Monday 18 February 2013

Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll

DRUGS

Ha hah! Gotcha again. If you are expecting tales of Laudanum  lounges, opium dens and illicit substance abuse, that's not really 'ma' bag'. As a general rule I favour legal, rather than illegal, methods of intoxication. Even so, the desire and opportunity to imbibe, on the scales I might at home, have been few and far between. 

Rather than try to measure the economies that I have visited based on their RPI or GDP, I've been using the RBI (Relative Beer Index) - that is, how much do I pay for a pint (or relative volumetric equivalent) of beer. I decided to measure this irrespective of 'quality', partly due to there being little choice, but mainly because, as an 'ale' drinker, almost everything on offer was bottles lager and not really to my taste. However, I will try to give an objective view of the different beers on offer during my travels so far.

Russia - RBI £5 - £7
Well, there is a reason that Moscow has a reputation as one of the most expensive cities in the world. According to Wikipedia, beer is the second most popular alcoholic drink in Russia, after...well, Vodka, what else and is seen as a healthy alternative. Unfortunately, I didn't come across much Russian beer as most of the hotels that I stayed in preferred to offer Czech or German alternatives and, frankly, not the best ones either. It wasn't bad, just a bit flavourless and fizzy, and I did have a couple of opportunities to try canned local beer. Listvyanka was the only place where I was able to taste some quite decent draught beer. I mentioned, in one of my earlier blogs, my time in St. Petersburg. Here, my local was an authentic [sic] Irish Pub that served a dubious pint of London Pride and a passable Guinness.

By contrast, vodka is definitely cheaper and, in preparation for my train journey, I bought a bottle of mid-range rocket fuel. This was partly because, within 24hours of arriving in sub-zero conditions, I developed mild sinusitis - a condition that would stay with me until china - and, have brought no medication with me for such an eventuality, the vodka was a good substitute. I have to say, I didn't realise that one human body could continually produce soooo much mucus! 

Outer Mongolia  - RBI £4 - £6
Again, predominantly imported lager of average quality, I was only in Ulaanbataar long enough to sample a couple of pints. My most bizarre experience in UB was caffeine related. I'd not long arrived in the city and took a walk from my hotel to the downtown area. Even dressed in my ski suit and tights, after about 20 minutes I felt like someone was sticking a million pins in my legs. So I stopped at a cafe, called Lilly's, for a coffee. I was handed a menu as I sat down and there was an impressive selection of hot drinks available. Opting for a cappuccino, I placed my order. the waitress retreated to the kitchen and I sat back to write some emails. After about 20 minutes,  my drink had not come so, catching the waitress' eye, I asked if my coffee was on its way. I was met with a slightly irritated response that led me to think that I was being unreasonable impatient. Obviously , I thought, they take their coffee seriously and good coffee take time. I continued to wait.

During the next 15 minutes, the cafe filled with police officers on their break. Beer and vodka all round - no doubt to counter the bitter cold. Then my drink arrived. After nearly 40minutes in the making the waitress placed on the table in front of me and cup of steaming...hot water! Next to it, on a saucer, a sachet of powdered 'cappuccino' mix and a spoon! I had to be impressed.

China - RBI £0.60 - £1
Tsingtao beer is quite a passable beer and at these prices cheaper than bottled water. The general alternative, for a nights drinking, is the rice wine spirit.  I did try some and, whilst the expensive stuff is ok, the cheaper brands are like drinking formaldehyde. Frankly, I decided to stick to nail varnish remover. It tastes better and is, by comparison, by far the healthier option.

China doesn't really have an obvious bar culture. However, there was a bar near my hotel in Nanjing and so I decided to give it a try. As I walked in, I could have been in Porthmadog! It went very quiet and the few people there all looked at me. I sat down and the group of younger guys playing cards continued their game. The old drunk in the corner decided he wanted to talk to me and, negotiating the two chairs and a table between us, fell into the seat next to mine. It was quite convivial and, although neither of is had language in common, we swapped names (I can't, for the life of me remember his) and ages. He was so pleased that he was 4 years older than me - even if he looked 4 times that.

