Spinning wheel

Early evenings are most pleasant here, at Vic Uni. Especially with southerlies bringing the wet and cold of Antarctica. The silence of the floors, sporadically broken by a murmuring lift, sometimes the sound of closed door reminds me that I am not all alone here. Fourth floor is high enough to separate me from today's reality. The blue-green harbour city life looms in the distance. My mind is quiet as if with a click of the door handle my world was sucked in by linguistics. I like those evenings when I can give myself some more knowledge. I am slowly putting on layers and layers of language on me.
My state of mind is only recent. Coming back to New Zealand (I think of it as 'mine' and it is such in a sense - I acquired it in my dreams as an idealised life here within a nanosecond of spontaneous decision) means starting anew again and again and again.
The last five months have been a series of cycles, drastically ending and beginning. There is and there was. There is my own space with lots of sun and a big wooden wardrobe. There's no work. There's room to live and there is work. There is work and suddenly there is no space that belongs to me. There is no wooden wardrobe and there is no bed to sleep in. There is romance. There is romance and there is no space. There is suddenly space and there is no romance. There is no work but there is a new space to live. There is a space and there is work. There is work that I have been dreaming of. There is a cat. The cat happens suddenly,all black with a tiny white spot. There is the cat and there is no romance. There is a space to work. There is peace and quiet. For now. What a spinning wheel it is.

Back to the Future

Christmas this year will somewhat happen in the future.
When You will be helping yourselves to all that herring-carp-veg salad-borsht with dumplings goodness of the Xmas Eve, I will be already suffering through the effects of uncontrolled indulgence. I am not even dreaming of the above treats though - I will have to make do with a home-made KUTIA and anything that can be tossed on the barbeque. You will be ripping through your presents when I will have already satisfied my Christmas curiosity (my magic x-ray vision has already revealed the contents of an unsuspectingly bottle-like packaging of an excellent South Island cabernet merlot). Some of you are more than certain to still be humming the last verses of Silent Night when I will have woken up with a post-Xmas Eve stomach rumbling and even more possibly dehydration caused by red bottled immoderation.
Colorful fireworks will be cracking above my head inducing a fleeting thought of ...ehhh TIME FLIES ... when you will still be trying to squeeze one last breath of this year by trying on the sixteenth fabulously stylish outfit for tonight or by nervously flicking through TV magazines in search of New Year's Eve tv crap.
Finally, when you will be slowly dying on the verges of the sofas, stairs, corners and under the tables, I will be beating my feet rhytmically against the ups and downs of Wellington's hills in an attempt to revive bodily functions and OUT-run Christmas self-indulgence.
It seems that I am going to be ahead of everybody this year. It is a pleasant thought indeed to find myself in a twelve-hour future from which I wish all of you Darlings and Beloved Merry Christmas and a bit of fluffy snow. And maybe some new Xmas tree decorations. And whatever you desire!!!
Ho Ho HO!

