The Rally Wars!

1st July is HK's big "We Want Democracy" March. The first ever was in 2003, when over a million folk turned up, and now there's been one every year although it hasn't ever reached that number again.

Since today is July 1st, it's on this afternoon and we will be there although we won't go to Victoria Park. We'll just join it in Wan Chai and march to Government House. And, yes, I'll take photos. I may not have my cute little camera anymore but I've discovered my even-cuter little movie camera has a photo-function.

But, as you also know, the Communist Party of China holds it's own anti-democracy "We Want to be Chinese Communists" March in the morning. It's on now, right outside our window. The rally is held at Southorn Park and it's meant to be bigger, better and brighter, with lots of colour excitement, movement:

The best photo of the morning!

In short, The Ultimate Spoiler!

Well, here's what's happening right now:

THE RALLY


THE MARCH

And the Pro-Beijingers are calling the numbers at 40 thousand.

Oooh, here's something very interesting ... the folks in the yellow shirts are arriving in Southorn Park and then sneaking out the other entrance. I think they're going back to the start of the march trying to boost their numbers.

I'll keep you informed.

It's an hour later and the march still goes on. But here's what's happening:

THE RALLY


THE MARCH

What do you think? Reckon the Democracy Rally this afternoon will beat 'em?

Grandma Jackson, RIP

A truly great lady has passed away: Mrs Jessie Jackson of Savu Savu.

Such a genuinely lovely person and one of my favourite people on the planet.

The Jacksons write:

"She had not been well for quite some time so we were expecting her pass any time. She was extremely well looked after by Vola and Simone (her housegirl and her son) and Ian and Loretta went over to see her about a week ago. We last spoke to her on Sat. and she was so so tired and very ready to go.

Would you please pass this onto anyone else who may need to know.

Thank you so so much

love Carolyn and Rayney and all the family xxx"

Grandma Jackson! RIP! Memories! Such fabulous memories.

I first met Jessie Jackson as a young child, when mum sent me to her house in the Domain, "Delani Koro", to give her a message. I knocked on the door and heard a weird-sounding shout "Come in!" ... and went in to find her ... standing on her head. She told me it was her way of dealing with stress and she was feeling very stressed indeed and so she stayed on her head the whole visit. I decided then and there she was a very interesting lady and that I liked her enormously. And then she gave me a tub of broken chocolate bits and that clinched it.

I have so many strange and wonderful stories about her over the years ... stories that show her calm and her generosity and her wisdom, and I may tell you some of them over the next few weeks, but I'll just give you one for now; this is one she told me and I think about it often because it's such an important illustration of how to deal with life:

Seven generations of Mrs Jackson of Nagaga, Savu Savu, had a curse that made their lives a living hell. On their copra plantation, on the swathe of carefully manicured grass up to the house, was a giant cluster of rocks; pinacles of volcanic rock that rose out of the ground; "The Devil's Rocks" they called them because nothing would remove them.

Seven generations of Mrs Jackson dreamed of having an unsullied swathe of manicured grass on the hill up to their house, so for over 150 years, each in turn had the rocks smashed up and hauled away ... or dynamited and hauled away ... but they just grew back. We know now that it was a lava-plug of a volcanic vent but they didn't know that and so it freaked them out and convinced them they were cursed and all this made their lives a living hell.

But the eighth Mrs Jackson of Nagaga, Savu Savu, Jessie, took one look at those rocks and said "Gosh, that's pretty. The lawn would be so boring if they weren't there." and so planted out the cluster of rocks with orchids.

And it was indeed beautiful and the lawn would indeed have been boring without that rock-and-orchid feature.

So that's the story. I love it. I love the idea of generations of imported British wives fighting against the entire geo-thermal forces of Mother Nature and taking it personally that they couldn't win. And I love that Jessie Jackson, as a young bride from New Zealand, just decided to see it differently.

And that's the wisdom of Grandma Jackson I took away from this story: what others may see as a curse if you use your imagination and put your own spin on it, you can easily turn it into a blessing.

Mrs Jessie Jackson of Nagaga, Savu Savu, lolomas and RIP.

Guangzhou Treasures!

Am currently in "delete photos" mode because the program's running slow so here's an amazing photo I have to show you before I get rid of it.

See, Nikita was telling me how her uncle who lives in Australia discovered that, after his trips back home to Guangzhou, no present for Oz friends thrills them more than the cheap junky stuff he bought in Chinese "five-and-dime" style stores. I knew what she was talking about because never once have I taken a cheap junky Chinese Communist Party cigarette case abroad without someone craving it so much I've given it to them.

So, during my long enforced sojourn in Guangzhou I checked out the five-and-dime stores ... and just look what I scored:

Those yellow diaries are leather and those clip-things on it are brass. Those card cases are also leather, and the green one has the most amazing spring action. Michael, who's a total gadget-guy, was so impressed he's asked me to buy him one, only in butch black or brown, next time I'm in Guangzhou. And that green lock for my suitcase is just so cute.

But here's the astonishing part. You will never ever guess how much I paid for all that! Yup, the combined cost of everything in that photo?

I had change from 20 yuan! No, I'm not kidding.

So that's totally solid advice from Nikita's uncle. When in Guangzhou, shop at the cheap junky five-and-dime stores for your gifts for folks back home.

Molly Moments!

After a decade in Australia, in protest against the burning of Jandamarra O'Shane - which happened as a result of the rising hate engendered by One Nation and Pauline Hanson - Molly left that country to return to live in Fiji.

When I last back in Fiji I asked her if she regretted it - Fiji's wages being so considerably lower - and she said "Not for a single second. Here, at least five times a day, I see something or hear something that makes me feel something. There's always something that makes me laugh, or makes me cry, or makes me smile, or puts me in touch with my humanity. In Australia, I was lucky if I had one of these "Moments" in a month."

She's right. In Australia, probably as a consequence of the safety net of public services and welfare, or just the cushioning effect of relative wealth, you rarely get pulled out of yourself by something happening with or to strangers. One a month is probably being generous!

Hong Kong, however, is more like Fiji. Here, at least once a day, you see something or hear something that makes you feel something. I think I'll share the best of these with you.

We'll call the posts "Molly Moments" since it was Molly who first pointed out to me that these things are infinitely precious because they're life's true treasures.

So, to get us started:

MOLLY MOMENT # 1

We're walking through Wan Chai Markets and pass an elderly hunchback Chinese lady, hobbling along on her cane, singing away to herself. 

We stop dead! "Is she singing what I think she's singing?" I say to Keith. We listen:

Yup, she was! Not kidding, this is what she was singing:



Gorgeous, huh!

MOLLY MOMENT #2

Islama-chic!

Lady Southorn and ME!

Cool news. I'm truly thrilled and I'll go down later and take a photo so you can see for yourself.

What's happened is that a plaque has just gone up at Southorn Park saying that the land was a gift from Lady Southorn "for the children of Wan Chai".


If you're shrugging and saying "So what!" it means you've forgotten the story I told you over a year back; how I got all huffy when developers started talking about Southorn Park and "doing more with the land"?

Remember how I went to that public meeting about the proposal? I promised Keith I'd just go to watch but it started getting so creepy I couldn't help myself and so went all Xena and called the microphone over and told the mass-meeting "You have no right saying any of this. This land was a gift from Lady Southorn to the children of Wan Chai so they had somewhere to play with their feet on the earth and the sun over their heads. All this discussion is illegal and you should all stop it right now!"

And it happened! The meeting stopped dead! Wow, I finally felt I'd earned the right to be my mother's daughter.

Well, that's when I got pounced on by all the media and they all wanted to know all about Lady Southorn thinking maybe I could be her representative ... which, in a way, I was, if you think about it ... so I told them that she was the sister of Virginia Woolf's husband and was a famous writer in her own right. Incredibly, some of the journalists had actually heard of Virginia Woolf and asked me if Lady Southorn had been a member of the Bloomsbury Group and they so wanted me to say yes, I did. And then I compounded it by saying that the Bloomsbury Group had all chipped in to pay for the land and, boy, they were thrilled to bits ... even the ones who previously hadn't heard of the Bloomsbury Group.

Wow, the Bloomsbury Group were also active in HK! How many literary merit points does that earn us!!

Anyway, the plaque has gone up and now everyone knows so there won't be any more discussion about "doing more with the land".

See at the back there?
The bit with the trees?
That's the only part of the park
where children can play.
(Wow, this is an old photo.
See how the old buildings of
Wedding Card Street are still standing.)

All I need to do now is push for the MTR to tear down the buildings they've illegally placed on it ... see them on the left ... and Lady Southorn's legacy will be returned to the children of Wan Chai.

Such a pity the relentless football and basketball fixtures means they're never permitted to play anyplace other than that little bit there!


And just because it's interesting, here's a photo of Southorn Park back in the 1930s:

And here it is today: Note it's all about men playing soccer. Was then: is now!

"In a Mana of Speaking"

Last week, an Old Fiji Friend, Tony, sent me a poem he'd written about the fall-out in his life from growing up in Fiji; as one of "the children of paradise" he calls us! I posted it below.

In it, he doesn't do more than suggest a few possible reasons for why we're all kinda different from folk in the rest of the world - and he's right, we are - so I thought I'd cast my mind around our shared past and try to work out how and why we would be this way!

Here are my thoughts and I'd love other Kai Viti Loma to add to it:

Influence 1) We grew up messing around in boats. We did this from, gosh, the age of two or three? Very young, anyway! How many of us had our own little dingy with our own little one-stroke outboard motor, shared with siblings? Or our own little yacht? Remember our P-Class? I've never come across anyone anywhere else who's heard of P-Class yachts! Was it a Fiji-thing? Or, if we didn't have a shop-bought boat, we'd make our own little canoe out of a folded sheet of corrugated iron? Or a bilibili made from roped-up bamboo? So much fun! And we used to be out there on the sea or on rivers all day, everyday, messing about, always unsupervised ... except for the formal yacht races each Sunday at the Royal Suva Yacht Club, when we were forever giving the duty-boat adults a rough time.

Possible Fall-Out: we all share a confidence in our physical presence in the world. It's not exactly a fearlessness, although others may see it that way. It's more that we know our physical limits and what we can actually accomplish, and we do what we know we can without asking permission. Also, we have no expectation that we won't get hurt but know that getting hurt is just part of the process and so we mostly just shrug it off. And maybe we have a faster reaction time, and when something goes wrong, we probably know how to fix it. And we can usually work out how to rescue ourselves when we get in trouble.

Influence 2) We grew up diving on reefs with sharks and moray eels and other killer sea-life from a very early age. No adult supervision there either, although I remember dad used to always be near-by fishing off the boat, and he'd always come and get us if we saw an especially big shark that looked especially interested in us. Although I recall he never hurried!

Possible Fall-Out: these experiences would definitely make us different from everyone else, but how? Mmmm, maybe this explains why we all have a different alertness. Our eyes constantly move across scenes looking for things that may cause us harm. But we don't do it in a frightened panicky way. It's more just a cool-eyed assessment at all times and in all situations, except when we're comfortably on home ground.

Influence 3) Our parents were enormously admirable and busy folk who did great humanitarian or community-spirit things, which meant we were usually left behind with the house-girls. Gosh, there's nothing nicer than being looked after by an older Fijian women! That almost-preternatural calmness! Remember that? And all that deep-seated, to-the-core kindness? That goodness? That outright sensibleness? And remember those wise eyes and how it was like they could look into your soul and know exactly what you needed at any time?

