Besides the once ironic but now overly clichéd soviet socialist realism often used in propaganda, post Cultural Revolution China has had a dearth of decent art. Only in the past decade or so have people started to rock out with their cocks out when it comes to art. Still, innovation and artistic ability are not qualities one usually thinks of when it comes to modern Mainland China. So I went to 798 to smash that mindset into oblivion with the help of some artists that specialize in such smashings.

The work that I liked the most was located in Star Gallery, a small place hidden away on the second level of a low-rise building snug between some of the bigger galleries. There on display was a solo exhibit by the artist Chen Fei (陈飞). The aesthetics of his work wasn’t an a-bomb on the stimuli or anything, but I liked its simplicity, stark colour schemes and high contrast. Dude’s work reminds me of single pane comics, Gary Larson not so much, but maybe I’m not the only one to see a little Shintaro Kago in there. Keeping with the subtle comic style, there was a dash of humor and irony mixed in too, of which I don’t often encounter here in industrial utilitarian land.

Now for a closer look at some of this work:

I’m Fine
Most of his paintings had one of two girls in his work. I’m not even sure if they were different girls, but they were definitely dressed different, and in my black and white world if someone can wear two completely different outfits, better watch your back, that loon probably has some mental disorder. I like the idea behind this piece, but because I don’t know whom either of these girls are it’s hard for me to get any real emotional attachment to it. For example, if this girl was my Suzie Wong, there might be more of that special feeling in my cockles, or maybe in my sub-cockle area, maybe in my liver, maybe even in my colon, I don’t know.

The Story Says, What is Is, What is Not Is, What Is is also Not
It’s such a simple idea: a character in the painting, painting the painting. Really though, there’s a lot more than that going on here. First we’ve got chicken pox all over the fucking place, I mean swine flu ain’t got nothing on this. Then we’ve got some interaction between the ironically dressed woman and the girl. Is she passing the torch so to speak? Is girl really a nurse who’s trying to salvage a crafts class at the old folks home gone awry? But perhaps the most important question in all of this…why isn’t the girl wearing any shoes?! The INSANITY!!!

The Left Fist Has No Strength
This one was cool enough, but I think it would have been far more accurate had the artist drawn a normal arm slightly above that tentacly mass that’s emerged from the girl’s torso. Why? Take a ride on a bus with a bunch of tanktop clad Chinese girls hanging onto the handles while their pit-muffs are shoved in your face and then you’ll know what I’m talking about. You also won’t be able to sleep for days.

Famous Painting
Continuing along with the theme of strange tentacles in place of body hair, we have this little number. Maybe the previous painting was the girl’s reaction to this one. But I’d be even less surprised if the artist got this idea from some dude here in Qingdao who tried to make off with some squid. Seriously, cephalopods are multiple-armed currency in this town.

Suddenly there’s Snow Tonight, Old Man Straight is Lovable
This was my favorite piece. I like how the foreground is perfectly lit as if it was daytime; yet clearly daytime it is not. Thanks to a childhood in the boondocks, I also have a thing for old tractors and trailers. Some other excellent details that aren’t shown in my low res photo, there is a run over frog on the road, and there’s a bloody arm hanging out the side of the trailer. The resulting combination effectively blows my mind.

To Remember Our Comrades by
This piece is no where near original, cause I’m certain I’ve seen similar work with all kinds of random dudes in a group shot like they just won the Stanley Cup of weirdness. It would be the perfect kind of painting to hang in a den of marijuana consumption, so that people would have something with lots of details to focus on when they’re stoned. I’m glad I didn’t have much of an affinity for this one, because at Y650000, (about C$110,000), I can only afford about 2 square inches of it. This brings me to my final conundrum.

Why is Chinese art priced only for those in possession of golden egg laying super geese?

Art is pretty. But no matter how wealthy I ever become, there’s no way I’m going to drop down as much money on one contemporary painting as I could on one hell of a WD40 fueled robot orgy nice sports car. Hell, for a hundred grand, I could make my own art (in the form of crudely drawn penises) and put it up full-page style in the New York Times. You better believe it’d get more exposure. I guess the ever growing legions of nationalistic Chinese millionaires combined with rich western muppets who want in on the next big thing has knocked the supply/demand curve into an image so distorted it could be artistic in it’s own right. In fact, that could be an entire series of hilarious paintings. I need to get paid for this shit. Maybe then I could buy some of this art…and barrels of WD40.

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Anyone seen my coke stash? I’ve got some art to create and I need to be in the right state of mind…

798 was a former military industrial complex, used by the commies in the 50’s with some help from the East Germans and their Russian comrades. What’s fascinating is that several of the factories within the complex are still operational. A couple years back, some artists recognized that within the aging socialist industrial spaces there was enormous potential for studios, galleries and rent control that could save their hides from the pre-Olympic property boom. Then unfolded the same old story; the artists came, and like bears scavenging for honey, the wealthy followed. Probably unique in this all too familiar gentrification scenario, but not surprising considering the breakneck pace of China, is how the industry is being pushed out before it even collapsed. Most cases you’ve got areas that are run down because some industry bites the dust like steel in Hamilton or autos in Detroit. Nope, not here. They jump on that shit while it’s still steaming hot.

When I first heard of it, my mind conjured up images of yet another SoHo or Queen West. A land once filled with dirty hippies and bohemians thanks to the wicked creative environment, but then replaced by people with more money than brains. Here you’ve got wanky mix of bicycle riding artists, bmw driving artists, gallery staff of all colours, the aforementioned rich, Korean tourists surprised that their neighbors can think for themselves, some Chinese tourists who are just as surprised, and factory workers who look like they go through some kind of time warp on their way to work everyday. This leads to some enjoyable moments, like the look on the factories workers’ faces as they pass by the Korean tourists giving the peace sign in front of the pink statue of a naked woman riding a bike while spread eagle.

There’s no subway station within walking distance, so I took the metro to Sanyuan Bridge and then cabbed it from there, which was another 15 minutes. On arrival I was starving, and didn’t want to diddle around, so I quickly made haste to the nearest café that looked modestly busy and consumed what was obviously a frozen cooked pizza. Note to those who want to get good rations or refreshments, head to the back of the district near the train and there’s a street there that has much better options than the compost I ate. After my so-called meal I wandered…and wandered…and wandered. Seriously there was so many damn galleries in this place, looking at them was like trying to chop off the head of a hydra, you’d get through one and out pops two more. If you’re the type of person that will look at a piece of art as if you’re staring into the portal of another universe, where, I might add, they have stripper flavored milkshakes, then you could be here for a while. Another nice thing was that they’re all free, as in beer with vodka as a chaser. The art on the other hand, was the opposite of free and perhaps multiplied by the number of letters in this post. I’m taken aback that the local government went from putting 798 on demolition death row, to letting it exist, and all the while no admission fees have yet to be instituted. Usually if there’s an area of interest in China, there’s a price to it, regardless of whether it’s of actual interest or not. Perhaps the galleries have to pay extra “security” fees. Either way, it’s still a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon or two.

What I did come to realize though while walking around was how nice it must be to have a place like this. In Qingdao, a city of 7 million, and we might have 2 small galleries total. Hardly worth the effort to visit unless their showing something you dig. With 798, there’s something for everyone. Of course, what’s being exhibited changes all the time, so it’s not a been there done that kinda place. I’ll admit I’m probably not much of an art fanatic. I appreciate good photography, and there are some styles of painting, drawing and mixed media that float my boat, but I think most modern art is nothing more than fecal matter with sparkles thrown on top for distraction. It’s like the artist just pulled some crazy shit out of his ass, and then afterwards was like “so this piece represents the relentless struggle of the masses within a post-materialistic society and their natural spiritualistic harmony….GOOOOSE!” Alright then. So it was nice to come across not one but two galleries that featured quite a bit of work that blew my hair back. More on that later.

The best thing about 798 is the quantity and quality of all the spaces. Over time you begin to think those two words are mutually exclusive on the mainland. Gems like these remind you otherwise. It blows my mind the architecture they used back then for factories, when nowadays they’re all a bunch of blue and gray windowless boxes that are built in some enormous factory making factory. Lots of space has been converted into lofts serving all kinds of artistic endeavors, hopefully one of them being hardcore S&M activities involving the Beijing political elite. In many instances, the original features of the manufacturers have been left behind, like giant weigh scales, tooling machines, and hilarious communist slogans painted on the walls. I really liked searching for all the little details the area exudes. Of note, there’s a giant above ground piping system that runs all over the complex that serves some industrial purpose. Distributed sporadically throughout the area, there’s these leaky release valves that are dripping water (I hope) and steam into their environs.

