This bit by Steve, in case you were wondering.
11th June 2008
On the Beijing to Shenyang train we got trapped in a worm hole, time travelled and our expected 6 hours journey became 4 hours. Either that or we had paid more for the fast train. Jo didn't like having to carry all my bags off the train because I had gone to stand in the vestibule at our stop. The taxi driver and his pals got very confused with our map of Shenyang, as if we were showing them a map of Bristol or something. It has English on it I grant you, but they must be able to recognise their own city surely?
At the hotel we had what I consider to be our first and defining meeting with hotel staff who speak absolutely no English at all. Just saying bed as a question and putting on a question face clearly wasn't going to work here, not even the international sleeping symbol of head to hands was working. So, out came the Lonely Planet language section, a bit of pointing, and we got there slowly. Our 10 pound room was, well, what you would expect for a 10 pound room. It had the hardest bed in the world, like sleeping on one of those camping mats except we weren't camping. You could see the entire workings and plumbings of the shower. It had bright pink coving and cream walls.
We were to learn a hard lesson that if you sleep in the middle of the day in China, you miss things, as we did when we went all the way out to the Botanical Gardens, arrived at 4.30 and were waved away by the security guard. I was still fighting a running battle with the squatter toilets that infect this land, and I thought I would be in for a treat at the site for the 2006 International Horticultural Expo. I pushed open the door of the marvellous toilet and there it was, goading me, the squatter toilet. Obviously gardeners aren't too demanding.
On the 12th June we moved on to Dalian. My Chairman Mao watch was winning friends amongst the Chinese taxi driving community. At the train station, I stood in the wrong queue for 15 minutes. When I got in the right queue, the cashier stumped me by asking me when I wanted to go, so a Chinese man in the queue who spoke English had to help me. The Chinese have this infortunate habit of, regardless where they are in the queue, thinking they are being served, so talk to the cashier and poke their money through the slot. As you are trying to engage the cashier with your pointing, you find lots of arms being thrust under yours, and you become some godlike 8 armed being.
The Chinese are impatient. The baggage check they enforce at stations is absolute pandemonium. The problem is, they try and throw their weight around but the majority of them are about 5ft 5 dwarfs and weigh 7 stone. Chinese train stations are like airports - they scan your bags, then you go up the escalator to one of the waiting rooms, your train gets called, you're let through the barriers, and then you're on the train.
We had 3 hours until our train, maybe we'll have to wait less for trains when we can ask for the next one, so we looked for an internet cafe and I successfully asked a guy where the nearest one was, hurrah. Unfortunately it was closed. But we now knew the symbol for internet so managed to track one down.
On the train, it's interesting scenery. It's hilly on both sides. There are lots of crops, and little huts made of wood - like big pig sheds, I wonder if people live in them? There are miles upon miles of rice fields and many people tending them. From massive urban centres to the agricultural countryside.
We arrived at Dalian. As we emerged from the station, a man asked "taxi?" We showed him the map of where we wanted to go, a hostel on a warship about 6km away on the coast. He seemed confused about where it was. A second larger man came over, he seemed to know where it was. I asked how much. He pointed at 1000 yuan in the Lonely Planet list of numbers. That was about 70 pounds for a 6km journey! Well, I'm sure that's what he pointed at, although Jo thinks he pointed at 100. We walked away. The man followed, shouting at us. I thought we were going to be chased. He stopped me and made an 8 with his fingers, for 80 or 800. I pointed at 30. He made a dismissive noise and we were free to carry on. Then the first guy came over and said he would take us for 30. He led us to a smelly little van that was clearly Dalian's odd job van. The clutch squeaked, the windows didn't wind up and the handbrake didn't work. We drove 20 metres, then he got out and him and 4 men pored over the map. He got back in and talked on his mobile phone while driving, including doing a u-turn on a dual carriageway. We stopped again. Jo and I sat there as the handbrake made funny noises and I had visions of us careering backwards down the hill with him in hot pursuit. Finally we got there, the hostel on the warship. Ah this was going to be good. But then, an old man said we couldn't come on! Dalian's local government had decreed the warship hostel was unfit for foreigners to stay on (although it was still open to Chinese people). We must have looked pathetic as a big crowd gathered round us and I thought a chorus of 'Let them on, Let them on' was going to start. The Bristol Two.
