P is for Pagoda

Well what else could I do for a China-based 'P' - pagodas are one of the most traditional images of China. These pagodas are in Zhengding, and with the restored historical street and it's low rise skyline this is one of the few places in China you can get a photo like this!

This is the unusual Indian-style pagoda at Guanghui Temple.

Meanwhile this is the aptly named Lofty Pagoda at Tianning Temple.

See what other people have come up with for 'P' at abc wednesday.

Shanghai: Pudong and the Bund

The next day we headed over the Pudong, Shanghai's gleaming new business district, and the Bund, on the other side of the river, the famous stretch of old Western style buildings dating from when Shanghai was a foreign concession port. We kept with what had become our Shanghai protocol by managing to get lost within about three seconds of leaving the subway.

We were heading for the Jinmao Tower, the rather stately building on the left, rather than the one that looks like a giant wine bag. Infuriatingly, we could see it, but just couldn't work out how to get there as the road was blocked by construction. We did try to walk through the construction site, and were stopped by a security guard who helpfully pointed out to us the direction we should go in so I suppose that we were probably not the first people to do that in desperation! We even ended up being followed by some other tourists who were even more confused that we were. I did feel tempted to tell them that of all the people in Shanghai that they should trail to the Jinmao Tower, we were the very last they should have chosen!

But eventually we got there, and enjoyed the breathtaking views over Shanghai. I did wonder if the inspiration for this development was Monopoly!

This shows the Orient Pearl Tower, and whilst Lonely Planet despairs of it's vulgarity, I rather liked it. It is one of the few totally unique modern skyscrapers or commercial buildings I have ever seen, and although the Jinmao tower is undoubtedly more tasteful and classical in design, it lacks the originality, exuberance and sheer I-like-this-and-don’t-give-a-flying-wotsit-if-you-don’t-ness of the Pearl.

We crossed the river to the Bund through this bizarre tunnel, where small transportation pods whizz past a selection of flashing coloured lights, streamers and inflatable figures. It has to be one of the most bizarre 'tourist experiences' on offer in China, and, quite possibly, the world.

We strolled along the Bund, dodging Chinese vendors offering to sell us anything from a picture of us superimposed on a pre-shot background (erm, have you heard of digital cameras) to assorted flashing, whizzing toys which no doubt do not comply with any safety standards whatsoever. This is my favourite building, the Maritime Museum. It was quite strange, as between the European style buildings of the Bund and the could-be-any-city skyscrapers, you didn't feel like you were in China, a feeling I had again later on when we went out in the city centre.

I was quite suprised that the river was still a busy commercial waterway, being more prepared for Thames-style pleasure boats. (Which there are too). I love watching boats, and photographing them too, so it was very enjoyable to just relax, lean on the riverside wall and snap away.

Tour the globe with My World Tuesday.

Forbidden Fruit

Fantasies
Open
Realms of
Becoming
Interdicted or
Destroyed by
Devouring yet
Embracing
Norms

Fearless souls
Rail against
Universal
Institutions of
Thought

I came across the Acrostic Only site a while back, and decided it looked rather fun.

I had two things in mind when I wrote this: the HUGE popularity in online role playing games here in China, and a very plaintive remark from one of my students: "I just don't want to be like everyone else." In a country where it's still considered odd for a teenager to think like that.

And my current bout of insomnia brings you this:

Decayed
Intimacies
Violate
Ordinary
Relations
Cauterising
Experience

Shanghai: Yuyuan Garden

Back in early November, me and a friend managed to find a bargain flight deal to Shanghai, and spent a very enjoyable long weekend there. The theme for the weekend was getting lost, and it started as soon as we tried to find the subway stop at the airport which apparently no longer exists. So we had to take some dodgy looking bus into the city centre, and get on the subway there. We accidentally managed to get on the wrong train line on the subway, a fact we only noticed when it became apparent that the buildings outside rather slummy looking, or as Lonely Planet would no doubt put it, ‘charmingly authentic’.

Getting lost on the Shanghai subway isn’t all tears and frustration though as it is infested with some of the best bakeries in the world, which I presume to be some sort of legacy from the French. I purchased, and then consumed like a famine struck Ethiopian, this half-doughnut half-danish concoction filled with berry jam-syrup. Later on in the week, we also discovered the joys of a bread roll covered in a slab of real bacon and cheese, which, again, sustained us through a few geographically difficult moments.

We decided to spend our first afternoon at Yuyuan Garden, a Ming era garden. I think we spent more time getting lost than we did at there, as it’s located at the back of the Old Town Bazaar. Think of cartoon old China, then throw in a liberal sprinkling of spangled souvenirs, Starbucks and McDonalds, then imagine that the person who designed it was drunk

The garden itself was beautiful, and, blissfully, almost empty on a chilly but sunny midweek winter afternoon. It was also one of the most fun, and playful, traditional sights I’ve been to. There was a sense of joie de vivre and intimacy that contrasted with and complimented the formal layout: the garden was divided into sections using white walls topped with black dragons. Entering a new section you were unsure what you would encounter: a pagoda, a pond, beautiful lush plants and twisty trees, intriguingly shaped stones or a weathered statue. Often it was a combination. Sometimes you could catch an intriguing glimpse into another area, to tempt you on.