798 yea or nay?

Definitely yea, if you want to check out the latest in crazy Chinese contemporary art, walking around in an area of Beijing without retards honking, industrial architecture, or have a steam valve fetish like I do, then 798 is for you.

Now for the photo tour:

Enlightening interior spaces!:

significant ceilings!:

head toward the light:

my screwy steam valve fetish:

And some chinglish to finish things off:

Finally, this is the bonus, my own work of art. “Purple shirt wearing mustache man contemplates life and spam amid chrome covered objects”

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A part of my excursion to the nation’s capital during the Labour Day weekend was a little side trip to the recently refurbished Qianmen Street. Qianmen means front gate, cause the street runs right in front of the front gate to a certain infamous square and the Forbidden City.

Naturally I picked a day of the unholy trinity of Chinese holidays to visit. Instead of something that should have taken no more than an hour, I spent several wading through the unwashed masses as they enjoyed their holiday being yelled at through bullhorns, remembering which red hat wearing group was theirs, and admiring the 4.3 million sq. feet of soulless granite that makes up the TAM square.

It’s a long pedestrian walking street with two fake electric trams running along it. How exactly are the electric trams fake you ask? Well they’ve got the junk on the roof to hook up to an electrical wire, not unlike what you’d see on the streetcars in Toronto. In this instance however, there are no electrical wires running along the street. So this leads me to the conclusion that either the Chinese engineers have mastered the art of making things turn invisible, OR the trams are powered by nothing but the self-fulfillment of those engineers.

The architecture along the street is starts off in the nouveau Qing Dynasty style popular in Chinatowns the world over, and oddly it fades as you head down the street into this dark boxy modern stuff that I haven’t made up my mind about. It’s as though whoever was building it started off all traditional, with lots of details, then started to run out of time and money, so they decided to throw a bunch of rectangular shapes together and hope for the best. I don’t think it looks horrible, but the context is messed up. Just like using the font from the title of “Their Will Be Blood” for the invitations to a baby shower.

I read somewhere that this street was supposed to be open in time for the Olympics last year, or that it was open in time for the Olympics. Either way, if by open they mean the buildings are finished and devoid of life, then I guess it’s certainly open. The only buildings that had tenants were a large H&M store and a China Post office. While walking down it, I saw a side street that signs of commercial activity in the form of trinket shops, but it was also full of people, and narrow, so I dared not venture into that heart of darkness.

Qianmen Jie could be awesome. Instead of putting in banal corporate retail and chain stores, they should fill the street with nothing but bars and discos, and the odd strip club or massage parlour for good measure. It’s got a central location, but it isn’t near any residential, so noisy drunks aren’t an issue. There’s an adjacent subway station, and huge avenues filled with taxis and busses to transport the winos to and fro. Plus the Great Hall of the People (aka China’s parliament) is only a stone’s throw away, so the customers are already there!

Qianmen Street Yea or Nay?

If you’re in the area because you’re checking out the square, the Forbidden City, or Mao’s waxy corpse, then it might be worth a gander once it actually has stores. If you’ve already been to Beijing and seen all that stuff, then it give it a pass, in the same way that you’d pass on competing in a log cutting competition that used logs of poop instead of lumber.

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Like most utopian paradises, China has a strict visa regime in place to make sure that the undesirables are kept out. Just slide by your local expat dive to see that it’s working super awesome, just like everything else the central government plans. The process of applying for them isn’t difficult; it’s that they’re about as useful as a severe case of hemorrhoids that makes them such a pain in the ass.

Let’s examine the different visa classes together shall we?

L Visa

The L visa is mostly given to tourists and people coming to visit relatives. The L stands for “Loser” as in you will lose massive amounts of cash from everything like over priced entry tickets, to detour prone taxi drivers, to ridiculous gifts you will have to bring for your Chinese relatives. These visas are normally limited to between 1-3 months of time in China, and most of the time you’ll only get one or two entries on them.  Because of their lucrative nature for the government, they are widely available and easy to get. Just head to your nearest Chinese consulate or embassy, fork over some dough and a mugshot or two, and you’ll have your pass into the largest walmart in the world.

X Visa

The X visa is what is given to students before they come to China. The X actually stands for “X-Ray”, because X-rays are a critical part of the battery of health tests foreign students will need to undertake on return to their home countries after consuming massive amounts of dodgy street meat, fake booze, and breathing too much air while playing ultimate frisbee. These visas are usually good for 3-6 months stay in China, and are generally converted into residence permits on arrival, which allows for unlimited entry and exit. They are harder to get, as you need to apply into a Chinese University program that allows foreigners, and generally pay a whole term’s tuition up front before being given the visa (5000-10000RMB). Remember, once you’ve lined the pockets of the dean with money to spend on Russian classmates that you will see on the attendance lists but never actually in class, they will forget about you. Hound those bastards like you’ve just been released and you’ve got bees in your mouth, and when you bark they sting people.

F Visa

The F visa is the bane of my existence. The F could stand for many things such as “fallback”, “foreigner” and “fool” among others. I however like to think it simply means “fuck”, as in, you’ll be fucked around perpetually if you have this visa. It’s supposed to be good for stays in China from 6-12 months, and have multiple entries. Getting them is sometimes easy, sometimes impossible, and sometimes both depending on your space-time coordinates in the Chinese singularity. Getting them outside of China usually means providing a stamped invitation from a registered Chinese company to the consulate, but within China there’s a slew agents that can do the dirty work for you. And it is dirty. The problem is that the people in charge of the rules for these are as consistent as your stool during your first three weeks in this lovely country. If there’s any kind of special event going on, like the Olympics, or this year’s 60th anniversary of the founding of someplace that was founded 5000 years ago (one of the greatest mathematical conundrums mankind has faced), then all bets are off, and it’s anyone’s guess as to how much it will cost, how many entries you’ll be able to get, and how long it will be useable for. They’re usually the most cost effective visas to get, and as such are perfect for hippies, miscreants, and other nutjobs who want to love China long time. Be warned though, your attempts to get this visa will rape your soul and leave you crying naked in a dark corner somewhere, hopeless.

Z Visa

The Z visa is a visa given to people who are coming over here on a contract to work with a Chinese or wholly owned foreign enterprise. The Z is from “Zombie” which is what you will inevitably be transformed into after working in China for any length of time. Getting one depends simply on getting on job with a company that has the authority to hire foreigners. Usually they can only be acquired outside of the country, but if you’re willing to part with the cash, you can save the trip by dealing with agents in Beijing or Shanghai. They’re usually converted into residence permits shortly after arrival in China, are good for one year, and have multiple entry-exit. I know Z’ers may look down on us F’ers, and rightly so. But don’t forget you pay taxes suckas!

J Visa

The J Visa is given to journalists wishing to enter China. Contrary to popular belief, the J does not stand for “journalism”, but instead it means “jingoism” of the Chinese variety of course, which is exactly the type of writing that foreign journalists will have to write if they wish to pass into China on a legit visa. In order to get it, you’ll need to be able to pass a test of taking a fox news report and replacing every instance of “Republican Party” with “CCP” and “War on Terror” with “Harmonious Society”. As a bonus feature of this visa, on leaving you will need to submit all your writings to the Ministry of Propaganda for approval and certification. If it is not deemed worthy, you will be sentenced to a re-education camp in the hinterlands to learn about the fabulous 5000-year history of China (or how to shovel cow dung).

D Visa

The D Visa was a legendary visa, supposedly given to those as a permanent residence permit. It has been rendered obsolete by the actual permanent residence permit, something akin to a greencard. No one really knows what the D meant, but my guess is that it probably means “Dickless”, as that’s what you’d have to be in order to suck up to the government enough to get one of these. The permit is useful for 5 or 10 years, and is multiple entry of course. So how do you get a permanent resident permit? You don’t. The permanent resident card gets you.