Hong Kong - £4.50 - £7
The better bars are on the Island, but all are frequented by the massive ex-pat community in Hong Kong and Kowloon. Most places served a choice of cold, draught lager, Guinness, or cider. The Guinness was palatable and so that was what I mainly drank. Hong Kong is a pincushion of glass and concrete tower blocks. It has the most expensive real estate prices in the world and everything  exists on vertical, as well as horizontal plane. There is something of a modern-day Florentine feel to the downtown area, as raised walkways carry pedestrian over and along the busy roads beneath. Reaching from one office block to another, through shopping malls and hotels, these viaducts allow people to move from one part of the city to another, only rarely having to set foot on street level and mix with the hoi-poloi.

Vietnam - RBI £0.60 - £1
The Vietnamese are quite proud of their beer. Each city brews its own brand, so you get Bie Hoi (Hoi An), bie Saigon, Bie Hanoi, etc. In addition, there is often 'fresh' beer on offer. Usually brewed that day by a local brewer, this is a crisp, cool lager. 

On the train from Hanoi to to Hoi An, I met Steve (who I'd previously met on a boat in Halong Bay) and Julia. Hoi An being a small place, we met up a few times to sample the food and beer, sometimes in copious quantities. A couple of days into our stay, Steve's bold and convivial character added Chloe to our number. It turned out that the day before (27th Jan) had been Chloe's 27th birthday, so an excuse for a celebration. Of all of the people I'd met so far, Chloe was one of the most enigmatic. Slim and attractive, she was also a good humoured French woman who is an airline pilot and who's family owns a vineyard! And she was travelling alone!!

After a chilled few days, I left Hoi An on the back of a Honda Master 125 with an 'Easy Rider' driver called Mr Quang, for a few days touring the mountainous midlands of the country. It was wonderful to get away from the tourist trail and head off on a less beaten track. From the coast, we headed west, up into the hills. We visited waterfalls, hillside villages and temples over a five day trip that was extended to nine days as I was having so much fun and there were things I wanted to see near the coast too. Sometimes for several hours, with the odd stop to stretch our legs, I would sit on the back of the bike watching the scenery and losing myself in thought. The roads, once we had left the coastal area, were relatively empty, at least until we hit the Hoi Chi Men Highway that runs south to north along the western boarder of Vietnam. Although not busy in western terms, this is the main route through that part of the county to/from the north west and is plied by trucks and buses. It was only a week before Tet (the lunar new year) and so the buses were many and in a hurry. It isn't unusual to see fast moving buses overtaking mopeds, trucks, and other buses on blind corners and, sometimes three abreast.

It was about day 4 of our road trip and Mr Quang was negotiating a mountain pass. I was dreamily watching the emerald and jade coloured, tree lined landscape pass by on either side. As the bus came around the corner ahead of use, overtaking it's colleague and on the wrong side of the road, I thought nothing of it, as this was a frequent occurrence. The bus was leaning heavily on its off-side as it rounded the bend and the loud bang that was a front tyre exploding made me start. Still moving towards the bus, we weren't aware, until it was too late that the near side wheels had left the road surface and it was falling onto its side. As steel met tarmac, the scraping, screeching sound of the bus landing, like a breaching whale, reached my ears. But the bus kept coming. 

In theatrical slow motion reminiscent of a premiership football action replay, we hit the windscreen of the coach. Quang and the bike disappeared through a mist of shattering glass whilst I was catapulted from the pillion, high into the air. I slowly performed a forward roll in mid-air, landing on my back on the hard by yielding roof of the second coach. As I slid from the smooth surface of the bus top toward the ground twelve feet below, I awoke with a jolt. I was in my bed, in my hotel. I was in a cold sweat and disorientated. I lay thinking for a few minutes and then knew that I had just experienced the darker side effects of the only other drug that I'd been taking. Doxycycline! A malarial  profolactic. I began to remember how, when Vicky and I had used this on other trips, it has the propensity to stimulate incredibly vivid and memorable dreams. These were not always bad, but always clear and alarmingly stark. (Note to self: remember to take tablet with breakfast, not supper!)

All was well. Quang was safe in the room next door and the bike was awaiting our next day's adventure in the compound below my window. In the dark silence of the early hours of a Vietnamese pre-dawn, I turned over and closed my eyes and went back to sleep. Hopeful of finding other, more pleasant things on which to build a dream.

