Having a China Moment

In China, every foreigner will encounter a common phenomenon called “The China Moment”. This is when everything you find odd, strange or amusing about China contrives to ruin your week. What might have been mildly amusing before- an “only-in-China-would-you-see-that” chuckle- actually and literally bites you from behind when you’re not looking. A simple example is the food: we might laugh when we see prawn heads tossed in wan celery, but when it makes you sick later that evening you’re no finding it funny. China gets the last laugh. So I am having one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong in China, is going wrong. But, what a perfect opportunity to blog; at least from this week’s events comes comedy.

So, “only-in-China-do-you-see” these little fellas:

They are dogs everyone. Little fluffy things that are bred to look like teddy bears (or Barbie) and, as a result, they can barely walk, bark or breath especially in the heat we are having. Watching these rats scuttle along the pavement is a daily amusement. Except that.......one chinese dog owner decided to buy a wolf. A real, actual wolf (there is probably a market for them somewhere in China) And when the wolf decided that I was a threat, it tried to attack me. I can only imagine that as I was lying down on the grass at the time it spotted me, my rug of blonde hair might’ve resembled this, a potential enemy:

Except that, I am a human and in this situation I was preeeetty scared when this huge animal began to stalk me. Typically the owner was no where to be seen. It’s China. Of course you would let a wolf off its leash. Well, it is obvious what followed. It went for me and I, panicking (obviously) ran away and left my iPhone on the park bench. By the time I remembered it had gone, someone had stolen it. To the thief that took my iPhone, a couple of notes: the screen is completely broken, but don’t worry it does work; the main button is also broken but if you unlock the phone you’ll see i’ve added a new on-screen button.....wait, my iPhone is hardly a catch, and yet we all say “this is China”: the Chinese can make a use for anything, renovate anything, copy anything and use anything.

In fact, a good example of that was the other night: some friends and I were having a beer by ‘the garden’. Finishing my can I was pretty darn chuffed to be able to throw it, and get it in the bin. Before I had even begun to celebrate, a small Chinese man scuttled out of the bushes, ferreted through the bin, plucked my can out, squashed it then packed it in his sack and ran off. Where.did.he.come.from? Where.did.he.go? Who are you little man? And what am I doing in China?

As I said, we can’t laugh too much at the strange things that happen in China, because these things will- in one go- team up and get you back. So, nightmare number two of the week is this: my sheet has a stain on it because someone dropped their drink on it. The cleaner found this not enormous stain and immediately started shaking it at me and clucking in Chinese. In these situations all you usually have to do is this:

“wo bu zhi dao; wo ting bu dong; bu hao yisi; ni hao; ni hao ma; wo bu hui shuo hanyu...”

 In other words: “ I don’t understand; i didn’t get you; I’m afraid; I’m sorry; hello: how are you?; I don’t speak Chinese.”

Said in quick succession, this will usually make the cleaner go away. Today however she wouldn’t let it go. And she asked me, after my performance, whether I could speak Chinese.

“No” is the simple answer.

She eyed me very carefully.

“What nationality are you?”

Did she suspect that I was just putting it on? That under my white hair wig was a crop of Chinese black hair? Yes, a very cunning disguise to escape blame for the dirty sheets.

Well she settled to let me clean the sheets myself. Great. Except that there is no hot water to wash clothes so her solution was (intentionally) pretty limited. I mean OBVIOUSLY there is no hot water to wash your clothes with, it’s China! So the next day she was back to check my sheets. Unsurprisingly the stain had still not gone. And the day after that she came back again, this time pulling apart my bed to discover the stain had gone right the way through the pitiful excuse for a mattress.

“Can you speak Chinese?” she asked again.

Nope, nope I’m really sorry. Funnily enough, I STILL can’t speak Chinese.

“Are you English?”

Why? WHY? Do I look Chinese?

Well the battle of minds and languages rages on, not least because they now want to charge me an extortionate amount for grotty sheets, but also because they have just replaced my old sheets with dirty ‘new’ ones. And everyday the cleaner comes in, stares at me, chats Chinese at me for about ten minutes, and then, when its clear that I still can’t speak Chinese, that I still am really English, she leaves me in an angry huff. I sense this episode is not over.

(...and as I type there is a knock at my door....the usual script- “I still don’t speak Chinese; I am still English”- but today, the cleaner comes armed with half the inhabitants of my corridor. So five of us stand in my room and she asks them all “do you speak English?”. They all do, but here’s the thing she hasn’t yet grasped we need an English-Chinese speaker. So I have a collection of internationals standing in my room- which has underwear and general mess sprawled all over the floor, unideal- whilst she goes through her usual protocol: “what nationality are you?” She’s a curious creature.  Oh and fuwuyuan (cleaner) I’m still English.)

So the prospect of replacing iPhones, sheets, and more is not exactly delightful, I am indeed having a China moment this week. 

When it doesn't pay to be polite.

On Friday I went out for dinner with a couple of friends. The party was split 3:2 Koreans to Europeans so we decided to go for a Korean Barbecue. In the middle of the table is a grill and you order your meat and vegetables, which are then cooked at your table. The meal comes with a variety of sources, dips and dressings that you dip the food into. All very nice, all very successful: it was amazing to eat meat that was recognisable and that hadn't been subjected to the Chinese spice shaker. Now, the guys also ordered a typical Korean drink to go with our meal. It comes in a small bottle, and is like a sweet wine that you drink from shot glasses. We poured the first round. All very good. We poured the second. I was the first to be offered so, being the polite, annoyingly apologetic British person that I am I said,
"No, no, you first."
The guys exchanged glances, and then there was some complicated juggling of glasses and bottles as the bottle changed hands. Now my other friend served the one who had initially offered me the drink. When it got to me again, I said,
"No, no, after you!" to the raised eyebrows of Emma (Spanish) who, having lived in London for a couple of years, knows the country's inexhaustible and pointless manners.
Now, at this point there are more concerned looks shot across the table between the Koreans, and glasses are put down, switched around, bottles handed over, until someone else serves the guy who tried to serve me. And so this ridiculous musical bottles continues with every round of bottle pouring. I didn't think anything of it. In the UK "after you" are the first words you learn after "mum" and "dad". Two people can cause a queue because the're stuck holding the doors open for each other, both saying "after you". In fact, we queue because we appreciate that we are "after" the person in front of us; no "me first", free for all. So, clearly I didn't think I was being anything other than polite when quite automatically the words "after you" escaped my mouth with every offer of drink.
Until, after the third or fourth time the bottle was passed over, one of my friends laughed and said,
"You realise in Korea it's rude to serve yourself?"
So, 'my manners' had been the cause of this ridiculous charade; not only that, by being 'polite' I was actually pushing them to be rude. Hence, the awkward faces, the quick shuffling of bottles and the switching of glasses. One country's manners are another's rude habits. It doesn't always pay to be polite.

Continuing from last week then, I've got a couple more 'random oddities and strange sightings of the inexperienced traveller' to fill you in on, and hopefully give you an idea of what I do on a day to day basis:

1) The gym: China, we need to talk about this. So classes end at 12, I do my work in the afternoon (which usually involves learning 30/40 words and forgetting 50) then go to the gym before supper. The gym is heaving with people; but these are not your usual gym bunnies people. These are hoards of girls (usually) who come to exercise wearing jeans, skirts...whatever....and then they walk, yes they walk, at a fairly leisurely pace on the cross trainer whilst reading a book or watching a film. I'm not sure I get it. If someone could explain, I'd be grateful. If there's a way to get fit which doesn't involve sweating, then China please let me know. That said, you got to be careful if you're exercising *properly*. My running pace really depends on the song I'm listening to, and on Friday I had an absolute cracker of a tune. So good was it that I ended up swinging my arms so much that I whacked the emergency stop button and went flying into the machine. Maybe I should stick to walking...

2) China fashion: don't do it, don't buy it, don't wear it. Pink fluffy shoes with hello kitty cats on them is not right for a girl in her twenties. No, no, no who told you that a Mario hat with giant wings looked good? Why the leopard print, the zebra print and all the tassels- are you responsible for the extinction of  the mammoth? The depleting number of polar bears. That said, my friend was telling me that in China it is fashionable to be 'cute'. Maybe it sort of makes sense then.

3) Always give an emphatic no- you might just end up with a cuddly Asian telling you he loves you on day one. There are cultural differences. Stalkers are everywhere friends. In fact I was crossing the road the other day and I met a potential. The roads here in China are almost as bad as India, but these ones are cheekier: the green man will flash and lure you into the middle of the road, but no one tells you the traffic lights are only for cars going straight ahead. Therefore, if you're used to thinking green man means go, you must ignore it and go with your senses. Consequently, road crossing a 6 lane mega highway is a marathon and often you have to perch between lanes and bend out of the way of crazy taxi drivers. It was in this compromised state of safety that I was approached by potential stalker number 1004.
"Hello, hello, what is your name? Don't be scared why I talk to you, I just want your friendship. Don't be afraid."
Well stalker number 1004, what you don't realise is I'm well versed in the chat up lines of fellows like you and I've heard this one before. I am afraid, your reassurance does not reassure me. As a result I ended up leaping across the remaining four lanes, dodging angry taxis as I went. Kudos to him though for picking his stalker location well. As I turned around he went back to the pavement where I started, probably to wait for the next strange white albino stuck in the middle of a Beijing road.