C, G, and Other Visas

There are few other visas that are available to special people with special situations. The C visa is for airline hostesses and pilots, and maybe those people who work on boats. Big boats. Size matters. I’m almost certain that the G visa is has been killed by transit visas that are issued on arrival in the big airports of Shanghai or Beijing. There’s also visas that you can get in Shenzhen that are good for a few days, or hours, or whatever the case may be that limit you to the Shenzhen area. I’m not entirely confident that I could provide you with an answer that vaguely resembles my horribly skewed concept of factual information on how these work. Diplomats also get special visas, but seriously I doubt you’re the American ambassador to China and you’re coming to this blog to find out how to get it. If you are…God help us all.

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I didn’t really get to do any tourist stuff the whole two weeks I was in Italy. Instead I just ate food and stared blankly at rocks. The one day I went to Florence, I didn’t even get to see David, they were too busy washing washing his balls or some such.

I did get to spend a couple of hours in one particular tourist trap where I had more fun watching the tourists than checking out the attraction. These are the fruits of that little excursion. I also gotta give credit to my man the Fat Hash Narc Fen for giving me the idea to take out of context shots.

So where is this? Oh…right.

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I recently got back from Italy for work purposes. Not much touring was done, but several stereotypes were done away with.

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In the world, there’s a handful of places you must visit before you die. The Great Wall, The Pyramids, Angkorwat, Machu Pichhu, The Playboy Mansion Grotto, etc. Yet there is one dusty field full of relics that deserves to be on the list that most people have never even seen a postcard of.

About an hour from Rangoon by turboprop, Bagan sits right on the Ayeyarwady river in central Burma. It’s a dusty, sandy desolate place that makes you wonder why the hell anyone would even go there. Well it’s because it probably has the highest concentration of Buddhist temples per square kilometer than anywhere else on the planet. Scattered across the vast desert plain are thousands of mostly abandoned temples like McMansions in America’s suburbs. At some point the Buddhists must have hit some kind of housing bubble, followed by a credit crisis and deep recession thanks to the media giving non-stop attention to doomsayers predicting the sky falling out thus creating a self fulfilling prophecy and one kick ass playground.

A demon water spout used to scare away hippies and other undesirables

The area is divided into 3 main towns. The airport you fly into is actually in Nyaung-oo. The more expensive and luxury hotels are in Old Bagan (where we stayed). They are within walking distance of the temples, but absolutely nothing else. Fact of the matter is that no one walks around to the temples, they’re way too spread out, and it’s too hot. There is also New Bagan, which is farther away from everything, but has some small cafes, places to eat, and some really cheap guesthouses. If you go, stay in Nyaung-oo. It has plenty of internet cafes, restaurants and bars, plus it’s close proximity to the airport makes it even more convenient. If you use Franklin to light your Cubans, and Jefferson in lieu of TP, then by all means stay in New Bagan and hire a car to take you around to the temples.

This giant gold pagoda is actually not a giant bell

Transport around town can be done by bike, horse cart, taxi, and bus. If you speak Chinese you might run into some tourists from Yunnan and hitch a ride in the back of their pickup truck, while touring around all the temples and getting free history lessons. That was our preferred mode of travel. Another method that every single human will insist is impossible is renting a motorcycle/scooter. Apparently the police don’t allow foreigners to use them without special permit, but it seems this doesn’t matter if the person you are renting them from has the right connections (or forms of payment). If you want, head to New Bagan and talk to the owners of the guesthouses there, they should point you in the right direction. The best experience I had was cruising at 100km/h past sweaty faced white guys pedaling their asses off in the sunshine. The Buses are about 300 kyat from one town to the next, and consist of small flatbed trucks that have wooden planks in the back for benches, and metallic roofs covering the bed for people to climb up onto. Be warned that if a jackhammer were a mode of transportation, it wouldn’t be too far from the comfort level of the buses.

A regular, but very delicious Burmese meal consisting of a number of different meats and pickled vegetables

Bike is a decent way to get around if you’re looking to shed some of that weight you’re not gaining from all that delicious Burmese food you’re afraid to try. An important warning however, if by chance you are heading back to Old or New Bagan from Nyaung Oo at night, take the main road, not Anawrahta Road. Although Anawrahta Rd. seems like the better choice because it is generally not used much at all, and it has street lights, those lights turn off at about 10:30pm. We found this out the hard way half way home. It wouldn’t have been a problem anywhere else, but Burmese people have evolved from their environment and possess natural nightvision, and often don’t bother to turn on their headlights even though it’s impossible to see anything. Luckily we made it back without getting flattened, but wrong turns into the twilight were plentiful.

The temples themselves are often deserted with the exception of some random farmers hanging around the outside, or kids reciting memorized English history of the temple they are at. Without forgetting Buddha’s foot fancy, taking off our shoes gave us the freedom to explore the temples as much as we could gain access to. Often we could climb up to the second or third level of the temple through hidden passageways. Within the temples there’s sometimes amazing murals that remind of hieroglyphics or posters in some stoner’s bedroom. They are not protected in anyway and within time I’m sure the oils from people’s grubby meat hooks will eventually destroy them, just like everything else of value in this country. Even though sunsets are hella clichéd, we still caught one decent one after a failed attempt to find a temple we could climb up into. Even though we were stranded in the middle of some dusty field that made riding our 50’s era bicycles rather futile, there was something unreal about it that bitch smacked most other sunsets black out. I pray someone could come along and do the same to the ruling Junta, so that this amazing place might have a chance at kicking it for another 1000 years.

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Had no idea what this massive inaccessible colonial complex in downtown Rangoon was

Rangoon is the former capital of Burma and sits right on the Indian Ocean. It’s rumored that because of this, the xenophobic and paranoid generals moved the capital hundreds of miles inland to Naypyidaw to avoid a possible invasion against a country like the USA. Bad news fellas, you could move your capital to the moon if it makes you sleep better, it ain’t gonna make a difference if Uncle Sam comes a knockin’. Rangoon was once a booming colonial city, and probably a great place to get your opium fix. Thanks to this colonial past, it has some interesting architecture, and an infrastructure that might have been really good a couple of decades ago.

The power only runs part time in Rangoon, so everyone has generators

I guess some Burmese are trying to compensate…

…For their short comings!

Walking through the downtown historical district is done in about an hour or two because it really isn’t much. You can tell much has been demolished. What remains is in a sad state of disrepair. I can’t help but wonder what beautiful buildings lie leveled underneath the independence monument park. I saw only two colonial buildings that are still in mint condition. These were the Strand Hotel, and the British Embassy. The Strand is probably the only establishment in Burma that accepts credit cards, so if you’re looking for a good place for afternoon tea, snacks, or to get loaded on 8-buck drinks, you’ve found your oasis. The British embassy has a library, with lots of books on Burma, as well as uncensored BBC and possibly internet. If you try taking pictures of it from the outside, the guards will come chasing after you and try to force you delete the pictures like they did to me. These geniuses can be fooled quite easily by quickly removing your memory card before they get to you. It’s a surprisingly small downtown for such a large city. They have a population of a about 4 million, but really it feels to be about a tenth of that.

Independance Monument on top of what was probably a much nicer structure

I was almost arrested, imprisoned and tortured for this picture of the British Embassy. Savor it like it’s your last

There are a couple of major pagodas in Rangoon that are worth checking out if marveling at other peoples’ beliefs is what flies your kite. While I can appreciate their cultural and historic significance, in a way they also creep me out, so I only saw the main ones, the Sule, and the almighty Shwedagon.

We got the Shwedagon about 10 minutes before it closed, because other than some stray monks, it was virtually deserted. If you see one pagoda in all of Burma, this is the one you have to see. The stupa is supposedly coated in millions of ounces of gold that makes it look like a giant glowing cycloptic nipple after some BDSM play. Definitely go at night, it looks the best, there are few people there, and you might not be charged entrance admission like us (we went in the wrong doors). My friend got in trouble because even though she had taken off her shoes, she was still wearing stockings covering her feet and that’s a faux pas. Can someone please explain to me why Buddha has a foot fetish? Why do the feet have to bare? I asked a few people, and the answer I always got was, “just ‘cause” without any underlying logic. Junk like that racks my brain medieval style, especially when it has to do with religion. I can appreciate it when there is some kind of back-story, like Buddha spent his formative years in a Nike Sweatshop or some shit. But when there’s no reason whatsoever…well that would be like a culture where people knock on doors with their butts and wear spaghetti as a hat.

