Shanghai – Old Town – New Town


We started some days in Shanghai with a plan. A walk, a metro ride, a destination – but then sometimes things changed. Sometimes our Apple map app (Google maps banned in China) led us down blind alleys, conflicted with street signs… and Shanghai is still China, and not all of its 25 million people can speak English or help you out on any street corner and point you in the right (or left) direction.

There were some days when we wanted a quiet space and a bit of old China, and so it was when we went in search of Shanghai’s Old Town. Our search, which seemed simple to begin with, ended up leading us down cool tree-lined streets, which dissolved into sweltering, bustling intersections, but eventually, thankfully, led us down onto metro platforms, saw us wrestling with water vending machines, and ended up with us standing and swaying and sipping a strangely flavoured water (what was it?).

We switched metro lines to eventually arrive (the app said a 15-minute walk, thank goodness it was only 5 in the oppressive heat) at the Old Town.

The Old Town is rather a tourist trap. The best bits are the curved bridges over the tepid river filled with huge leafed water lilies with big pink flowers drooping in the heat, and the curved old rooftops, and the curved lanes lined with red pillars. We jostled our way down the curiosity shop-lined streets, buying only two cheap items, an old-fashioned fan, which I immediately put to good use and a small painted tile for my cool courtyard back home.

Hungry, we eyed the food on offer, not sure of the meat and heat combination. Eventually, we bought some chicken pieces on sticks and found a seat at a communal table. The chicken kebabs were good and spicy and the table was cool.

We left Old Town, which, although genuine, is also a kind of theme park, and made our way back to the modern chrome of the metro. The metro rail is incredibly and wonderfully efficient and absolutely spotless. Riding on it, as we did again later when we travelled that evening to meet a friend of a friend, we were even more impressed as we unintentionally encountered rush hour. The throngs of people are enormous, but everyone moves swiftly and in an orderly way. And so the mass of moving people never once (in our experience) bottlenecked or pushed and shoved. The trains pulled in and out every few minutes and people passed in and out of the automated doors. I hardly ever found a seat available, and it was crowded, but there was room for everyone and the air was comfortably cool. We alighted at East Nanjing Road, which is a hub of people and skyscrapers featuring large neon billboards. There was an exciting buzz in the air amongst all the many people gathered down there. Some used the little motorised trains to move the length of the long boulevard past the oblong glowing Apple Store, which is the entire length of one building, whilst above it, Florence and the Machine opened her gentle arms a mile wide, and serenely gazed down on us all. We found our way through the people to the Press Cafe and Bar, which is housed in one of Shanghai’s lovely old Art Deco buildings. It was a real newspaper press building in the 1920’s. (Established as the Chinese daily news called The Shun Pao in 1872.) Inside it is a double volume space under a white ornately plastered ceiling. There are walls of old black and white Chinese press photographs and L and I sat down and ordered cold beers. Benjack joined us and we talked happily for a number of hours and shared platters of tzatziki and fried calamari, chicken and mango salads and tasty pumpkin gnocchi. Ben has lived in China for over 20 years as an architect and the conversation was fascinating and insightful as he talked about the new rapidly emerging China.

Inside the Press Cafe and Bar

We parted late and down the road, towards the river, we could see that the lights of The Bund were on all around – illuminating the tops of buildings, and the Pearl TV Towers red and blue and purple lights blinked at us. We would visit it again another night. It was late and although the streets of the Bund were steamy and sultry we resisted its charms until another time.

A few days later we visited The Bund again and enjoyed the dramatic change as the lights came on and the buildings became ablaze with colour.

 

 

Nirvana

Monks walking along the road in Xiahe

After leaving the bus, we crossed the road and noted another Western woman and we fell into step with her. She was very friendly and lovely and chatted to us in her lilting Irish accent as we walked. Yes, she knew the hotel, Yes, she knew the town, very well as it happened and yes, she could speak some Tibetan (she said humbly).

Old ladies on the streets of Xiahe
Old ladies on the streets of Xiahe

On journeys, the chance encounter is never really by chance – and this meeting with Fiona became the one thing around which our visit to Xiahe would turn and revolve.