Airline-d-ventures

I'm not too enthusiastic about any animal form that has more than four limbs. Even less so when it is inside a pillow case on which my sleeping head is resting. The awareness of the presence of a tarantula spider only few inches away is more than disturbing. Especially when for some reason I reach out to touch it and the hairy ball starts throwing itself around in panic. SQUEAK! it's stung me! Why don't I feel any pain then? I open my eyes. For a moment of dreamy desorientation I don't know where I am but the humming sound of a spring rain outside makes me realise it must be New Zealand.
Auckland greeted me in a wet fashion. Leaden clouds were frowning at landing planes, livid with anticipation to transform the runway into a lustrous surface of water. The moment the plane touched the tarmac the sky spilt itself onto the green landscape painting an impressionist picture. The weather, istead of melancholy, filled me with elated satisfaction. After two months backpacking in China and a sisterly visit to Malaysia I've got here at last. However, the last leg of my journey east from Singapore to Auckland via Hong Kong wasn't as unadventurous as I'd expected it to be...
Two weeks of Malaysian home comfort had put my backpacker's alertness to sleep which made me get to the airport 12 nonchalant hours before the departure hoping for an early check-in and a night of free luxuries of Changi Airport. The only thing I do remember from somewhat longish negotiations with Jet Star Asia crew is that "they are sorry to inform me that it is not their policy to do early check-ins" and that "I can find 'left luggage' desk on level 2B". Well, I went to 2B and then back to Bugis Junction. I decided to be philosophical about the fact that the hostel where I was hoping to catch a few hours of sleep was situated in the very centre of the bustling Ramadan night market (it was as if one was trying to fall asleep at a market stall full of excited customers). Six sleepless hours later I philosophically let myself be ripped off by a taxi driver who, in a very Asian manner, demanded $5 more than decency allows and which I enthusiastically gave him (keeping in mind the fact that my last post was about bargaining, i'll leave the above without any comment...). Another 12 hours later I found out at Hong Kong airoport that I cannot be checked in for the flight to Auckland until my visa has not been given an all clear from NZ immigration office. Since we live in a technologically advanced world it took them just over five hours which I spent wondering if the Polish embassy had sent it through at all. With collywobbles in my stomach I got to the check in desk for the fifth time, nervously trying to read my fate from Cathay Pacific stewardes's smile. A grin meant a success. It was not the end of it though. No sooner than I'd heard a sweet 'Gidday meete' in Auckland, than my passport disappeared for an hour. After another sleepless night (had to catch up with the movies...) my imagination started gallopping with a front runner's zeal - they forfeit my luggage in which they find heaps of illegal fresh food, a deadly leech, four rabbits, dozen of mice and a kilogram of crack. My visa turns out to have been forged and I get thrown into a claustrophobic cell full of refugees from Bangladesh and latino drug traffickers. Oh well, not this time. I got my passport back, got another all clear and am now officially a legal student.
It is still raining in Auckland. It's even better in Wellington, the rain complemented by super sea storms. AHHH, Kiwi weather....

Sino-business

Chinese tycoons. Infinite numbers of street-vendor Donald Trumps, Richard Bransons and Bill Gates'. The world of Chinese street markets is ruled by the principle of a ruthless rip-off. The price is always surreal and the goods less than genuine. Avoiding a wallet crisis is not impossible though. Taking into account the fact that laying a total embargo on tourist goods rolling into your suitcase is unreal, it is probably a good idea to acquaint oneself with the local business etiquette:
First of all - BUSINESS DOES NOT DO ITSELF. Since the competition is tough and the language barrier even tougher, the only thing left to attract your attention is to use some more unconventional sales methods. Shoving souvenirs down passer-bys' throats or following them (sometimes it turns into a long distance hike...) are among many. The so-called 'broadcasting'- a home-made commercial played over and over through the megaphone - seems to be quite popular too. Those on a tight budget have to resort to a live performance. If any of the above manages to get your attention, there comes an exciting stage of bargaining...
There is one major rule here - a potential customer showing no features particular to the locals falls into the 3*3 category which roughly means TRIPLE PRICE, TRIPLE BARGAINING TIME, TRIPLE AUDIENCE. Thus, one can expect humongous profit margin on not so genuine souvenirs whose purchase will require much more time than doing weekly foodshopping. Local audience is a crucial element too since it is more than willing to take active part in settling prices and working out Chinese numbers.
Bargaining is hard work that requires lots of determination and a bit of cunning. Most of all, expressing delight and excitement is highly inadvisable. Goods should be looked at with overt suspicion, turned and examined for any possible defects. Contemplation and discontent are, on the other hand, very expedient.
All of the above leads to the first unveiling of the price - most often being a surreal one. Now, there are two ways of reacting: one of them is to smile ironically and repeat the price many times with astonishment slowly leaving at the same time. Those less temperamental should stay calm, put the thing away and rush out of the shop. Any of the reactions will definitely lead to the second unveiling of the price - most often making the desired product only a bit cheaper but at the same time giving scope for presenting one's bargaining skills. Saying "tai gui le" (too expensive) combined with proposing a drastically reduced price is the key to success.
It is the most extreme stage when one can expect open agression and even outrage which evaporates with the first step one takes towards other market stalls. This can be repeated many times and often also means familiarising yourself with wider choice of goods offered to you "by the way".
Once you've spent a quarter of an hour (or more) haggling hard, laughing (or being laughed at), patting (or being patted), swearing and chinwagging you're ready to finalise the deal. It is quite simple - if you agree to pay more than half of the original price, you voluntarily get yourself ripped off. It has its advantages like free extras and some more friendly treatment.
Bargaining skills are what you can't travel without around China. Taking into account the fact that you can get a discout even at a grocer's, it might be useful to practice at your local stall beforehand...