Possible Fall-Out: Is it that we know how to access an inner peacefulness? Or that we all know the enormous pleasures of being at peace? Or being around people who are at peace? But what is definite is that we all love being around older Fijian women! And we always want to know what they think about things because, yes, they really are wise! To this day, I notice how they always know what really matters in every situation and what they think about things is always - always! - exactly the right way to think about things! (Ah, the stories I could tell you!)

Influence 4) Our housegirls told us Fijian stories and passed on Fijian wisdom, and so, through their wise direction and guidance, shaped us on so many levels into functional-Fijians! What Fijians are, we are! Kinda!

Possible Fall-Out: We read and judge people by their Mana! If you don't already know, this is a Pacific Island concept about the energy people give off; the belief that people carry their own history, their ancestors' history, their own deeds around in their energy. You can see it and you can very definitely feel it. And reading Mana is definitely a trait we Fiji-Folk all have in common, although we definitely, definitely can't do it as well as the Fijians can.

On this subject, let me tell you one story to illustrate: when we lived in Australia, I was telling our Fijian neighbour, Clara, how I couldn't stand the teenage boy who was briefly staying with us - we took in at-risk children for a while - because he had such bad energy.

"Be nice to him, Denise. His dad's in jail!'
"How do you know that?"
"You can see it. Just use your eyes."
"OK, Miss Smarty-pants - and know that I'll be checking up on this - you tell me what his dad in jail for?"
"Mmmm, from his Mana I'd say domestic violence. I think his dad stabbed his mum repeatedly in a fight."

And what do you know! I checked! Clara nailed it!

So, from that story, you can see for yourself that Fijians read Mana to astonishingly high degree, wayyyy better than anyone else can ever hope to do it, but, nonetheless we Fiji-Folk all read Mana. That means we don't judge or even notice what a person owns, we don't react to their status, we ignore their appearance: what we do see and judge people on is their Mana!

Influence 5) As Tony points out in his poem, we grew up surrounded by many different races all living in close quarters. We all played together from a young age and so ingrained into us is a knowledge of others' cultures. "A bride wears red!", "A bride is wrapped in tapa.", "A bride changes her clothes a dozen times during the wedding ceremony."; all are as fundamentally valid to us as "A bride wears white." Diwali and Ede, Chinese New Year, all are equally held along with Christmas and Easter because we celebrated all these along with everyone else ... although ... remember how much fun the Fijian contribution to those festivities always was: those bamboo cannons! That throwing flour and water over others! Remember how it would be dry by the time you got home and you'd have to scrub so hard to get it off? Yup, no matter what the festivity I'd usually end up playing with the Fijians. Fun, fun times!

Possible Fall-Out: Race doesn't faze us. We know and appreciate the deep underlying humanity of all people and that others think and feel the same things we do, only often expressed differently. This means we don't pussy-foot around the subject of race and talk about it frequently, often vigorously but never judgementally or assuming we're the ones in the right; we just see it as folks being different from other folks. And we have no expectation at any level that other folk should be like us. We also know that other races and other cultures are vigorous and unfragile, and that that's the way things should be. And we never ever would be apologists for our own race since we see ourselves as simply one race among many, all equally valid (although Banaban Island culture, mmmm!) and we all actually cringe when other western folk do this.

Influence 6) We frequently shared no language in common with the children we played with yet it never stopped us.

Possible Fall-Out: We all learned language wasn't important; just about everything can be conveyed in various forms of Meta-language! And I must say that nothing has stood me in better stead my whole life!

Influence 7) We grew up playing with Fijian kids which was definitely something different from playing with kids of other races. Fijians all possess that enormously adept physicality - probably as the result of at least three thousand years of breeding a race of warriors - and could always do everything and anything, usually on their first try. Oooh, that was annoying! But we would never let our side down and so would try anything and do anything, usually badly, in order to avoid being seen as "Savi and Vulaci!" (weak and white), which was the usual Fijian pronouncement on those new-comer western kids who weren't raised in Fiji!

Possible Fall-Out: Actually, I think this only left us with an enormous admiration for the Fijian people! Damn, they were so good at everything. Annoyingly so. The stories I could tell you!


So that's a start on my assessment on what we Fiji-Born, Fiji-Raised, Kai Viti Loma share in common and how and why we're kinda different from every one who wasn't lucky enough to be "Children in Paradise"!

Please feel free to add to it.

Influence 8) Keith points out that all of us tell stories! We all do, don't we! Guess that's another Fijian-thing we learned as children from when we went to stay with our housegirls at their village, sitting around the yaqona bowl with all the men-folk. Or just sitting on the laps of our housegirls! (Hey, remember how they always smelled of coconut mixed with mokasoi oil! Ylang Ylang, they call it in the west. Gosh, that was wonderful, that warm spicy smell, and to this day I always associate that aroma with a deep sense of peacefulness.)

Influence 9) Lyn sent the comment ... actually I'll post a copy of what she said up here:

"I think another thing we took away from our Fiji upbringing was a distaste and almost ennui for all things mediocre. Growing up in Fiji was almost an assault on the senses; sights, sounds, smells, tastes etc were so exaggerated and became an expectation and a comfort. I think it made us "passionate" about things as well as inquisitive and empathetic. It's almost as if we had been empowered rather than inhibited by our upbringing on our tiny little speck of an island and I know that, for me, "ordinariness" has always been hell boring!"

Theft Fantasies!

Got to tell you, yesterday at Immigration, during the thousand year wait to be interviewed for new visas, by chance I was sitting next to the sweetest young British guy and we got talking.

Turns out he's a fellow theft victim: one of us! His story goes that he's currently traveling around the world on his gap-year backpacking journey (I'm meeting lots of these folk these days, aren't I!) when he was robbed in Hong Kong; lost his entire backpack including all his tickets and money, credit cards and, yes, his passport.

And yes, he thought it was stolen by an Arab-looking guy ... which makes it three people including me who thinks they were robbed by Arabs/Pakistanis (and remember how the Redoubtable Walkers foiled an attempted robbery of Mrs Walker's purse by a young Pakistani-looking guy so let's make that FOUR) ... so, since I can't possibly be meeting ALL of the folk robbed by Islamic-types, there's obviously something afoot in Arab world that needs to be looked into BIGTIME!

Anyway, young British guy - I never got his name - said he'd known nothing but kindness from everyone since the robbery, so his experience wasn't anything like my awful one up in China, and that he'd been taken in by a kindly family who were paying for everything so it hadn't cost him much at all (Keith says this entire robbery-thing has cost us nearly HK$30,000 so far and that doesn't include the stuff that was actually stolen!)

But that isn't the part I wanted to talk about. What was really, really interesting was that we had so much in common in the "theft fantasy" department: we both had been doing lots of "god bothering" to get our belongings back, we both hate the idea of people tossing aside our special items as "valueless", AND we both shared this stupid idea that one day in the near future we'd be standing in line someplace and the person in front would give their name and it would be OURS! Yup, that we'd stand right behind our Identity Thief!

We then talked long and hard about what we'd do next.

And that's when we got very silly with it: both picking really ugly people around the room and going "That's you!" and ending up with the giggles. I know, I know, I'm far too old for this sort of childishness but it's the type of thing that happens when you have to wait a thousand years for an interview.


Actually, regarding standing in line behind someone who turns out to have your exact name has happened to Keith, although the context was different. Yup, when we lived in Townsville, Keith was standing in line for a renewal of his driver's license, when he heard the person in front of him give his name and it was all Keith's. Naturally Keith got all excited and, the minute the other guy was free, introduced himself ... only to have this barrage of hostility directed at him! Turns out the other K.W.R. had his wallet stolen a few years earlier and thought Keith was the identity thief ... and the sad part was that he wasn't interested in establishing the truth; just said lots of rude and threatening things and stormed off.

When Keith got home and told me about it, we both decided it was too mysterious to be ignored, so pulled out his family tree (thank you Helen for all the work you put into getting it together) and it turns out that a branch of Keith's family - a couple of his great great grandfather's children - had moved to the same town the OTHER K.W.R. had given as his address.

Ever since he'd seen his family tree, and realising there was an Australian branch of cousins who lived only several towns down the coast, he'd talked about getting in touch with them ... but after all that nastiness we decided if this ghastly OTHER K.W.R. guy was anything to go by that we really hadn't the least desire to meet them! Like, not EVER!

Update on the Robbery!

You know how I've been carrying around my copy of the Guangzhou police report? Although I had no idea what it said, I was thinking of it as something like a talisman against such a time as I'm arrested as a result of something criminal done by the person who'll end up being me when those Arab guys sell my identity off to someone felonious and evil?

Well, at Immigration yesterday (yes, it's more than a month later and I'm still putting together my documentation) (gosh, I detest those thieves!), I hand over a photocopy in order to explain why I need reissuing of all my visas, and the woman behind the desk reads it, gasps and says "You can't use this!"

She translates it for me: nasty desk sergeant has written that I reported a robbery to him and that Guangzhou police investigated and discovered nothing in it!

Yup, it basically says I lied! This is undeniably evil, isn't it! There was no investigation. We were told there would be no investigation. Yet, this is what the police report says! That they investigated and discovered it didn't happen!

Wait a second ... why is this the first time I've been told that this is what is says in this report? I used it all through my Travails in the China Official Labyrinth and no one said a word!

Maybe they're all used to it, know the police reports lie, and just know to read between the lines!

China! China! China! Dear oh dear! Our Northern Brethren sooo need to translate and print Rousseau's "Social Contract"! Things can't remain like this. It truly is an evil country, isn't it! I don't want to think this, but when they have officials who do things like this, and get away with it, I can't think of the place any other way!

What Kills Us This Week!

Ever since that visiting sociologist named the possible reason for HKers tendency to large-scale panic over stupid things as the result of a deeply ingrained biophobia, I'm no longer finding this tendency to Ahhh Threatdown! either funny or cute!

The latest has just made me cross. Two things:

1) Here in HK, we're on full Level 6 Pandemic Mode for H1N1. That's the highest the scale goes! Since no one is dying from this early strain of Swine Flu - folks are saying they've had colds that were worse - this really makes a mockery of Level 6, doesn't it! What happens when this strain morphs into the killer variety (my prediction is March next year!)? We'll have to call it Triple AAA Superplus Level 6!

But the thing that actually does worry me here is that Australia is currently developing the vaccines and they're breeding them in chicken eggs and since HK scientists have proven that Avian Flu gets into chicken eggs and no one in Oz is checking for it in the eggs they're using, I'm thinking that THIS is exactly how Avian Flu will breed with Swine Flu and thereby start this hideous killer pandemic everyone's talking about. You'll forgive me, won't you, if I choose NOT to get vaccinated.

I'm also hoping I catch this early strain because they're saying that folks who get it now will be naturally vaccinated against the killer strain ... so cough on me, everyone! Please!!!

2) Three girls were caught using ketamine at one of the local schools and HK again went crazy, and now they're introducing random drug testing at all the schools. It started out as "compulsory", but then Civil Libertarian Lawyers got on the case and said they legally couldn't, so now the schools are saying it'll be voluntary ... only they'll expel any student who doesn't!