It was somewhere you could imagine men gambling, women laughing and children running around. Whether they ever did or not is a moot point, but I enjoyed myself imagining it.

The swarms of goldfish were quite impressive to behold. We obviously would not have thrown a piece of chocolate into the pond, just to see if they would eat it. As we didn't do that, I can't tell you that the fish gobbled it down.

We had caught a bus to the Old Town area from our hostel, and naively assumed that the bus stop would be on the same street, roughly opposite the one we’d got off at. We wandered up and down, being assured by people that it was ‘just down the street’ until we wondered if we had finally been broken by China and had developed a form of joint insanity that manifested itself as an inability to see the bus stop that was clearly evident to everyone else. Then, on a side street we saw our bus stopped in traffic. The driver refused to let us on, and look very smug about the fact, so to find out where the bus stop was we had no choice but to run along after it once it started moving. The bus stop, obviously, was located two streets and several blocks from it’s partner.

Toast

Do you take toast for granted? I bet you do. I did, until late September. Toast, who thinks about it – it’s something that’s always there, a convenient snack, a boring backup. I enjoyed toast, I liked toast, but when it came to my personal food hierarchy there were always more interesting, exotic foodstuffs ahead of it: lemon stuffed green olives marinated in garlic and olive oil, perhaps, or mangoes, or squidgy ripe brie.

And then I came to China and looked in the supermarket: no toasters. I looked in the WalMart in Beijing: no toasters. I have come to the conclusion that whilst many of the toasters happily browning bread in the West are made in China, none are actually used here.

In desperation, one of my friends attempted to toast a slice of bread above the vicious hot plates that are our cooking equipment, and merely succeeded in setting fire to the bread, a conflagration that nearly spread to her drying clothes. Some of us have been known to order youth hostel breakfasts solely for the toast, and I admit that my wrath, when I found a ‘western’ breakfast in a Shanghai hostel came with disgusting sweet Chinese bread, may have been considered slightly disproportional by some. Digressing slightly, the same hostel had tried to pass instant noodles off as pasta in the abortion that had passed for ‘spaghetti bolognaise’ the night before.

I now find myself thinking about toast in the way I’d previously harboured teenage crushes, with furtive, sensual thoughts intruding at the most peculiar times.

I think about thick, white, lightly toasted slices, slathered in butter and consumed with a cup of tea (with milk, something else I’m deprived of here), whilst reading a book or chatting with my mother in the kitchen.

I think about a crisper slice, topped with a lightly fried egg: the satisfying moment of cutting into the yolk, and the rich, slightly soggy mouthfuls of eggy-breadiness, and finally the last speared scrap of toast mopping up the remaining yolky smears.

I think about the two slices of toast, one coated in raspberry jam, the other in apricot, that form one of my few acceptable breakfasts. Yeah, I know breakfast is the most important meal of the day, yadda, yadda, but bite me: I just don’t like it.

I think about smothering a slice with an over generous helping of good quality pâté. The bread is an important ingredient here, it needs to be a bland base for the pâté, but robust and solid enough to act as a complement to it, unlike the flavourless mush of supermarket pap.

I think, as of a dear friend, of toasted cheese, and the art of making the perfect portion. How much should it be pre-toasted, the cheese-to-bread ratio, the narrow margin between still raw cheese and a cremated remain, the additions that devotees of the cult experiment with: a under layer of Marmite, a sprinkling of Tabasco or Worcestershire sauce on the cheese, a side of sweet chilli sauce or piccalilli. Most of all though, I miss the succulent mixture of melt and crisp, the range of flavours when you use good bread and cheese, the satisfying completeness of it.

I’m home in 14 weeks: make sure the toaster’s working.

For Sale

These fish and turtles are sold from a market stall in a nearby neighbourhood. We were tempted to buy some, but the vendor was clearly giving us 'laowai price': she paused for way too long when we asked her how much things cost, in comparison to the swift replies given to Chinese inquirers. And strangely enough, the fish that the Chinese people asked about were all cheaper than the fish we asked for. So I just took some photos instead.

These fish looked healthy and cared for in comparison with most of the animals sold on the street. There is one underpass in the city centre where tiny puppies, snuffling and shivering, are sold from cardboard boxes. It's all I can do to stop myself buying the whole lot of them. Like kittens and rabbits sold on the street, the puppies will die a few days or weeks after they've been bought, as they're separated from their mothers far too early.

Rooftops of Dafo Temple

I'm glad we put off visiting Zhengding until spring, as we had these beautiful views across the temple complex from the balcony at the top of the Pavillion of Mercy. With the pagoda roofs, newly leafed trees and blue sky, it seems more like a dream than something from my everyday reality.

I couldn't decided which was the best photo to put up, what do you think?

Worldwide skywatching with SkyWatch Friday.