name, but it is Mao’s image that dominates the Square.

We practiced our third Chinese expression – boo yao – several times to ward off vendors of guide books, guided tours and the like, but then we were approached in a different way. A young man, whose pinjing name is Paul, engaged us in conversation about where we were from, how long would we be n Beijing, etc. before inviting us to come and see an exhibition of student art work just across the road. Heather couldn’t resist, so we followed Paul across the road while he explained that he was part of a group of art students who had come with their professor to Beijing to display their work to a wider public, and, if possible, to sell it to raise money for scholarships for poor students. We then went into a travel agency and through the back to two rooms where the work was displayed. Paul introduced us to two other students who also spoke English very competently and gave us a tour of the various works, explaining their significance to untrained Western eyes.  Before the tour one of the students used his caligraphic skills to create a “little gift” – our names transposed into Chinese characters with a symbol for good luck (of which there are a hundred variations) – which had to be allowed to dry for a few minutes.

At the end of the guided tour, we agreed to buy two of the professors watercolours (Y600), one student work (bamboo on a blue background Y200), and a student watercolour of a concubine (Y200). The creator of this last piece was one of the three students there, and he was very pleased to know that his work would be seen outside China and that would make his mother proud.

We also agreed to take a tour to the Great Wall and the Ming Tombs at a cheaper rate than the one offered by the hotel. Paul took the details of the hotel and gave us his phone number so we could call to confirm the day (I called today to confirm Sunday), and we paid a deposit of Y100, the balance, Y300, to be paid at the end of the tour. It will mean an early start  -- 8 am – but will be worth the effort. I am assuming that the business Paul directs to the travel agency is part payment for the use of their premises.

When we got back to the hotel we were too tired to contemplate an extended evening with Gordon, so I phoned to let him know. Instead we went to a nearby restaurant where we managed to order a reasonable meal.  It was noisy, smoking was allowed at some tables (!), and the service seemed to be a mixture of waitress serving and self-serving. We were served all that we had ordered fairly quickly, but  noticed that some customers went up to the counter to purchase extra dishes or drinks.

Another early night!

Beijing Diary: Part 4

Two previous posts have disappeared! So this a repeat, sort of (I've shortened it).

Friday 15 April.

I got up rather late at 9.30, still aching from the unaccustomed exercise of the previous day. Again too late to try the hotel breakfast, we got by with an orange each and a couple of mince tarts that Heather had brought along from Perth. I don’t seem to be suffering from the smaller amount of food…

Having asked the staff at the desk to write the address in Chinese characters for where we were heading, we flagged down a taxi and were soon deposited… at the wrong place! Instead of the entrance to the Forbidden City, we were at the entrance to the park on the North side of that complex. Of course, we did not discover the error until after we had paid to get in and got to the top of the artificial hill built to create a cooler place, above the heat of the city, for one of the Emperors (details in the map we bought).

We enjoyed the visit to the gardens. The tulips were just coming out, but the peonies were just budding, or about to blossom. We walked to the top of the hill to see the various pavilions, a very steep climb that we took in easy stages. The view from the top pavilion, which contains a massive statue of Buddha, was breathtaking. The haze was not too bad so we could see almost to the horizon. To the north stretched a long, straight avenue that forms the axis for Beijing City, and to the south, also on this axis, lay the Forbidden City. Sadly, my camera’s batteries gave up at this point ( and I seem to have not brought my spares – aargh!!), so I’ll have to rely on Heather’s images.

After a snack of a couple of short, sweet hot-dogs (and a magnum for Heather), we decided to walk around the perimeter of the Forbidden City to get to the entrance.  We chose a different path to go down the hill, perhaps not wisely since the steps were made of rough-hewn stone set at uneven heights. It was slow going, but it brought us near to the South Gate where we had entered. Everywhere there were guided tour groups, some quite large, and most of them wearing distinguishing caps, quite a formidable sight when you see them advancing along a pathway towards you.

Beijing Diary: Part 5

I awoke at my normal time of 7 am, but lazed in bed for another half-hour, then showered and ventured out to purchase oranges, water, a bar of soap and styling gel for Heather. And to get money from the ATM. We have hardly used our visa card here – it’s cash for everything.