Since HK Law is based on British Law, in which everyone is "assumed innocent until proven guilty" - and I will fight for this principle because I believe in it - you can see why I'm so cross about it! We obviously need a little more action by those nice Civil Libertarian Lawyers!

And I'm also worrying about the legality of accompanying a kid into the toilet to watch them pee into a cup! I'm a high school teacher myself and I know this is a real no no! Such a no no, it simply can't be done! So, mmmm, guess there's about to be a big market for piss in our fair city.

Was going to make a joke about how HK kiddies are big into ace-ing tests and how this one will be no different, but it's so obvious I'll let it pass!

So those are the two areas of stupidity that HK is currently all Ahhh Threatdown about!

But there's a real reason for panic in the background which everyone is ignoring ... possibly because it's something from the "too hard basket": HK police uncovered a possible Mainland Chinese plot to assassinate Martin Lee and Jimmy Lai.

If you don't already know, Martin Lee is like the Atticus Finch (the father in "To Kill a Mockingbird") of HK politics: a totally decent, honourable, moral man who works quietly behind the scenes for HK Democracy. Jimmy Lai is the more flamboyant publisher of "Apple Daily", the Chinese language pro-Democracy newspaper.

Guess Mainland China wants pay-back for our Tiannaman Square Massacre Vigil three weeks ago! That means my choice this week has to be:

THREATDOWN

Immature politics up North!

"Orbs"

You know about "orbs", right? If you don't, these are the strange round shapes that turn up on photographs.

Baby Jane is into them these days. There's a young environmental scientist recently come into her life who is studying them for some type of thesis. He was telling Baby Jane he thinks they're caused by the presence of radiation and, if he's right, could be a cheap way of "assaying", if that's what it called, for uranium ... so she took him "out bush" to where, according to local rumour, there's supposedly uranium deposits - won't tell you where, obviously - and they walked around photographing the site without seeing a single orb in any of the pictures ... and then, suddenly ...

Odd, huh!

I always thought these things were caused by mould inside the lens, but only the photographs taken in this immediate area produced these odd shapes. Off the area: no orbs; in this field: orbs!

What do you think? Young Environmental Scientist is onto something?

Scary Mary!

Loving this:



Amazing, huh!

Gosh, I do spend waayyy too much time in youtube, don't I!

Aussie Christine's Cuban Adventure

Aussie Christine has written up her Cuban holiday and you can find it for yourself right here:

http://cubausamarch2009.shutterfly.com/cuba

Don't you just LOVE the Cuban cars! Wow, I sooo want one.

And those gorgeous buildings! That architecture!!! You know, I think the best thing that could have happened to any country was to have been stuck behind The Iron Curtain since the 60s. So many stunning cities - yes, like Hong Kong - and places like Manchester in England - I saw during my childhood travels! So breathtaking in my memory, but when I look at what they have become today, it's heartbreaking!

Let's say this: all architecture since the 50s have been acts of pure vandalism!

I'm so sorry I didn't go to Cuba with Christine! But we will go! Keith has promised!

The Best Photo I've Ever Taken

I'm so thrilled with this photo I took yesterday at Cheung Chau. Isn't it just terrific. Not only is it a picture of the world's smallest fire engine, it's also very action-packed and evocative:


In fact, it's so good I'll show it to you twice.

Cheung Chau, HK

I really, really like Cheung Chau.

Astonishing! I didn't expect to!

All I really knew about the place was that it was famous for its buns ...

Cheung Chau buns.

... and its annual Bun Festival wherein all the young men - and increasingly women - of the town scramble up a tower of buns in order to grab the special one at the top.

When Fiji David suggested we go over yesterday for the day I didn't relish the idea because ... well, I hate to admit this, but I'm a little over Tanka Fishing Villages! Done it too often!

It's a thing you do in HK on weekends: catch a ferry over to yet another of HK's 260+ little islands, walk through a tiny Scottish-looking fishing village, stroll along the seafront promenade, visit the local Tin Hau temple - which usually contains a singular object, like a deformed stuffed fish in a glass case - walk over a hill to a little cove for a swim in summer or hike around the island if it's winter - and then select a seafood restaurant on the waterfront and spend the rest of the afternoon eating a delicious range of all sorts of fish, clams, lobsters, squid, and other less well known sealife (avoid the jellyfish. It even defeats the Cantonese to make it taste anything other than YUCK!!), watch the invariably wonderful sunset, then sit around drinking a bottle of wine and talking until it's time to catch the ferry back to Central.

For several years, this was a simply wonderful way to spend a day only ... I'm now, yes, a little over it ...

... so when Fiji David suggested we go to Cheung Chau yesterday to do all this, I was all sorts of "mmmmm!" It was only the prospect of their specially lovely company that made us agree.

But Cheung Chau is different:

It's less of a Tanka fishing village and more of a town, and it's so pretty ...


... with some gorgeous architecture ...

... a beautiful temple ...

... fabulous beaches ...

... and has stunning views ...

Very like Suva Harbour or Cairns!

... and there's so much to do and see and quite a bit to buy ...

Wholesale incense.

... and the row of seafood restaurants along the waterfront has wonderful food that is so much cheaper than elsewhere ...


... all freshly caught by these guys:

OK, liked this photo so much
I just wanted to include it.

Actually, the fish comes from these guys!

A flotilla of deep sea fishing boats.

Although I'm sure a lot from these small-scale Tanka fishermen!

The dingys to take
Tanka out to their sampans.

Hey, we actually ate squilla. Know them? They're these sea-creature-things that look like huge cockroaches - no one thanked me for that description while we were eating - only with knife-like talons at the front and back. They used to be all over the reef by the shore in Deuba but I had no idea they'd be so delicious; cooked in oil with garlic and little shreds of lemon grass. Yummy! I've only ever had my hand sliced open by them before, so yeah! Revenge!

Oh, have to tell you because it's so odd; there's so much going down in Cheung Chau: disaster-type things; like, all day there was this constant police action ...


... ambulance action ...

and rescue helicopter action ...

... and we saw the convoy of fabulously tiny firetrucks, sirens blaring ...


... on four different occasions. Fiji David said it also happened another time he came as well. Curious, huh! Aging population? Dare-devil population? Shonky electrical wiring? Old woks that explode while cooking?

But you want facts and figures not speculation:

Like on other Tanka islands, only rescue vehicles are allowed on their tiny roads so you have to hire bikes or rickshaws or walk to get around. But that's part of the fun.

Anyway, the Ferry costs HK$22.50 each way. Bike hire: not sure, but it's only really pocket change.

So, there you go. If you're the more jaded type of HK resident, Cheung Chau is the place for you, even when they aren't having their annual Bun Festival.

Na Vosa Kai Loma

A Old Fiji Friend, Tony Snowsil, sent me this poem in which he tries to explain what it means to have grown up in Fiji. He nails it in this, although there's more he doesn't quite reach. I'd try only ... I don't think I can. Let's just say it's inexplicable and indefinable. All I can say is that there is NOTHING more wonderful than growing up in Fiji, and it's something I would wish on everyone.

OUR FIJIAN AFFINITY.


Yes, we have a great affinity we of Viti, of Fiji.
An affinity that others cannot comprehend.
An affinity others do not share with their friends, new and of long ago.
An affinity which we Kai Viti’s can re-establish in a moment
despite years of separation.
An affinity that surprises others because men can gently touch
and hold hands with fellow men , or women
as a sincere expression of affection.


This mysterious affinity we possess has to do with-
being comfortable in the company of fellow Fijians.
knowing that such friends come from similar backgrounds
that have been molded by our similar childhood experiences.
knowing that these friends do not seek to categorize you
because they already knew you, or, of you,
and maybe, but not necessarily, your family.
something akin to a blood relationship
- a family bond -
a kinship
which allowed for freedom of thought.
knowing that one would not be judged forever
on what one thought and spoke about on a particular day.
being compassionate and sensitive to each others needs and aspirations,
a deep-felt yearning to be with each other,
to communicate with each other,
to affectionately touch and embrace each other.

This affinity causes us a relentless pain deep in our chests, in our hearts
when we cannot do these things.

Yet, this affinity, which is so difficult to define
also involves a certain “Mana”
derived from our Fijian influenced lifestyle
of our early association or upbringing-
the mixing of races in a confined area-
similar community interests as youngsters-
a relationship of shared understanding, and
within certain confines, trust and understanding between
people and peoples
who were children together in Paradise.
This Mana is a relationship of affinity or harmony
between kin where whatever affects one, affects the other.
This Mana/Affinity is a natural rapport, resonance, and sympathy
of feeling,
all working together to affect our kinship.
We are kin, matagali.
Our village lands are the Fiji Islands.

So it is that our Mana goes beyond our conscious understanding.
Our Mana –
binds us together as we have a sub-conscious conceit or pride
and an unconscious sense of belonging to each other.
allows us to give off an unconscious positive influence
upon our fellow Fijians
and provides us with a certain “magic” between us all.
provides us with a mutual sense of
prestige, power, pride, identity
and a sense of “one spirit”
because we are of similar nature, upbringing.
is a spiritual power or magical energy
and a force which works better
when we Kai Viti’s are together,
communicate or reminisce.
provides us with a self-esteem
which few outsiders can comprehend.
has given us a dignity,
instilled by our Fijian upbringing,
to which,
we as Kai Viti’s,
must not only aspire, but achieve,
to find fulfillment in life.

However, above all, our affinity and our Mana allow us
to laugh at each other and laugh with each other
and to express deep personal thoughts to each other without
fear of being unfairly judged
for what we say and feel.
Our affinity allows us to
reminisce and comprehensively communicate with
each other devoid of fear
of feeling awkward or misunderstood.
We are one tribe/matagali
married in a harmonious relationship when it
comes to communication between each of us.

Interestingly, often we cannot successfully
live with each other in marriage.


Our affinity allows us to express our togetherness;
hold hands in friendship, touch sensitively and affectionately,
be we male and male, or, male and female;
to express our deep felt emotions together, and,
importantly, to cry unashamedly together;
to truly feel each others losses and happiness.
And we need each other, our association our time together to reminisce
to help us find contentment in our lives.


And we do cry together,
not always with tears
but deep in our self, in our hearts where the pain is greatest.
And it is the same for males and females.
And the pain can destroy us.


Our parting is best summed up
by saying one word which I leave to you
to translate because I can find no English words which
fully convey the full sense of emotions
this single word expresses.
Like Isa Lei this word has boundless meanings.
Personal meanings to each of us.
Meanings which our native land,
Fiji,
has instilled in and upon us,
We of Viti…
the Mana of Viti
being within us helping us
to understand this single word and its depth of meaning.
A word filled with joy and longing for an ongoing
friendship which we cannot ignore especially once it has been
re-kindled after many years of our being separated.

And that word being
“Lolomas”

Tony Snowsill


The words of Kai Viti.

“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

“As a man thinks in his heart so he is”. R.E. Burns.

Me and Switzerland!

Emue asked if I've ever been to Switzerland and the answer is yes, once, and it is a country I detest before any other and is totally on my "To Be Boycotted For All Time!" list!

What happened to me in Switzerland to make me hate it so adamantly? It's a horrible story.

Back in 1970 when Fiji first got Independence, I was so thrilled and proud of my country I took out a Fiji passport.