So we walked round to a normal hotel that some Young Americans said was alright. Before we could have our rooms, another Dalian local government masterstroke meant we had, for the first time, to do a police check. We were escorted down to the police station, where 5 of Dalian's finest looked at us derisively and laughed at me when I gave them my EU passport! Why did they do that?! Then an almighty row broke out in the foyer between 3 coppers, 2 men dressed in combats and 3 men dressed in civvies. It seemed to end when one of the original 5 went out, shouted quite loudly at one of the civvies, then retreated back behind the glass to smoke a cig and watch the telly.
In the alright hotel young ladies called us up in the evenings offering massage services. I tried to discover the price but my chinese wasn't really up to it;-)
Next day we were starting to wonder what the Chinese eat for breakfast or lunch. We think it's kebabs or noodles for lunch and not sure about breakfast. Dalian is famous for beaches so we put on our beach clothes that we had lugged round Siberia and set off on the road to the Beach. We got there an hour and a half later. The map had said 2km. We rounded the headland and there we were, the beach. On the Yellow Sea, the water was quite cold. We went for a swim. We thought there might have been some female exclusion zone on the beach because Jo was one of the rare females. It's mostly men hawking and spitting at an even louder volume than normally, as if being by the sea needs some extra effort. One man even did a wee on the beach in full view, standing up. A young couple get into a big inflatable drum, roll it down to the water's edge, then fall over as soon as they're on the water, not managing to stand up again until they get out. A fantastic spectacle.
We woke on the morning of the 14th and limped around the hotel room with horrific sunburn to our legs and ankles. We took a ferry from Dalian to Yantai. People stared at us constantly, even peeping round corners, bizarrely. It was 8am and now was the time to solve the question, what do the chinese have for breakfast? We walked into the restaurant and found them tucking into noodles and beer. Now we knew. Their ferry terminal infrastructure was poor, it involved being bussed out to the ferry, budget airline style.We weren't lingering in Yantai, we went straight to the bus station for a bus to Qingdao. Jo joined a queue saying all tickets for all directions and was then told to join the queue next door for tickets to Qingdao. More scary toilets, this time a sign urged people to stand closer to the urinals. The bus was being driven by a guy in a surgical smock, like he'd just come off the set of Holby City. The bus had a meek little attendant, who ran in little short steps. More scary toilets on the halfway break after 90 minutes. Getting back on, I cracked my head on the TV, in front of the whole bus, who laughed like drains. We had 2 emergency stops on the bus as suicidal mopeds weaved across the road.
Our lucky taxi streak continued and we got into one just where the bus stopped in Qingdao. The driver had awful breath, didn't want me to wear my seatbelt and the boot didn't close on the bags. We arrived at the hostel. Hostels were now a beacon of civility where we could use a washing machine, and the internet, and sit on a proper toilet. Although they should get lifts. We ate at a local restaurant where one corner was having an almightly sing song. One of them, a young girl, was later carried out looking very drunk. As multiple plates of food were brought out regularly for the locals, we sat there nursing half of what we ordered.
15th June
I hadn't eaten breakfast for a week and so the quasi-English fry up tasted so good. I limped up and down the 3 flights of hostel stairs with my gory swollen sunburnt ankles. We found the internet cafe. It was a vast, dark room with 200 up to date computers inside. 11am on a Sunday morning, and it was full of mostly men, playing games, as good a place as any on a swelteringly hot sunny day I suppose.We couldn't figure out the password and they had to help us as we managed to close down the computers twice. I finished with a flourish by inserting a USB stick, pressing what I thought was ok, and putting the computer into some kind of suspended reboot. Time for a quick exit.
We hobbled down to the sea front. The promenade was packed with Chinese taking countless numbers of photos of each other. One man berated a girl for getting in his shot, it's serious business over here. Where do they store all these photos?
Back in the area around the hostel, we got some postcards in a religious bookshop still celebrating Christmas, and went for a haircut. Which turned into 5 members of staff treating us to a 1 hour massage, extended haircut and them looking at our holiday snaps. For the equivalent of 7 pounds for both of us. Look closely at the two photos of me here and you can see the amount of hair removed...