The Shwedagon

When we arrived at the Sule, we missed the sign that said foreigners had to go through the eastern entrance (we went in via the north). One of the ladies at the door asked us to pay a donation that we assumed was the entrance fee, so we dropped in $4 for the both of us. The place is actually really small, and there was too many people praying and getting their god on, so after about 90 seconds we decided to leave through the east door. Here someone who had not seen us enter this way demanded that we both pay $5 entrance fee for foreigners. Knowing full well there was no way we were going to pay that much to have made a slight detour through a badly modified temple, we played dumb and walked away. I don’t feel that bad about it either. The donations probably go towards temple upkeep cause they’re paid by locals, but I can see the foreigner admissions going to the government officials’ KTV budget. To be honest there isn’t much to it either, lots of Buddha statues with very kitsch neon glowing lights in the background and lots of modern modifications that sure don’t make you feel like you’re walking through a 2000-year-old temple.

Neon light lameness, at least his thirst is quenched.

The Sule from a distance

Rangoon also is probably one of the few places in Burma where there is anything resembling a western nightlife scene. Unfortunately we didn’t get a weekend there, and only had a Wednesday and Thursday. First we checked out a club that was supposedly owned by some movie star. Can’t remember paying cover, or drink prices, but it was mid-range. it was about a third full and there was …gasp…a cover band! Wow! I’ve never seen one of those before! (Sadly I was unable to determine if they were Filipino in origin due to Burmese people having English ability on par to them) The place died early, maybe 10pm, so it was time to hit up the next joint. We went to some club that was formerly called BME but it changed its name to Racecar McGoosecock or something. Surprisingly it didn’t play a shitty euro dance music mashup like most Chinese clubs, but instead cranked out recent house tracks. The $5 cover was steep but included a drink. Sadly we didn’t get to see the place fill up, but it was worth it to see some of the Burmese youngns act a fool.

A common streetscene, people drinking tea and chewing on beetlenut

Public transportation. These were the nicest public buses I saw in the country, most were just pickup trucks cruising around with people jumping on and off.

Private transportation. Nazi Mobile or Budhist Buggy, you be the judge.

Sewer system in downtown Rangoon getting it’s maintenance

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Other than those ass-eating generals who run rape the country, the only other thing I loathe about the place is what’s going on with the money. We’ve already established that the government is made up a subset of the human species that is about as nice as genital herpes. The western nations have thus placed “protection” on the country in the form of heavy sanctions. This bars banks, finance companies and pretty much anyone from getting it on there. As a result, it is nearly impossible to get money in or out of the country unless you are physically carrying it. It’s best to keep it in your pants.

Just before leaving Kunming, I was getting ready, doing the planning, I figured, the country only has a GDP per capita of $233 per year, if I bring in say $700, I should be like Warren Buffet up in this bitch. I worked out that at 7 nights, $25 a night on a medium to high end hotel (split with my friend), $525 would be plenty left over for getting around, eating, and maybe even some left over to buy a precious gemstone or three. These optimistic plans of mine could be summed up nicely with one word: fail.

With my rough budget worked out, I thought I was good to go. Too bad I didn’t take into account several other factors that were destined to drain my cash with greater efficiency than a vodka shop opening up in my kitchen.

Just because it’s a poor ass third would country, doesn’t mean everything is dirt-cheap. Most things are more expensive, than they would be for people from other not quite developed countries like China. For example the taxis would routinely cost twice as much as in China, yet in China you can put your feet down on the floor without worrying about causing the car to slow down Fred Flintstone style.

If you’re a foreigner (ie. unable to speak Burmese), Burmese people just assume you’re a living breathing pile of American dollar bills. I mean; I’d love to look in the mirror and see a thousand Benjamin Franklins staring back, who wouldn’t? The guy was a sexy beast. But thanks to this perception, you’re charged at least double for everything. I would be cool with it, because outside Burma, I make a million times more than they do, yet in the small warped reality within Burma’s borders, chances are they’ve probably got more saved up under a mattress somewhere than I do, and I have no way to get more.

When they aren’t charging you double or triple what the locals are paying, they’re trying to figure out new ways to charge you for things. Take for example the airports, where when you arrive in taxi, a guy will quickly run over, grab your bag a bring it to the check in counter 10 feet away. He’ll then ask you for $1 for that amazing service. The first time this happened to me, shame on me, the second time it happened, when I wasn’t even allowed to take my bag, I told the guy to fuck off and was done with it. Don’t take this the wrong way; I’ve got nothing against the common Burmese people, who are all just trying to make a buck. I just think that there’s a line on what you can do to make that buck, and if you cross it with me, I will rip off your head and poop down your throat.

If you ever decide to go, and I know you’ve already heard about this if you’re planning a trip, but I’ll say it anyways, make sure your US dollars are MINT. Even the tiniest tear and they won’t take it. If it ‘s well worn, with heavy creases, they won’t take it. If it’s got certain serial numbers on it, they won’t take it. I find this all very hypocritical, considering most of their money looks like this:

An average looking Burmese banknote.

Finally, the solution to this money problem is simply to bring a suitcase full of it. No seriously it’s probably one of the safest countries I have ever visited. Next time I go I’m bringing like ten grand. Probably the most annoying part about this whole deal was that I didn’t bring enough cash to buy stuff from people whose profits would have gone into their pockets and other people who weren’t the dirty bastards of the government/army/demonic hordes.

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I made it to one of the last frontiers I’ve wanted to travel to over the tail end of the Chinese New Years break. The place? Burma or as it calls itself: Myanmar. What follows are a bunch of incoherent ramblings concerning this enigmatic military playground.

So is it Burma, Myanmar or Pyi-daung-zu Myan-ma Naing-ngan-daw? In Chinese, it’s been called miǎndiàn (缅甸)(remote suburb) since the Yuan Dynasty set it up as a puppet province during its hegemonic heyday.

When the British came along on one of their jolly old imperial journeys, they first went through India, where it was called Brahma-desh or Barma, both were probably derived from the Burmese name Bama. These were taken and eventually mutated into “Burma”, and thus Burma became the English name. Fast forward a century or two, and the military government is throwing a temper tantrum when it finds out through democratic means that the people of Burma don’t really want to be ruled by a bunch of authoritarian douche bags. Some point not long after, they decided to rename the English name of the country to Myanmar, not to distant from the Burmese language name of Myanma that’s been used for centuries.

The problem now is that…well…you can’t just pick your own name! Especially not in a language that isn’t your own! That’s just fucking idiocy. It’s why you’ve got Chinese people running around with names like “Fenwick”, “Colour” and “Sandwich”. Thankfully, the major English-speaking countries have refused to recognize “Myanmar” and continue to use Burma. It should be noted that some media whores outlets do indeed use “Myanmar” hence the confusion.

Personally, I will continue to use Burma, as that’s what my grandparents always used, and being as they were born in the country in question, I think they knew what was what. Alas, when I arrived in Burma, and referred to it as such to the locals, they had no idea what I was talking about, so I quickly started saying “Myanma” in order to squeeze important facts out of them. For example what brand of beer they preferred. Sadly, it was “Myanmar Beer”.

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Tiger Leaping Gorge is a World Heritage Site carved into the mountains by the Yangtze River north of Lijiang. Being a WHS, you better recognize it’s worth visiting compared to those anemic “scenic spots” that every county in China has. Many people go on an overnight trek through the trail system, and wind up either on the Lijiang side, or on the northern side and head to Zhongdian (aka fake shangrila.) With the economic meltdown ushering in a time of fiscal restraint among the populace, I decided that instead of an exhausting 2 day trip that would surely necessitate spending more money on rations than otherwise, we would do the trip in one day, thus saving money for far more important things like beer and strippers. We booked through the outdoor travel agency in Lijiang Old Town and it was 元210 per person. This included the return bus fair, entrance to the site and a Chinese guy wearing a fancy tracksuit that we could follow through the trails, so I would say it was a sweet deal.