Shortly afterwards, when we were in Europe, we caught the overnight train from Milan to Paris, which, as you know, crosses through Switzerland.

On this overnight train, you hand in your passport before you go to bed so the wagon lit conductor can do your border formalities for you, so that's what I did. But then, in the middle of the night, I get dragged from the train at the Swizz border. Honestly! I'm eleven years old and these Bastard-Officials drag me from a warm bed and off the train.

Turns out, back in 1970, the Swizz hadn't let anyone know they recognised Fiji as a country so I wasn't allowed to pass through.

So there I am, standing on the platform wearing nothing but pink cotton baby-doll pajamas, it's the middle of winter, there's snow all around, I'm not wearing shoes, the winds are Arctic-cold, so-brutal and to-the-bone-chilling ... and they tell the train it can go.

They were going to get the train leave without me. Can you believe it? I still can't!

I remember thinking "This can't happen. No one acts like this. I want to wake up now." because it was a genuine nightmare.

Luckily, the sweet elderly Italian wagon-lit conductor was sane so raced onto the train and woke my dad, who came out, rightly furious! Boy, did he blast the living hell out of them! Called them all sorts of names, like Nazis, and Insane! And then he forced them to ring someplace United Nation-ish and spoke to them, told them what had happened and made them tell these Bastard-Officials that Fiji was indeed a Nation and one that was recognised by Switzerland too, and then shouted at them that they bloody well should update their records more often ... called them Insane Nazis several more times, made them apologise to me, and then took me back onto the train.

I rarely got on with my father but at times like this, when he used his powers for good, boy-oh-boy, he was magnificent and I loved him so very, very much!

And the aftermath of all this was I lost my core temperature and simply couldn't cope with rest of this European winter. It should have been a wonderful holiday, but I just sat in hotel room after hotel room, in all these wonderful cities, still chilled-to-the-bone, shivering and crying!

Unforgiveable, yes! Switzerland sooo owes me a trip through Europe!

And I'm sure you understand why, to this day, I cheer whenever stuff comes out about how the Swizz weren't neutral at all during WWII since they were all secretly Nazi supporters. That's definitely the face Switzerland showed me that night and so I simply refuse to return!

So, Emue, that's my Switzerland story!

Letter from Europe

Found this letter from Emue about her holiday in Europe. Meant to post it ages ago. But, better late then never:


You been to Switzerland and Germany?

Switzerland is undoubtedly a very beautiful and peaceful country. Very high standard of life. But really --- too high. Things are crazily expensive. You can never have a HK$ 25-40 proper lunch there. For a proper lunch, you have to pay HK$150 and the food is nothing extraordinary!! We had a Thai curry dinner at Zurich and got the same thing we always have in HK but ended up paying HK$400 instead of HK$150, which is the amount we always pay at the Foreign Correspondent's Club. Crazy!! And a Filet-O-Fish burger at McDonalds is four times the price it is in HK!!! Crazy!!!!!

And the taxi fares!!! Traveling by taxi is a luxury there. Just like the distance between Central and Wanchai, you will lose an arm and leg to afford the price.

Michael had to work for the first three days so I toured around Lausanne on my own. It's a very beautiful little city indeed! And, compared to the French, the Swiss are much nicer. Remember how, when we went to France two years ago, we came to hate the French because their manners sucked and they were all arrogant bastards. In Lausanne, they aren't like that at all. Swizz people have good manners, enjoy life and the pace of life compared to HK is entirely different. While they relax, we always rush.

The weather sucks however. I was also really lucky becasue I went to see the lake on the only sunny and warm day the whole time. :-)

Then, after Michael's business was over, we went to Zurich. A busy and gorgeous city but we came at the wrong time because it was completely overwhelmed with Euro 2008 fever!! Fans all over Europe could be found at the stadium and they raised the roof there! We were told that most of the hotels have been fully booked. But the weather was quite terrible. Raining most of the time and SO COLD to me. You can't make me believe that it's SUMMER when the temperature is around 14C.

After Zurich, we went to Germany and headed to Mosbach. I was very excited to go see this little town for three reasons:

1) It's Michael's hometown. He's born and rasied there. I've long wanted to see what it looks like.
2) I longed to see Michael's mum again. She is indeed a very nice and kind and motherly lady. A second mum to me. Everytime she phones Michael and asks about me I really feel very warm inside. Was very moved when I received her call on my birthday.
3) You know Michael's dad passed away more than 20 years ago in a car accident. I have always wanted to visit his dad's grave. It's a silent respect to the dead though he never knew me.

So there we were, in Mosbach finally!! Received a big hug and bunch of flowers from Michael's parents at the train station. Michael pointed where the graveyard was and I was really surprised. Do you know that Chinese do not like to live close to places like graveyards? We believe that it will bring bad luck or feel uneasy with the kinda haunted place. Well, I could not believe the graveyard was just a 30 seconds walk from the train station and only 2 minutes walk from Michael's home!! I did not have any uneasy feeling but it's an eye-opening experience having such a big cultural difference.

We spent a week there. Every day we drove mum to her workplace and then we used her car to tour around.

Of all the places I saw, the one I loved most was Heidelberg!! I fell in LOVE with Heidelberg. It has classic beauty. Old but absolutely beautiful. Perfect. And there's a university there and really enjoyed seeing young people enriching the life of this city. We went to visit the ruins of a castle there. Heidelberg is the must-go city in Germany. Most of the time we went the sauna and spa there. Very relaxing and and area is sooo big. Everybody has to be naked in there and I think that's why Michael likes this place soo much :-)

Ate a lof of homegrown berries. Maybe nothing special to you but it's the very first time I got to eat homegrown fruits!

Thanks so much, Emue, for letting me post this! Lovely letter and I now have Heidelberg on my Must-See list.

"Idi Idi Idi Amin"

I just LOVE youtube. You will never guess what I've just come across! Another smash hit from Radio Fiji One in the 1970s.

Remember this one, Fiji Folk?




Total blast, huh!!!

Shoe Shopping in Guangzhou

I'm sorry, I have no photos to go with this post. My camera was stolen. Nonetheless ...

The Shoe District of Guangzhou is somewhere along Zhanxi Road, although I cannot say which suburb of this giant mega-city that's in. A taxi driver should know, especially if you get someone to write the calligraphy (Chinese writing) for "Zhanxi Road Shoe Wholesale District" beforehand.

Like Handbag World in Jiefang North Road ...



(Although this is Handbag Heaven, the layout of shops is almost the same)

... the shoe wholesale district consists of several giant buildings filled with aisle after aisle of untold numbers of tiny shops all dedicated to shoes. Fabulous shoes! And the biggest of all these buildings is Huan Qui Shoe City; the only one I went into. It would take more than a week to do them all.

(I took footage of Huan Qui with my nifty little movie camera and since that wasn't stolen - being in my tote - I will eventually download image into here ... when I finally figure out how to download film footage onto this computer.)

However, I do have to warn you, although this should be Heaven on Earth, if you're shopping for yourself it actually isn't worth going to all the trouble of finding the place - except for the prices which are "rock bottom then dig" - because these giant megastores are mainly designed to hold zillions of little showrooms for wholesalers and not regular shoppers. Shops divvy up their wares into "Sample" and "Stock" - and, yes, they use the English words - and only "stock" is for direct-to-public sale. "Sample" can only be ordered in lots of 20 or more.

And you should know that hardly anyone carries "Stock". Oh, and that if they do have "stock" they put them on trestle tables outside their showrooms, all blocking the already narrow aisles.

So, not a great deal of choice, although, well, there was one pair of boots that were so very gorgeous and the price for 20 was about what you'd regularly pay for a single pair, so I said yes, and began ordering the colours I wanted ... but everyone's going "Mo! Mo!" and it turns out that you have to order 20 identical pairs, and, despite rationalising long and hard, in the end I simply couldn't justify it.

Also you need to know that very little is "Stock" and also that "Stock" is never in the same league as "Sample" as the former seems to be the samples they don't want anymore because no one wanted to order them, mostly with good reason. Although ...

Insider tip: when you see shoes you totally love, point and say "Stock?". Although the answer is almost always "Sample!", occasionally, if you look really pitiful and say "Mo, mo!" they will sell them to you, but only if they have more than one pair in stock.

Nonetheless I got six pairs that were absolutely fabulous, although only one pair I think I'll actually wear. The others? Mmmmm, so unbelievably gorgeous I couldn't not have them, even though I can't see I'll ever have an opportunity to wear them.

And the very best parts of Huan Qui Shoe City?

1) All the sales assistance wear the most fabulous shoes. Like, seriously SERIOUSLY fabulous! Every pair everyone's wearing you just want to rip off their feet. Except, well, the younger girls all seem to currently wear theirs in two different colourways. Yup, one shoe in, say, green and the other in maybe red or black or pink. Could just be a passing fad but ... Show offs!

2) On the 5th floor, right in the heart of Huan Qui, there's a really nice cafe where they let you smoke. It's run by a multi-lingual French girl who's very sweet and they have lots of huge comfy armchairs and make a really fine pot of English tea. And the really ironic part of this is I left all my belongings in here when I went off to find a loo, and they were all exactly where I left them when I came back. It was later on in Starbucks where I was being so careful that I was robbed.

So that's Huan Qui Shoe City. If you own a shoe shop I'd recommend it very highly, but if, like me, you're shopping for yourself ... give it a miss!

Black Rose!

Yeah, that's the problem with youtube: you go in to look for something and end up spending all day in there.

Today, it's been a day-long haul of tramping through the latest Fijian music.

Started to worry me how "American Street Gang Cred" Fijian band "Black Rose" was becoming. Like, check out this:




Kinda a little bit worry, huh?

And then I found another new song ...



Nah, nothing to worry about! These guys really "rock their roots" and that's the most any of us can ever hope for.

It's a Mana thing!

What Kills Us This Week! Explained!

There's a sociologist in HK at the moment trying to discover exactly why Hong Kongers have this marked tendency to THREATDOWN!! That is, as you know, the tendency to instantly panic over the smallest thing!

What he's discovered so far is that two out of five folk are deeply Biophobic! Like, deeply, deeply scared of Nature. Trees terrify them, being off the beaten track frightens them, and even the thought of getting mud on themselves fills them with anguish and they instantly break down into tears.

Two out of five? In a population of 7 million, that's ... what? You do the maths, but I know that's over 2 million people out there who are These Sorts of People.

You'll recall that Lady Southorn predicted it: she said, back in the 1930s, that nothing good would come from raising children in high apartment blocks away from Nature and that's why she bought three city blocks in Wan Chai to build Southorn Playground ...


... so the children of Wan Chai could play with their feet on mud. But, as you can see, the authorities instantly paved over the ground, so no doubt there was already a Cult of Biophobia already existing back in the 1930s.

Let me tell you two quick stories, although neither are set in HK:

1) When I was at university in Australia, back in the 80s, I was walking along the side of Brisbane River with my friend Teri when her cap blew off and landed on the mud flats below. She loved that cap and was looking distressed, so "Come on" I said, kicking off my shoes and rolling up my jeans. I slipped over the wall, down onto the mud, and walked over to the cap - all that delicious squelching with each step - picked it up and started to walk back. That's when I noticed Teri had joined me on the mud but had only taken a single step. She was standing there frozen with tears streaming down her face.