Nirvana Hotel
Nirvana Hotel

Nirvana Hotel was exactly as it had appeared on social media. Clary welcomed us on the street, she was coming to meet us, and she met us with the direct and open gaze which I associate with the Dutch. She is professional and friendly and very real, a combination that works extremely well within her immaculate and meticulous (her attention to detail is remarkable) hotel.

Nirvana interior, Xiahe
Nirvana Hotel interior

Our room was spotless, with the bed covered with my favourite crisp white linen. There was a narrow strip of fabric over the foot end which I immediately recognised from a table in the restaurant and decided that I had to find myself a meter or two. It turned out to be a particular fabric which is authentic and only to be found In the Xiahe region.

Nirvana Hotel - interior
Nirvana Hotel – interior

That is a word that we felt summed up the Nirvana Hotel – authentic.

We loved our bathroom and shower, in which we indulged in an abundance of hot water, before going downstairs to enjoy a meal at the restaurant. The menu features a wide range of meals, from the Chinese, Tibetan and Western traditions.

Supper at Nirvana Hotel
Sliced Yak, fried lamb ribs and yummy green peppers

We met Fiona and she took us for a walk before we returned to enjoy a delicious spread of dishes, mostly from the Chinese selection.

We had noted the Labrang Monastery, on the right as we had turned left into the street leading to the Nirvana Hotel. Fiona, as it turned out, has a long history of visiting the Monastery over the last 15 years, and so she became our willing and very able guide and source of information regarding all things Tibetan.

The sun was going down as we set off from the hotel, but the streets of the town were still buzzing with people and traffic. The Tibetans are partial to motorbikes, having mostly swapped their traditional horses for them a number of years ago now. The long sleeves of their Tibetan coats, usually worn on only one sleeve, except when it is cold, have extra long sleeves which hang well over their hands, and conveniently act as a type of glove when riding their motorbikes.

Tibetan man on the streets of Xiahe
Tibetan man on the streets of Xiahe

I tried in vain to get a picture of whole Tibetan families riding, sometimes all four, on one motorbike. But photographs of the elusive Tibetans remained unobtainable yet again.

The vast majority of the monks in the Labrang Monastery are Tibetan, as are the vast majority of the people who attend the Monastery and who walk the Kora.

Labrang Monastery prayer wheels
Labrang Monastery prayer wheels along the Kora

The Kora, we were to discover, was the ‘walk’ that Fiona was to take us on that evening. The Kora is a 3,6 km circular walk that runs along the outside perimeter of the monastery. We set off, walking clockwise, beginning with a long row of prayer wheels. The prayer wheels are beautifully and brightly painted and they are large and heavy. Most of the walkers spin them with vigour, and as I reached for them I was met with them spinning heavily and forcefully and at first, I withdrew my hand, afraid of them hammering into my fingers.

The walkers also walk speedily, no languid strolling whilst doing the Kora. After hearing that many of the walkers walk the Kora twice a day, once at dawn and once at dusk I could understand why. Many of the walkers are old, some very old, and there are also a lot of folk prostrating themselves along the way. We came upon these figures, laid out in front of us along the path and, not sure how to react, we picked our way respectfully around them, quite in awe of their commitment and dedication.

Labrang Monastery – monk passes man prostrated on the road

As the sun went down the path fell into darkness and I began to stumble and gripped L’s arm on the uneven earthen path. In the gloom, I would feel a group of monks or even a single monk approaching us from behind. They walk briskly and they mutter as they walk, their string of prayer beads hanging in a loop from one hand and passing, bead by bead, rapidly between two fingers. I can’t say I could hear the rustling of their thick woven robes. Or the footfalls of their often trainer-clad feet – but they passed me by like some kind of wind, and they had no smell and yet there was something – a clinging of incense perhaps or just that marvellous wild Tibetan thing…

Monks walking the Kora
Monks walking the Kora

That took me by surprise. I think it was Fiona who said it, but I certainly thought it – if I had suspected that I would experience the nearly 4000 monks who live and work at Labrang to somehow be walking on air, in any way – those thoughts soon changed. The monks are very manly, skirts and all, some almost having the air of rough and ready street fighters. They are very distant beings though, for the most part, they hardly meet your eyes and they refuse to be photographed, which is why, out of respect, most of our monk photographs feature them from the back, and in the distance.