4) Sense of humour does not translate, especially if your class is made up of 20:2 Europeans to Asia. When in class and you're asked to do a presentation on your family, do not create a slide show presentation with 'comedic' pictures of your parents with fake bears stuck to their faces. Everyone will take you deadly seriously. Someone even said, "ah, your family look very British". Do they now.

5) Your nose will be tested with the extremities of smell. In China if you keep it in, its bad. So everything must be let out. Use your imagination and add to that the fact that that includes not using deodorant. Deodorant blocks sweat and smell that should be let out apparently. Consequently if you need to buy the stuff you have to go to a Western supermarket and ask an assistant to show you to the security locked glass case where a couple bottles are usually kept. Makes for a delicious tube experience with everyone all pushed up next to each other.

Finally, the weather is getting better here in Beijing. Apparently Spring doesn't really exist so we have graduated from minus temperatures and snow last week to the temperatures in the twenties this week. Hello summer.

What exactly is normal?

I have just watched a film that contains strong sex, language, nudity and drug usage. It was about two Buddhists battling it out to see who would be the greatest in the land. The hero's secret tactic? Soy beans.

At least, that's the understanding you get by watching the subtitles. The film's actual title? 'War Horse', which Wikipedia describes as a "beautiful adaptation of a children's literature favourite", and the IMBd summarise as a film about "Young Albert [who] enlists to serve in World War I after his beloved horse is sold to the cavalry." Now, this is either some subversive porn, or someone has been a little absent minded whilst translating the script (or both? Quite possibly both). Somehow, someone in China has managed to turn 'War Horse' into a crack-out tale about spiritual horses on heat. As one military man proudly displays his stallion to his rival officer he talks vehemently (and the subtitles say): "This is the finest Buddhist in all the land...Here lassy [also incorrectly translated], take this soy bean!" Substitute the word 'horse' for 'Buddhist' and every food reference in the film as 'soy bean' and voila, you have a plot that even Tim Burton would think was crack out. Why the film (rated 12A) comes with the warning that it does, I'm yet to find out; but what I will say is this: you can sort of tell from the beginning that a film about horses, set and shot in the quaint and peaceful surrounds of Devon, wont exactly be crawling with over-sexed actors, dropping swear words like rappers, whilst swapping their favourite fixes to the tune of Dick Dale and His Del Tones (and by way of comparison, this is what everybody's favourite Buddhist horse chews grass to.) . I don't know, it's just a hunch...

But, this is China and nothing happens quite as you would expect. Anyone can find an alternative way to do things, even if this means being a little sly. Copying Box Office films and selling them for 10p is just an example, but it's important to note that there are no copyright laws in China. Therefore, almost everything you buy will be a copy, or a fake if you're not careful. Now, a great example of how to do things 'Chinese style' or differently is this: 

Picture yourself in the new role as canteen cleaner. Ok, it's not a cheerful job (believe me its worse than usual because here, if you don't like something it's ok to give it a good chew and swill it about in your mouth, before spitting it on the table) but there are perks if you chose to create them. So, Mr cleaner if we accept this, it's ok to stand underneath the 'No smoking' sign with a fag drooping out of your mouth whilst nonchalantly whacking the tables with a cloth. We had been wondering why, when so many people smoked in the dining hall, the staff didn't stop them. If you can't beat them, join them or, more likely, don't reprimand someone for something you also indulge in. 

But, actually, today's post is also to talk about the mundane, the ordinary, and the day-to-day stuff. Weeks have flown by and there has been little opportunity to do the sorts of things I'd consider 'blog-worthy', so I'm going to try and extract some of my 'normal' experiences that I take for granted as being 'normal' here in China. My day begins at 6.30am because classes start at 8am. At 7.40am, the university migrates from the West of the campus to the East where the classes are held. This, in itself is quite a sight: its still barely above 0 degrees here (!), and girls still manage to don invisible shorts with yellow polka dot tights; you're token 'cool lads' zip past on pink or yellow scooters (I mean it); and huddles of Chinese girls slowly negotiate their legs and get them to walk in straight lines. Classes run from 8am until 12pm, with ten minute breaks every 50 minutes. And, how do we learn here in China? Why, with good old repetition and name and shame exercises. And if you don't follow these rules, you will have the finest Buddhist in the land after you with their soy beans. 

I'll try to update this a little more often with some more 'day-to-day' stuff. If you're lucky, I may sit by my computer for the 20 hours it'll take to upload some photos over the internet here. 

A couple of final observations:

- Did you know that Beijing is one of the driest cities in the world? And when there hasn't been rain for a while, the government simply pump some into the sky. The 'fake rain' is identifiable by its consistent down flow and the fact that the government time the shower to fall over the hours of darkness when fewer people are outside. True fact. Also true, if you cause it to rain in minus degree temperatures, it dumps as thick, heavy snow. Unideal #ThankyouChina.

- As you may or may not have seen from my facebook status, the government switched the heating off today. I'm keeping the curtains drawn and jumpers are on. Very odd that someone else can control the heater in my room. Very unfortunate when it is still frickin cold. #ThankyouChina.

Well, at least we can all laugh about it.....

So I have dutifully sat by my lap top for the 30 minutes it takes to upload two photos. I didn't have the heart to wait another 15 minutes to change the orientation of the second. However, this paints an amusing picture of the fire 'incident'. Maybe at the weekend I'll have the will power to sit by my lap top and upload some general photos!

Safety Tips

Readers and readettes, I wanted to follow on from yesterday's post with an update that has just been brought to me by the kind staff here at the university. In case you didn't already know:

"In the early hours of March 10th, 2012, a fire broke out in one of the dorm rooms on the 6th floor of the building."

Ah, so that was what all the smoke was about! Wow, I thought someone was just making some toast! The wonderfully informative letter continues:

"Thanks to timely measures there was no casualty."

Ah, see, now tell me. What was timely? The slow fire engine? The NON EXISTENT fire alarm, or the phone call from my friend telling me to get out of the building? This sentence so so delightfully belief, the words cheerful and...almost...self-congratulatory. 

"The fire broke out when the South Korean lit a candle."

This is frankly bizarre. Firstly, as my other friend pointed out (yes, I know! I have two! One saves me from fire; the other makes jokes. An excellent team.): what is the relevance of the nationality here? Do Koreans have a penchant for candles? Is that their woo-ing technique when they want to get cosy with a partner? Is the fact that the person was South Korean meant to be self-explanatory. Well that's great, at least I'll be able to identify the felon; the nasty, candle-lighting South Korean felon...at least I know to look out for a black haired Asian carrying tea lights. I wont even begin to question how one candle started the fire (must have been a bad date.....)

The letter advises me to look after my "fire-fighting facilities". These are non-existent. And how exactly do I "take care" of a fire fighting facility? Jeeze, mr alarm, did I not treat you right? Did I always ignore you when I sat in my room? Should I polish you from now onwards, and everyday hereafter?

Finally, the letter ends on some excellent health and safety tips, so everyone pay attention!

- "DO NOT use fire of any kind in your room." (Beijing Uni fire council to accomodation staff: "after careful consideration, we have decided to add the words 'of any kind'. This, we feel, will clear up any previous misunderstandings, and prevent further fires of any kind." Even candle-lighting Koreans will need to pay attention to this one. PHEW, I'm glad someone told us not to light fires in our room.)

- "DO NOT smoke on your bed or litter cigarette butts." (YES, That's right, you can smoke anywhere you want, just not your bed! Ah poor little candle-lighting Korean: no longer can he woo his lover by candle light; no longer can he light up in bed.)

Well everyone, my confidence has been completely restored in the team here at University. Thank God I've got this Fire committee onto the case of fire health and safety tips! 

I'll end my post on a slightly cheerier note, and that is that, when I escaped my toxic fumed and sooty bedroom yesterday (only to return to it last night in the same state) me, my two friends, and some more friends went to a famous food market in Wangfujin. Wan is situated just to the East of Tian'an men Sq and the famous night market is down a small side alley that is colourfully lit by hundreds of lanterns (FIRE HAZARD).  The food, however, is probably famous for the wrong reasons. On each stall you can sample the following:

- Seahorse on a stick. Yes friends, these beautiful, cute little creatures that are treasured by the UK are served on sticks to literally any man on the street. 

-Snake on a stick. These poor fellows have had a stick pushed down their entire length.

