Tag Archives: travel

September 9th: Gothic Karaoke Swimming Pools

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Meal at Haven

Bron, Rachel and Grace at Haven

“Shanghai’s first gothic restaurant” (and only, I think), claims Haven’s website, “and we will close our doors forever after 666 events”.  Gothic in architecture, not in music (with creepy jazz rather than creepy Cure being played in the background), Haven offers its patrons a unique, vampire-esque experience in a city of copycat, overcrowded eateries.  Our table was in the middle of the huge dining hall, with high-backed chairs and only candles for lighting to continue the theme.   Sadly, the food during our meal with Grace and Rachel on Wednesday night wasn’t spectacular; I guess we were paying for the setting rather than the cooking.

Vampire Karaoke

The bar at the end of the Haven swimming pool

So what do vampires like to do once they’ve finished eating?  In Haven, they obviously climb the grand, sweeping staircase and enter the mysteriously lit door at the top of the stairs.  Behind the door lies a small swimming pool, complete with TV display in the ceiling for bathers to sing karaoke.   Vampire Karaoke.  Again, only in China.

 

Duck Blood

Duck blood

An impromptu Hot Pot meal on Friday night with Andrew and Richard saw yet another new addition to my list of “Foods to try once only”: duck blood.  Congealed and served like meat loaf.  Possibly a delicacy, but probably never again for me.

 

Shanghai is split on two sides by the Huangpu River, with Puxi – where we live – to the east, and Pudong to the west.  We rarely venture over the other side of the river, since to us it largely seems to be made up of huge ex-pat compounds, multi-lane highways and more importantly: a lack of taxis.  Early Saturday evening, we met up with the work gang at an Internations barbecue at a bar called “Face” over in the dark side of Pudong.   A well-attended event, with free drinks all evening long once we’d paid the initial £15 entry fee.  Followed by a taxi back to the normal world for a few more drinks and games of pool.
Only four of us left at the end of the night; a new temporary addition to the late-night gang; Alex, our HR representative in the UK, over here for a month to help out.  So 9 hours after meeting up, we called it a night.

* Hot pot: A communal pot of hot soup into which you put raw ingredients.  Usually thinly sliced pork, beef, etc.  But sometimes duck blood.

September 2nd: Healed by Curry

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A day of rest for Bronwen on Wednesday as advised by the Doctor followed by a medicinal curry in the evening and she was back at work on Thursday.  The magical healing power of Indian food.  And a shedload of antibiotic cream.

The lump on the head has pretty much subsided but the huge bruise on the knee more than makes up for it.

As to why nobody showed any concern as Bronwen lay face down on the pavement, our Chinese friends and colleagues have re-emphasised the cultural differences and compensation culture that led to last year’s news story about the toddler being ignored having been run over twice by a van.  Not that they’re saying they think this is acceptable; their point being most people are so worried about being held responsible or made to pay medical bills that they daren’t intervene.  That and the language barrier that prevents a simple “Are you OK?”.  China’s a tough old place sometimes.  Ironic to think some people in the UK don’t value the NHS.

Closless

Tequila cocktail.  That’ll just be tequila then.

Normality resumes at the weekend; Friday night back at De Refter saw a free round of beers from the landlord (and a replacement meal) after playing spot the Mozzarella on Andrea’s “Mozzarella Salad”*.  I think each time we’ve been there, a small problem or other has been rectified graciously by Nick the landlord (technically, he’s the manager, and it’s a bar, not a pub; but “landlord” makes it sound more, well, pub-like).  Nick tells me the recent acquisition of a huge fridge in said establishment may result in extra capacity to stock a few “off-menu” beers (subject to his supplier’s range of stock) if I would agree to visit regularly enough.  I told him if he’s looking for a reference for this type of arrangement, The Bull in Olney would be happy to oblige.