Monk
Walking the Kora

As we walked the Kora that first time, many monks moved past us out of the moonlight, setting the prayer wheels into a lumbering and rapid turning before striding on. We paused at a place where we could look down onto a large group of monks gathered in a courtyard below. We rested our hands against the cool terracotta tiles along the top of the wall. There was a full moon already riding high and casting its silver light over the Tibetan hills in the distance, competing with some strips of red and blue and yellow neon on some far-flung buildings.

We stood in silence and we could hear the monks debating together below us, with some clapping and some laughter and some lunging towards each other and then some running around the perimeter of the courtyard by one or two young ones, with their habits billowing and blowing around them.

We ended our Kora walk at the place where we started, admittedly having softly chatted for most of the way, which we continued to do over supper, but there was so much to learn and we just couldn’t wait to find out as much as we could.

The Muslim Quarter in Xi’an

Xian

Lex and Michelle - Holi FestivalAfter our shower, in which we failed to remove all the Holi Festival paint, we set off, me with a pink streak in my hair and L with a flash of pink in his beard, to visit the Muslim Quarter street market, set within the walls of old Xi’an.

It had stopped raining, and we were grateful for that as we climbed aboard the bus that would take us there.
Xi’an is even more beautiful at night, which we discovered as we travelled through the wonderfully lit streets.

Muslim market
We got off at the Drum Temple and strolled to the entrance to the Muslim Market, where people stood on the few small stone pillars there, for the purpose of taking selfies, featuring the brightly lit and colourfully detailed Drum Temple in the background.

lady selling chicken sticks
The streets of the Muslim Market were filled with people, and the sidewalks crowded with a multitude of stalls all manned by Muslims, wearing their distinctive little white hats. The women had their heads draped and covered by fabric decorated with silver or gold brocade and white lace.

They all laboured intensely at their various stalls exhibiting their skills of pounding sugar, or peeling the flesh cleanly off the bones of an animal (mutton or beef?) leaving the skeleton to hang, picked completely clean of flesh as if by some large bird of prey.

Slicing meat
Women demonstrated their skill in making ice cream over a frosty steel plate, spreading and scraping and finally rolling the ice cream into bud like spirals, and then placing them together into a small tub, like so many rosebuds.

At one stall a man pushed a millstone around, like a mule would, crushing a mound of chillies and then scooping them all up into jars with oil (one of which L bought).
The variety of stalls were endless and the street, flanked on either side by ancient buildings visible above the stalls, stretched on for miles.

Making spicy lamb pita pockets, which L loved!

Every now and again a Muslim man would stand out on the pavement outside his stall and bark some words, almost aggressively, at the passing crowd. I suppose he was advertising his wares.

Lady selling gourds
I wondered about this community, the Hui, and stood still in the street, gazing at their marvellous faces, all toiling together under the soft yellow glow of the lights. I wondered if they were mostly family-run stalls, sisters and brothers, uncles and aunts, and young men and women with the destiny of their roles already written as they were born.

We hardly bought any food (we were still full from our Indian dining..). We opted, instead, to spend some money at a silver jewellery store, mainly because of the woman seated at the entrance, dressed in a kind of silver armour and an elaborate headdress, who was banging away at a strip of bright silver.


L decided that we should buy a pair of extraordinary earrings there for me ….made of ‘canary stone’, which is what our Chinese translation app told us they were made of, but later we found out it was yellow jade.
The transaction was sealed by the saleslady pouring a colourless tea into small blue porcelain bowls, each of which contained a small fish charm made of silver. We both drank our tea and the deal was sealed.

Later we bought a small book of Mao Tse Tungs quotations, simply because I loved its redness and we managed to bargain the stall owner down from 80 yuan to 20 yuan.


Later we drank cappuccinos under the very modern roof of a nearby Starbucks and viewed the brightly lit Bell Tower in the middle of the busy street above us.
We were tired and gladly walked out to catch a bus, and we slept very well under the crisp white linen in our hotel room.

Tobacconist at Muslim market
Tobacconist at Muslim market

Holidays and Homesickness

Lanzhou

Four weeks!