- Starfish on a stick. HUGE starfish on a stick. You know the ones: people like to display them on their bathroom shelves, to bring a superficial taste of the sea side to their suburban hutches. These ones were rather limp and very sad looking.

- Bat on a stick. mmm, and they splay out his wings to make him look extra tasty.

- Grubs and centipedes, by the stick or for variety, in a pot!

- Scorpions, real live scorpions on sticks. These poor little critters were flexing their claws and tails as if to say "To be or not to be, that is the question?" Well one man's meat is another man's poison. 

This was, at least, a welcome break from the surreal morning we all had yesterday. 

Hello everyone. I'm going to begin today's blog with a small scene setter.

Cast your mind back to when you are learn a language for the first time. Often the first phrases you learn are:
"Hello, how are you?"
"What is your name?"
To add to your vocabulary, you are then equipped with scenario phrases which are usually superfluous, useless, and wouldn't be said in daily practice. This is one of the first conversations I was made to learn last week:
"Duibuqi" [sorry/ excuse me]
"Mei guanxi" [don't worry]
"Xie xie" [thank you]
"Bu keqi" [you're welcome]
"These phrases", I told a fellow class mate, "are the sort you don't need to put hours into memorising. They'll come with practice and can otherwise be forgotten."

This morning friends I woke up at 6.30 to pop to the toilet. I sort of slept walked to the toilet, eyes half closed, then went immediately back to sleep. At 7.00am I was aware that a few doors were being opened and closed, but everyday the cleaners come in and out of rooms to do their work and they make as much noise as that everyday. This morning, I had my "please do not disturb sign" displayed on my door so I ignored the noise and tried to go back to sleep. At 7.30am my mobile rang. I was in part half awake because of the noise anyway, so I decided to pick it up; more to see why anyone would call me at this time.
Tapi:" Where are you?"
Imogen: "Hello Tapi, I'm asleep."
Tapi: "WHY ARE YOU ASLEEP? GET OUTSIDE THERE'S A FIRE. DON'T USE THE LIFT."
Ah, so the slightly strange smell of burning plastic wasn't part of the fabric of strange China smells, it was actually my accommodation block on fire. And my vision at 6.30am wasn't just bleary with sleep, it was also blurred by the first wafts of smoke filtering into my room.

Ok. So at first I was mildly amused by the fact that there was a fire. In England, if there's a fire it is usually that someone's over zealous kettle has set off the alarm and everyone troops outside to line up and be registered. Ok. So I got out of bed picked up my hoody and my keys. Then I realised that there was quite a lot of smoke in my room. And here's where the Imogen inner voice that I introduced you all to in India kicked in.
"Imogen, don't they usually tell you just to leave as quickly as you can?"
"Yeah, but Imogen I'm not wearing a bra."
"Yeah, but Imogen there's smoke coming in your room."
"I could just grab my lap top though? Oh, wow, there's actually smoke."
"Yes, there's actually smoke."
"This is actually a fire then."
"Yes this is actually a fire."
So I grabbed my hoody, shoes and keys and opened my door to a corridor that was black with smoke.
Sleep Imogen says "Ah, an actual fire." and I contemplated to myself, "Gosh, I wonder if I'll be any good at this fire escape business in a state of emergency. Well, let's find out..."

You see readers, we've all seen the videos at primary school, we've all been through numerous fire drills, but luckily we haven't (and fingers crossed no one will ever need to) had to actually do the real thing. This, it turns out as with everything so far, is a lot harder to put into practice in China. For a start, DO I NEED TO ADD 'do not disturb, UNLESS THERE IS A FIRE?' to my door tag? DO I? Because there were no fire alarms, no sprinkles, and NO members of staff, NO ONE who knocked on my door to tell me:
"Oh by the way, there is a fire on the fifth floor, and you're on the ninth." Hilarious.
And there was no one to tell me what on earth to do when the corridor is so black with smoke you can't see the fire escape. So, I fumbled my way forwards, pushing doors which were open (OBVIOUSLY none of the doors are fire doors here, OBVIOUSLY) until at last I got to the stairs. Hm, pretty suspicious. More smoke seems to be coming from the stair well, BUT this is my only exit so I pushed forwards.

I went down two flights of stairs before the smoke was too hot, black and difficult to breath. It was at the point that I exited the FIRE ESCAPE on the 8th floor that sleepy Imogen said,
"Ah, this is an actual fire, you're immediate escape is actually not working. PANIC."
And that is when I realised I was no good at this whole emergency fire escape business. I started shouting in the corridor and walking in the vague direction of the lift before a member of staff heard me, found me AND SAID:
"mei guanxi, mei guanxi."
I HAVEN'T COME ALL THE WAY TO CHINA TO LEARN "DON'T WORRY, DON'T WORRY" ONLY SO I CAN PUT IT INTO PRACTICE WHEN I'M TRYING TO ESCAPE A BUILDING THAT IS ON FIRE. Hilarious. The ONLY bit of Chinese I've understood so far is a phrase I cast off as 'useless', and I'm thinking to myself "oh that means don't worry". I AM WORRYING.

I am delighted to say that she lead me to another stair well where I was left to take a deep breath and walk down past the floor which was on fire and outside. I am even more delighted to say that the fire engines turned up 40 MINUTES LATER and they FILMED (THEY FILMED) the windows which had thick black smoke coming out of them, before they actually went in to sort anything out. A couple hours later, everyone but those living on the 5th and 6th floor were let back in. I went back to my room to see the damage. I am typing through a layer of ash on my lap top. Everything is covered. I went into the bathroom. To THINK I was sat quietly, happily on the toilet at 6.30am blissfully unaware that there was any real commotion, least of all a fire. I look like a panda because my face is black, and my hair is also blackened. What to do? Sit and wait for cleaners I suppose OR better still, do it myself. Whether is cleaning your own room, OR being your own fire alarm (a job I failed), it seems you can't leave much to the Chinese staff here.

It has left me a little concerned that I can sleep through plastic fumes and the stench of smoke, but I was extremely tired. I'm more concerned there don't appear to be any fire alarms.
"Mei Guanxi?" I don't think so.

Stalkers, Odd balls and ballads.

This seems to be the theme of my week so far. Although the week is still not over, so everything could change (I hope, I hope!) That said, I have just brushed by teeth for the third time today to try and scrub the rank taste of seaweed from my mouth: yes, the actual large, floppy floating green stuff you picture in the sea; not the neatly packages wafers that wrap sushi. I tried and I tried to convince myself that it really wasn't that bad, but actually I felt like I was licking the scale of a live fish or giving it a good snog.

Moving on! To stalkers... yes friends, I've got one. We shall call him 'Tin' (not far off the English name he chose for himself). Now, in the context of 'first week of university, let's continually swapping numbers with new people', this Tin fellow was just another 'number' in my new Chinese mobile. This, however, is what happens if you let harmless Tins have your number:

Day 1:
Tin: Hello AiMaiZen [my Chinese name], pleased to meet you -^^- [mountains? Boobs? Ah...of course, happy eyes].
Me: Nice to meet you too [who is this?].
Tin: We'll meet. I'm expecting..... [what?]
Me: I'm very busy learning Chinese.
Tin: I'm very good at letting foreigners know everything about China...
[Me: no reply, OBV].
Day 2:
Tin: Hi, could I meet you tonight? ;) [Clearly not. What was it about my no reply that suggest I would?].
Several hours pass.
Tin: So tonight?
Me: I'm busy with my friends.
Tin: Ok, tomorrow night? ;) [Again, the winky face. Pal, its not going to work.]
Me: I'm having drinks with my boyfriend.
Tin: Ok, thanks. [PHEW, the end?]
Tin: I'm experimenting on teaching the beginner, so.....
[Me: no reply]
Tin: ....using completely different Chinese theory ;)
Tin: You must learn Chinese well. [ Oh hi Yoda. What is he on?]
Me: As I said before, no thanks.
Tin: Haha [IS it funny?] you make take you're way if you want, but I'm very good. By the way, I'm interested in learning English ;) [ As IF that's going to make it any better? As IF I'm going to teach you]
[Me: no reply].
Day 3:
Tin: Hi, this is 'Tin', I recommend you something...[he goes on. As if  I forgot who you were weird Tin man, as if I forgot who you were].
[Me:  no reply]
Tin: I know you're a little confused why I help you. [Ah, so you're beginning to suspect your behaviour is not socially acceptable. Very intuitive] You misunderstand me. I just passionate about foreigners. [Stop there Tin man, just stop here!]
[ME: NO REPLY]
20 minutes later
Tin: Of course you may teach me English [I never offered!!] Make me better ;) [Eugh] Thanks for reading my texts [Tin, you have no idea...]
Tin: missed call.
Day 4:
Tin: missed call.
Me: Thanks but [NO THANKS] please don't contact me again.

