Harry Potter and the Chinese Empire

I woke this morning to find a copy of the NYT at the door – unusual in San Francisco where you normally get a wheelbarrow load of state and local papers. Mainly full of advertising. Anyway, the NYT carried an article about how the Chinese, impatient for the release of the final volume of Harry Potter, have been writing their own endings and circulating and publishing them. And of course they have been up to their usual tricks – scanning and copying and printing their own copies of the originals.

• Harry Potter and the Half Blooded Relative Prince
• Harry Potter and the Hiking Dragon
• Harry Potter and the Chinese Empire
• Harry Potter and the Young Heroes
• Harry Potter and the Showdown
• Harry Potter and the Big Funnel
• Harry Potter and the Chinese Porcelain Doll
• Harry Potter and the Leopard-Walk-Up-To-Dragon (my favourite)

Chinese titles can be the source of humour in themselves (this blog is an example) but these Potter titles only underscore how different China can be! That of course is a large part of its appeal. The online version of that NYT article by the way can be found here.

Beijing Street Barber

There are places you visit that catch the eye and you marvel at something different. Or places that engage the mind and you enjoy the way things are done differently, ingeniously and innovatively. China is NOT one of those places. It does not catch the eye. Or engage the mind. It grabs your heart. The eye and mind then follow. And it grabs your heart because their people do. There is something about their communal living, community spirit and the way they interact with each other that is missing in our western communities but to which I respond. That community mindedness means they do not really care too much about what others think about what one is doing. (What you are saying is another matter in this still Communist, centrally controlled state).

In a lane off one of Beijing’s boulevards this street barber was chatting away to the two by the wall, in her shop that was a piece of the sidewalk. Her tools are hung in a leather satchel on the pole beside her. The conversation was staccato fast, with everyone talking and no one listening. Did anyone care about the way the hair cut was progressing? I don’t think so. I loved the normalcy about the whole scene. People walked around them. Customers lined up in the street, patiently waiting their turn. Everyone knew everyone else, chatted and joked together. China is an extended family after all.

October 2004

Inspired by Xian Sketches and Sketchers

Along the main street in Xian, OK, along one of the main streets in Xian, just near the Bell Tower roundabout, dozens of artists sit along the kerb and entice passers by to pose for their portraits. Sure you see plenty of these sorts of guys around town, hanging out at train stations and tourist spots, even in this town. Funny how they all seem Asian. Maybe they have come out of Xian! Not likely since the teenage artists sitting along the sidewalk in Xian are, without exception, seriously talented. That they can take any person, in half light and through pressing crowds at that, and sketch an uncanny likeness had me transfixed for, well seconds. Stay there any longer and they are wanting you to pose and before you know it you have a bunch of sketches in your bottom draw you will never do anything with. But they did not need my business to stay in business – parents with cute toddlers with braided hair and ribbons were the models of choice and like young parents anywhere they are happy to cough up for a cute picture of their children. Dozens and dozens of them.

However what these artists did do was prod me to get the old HB out and to get sketching again. That creative urge ties in nicely with the blogging. But there is nothing quite like a soft pencil on quality paper. Except perhaps a nice viscous Indian ink used for painting Chinese characters, and the soft, smooth paper they practise on. Now I did take some instruction on that in Xian, some of which I will get up on the site here some time. In the meantime here is a quick “one sitting” sketch from last weekend’s paper of Catherine Deneuve. Scanner did something neat with the highlighted look – I can’t take credit for that.

Nailing Your Colours to your Nail House

When you live with 1.2billion neighbours it is pretty hard to be your own person. At least in the way we understand that desire. One of the things I love about the Chinese is that even within their tight and densely populated communities you will see individuals striving to be their own little island for a moment or two. It might be the old gent doing his ablutions on the street corner, studiously avoiding the gaze of neighbours. Or the dancer twirling in her own world. Or little knots of elderly women pushing through a market regardless of the human tide. I enjoyed reading today about a Chinese couple who have been making their own statement in China over the last three years, resisting developers and holding out for a couple of million dollars. Development has gone on around them though even that was eventually held up while they held out. Until tonight, when their house came down. There will be a part of them that is driven by pecuniary interests. Of course. But it is also another example of how these people manage to find their own way to stand out from the crowd and be their own person, and I bet this became their raison d’etre in the end.

Great Pheasant – or “The China-Australia Health Index”

I prefer Great Pheasant. It is a little more poetic than the latter. But they are connected. I was reading somewhere in the last few weeks that the backlog of coal ships anchored off Newcastle is currently at record highs. Newcastle is the loading port for Hunter Valley Coal which is being shipped at enormous rates to China. It has been a while since I had taken a look at the ships so when that town on Friday I had a quick peek. Ships as far as the eye can see. Actually 37 that I could see. Some dimly visible in the salt haze of a warm, windy day. All waiting their turn, standing high in the water revealing their rust red oxide, rust proofed bottoms. The crews must groan when they hear they are coming down here on a coal run since they spend a crazy amount of time sitting off the coast and have no opportunity to come ashore.