We are in the midst of four weeks of holiday!

LanzhouWe have been in China for just over one month – during which time we have met people, travelled around Lanzhou a little, participated in a concert, sorted out visas, residence permits, lost suitcases, found suitcases, done medical checks, wrestled with the Banking System of Lanzhou, organised bus tickets and food cards for the canteen and finally been successful in using WeChat for just about anything.

All of these procedures took time for us to organise.

We also spent days in the Foreign Teachers office, navigating our way through curriculum and learnt our very first (very few) words in Chinese – 早上好.

We settled into our spacious flat, sorted out our water cooler/heater, cooked on our hot plate, bought our wok and pot set, purchased some crockery and cutlery (no ‘normal’ knives yet). We bought some cushions (online from Tao Bao, of course) some featuring the Union Jack (of course) and others the Tree of Life ( to go with the random tree painted on our bedroom wall by a previous American teacher) and figured out all the Chinese instructions on all the various gadgets.

our flat
We learnt to live with the large section of van Gogh’s ‘Starry Night’ which is painted on our lounge wall – also by some random American teacher…

We mastered the canteen, gained some skill with chopsticks (including the correct and well-mannered way in which to eat with and abandon them – never leave them pointing upward like two incense sticks!)

eatingWe now recognise most of the dishes served, and we know which ones we like and which ones we dislike, but we still cannot eat a drumstick or a plate of prawns without using our fingers – a skill which the Chinese people do possess.

BHGWe can ride some of the bus routes confidently and find our way to Wumart (like South African Checkers), BHG (like South African Pick n Pay) and Vanguard (probably up there with South African Woollies).

Oreo

We know that there are really only about 4 types of cookies on the supermarket’s shelves that we like and enjoy and that yoghurt is mostly of the thin and drinkable variety, except for one brand, which our fridge is chock-a-block with. We also know that it is very, very difficult to find good cheddar cheese or any cheese for that matter (a particular hardship for me), and Marmite is nowhere to be found, which breaks Lex’s heart.

We know which bread to buy, but mostly we don’t bother, and that butter is imported and very expensive.

We know that face creams nearly all contain whitening agents because we also know that often West is seen as Best, and we know that we know that that is definitely not always true.
We have found out, to our extreme cost, that deodorant is also almost impossible to find, and when it is, it is very expensive.

All these things are true for Lanzhou, which is a small city in China. Small, that is, for China, as it still has roughly the same population as Cape Town.

Lex and I have no Chinese at all, and the vast majority of Chinese here have no English – but that does not stop any Chinese person from speaking to us rapidly and fluently as if we understood every word.
We also know that we constantly give people reason to stop and stare at us, and parents explain what we are to their little children. May we be the first non-Chinese people they have ever seen?

We have been told that people stand up for us in buses because we are Foreign and not because we are ‘old’. We do not understand why this might be so.
Anyway, there are also so many other things that we encounter all the time but still do not understand.

And now it is holidays, and all around us our Western friends have left, some to New Zealand, some to India and some back to South Africa.
For the most part, we are alone in the huge school building.
We knew it was going to happen and we were not sure how we would feel. And now it is upon us.

Our colleagues were not gone long before they began posting pictures of themselves back in their home country.

There was one of a young man, who posted a picture of himself, sitting astride a classic motorbike back home in Mumbai, with a piece of a wall and a distinctive Indian door in the photo behind him.

Others sent a picture of themselves (tall South Africans smiling into a sunny day) standing on a hot Karoo lawn with a large shady tree and a white homestead glowing behind them.

I pour over typed messages from our beloved children, far away in South Africa. I look at their dear faces, frozen in time in the few photos they send, interspersed as they are with the occasional video chat, done as best we can while the VPN rises and falls.

I try to make calls to my extraordinary elderly mother, often without success. Does she not hear the phone, or does it not ring? I try to hide my frustration listening to it ringing on and on, while I stand at the window, watching the snow fall.

The doors to the flats of our fellow teachers have been sealed with strips of white paper, on which something is written in Chinese script. What does it say? Gone away, gone away…

The passages of the school are all empty and silent.