After a bit of a late one in Closless (“What base would you like for your cocktail sir?”.  “Tequila”.  A shot of tequila is poured.  “That’s not a cocktail!”.  “OK sir, I’ll give you a double for the same price”.  More tequila is poured.), we just about made it to lunch on Saturday with Tim, Sarah and JB.   The plan being to go to a random park or visit a local cultural sight.  The reality being a gentle, relaxed walk through the northern Jing’An area, stopping off at a few bars (well, three in total).  Back home at around 7.30pm, we jumped at the chance of a quiet-night in.

A late Sunday brunch over at Masse (of “We can see our house from here” fame) with Isaac and a few of his co-workers; a rare opportunity to get a reasonable bit of bacon with (late) breakfast.

The Big Bamboo beckons this evening for Liverpool v Arsenal.  Hopefully we can end the weekend on a high.

Crisps on a stick

Why can’t we get crisps-on-a-stick in the UK?

The picture, by the way, is of a Qingdao street-food delicacy; crisps on a stick.

* This, I think, is referred to by readers of The Guardian as a “1st World Problem”.

August 27th: Qingdao vs. Olney (Beer Festivals)

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Beach near the beer festival

On the beach late at night…

The sea always looks more appealing in the dark.  Of indeterminable colour and levels of cleanliness, the moonlit sea offers a different perspective to that available to the normal hordes of daytime beach visitors.  On Saturday evening, following our trip to Qingdao’s beer festival, the group of people we’d adopted(/been adopted by) headed down to the beach to experience the warmth of the late night Yellow Sea .   A few people paddling (Richard heading off into the distance for a while); a few straight into the sea for a full-on swim and a few observers bemused by it all.  After a couple of hours, and with our small group now swollen in numbers, Bron and I made a dignified exit as the newcomers continued to lower the group’s average age.

Rewinding a bit…

Qingdao Beer Festival

Inside one of the tents with our new temporary friends.

Qingdao beer festival vs. Olney beer festival then.  Olney wins for beer, friends and relaxation.  Qingdao wins for sheer unpredictability.   We’d met Arey, an American bloke teaching economics in Nanjing, whilst queuing for free tickets*.  Brad, an Australian we found ensconced by an air conditioning unit, also joined us as we wandered from bizarre beer tent to bizarre beer tent.  We met up with Richard around the same time as a few of Arey’s friends appeared and managed to find a table big enough to accommodate all of us in one of the less noisy tents.  Our evening meal – home-prepared seafood and sausages  – provided for free by some lovely, generous Chinese ladies sat next to us.  I’m not sure whether it was pity or sheer generosity, but Richard, Brad and I were incredibly appreciative (the rest of the table missing out due to lack of proximity to our friendly ladies).

Beers from all over the world, but not a single British beer to be found (and I have no idea how Budweiser managed to sneak their way in).  A few decent dark German beers did the job, with the festival closing relatively early (a little after ten).  It was then that somebody had the bright idea of heading down towards the sea.

It’s a strange phenomenon in which people of different nationalities are drawn together simply by being laowai (a casual Chinese word for foreigner).  There’s a shared perspective seemingly unique to China and is on occasion one of the highlights of living here.  There’s a point at which age doesn’t come into it (as the pictures attest), but the later the night became, the older we began to feel.  I have no idea what time our temporary friends decided to call it a night.

Qingdao Beaches

Bron on one of Qingdao’s several beaches

The rest of our weekend in Qingdao was more cultural in nature; visits to various seafront exhibits and a shedload of walking along the extended coastline.  Many thanks to Anny (our Chinese Finance Director) for allowing us to stay in her house; a few strange looks from her neighbours but a great base for our Qingdao exploration.  Qingdao is a mixture of a beautiful coastline, mountains and scenery Shanghai could only dream of.  It also appears to have some of the worst roads in China, with the traffic forced to crawl along due to the potholes, divots and missing surfaces in abundance.

Qingdao Pier

Rent a terrorist

Halfway down Qingdao’s crowded, popular pier, we noticed a few men dressed as terrorists with fake guns and hidden faces.  I’m not sure if anywhere else in the world posing to have your photo taken with a fake gun pointed at you would be considered a tourist attraction.