Next up, Rock And Roll!

Thursday 14 February 2013

Sex And Drugs And Rock and Roll (sex)

Well, if nothing else, it made you pick up my next blog, didn't it!

As I'm getting so behind in my writing, I decided that it might be easier and more interesting to 'theme' some of my experiences - at least until I can catch up a bit. So, here goes:

SEX

Ha! Well that's a bad place to start. This has generally not been a feature of my trip, so don't get too excited! The only activity, on this theme, that has been consistently evident through the journey - at least since southern china - is the illicit! Prostitution in Russia is illegal and sanctions punitive and so, with one exception, there was no obvious evidence of the oldest profession. I was making my way back on the metro to my hotel in a Moscow suburb, having spent the day at the Kremlin and Red Square. The capital's subway system is a reason of it's own to visit Moscow. Many of the stations in the centre are testaments to Art Deco. They are mammoth, yellow tiled halls with bronze statues depicting heroes of communism, workers of the nation and animals! Some of the statues where worn, as polished as a messianic icon in a cathedral, by the many touches from moscavites paying homage as they passed. Even the dog had a shiney nose! I cant say I took too much to Moscow. However a few days travelling around her underground railway stations and I might feel the urge to buy myself a note book and an anorak! Not that you need a jacket, given the temperatures on the streets far above, the tube is toasty warm. It was on my second evening, as I walked from the station to my hotel, that I had my encounter with the 'babushka' in beaver fur (maybe a bad choice of alliteration!).  A huskly wispered 'prostituka' emenating from a disembodied voice from somewhere within a big fur coat and hood. I had walked on a few yards before it occurred to me that I was being offered a service! Still, with temperatures of -22 (daytime) there were probably not too many punters wandering the streets looking for nooky.

I wasn't in Outer Mongolia long enough to witness any similar situations. Ulaanbataar is the largest city in Outer Mongolia. The country has just over 2 million inhabitants and half of then live in the capital. Outside of Dheli, UB has to be one of the noisiest places I've ever visited. It would seem that it is obligatory to sound your car horn from the moment you start driving and continue until you complete your journey. Other than this and the interminable cold wind that makes it, reputedly, the worlds coldest capital city, I didn't have time to experience much more.

China also has prohibition on the sex trade and, certainly in post-Olympics Beijing there was little to be troubled by, unless you go looking I presume. Except Shanghai! Or should I say Shaghai! First off, Shanghai is actually a nice city, as cities go. As I've said before, I'm not really a fan of big urban areas, but Shanghai has history and charm. I was fortunate to be staying in a very central area, not far from the Bund (riverside), at one end of the Nanjing Road. Nanjing Road is, sort of, like the Oxford Street of Shanghai. A paved area about half a mile long, it is lined with big department stores selling top notch brand western products. It's side streets are also home to some really good restaurants and street food vendors and it is a great place to indulge in one of my favourite activities...people watching.  

On my first evening in the city I opted to take a pre-dinner stroll along the road. I'd already done the walk in the daytime and had got used to being approached by people offering to sell me cheap watches and bags. I wasn't quite expecting the deluge of rumpy pumpy vendors that were to assault my every step that evening. Within a few yards of entering one end of the concours, a man in a black leather jacket sidled up to me offering the usual fake goods but followed this hawking with 'you like massage? Very pretty girl. Give you good time!'. Waving him away, it was only another ten yards or so before the same again. After about five approaches, from male and female pimps, I decided to start counting. In the 30 minutes it took me to walk up and back along the road, I was propositioned a further 27 times! 

Given that the Chinese authorities say that the game doesn't exist in their country, there are a lot of players in Shanghai. Either that or one very busy girl! I got used to the modus operandi after a while. I would notice a, usually, dark jacketed guy, or sometimes a middle aged woman, breaking away from a small group and tacking through the promenading shoppers and families on a collision course with my direction of travel. Sometimes it would be a pincer movement so that, if I slyly changed my trajectory, there would be another approaching from the other side of the street. But the dialogue, in poor, but well rehearsed, pigeon english, was invariable the same. The notable exception was the woman who, having her offers of watches, bags and pretty girl, rejected looked me in the eye and said 'ok. Roller skates?' Her words took me by surprise. Looking down she was proffering a pair of luminous pink 'healeys' that flashed as they revolved. Even she cracked a smile as I started laughing out loud, though I think the irony may have been lost on her. 