The ride up to TLG is a trip in itself. It takes a good 2-3 hours to get from the main square of Old Town Lijiang up to the gorge, depending on how suicidal your driver is. Of course we got the guy that longed to be a kamikaze pilot, in fact he reminded me in particular of a scene in one of the nightmare on elm street movies, where the bus driver (who turns out to be Freddy) just drives a bus full of kids right off a cliff straight into hell. Most of the drive is actually chilled out; you could even catch some Z’s if you were tired from the bottles of wine you drank the night before.

The road of no return

Once through the tunnel at the parking lot where I thought the bus would be stopping, it gets a little loco. Instead of letting us out at what looked like an idyllic place for a stroll through the massive gorge, the bus continued to rumble on through an unpaved road that looked like it was once under construction, but they halted it because too many people fell off the ledge. Lucky me, I had the front passenger seat, so not only did I get to see the dead drop off to the right, but I also got to see the hairpin turns that we flew around in advance. We literally came inches away from the left side tire going off the road on more occasions than I’d like to think about. There was also a couple of times the bus would just stall on these pieces of gravel road that looked like they would collapse into the abyss far below.

my awesome view…straight down

By an act of divine mercy, we somehow made it to the drop off point in tact. The actual trek consists of a short maybe 30 minute decent into the gorge. We then stopped at the narrowest point in the gorge, the spot where legend has it, the gorge dusted off it’s pants, and jumped over a tiger to audition for a part in Circle du Soleil. Hence the name: Tiger Leaping Gorge. Sadly, the gorge did not get the part; it went instead to an Austrian midget named Zwerg.

narrowest point of the gorge

Ok so the name really comes from the obvious, a tiger supposedly outran a hunter by jumping over that narrow part of the gorge. Boring you say? Well allow me to put my physics hat on and lets go through the numbers to look at the plausibility of such a scenario. Now this part of the gorge is 25 meters across. Assuming the tiger in question had zero air resistance (if one of you geniuses out there knows the air resistance of a tiger, drop me a line), and knew that jumping at an angle of about 22 degrees would be the best way to maximize speed and distance (45 is best, but there’s no way to do that without heavily compromising running speed, ask an Olympic long jumper), the projectile…uhh I mean tiger would have to be moving at a velocity of about 18.789 M/s, or 67.6 KM/h to be able to clear that gap. Now adult tigers are reported to have top speeds between 49-65 KM/h so, if our striped friend managed to build some extra momentum coming down the side of the gorge, it might have been just enough to clear it, ignoring the resistance issue. Although there are some other points that could skew it in the Tiger’s favor, for example Tigers haven’t roamed in that part of China for a long time, and taking into account erosion, the original gap might have been narrower. So, the myth busters verdict is: plausible.

The climb up is a little tougher than the way down, but there are lots of rusty old cables running along the way for you sissies out there to hang on to. There’s also two very tall metal ladders that you can climb. I would say the hike is definitely not a walk in the park, but should be doable by pretty much anyone who isn’t in a wheelchair. Fortunately on our excursion, only 3 people died, but they were all eaten by crocodiles. The part we did begins and ends not too far from Tina’s guesthouse, which looks like it would be a decent place to stay if your going for the overnighter. Bring your own food and water. There are some huts along the route, but they, of course, are ridiculously overpriced, and the food is nothing but packaged Chinese snacks…aka chemicals shaped into unidentifiable objects. Definitely a must see if you’re in Lijiang, and apart from our group I didn’t see any of the flag following, red hat wearing tour groups that usually spawn at these types of places. I have to say it was awesome…but not nearly as awesome as chilling out in an outpost of tyranny…Dun dun DUNNN…

I don’t mind tall laders, but I do mind climbing rickety old wire ladders, while about 20 other people climb with me:

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The historic city of Lijiang is one of those places that look so amazing in post cards, no matter how much money you drain on Canon L glass, no matter how well your Photoshop skills can edit Jessica Alba’s head on some porno model’s body, no matter how many grams of mushrooms you eat, you’ll never be able to capture its magic in that camera of yours. There might be a slight correlation between that unlikelihood and how it’s been transformed into a giant tourist trap.

Yes it does eat tourists, and by the thousands. But compared to any other normal Chinese city Lijiang is a breath of fresh air both literally and figuratively. I’m going to admit straight up that I liked Lijiang. From my careful research on the matter, people are polarized on it. They either see it as a tourist inferno, an unending gauntlet of knick knack shops stocked with mass made merchandise straight from the forge of hell, OR as a window into another time and a great place to kick it for the weekend. I fell into the later group because, once you get over the touristness, it’s actually very relaxing, with an endless supply of cafes, restaurants and bars. Even though it’s 100% geared towards visitors, there is a complete lack of the “lOOKa lOOka, WATCH BAG DVD” crowd. The town is well planned, there’s a dedicated bar street that’s in the west end, restaurants and cafes are strewn about everywhere and guest houses, hotels and hostels are in the east. This minimizes the eternal battle between the awesome drunken hooligans and the all-powerful army of people who want to get some fucking sleep.

With the unstoppable juggernaut of modernization, it was only a matter of time before it was transformed into what it is today, or bulldozed to make way for factories and condos. Sadly there just isn’t any money in ancient Chinese towns that don’t whore themselves out in some way. So I prefer it’s current existence to the wrecking ball. I realize that there are some disneyesque qualities about it, but it isn’t entirely fake. For example you still see people who live in the old town washing their clothes in the brooks that crisscross the coble stone streets. The naxi food is different from regular Chinese food in a very good way. I’m not so sure how authentic it is because I’ve never had it anywhere else, but I do know that the Naxi sandwich (with naxi bread, not regular toast) is a badass motherfucker. It’s actually probably a good thing that you’ve got places bling’d out like this mainly for tourism, because it might pull attention away from the smaller towns that want to keep their souls. Apart from the not so real aspect, the only thing I didn’t really like was the inflated prices for everything in the old town. If you’re planning on spending time there, do yourself a big favor and buy all your snacks, foods and booze in the new town, you’ll probably save about a quarter. And you can put that money towards a neat trip outside of the town…like…say…Tiger Leaping Gorge.

Things you should do in the “beautiful river”:

• Eat a real naxi sandwich
• Eat some naxi cakes for breakfast (the ones with honey)
• Try drinking some Salima (drink some for me, my poor bottle was stolen by a penisless taxi driver)
• Take a walk down bar street and wonder why this little city of 300 odd thousand has this many bars and the city you live in of roughly 7 million has less. Cry.
• Chill out in a cafe and drink some Yunnan coffee, then get so wired that you go…
• …rent a bike, ride up the big hill to the north east of the city and check out some REAL naxi houses with courtyards, the real naxi market, and maybe score some real naxi food.
• Dump some bodies in the river and survey people’s reactions as they float by.

Lijiang Airport: Home of quite possibly the world’s smaller luggage carousel.

The two pictures on this door are called “nianhua”. They go up during the new years festival and are there to give good luck or protect the house. The one on the right is General Tao, and he ensures and unending supply of succulent chicken. The one on the right is the Unicorn Prince, he makes sure your unicorn horn isn’t forlorn…if you know what I’m sayin.

Finally a picture of Lijiang new town. The majestic peaks of Jade Dragon Mountain almost keep your eyes from being burned by the ugly, poorly made modern cityscape that’s not unlike any other.

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A friend and I decided to hell with the fact that Chinese Spring Festival is the worst time of year to travel, we passed around the lube, bent over and with big bearing grins prepared for the exorbitant pain prices that we would pay for airfare and to stay in hotels at this time of year.

Our sketchy travels plans were something to the order of: go down to Kunming in Yunnan provinces, get acquainted with the scene there, get some visas to enter the member in training of the axis of evil (Burma), fly up to the fabled Lijiang to experience more tourist stalls per square kilometer than anywhere else in the world, then fly back to Kunming and onwards to Rangoon.

Lots of trees and foliage lined the streets in Kunming making the city like a jungle…if you were to make the buildings, roads, people and cars magically disappear.

Kunming was an administration stop, because I like to do the planning for my vacations while I’m actually on vacation. It adds a certain sense of urgency, panic and stress that make the memories fonder. So while we were running around booking hotels, flights, and filling out the 20 odd forms you need to get into Burma, we only managed to grab a mere glimpse of Kunming. Like seeing a naked obese man roll around in jello, a glimpse was more than enough.