Success? I'll keep you updated. So far so good. No Tin texts or calls. BUT the strange behaviour doesn't end here. Today I was walking past some Chinese boys chatting a way and suddenly one broke out in a perfect James Blunt rendition, accent, pinched winey voice and all. Then, as I turned (quickly) away, he stopped suddenly and went back to chatting to his friend.
AND, the other day, I was with a *new* American friend when a Chinese girl suddenly turned round to my friend and said [add Chinese accent]:
"I know you!"
American: "er, no you don't"
"yas, yas I do!"
American: "preetty sure you don't"
"Is me, Is me, remember me?"
A: "Nope, sorry!"
"Ah, you must forget, look at my face..." (Chinese girl leans in front of us and puts her face extremely close to American girl's)
It went on, would you believe, for a good five minutes. In fact for the rest of our journey together, the Chinese girl trotted along besides us laughing hysterically at almost anything the American girl said.

Now, what is going on here? It is quite possibly the food. Or is it the fact that the Chinese word for 'friend'- pengyou- is also the same word for 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'. Ok, you can add a few words-'de' for example- to clarify exactly which relationship you're referring to, but it's otherwise a pretty vague boundary.
OR, maybe we should all adopt their tactics and walk up to someone we'd kind of like to know and just insist, relentlessly that we know them. Do it to a British person and they'll probably be too polite to say no. Score. What a way to collect 'pengyou's...or 'de pengyou's....or do I mean 'pengyous'? Both? Lots of both? TinTin would say: why not?

Nihao

....or 'hello' as we would say.

It has taken me a while to sort myself out and suss out how everything works and now, here I am 'Sorted', and 'acclimatised'. Well not really, because that's hardly ever going to be the case in China:

I've been time and time again pleasantly surprised when, in a dining hall that seats well over 2000 people, a new friend will tap me on the shoulder and say,
"Hi, Imogen! Found you!"
"Very impressive," I think to myself "that they should recognise me after having only just met me."
The thing is readers,  it is not at all impressive because spotting me is like asking a near blind person to spot a donkey amongst zebras. I am that donkey friends, I am that donkey. My hair is white and no one, absolutely no one has a shade of hair that is not black or brown. People can find me easily here because I'm an albino amongst jet black wigs, a white sheep amongst black, the donkey, the dodo who never died. For this reason I will always stand out and I don't think I will ever be 'sorted' to the point of blending in here, in China.

That point was reaffirmed to me today. Just when I'm thinking that the food isn't so bad and that it takes some getting used to I saw a market stall selling donkey penis FOR FOOD. FOR FOOD. FOR FOOD?! If it smells bad don't eat it! No, let's make it simpler because people's sense of smell can vary. If it looks like a donkey's BITS (or ANY animal's bits) don't serve it on a plate. And why, why why, if you display it next to donkey hide, scorpions on a stick and grub on a barbecue is that going to make it more edible? More appealing? You think this is bad? Last night I read a menu card that proudly brandished a bright green shiny salad called 'three bean semen fried salad'. I desperately hope that that was a translation mistake. Tonight I'm sticking to BREAD and scrambled eggs made by my own, plain, English hands.

Now, aside from the obvious cultural shocks Beijing is a pretty darn, cool city. I have explored very little of it so far (it is 2/3 the size of Belgium), but last weekend I did go and visit the Olympic nest which is just down the road from my university. Architecturally it is phenomenal and it will impress you however little you care for sports. And that's not the only building that will impress you in Beijing...among the many I've yet to see, just glancing out of any window you can see awesome structures, lit up with neon signs and huge television screens. Beijing must be an architect's dream. You know when you were little and your teacher asked you to describe what the world would look like in the year 2000? Beijing gives you that sort of impression. No shop is without screens, speakers, lights or some sort of technological gadget. The tubes come with televisions (as do he taxis) on the train and actually in the tunnels.

I'm yet to really explore the place. My first week has been busy getting started with lessons. I have lessons from 8am-12am, and in the afternoon it looks like i'll be pretty busy learning some of the 20-40 (+) new words we're given each day. OR, you'll find me pursuing my new hobby: going to the Chinese gym. This is well stocked with short buff little men who strut around like chuffed little chickens. Of course, there are girls, a few internationals, but no one really does much exercise in it. They take their power walking very seriously and many people will simply hop on the running machine in their jeans to do some very serious walking. Great. I can jog at a reasonably slow pace for 20 minutes and feel like Usain Bolt.

A small, small question though about this whole China thing I've signed up for. What is this language that I have signed up for? Who came up with the sounds to form those  words. This is going to be hilarious. Short of being able to put up some recordings (the internet is very slow here and sadly can't even upload photos to facebook) I will attempt to describe some of the strange contortions I have been putting my mouth through this week:
- 'zh': exists as a syllable in many words here. To form this sound simply create a round duck's bill with your lips and make a noise like a Dyson hoover.
- 'z': don't be too hasty with your hoover impression because 'z' is very different. Pretend you're in a quiet library and you're hissing through your teeth to catch someone's attention. 'Like a mouse' my teacher says- if that's truly the case I don't want to know what king of mice they have here in China.
- 'ch': how to describe a noise that sounds like you're about to burst into your finest Kermit the frog impression...
-'t, l, l', drag each letter out and add a slight wine to your voice.
That isn't.even.half. of.it. Chinese is an extremely musical language: syllables can be said at one of four tone levels. There's a high straight tone, a descending tone, an ascending tone, and an up down tone (sounds like a growl). All makes for a hilarious experience when you're the only English person sat in a classroom of South Koreans who think it is entirely normal to allow your tongue and vocal chords to be malfunctioning in such a way. BUT, I have another 19 weeks left of this so who knows, maybe it will be normal to growl when greeting someone:

Nihao.

Tasty China

From riding elephants, boat tripping along the Ganges, and visiting many (many, too many) temples, I find myself sitting in a room near the top of a tall university accommodation block, looking out over other skyscrapers and (because the pollution is not too bad today) in the distance, some mountains. Now, here's the thing. I can also see what looks like a large path snaking and curling over the mountains. BUT I am not going to be the first tourist to ask, over-awed and ignorant, if that is THE wall. That's like going to Paris and asking if an electricity pylon is the Eiffel Tower. I'll keep the question to myself, that way, without an answer I can kid myself that I can actually see the Great Wall of China from my window (even typing that sentence solidifies the unlikelihood of my observation).

 My room is very nice, and well equipped - TV, fridge, kettle, en-suite- but I'm more concerned about the mug sitting next to me. The mug should be filled with green tea. It looks like green tea, it sort of smells like it, but the seaweedy foliage at the bottom of my cup does not look like green tea. Similarly the milk in my fridge looks like milk but it doesn't really taste like milk. When I asked someone about which milk to buy, they used worrying adjectives like, "this brand is trustworthy, it is safe". No one needs those words floating in your head when you're trying to enjoy a quiet bowl of cheerios. SO, forget the view, forget my room, am I drinking seaweed tea and flushing it down with [insert any other animal apart from cow. eg. cat] milk soaked milk? AM I? Because I've seen a lot of strange things in my first few days here, and this isn't necessarily unlikely. 

On my first day here we were required to meet at 8am for a tour of the campus and registration. 8 am is the new 9am and trotting is the new walking- no one aside from the internationals walk, everyone trots at a fairly speedy pace that is really unnecessary at any time of the day. Nonetheless, we trotted around campus and to registration. It could catch on. Anyway, day one threw me an awful lot of admin- sorting out Chinese mobile phones, buying WARM CLOTHES (its -5), setting up internet- the sort of jobs that are a pain to do when you first arrive at university in England. Swap the English alphabet for organised scribbles and replace 'helpful' English speaking staff with a blank faced non-English speaking receptionist who's only expression is 'I'm tir-red spak slow laaay'. Oh its 'hilarious' trying to tell her that your fridge doesn't work. I did manage to piece everything together, hence why I can sit here typing on my blog (internet and new proxy included), sipping from my mug (purchased from 'Wu Mart'), checking my 'China mobile' whilst wearing my new plastic, fur hooded puff jacket and fur lined, gold-studded boots (I dare anyone to find me a coat that isn't plastic and furry. I look like a Chinese cartoon. I'm lucky I was able to find one that wasn't pink). 

Day 2 and at 8am (obv) they tested the level of Chinese. It was one word long ("nothing") and therefore brief. It being only 8.10 (!!) I was left with the day to play with. Except that a small South Korean girl attached herself to me. I'm not sure how it happened, I just found her walking next to me and she asked me what "we" were doing. 

"I don't know," I replied, staring at her familial expression, "I genuinely don't know". 

Well we chat for a bit, she followed me to the gym and then we had lunch. This was a useful activity in any event because she could translate some of the food descriptions for me. 