There is obviously something about being a lone, fat, bald male that makes one a target for soliciting, as I never noticed approaches being made to men that were with other people. But it has led one friend to kindly label me 'hooker magnet'! I'm not sure that is meant in any way as a complement!

During my few days in Shanghai, I ran this gauntlet on a regular basis, partly because I wanted to get the the eateries, partly because it was the way to the nearest metro and partly because it was quite a fun game, playing dodgem along the boulevard. I have to confess, in the end I did weaken! I'm now the proud owner of a pair of a brand new pair of roller skates! Who has the key?

One of the things I wanted to do while away was to learn more (legitimate) massage techniques. Hong Kong and Vietnam have been full of spas and health clubs offering massage and I have had some excellent therapies, including having masseur walking up and down my spine. However, differentiating between the authentic offering and otherwise can be difficult. In general, opting for professional looking establishment, preferably linked to a decent hotel, does the trick. Even one of the ubiquitous foot massages - wonderful after a day walking around temples or museums - tend to include a quick shoulder and head massage. It is worth noting that, whilst not all that glistens is gold, not everything that is tarnished is foul. There are plenty of great massages to be had here and, at about £10a throw, great value.

Coming up next...Drugs.

Saturday 9 February 2013

From Winter to Summer (the conclusion)

The journey from Ulan-ude through to Beijing was comparatively uneventful. I remained in my, now private, compartment as far as the Outer Mongolian capital, Ulaanbataar. After a two day stop over (see 'When is a yurt not a yurt') I re boarded the TSR bound for its eastern terminus, Beijing. My travelling companions were now three Mongolian guys, Wa and See, who were about my age, and a younger, Eric (?), who was travelling with his girlfriend back to Sydney, Australia. Eric spoke very good English and it turned out that his sister had just finished an 'International Studies' degree at Winchester University, graduating there in the same week as my niece Rachel.

Eric was chatty and we talked for some time about Russian/Sino/Mongolian politics and cultural differences. He asked if I played cards and produced a pack. I answered yes, but then thought about it and realised it was years since I'd played anything but cribbage. To my, initial, good fortune Eric asked me if I knew a game I could teach him. Then came the realisation that, in my current state of mind, I had know idea where, in the jumbled mess of a warehouse that is my brain, I'd put the jar with the rules and objectives of crib! Eric was a very intense and serious young man and he sat pensive, in anticipation of learning a new skill from a wise old teacher. 

'Well, basically it's a game for two people. First we deal six cards each and then...' Could I remember the 'and then'? Like hell I could. I've been playing this game since I was about six years old and I couldn't even think of the objective! I fumbled around in my teenager's bedroom of a head and started to make up what I thought was the right game. I was, of course, wrong and as I started to recollect the correct rules I was amending them as the game progressed. Eric must have thought I was a consummate and unashamed cheat as every time he appeared to earn points, I would revise the rules or aim of our game, usually to his detriment.

We finished the first game in two hands (as anyone who plays crib will know this is impossible). Confessing the obvious, I started to re-configure my reckoning on the vagaries of the ancient game, much in the same manner as Eric shuffled the pack, and eventually settled on a close approximation of the correct rules. As we trundled across the Mongolian Steppe, watching mile after mile of white, cold, expansive landscape roll by, w e played a further six or so, much more likely, hands, all of which Eric won!

Arriving at Erlian, the Mongolian/Chinese border crossing, my earlier theories on the constitution on the train  were confirmed. The train was, metaphorically speaking, chopped into four-carriage sized chunks and taken into a massive shed. Here, the de-coupled cars were lifted - passengers and all - by gigantic hydraulic jacks, about eight feet into to the air and clear of the bogies. These were then wheeled out from under the coaches and the replacements trundled in and aligned, ready for the whole kit and caboodle to be clipped back together like a Hornby toy. The whole process took about 30 minutes per carriage. However, even with four carriages being addressed at a time - and there were three sidings operating the process - it took nearly three hours to complete the process and get us on our way.