Snowy pathways outside have been swept clean and there are no footsteps, apart from the little prints of a child’s that I saw one day, leaving the path and making little crisscrossing running footprints in the snow.
I know the little boy who made him. He is a grandchild of one of the cleaners.
I have spotted him often – sometimes wailing over his lunch because something was not to his liking, or trailing behind a cluster of chattering women as they sweep and mop, and once, at the concert, with his own yellow toy dog dangling from one hand by its red thread, wearing a jersey with the words ‘I’m happy’ stitched across the front.

I miss everybody.

But so far we actually do feel pretty good on this 4 week holiday.
Lex and I are each others’ best friend.
The days start slowly and we begin with our meditation time together. We do our yoga stretches.
We eat fruit and drink warm water.

seeds
My favourite snack is now a Chinese one – it looks like parrot food, but when you crack the husk the kernel is salty and almost roasted in flavour.
We pass the days reading and writing and later we download and watch BBC series.
We cannot travel because our passports are with Home Affairs right now. We’ll get them back in a couple of weeks.
We have Chinese to learn, blogs to write, novels to finish, websites to organise and books to read.
We have Lanzhou to explore, parks to stroll in, cappuccino Cafes to discover and temples to visit.
We have people to watch and be fascinated by. Loads of them.
For a few days right now everything can wait.
We are resting and, well, just being.
We have time and we are grateful.

Temple

Hair! Hair!

Haircut

L was in need of a haircut.
As it happened, one of our friends mentioned that he planned to stop off, on our way to the grocery store, in order to have his hair cut.
We asked if we could tag along.

The hairdresser that had dealt with our friends’ hair before, was no longer there. His shop was closed, with a sign on the door that we could not read or understand.

Never mind – another hairdresser salon was spotted, just a couple of shops away.

We all trouped in.
Inside the shop was neat and clean and stylish. All the hairdressers were men. Some were very young and very fashionable (one young man sported a mop of purple hair…) Some were dapper in tight-fitting suits with highly polished pointed shoes.
The whole place was run by a woman, who chatted away to us in Chinese, nodding with understanding when we pointed to the two grey-haired men with us.
– Yes. Yes. –
She understood and welcomed us all in.

Shampoo

First, the mens’ hair was washed, and then they were shown to two black leather seats, side by side.

The job was done, hair was meticulously clipped, cheeks were shaved, eyebrows were tamed. The clipping and combing continued for quite a long time.

haircut

Both men seemed happy enough. Both received hairdo’s that were short and featured an interesting horizontal line above the ears.

Our friend was finished first and after a moment of incomprehension paid the requested amount for his haircut.
– That’s a bit steep –
We all muttered a bit.
Well, it is rather an upmarket salon, we reasoned.

When L was done and it was his turn to pay he opened his wallet…
– No –
We understood them to say
– It has already been paid for –
– Oh –
We smiled, with the new understanding that the price had already been paid for both.
Very reasonable after all.
Two very satisfied customers.

One thing we have noticed though is that since his haircut, people don’t stand up for L in the bus as often.
I wonder if it is because he has less white hair peeking out from under his cap.
And his beard is shorter.
Ah – perhaps he has become younger!

Food

Charlies Burger

Food plays a big part in our lives here.

Everything about it is so foreign – buying it, preparing it and eating it, both at home and in restaurants.

I have started to call our lives in Lanzhou – FULL IMMERSION – as life here is so totally different, so very intensely Chinese.

An English teacher friend just returned from a long weekend in Shanghai. She said she loved it. There is a lot of English there – she said. She also mentioned the beauty of the city, the buildings and the architecture. She mentioned hearing the English language being spoken everywhere. She even mentioned that she had found a bookshop that sold a wide variety of English books!

L and I are glad to be in Lanzhou. We like the fact that life is very unplugged from the West here. As a result,  we are being driven to learn to speak a little more Chinese, and we are learning a lot, both about China and about ourselves.

But we have pencilled Shanghai in on our calendars…

Curry night Last Friday night a couple of the other foreign teachers cooked for us. We lapped up South African curry and rice (with tomato and onion, banana and cucumber sambals on the side.)