Kunming is a cold city. They call it the city of eternal spring, but I would say it’s more like the city of eternal stupidity for not installing a heating system anywhere when in January and February the temperature regularly hovers between 5 and 10 degrees centigrade. I know this is common in southern cities, but Kunming’s altitude of 2000 some odd meters exacerbates the problem. Not only do most places not have heating (hospitals, hotels, modern shopping centers, airports), but they actually open up all the doors and windows, like saying “hey, our balls aren’t quite shrunk enough, lets make them even smaller!” It wouldn’t have been so bad had I brought adequate clothing, but I was again fooled by the lies of weather reports, when I should have known that it’s always 5 degrees colder, sun means smog, clouds mean rain, and rain means volcanic firestorms of hell.

Kunming does have some nice things. For example, the bird market is a great place to buy birds, contract bird flu, or to get a shiny new bong. Yunnan is poor as shit (3rd poorest province in China), so most food is much cheaper than in the east coast cities. I was able to acquire a proper breakfast at not one, but TWO different cafes, which is an infinite multiple of the number of places where this is possible in Qingdao. Yunnan food in general is very spicy and it seems easier to get a greater variety of foods than in the Shandong. Also worth noting, the people here seemed to be more “arty” or whatever the hell that is supposed to mean. There were more punk/goth hairstyles and fashions and people seemed to be more willing to go against the grain of mainstream Chinese style, which for your information is pure blandness with cheap unnecessary frill.

The traffic situation reminds me of that scene in Terminator 2, where the machines napalm the entire city of LA and all the cars are just stuck with unconvincing looking skeletons inside them, blocking the roads and highways. Despite silent swarms of e-bikes nearly flying into you whenever you tried to cross the street, there were cars gridlocked to the point of making driving a car totally fucking retarded. There’s no subway, and of course buses got stuck in the jam too. Walk you say? We were on a strict budget of time, and laziness would not permit a deviation from that. Every taxi ride would take about 45 minutes even though we were going roughly 3 or 4 km. According to one enlightened taxi driver, this is because of the dearth of highways in Kunming, and that one of the two ring roads was completely shut down for renovations. He also claimed that Kunming has the highest car per capita ratio of any city in China.

Before leaving Kunming, we figured it would be best if we picked up some anti-malarial medicine for the trip to Burma. While I seriously doubted it would come into use, being the dry season and lack of mosquitoes, common sense said it was better to be safe, then to get really sick, die and wind up as a ghost haunting the set of some campy Thai daytime soap opera. Funny thing those Kunming hospitals, because none of them seemed to know what malaria was! The one doctor, who had heard of it at some point in med school, directed us to the center of disease control of Kunming. Once there we were told to go to the 8th floor, where one of the doctors who wasn’t hard at work cooking instant noodles finding a cure for AIDS, told us the obvious, they didn’t have any there, maybe we should try the airport. The airport!? The airports here can barely serve up what some might call food, yet alone a series of meds that would protect one against a harmful virus! Giving up hope, we decided to say no to drugs and hope that the malarial mosquitoes were busy with other people…like certain individuals in Kunming.

Our time in Kunming quickly and thankfully came to a close, and it was on to the ancient Lijiang for old buildings, naxi food, things blowing up, and tigers leaping gorges in no particular order.

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There were alot of these old school styled tea shops selling…tea all packaged weird in traditional style bags. Yunnan coffee was despite its growing popularity, much harder to find.

The bird market!! :

Among the treasures we found in the bird market was this Rubik’s cube for people who are angry at Micheal Phelps, and a store that he might enjoy:

Lotus bulbs

For some reason the fruit was all hideous looking, I mean, look at those shriveled oranges, and look at those…uhh…things:

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Celebrated Chinese New Year’s Eve by doing the same as everyone else here…trying to blow a hole in space time with fireworks.

*
牛 = ox = cow = this year‘s new zodiac.
牛 = niú = sounds like English word ”new“
牛逼 = cow vagina = Chinese slang for ”awesome“.

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The first year I came to China, I got an agent that specializes in helping expats to hook me up. I went that route because I couldn’t communicate in Chinese to save my life, and I didn’t want to be signing any contracts that had hidden clauses allowing a group of senior citizens to practice their tai chi in my spare bedroom on weekend mornings. Turns out I didn’t pay any “expat premium”, and the agent fee was no different from other Chinese agencies around town.

Agents can be useful for a bunch of things. They have data on where tons of apartments are for rent, and can find them faster than you would on your own. There are indeed websites designed to search for rentals, but in my experience they are poorly designed. A good agent should argue on your behalf, mostly because they want to close the deal and get their fee, but also because you are the customer as opposed to the landlord. If you make your requirements clear to them, they will usually see to it that they’re met, or come close to it. Finally, they’ll do all the paperwork, and have contracts pre-written that are mostly in-favor of the tenant.

My strategy to finding the apartment I want is to first find out where I want to live. Then I pick the exact building that I want to be in. With the rental and real estate market overly saturated right now thanks to the economocalypse, chances are there will be at least one unit available in that building. The agent should be able to get you in there to take a look, and if you like it away you go. If you do need heed this advice and pick just some area, or even worse an entire district, you will wind up with some massive apartment on the verge of complete and total failure, with neighbors above, below and side to side who will all be doing renovations involving high volume power tools only at times you have to catch an early flight, are hung-over, or both.

Using this technique recently netted me a decent apartment. First inspection was good. The forties something landlord guy offered me good price, and was going to supply me with all the furniture I needed. Little did I know, despite his ownership of the place, the real owners were his elderly parents who materialized like wraiths at the second showing. It’s funny how friendly they were at first, only to become hostile banshees later on.

After heading back to the real estate office to sign the contract, the demons began to reveal themselves. First, they wanted the deposit to be a number that was perfect sounding to them, so no fours, 250’s or any other unlucky combinations. Of course I agreed, not wanting to offend their foolish but perfectly normal superstitions. Their son took a while to show up, and by the time he did I got the agent to explain that I only wanted to pay two six month terms instead of upfront for the whole year. So much can happen in a year, and if for some reason I need to make like a banana and get the fuck out, I don’t want to lose an excess of rent. Not to mention, the landlord would get to keep the deposit, thus affording him time to find a new tenant. The guy’s mom was already starting to pull the strings, and said was saying this was no good, unlucky, and would end badly. The landlord then offered that the deposit should be higher that what it was, I agreed that this was an acceptable offer. But before anyone could sign the contract, his mom suddenly started shrieking that there was no way he could rent it out, this was totally unacceptable, and that he should find someone else. Just moments early she had been signing praises about how good foreigners were to rent to.

The sheer noise she was making, and the repetitive yelling was not unlike that of a little child complaining about not wanting to eat her broccoli or something. It was just absurd to me that someone of that age would act like that. It’s really hard for me to even put it in words what the situation was like but I just sat there, and listened to this old witch go on. While I couldn’t make out everything she was saying, I did hear a number of slurs leave that old wrinkled cake hole. Finally the guy got up and said that he couldn’t sign it, and they left, without apologizing, but instead the mother continuing on about how what a horrible circumstance it would have been.

Despite this rather unpleasant experience, it was a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t be stuck with superstitious landlords that probably would have been unreasonable anal goblins. Not to mention, the landlord’s brothers would have been living above and below me, so there very well could have noise complaints, stupid requests to practice English, and the smell of burning flesh of former tenants wafting into my flat.

On my way home in the taxi from this aborted contract signing I got a call from my agent about another landlord wanting to meet about another unit like the one I wanted in the same building the next day. Within 12 hours, I had a new contract, the landlord was in her early forties, was totally cool with six month payments and basically had no qualms whatsoever. Oh yeah and the price was more than 10% lower.

Landlords really are a completely random variable. Renting a new apartment is a lot like playing Russian roulette. Except in the empty chambers, you get delightful chambers to sleep in, while the ones that are full leave a nice gaping hole in your head with your brains oozing on the floor in a big mess that you will have to clean up in order to try and get your rental deposit back.

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It’s about that time of year again, where my rent is nearing expiration and I have to find a new home to live. I never bother resigning a new contract because I always feel like I can do better than what I’ve got, which so far, I have. Not to mention I quite enjoy looking for new apartments here.

Who doesn’t love a real estate agency, where within 2 minutes of walking in the door, they have some landlords bringing you up to take a look at an apartment? Never mind appointments, introductions, names or telling the agents what I was looking for. They just whisked me right up to some random dwelling. That was a stone’s throw away from the agency. As luck would have it, that turned out to be the best place of the day.