"What's the matter?"
"I've got mud on my feet!"
"There's a tap right over there in the park."
"No, you don't get it. I've got mud on my feet!"
"It washes off!"
"No. It's mud. It's on my feet!"
"And ...?"

But, alas, she couldn't explain. I didn't get it either. Here she is, totally amidst "A dog ate my baby!" level breakdown, deeply distressed and acting like she'd been deeply violated ... and it was over MUD ON HER FEET! It washes off, you know! I thought it was the oddest thing I'd ever come across and wondered why we'd become friends in the first place.

2) When I was about ten, I was walking along the waterfront of Suva Harbour from the Civic Centre to the bus stop.

This particular stretch of 
Suva waterfront.

Photo stolen from Jon

It was about fifteen minutes after a storm ended and the sky was still gunmetal grey and the sea was still choppy. Walking along, I noted there was a cruise ship in port - P&O's Canberra - and tourists were only just coming ashore, obviously staying aboard to avoid the storm.

I'd been rehearsing for some ballet-thing, and had thrown my dress on over my leotard and stockings and was wearing my beautiful brand-new cork-soled platform shoes; the first pair ever in Fiji, and I was just so proud of them.

Anyway, trying to avoid puddles because I'd been told the cork would disintegrate if it got wet, I noticed a tourist boy about my age standing on the sea wall with all the British adults around saying "Get down off there, Anthony. It's dangerous."

Yup! Eye-rolling stupidity! And then, suddenly and inexplicably, Anthony falls off the wall and into the water!

The tide was only half-in which meant the water was only waist-deep, and there was a set of stairs only three paces away, so he was in absolutely no danger whatsoever: he just had to stand up and walk to the steps.

But these British tourists had started to scream hysterically. Huh? I was about to walk past these ridiculous folk, snorting contemptuously, when I realised Anthony was about to drown. No, I'm serious. Here he is, in no danger whatsoever, and he's in the water flailing around in a panic and these adults are flaming his fear with all their ridiculous hysterical panicking, and, yes, he's about to DIE!

But I'm wearing my new cork shoes! I cleaned windows for two months to pay for them!

I keep waiting for one of the adults to pull themselves together enough to do something but they are completely gone; completely fallen apart, so I actually think for a moment that they're all so stupid they deserve this, before - yeah! yeah! - thinking I should save my shoes by kicking them off, but ... there's broken bottles down there and I'll get cut feet and, worse, ruin my stockings ... so I go down the steps, lower myself into the water, walk the three steps to Anthony, grab him by the hair - I could have grabbed his shirt but I was so angry - and drag him back to the steps.

Then all these ridiculous adults are crying all over me and calling me a hero and I can feel my cork heels crushing under my feet and I'm just so furious and thinking "Less of this hero nonsense; more of bringing out cheque-books and paying for my destroyed shoes." but they were too stupid and ridiculous to even think of it.

And then, when I got home I got in trouble for ruining my shoes and stockings, and I just wished I'd left Anthony to get his come-uppance, the ridiculous boy; my own age and unable to even save himself when he wasn't even in any danger whatsoever.


Anyway, those two stories are increasingly coming to mind and what fills me with such horror is that THESE are the exact same folk who people HK! And instead of being treated with the derision and contempt such stupidity richly deserves, they are actually the folk who RUN HK; yes, these ridiculous folk who fall apart when they touch mud, AND who panic when there's absolutely no reason to; who just stop thinking in the face of the tiniest hint of a crisis!

No wonder we're all on the verge of losing outdoor dining! Gosh, they make me so cross! And here's the petition for us to sign to attempt stopping this ridiculousness from happening:

So that's my choice for this week:

THREATDOWN

Biophobes running a country!

HK Redux!

You'll never guess what happened yesterday!

Keith was out at lunch at Deli France with The Redoubtable Walkers, and they were actually in the middle of talking about my robbery when they noticed Mrs Walker's bag slowly inching along the ground. Dave immediately grabbed it and the young Pakistani-looking guy, with a black open backpack, at the next table, instantly ran off.

Talk about a graphic illustration, huh!

For All Fiji Folk!

You will never believe what's just gone up on youtube? The single song the Rest-of-Fiji hated above any other; the song we had to listen to for over 30 years; the very song that summed up exactly why we all hated it so much when Radio Fiji One merged with Radio Fiji Three; the song we all detested so much every one of us knew all the words and sang it whenever anyone said anything good about the merger!

Here it is, Mai Kai Loma! THE WORST SONG IN THE WHOLE WORLD!!



All we have to find now is that Hindi song about the dove on the washing line being killed in a hurricane!

Masais!

In between "travailing within the HK labyrinth" trying to replace documents - and fuming that any thief would be so inconsiderate as to thrust someone into this position - I'm currently "doing a Denise" and trying to discover if all Masai have freakishly long arms.

Here's the closest thing I can find:




I realise that, thanks to their clothing, it's hard to answer this question, but, from the glimpses of arms you DO get, I'd say ... I couldn't say for sure but mostly NO!

Finally!

Posted up my experience of what it's like getting robbed in China. It's about three posts back and think I won't be leaving it up very long so let me know, relevant folk, when you're done.

Cuba on Hold!

Finally met up with Aussie Christine, who is finally back in HK after such a long stay in USA, recovering from something she picked up in Mexico and which knocked her out so much she couldn't travel.

No, wasn't Swine Flu, although that would have been my guess as well. It was an inner ear infection that was unbelievably painful, lasted weeks, prevented her from getting around, left her deaf, and which she's only just getting over now, after many months.

Cuba, however, she said could be summed up with the words: gorgeous scenery, gorgeous people, gorgeous seafood and music, music, music, music, music everywhere, and lots of dancing. Oh, and did she mention music!

We will be getting together later in the week to go through the photos and learning all she discovered about holidaying in Cuba; a place with gorgeous scenery, gorgeous people, gorgeous seafood and music, music, music, music, music!

What Kills Us This Week!

I've been away, as you know, so missed a huge panic that would have been fun if it wasn't so silly and had such a horrible outcome.

Outdoor dining! Gone from Hong Kong, along with outdoor smoking, as of July 1st, 2009! Seems things just went crazy in my absence; some old English dude wrote in to the papers saying that he hated this new trend for outdoor dining because it was "just so disgusting and dirty" and Hong Kong authorities jumped on his bandwagon, and voila!, all outdoor dining is to be outlawed, starting next month! Even balconies aren't allowed to serve food and drink. Even indoor courtyards. Dining must only take place in closed, air-conditioned premises!

I'm thinking of all the pat-pongs in our area; the little hole-in-the-wall cafes where poor people buy food to eat in the street. Guess they'll have to go too. And the street peddlers? The hot chestnut sellers? The hot plover egg sellers? Guess we say farewell to these centuries-old traditions as well.

Honestly! It just makes me so cross! You too I hope!

So ...

THREATDOWN

Rank stupidity in HK's authority structures!

It's stupid, isn't it! And it all came into Law so quickly there really has to be something else behind it.

And if you want to help us stop this ridiculousness, please sign this petition:

THE VIGIL

It was indeed a mighty night last night: 150,000 candle-holding folk inside the park and more than four thousand outside the gates, joining in the songs, struggling to get in, wanting to add themselves to the count of those wishing to honour the dead:


The 20th Anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre ... aka June 4th 1989 Incident as it's known to Chinese authorities and their running-dog licksucklers! China tried to stop any memorial but the feisty spirit of Hong Kong rose to the challenge, soared and once again became its best self: the conscience of China.

I have no camera these days so have sent an SOS to Maureen for a few of her photos to show you what it was like, so you too can witness that, oh yes, they said we shouldn't even acknowledge this date, that no one in China should acknowledge this date, but by our defiance we became mighty!

And The Mothers of Tiananmen - the mothers of the dead - were indeed there, although only a handful since the rest were back in China under house arrest, but they gave fiery angry speeches, telling us that the latest news was all a lie; they did not sell-out their cause for compensation money; that they would never sell out their cause; their children were murdered and there was no money or anything else that would stop them from saying their children were murdered and from demanding that the Chinese authorities say it too.

So I must hereby apologise for passing on the news from China that the Mothers had sold out on their cause: their dream to cover the giant square where their children bled to death with red and white roses. It's still on, folk, so get behind them.

You know their website, right? No, it appears to be gone. Hardly a surprise, is it, since we know all about THAT SORT OF THING these days, don't we!

Forgive the epic tones of this piece. Can't help myself. Just knowing that Beijing has read me and finds me dangerous enough to shut down brings out the purple-prose-poet in me!

Later: HK newspapers also call the numbers at 150,000 but say there were over 50,000 outside the gates. I only saw one gate and can definitely vouch for a percentage of that number.

There were also trees full of intrepid folk, and no one counted them, so we can even put the # higher.

Much Later: These gorgeous photos were not taken by me, but the lovely person who sent them to me doesn't wish to be named. But thanks so much, Incognita!

The Whole Damn Story!

Here's the account of the saga for my records mainly but posted because there may be things in here that you too can learn about what it's like getting robbed in China. Sorry if it gets long-winded and tedious, but it is written mainly so I remember all the details.

THE VICTIM

My beautiful handbag!

ALL GONE

My Coach "Hobo" handbag!
And my jade charms!
And my Egyptian blue scarab;
a lucky charm from Trish
for safe travel!
All seen in photo above.

And inside:
My Passport.
My tickets.
My Chanel wallet holding:
All my HK money!
All my ID!
All my credit cards!
My favourite photo of Kele as a baby.
My Octopus Card.
My China Health Insurance Card.
My Australian Medi-care Card.
My private insurance medical card.
My Library Cards.

My camera ... the one that took this photo,
plus three massive memory sticks
and three batteries
because I take so many photos,
all in their new leather case.

Cigarettes.
Two Bic lighters.

My favourite pair of Gucci sunglasses.
Two pairs of reading glasses, one pair broken.
My patently fake Gucci purse for yuan,
almost empty since I'd been buying shoes.
My Hermes coin purse.
My Anna Sui purse with Oz money
in there by mistake.
My ancient Nokia phone.
My Shadow.
Sewing kit.
Aspirin.
Small medical emergency kit.
A notebook to record stuff.

A small case for
My name cards with my address.

A small pouch of uncut precious
and semi-precious stones
given to me by an old prospector in the Outback
so I had something to sell in an emergency.
Never valued/greatly valued.
A thoughtful gift by an old friend
carried with me for 25 years.

And, yes, the bag was very nearly back-breakingly heavy.



CHAPTER ONE

Starbucks

Wherein our hero gets robbed

Guangzhou police are wrong: I am not some brain-dead zombie who deserves to be robbed. I do notice what's happening around me. Besides, I grew up messing around on boats, where it becomes automatic to scan your surroundings for possible dangers, and I indeed do it automatically so, despite what the police say, getting robbed was in no way my fault. Kinda!

So, what happened?

Monday, I'd just spent almost the entire day in the Shoe Wholesale District (which I will be blogging about later, despite losing all the photos), and was carrying six shoe boxes along with my tote and my handbag.

I was due to catch the 6.21 through-train back to HK, and since it was just on 4pm I decided to have a leisurely cuppa at the Starbucks at World Peace Plaza across the skybridge from Bai Yun Hotel before going back to retrieve my luggage and making my way to Guangzhou East Station.