This is essential. It is not an exaggeration to say that the Chinese eat anything and everything. They do. Now, I've been told that dog is a delicacy, so you're not likely to find that in a uni canteen. However, any part of the usual animals- pig, cow, sheep, lamb, etc- can be found. But the parts are not easily identifiable having being fried, soaked, chopped, sliced, strung or covered in MoMo. On Day 1 a fellow English girl ordered what seemed to be a fairly safe option, chicken noodle soup. It was. Until she got to the bottom of it and she found various eggs, of all sizes and colours sitting at the bottom of her bowl (quail eggs? reptile eggs?? None of them looked the size of a chicken egg) So continuing along that theme, you can buy 'duck parts' together with the egg (to remind you of the cycle of life??) for a bargain price of 80p. You can buy offal, heart, and yes my friends, CRAB STICKS....like you've never seen them before. Give me a plastic packaged, wobbly Tesco crab stick any day. These ones look dry, fermented, more like the real thing. 

I haven't just had an unlucky first impression with food. Everywhere you go you will pass shop windows and stalls displaying crispy duck heads (picking the brain out is a delicacy), sheep trotters, chicken's feet etc. etc. Now SURELY when something smells bad, putrid even, SURELY you wouldn't then eat it. Well guys, now I've seen that they really do eat everything and anything, the doubt is crystallised. I don't trust anything. I generally avoid the 'dubious' or grin and bare the necessary (cat's milk and cheerios. I need cereal in the morning, therefore I will have to continue to experiment with milk). That said, we were taken  out for an all expenses paid meal last night at a Peking Duck restaurant (a Beijing speciality), and it was delicious. Weird also- the Chinese cook with a pepper that can also be used as a drug (its banned). As a food ingredient, it completely numbs your tongue when you eat it. My tongue literally went floppy in my mouth when I was trying to enjoy my genuinely, Chinese crispy duck pancakes. The one thing I completely recognise and my taste buds, nerves and overall tongue are having a nap. Hear me now, I will triumph over Chinese food and maybe I'll make it my mission to try something weird every week. I'll start with 'green tea' flavoured crisps.

 I'm off out now, but will resume later this weekend with news on my explorations of the city so far. 

India

DISCLAIMER: This post comes with the warning that the contents are simple thoughts and therefore likely to be  rambling, inaccurate, wrong, false, nebulous, painful generalisations, incomplete etc. etc....especially because I am not at all well read on the subjects of my observations, have limited research facilities (other than my eyes and Lonely Planet) and they are, after all, observations. I apologise in advance and welcome any corrections!

APOLOGIES: for any sweeping generalisations. I am aware that there are many. And sorry this is rather long.


Travellers will tell you that visiting India can be a huge cultural shock. Abject poverty, an apparent lack of hygiene, overpopulation and radically different pallets of colour, smells and sounds all contribute to this commonly held belief. Though this country may seem alien to the cotton wool clad Westerner, India can no longer remain an exotic travel destination that only the 'brave' (mad or hippy) visit. Possessing the tenth largest economy in the world and, more importantly, one of the fastest developing, India is a country that needs some serious attention beyond the meditations of a yoga enthusiast.

In 2010 India's economy grew by 10% compared to our measly 0.4%. This bleak statistic was one of the many awkward elephants in the room when David Cameron's £280 million gift aid to India was this year turned down by finance minister Mukherjee as "peanuts compared to our total development spending". In other words, it's about as embarrassing as offering to take Madonna for a shopping spree, and giving her a ten pound voucher to spend in Primeark ("But ten pounds is worth quite a lot in Primeark!" Britian cries). Ouch. India- the country, not the tourist location- means business. Taking this into consideration, it is further suggested that, alongside China, India could form part of a new global elite.

But hold on just a second. A successful economy is not the sole making of a country. Suicidal roads, crouch-holes for toilets, water that you drink and pollute at the same time...these don't look like the markings of a potential first world country; and that's before you address the bigger issues of, for example, India's 'ever-improving' democracy, and shady enforcement of Human Rights across a population of over 1.2 billion people. India might appear impressive on paper, but in practice will it ever compete in the same league as other Western countries? One of the many answers to this enormous question lies in India's train services.

The trains, as far as I can figure out, come and arrive at whatever time they want. Across India, this is expected and people make allowances for it. But can you imagine if any station or underground in London chose 'approximate' times for its trains (all jokes aside)? In India this system creates chaos at the stations. When a train finally arrives, hundreds of people hop over the tracks to get to the right platform, whilst others bundle onto the delayed train for fear of missing it and waiting yet more hours. It is completely chaotic. And you don't just get this degree of crowd carnage at stations. Bus stops, roads and markets all exemplify the pervasive chaos that seems to extend across India. What does it signify? Faulty communication systems? A lack of accountability? The misapplication or intentional disregard for rules, law and.....order. It is this disorder which terrifies the Western traveller, and yet it is India's most frank and unsubtle indicator of the country's development. On paper, the country might testify to a thriving economy, a working democracy, and an established infrastructure, but whether these 'successes' filter down to the daily workings of the country at street level is another matter. And it is at street level that the traveller is perfectly pitched to observe.

Chaos comes in many forms in India, whether its ignoring whatever rules of the road that exist, or picking your toilet spot based on its location (does it provide good views, sunshine or a space for several to chat?). Whether or not it is hygienic to impart yesterday's diet on a little brick wall beside the road doesn't seem to bother an enormous number of people. And it's the unpredictability of this toiletry habit, or any other, that will catch you out. You could be gazing out the window of your train at the sun rising over a haze hung field and a couple of brazen men will chose that moment to empty their bladders in the middle of that field. Or, you're walking along a street smiling at the children chatting amongst themselves when you realise that their huddle is no ordinary huddle, that they are not crouching for a game of marbles. And, if you can predict when a man decides to hoik the tobacco he's chewing, you're winning at Indian snakes and bladders. Me and a couple of girls I've met were assessing which tuk tuk driver to go for. On picking one apparently benign old man from a scruffy crowd of hassling drivers, we took firm steps towards him. His response? To drop his jaw and gutturally expel the snotty contents of his mouth. I've felt that same sudden shift from appreciation to revulsion when stroking my cat moments before he decided to vomit the entrails of a mouse. The old man didn't seem to mind, however.

Neither did the industrious builder in Varanasi seem hugely bothered when he constructed a lean-to, luminous orange stub of a shed shed right next to an old and beautifully sculpted building. I tried to imagine the conversation that went on between the architect (if a tangerine squat needs one) and the planning authorities (if they exist):  Based on the outcome- the very obvious existence of the 'building'- the authorities clearly approved it:
"What a marvellous orange shack you plan to build next to this building of cultural and architectural importance. It looks very sturdy."
Really, orange snugs aren't that unusual in India. There are luminous pink huts, pop-up shops and, as far as I could figure out, if something needs constructing you just get yourself a couple of spades, some bamboo scaffolding, and you're away. Hell, if a pipe needs replacing you just get digging even if it's in the middle of the road. Old and new, the colourful and the cumbersome, they all sit hand in hand together in almost every place I've visited.

Chaos is also a cow sharing the same lane of traffic as a lorry (or, not unusually, a water buffalo grazing on the broken concrete of a roundabout). In fact, every city seems to boast herds of cows that are not owned by anyone. These cows enjoy their Holy status and roam the streets making  alarmingly decisive decisions about which lanes to pick from the hundreds that exist. In terms of the rights they enjoy and the spaces they inhabit, the line between human and animal is almost blurred; a sharp contrast to the penned in live stock you get in England. In fact, if an English cow escapes, it is quickly ambushed into its designated field. So, to the Indian cow that barged me out of the way take that. Who owns you cows? Where did you come from, and how are there so many just chilling? (And who would have thought a cow could bring out the philosopher in me?) No one in India seems particularly bothered by these questions, and these questions are just water molecules in an ocean of unanswered questions, and- in Western terms- inexplicable or bizarre occurrences. Here, the strange mingles with the weird and crazy making each seem relatively normal. Sure, you're taking a poo by the road...whatever.

The Ganges best exemplifies chaos. The stuff you see on the street? That's just disorganisation by comparison- superficial chaos, aesthetic 'not-niceness'. From Varanasi (one of India's holiest cities based on the banks of the Ganges) life and death happen at the same time, on top of each other. This is unfortunate if, like me, you prefer to box up and forget the latter one. In Western society (generally, we hope) birth, death are celebrated or mourned as very separate occasions: usually they demand different ceremonies that take place at different times, in different places, with different dress codes, different words spoken etc. etc....you get the point. Along the banks of the river Ganges, the bodies of people being burnt after death can be clearly observed among the flames. But the silence of mourning families is regularly broken by the ringing bells of numerous temples, and the twice-daily hymns of the prayer services that are blasted from loud speakers across the river. The hymns sung are beautiful and uplifting melodies which loudly praise life and pray for days to come. Yet, metres away someone burns at the very end of theirs. This can be uncomfortable.
 I wanted a tourist tick-box experience that reminded me of what it is to live (to experience things, to travel...) without the smell of bonfires creeping into my nostrils. To see such conflicting states of being (life and death) represented in the same space, at the same time so unapologetically, displays the chaos that festers at the heart of being human: on the one hand we desire to live and assert our individuality, our uniqueness and humanity; on the other hand, we battle with the futility of doing so- death is inevitable and it obliterates the individual, renders us anonymous in history and makes us ubiquitous alongside every living thing on earth.  Visit the Ganges and you have to confront these things simultaneously. They're pretty difficult to reconcile, to order, or to make neater. It's easier to stick to the streets and complain about the mismatched buildings or lack of road signs.