WALLnut

No one knows how long it is. Its location is sometimes based more on a compromise than on empirical evidence. On the map it looks like a broken chain - meandering along mountain ridges, sometimes with its legs astride, popping up in an unexpected spot. Most of us will recognise it as the only man-made structure visible from space (some even go as far as claiming it can be seen from the Moon!). David Copperfield's fans will remember his graceful passage through it. It is not just a wall. It is the GREAT WALL.
My knowledge of it was limited solely to the above when I got the idea of China Challenge . As it came closer, my mind was filled with a more and more romantic vision of a solitary randez-vous on the Dragon's back*.
When I finally got the Great Wall within reach, I pounced on it while scouting Beijing's surroundings. Shanhaiguan Wall turned out to be a renovated shred of time- worn eastern wall. The greyness of the clouded sky concealed it and only colorful T-shirts of the few tourists climbing giant stairs seemed to give it away. Above a modest temple veiled in incense smoke there was only a thin winding skeleton of the once great WALL . Observed by a few monks I tried to 'camouflage' my wild walk by frequent photo stops.
Such efforts weren't necessary on Huanyaguan Wall which , beside the touristically poor renovated part, quietly offered a longer encounter with its COARSE BACK barely visible through thick vegetation and foggy ridges.
Slightly discouraged by the adverse weather of northern summer I gave the Wall one more chance. Hoping for a bit more extreme experience I climbed the SIMATAI WALL. Before I could even get breathless a line of slanting-eyed hawkers created a shadow that was to follow me for the next few hours. The weather was almost perfect, however, so I could satiate my eyes with a picture-like image of the winding Great Wall. To my delight I managed to leave all human element behind when I reached GUBEIKOU WALL , where I spent the night in one of the watch towers in a discreete company of bats. The red sunset and the orange sunrise were for sure the highlights of my China trip.
Great Wall is a peculiar phenomenon. Silent and absent-like for centuries, it was just an insignificant element of the landscape, cut through by developing infrastructure, often providing free building material to local farmers. A few dacades ago Chinese propaganda started making up for the years of negligence by giving some of the Great Wall stretches an extreme makeover. Today it resembles Frankenstein - majestic and awe-inspiring yet somehow lacking authenticity by its patchwork character.

* My dragon association turned out surprisingly adequate - the place where the Great Wall plunges into the Yellow See was of a dragon's head shape - nowadays completely ruined, recognisible only by name - Dragon's Head

