The hippie

She was inappropriate from the start. She rocked up to the cocktail party in this stretchy lycra ensemble with a denim vest as garnish. Everyone else was in blazers, jackets or suits. She was a hippie. No doubt about it.

The dinner began, we were all seated. The speeches were boring, the starter was average. And for the fifth time, no I will not be drinking wine this evening, but yes, my Chinese is impressive, isn't it.

One thought kept gnawing at me like the buzz of a mosquito in the ear. The presenter's dress needed steaming. A good thorough steam at that and I would gladly do it there and then. Back to reality. The speeches were still going. The whole event was a self-congratulatory cult of personality. Mr Brown (or the German equivalent) would get up on stage at every opportunity and give himself a pat on the back. Oh well done you, what a fabulous event.

Then it was the performances. Apparently those who work in the textile industry are unable to entertain themselves over the course of a dinner, or hold a perfectly reasonable conversation, and so, must be provided with distractions at all times.

They'd asked participants from the exhibition to make 15 minute presentations. There was a witty, dry-humoured British speech. There was a cheesy, we-need-the-audience-to-participate Chinese game show and last but far from least, there was the hippie.

She was American. She was dressed in that stretchy lycra ensemble and that denim vest, all the more garish and offensive in the bright lights on stage. Her performance was spectacular - it began with slow swaying to Chinese pop, and a quick singalong so everyone would know she spoke Chinese. It progressed onto the whipping out of a violin. I have no idea where she'd been keeping it but it wasn't there, and then it was and all of a sudden she's playing, and she's still swaying, and swaying and playing. It was bewildering and far from the end. She had something to say. Forget about staying hungry, and forget about staying foolish. This is all you need in life:

"My first passion is China. My second passion is cotton. And cotton is music".

And that concluded her speech [followed by 5 minutes of literally prancing around the stage like it were a catwalk].
In the words of a wise British man "I think the woman's nuts". Unfortunately, the German thought "she was qvaiiight guuud".

Gustav

Ladies, gentlemen,

One of my favourite (favorite) things to do is to send you long winded, never ending emails. I like giving people presents and my emails are little presents to you all. If we were in England, I might’ve even sent you a letter, though that would be a lot more personal and I’m not sure I like any of you that much.

It’s a sunny glorious day in Beijing and consequently, one of many “good china days”. Yesterday was undoubtedly a “bad china day”, so much so that I felt compelled to go to the gym (the gym!!!) and just needed to exercise all the anger out. Apparently exercise gives you endorphins and endorphins make you happy. They just made me tired, but that was good enough for me.

As mentioned in previous emails, I went to see Gustav the Syrian last night. You know how in Beijing, you tend to meet people and do things (not.dodgy.) that you would never ever do back home? Well that was what last night was...

I traipsed through the hutongs for a good half hour, avoiding potholes and urine, until I finally stumbled upon a faintly lit red door in a sea of darkness. The door had a little sign indicating that I had finally reached my destination and so I proceeded to try and enter. It was most uninviting, I could barely work out whether it was a “pull” or “push” situation, and my “push” was a little more violent than was probably necessary, only accentuated by the fact that I tripped over the little step, making my entrance even more grandiose than it already was. I was met by a large brick wall cloaked in darkness, only broken by a faint hum. As I tried to navigate my way in, the hum became voices and the voices grew louder - I knew I was getting somewhere. It was all child’s play “colder warmer warmer, hot.” The undistinguishable whispers became a discussion about the poor fate of some Chinese girl who had to have dinner at home every evening.
And then there was light. Warm and inviting, I felt like I’d walked into someone’s home and really didn’t want to disturb the scene. There were cats walking around from table to table, the old music being played filled the air with a sense of nostalgia and the patrons seemed merry with their glasses of whisky or their bottles of beer. All but one table that is. In one corner, there seemed to be a serious discussion happening, politics or economics or the likes. Upon closer inspection, it became apparent that the discussion was in fact a monologue, for only one man spoke. The others huddled around him, tensely holding their glasses or peeling the labels off of their bottles They listened intently, shaking their heads at every depression in his tone and smiling or nodding with every inflexion in his voice. And that, my dear friends, is Gustav the Syrian.

a message

Hi Katey,

You came up in conversation today, a friend of mine you never met actually brought you up.

What a sad coincidence.

I wish you had more pictures on your facebook.

xxx

a list of things

Hi Victor,

I like listing things, and I like lists. I don't care. Yes it may seem slightly defensive of me or maybe overly so, but having been on the receiving end of endless list jokes (much like my endless lists), I will be defensive.

Here's my latest list.

Things that I'd like to remember to do in Beijing before November:

1) http://www.thebeijinger.com/directory/One-Comes-Two-Go-Board-Game-Bar

2) The shooting range

3) the 24hr spa

4) http://www.localnoodles.com/review/business_detail.aspx?businessid=23227

5)

6)

7)

8)

No doubt the list will get bigger so I've left a few blank but am by no means constrained to a total of 8 things to do. It's just a lucky number. The icing on the cake (winky face).

Boss Girl

I'm starving.

A Chinese Doctor in China

Hey Tonesy,

Went to the doctor's last night. Kinda wish you'd come along, it was absolutely insane. Got to this massive apartment complex much like Pingod and just sat in the entrance of a flat on the first floor, waiting to be seen. Obviously I had to translate for Claudia so when he called us in, dressed in his traditional Chinese outfit, and barefoot, we both followed. The room was dingy and the light was dim so we could hardly see. Both of us were clearly nervous and almost got into an argument as to who would go first. Claudy did. He was quite amazing. He essentially knew things that were wrong with her before she said them. She complained of not being able to sleep, and he said she never dreamt, he cracked bones, realigned her spine and did a bunch of other non-invasive but violating procedures and she could feel it instantly. He unblocked one of her ears which she says has been blocked on and off for years (is this why she speaks with such a loud voice??) and even said he could fix her spots.

My translating skills weren't half bad either, until I accidentally told her she might faint when what he actually asked me to say was that she shouldn't worry and it wouldn't hurt. hmm. oops.

And then it was my go. Obviously I went to see him about my cold (and my knee which I decided on the spot that I'd save for another time). He asked me to lie down so he could check the pressure points on my back, took one look at me and said my knee was really bad. I have no idea what he did, I know it was painful, he asked Claudia to hold me down whilst he yanked my legs several times. It felt like he was ripping them out of my body. And then the pain was gone, and apparently he'd realigned me. The next bit gets even worse. He said he needed to do acupuncture to get rid of my cold, and I freaked out saying I'd never done it before etc etc and he said it wouldn't hurt at all. He then started rubbing my back with what I thought was his bare knuckle, after a while, it got really sore, and I realised he was using some sort of chunk of metal, literally just rubbing my skin until it went red. He did it on either side of my spine, and just as I thought the worst bit was done, at the top of the red strips he'd just tattooed onto me, he stuck a needle in, took it out, and then I kid you not, started stabbing me with it. Stabbing me. He did it on either side and then squeezed the blood out. We later discovered that apparently the 'scraping' thing actually brings up all the toxins to the surface and then he draws blood so he can squeeze all the toxins out of the body. I felt a hundred times better within minutes, but still had my cough, which he said he would need to treat on friday to give my body time to recover.

I felt violated. I was in shock. I'd paid someone to literally beat the shit out of me and I was somewhat happy about it. Got an appointment on friday, and Claw has one on Sunday. Would you care to join us? I'm sure he'll fix anything you didn't realise was wrong....

xxx