A young Indian teacher also contributed to the meal, making us delicious Basmati rice with spices. He also made us  ‘Chicken 65’, which, we found out, is a type of spicy chicken nugget dish, served with a coriander dip. A wonderful multi-cultural meal!

Meals like that one do a lot to assist with the reality of FULL IMMERSION!

The other thing to do, we discussed, with our friends, who have been here a lot longer than us, is to find a way to lift your face up from under the water every now and then – so as to breathe a little familiar air occasionally.

With this idea in mind, we travelled out with them on Sunday morning. Firstly, we met some friends of theirs, gathered at a meeting in downtown Lanzhou.

Lanzhou, I am told, contains about 7 universities. This means that a large percentage of the population here are students and lecturers. And it is within these communities that one encounters more foreigners.

We have already met a couple of foreign students.  I think that they are impressive, because, although most are postgraduate, in order to study here, they have all spent a year studying to read and write Chinese, before they launched into their further studies! As a result, there are a bunch of Americans, Romanians, Indians and Africans who I have now met, who can speak, and write pretty good Chinese!

Meeting with them to make friends and to chat about life in Lanzhou ( a couple of  American doctors have been here for over 11 years already!) was like a breath of fresh air.

After the meeting we ventured further into Lanzhou, catching a No 118 bus, which we had never done before.

Our destination was ‘Charlie’s Burgers’.

Charlies BurgerThe exterior gave a hint of what awaited us inside. It was bright and fun! The interior downstairs was cluttered with huge lollipops which hung from the ceiling (and a Christmas tree with lights on – still in the corner – the Christmas decorations are kept up for months…)

Charlies Burger - interior

We were warmly greeted by a young Chinese waitress, in a checked red shirt and Stetson, who spoke to us in rapid Chinese.

Charlies BurgerWe followed her up the yellow pumpkin lantern lit stairs (décor left over from the Halloween festival…)

We were shown to a table and given four very large, very English menus. I felt a strange sense of relief begin to flow over me. All was so familiar, there was even American music playing!

Held within the large menu were large glossy pictures of an assortment of burgers. Most of the hamburgers were quite normal, some had a distinctly Chinese flavour, but all came with fries, and we even ordered cokes!

Charlies BurgerWe were issued silver knives and forks to eat with! Our orders were taken by a waitress who continued to speak to us in fluent Chinese, even when it became very apparent that we could not understand a word. Never mind – pointing to the pictures made our orders clear enough!

As I waited I glanced around the room and was entertained by some of the signs around the room.

Charlies Burger

‘Charlie’s burger join us for happy’

‘We want you smiling’

As we waited we were incessantly served hot water from a waitress, who circled around all the tables with a jug.

In China cups of hot water are given to you everywhere – even in the queue at the bank!

The meal arrived and it was as yummy a burger as I have ever had. The cokes were good too, only recognisable by their distinctive red and white colours.

Lanzhou shopping mallWe moved on from there to a very posh mall – think Sandton or Cavendish – filled with designer shops spread over 4 or more floors. We were in search of coffee!

Cafe BeneWe found Caffé Bene and walked into its dim interior. The tables and chairs were filled with Chinese people, who were just about all on cell phones. Not much conversation was happening, and in many ways, it all felt very familiar as well. Apart, that is, from the menu blackboards, which were covered in pretty and intricate chalky Chinese letters.

Lex in queue to order cappuccinoThere were a variety of cheesecakes behind the glass in neon-lit counters. There were perfect cappuccinos, with delicate hearts drawn in the foam. We sat on comfy chairs covered in Union Jacks. There were design references to steampunk here and there. There was a picture of the New York skyline on one wall. There was a repetitive Calvin Klein advert being shown on a large flat screen. The models were Western and sulky and far too skinny. Perhaps I could have been anywhere.

Perhaps.

Mall entertainment for kidsBut then I would have had to drown out the loud voice behind the microphone outside – directing operations and activities that were taking place in the very large children’s play area, down on the ground floor of the mall. I would have had to ignore all the people stopping in their tracks to look at our strange group of tall South Africans…

Later, at home, I lay down to rest and shut my eyes. Scenes from the day played themselves out behind my eyelids, to a very loud Chinese soundtrack.

It’s a con really, I decided, to think that one can find any place within China that is anything but Chinese.