When Heather was ready we set out to hear the drumming performance in the Drum Tower, but soon discovered hat her camera wasn’t working. I returned to the hotel to swap memory cards with my camera, checked that her card had, in fact, died. Since my camera is not, for the moment, operational, there is no loss. But the delay meant that we got to the Drum Tower shortly before the 11.30 performance. By the time we bought tickets, negotiated the security check, the ticket check, and climbed the 70 steep stairs to the drum room the performances was just ending. We could of course hear it as we climbed the stairs, but missed the visual presentation. Heather took quite a while t get her breath back after the climb. Each riser is close to one foot, and the angle of climb is steep.  Besides the drums which are now used almost exclusively for tourist performances, there are a number of replicas of historical drums, including one that had no information attached to it. It is very large, 2-3 metres in diameter, but no more than half a metre deep. Unlike the performance drums, which have plain cowhide for the drumming surface, this monster drum has very ornate decorations in red. And, at the back of the drummng room, covered in dust, is the remains of the old watchman drum, its skin surface half gone, and, as the plaque asserts, still showing knife cuts from the Eight Allied Forces who ravaged the city in 1900.  This was not the first reminder of the bad behaviour of the Allied forces during the Boxer rebellion; in the summer park yesterday, plaques also made note of items “ravaged away” or “robbed away” by those same troops. Even if young Chinese do not know their history, there are reminders of at least one event in the relatively recent past.

The tower also conatins two methods for keeping time, one based on the rate of water fall through four vessels, each named, the other based on the fall of brass balls through a series of tubes. The water-based one had a number of carefully marked thin planks that were held upright in the lowest container, each corresponding to a Chinese lunar month. By inserting the correct plank for the month, the watchman could read off the time of day and the day of the week, and strike the drum with the appropriate number of strokes.  The brass ball-based one struck a cymbal at the right time, again prompting the watchman to do his work.

I don’t think we will get to the Bell Tower. Its climb is even higher!

We had lunch in a little arts café called Sculpting in Time, in the square between the two towers. Very pleasant, although they had run out of croissants and waffles. We also bought a replacement memory card for Heather’s camera, Ithink at a good price of Y180 (initial offering Y260). With 4gig of memory it will give a little more flexibility than my 2gig card.

We had a rest in the afternoon, and got downstairs in time to meet Gordon. Since we still did not feel up to a long hike, Gordon chose a French/Vietnamese  restaurant just 100 yards down the road. Gordon was in fine form and we had a great evening, full of laughter. We then finished off the evening at the dessert shop next door. If we had not had an early start on Sunday, I think we would have prolonged the evening even further.

Beijing Diary: Part 3

We both needed a rest, and something to eat (it was now 3.30 pm) so in we went to find the interior more charming than the exterior. The entrance way was dominated by a statue of Buddha, then the main room was divided into cubicles that offered visual privacy. We were seated in a corner cubicle, opposite a large open window, low-level lighting, and gentle Chinese music, some instrumental, some vocal. The first waitress (there were several who attended on us) presented us with the menu of teas, grouped together by type (oolong, jasmine, and so on) and within each category a range of quality. The menu consisted of laquered bamboo slats, sewn together. When we had chosen our Oolong, we were then presented with an array of cookies, laid out on plates and wrapped in cellophane.  The waitress had almost no English and I had even less Chinese, so we pointed to three plates, indicating, as I thought, that we wanted one cookie from each of two plates, and two cookies from one other.  Instead we received four plates full! Since two kinds – a glutinous rice conconction and an orange cream-filled fig-newton style one – were wrapped, we were able to carry away any excess.

Then the tea ceremony began.  First all the containers to be used were heated with water from the kettle which had come to the boil at the table: first the jug and strainer, then the pot with lid that would contain the tea-leaves, then the jug into which the tea would be strained, and finally the tiny tea-cups. The set sat on a wooden tray cut decoratively to allow the water to drain through to the metal tray beneath. The tea-ups were not handled directly but were lifted using a pair of wooden tongs.  Using another wooden utensil, the waitress scooped tea into the primary jug, then poured hot water onto the leaves, before using the lid to keep the leaves under control while she poured the steeped tea into our cups, then her own (although she did not drink any. Finally she poured some tea over the small green rabbit figure, which immediately turned white! We never did find out what the rabbit was made of, but were told that we could purchase one for Y80. The waitress was very particular about how to hold the handle-less cup: the rim is held between thumb and index finger, with the middle finger providing support under the bowl, and the little finger crooked to one side. Her hand looked very elegant and in proportion to the size of the cup; mine looked like a bunch of sausages.

After serving a couple of cups of tea, the first waitress disappeared, but a few minutes later a second  arrived to make sure we had tea. And then a third! After enjoying numerous cups, we simply sat and took n the serenity of the tea-house.  Most of the other clients had left, so we could enjoy the silence, amplified by the Chinese music.

We decided that that was enough for our first full day. We had not seen a “sight”, apart from the park, but my head was full of all the different things we had seen and the sounds we had heard, A very rich experience.