Our trip to Qingdao was supposed to give us a relaxing break away from our recent hectic couple of weeks in Shanghai.  On Wednesday we’d been over to Isaac and Chong’s nearby apartment to experience their ayi’s Indian cooking skills.  Available for hire in October, we’ll definitely be trying to make use of her services.  On Thursday night we’d been to a strange old Japanese restaurant over in Pudong (deep fried everything) to say goodbye to Simone as she heads back to Germany, hopefully returning later in the year.

Back to work tomorrow.

*”If you’re not Chinese, ring this number for free tickets” said the online message.  We did, it worked. It saved us the equivalent of £1.

August 22nd: Beijing Bikinis

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The man in the photograph perfectly demonstrates a clothes-style I’m reliably informed is referred to as the “Beijing Bikini”.  Since it’s so bloomin’ hot outside, rolling up one’s top to allow the air to cool one’s belly seems an eminently sensible idea (a fashion unique to men in China it appears).  Having spent 2 hours exploring some of the older areas of Shanghai with Bron and Rachel in the heat of Sunday afternoon I was inclined to join in.  But fortunately for the locals, my t-shirt tan remains intact.

A box of insects

Boxes of insects. And feeding bowls.

There are those far better qualified than I to comment on how animals are treated in China (yeah, copout).  Instead, it was with quiet bewilderment that we stumbled through the huge plant/insect/animal market on Xizang Lu.  Five months in and sometimes I feel we’re no closer to understanding certain elements of Chinese culture.  Crickets in tiny cages; insects in small plastic boxes with what appears to be feeding trays filled with salt; lidded metal pots containing other mysterious insects.  All available for you to take home today.

So from bees to pies;

From the ridiculous to the sublime:

Glo London does probably the world’s best steak pie.  Guaranteed to take at least 2 days to digest, but well worth the effort.   The visiting family Burgess, now in week four of their visit to east Asia, had apparently had sufficient intake of local cuisine to necessitate a trip to a British-style gastro pub/bar.  We joined JB, his wife and 2 kids on Tuesday night for the most comforting of comfort foods in an attempt to avoid any further weight loss.   The food was excellent; my only complaint being the lack of British beers on offer (Guinness did the job though).

Monday’s attempt at comfort food was somewhat less successful: the lump of meat in our fridge clearly labeled in English as “best bacon” turned out not to bacon waiting to be sliced, but instead a chunk of uncooked ham.   At least that’s what we now think, since slicing it and grilling it seemed to turn the meat into pure salt.

Old streets of Shanghai

Old streets of Shanghai, with the new just appearing in the upper left.

Park near The Bund

Bron and Rach near The Bund. In bamboo world.

5th April 2012: Sims Arrive in Shanghai

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“Here?  Here?  HERE?”

The two Virgin Atlantic chauffeurs seems a little concerned about our choice of destination, unwilling as they were to proceed any further down the narrow lane leading to our Shanghai house.  Unloading 7 suitcases, 1 guitar, 4 bits of hand luggage (plus a little duty free) and lugging them down the lane was always going to be a challenge – many thanks to the workmen currently finishing off work in the house for helping to carry them up three flights of stairs (and no thanks to the Virgin Atlantic drivers).

The sheer amount of luggage was always going to be a bit of a challenge – from grabbing the suitcases as they arrived in the airport (although a genius idea from Bronwen to put colour-coded luggage straps around each one eased the task somewhat) to watching the Virgin drivers struggle to load them all into two saloon cars.  Rhian had suggested we may look like royalty arriving with so many suitcases – although it’s probably normal for royalty to have co-ordinated, matching suitcases, rather than 7 completely different ones.  And fortunately, the lovely customs officials decided we were struggling enough without having to place them through the scanner upon arrival.

So one housecheck later (locks on front door – yes please, bare wires and light-bulb above shower – no thanks) and we were in.

The house is fantastic.   It’ll be even better once we have furniture…