Tied up along side the coal terminals were three coal ships, the largest named Great Pheasant. It is difficult to get a close up photo of them since all the conveyors and loading machinery gets in the way. But if here is still a little boy lurking in you somewhere then this place is a great port to poke around in. There is a lot of machinery to admire. And some quick maths reveals some stunning statistics. Guessing that the Great Pheasant would carry 150,000 to 200,000 tonnes of coal the ships sitting of the beach represented 5.5million tonnes of coal. (The Great Pheasant actually carries more than 170,000 tonnes).

The mineral export boom to China continues, people are making a lot of money out of it, the share market is propped up on it, the government is counting on the healthy export driven economy to carry it through the next election, and China Health index, measured by the number of ships off Newcastle, sets new records. Signs of our times.

Respite in the Forbidden Palace

September 12, 2006. Beijing morning with the early sun on my back and cool freshness of the morning breeze on my face. On my left the still moat of the Forbidden Palace and on my right the bustle of the early morning traffic. Trolley buses pour past, cyclists and of course the normal flood of cars. A bespectacled gent with wispy hair sits down with me to read the paper. Long poles dip in and out of the moat, at one end held and watched intently by old men – hoping for the tiniest fish which surely would hardly hope to cope in such putrid water.

It has turned into a classic hot Beijing day and getting hydration is doubly important in the baking courtyards of this place. We started the day with a leisurely stroll south to Tienanmen Square where we wandered with the crowds and for those who had not been here before “dropped them in it.” As I look around I am more interested in my fellow Chinese visitors than the buildings. Our Chinese friends seem to get more and more socialised (poor pun I know) to things Western every time I am up here. That is evident less in what they might own but in what they wear and how they wear it. Even the tanned, broadfaced peasant stock in from the bush to see the sights have a veneer of care about them. Perhaps not Chanel care but a sense of dress and an awareness of themselves not evident in previous trips. And of course the local kids are stretching the envelope – perhaps not as much as their counterparts in Hong Kong but not too far off their shoulder at all.
A young couple sitting across from me is typical. He has a neat tidy hair cut, a number two, a clean T-shirt and new jeans. She has a long haircut, is lightly made up, wearing a very modern European cut jacket and pants. Hair is streaked and permed. High heels, anklets, frills and lace. Very composed, poised and aware of the the statement they are making. And conveniently contrasted by the elderly gent immediately behind them. He is wearing a Mao suit with its high collar, has a salt and pepper bristle cut and he looks about him in bemused wonder. I bet the Chinese hip hop that is belting out of the sound system is beyond his ken. Its moments like these you wish you had the local lingo so you could chat with him. Imagine the changes this old man has seen.

In May 1989 Tienanmen happened – as we now cheaply refer to it – and the two people we met the other day had no real understanding about what had happened then. No concept at all. I suspect partly because the state is reluctant to allow it to be part of the the lore of this place. But also perhaps because, like the young people of Vietnam they are really mainly focused on getting on with their studies so they can make money or to get on with their money making.

One stale sandwich , some cheesecake of an indeterminate taste and two chocolate mochas later I am ready for a bathroom break and another foray into the heat. Lets go.

Chinese Translation of English Movie Titles

So while we are thinking about Chinese movies (previous post refers) you might enjoy the following “top 15″ Chinese Translations of English movie titles.

15. “Pretty Woman” — “I Will Marry a Prostitute to Save Money”
14. “Face/Off” — “Who Is Face Belonging To? I Kill You Again, Harder!”
13. “Leaving Las Vegas” — “I’m Drunk And You’re a Prostitute”
12. “Interview With The Vampire” — “So, You Are a Lawyer?”
11. “The Piano” — “Ungrateful Adulteress! I Chop Off Your Finger!”
10. “My Best Friend’s Wedding” — “Help! My Pretend Boyfriend Is Gay!”
9. “George of the Jungle” — “Big Dumb Monkey-Man Keeps Whacking Tree With Genitals”
8. “Scent of a Woman” — “Great Buddha! I Can Smell You From Afar! Take a Bath, Will You?!”
7. “Love, Valour, Compassion!” — “I Am That Guy From Seinfeld So It’s Acceptable for Straight People to Enjoy This Gay Movie”
6. “Babe” — “The Happy Dumpling-to-be Who Talks And Solves Agricultural Problems”
5. “Twister” — “Run! Ruuunnnn! Cloudzillaaaaa!”
4. “Field of Dreams” — “Imaginary Dead Baseball Players Live in My Cornfield”
3. “Barb Wire” — “Delicate Orbs of Womanhood Bigger Than Your Head Can Hurt You”
2. “Batman & Robin” — “Come to My Cave and Wear This Rubber Codpiece, Cute Boy”
1. “The Crying Game” — “Oh No! My Girlfriend Has a Penis!”