Our walk back, however, was not straightforward.  While we found our way fairly easily to the landmark Drum Tower, we chose to explore a different route back to the hotel, and soon found ourselves lost in a series of back alleys in one of the hutongs. The laneways were so narrow that we could not see the re-assuring landmark, but eventually we came on to a main thoroughfare that I vaguely recognized from the taxi ride from the airport. We had, in fact, walked past the lane on which our hotel stands!  Heather found the extra walking very tiring, so she had a rest while went down to the lobby to wait for Gordon, who arrived on time at 7 pm. We sat and had a beer together until Heather joined us, then set off to find a nearby restaurant. We did not have to go far – we rejected several before choosing this one (whose name I did not take note of) – and with Gordon ordering we were soon enjoying a delighful, if somewhat spicy set of dishes. Gordon remarked that the cuisine was very good and different from what he had expected. The meal for three including tea and beer (of course) came to Y180 (about $28).

Gordon, I think, was prepared to make a night of it, but we were dog-tired so off to bed we went for another early night.

Beijing Diary: Part 2

Thursday 14 April

Got up late, too late to have breakfast at the hotel, so I went looking for a suitable shop, and quickly found one on the main road: Your Friendly Community Store!  Bought bottled water, sultana biscuits (the only packet in the small section with the contents in English), four oranges and a package of  small Kleenex tissues, for use in the public toilets!

Heather was still not ready to get up, so I went to the hotel lobby to check email. There doesn’t seem to be wifi access in the room, but the hotel charges only Y5 an hour (about 65 cents), and an hour was more than enough for me. It was a little perplexing to be faced with Chinese-only instructions in Windows, but I remembered enough to navigate to my Google account. Following a link to another page was more tricky – two dialogue boxes appeared – with one result opening another window (but nothing appeared), the other choice bringing me to a page in Chinese! I managed to get the headlines of the Canadian news, via CBC, the soccer results from the Champions league (Manchester beat Chelsea, Tottenham lost to Real Madrid), and the elevated crisis level at the Fukushima reactors.

The hotel is undergoing some renovations, so Heather did not have an undisturbed lie-in. We eventually got out by 2 pm and decided to to look for the park that Gordon had mentioned. The directions he had given us were a little vague –“It’s over there,” he said, waving his arm at a wide area on the other side of the main road.

Now, although there are pedestrian crossings indicated, albeit in fading paint on the road, no-one observes them. In preparing to cross, check there are no electric bikes approaching; they are silent and very swift. Then when there is a break in the traffic coming from the left, move to the middle of the road  and wait for a similar break coming from the right. Easy peasy, but a little nerve-wracking, especially when traffic from the right decides to cross over the centre line to avoid a stopped taxi or bus!

After wandering down a rather dusty Hutong, and making some rather arbitrary decisions as to turns to make, we came to a very smart laneway, paved, clean, and lined with more expensive shops. It was relaxing not to have to deal with traffic (it’s a pedestrian way) and the street had been there for centuries, first as a centre for tobacco, and was called “The Pipe”, in part a reference to the street’s shape. 

At the end of the Pipe, we found what looked like a canal, but was in fact a narrow waterway connecting two lakes. We were in the park!  It was obvious from the number of rickshaws that this was a favourite tourist attraction. There also a number of night-clubs catering to the young. Every few steps we were being shilled to take this tour or that, go up to aroof-top area for “plenty beer”, and once to buy a kite! A young man was displaying how easy it was to fly a string of 20 or so kites (though we didn’t see how he got them up there) in the breeze, while an older woman had two tiny kites, looking like enlarged dragonflies. We ignored all entreatments, crossed a bridge to continue our walk, and stopped at a beautiful tea house. 

Beijing Diary

Here is part 1 of a diary I kept during a 10-day visit to Beijing last month.

The formalities of entry were smooth, though it was a long walk from the gate to the immigration area, where we were screened electronically for body temperature, and then photographed at the desk to make sure that we corresponded in the flesh to the photo in the passport. One small moment of humour:  the agent had to adjust the camera positioning to get my face centre frame. Her first attempt, using a joy-stick, had only my mouth and the upper part of my face showing. She then over-corrected, showing only my rather large gut! On the third attempt, she got it right, suppressing a giggle either at her lack of skill or my gut, I can’t be sure which.

At last we were out, passing through customs with ease since the authorities use the honour system for declaring goods, occasionally pulling someone over for a thorough check. And there was Gordon! What a relief to be met in a country where I know not a single word of mandarin. He led us to the elevator that took us down two levels to the taxi rank, where a long line had formed. But such is the efficiency of the taxi system we waited only a few minutes beofre we squeezed into a medium sedan and were off to the hotel. Gordon has been in China just over a year, but has learned enough of the language to get by. He gave the taxi driver the address, and off we went.