China is everywhere.

It is strange and other, and I doubt very much whether anything about it (pretend American or not), will ever be anything even remotely near familiar.

Chinese shopping mall

Out on the town

We received an invitation from the South Africans who work with us and their visiting children, and so we headed out, each with one yuan clutched in our hand.

This time we both paid, all 7 of us finding a seat on the bus. The mood was light and fun. We got off the bus a little later, following the two experienced South Africans, who have lived here for a year. They led us through the Lanzhou streets.

IMG_4524The city was busy, not quieting down after five, but instead seeming to come alive. We passed along streets, passing shops, some of which were a little familiar as we had seen them on our previous excursions.

The air was nippy and people were out, wrapped up in their puffy coats, some emblazoned with English words, not always spelt correctly and often inappropriate, for example – ‘screw you’…

The bare trees and pillars along the arcade which we walked down were strung with strings of lilac lights.

Outside the door to ‘Big Foot Ancestor’ stood a Mongolian looking man playing a large drum which was hanging over his shoulder. We all passed him by and moved into the massage parlour (Big Foot Ancestor) beyond.

It was a plush room, elegantly decorated, with a Buddha lamp (he appeared truly enlightened) and a cluster of small Chinese men and women, dressed in the traditional, button across the chest cotton shirts and trousers. Each person wore a name tag (actually a number tag) pinned to their shirt.

Our South African friends, who had been to ‘Big Foot Ancestor’ a few times before, assured us that a ‘99’ was the massage that we wanted. They organised that all 7 of us would be ‘done’ together in one room.

L looked a little uncertain, but, after a stop at the Chinese loos, which were immaculate and fragrant, we were all led into one big room, with 7 chairs (rather like Lay-z-boys) standing around the room.

IMG_4578We were all shown to a seat. The room was warm. We all took off our jackets, boots and socks and sat down. The women in our group were assigned men (I got no. 022) and the men were assigned, women.

022 was a young man, who seemed almost shy, but for almost an hour he worked on my feet, soaking them in hot water and massaging them with his very strong, very firm hands.  Glass mugs were constantly filled with hot water and we were urged to drink it. I struggled to understand but I tried to do everything that I was told to do.

There was much laughter, both from us foreigners and amongst the masseurs. As we were a rather tall, and, well, not a small group of South Africans, I felt for the very dainty group of Chinese youngsters working on us. Together we probably constituted more square centimetres of flesh than they had ever worked on before.

They were sweet, and, as the time passed the group of us lapsed into silence, the masseurs’ hands working their soporific effect on us.

Some details stand out – the extreme heat of the water into which we had to place our feet, the Chinese TV on the large flat screen facing us (we insisted that the sound be switched off) and the little glass bowls which the masseurs stuck to the soles of our feet. The air had first been removed from the little bowls by a large flame, skilfully applied and swirled around by each masseur. The little bowls remained stuck to our feet – by means of a type of suction – until the masseurs removed them.

When 022 removed both my little glass cups he turned the open mouths towards me to show me their contents. I think I saw something floating like a little ghostly fish in each little fishbowl, but I couldn’t be sure…

It was hard to rouse ourselves after 2 hours of feet, back and shoulder pummelling. We put on our coats and boots and headed back out into the cold. I felt very relaxed and would have liked to have been carried through the streets. The freezing air soon woke me up.

IMG_4581Next stop was ‘ Miracle Pizza’ a restaurant that caters to both Western and Eastern pallets. The sign outside said ‘Miracle Pizza – Love and Joy’.

Inside we were seated around a large table and L and I chose to eat pizza (for old times sake). I chose a curried chicken pizza. We ate it with mango flavoured and coloured fruit tea, served in a glass teapot on a warmed stand. It was delicious, sipped from very small glass bowls.

On the opposite wall was the word LOVE, set out in large silver letters.

We left the restaurant, having had both our massages and our meal paid for by our new friends. We walked through the busy night streets and nearly missed the last bus home.

The head of our party sprinted up some stairs and over a bridge and succeeded in persuading the bus driver to wait for us. We all moved as fast as we dared over the icy bridge, climbed aboard the bus and the bus driver took us safely home.