Stupidly, because I didn't want to store my luggage with valuables inside, I'd put everything - even my usual emergency stash of money, piece of ID and a credit card - into my handbag.

So, there I am, at World Peace Plaza Starbucks, carrying my cup of tea, my handbag, six shoe boxes, three of them in my tote. I come upstairs and, yes, I automatically scan the room, looking for a seat, sure, but also looking out for "what is wrong with this scene"!

Downstairs was packed but the large upstairs room was only half-full; mainly of middle-class Chinese drinking cuppachino and talking softly among themselves, and also a sprinkling of solo folk on tiny laptop computers. All the usual! But ...

The first aberration? There's a Masai in the room ...

... I was going to say "You don't expect to see a Masai in China" but, off the Mara, you don't expect to see a Masai anyplace, do you? And you especially don't expect to see an elderly Masai. I always believed that, thanks to their high protein diet of blood-and-milk-soup, they were old at 30 and dead by 40, and this guy - about 6 foot 8 inches tall, ebony-skinned and to-the-bone-skinny, but with bones so thick and dense they looked like they should belong to three different people - was about 60 ... but he was eating a muffin and drinking cuppachino so I guess that makes a difference. However, despite being an aberration, I decided he was harmless and dismissed him.

A less harmless aberration? Three young Arab guys (actually don't know if they were Arabs but they were definitely some generic Middle Eastern types, from somewhere between Turkey down to North Africa, across to Pakistan, and over to Afghanistan, so let's just cut this short and call them Arabs) each sitting alone and strategically placed around the room like they were watching the exits: all in their mid 20s, all in dark blue jeans, one in a tan Burberry collared T-shirt, the other in a white Burberry collared T, and the third in a light blue collared Polo T.; they looked enough alike to be brothers but even if they weren't they were definitely "of the same ilk".

If you've ever been a long way from home, struggling through an alien culture and surrounded by a language you don't speak, you'll know "people of your own ilk" are such a relief to find, you instantly fall on them and, even if they're someone you'd never speak to back home, you bond into "Best Friends Forever", and since these three guys "of the same ilk" were ignoring each other, I automatically thought "They're together and working the room", so thought of going back downstairs only ... my feet hurt and I was carrying all those bloody boxes and I came upstairs because there were no seats downstairs!

And so I selected an armchair as far away from the Arabs as possible. (I returned two days later to film the scene and will eventually put the footage in here so you can see it for yourself.)

And in the armchair immediately behind me - the only other person on that side of the room - was a young Chinese guy who was identically dressed and looked identical to one of the university students I'd met the previous day; wide flat face, unkempt hair, long chino shorts, scuff-style shoes, and a blue-and-white checked shirt unbuttoned to half-way down the chest. They looked so alike I actually looked closely at this guy's face before realising it was a different guy, and was vaguely curious how two guys with such flabby, unsunned, computer-nerd bodies could imagine it attractive to leave so many buttons undone. Strange, huh!

For over a year now, Guangzhou no longer has English newspapers - apart from the Communist Party's China Daily which none of the Starbucks carry - so I put the shoe boxes and tote on the chair opposite my seat and, still carrying my handbag, went across the room to shuffle through all the Chinese newspapers thinking to select one with lots of photographs so to vaguely work out what was happening in the world ... and noticed that one of them had a killer-sudoku, the especially difficult kind I just love, so I chose that one.

Back in my seat I scanned through the news and then folded up the broadsheet to settle in to do the puzzle ...

... and, yes, maybe that's when I took my focus away from my environment, although I did register two middle-aged Chinese businessmen in checked blue-and-white shirts, talking quite loudly, sit down on the now-empty seats behind me, although I can't remember exactly when in this saga they did this.

What I do remember is that, when I sat down with the newspaper I'd put my bag at my feet, right next to the wall, and had later absent-mindedly rummaged in it for a pen, filled in all the numbers I could do easily, then realised that this killer-sudoku deserved my respect so rummaged again for a pencil, filled in several more boxes before realising the pencil was blunt so reached down to rummage again for a pencil-sharpener ... only my bag had gone.

Realising I'd been robbed I looked up in horror, and looked straight into the eyes of tan-Burberry Arab across the room and actually saw him think "uh-oh!". He did! That's what he thought! Odd, huh! And so I gave him a hard look to tell him "You're my #1 suspect!"

Looking around the room: the only other people who've noticed something amiss are the nice businessmen in the chairs behind, who are already searching their space for me, and the white-Burberry Arab who looks on high alert ... so I look around for light-blue-shirt Arab and he's nowhere in sight! New Instant #1 Suspect!, so I grab a passing waiter and physically plonk him next to the chair full of shoes, shouting "Guard!", and race away, first to the toilets, then downstairs, and all upstairs, then out the upstairs door, through the building and out onto the skybridge, looking to seriously kick Blue-Shirt Butt!

He's gone.

When I get back the entire upstairs room is full of waiters, searching the space, and one who speaks excellent English - Sunny - says "We've called the police.", then White-Shirt Arab comes over and, in that gentle sane Arab way, starts screaming at us, hands gesticulating wildly, that he saw the three Chinese guys who did this, and I notice that no one else is taking him seriously either.

The police arrive very quickly and White-Shirt repeats his tale, and the police look like they don't understand a word he's saying - which, as it turns out, they don't - so then it's all on and I get marched out to the police car ...

... oh, and here's something very sweet; there's a French guy outside downstairs having a cigarette and, as I pass with the policemen, I say "Bugger! My cigarettes were in that bag." and the lovely guy says "Here. Have my packet. You will need them." Such kindness from a total stranger! Thank you so much, lovely French guy! Your cigarettes were much appreciated, even though they were Gallic and tasted horrible!

And as I get into the police car two of the waiters - Sunny and Calvin - run out and get in too.

CHAPTER TWO

The Police-Station

Wherein our hero realises
her Gucci scarf carries more
prestige than she does.

You'll recall that line from Longfellow "The mills of god grind slowly but they grind exceeding small"? Through all the brutal hours of interrogation - from 4.30 till nearly 9.30 that night - this phrase kept winding through my head, only this version went "The mills of Guangzhou Police grind slowly but I don't think anything is actually being ground!" and, as it turns out, that nailed it.

The police station in Huanshi Dong (literally The Bribery District) is simply a storefront; one shop in a row of shops in a very pretty, very chic and Parisian-looking area of winding tree-lined lanes in the area behind Bai Yun Hotel, the Kubrick and World Peace Plaza.

The desk sergeant is exactly what you imagine; large, blank-faced, bored, running-to-fat, and you just know he'd dreamed his whole life of joining the Red Guard only kept failing the entry exams. He has a computer he types stuff onto, very slowly, pecking away with one finger. If you've ever been robbed you know the drill, only this time it's more interesting because Sergeant only speaks Mandarin, Calvin speaks Cantonese and Mandarin, Sunny speaks Cantonese and English, and I speak only English and so the entire thing is a translation-relay. Under different circumstances it would have been fun.

Also different is that I can't report the theft because I don't have ID anymore and, in China, without ID you can't make a police report, so Sunny reports it in his name ... although both of us are finger-printed. Huh??? And the questions!!! Honestly! It's all so detailed and irrelevant-to-the-point-of-stupidity, after about 4 hours, when it had crossed the line into downright impertinence, I started getting sarcastic and vitriolic, but only in the sure-fire knowledge that it would be changed as it traveled up the translation-line.

When you're robbed in Fiji, you're in the station filling out the police report, right, and, yes, also thinking "Why is this taking so long?" when two burly Fijian policemen march in with the culprit - with his arm stuck painfully up his back - and all your belongings! Always! That sort of stuff sets the benchmark so I was kinda expecting the same thing here, but ...

... hours and hours of questioning yet nothing was being done!

Horrible to think that a small third-world police force like Fiji's, with no money and fewer resources, can do a far better job of policing than China, with its huge population and great wealth, does! Shocking! But then, these police weren't even trying ...

Turns out that that was what all the hours of impertinent interrogation were about: working out my status to see if they should investigate it or not! Sunny kept telling me to brag and build myself up but I'm a Child of the Raj. I may not be a credit "to my ilk" but, at a very basic level, I'm indeed "Pukka" and right there, deep in the heart of The British Colonial Service Honour Code, is "don't boast", and even though I'm sure I can wave all kinds of Shibboleths of Self Importance - although I'd have to think about that - I'm not going to do it in an alien environment where no one knows the semiological underpinnings, and especially not to some dope of a desk sergeant who can't even get into the Red Guard, so, instead I choose to play it as "I'm a decent, respectable and honest married woman who doesn't deserve to be treated this way."

Big, big mistake!

If you ever find yourself in this situation, take Sunny's advice and BOAST, BOAST, and then BOAST SOME MORE!!!

Yes, I know that Chinese police have no mandate to serve the public and that their job is to maintain harmony for the Communist Party, but you'd bloody well think they'd realise their truly lousy policing makes China look so incompetent they lose face in the eyes of the rest of the world.

Yes, let's say this out loud: the Chinese Communist Party is belittled by their incompetent and indifferent police force! And for a police sergeant to tell Calvin that I was too low status to have my theft even investigated very definitely causes the Party to lose face! And to say I was such a zombie I deserved to be robbed? That is just wrong! And the moment the desk sergeant said it ...

... in my view China as a nation spiraled off the world stage ...

... and came to land among all the tin-pot, despotic, illegitimate little nations that shouldn't be allowed to exist!

It's a Rousseau thing: if you've ever read his book "Social Contract" you'll recall how he talks about Individuals surrendering their power to the State in exchange for certain protections ... and if the State withholds those protections, it lacks any legitimacy and thus you have a duty to withdraw your power and your support. You'll also recall that, when this book was published, everyone who read it instantly said "Dang, that's so true!" so withdrew their power which lead to the French Revolution and the subsequent Reign of Terror, which you definitely wouldn't wish on any nation, so China really needs to address this issue PRONTO!

But here's something very pleasant: right at the start of this questioning ordeal, when I gave the sergeant Keith's number in HK, he immediately rang it, suddenly looked shocked, slowly hung up and then handed the phone over to me to try for myself ... only the phone went straight to voice-mail ... so I just left a message I'd been robbed and wouldn't be on the train ...

... but it turns out that Keith answered the sergeant's call, heard the Chinese spiel, thought it was a spammer - we get several of these calls everyday, always from Triad money sharks asking us, in Cantonese, if we need their help to consolidate our gambling debts - so gave the caller a mouthful of his lowest and most vulgar Cantonese swearwords, hung up and switched his phone over to voice-mail.

Yee ha! You go, Keith! That sergeant so had it coming. Of course, it certainly didn't help my building-up of status in any way, to have a husband who told him what to do with various parts of his lower anatomy, but I don't care! Keith actually did what I wished I could do myself!

My Hero!!!

Oh, and one more point in all this: Starbucks sent us provisions - bottles of water and tuna melts - all through our ordeal, and then rang us at the station to say they'd been through the footage from their camera and thought my bag most likely stolen by a young man in dark blue jeans and a light blue collared T-shirt! Seems Unsunned-Chest-Guy left, Light-Blue-Shirt sat down - they noted he arrived with an empty backpack and left with a full backpack - then Two Businessmen immediately took the chairs. I'm instantly all "It's that Arab guy! Find that Arab guy!" and they say "No. He was Chinese." although they say the guy knew where the cameras were and kept his face carefully screened from them.