The landlords are always so into it, it’s great. They quote you a price, and then immediately say, but if you take it right away we’ll lower the price even more. The first ones I had where a young middle-aged couple. They were nice, perhaps a bit too nice. The guy looked like he had recently gotten facelift, and perhaps addicted to cocaine. He was always wide eyed and had this enormously open smile that I thought he might offer as an extra room in the flat.

After giving the place a good once over, we sat down in the kitchen to go over the details. Immediately the guy offered us all a smoke. Being a non-smoker, I politely refuted, at which point he pulled a half empty bottle of cola out of a drawer(?) and offered it to me instead. I was going to say that I only drank water and booze, but I was afraid of what substance he would pull out of his sleeve next, so I switched the conversation back to the topic at hand.

Even when I’m speaking English, I have a hard enough time with these awkward situations. It’s because I often feel pigeonholed. I like the place or thing that I’m looking at, but obviously I’m not going make big commitments right away. They seemed to think I was ready to sign a contract right after 5 minutes in the place. Really, who rents the first house that’s shown to them? As I tried to be as polite as I could for coming down on short notice to show me their apartment, I couldn’t help but see a sudden dejected look in their eyes when I told them I needed think things over and look around. It was like they just found out that their puppy was beheaded by pirates. Feline mutant pirates. They could watch the highlights on the news at 11. It was back to the drawing board at the agency.

It’s hard enough for me alone to figure out what I want in terms of a place to live, but then to have to explain it in another language to someone who has no concept of my utility-value system is almost a lost cause. Almost. But as it turns out, I still got to have fun practicing my real estate terms in Chinese all day while cruising around in a QQ.

First time in a QQ

As I was being ferried around looking at new and well…not so new apartments, I had the opportunity of having my first ride in a QQ. To those of you from countries where vehicle safety standards exist, the QQ is a diminutive little car that’s ubiquitous here. They’re powered by engines packing a whopping 51 or 67 horsepower, and are the same size as a large bathtub. I have to say I came away impressed. For a car so small, it managed to zip around without too much effort (so there were some points where it almost stalled, more than likely due to the driver) with 4 guys piled inside of it. Speaking of the interior, clearly the Ringling Brothers played a role in its design process, because everyone including myself had ample leg room. The only problem I could really feel was the flimsy construction of the doors, the walls, and… pretty much the whole car. If you get in an accident in one of these things, forget about an ambulance coming to pick you up, you’re leaving in a Hurst. SUVs would fly by us, and it felt like I was on the 401 in a Camry being passed by a Mach trucks. Despite these small faults, it was fun. Just don’t expect me and my homies to be rolling around in one anytime ever.

Despite 5 hours of visiting various apartments and offices in different states of neglect my quest continues. Will I find that royal habitat, fit for a golden goose? Or will I be pulled into the next landlord’s massively gaping mouth to the far side of another dimension?

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My trek to Jingdezhen was realized by way of 8-hour direct bus from Hangzhou after the return from Anji. For those interested in getting there, I would advise against this method. It’s expensive (140rmb), the buses are shit, and for reasons beyond my explanation they play really loud versions of old James Bond movies dubbed in German, with FRENCH subtitles! The hell is up with that? I’m convinced our driver was after some kind of insurance payout, and was actively trying to roll the bus on one of the endless turns through the rural roads of Jiangxi. For a similar experience get a drunken hillbilly to take you for a cruise through Kentucky. There is supposedly an airport in Jingdezhen, but if there is, there aren’t any useful flights available as I spent lots of time trying to find one. The train is the way to go, it’s about the same price as the bus, it’s overnight so you don’t waste the day, and there’s lots of them going from Nanjing and Shanghai, as well as other centers. There’s a shorter bus from Nanchang, but unless you are already in, or going to that void of Southern China, it is useless.

Once I finally got there, it was easy to get in a taxi and find my way to a hotel. It isn’t a big city, so everything is nice and cheap. Jiangxi Province, situated below the Yangtze River is considered part of Southern China, thus making the populace of Jingdezhen southerners. This is one of the reasons I couldn’t live here. You see; southern people don’t like to drink. That clashes with my raison d’etre. Red-faced after one 2% bottle of beer. Unacceptable. The other reason is that unlike in the north where most dialects are very similar to Mandarin the local vernacular down here is what you would get if you tried to learn Swedish, Urdu and Swahili at the same time and then suffered catastrophic brain damage.

Jingdezhen is the capital of Chinese pottery. Unlike many of the places that claim to be the capital of kites, toilet paper, steel bearings or airborne dust particles (for example see Weifang), this place really did have a lot of pottery. From what I could tell, the town was untarnished by the rampant modernism and “progress” that is destroying so many other Chinese cities. It has definitely got the ancient China charm going on. It has that bohemian artist vibe that is sorely lacking in so many other cities in China. You can walk down any given alley in the city’s extensive older districts and come across all kinds of wild pottery, people crafting things by hand, and painting big ass urns that are fit for an elephant’s remains.

I would highly recommend it to anyone, but if you’re interested in ceramic arts and pottery, you’ll be in heaven. It’s a bitch to get to, but I think that’s why it’s still such a great place. If they had one of those D-trains going here, and regular flights, it would be loaded with tourists and tossers.

Funny things I saw:

Guy in the train station was eating peanuts for like an hour all of the sudden jumps up and starts brushing off the shells like he was covered with bees, immediately reminding me of Nicholas Cage in the Wickerman. This made me laugh aloud, freaking out the people sitting next to me.

Saw a stunning uighur girl inside the train station as well. Of course she was married to the dude who played Noriega in the movie blow, aka the same guy who plays the child rapist in Once Were Warriors. Except this dude took it one step further, he got plastic surgery at some point, and when he did, he was like, “listen man, give me Owen Wilson’s nose.” Who the fuck does that?

In lots of places in China, it is perfectly normal to see people walking around in their PJs. In Jingdezhen, they took it one step further and decided to equip for the winter by using that idea, and sewing several layers of padding into their PJs. The end result is a whack of people wandering around in snowsuits that would be excellent camouflage in any room with 70’s wallpaper.
Saw a cow running through the streets, which may or may not have been chased by a bunch of screaming farmers on motorcycles. I say may not, because this was downtown, a good 10 km from any farm, so if they were trying to catch it, they weren’t doing a very good job. They might just been playing some weird Jingdezhen game, like the shit they do in Spain.

I saw more whorehouses than I have ever seen anywhere else in China. The only place I’ve seen more brothels was in Bangkok, but that’s a given. Jingdezhen isn’t a big place, but about 3 of the 4 major streets were lined with them. What’s going on here? Are all the ceramic artists moonlighting as harlots? Or are all the male artisans so stressed from their craft that they need to settle down at night with some cold beers, pack a smokes and a hooker or two? OR maybe it’s just that Jingdezhen wasn’t just the capital of pottery but also of hair salons that are open weird hours with pink lights and lots of done up girls hanging around. Yeah…that must be it.

There were many mysteries in Jingdezhen. For example the picture above. What the hell are those!?

Filed under: tourist shit
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Here is what the article on Wikipedia (obviously written by some local government lackey) says:

“Anji county is synonymous with bamboo, containing as it does 60,000 hectares of bamboo groves. It has been designated a pilot county for ecological construction. Within its boundaries are mountains and gullies, lush with forests and vegetation. The air is fresh and the river water is crystal clear.”

And this is how it should really read (I’ll be changing it myself shortly):

“Anji County isn’t a synonym for anything, but it certainly has lots of bamboo. It has been designated a pilot county for how you shouldn’t do ecological construction. Within its boundaries are mountains and gullies, lush with forests and vegetation that you cannot see because of the thick yellow haze that offers you the visual experience of someone with glaucoma. The air is about as fresh as a sumo wrestler’s thong and the river water may have once been clean, but we don’t know for sure because they’re all dried up.”

Now before any Anji locals somehow come across this and start dishing out the hate, let me clarify this. The county of Anji is a large place. Smack in the middle of it is the city district called Dipu and surrounding it are some small dirty suburbs. This is where the problem lies. It was more polluted here than in Hangzhou. I saw lots of small factories with chimneys belching out smoke in colours only an acid trip could make you appreciate. Once you get out of this central area, the air does clear up significantly (but not completely) and there are some vistas and villages straight outta the tourist brochure.