The final leg of my trans-siberian journey took me through Inner Mongolia and Hebei Provence before delivering me to my destination, Beijing. Capitol of The People's Republic of China and home to the 2008 Olympic Games, Peking Duck, some rich history and some amazing examples of early Chinese architecture. In particular, the Summer Palace - constructed in 1750. Just 20 years after the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg - in which place I truly felt I could say 'I've travelled from west to east on the longest rail journey know to man (except, of course the 06:18 Winchester to Waterloo on a Monday morning!). From the Winter Palace in St.Petersburg to the Summer Palace in Beijing!'

APPENDIX

Although, in theory, this spelt the end of my epic rail journey, to quote Winston Churchill 'This isn't the end. This isn't even the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning.'

Although the train from UB to Beijing was comfortable and quite new, the trains from there on through China were decidedly less so. My next leg was to take me from the capital to Xian so that I could visit the famous Terracotta Warriors. Boarding the train at Beijing South station was to be an infamous activity to say the least. I discovered that Chinese railway stations have a cunning plan to manage the large numbers of passengers that use the transport system. Rather than a single large concours, in which all passengers await notification of platform numbers, etc., there are a series of large 'waiting rooms' and access to the platform for any particular train is via to one of these. I found the waiting room quite easily, getting in was a different matter. The room was about half the size of a football pitch and contained some 2000 other travellers. I and my oversized rucksack pushed my way into the throng and tried to identify a sensible place to site myself. Sitting was out of the question, but, noticing the four platform gates were labeled for the appropriate train and their immediate successors, I joined the back of the line for the one showing the train before mine. My plan paid off and, once the passengers for the prior train had filed into the doorway, I found myself at the front queue for my train.

Unlike most of the TSR trip, this was a comparatively short overnight journey. The train was to depart at about 8pm and would arrive in Xian about 12 hours later. Once installed in my bunk, I rolled over and went to sleep quite quickly. 

Overnight train travel, when you have such vast distances to cover, is a sensible and economical choice as you can combine journey time and a night's accommodation.  It's also much cheaper than flying with the added bonus that, when its daylight, you get to see stuff.  Northern China is a relatively arid landscape largely made up of heavily eroded sandstone plains and mountainous back drops. Most towns are being substantially 'modernised'.  It looked as though much of the old, single story housing was being replaced by tall, uniform and utilitarian tower blocks. I had read about China's love of the bulldozer and here it was in action.

Xian to Nanjing was a similarly story and outlook, although the Xian terminal was much less fractious and I was able to sit to await my train. Nanjing is the old Chinese capital. Although still a large city, it has a more provincial feel to it than Beijing and the Old Quarter has been quite well preserved, if a bit if a tourist trap. Nanjing has a very sad recent past. In the late 1930's, when Japan invaded China, the city was subject to an horrific slaughter at the hands of the successors. Known as the Rape Of Nanjing, in the space of 2 weeks, over 300,000 men, women and children were systematically executed. Many of the women were raped and some forced to work in the Japanese 'happy camps'. The Japanese claimed that the reason for the killing was because they couldn't distinguish soldiers from civilians as many had discarded their uniforms. Two infamous Japanese officer had a competition known as the '100 heads challenge'. They reached their score so quickly that they revised the number upwards. In 1945, they and many of their fellow officers were tried and executed for war crimes and crimes against humanity.

I visited the Nanjing memorial museum with two guys I'd met at my hostel. One a tall Mongolian man and the other a young Japanese who, in atonement for his forefathers actions, had walked from Shanghai to Nanjing to pay homage. Along the way he had collected messages of peace, written on a t-shirt, and he wanted to give this to the museum in a gesture of reconciliation. Inside the museum, he was keen to read and see all of the exhibits. When we came out he was quiet and contemplative. I asked if he was ok and he replied 'yes! I'm very sad, but I'm happy I made the journey. It was very important'.

From Nanjing, I took a fast and comfortable train to Shanghai from Nanjing South station. In contrast to Beijing and Xian stations, this bright and new facility is more akin to an airport. High roofed, air conditioned and with comfortable seating, it was a world away from my other train experiences.

My next blogs will likely move away from a chronological view as I'm getting terribly behind. Keep an eye out for 'Sex and Drugs and Rock 'n Roll' coming up soon.