It was soooo the Arab guy!

CHAPTER THREE

Back at the Hotel

Wherein our Hero learns The Horror
of being penny-less and ID-less in China!

At 9.30, after being told they'd be no investigation, we left, all of us feeling very angry, tired, and mostly despondent. Calvin was shattered. Seems I only got the tail end of the lashing. Sergeant had been brutal and unspeakably vile to Calvin; savaging him and Starbucks and calling him and them "Dingbats" - the Mandarin word meaning "Unstable persons or situations that need to be removed in order to maintain the harmony of China." Yup! Starbucks has become a "Dingbat" and China wants them gone and so ... the police aren't about to waste any time with any of this.

You go, Rousseau!!!

Calvin left - probably to make phone calls to pass on this news - so Sunny took me back to the Bai Yun Hotel. Without ID, you can't check into any hotel in China, and since Bai Yun had my records on file, I didn't have a choice anymore.

No go! Turns out I had to have a passport. Those were the rules. We argued for about ten minutes, and eventually Justin, the fellow manning the night desk, agreed to look through their files. He found me and reluctantly agreed to check me in as long as I paid cash up front. Naturally, I had no cash. Sunny definitely couldn't afford it, so I rang Keith at home and asked him to pay by credit card.

It's the first time I'd spoken to him and discover he's in a panic. He'd switched on his phone while coming out of a meeting, got my message and said aloud "Denise has been robbed in Guangzhou" and it was instant THREATDOWN!!! Seems they'd all heard stories about Mainland robberies and, within minutes, the other teachers had peopled my robbery with six - no, nine, no, twelve - triads, all with knives - no, guns! - and they'd sliced me open and I'd had all my organs harvested - no, wait, just my kidneys - no, just one kidney! - or else I'd not have been able to call ...

I laughed. Eventually, he laughed. And then I handed him over to Justin to organise my room for the night.

No can do! Justin tells Keith he has to find a travel agent to read the numbers to him. Keith rings our travel agent, Paul, who says to come around immediately - it's nearly 10pm - and he'll read them. And that's what happens.

No can do! Paul is the wrong sort of travel agent! The RIGHT SORT OF TRAVEL AGENT, as it turns out, has a Mainland Registration Number. And good luck with finding one of those so late at night.

And so that's it. No room at Bai Yun for the night! Sorry, but Rules are Rules, so stop wasting the hotel's time and get out of there.

It's an unimaginably horrible situation. It's not an option I spend the night on the streets - Sorry, but that's just not happening! - so we linger in the lobby brainstorming. Sunny has an idea: the Seven Day Inn nearby, where Starbucks employees always stay because they get a discount, and, although there are no guarantees, he thinks they may be able to check me in with just his ID and discount card and my copy of the police report. The added advantage of this, he tells me, is the Consulate is right up the street.

But, just at that moment, Justin races over and hands me ... a photocopy they had on their files of the front page of my now-gone passport. This was against the rules, sure, but a thoroughly decent thing for him to do, so I'm very grateful to him, and thus willingly accepted his abject, grovelling and humble apology the management forced him to make the following night.

With this and the police report, Sunny is almost sure I won't have a problem, and so, with Sunny trundling my very heavy suitcase and me lugging my tote, a bag of toiletries and six boxes of shoes, we leave the cool lobby of the Bai Yun Hotel and step out into a dark, hot, muggy Guangzhou night!

Also, I have to say I'm extraordinarily grateful to Sunny. It was a horrible situation, but what a true nightmare this would have been without him! Thank you so much, Sunny, for being there for me through all this!

CHAPTER FOUR

At the Inn

Wherein our hero discovers
what she hates most in the world!

Think for a moment about what you would most hate to see when you're homeless and trundling your luggage through a deadly hot and muggy night, thinking that, if it all comes to the worst, you may have to spend the night sleeping on the streets afterall?

It would be a dead body, right? Lying on the street? Maybe beaten to death by roving gangs of violent street gangs?

OK, we didn't see one of those, but, just after Sunny had pointed out the enormous building across the road where the Consulate was housed, there, on the street, glistening under a streetlamp, was a huge patch of drying bood. Bits of bone and gore too! Whatever happened had obviously been over an hour earlier and the body was long gone, but I'm thinking "That much blood loss, they're dead." and "Why would there be bits of bone in there, unless it was a particularly savage beating with something like a crowbar ... or maybe a triad "chop" ... and is that brain tissue?" and, trust me, even without the body it was still a horrendous sight to witness probably at any time but particularly so - exceptionally so - under those conditions.

I didn't want to point it out to Sunny because that would somehow make it more real, so I watched him trundle my suitcase through the middle, and watched him leave behind a trail and footprints and wanted to throw up, and decided the thing I hated most in the world was having dead people bits on my belongings.

I wanted desperately to be miles away, and that's when Sunny said "That's the Inn" and it was diagonally opposite and only feet away so I felt even sicker.

And then, in the lobby of Seven Day Inn, deep in conversation and looking like old friends, was Tan-Burberry and White-Burberry and with them was My Masai. They obviously knew each other very well and I felt even more nauseous. And I noticed My Masai was wearing yet another burberry collared T-shirt and wondered if they'd all got them at a three-for-the-price-of one sale, and that he had arms that almost touched his knees and I wondered if that was Marfans or just Masai, and, most sadly, whether those freakishly long arms were paid to snake around armchairs to snatch handbags ... and was just so disappointed that the very first Masai I'd ever seen in the flesh could just be a criminal.

But then they all saw me and were my instant Best Friends Forever and they were all "Are you OK?" and "Did you find it?" and were just so sweet and solicitious and NICE I kept thinking "They can't possibly be guilty!" while simultaneously thinking "You all soooo did it!"

And I notice there's a lot of "London" in their accents, and suddenly note there's quite a bit of "London" in Sunny's too, and I recall the discount card for employees and all sorts of bad, mad, sad thoughts insiduously start winding, unwanted and unbidden, through my head.

But, with the photocopy and police report, the Seven Day Inn kindly lets me check in and Sunny sweetly uses his discount card so he only has to pay half price, and the Arab guys are in the background talking about me and how they can help me and, well, it was just awful because ... well, just because ...

... then Sunny takes me up to my room and it's clean and adequate although the TV doesn't work and the air-conditioner drips and makes strange noises, but I'm so pleased I'm not out of the street where people get beaten to death, and Sunny says "This room is almost identical to my student digs in London." and I'm curious and discover he has an M.A. from a really prestigious British University, and here he is, working at Starbucks! It doesn't make sense, so I'm now asking myself why the Arabs-who-hang-around-Starbucks are staying at a place that gives Starbucks discounts and realise everything is so bizarre it's actually creepy ...

... and that I have no idea who is who and what is what but I don't want to be ungrateful because everyone has been so kind, and two years back those waiters from Starbucks saved my life, when that crazy coal miner tried to strangle me ... but everything's so confusing I ask Sunny if, before he leaves, he can lend me his phone, so I ring Keith.

And I get through to him and almost weep: can you believe it? He's at LoWu Border-Crossing and because it's too late to get a regular China visa, he has asked for a Shenzhen-only visa and plans once he's through to sneak away and catch a train to Guangzhou, and it's just so out of character because Keith, the proud son of a genuine war hero, is someone who'd never ever even think of breaking the law, yet here he is, so worried about me, he's willing to risk everything to reach me and get me a room for the night ... and, at that moment, I just love him so much and totally understand why we've been married for nearly 30 years.

Even though I really want him with me - desperately, desperately want him with me - he sounds so upset and tired I tell him I'm fine and to just to go home and get some sleep.

Then Sunny gives me 100 yuan out of his own pocket for miscellaneous expenses and says he'll be back first thing to take me to the Consulate, and leaves ...

... so I go have a shower and stupidly wash my hair with water that is so hard, undoubtedly last used to cool a nuclear reactor, you must know that from this moment onwards I have stupid, crazy, electric hair that sticks out all over the place, making me look like some freakish Sideshow Bob, right when I really needed to look decent, respectable, honest and someone who should be treated with respect and consideration.

After that, well, I notice again that I have Dead People Bits all over the wheels of my suitcase so I clean it off with antiseptic wipes, and am about to chuck them in the bin when I start having more bad, mad, sad thoughts about the guy who's now so clearly dead and how I should be treating these bits of him with respect, so I use my now empty packet of French cigarettes as a coffin and am about to place it gently in the rubbish when I realise I don't even want to share a room with them, so I go out to find a rubbish bin ... and then, once I'm outside, realise how much I still have to do before I go to sleep, and remember there's free Internet in the lobby, so I go downstairs to let everyone I'm working for know what's happened.

CHAPTER FIVE

In the Lobby

Wherein our hero discovers she's more
Donald Sutherland than she realises!

And right there, when I'm getting out of the lift, it's The Marfans Masai with ...

... Blue-Shirt-Thieving-Bastard!

I instantly come over all "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and just want to point my finger and let out a gigantic, unearthly, accusatory SRRREEECH!, but ... you know, knowing the police have no interest in investigating, what else can you do except plaster on a polite smile and think mean thoughts.

But he's my instant BBF and all over me with the sympathy and solace and downright niceness, and then he starts on this huge angry rant that Starbucks is an International Organisation of Identity Thieves and all their waiters are trained criminals and ...

... all I can think is "Why don't you have hair? Seven hours ago, you had a full head of hair and now you don't! You've shaved it off! WHY???" and wonder if he's done is to avoid detection or if he always has it shaved and that backpack he's carrying - that undoubtedly once carried my Coach Hobo - is full of wigs, one of which makes him look Chinese if you don't see his face, and last seen in that camera footage.

Meanwhile, The Marfan's Masai looms nearby, and, despite his collared Burberry, he's looking all sinister gravitas and voodoo, like some ancient Haitian loa.

But then the free internet computer becomes available so I manage to escape and I write to Mary, Halley and Fiona telling them all and that I'll keep them posted. Then I write to several friends also telling them all and asking if they know anyone in Guangzhou who can put me up for a while ...

... then I realise I'm hungry and, moreso, desperate for a cuppa, but although there's a kettle in the room, I noticed there's no tea or fridge, and the tea-making facility at the back of the lobby doesn't work, and because Blue-Shirt is lingering, wanting to talk more Conspiracy Theories, and because I don't want to return to that dripping, noisy air-conditioner, I decide to get out of the Inn and find someplace where I can buy myself a decent pot of English tea.

Yes, I know, it's nearly midnight and I've already been robbed once that day but I'm a particularly original type of idiot who is incapable of learning, and when I notice a Circle K on the far corner, in the opposite direction to the pool of blood, and all lit by street-lights, I immediately head off.

The area around the Seven Day Inn is very pretty; again all winding tree-lined lanes, but it's a different world to my usual Guangzhou and, although more than half the shops are still open, albeit pulling down their shutters, everyone around there acts like they've never seen a hundred yuan note before and, because they definitely can't make change, won't sell me anything. Even at Circle K, where I stock up on teabags and milk, yogurt, fruit and the biggest bottle of water they have, at the check-out they look at my note and simply shake their heads ... so I leave everything on the counter and race outside.