Now, on the days when my patience for India wears thin, I imagine myself shaking a firmly clenched fist at the country and asking, among hundreds of other questions: "Why can't you provide me with a toilet seat? Here's a deal, you do that, and I'll provide the loo paper."; "Please, please, please can you just get a bus that has windows? I don't mind about the door." Will India ever give me the answers that I, or any other Westerner is looking for? I don't think so, and I think this has a lot to do with the country's main religion- Hinduism. It permeates every aspect of life and every echelon of society. Shrines to the Gods are found in homes, shops and restaurants, and 'Pujas' (or prayers) are said by most, daily. This religion is the very stuff of day-to-day living for 82% of India's population. It must surely play a huge role in shaping society values and consensus.

  From the limited knowledge I've picked up, 'God' manifests in three key figures: Brahma the Generator (or creator), Vishnu the Operator, and Shiva the Destructor: 'G','O','D'. All three Gods hold equal standing and importance in Indian society. Surely though, any society that reveres a God of Destruction as much as any other isn't exactly looking for a peaceful and organised life. Furthermore, it doesn't stop at three. There are 3.3 million Gods and Goddesses that Hindus can pray to, each one dedicated to a specific purpose or thing, with their own story and personalty. And Hindus can choose which God or Goddess to worship in particular from this eclectic and colourful mix. So, nearly 1 billion people are choosing different personalities and different stories to encircle with their lives; and, perhaps, as a result, one neighbour might be looking to get slightly different things from life compared to another neighbour, for example...even if everyone stuck to the main ones. One man's Holy Day (you can chose, depending on the God(s) you pray to), is another man's Friday piss-up (so one Indian lamented to me). Maybe it's these competing interests, passions and purposes which play out on the streets of India in all their music, colour and chaos. If its alarming to the Western traveller you have, in part, maybe, perhaps, the God of Destruction and the 3.3.million other Gods and Goddesses to thank for that (or pray to).

Here's. The. Thing. To say that the day to day disorder in India betrays its true 'success' as a potentially elite country, is wrong.
With all this disorder and lack of regulation comes incredible creativity. If there's a niche in the market, you can guarantee a tradesman or woman has set up a stall to cover that gap. How? Because if there's a gap in the market and space to set up on the street, you can go for it. That much is evident from the number of shops I saw that, daily, went up in every town or city I visited. People pull together all sorts of resources- cans, scraps of metal and bricks- to build the shop or stall they need to market themselves. Ok, I probably don't need a 'real genwine sliver bracelet' or a 'please feel me human, its yak wool' jumper, but where there's a tourist there's a way; and Indians will attack business opportunities with a passion that other travellers tell me is unmatched by any other country they've visited in Asia. And India appears to have taken the opportunity bull by the horns because it boasts a huge and diverse range of crafts, products and skills.

And here's one for the girls in particular (boys, perhaps?): As much as we reap the benefits of living in a culture that is heavily stocked with the latest trends in fashion, does it not get dull when all the shops have to offer is pastel pink, terracotta pink or candy floss pink just because a couple fashion houses deem it that way? Indian clothes stalls explode colour and patterns, which in turn decorate and enliven the roads. It's not just about colour either. The hundreds of pop up stalls, street performers, animals and people add to the chaotic- yes- but predominantly exciting hotch potch of sights, sounds and smells. You can walk down a road in London on automatic because the shop fronts- by comparison- are all pretty bland, or you can walk down a street in India and feel, with all your senses engaged, more alive. Everyone should embrace the chaos, if only to be jolted from their daily lethargy, however uncomfortable that may be. In short, if Indians want something to happen, they can make it happen (even if it means digging a hole in the road, or ignoring every traffic rule to get where you want to go), The products of this (chaotic) way of life are colourful, diverse and exciting. Oh, and this appears to support an ever-expanding economy.

Now, I was told on the occasions that I went to Sunday school that you could not ask God to make you 'more successful', 'better at exams', or  simply 'better off', for example. (Again, in my limited experience) you can, however, ask the Christian God for more abstract things like 'guidance', 'love', 'patience' and 'forgiveness' which might help you achieve those ends. Maybe, then, it is useful having a God of fortune and luck- Ganesha- to pray to (as Hindus do) for those things which could directly help you in life. To whatever degree you believe that religion can create real life changes, at the very least (and without meaning to be patronising and undermining), it must boost the confidence of those who believe they have the direct backing of a God specifically dedicated to their purpose. Ganesha also happens to be the patron of arts, sciences and letters...so, if you're struggling to write, you know who to pray to (Dear Ganesha....)
Therefore, many Gods for many purposes illuminate hundreds of paths to pursue in life. Hinduism- again, maybe, possibly, might do- create a stronger sense of opportunity and possibility in people's minds, whilst also providing them with specific back up and resolution. So maybe Hinduism Generates as much chaos, as it helps to Operate, and eventually Destroy. G.O.D.

So chaos is not such a bad thing after all, and, if it exists in India, Hinduism, among other things, provides several answers. The thing is we Westerners are only looking for the solutions we recognise in our own society. Some of the answers to 'the problems' (as we perceive them) are difficult for us to accept. Sitting on a toilet seat, according to medical opinion, is not actually the most efficient (or even healthiest) way to expel waste from the body. Writing to your politician because your parking is obstructed doesn't work (as one fellow traveller explained to our bemused tour guide): 'why didn't you just get rid of the obstruction yourself, and get on with it?' the tour guide asked. If India continues to find ways around the daily disorder, it may well just live up to the reputation its economy is paving way for. Will it ever compete in the same league as other Western countries? I think the answer is no: if India does form part of a new global elite, it will create its own precedent, its own way of doing things. And right now, with the way things are in England, we could probably do with a bit of colour and a couple entrepreneurs hassling us to 'look at this please human'.

After just ten days, chapter one- a short chapter- is over. 

I began its closing paragraphs with an Indian head massage on Saturday afternoon. I joined another girl at the guest house, Jenni (with an 'i'), and her friend for this, and for 30p I also thought I'd try threading. Boys, this is where a woman somehow uses two pieces of cotton string to scissor off and shape your eyebrows. Having (clearly) never attended to my eyebrows, I thought 'why not?' Why. Not. Well, it was successful on one level- my eyebrows look very dapper and I've been enjoying conversations that allow me to use them:

"Really?!" *aghast look, allows you to raise both eyebrows*

"Right." *unimpressed, raise just one*

"No!" *furrow them furiously*

On the other hand, I was also asked if I wanted my upper lip trimming. My upper lip trimming!? (*cock one eye brow, quizzically lower the other*) Never could a little question like this be more threatening to one's confidence (*mould each eyebrow into a sorrowful concave*) BUT (*firm upper brows*) I had my new eyebrows on so I was able to hold myself together and (*relax eyebrows*) politely decline. Now that the true shape (and use!!) of my eyebrows has been revealed to me, I accept, I may have to attend to them in the future more diligently. But, the upper lip? You guys warned me travelling makes you do some serious soul searching.

And, to the last day of Chapter One. I went to a city three hours away called Agra where the famous Taj Mahal is situated. I went with Jenni (with an 'i') who had kindly booked us a seat in Sleeper Class (the lowest ranking carriage) on the train. The views from the window were engaging- it appears the entire population of India use the railway side as a convenient toilet-but we arrived in good time. The Taj Mahal is, thankfully, everything you could want it to be; even if the photographic evidence of my visit looks like a painted background pin up. I'm sure most of you know it was built by (another) Sultan in the loving memory of his wife. The rest, I shall leave to you to imagine so that my descriptions wont taint your experience of it: it really is a life 'must do'. The rest of the day is best summarised in bullet points:

-Breakfast at roof top cafe overlooking Taj Mahal. Whilst all of you were getting in late from your Saturday night out, I was sipping cappuccinos in the Sun and staring at the Taj across pastel painted houses. I have decided that I must have a Taj-like building (the Taj Mogen ) before I accept any proposals in later life. 