My Chinese friend told me that the food sucks in Anji. When you hear this coming from a Chinese person you suddenly long for the Golden Arches like a sinner for Pearly Gates. Thank someone up there, there is a McDonalds and a KFC and their both a stones throw from each other in Dipu. I must also note that in the same building that houses McDucks there is a large grocery store that stocks western booze. Entertainment being non-existent you should make use of this fact, much like we did. Spending the nights drinking in the hotel room and discussing current world affairs was about as exciting as it got. I saw one or two KTV places but I’m not sure if they’re KTV places or KTV *Wink Wink* places.

What to do there

Knowing that most of Anji is labeled as a “scenic spots” and tourist places, you’ll probably want to avoid the damn place altogether. Why is it that these places are always far crappier than what they’re hyped to be? That said there are some worthwhile things to do if you happen to be here for business or just want to escape Hangzhou for a bit. If it weren’t for the silly entrance fees at everything then I could actually recommend this place for people from farther away. These are the places that I checked out.

The Bamboo Museum (Zhúbóyuán/竹博园)

Are you a kinky bamboo fetishist? Or perhaps giant pandas float your boat? Well if you like both, then today’s your lucky day (if your going to the Bamboo museum today that is). I was most excited about this, because I’ve never seen the giant sloths in real life. Thankfully, unlike most of the wretched zoos in this country, their pen appears new and clean. They are also well fed, perhaps too well fed. If you’re sneaky you can go right down underneath and get right up to the cage where the lazy bastard will be chomping away at bamboo. Don’t get caught doing this, or the keepers will feed you to the pandas. For real.

The Great Bamboo Sea (Dàzhúhǎi/大竹海)

This place is pretty ridiculous. First, you need to take a toll-way to get there and it’s 10rmb for like 1 km of road. You immediately turn off the highway and go through the back roads of these little farm towns, which are actually pretty neat in and of themselves. Parking is 10rmb once you get there, even though it’s low season and no one else is there. Entrance is then another 60 rmb. The place has potential to have some nice hikes, although we didn’t have enough time to explore that option. There is a zip cord like and some other dumb tourist stuff. They’ve also built a tower that allows you to get above the bamboo canopy and look around at the encroaching development and beautiful power lines that dot the hazy horizon. It’s actually more relaxing than that, and can be nice, but I was expecting a lot more. I was expecting to only see bamboo for as far as the eye can see and then have some kung-fu masters pop out of the trees and start fighting each other to the death. What can I say? I set my expectations low.

Reservoir up in the mountain(Chinese name???)

I’m not quite sure why this is even a tourist attraction or why we went there, but I guess Chinese people find it interesting. There is a large reservoir built at the top of a mountain that has partially been turned into something of a place to go see. Again its like 40 or 50 kuai to get into and the park is tiny. Not worth the entrance fee, imo. What was worth it was the crazy car ride up through the mountains to get there. We passed all kinds of people cutting down and working with bamboo, and sometimes it proved to be quite the obstacle. So go just for the drive and the scenes it gives you, but once at the top don’t bother with the reservoir park. It’s a reservoir. On a mountain. That is all.
Some good bets would be to get out of the central town and go hiking. I was also told that in the summer there is very good rafting in some of the rivers. It appeared that the water in the mountains was very clean. So that might be worth a try. I can’t really recommend Anji to anyone who A) isn’t in the Hangzhou vicinity, or B) isn’t going there for business. But if you’ve never been to a bamboo forest before, haven’t seen pandas, and enjoy hiking/climbing insane hills on your bike, then Anji might be just the thing your thing. Also if one of your friends happens to have a girlfriend named Angela, and by chance you’re in Anji and they call you, uhhh yeah.

Filed under: dragons
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Longing to emerge from the sooty winter days of Qingdao, I happened on the opportunity to go treasure hunting for some Yuan Dynasty ceramics in the south half of the country in a place called Jingdezhen. Hangzhou was the city I would fly into. A good friend of mine who works in Anji, an hour north of Hangzhou had invited me down numerous times before, and I promised him that if I was ever in the area I would slide by. Going to just one random city in the Chinese hinterlands barely satiates my appetite for chances to see the unknown these days, so I decided I would pay my friend a visit.

The trip started with my usual attention to detail in planning (buying the air ticket the day before and flying down hoping to get the bus/hotel situation sorted after arrival). My goal to rival the Griswolds was realized when things started to unravel as before the plane touched the ground. As is usual practice in China, upon learning that we would be making our decent, I turned on my phone to let him know that I had arrived, landing and radio equipment be damned. I was informed by the kind Chinese robot voice on the line that my phone had run out credit. Fiddlesticks!

You would think that selling cellular minutes like every other commercial establishment in this country would be something that an airport out in the middle of munchkin land would consider. Besides Kentucky fried foul and pickled plums, this place was as useful as “duck and cover” in the event of a nuclear attack. Not having a phone was a problem because I needed to call my friend to confirm my arrival and find out what bus station to go to. Not wanting to be a lollygag around this lame excuse for a modern air hub I jumped into a cab and told him to take me downtown for 100 kuai, where I would presumably be closer to the bus station and I could find a place to get money for my phone.

Since the Hangzhou airport really is out in the sticks, and I didn’t want to waste any more time than I had to, as soon as I saw a China mobile place I told him to stop. The meter read 71rmb, so I got the cash ready and then proceeded to get into an argument about “our deal” for the 100 kuai to downtown. “Well guess what bud, I’m not even close to downtown, and you were on the meter anyways! Go suck on a rotten sea cucumber, ya prick!” is exactly what I should’ve said to him, instead I tossed him the 71rmb and ejected myself from the taxi in haste.

I made my way to the China mobile shop where I bought a 100rmb recharge for my phone. After dialing the number and following the instructions I remained hopelessly without a useful phone. Without trying to look like a foreign retard, and failing miserably in that regard, I asked the shopkeeper for help. They tried a few times, until they finally asked me where my number was from. From Qingdao I replied, and then they said that the recharges only work on Hangzhou ones. Awesome! In times past I’ve recharged my phone all over the country with these same little recharge cards so perhaps we can conclude that China Mobile in Hangzhou is managed by simians. Unable to return the recharge card I had just bought, the shopkeeper directed me to the large China Mobile center that was “Just over there at so and so road.” An hour later and possibly in some kind of Bermuda triangle of Hangzhou, I decided it would be wise to abandon this quest to find the large China Mobile center and concentrate instead on buying a new phone number. This would also prove difficult, as it seems I had been walking for an hour in the direction of absolutely nothing. An hour later I was back where I started and I hit up the first mobile shop I laid eyes on. The nice thing about China is that mobile calling is infinitesimally cheaper than in Canada, and new number can be up and activated for as little as $15.

Once I had finally got all that monkey business out of the way, I was able to get in touch with my friend who directed me to the Hangzhou North bus station, where I was able to board one of the buses that leaves every 15 minutes for a mere 27 kuai. One interesting (titillating?) thing of note about the Hangzhou north bus station. For the first time in China I actually saw on display real deal porno mags, just out in the open on the news stands, no covers or anything to shield my innocent eyes! I don’t know what that’s about but I guess Hangzhou isn’t a complete bust (or is it?!)

Filed under: transport
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Ever wonder what all those Chinese place names really mean? Keep on wondering. Although I’ve taken a map of China’s provinces and some neighboring countries, and translated their names directly into English, you will still be left clueless.

I have to say though, the resulting names are amusing. They remind me of the signs you see everywhere here that appear to be translated by monkeys who had just finished smoking banana peels. People will probably say that some these are wrong, however if you look deep enough into the characters you will find that the translations aren’t just correct, they also predict the future. I see your future is marriage to a large bovine, a life of track-pants and flab sprawled out over the couch watching Top Gear re-runs.

Oh yeah and to the people who are no doubt going to complain about the lack of the ‘Stan countries and Macao, I know I left them out. Macao is the size of Yao Ming’s dick (that sure made you think, didn’t it?!) and the ‘Stans all have like 20 characters in their names that make it really hard to fit into my map. So I’ll give them to you now:

Filed under: obscure
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