Looking around, I notice, next to the Inn, deep in the shadows, The Marfan's Masai, and he's watching me. It's a tad creepy until I realise he can't help looking like some sinister voodoo Loa of the Crossroads or even Baron Samedi himself, and he's actually there to check that I'm safe, so I'm grateful he's there for me!

So, under the watchful eye of my new friend, I'm wander around the dark, hot lanes holding out the money Sunny gave me, wordlessly asking everyone passing if they can make change and they're all shaking their heads sorrowfully, like they only wish they could, and I'm thinking "This could well be the only place on the planet where you can do something like this and still feel genuinely safe." and "This is the real China! It's not all nasty desk sergeants and insane angry strangling coal miners. It's a country full of decent honest people who just want to make a living."

Eventually a homeward-trundling street vendor stops and indicates he can make change if I buy something from his barrow, so I sentimentally select the world's worst fake Chanel purse because it's such a pitiful copy of the real one I lost. It's only five yuan, and my nice elderly vendor forks over the change in dirty ones and fives, and it's every single note he has on him, only five yuan short, so I let him keep it.

Loaded with groceries, I pass the shadow I know holds My Marfan's Masai and give him a cheery wave and "Hello" and this deep rumbling baritone voice, unexpectedly very BBC, says "I'm so very sorry this is happening to you." and it's such an unexpected thrill.

Blue-Shirt is still in the lobby - undoubtedly everyone has annoying air-conditioners so want to avoid their rooms - so, to avoid him, I race over to the payphone and ring Keith ...

... and wake him up ... only to have him discover he's back in LoWu. Turns out he'd taken the train all the way back to Hong Kong, before deciding, one stop away from the terminus at TST, to just shut his eyes "for a second". It's a credit to the honesty of Hong-Kongers that he still had all his belongings with him.

Get back to my room, plonk down my groceries, sit on the bed, and it's so very hard I think "I'll never get to sleep on this!" and instantly ...

... zzzzzzzzz!

CHAPTER SIX

The Consulate.

Wherein our hero finally finds refuge!

No one who knows me will ever believe I was up, dressed and fretting over my crazy hair by the time Sunny arrived. And only seconds after he turned up, the phone rings and it's Oliver, my new BBF.

Seems Keith has been working the phones for hours, and had located the Consul, Lyle, and told him all, so, very concerned, Oliver has been assigned to me to sort out my problems.

And that's when I first discover something very, very interesting:

I probably - undoubtedly - shouldn't be telling you this, but the Consulate up the road is merely some time-wasting, vetting front and the real Consulate is a 39 yuan taxi-ride away. Oliver gives the real address to Sunny and together we make our way there, but I'm rather shocked that, the minute he passes me over to Oliver, Sunny rushes off. I thought we'd become friends ... but I have to say how very, very grateful I am to him for all he did for me in my darkest hour, and I just hope he wasn't out of pocket by it.

I guess I shouldn't be telling you about everything that went on here, so I won't, except to say Oliver and Lyle were kindness itself and that I had an emergency passport and a loan within four hours.

The only annoying parts?

1) That bloody stupid official-photograph-game that the entire planet has recently started playing - obviously a new form of revenue gathering - wherein you can't use the same lot of passport photographs for all purposes. Every country now has different rules for how much of you should be in it, and what colour the background should be, and what size they should be, and passport photos are now different from visa photographs, so you have a buy a range of different shots and they only sell them in packages of a minimum of six of each ... but I didn't know the latter which means I had to go back for more photographs so my second truly annoying thing had to be done TWICE!

2) You can no longer leave anything behind at Embassies and Consulates which means you have to take all your belongings with you when they send you off to get photographs. Remember how I have with me my very heavy suitcase, my very heavy tote, a very heavy bag of toiletries and six boxes of shoes? I can't manage it all by myself, especially since the pavement is the process of being jackhammered up and the road alongside has an open trench, so, for four blocks I'm trying to negotiate my passage through all this, and dragging stuff in and out of gutters and over mounds of cement, all the while thinking that if a wheel falls off my suitcase, it'll be the last straw and I'm just going to sink down in the rubble, crawl into foetal position and bawl my eyes out.

But my bag holds together. Yes, finally I'm grateful that Keith is a very annoying Libra who has to see every single item of the range of anything he wants to buy, and has to test everything out personally, and that he's the person who chose this smallish overnight suitcase especially for my trips to Guangzhou, all the while with me getting all spitty and nasty and going "Bloody hell! Just make a choice, why don't you!"

Thank you, Keith, for having this so-annoying habit! It saved me from the experience of going all-foetal in China!

And massive kudos to Pierre Cardin for making that amazingly resilient suitcase. The amount of punishment it took that day, TWICE, I would heartily recommend it to anyone.

Oh, and here's something you really have to know: the Chinese authorities only accept photographs done by their own registered photographers, so, whoever takes your official visa photographs, make sure you get their registration number. I didn't know that, but thankfully my photographer did, so days later, when I emptied out my tote on some bureaucrat's desk and rummaged through everything I'd casually thrown into there, I still had it.

And here's something you don't need to know: at the photographers I met Hong, the sweetest Australian-Cambodian guy; a former boat-person refugee currently doing his gap-year epic "finding roots" journey around Asia. (The second such person I've met, so, because the other is a very pretty young girl, I'm determined to get the two of them together. Something good has to come out of this horrible experience.)

I'm only telling you about Hong because, as it turns out, we were going through the exact same heinous experience. Naturally, the amount we shared - only the locations were different - meant we bonded into Instant BBFs, and, while waiting for our photo-packages to be developed, snuck off to Starbucks to compare notes. Interesting stuff indeed, but I won't tell you about it because I'm still not sure what to make of it!

And, at the Consulate, Keith rings me to say he's booked me in for eight nights at Bai Yun, and that's when I learn that it takes at least five working days for Chinese authorities to issue Exit Visas and there's a three-day public holiday - thankfully with dragon-boat races - slap bang in the middle. And the wonderful news is that HK also gets this public holiday so he's coming up the following day to join me.

But then it was all over and, although I really, really wanted to, I had no excuse to linger at the Consulate, so I farewelled Lyle and Oliver and ...

... went off to The Labyrinth, so to slay the dragon and get my exit visa, and finally be able to get out of there.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Inside the Labyrinth

Wherein our hero is forced
through "the belly of the beast".

Chinese bureaucracy is legendary for its abject awfulness so, because you've already heard so many stories, and because I really don't want to relive this immense horror, I'll avoid telling you more than I have to: I'll just say that those generations of Dynastic Emperors lied; they didn't castrate their bureaucratics to prevent them dynasty-building; they did it because they damn well wanted to. I know I did!

But what you do need to know about this process is that China is screwed - a Dingbat unto itself - and it's something they need to also address PRONTO! This is that no one wants to deal with photocopies, but no one will hand over originals. It's a kind of unbelievable hell-on-earth, where everyone sends you back to get original documents but which aren't forthcoming. Everyone is all Marie-Antoniette and "Let them use photocopies!" and refuses to surrender anything. It's a war of back-and-forth and having you run around madly and getting nowhere. And there's no good in screaming or throwing a temper tantrum because they have people to drag you off if you do; either to the police station or back to the start of this game, and I can't tell you which is worse.

Also, in this same vein of naming China's problems, is that no one in the Layrinth is allowed to make a decision. I've already told you about how I was trapped between two security barriers and, for ten minutes, they kept bringing in people from higher and higher up the pecking order to witness there was a problem ... yet no one was allowed to send for the folk who could actually deal with the real problem, which was getting me out of there.

Also a problem is that there is no original documentation too stupid to be used. To Chinese authorities, making a case is all about building a mound of original papers and when you don't have anything - when you've lost everything - it seems anything will do. In fact, when I again emptied out my tote onto some random desk, the fellow started selecting "any old stuff", and was even about to add the stub from my ticket to see the movie "Coraline" to the pile when I stopped him by saying "Isn't this getting a little too silly!"

Seriously, if they aren't annually getting the weight of their collection of original documents in gold, this is all inexcusable.

Also inexcusable is the ghastly "culture of bullying" that's well underway among the Nasty Little Alpha Bitches who hand out the electronic passes between the different sections. After so many years teaching high-school, I know how dangerously out of control this can get, so these little girls - all teenagers - need to be brutally slapped into place and it has to be done soon.

One example only, right: I finally get an appointment to see someone high up in the pecking order who, I'm hoping, is finally permitted to actually make a decision. It's at 9.30 am, so I arrive at 9 stupidly thinking this gives me enough time to go through the involved process you have to go through to reach the "take us seriously" section. But Alpha Bitches channel me into Purgatory where I'm given a ticket - H31 - to approach their desk to tell them what I need. The room is packed with Doomed Souls and they've only reached ticket B 41 because Alpha Bitches are ignoring the public because they're engrossed in conversations among themselves.

9.30 is fast approaching, so I keep going to the desks, trying to tell them I have to be someplace else, but they're doing that nasty "talk to the hand" crap and shouting at me to sit down and wait my turn. I so want to slap each and every one of them, but I think "I'll show you!" so I take out my old copy of Vanity Fair (how it remained out of a document pile is beyond me!) and sit down placidly to wait.

10.30 and they've only reached Person D4, when a very angry runner rushes into the room and Alpha Bitches instantly look frightened, and my name is called and I'm instantly given the pass, and they scoot me out of there, terrified. I'm so determined I'm going to drop them all in it and do everything I can to get those girls GONE ... only, when I get upstairs, I'm finally given my exit visa and am so flooded with goodwill and cheer that I decide to let it pass! But someone has to do something about those horrible girls because they are well and truly out of control!


So that's the story. If I think of anything else that needs to be said I'll come back later and throw it in here. But overall, I think you'll agree with me that the best thing to be learned from this entire experience is ...

DON'T GET ROBBED IN CHINA!!!


Update over a month later:

Update on the Robbery!

You know how I've been carrying around my copy of the Guangzhou police report? Although I had no idea what it said, I was thinking of it as something like a talisman against such a time as I'm arrested as a result of something criminal done by the person who'll end up being me when those Arab guys sell my identity off to someone felonious and evil?

Well, at Immigration yesterday (yes, it's more than a month later and I'm still putting together my documentation) (gosh, I detest those thieves!), I hand over a photocopy in order to explain why I need reissuing of all my visas, and the woman behind the desk reads it and says "You can't use this!"

She translates it for me: nasty desk sergeant has written that I reported a robbery to him and that Guangzhou police investigated and discovered nothing in it!

Yup, it basically says I lied! This is undeniably evil, isn't it! There was no investigation. We were told there would be no investigation. Yet, this is what the police report says! That they investigated and discovered it didn't happen!

Wait a second ... why is this the first time I've been told that this is what is says in this report? I used it all through my Travails in the China Official Labyrinth and no one said a word!

Maybe they're all used to it, know the police reports lie, and just know to read between the lines!

China! China! China! Dear oh dear! Our Northern Brethren sooo need to translate and print Rousseau's "Social Contract"! Things can't remain like this. It truly is an evil country, isn't it! I don't want to think this, but when they have officials who do things like this, and get away with it, I can't think of the place any other way!

Posted by Denise at 11:37 PM 0 comments Links to this post