-And then, we descended into Agra: a sprawling chaotic city which was celebrating a Muslim festival yesterday so was even more chaotic than usual. This is where our day got progressively worse:

* it took at least thirty minutes to barter an auto down (the tiny green and yellow taxi cars in my video) to an 'ok' price. Even then it was expensive. Agra is expensive because it is home to the Taj Mahal and therefore mekka to thousands of tourists each year. Exhausting arguing with these rude men who lean so proudly against their small Audis....sorry AUTOS.

*Jenni (with an 'i)** was insistent on seeing every tourist attraction. Must have walked ten kilometres in hot weather and paid rather a lot to see more old buildings. Again, they're extremely impressive, when you're not hot, hungry and tired. 

* The attention in Agra was worse- perhaps because there were two of us. Too many people stalking us, taking photos or staring aggressively. When teenage boys continuously try and snap you, you suspect its not because they want to add it to their album of 'albinos sighted'. 

*More awful auto prices, roller-coaster driving and had to forgo lunch and supper as no time! No time for food!  Who has no time for food??

*Waited to come home at some dodgy bus station for an hour. Enough said. 

*Arrived late in Delhi to find more loony auto drivers until eventually the police (who, one does not immediately trust) forced an auto to take us home. 

Now, I think I was tired but I was a little disappointed in myself to find myself asking for: clean toilet rolled toilets; buses with windows that shut; clean everything; and general anonymity. I'm sorry to say that I think my patience for India temporarily wore thin. Nothing like a bit of backpacking for two weeks to rejuvenate the spirits...

I head to a hotel today to meet the group and will be travelling through Northern India for two weeks. I expect I will have internet and will try and upload blog posts as and when! 

** Jenni (with an ‘i’) seemed to be under the impression that I was older than I was- was it my maturity, the depth of my knowledge, my refined sense of humour.....She was 29 I think, and ‘age’ unfortunately became a cross reference point for the things we had in common. So I have had to chortle at the fact that Carly (the hippytaveller) has come to India at the tender age of 20 (I’m 22), I’ve had to laugh at how the ‘youth of today’ behave (I’m 22), and I’ve had to nod my head when she reckoned that the early twenties (I’m 22) was a difficult time to travel to India (I’m 22). Now, I didn’t realise quite how bad this was until I saw on the train ticket she had put me down as 27 (!)- do I have the first signs of a wrinkle? Have I furrowed my brows too much? I didn’t want to embarrass her so when asked questions like “what music did you like when you were younger?” or “how old are your siblings?”, I gave ridiculously vague answers: “oh, you know, stuff, pop stuff, you know the stuff...” or “I’m the oldest. One brother is older than the other”. 

Quatb Minar

More World Heritage Sites today...they're almost becoming the norm. If its not a World Heritage Site, I'm not interested. Delhi spoils the traveller really: it is heaving with Medieval tombs, Renaissance settlements and Mogul fortresses. And I have carried out my role as a tourist with a capital 'T', and visited all of the major attractions. Quatb Minar is one of them. It is a 12th Century tower reaching 72 feet, set in the palaces and tombs of some of the leaders who followed its construction. BUT, every brick has been uniquely carved with patterns or writing. In fact, walk around the entire site and every brick has been chipped at thousands of times to reveal intricate and detailed designs in every square centimetre of stone. I found it strange, therefore, that Indian tourists picked a nearby bush, or nondescript rock for their souvenir photos. Stranger still was the lamp post I walked into, situated in the very middle of the tumbled palace, parallel to the tower. But then again, lose cables, old metal and construction work seem to go hand in hand with these precious sites. India is currently celebrating its 50th year of 'looking after' its sites of extraordinary archaeological and historical importance. I'm not sure that would even be a calendar worthy event in England, given how active the National Trust is.

But, that the Indians have only just woken up to the need to maintain these sights is actually an advantage. Walking around all of them- the Red Fort, Humayun's Tomb and Qutb Minar included- you will glimpse original tile work, original marble, original mirror work on the ceilings, and even original gold leafing on the pillars. This is what an unmaintained, unpolished site looks like. No one's gone round it to replace the marble carvings with 'replicas'. There are no signs explaining that the original motifs have been taken away for safekeeping and inspection. Yes, these World Heritage Sites are a free for all, and in places they have suffered because of that; but, their true character remains. It all makes the National Trust look rather overbearing, even. And, that iron lamp post I walked into? A FOURTH CENTURY iron work column inscribed with the story of the coming of God amongst men. In England, there's no way you'd walk into it because it would be behind glass, de contextualised, and historically anonymous but for the small plastic placard promising museum goers that its 'genuine'.

Now, I told you I was spoilt with all these World Heritage Sites, but, I should not have complained. So far nothing I have seen (and I've scratched at the tip of the iceberg) hasn't already been relayed to me by you or the media. Except that today, as I was crossing an exceptionally busy T-junction, I noticed someone lying in the dust between the pavement and the cement of the road surface. In Delhi, homeless people are able to make a home for themselves in every nook and cranny: under trees, against walls, between buildings, but centimetres from the wheels of a car was a new one. I'll spare the details but it became very obvious the man had been hit by a driver, killed and left on the roadside. My landlady said that the police will eventually pick him up and hopefully identify him to his family. It was not standing over a dead man that shocked me (as much as I thought it would) more that it had been left, unidentified, and missing to the family. As cars and lorries thundered by, people leaned out of the window and looked at the body as you and I would look at cows in a field. I'm sure these things happen often. And so, that's adds a rather sombre note to the videos I uploaded yesterday doesn't it? I'll stick to the less complicated Heritage Sites therefore and not complain when my vision is neutrally entertained.

Translations

"Please madam can I take your cup?" 

I nodded fervently to communicate an emphatic YES.

BUT at the same time I also raised my right hand PERHAPS to convey my greetings to the waiter as an Indian Chief solemnly states 'How', OR- as could be more reasonably assumed- to say NO at the same time I was nodding YES. The waiter, confused, left my empty cup of coffee on the table. Again he came back, again the same spasm overcame me, and again the coffee cup was left. SO firm was my palm that time that the waiter, confused if not a bit apprehensive, left my cup, glass, bottle and can on the table. You see, whilst English is widely spoken in India, it is a common misconception that everyone can speak it. The key players- your auto driver, rick shaw man and waiter- often 'do not' understand English at precisely the time you need them to. Now, this can come in handy when it means they get to try and charge you double for a meagre trip. Oh, and its also really useful when you want little Western women to wear luminous gowns (did I mention the gowns?). But, understandably, the waiter was genuinely confused by my actions, his English being more or less non existent. Not that English would have helped him out here. Why did I gesture with the inane actions of a CBeebies storyteller high on Panda Pops? Because I was desperate to be understood. 

Hindi is a beautiful language that, with time, can be picked up. Even after a few days I am understanding the odd word or so. It is essential, as I said, that you learn one or two phrases in order to successfully bargain with an auto or rickshaw. I have been lucky enough to have Hindi speakers with me so far at those vital times. Failing that and I have to resort to my Teletubby gestures (which, by the way, have been successful once or twice) and aggressive pointing at my map (my map!) Nonetheless, there have been plenty of times when I have been glad not to understand Hindi- namely, when turning down anyone on the street- rickshaws, vendors etc. Pretending (Actually) not understanding is a great excuse for moving on without further engagement. 

There has been one activity so far on my trip that for which I have LOVED not understanding Hindi: watching Indian soap operas. These TV programs follow similar themes of unrequited love and poorly arranged marriages. But aside from that premise, not a lot happens over the course of several days worth of TV viewing. This is because the camera is SO BUSY catching the brooding looks of every man, and the watery eyed stares of every woman on set. For every face shot, a dramatic 'Bong' sounds on a symbol and the camera dramatically cuts (dramatically) to a new face: "BONG" (DRAMATIC). 

Oh, and it works the other way. I see some very odd English written on adverts or shopping bags. e.g.

"Drink Bacari Sweat, the drink that fills you with body fluid".

"Dynamo-istic- the logo of this which is being that it conveys 'creativity', 'dynamism', 'dualism' and 'flexibility' of all appearances per sued'. I mean that kind of construction really messes with your head.

"PlastIndia: rock hard plastic supreme come for it."

Today, however, I was a fly on the wall to a situation which needed no translation whatsoever. I was about to sit on a nice empty bench in a park when an old woman shouted some direction to me. So, together we lifted the cast iron bench (yes, me and this old withered woman) from its perfectly nice location to another arbitrary spot. I was - she gestured- told I could sit at the very end. I was then joined by two elderly men who sat quietly next to each other in the Sun. They were clearly very fond of each other's company. One then began reading the news from his newspaper to the other. Now, here was a scene that I could understand. Two old friends who have a regular bench and meet up at the same time on a particular day to keep each other company. There are, you realise, several things we all have in common- the love of company and friendship in this case- which, in whatever language, is quite apparent. 