Next day, it was colder. We saw, well, heard actually, our first road traffic accident just outside the hostel. A van had hit a motorbike, but the bike was ok, the van for some reason couldn't go anywhere. A sign perhaps of how durable their vehicles are. The van driver and bike rider stood in the middle of the road shouting at each other, then the rider rode off, with the driver trying to stop him but failing. I don't think they swapped details.
Jo's squeeze on the International postal system continued when she demanded some stamps to the UK in the post office and had to be content with enough for one and a half postcards. We went food shopping and managed to find an entire subterranean shopping centre that extended about 400 metres. Maybe these are all over China and we hadn't realised. We walked through a market for the locals, with live scorpions in bowls and fish and squid with not much ice or refidgeration going on. Rubbish everywhere, but not unlike many English markets. But pretty scary looking open faced building on either sife - dark, dingy. A drunken man carrying a front door on his back staggered down the market slope. A lady filled a carrier bag with beer from a keg, Qingdao is famous for this. Although we're not sure what they do with it after that, surely it's far too tricky to drink from a carrier bag, so do they pour it into something else, or dip their cups into it?
Moving on to Shanghai on the 17th we endured a 10 hour "soft seat" train journey. It was fine except that we were in a three-seat block so getting out for the loo meant moving two people. We didn't manage to get anything to eat as there is no buffet car and the food being wheeled through the carriage didn't look great. Everyone's got their noodles out.
Shanghai is hot and rainy but a lot more cosmopolitan than Beijing. There are croissant shops everywhere on the metro and pizza huts galore. Our "hostel" would be a hotel anywhere else. For 12 pounds per night we get a double room with fridge, kitchenette, fancy shower, ensuite toilet and pc with free internet.
We walked through People's Park. I made some new friends who spoke great English and we got on so well that they insisted I come to their tea festival. Jo didn't want to go as she said it was a scam or something ; )
We watched an old Chinese guy walk backwards along a walkway in the park then into the public toilets. Backwards. Does he wee backwards too?
The Shanghai Urban Planning Exhibition was fascinating for urban planners but it also featured the biggest urban model ever, it was the size of a small house. And I'm not exaggerating. Very impressive. The Shanghai urban strategy is basically: knock down slums. Build high rise apartments. Eco homes. Green spaces. Improve sewage treatment to 90%. We don't know if 90% is good, bad or indifferent by international standards. It's difficult to tell when you only get one side of the argument.
Went up the Jinmao Tower. The observation deck is on the 88th floor which is 340m up, the tower is a bit bigger than that. There is a post office up there, well, I say post office but I don't think you'd take your ebay stuff up there. It was cloudy so the best views were down the central atrium which looked like the backdrop to Luke and Darth Vader's fight scene. According to the signs up there we were almost equidistant between London and Wellington, 9350km and 9450km respectively. I hear you cry, but Steve you set off from Buckinghamshire and Jo set off from Nottingham and you said you don't know where you're going to live in NZ - but you get the idea. It was also 3240km to Urumqi in west China, it's a massive country.
We were determined to eat healthily for dinner, we had earmarked Zentral Healthy Eating restuarant in the guidebook, on 567 Huangpa Rd South. We eventually found 567 Huangpa Road South. But, it was just a doorway with some stair leading up. I could see a restaurant through it. So I blundered through and was greeted by some slightly shocked looking women working in the restaurant, and I can see their point, I had clearly come through the back entrance to the restaurant. After a bit of sign language, it seemed Zentral didn't exist anymore so we ate there. instead. The women all had matching Mao t-shirts on, unfortunately I didn't have my Mao gear on or I feel the international bond between the UK and China would definitely have been strengthened that night. They were watching a very funny Chinese over acted, badly written soap opera. The next morning a quick internet search revealed that Zentral had indeed closed, but that where we were was exactly the same place, except they had obviously stripped out all the classy interior and (somehow!) replaced it with a faded Chinese restuarant! I'd like to meet those interior designers.
On the 19th I achieved a dream and rode on the Maglev for 8 minutes, well 16 minutes if you count the fact that it was a return journey to Shanghai airport. But it didn't reach 431kmh as the guidebook and promotional lierature says, but it got up to 301 kmh at the drop of a hat which bought a big smile (I think the track continues on and that is where the 431kmh is reached, but this stretch of track is not available to the public.)
Onwards and westwards. It gets even wetter from here on out. Floods in southern China. We avoided the earthquakes only to hit another natural disaster.
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