The last dumpling

Ethnic Unrest
I got more news about the massive ethnic uprising in the province of Urumqi by reading a daily newspaper in Spanish newspapers than I did in China. Even the English language newspapers had very little more than the obvious line. Of course, no one wanted to talk to us about any such matters, and that is fair enough. Perhaps if we spoke Chinese, if we had been in the country longer, if we knew someone, then we could develop some sense of the matter, but alas, none of this is true.

Going native
Debbie was happy to embrace Chinese culture thus: sucking on chickens’ feet, ordering catfish (tasted like carp to me), enjoying pork and roe dumplings with slurpy wetness on the inside, partaking the pleasures of a squat toilet, bartering, sweating and shopping. I, however was willing to go the extra step, I threatened to wear my pyjamas out in public. Please do not be mistaken, I do not mean a Mao suit (we saw not one of these) but actual pyjamas - the striped poly cotton suit type that your grandfather might have worn. Debbie declared that she had enjoyed travelling with me well enough, but it would be the end of the friendship if I donned the pink striped PJs and headed out the revolving door of the 5 star hotel. The Chinese, like the Vietnamese do not discriminate between day wear and pyjamas. People happily stroll the streets wearing their cotton stripes and no one bats and eyelid. When you think about it, it makes sense ; it is a neat outfit, the top and the bottom match in a formal type of way, it is comfotable and washable. At Kingswood the senior students have no uniform and thus wear tracksuit ponts, hoodies and ugg boots to school. Essentially what I consider to be their pyjamas, so I guess it is all perspective.

It is quite funny when an ultramodern tall stick insect style girl in hot pants, high heel gladiator boots and a funky angular haircut crosses paths with a grandma in her cotton jammies. This intersection of cultures and ages can be seen all over Shanghai in every aspect of life; architecture, food, transport, building practices.

I did not see the maglev (360kph) even though Debbie tells me is went right past. I, apparently blinked (really literally: blink and you miss it.) I also did not see one Chinese person walking around with their name tattooed on their bicep in roman letters. So, somehow the fashion is not reciprocated. I really want to come back to China, but next time I would like to come with someone who can help me see a few more layers.

The last bite
The final leg home meant out 10th boarding pass was collected and we spent a few hours queuing at Sydney airport and a mind-warping black hole of time at Canberra airport. It seemed such a long way from where we had been, and ironically such a long way from home and hearth. Eventually the novelty Chinese gifts were distributed to the offspring the, new suit was tried on by the husband and my own bed welcomed me back.