So, now cut to my day: I think I've visited every deceased Moghul this city has to offer and marvelled at each and everyone's tomb. I went to the crafts museum today, to a famous tomb (that, the guide book says excitedly, EVEN the Obamas have visited), and wandered around different parts of the city. All of these locations are wonderfully equipped for the English-speaker and everything is neatly translated. This, I've realised today, is getting boring. Its two dimensional because words don't give you the colour, sounds and facial expressions of what's actually going on around you. Yeah, EVEN my HOWYESNO is pretty intriguing- more so, than a sleepy museum. So, sorry Mr entombed Maharajah, I've come to the conclusion that I'm more interested in the untranslated stuff of life . I'll follow this post up in the morning with 'bizarre oddities observed' specifically amongst PEOPLE therefore.

Now, don't draw the wrong conclusions here: I'm not on a redefined quest to discover the glorious manifestations of humanity in all four corners of the globe. No, no, we'll draw a sharp line under my slightly clichéd, candy floss conclusions. I'll kick off my first 'people observation' with one that'll pop any inflated views. People are fascinating but they are also, as I have maintained from the very beginning of this blog, extremely odd.

1) An old woman dressed in pink sari stands by the motorway and, surreptitiously, oh so surreptitiously lifts her shawl to waggle her boobies at the man crawling along next to her. 

I CROSSED THIS BABY.

Old Delhi Take 2

So, a few of you may know that I own a particularly edgy T-Shirt that proudly displays the fact that I have walked 45 miles on Dartmoor National Park in a 'race' known to locals as TEN TORS. The T-Shirt is a striking mottled grey and says in lurid red writing (cleverly sculpted to look like a hill) 'Ten Tors 2005'. Aside from the fact that it betrays my lack of real sporting achievement at school, it does not mention that, as well as walking a heck of a long way with a giant rucksack, you must also be able to read a map. THANK GOD I LEARNT TO MAP READ. This, my friends, is a life skill I have come to cherish as I roam from one identical street to the next in a place where there are no street names, and very few signs in general. So to all you hockey players, netball players, tennis players, football and rugby players (etc. etc.), the only sport you need do at school is MAP-READING. I will therefore BRANDISH my T-shirt for all to see when I'm home, and add to it (if I can find a lurid red pen) 'India 2012'. Back off cool police.

That said, map reading in Old Delhi takes on a whole new dimension. That there are no road names is a given. Contrary to the roads in New Delhi, however, these ones are so tiny and crammed with vehicles and humans that you can't tell where the road you have taken is going, where it will end, or if the turning you need to take off it actually exists. Therefore, you need to study the map to gain a sense of direction and guess, as best you can, the shape and curvature of the road. Now, for those of you who have travelled in packs, I'm sure getting lost has actually led you to discover some incredible things. But if you're on your own, you do NOT want to be chilling with Mr Tobacco chewer and his rickshaw-driving mate, musing on the meaning of life. Whenever I've dwindled a bit I've generally been harassed by shopkeepers, children or strange men. Neither of these things are part of the cultural experience I'm looking for. SO, getting lost or stopping to read a map is a no go. I therefore was visibly RELIEVED when I crawled out of the literal maze of lanes called Chawdri Bazar in Old Delhi, and ended up at the location I was looking for. This was the FIRST time I've missed a companion traveller because I felt deserving of a firm pat on the back. Awkwardly, I gave myself the thumbs up instead. Thankfully no fellow traveller was there to see me do that. Me and that Ten Tors T-Shirt really do belong together then.

So a summary of the oddities and experiences of today.

-Visited Red Fort- World Heritage sight, giant red brick old palace thing. V impressive. Had to cross the biggest road yet though. Took photos. That's what you do when you visit a World Heritage Sight. . . And that's also what you do if you see an albino wandering around Red Fort. In fact, you actually stop the school children you're supervising and point me out, like I'm part and parcel of the whole experience.

-Visited Jami Masjid- Delhi's oldest mosque, also enormous. Nice moment: listening to call to prayer whilst waiting to enter, passing time by sketching and being joined by ten school girls who watched my every moved and looked up at the thing I was drawing when I looked up. AWFUL moment (humorous if not involved): The locals make all Western women wear a luminous coloured, flowery gown to'cover up' even if they are already covered up; I was told by a girl who has been that you can refuse because they're doing it to identify tourists to tour operators etc.; I refused, I was turned away, I had to accept, I entered- not only with a crop of white hair- but now also dressed in a bright pink gown, felt even MORE vulnerable and ridiculously stupid PARTICULARLY because the other Westerners were proudly wearing theirs, believing that they were wearing native, respectful attire; Instead, you look across this huge courtyard and see giant pink and yellow idiots plodding around; how could they not realise the joke is on us??!! Victory moment: climbed to top  of tower and saw panoramic views across Delhi; climbed down, man appeared trying to charge me 50R for my getting my shoes back (which I was told I had to leave at bottom of tower); I said 'NO' and walked off. Oh yerrrr. I'm no fool (but Imogen, you're STILL wearing a pink and flowery gown)...

Old Delhi

Its a strange thing travelling on your own. I'm trying to imagine how it might compare to travelling in a group and what I would be doing differently, if anything at all. One of the main differences I think is 'the head voice'. I keep company with my head voice for a lot of the day. That aside, I met someone for lunch today and I'm having supper with a group of people tonight; but, as I am essentially alone, the head voice does quite a lot of narrating.

So, I'm going to begin this blog with my head voice today, because today I visited Old Delhi. Old Delhi is the medieval part of the city so gone are the long wide avenues and instead picture tiny market streets, chock-a-block roads and tiny shops piled one on top of the other. My head voice was therefore pretty active this afternoon, not least because I had to navigate my way around this maze and through the throngs of people.

"Walking out of station, good, ok, right exit. Follow the sign for the exit....the signs have stopped. Useful. Ok go on vague sense of direction. Yep good, I'm out...

and I'm walking, I'm still walking stuck in a  crowd. Tag along behind the only woman I can see for a good few hundred yards. Why so many men? Why are so many men shopping?...Still walking, can't stop. Need to read map (discreetly, so I'm not blatantly any more touristy than the billboard on my head (my hair) suggests), but can't stop. Tiny tiny lane. Woah, step over whatever that is. Completely new sour smell sting in nose. And walk through the rows of people begging. Why do the men have weighing scales? Might I want to stop a weigh myself. Hold on everyone whilst I stop to weigh myself in the busy busy street. No way. There must be another reason for the scales. Hm, man has no toes and an open wound. Infected. Don't stare. And the woman seems to be just a torso.

 Woops, don't fall over the tiny kid, holding a baby. Ah, guidebook says ignore them. Ignore. Still pushed along, still creepily close to too many staring men. Walk with PURPOSE. Oh yeah I know where I'm going, don't you offer me your rickshaws I KNOW where I'm going ( I do not know where I am going). Woops, mind the horse. Of course, A horse.  There's a horse on the pavement. And a motorbike. 

Ok main road, turn RIGHT. Good, past a shell of a building full of rubbish and men sitting round campfires. Women outside with sheet spread full of spices. Loads of food stalls. Wow nibbling on the street is a thing here. OK too many people, too many cars. Erm cross over. Nice looking empty island between roads. Good place to read a map? OH GOD (literally) its a shrine. I'm standing by/ on a shrine. Women have come to pray and have taken off their shoes where I'm standing WITH my shoes on. But its also a ROUNDABOUT (?!) so I can't move because man sweeping the shrine is sweeping me towards the traffic. OK, hop OVER the shrine and over the road. Yes, hello rickshaw man, I'm back no still don't want tour... ok and keep walking. 

First monkey. There's a monkey on the roof. Its chilling. Nice place to chill. What a view. On the mosque. Woah, back to street level where am I going?"

That was the basic theme of my head thoughts today. Old Delhi was completely different to central New Delhi and I could curse these travel books that simply describe such street carnage as 'lively bustle'. Whoever writes those books has probably been having long chats with my spiritual American friend. But that is what makes India interesting. Forget museums, just looking at the streets and the way they are organised is enough. So I will have to go back there tomorrow with a bit more time I think. At least I'll be prepared.

Otherwise had a chilled morning, and had lunch with someone I know in Delhi. Sat, again shamefully, in an English style cafe drinking coffee and eating panini. Was on the terrace above Kahn market and sun perfectly warm. Felt like a summer day in England. Except for the continual honking of car horns...Oh and I broke three of the tourist guidebook rules today:

1) I forgot to wash my hands after the metro and before eating. 

2) I accidentally ate something leafy (it wasn't salad) in my panini (vegetables can be dirty/ have high water content).

3) AND I accidentally had ice in my diet coke (in India, you should be careful about what water is used to make ice). 

So my friends we shall wait and see if I fall ill or not. I'll keep you updated. Hopefully NOT, given my appalling record for illness so far in 2012.

Off now to supper with this girl and her friends. She is deliberately cooking English food (to the irritation of her Indian friends), and has bought Caramel cheesecake which CLEARLY pleases me.