Chinese character

It is Chinese character - said RONG LI , and, as if wanting to prove it, a bag full of apples appeared with an encouraging nod urging me to take it. As if helping me to get out of a godforsaken place called Tangshan was not enough a proof for local generosity. For a seemingly easy task of travelling around provincial China sometimes turns out to be challenging even for the natives. Rong Li, whom I briefly met on the train, was extremely effective - after a dozen phonecalls, one wrong station and a taxi escort I got on the bus to Panjiakou and the driver was given instructions concerning the destination of my trip (Great Wall submerged in Panjiakou reservoir) along with all other personal information that I had revealed to Rong Li so far.
The bus was wobbling around on a dirt road with a skating elephant's grace while CI LU , who had been appointed my Guardian Angel by Rong Li, was entertaining me with some information on the local infrastructure. In fact, it was a conversation lead by his phone - on its screen appeared some of the most interesting English phrases I've ever seen so far generated by a mobile dictionary. Our Chinglish chat was regularly enriched by Ci Lu's wife, who had to be texted every single sentence either of us managed to produce, which resulted in a Chinese homemade dumplings feast. My chopstick skills were put to test by Ci Lu's mother - beaming with smiles she unloaded the fridge's contents onto the table and with an encouraging gesture pointed at less and less 'grippable' dishes. Unlike most of low-mid-range restaurant chopsticks that even rice sticks to, the home edition can be quite massive and horribly smooth which makes eating a real challenge. Thus I provided my hosts with a highly entertaining 'veg-drop in the soup' and 'peanut plate chase' performance.
Close encounters with the natives are unavoidable in China since a foreigner is still quite conspicuous and classifies as 'valuable goods'. Not always for his financial dimension though. Visiting less touristy places usually means great show for the whole local community. A symphony of delighted "HELLLLOOOOs" can be heard almost everywhere and you will always run into an English geek asking you "WHERE ARE YOU FROM?" with a cheerful "Lao Wai!" (foreigner!) in the background. Same applies to provincial hotels - staff members from manager to cleaner throng around the reception making it look as if there has just come a Polish-guided Chinese tour. I experienced such phenomenon in QING DONGLING (Eastern Ming Tombs) both in the MAO-style hotel lobby and the restaurant. Mass WAITRESS invasion got even to my room.
Privacy or personal space is a relative term in China, treated mostly as some kind of impoliteness rather than basic need. Thus I had to get used to "train snuggling", staring, communal Lonely Planet China guide reading (often having the book 'borrowed' to have a better look)and endless marital/child status enquiries.
I have come to accept the fact that in China it is not possible to melt into the crowd. A tourist will always be a tourist...

PS. Have a look at the GALERY
Great Wall experience coming soon.

TRAINing China

Travelling by train in China has some charm to it. First of all, there is the train station frenzy - I got my baptism of fire in Guanzhou (Canton). Buying a ticket is itself an enterprise that requires endless wandering around the hall that is similar in size to London Heathrow as well as determination and good elbow bump technique which would make it possible to push your way through to the only counter with an English sign above it. Needless to say, it does not mean you will be talking to an English speaking person, and more often than not, you get yourself into a lengthy negotiation using your pocket Mandarin dictionary. In the meantime, regardless of all above, there are locals who constantly push money through the hatch demanding tickets. When you eventually reach some kind of an understanding resulting in a pink card (on which only the train numer and departure time seem to be intelligible) there comes an even more exciting stage of the journey - the boarding. Chinese railway stations can fit in a population of an average European country and that in practice means a huge building crammed with countless masses laden with tonnes of luggage. Their numbers are never decreasing since once a crowd spills onto the platform, another is already storming through the waiting hall's door. Announcing the train is a signal for another elbow-punching round for the Chinese get on the train as if it was the last one ever to leave the station.
Travelling on the train is like a garden party during which private conversations spread around the whole carriage and the stewardess is paving her way screaming and clanking against her metal trolley on which there pile different delicacies. While you're there, you might as well do some exceptional shopping - vast choice is colourfully presented (in song, verse or a mini-show)goods - and buy a pair of heavy-duty socks, all kinds of toys and above all, a super plastic American commando crawling on the table giving "Fire!Fire!" commands (it has the most striking effect somewhere around 13th hour into your journey).
My Chinese railway adventure meant three days, three trains, two grey cities, lack of sleep and numb limbs. What initially filled me with resentment turned out to be an interesting experience. If I hadn't been given wrong information in Hond Kong about a direct train to Shanghai (which was fully booked for the whole week anyway) I wouldn't have visited a great Han Dynasty TOMB in Canton or climbed the seven-storey PAGODA. I wouldn't have peeped at a night badminton game on Shamian Island (Canton) or met four Chinese teenagers whom I promised to find Polish girlfriends and I would have never tried a genuine Chinese breakfast for only 10Yuan (1Euro - all made of rice) in Nanchang.
Thus, my China railway adventure is to be continued...