The Skinny Hamster and the Otter

A colleague in Singapore is known as “Mr Otter” – reflecting his penchant for fish. Especially pepper crab. And turning into a shopping mall this evening we were confronted by a sign that encouraged us to visit the health club on the third floor. A treadmill of a day comment morphed into the image of a skinny hamster on a treadmill. Indeed, the pair of us in the health club seemed like a clash of images, but was remotely hilarious when couched in animal terms. But it did seem like a nicely poetic title after the fashion of book and movie titles about Chinese themes that assailed us throughout the 1980s and 1990s – and I have to confess that I am bit of a sucker for them.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The art of the title lies in the four word poem this title creates. Tiger and Dragon grab your attention and are linked in an obvious way. Lethal and beautiful. Elusive and powerful. Crouching and Hidden link up as well. Crouching can imply something that is hidden, perhaps in ambush. Waiting for prey. Or perhaps the Tiger and Dragon are pitted against each other, both in some sort of Mexican standoff. Both hidden from each other but aware of the presence of each, nonetheless.

“First Love the Litter of the Breeze”. “Fallen Plum Blossoms” “Scared Fire, Heroic Wind.” “Bloodshed on Mandarin Duck Mountain” (OK, a bit different). “Wolves Crying Under the Moon” “House of Flying Daggers” are titles that are evocative before you get to the story itself.

OK, most actually don’t cut it. Try “Father and Son are Both Great” “Special Anti-Gangsterdom Action” “Bomb Disposal Officer Baby Bomb”, “The Haunted Cop Shop II” “Hai Rui Swears At Emperor” or “Beyond Hypothermia” and see what sort of response you get from your local video store.

Or ask for “Skinny Hamster Outtreadled by Otter” and get a completely blank look. I guess you had to be there.

Train Nazi Postscript

20 September 2006. We finally dropped into Lanzhou at about 7.15 am. I managed to get back into the carriage via the platform as recounted earlier (Train Nazi). We eventually were pressed out through the exit with a throng of fellow travellers into the cool morning air. We were immediately struck by how different this town is. Hard, gritty, flinty even. Hard faces. Heads down. Worker’s clothes, impassive responses to our proffered hellos. Here we met Richard our driver after running the usual gauntlet of no hopers that crowd around the forecourt of any rail-station anywhere in the world.

Including a bunch of soldiers preparing to board a bus, looking surly and half asleep, Captain trying to get them to line up properly and to stand in order while their baggage was being stacked high on the bus. That made me grin to myself. Military conscripts anywhere in the world are all the same. They know what a straight line looks like but passive surliness, spiced with some insouciance, without direct disobedience, is just the perfect mix with which to get your own back at your officers. I know the formula well and fancy I was rather expert at it. The Captain was clearly rattled enough for me to keep my camera in my pocket. No need to prod the dragon.

We were dropped off at our hotel which boasted “grand” in its title somewhere. It was a pile of rubbish actually. With the usual Chinese inability to provide quality service. The one thing it had going for it was the size of the room. However the whole place was remarkably musty and we were forced to open windows – onto the city reputed to be the most polluted in the world – clean the bathroom with bleach (that shopping expedition is another story in itself) and to keep the air-conditioning turned off. In fact I think the whole musty/mould problem was the air conditioning. But we slept there in the warm air of late summer, mixed with dust and smoke, together with the noise of people and traffic bustling away six stories below and the trains bellowing through to the Russian border, Tibet, Urumqi and other remote points directly beneath us. Whatever shortcomings we have in this hotel, it is probably is far beyond what those soldiers are putting up with right now.

Four weeks after we were there the sorry story of Lanzhou’s air pollution was complemented by a broken sewage pipe which turned the Yellow River red. Something poetic in there somewhere.

Pickled Eel for Emperor

September 11 2006 Beijing: We met Liz and Al and took bicycles down to the Forbidden City, but via Beihai Park. I love the tickets they issue to these places – very sharp looking but only a few cents to buy. A collection of these tell your story by themselves. At Beihai Park we took photos and posed for photos. Even though the temple was under repairs – as a lot of the city is, for which everyone can thank, or curse, the 2008 Olympics. One of the tourist attractions up on the hill, popular mainly with local tourists it seemed, was to pose in emperor’s garb for an outrageous fee.

None of us were too keen on the idea of dressing up but some parents with their four year old were having their young prince pose in royal garb. For some reason his grandmother decided I was “pretty” and wanted me to have my picture taken. Under increasing pressure I did so. We ended up having a picture taken with her sitting on the throne beside me, with my arm around her. She thought it hilarious. She was delighted to the point of paying for additional photos which she proudly showed me when they were printed. She got a kiss on her forehead for her trouble and seemed pleased with that. It certainly added to the spontaneity and atmosphere of the afternoon.

I did not come away with a photo of grandma. Only one of the Pickled Eel as Emperor!

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