Beijing is constructed in a series of concentric circles, and our hotel, the Zaoyuanju Hotel (also called the Hutong Inn) lies in the second ring (the first being the centre of the city)  in the Doncheng District.  Gordon had looked up the hotel on a map, and knew roughly where it was, but as he explained, house numbers mean nothing in Beijing; all buildings have a number, but  numbering is not sequential. When it became clear that we had missed the hotel, we stopped and Gordon called the hotel to get more precise directions. These were relayed to the driver, who did a u-turn, drove fifty yards, then stopped. We were there!

Or almost.  We were now at the entrance to Zhangwang Hutong, a narrow laneway, lined with small shops, workshops, cafes, a public toilet and houses, and in which were parked an assortment of vehicles: late-model BMWs, electric bicycles, push bikes, three-wheelers with boxes on the back. No wonder the taxi-driver was reluctant to venture down there!  So Gordon paid the fare –75 yuan (about $10) and we trundled our luggage about 75 yards down the laneway to the hotel.  It was a pleasant surprise.  A clean, bright entrance way (in stark contrast to the laneway where dust covered everything) and a friendly greeting, in English. Because we were staying for ten nights, we had received a complimentary up-grade.  A young boy carried two of the suitcases (one of them almost as large as him) up the stairs to the room, showed us how to use the electronic key, and left, with a bow. No tipping in China! The room is not large, but we do have a king-size bed, separate toilet and shower, flat-screen TV (not yet tried), but no internet access in the room. And we each have a terry-towelling bathrobe.  All for $303!

After a minor panic over Heather’s credit card, we set out with Gordon to explore the neighbourhood on foot. So much to see and comment on. I’ve taken some photos, so I’ll leave commentary until I have up-loaded those. I can’t remember how long we walked, but we did pass in front of the Bell Tower and the Drum Tower, and then decided it was time for refreshment.   We chose a small café-bar called the Iggly Wiggly, and sat down to enjoy beer (Gordon and I) and a glass of Spanish wine (Heather). Gordon called his friend Brian, who joined us about 15 minutes later for a drink, and then we set off to find a restaurant. Brian was born in Hong Kong but has travelled widely, including doing a degree at NASCAD at the same time that Heather was there! He was studying photography, so their paths did not cross, but they were able to share memories of teachers.

Iggly Wiggly, like many similar bars in the area, is owned by young people who re-invent their décor regularly to keep up-to-date. When I sat down, the chair set was lower than I anticipated, so I landed with a thump, much to the amusement of the young owner who rushed over to move a divider to give me more room. In Australia I had not thought of myself as large, but in Beijing I clearly stand out.

We wandered back to the main road, after paying a visit to my first public toilet (cafes and bars don’t have such facilities), and eventually chose a mainstream (ie not a regional or ethnic) restaurant to have our evening meal. Gordon and Brian did the choosing, though we could probably have managed since the menu was presented with colour photos.  Nothing was too spicy, and we had an array of dishes, mainly vegetarian with tofu, steamed rice, one lamb dish, beer and a pot of tea for Y40 each (about $6).

It was a little disturbing, during the meal to see the waitresses arguing very loudly with each other, but it is, apparently common practice, a way of maintaining one’s superiority, no matter how slight, in a very long pecking order.

We did not prolong the evening, said good-bye to Brian and Gordon, and I was in bed at 10.10, and asleep by 10.11…

Post-Election Depression

I should be elated with the performance of the NDP across Canada in yesteray's Federal election, but I'm not. In fact, I'm quite depressed, hence the title of this blog. On the plus side, the NDP has achieved what neither of the two established have managed to do in Quebec for twenty years, including the Mulroney victory, and that is wipe the Bloc Quebecois from the electoral map, at least for the time being. And with over 30% of the national vote, and 100+ seats (I don't have the final count in front of me) it should be a day of rejoicing for long-time supporters of the New Democrats. But I can't get rid of this foreboding that Harper, with a strong majority of seats, has four years to wreak NeoCon havoc on the Canadian people with his agenda of corporate tax cuts, reduced government services, and indifference to the mounting dangers posed by reducing government control over environmental damage.

And one of the gross inequities to emerge from yesterday's results is the continued disaster of First-Past-the-Post voting. Barely 60% of the electorate voted. The HarpoCons received 40% of those votes. Which translates into the appalling statistic that only 24% of the electorate supported a majority government.

Now that's depressing.