The flâneur

Right, left, right, left, right and so on. No doubt taking his cue from Luke Rhinehart’s novel The Dice Man, a recent acquaintance told me in Shanghai how he goes about exploring cities these days. For years much of his travel has mirrored mine: airport, plane, airport, taxi, hotel, conference, taxi, airport, plane, airport, sleep. Sick of this routine this peripatetic tycoon decided to make an effort to be different and see a unique slice of each city he visits. Now, when he gets a spare moment (and he always makes time – at least two hours) he heads out of his hotel and takes the first right, then the first left, then the first right and so on. This wonderfully random way of exploring appeals to me no end and will no doubt form the basis for many future blog posts, as (doff of the cap in Paul French’s direction for this lovely word coming up) what Baudelaire might have called a flâneur -- "that aimless stroller who loses himself in the crowd, who has no destination and goes wherever caprice or curiosity directs his or her steps".

Oink, oink

The door of the airplane opened. Four masked men strode in. The one in front raised his gun, pointed it at the forehead of the air steward nearest him, and pulled the trigger. The steward survived. His temperature was deemed okay. Swine ‘flu and the associated paranoia from 2002’s SARS epidemic had driven authorities in China to new levels of extreme fear mongering. As each and every international plane touches down on PRC soil a team of four, clad in white forensic overalls, surgical masks and best of all ski masks (!!) enter each plane before anyone can leave. It’s like a scene from a low grade Hollywood disaster movie. The temperature guns are pointed at everyone’s forehead. Anyone slightly suspicious gets a second actual thermometer check. Then we are allowed to proceed. Leaving the plane, we’ve filled in a form saying we have no life-threatening lurgy, which another masked official takes ahead of passports. Pig paranoia preeminates.

Sweat fest

Returning to Hong Kong this past Saturday was a quick reminder of why I hate Junes there; because you still have another three months at least of extreme humidity to put up with. Now in years past I have gradually got used to the return of the humidity as it permeates the atmosphere from April onwards. This time I flew in from London, headed into town, up and out of the Airport Express and past all the ludicrously priced shops of the International Finance Centre and headed out of my hermetically sealed existence of the past 16 hours onto an external elevated walkway. Hong Kong's offices are the coldest in the world, while outdoors have some of the highest humidity levels anywhere leading to curious common pneumonia occurrences. As I pushed open the glass door to head outside I noticed the T1 sign was up -- a typhoon was circling in the area. The oppressive heat hit me, smothered me really from head to toe. BOSCH --- it invaded every pore of my body straight away, hitting harder than a Springbok tackling a mauled British Lion. When typhoons hover, the air around Hong Kong tends to get sucked out of the atmosphere; the humidity climbs to 98%+ and even the hardiest, sinewy of locals has a sweaty brow. Within seconds my body taps switched on, perspiration popping from every part of my body. The alcohol from the flight is coming out neat and staining my shirt. This time of year is like walking in a sauna 24/7, with tshirts needing urgent changing all the time. This past weekend was about as bad as it gets. Time to get the hell out of here and head back to the cooler climes of the mainland.

Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao

Quick plug to my old chum Paul French’s latest book called Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao. Paul, the Old China Hands’ Old China Hand, examines the convulsive history of the old China press corps from the first newspapers printed in the European Factories of Canton in the 1820s through the 120 years of change, war, convulsion and revolution that led up to 1949. The story starts with a Sunday afternoon sword wielding duel between two editors over the opium trade and ends with a fistfight in a Shanghai jail over how to report Mao’s revolution.
Like journalists everywhere, the old China press corps took sides and brought their own assumptions and prejudices with them but a fair number also brought their personal hopes, dreams and fears along too. They certainly weren’t infallible; they got the story completely wrong as often as they got it partially right. Most did their jobs professionally, some passionately and a select few with rare flair and touches of genius. They were all too often flamboyant and gregarious characters; sometimes dodgy and dishonest; sometimes obsessive and manic. More than a few were drunks, philanderers and frauds and inevitably there was the occasional spy. They changed sides, they lost their impartiality, they displayed bias and a few were downright scoundrels and liars of the first order. But they were never anything less than fascinating.
You can catch Paul around the region. He’s normally funny, occasionally abrasive and worth listening to. Here are his book tour dates.

Sunday June 7 – Book Launch – The Glamour Bar
Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao

The Glamour Bar
6/F, No. 5 The Bund (corner Guangdong Road)
4pm
RMB 65, includes a drink
To book: 6350-9988 or reservations@m-onthebund.comwww.m-restaurantgroup.com

Suzhou

Monday June 8 – The Suzhou Bookworm
Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao

The Suzhou Bookworm
Gunxiufang 77, Shiquan Road, Suzhou
7.30pm
RMB30, includes a drink
http://www.suzhoubookworm.com/

Beijing

Tuesday June 16 – The Beijing Bookworm
Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao

The Beijing Bookworm
Building 4, Nan Sanlitun Road, Chaoyang District, Beijing
7.30pm
RMB20 (members); RMB30 (non-members)
http://www.beijingbookworm.com/index.php

Wednesday June 17 – The Bookworm at the Yin Yang Community Centre
“Girl Reporters” in China

The Bookworm at the Yin Yang Community Centre
The First Courtyard, Hegezhuang Village, Chaoyang District, Beijing
Tel.: 6431.2108
Email: contact@yinyangbeijing.com

Thursday June 18 – The China Foreign Correspondents’ Club
Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao
http://www.fccchina.org/

Hong Kong

Monday June 22 – Hong Kong Foreign Correspondents’ Club
Through the Looking Glass – China’s Foreign Journalists from Opium Wars to Mao

HK FCC, 2 Lower Albert Road, Central, Hong Kong
Time: 11.15
Tel: 852 2521 1511
http://www.fcchk.org/

And for us up here in lovely Dalian, he’s coming to the Brooklyn Bar probably in the first week of July.

Bulldozing history

Out of the darkness a hazy grey midday’s light crept into the lift as it made its way up the outside of the swish Hyatt on the Bund. This swanky hotel sits in an area of Shanghai – the North Bund – that is only now receiving the full attention of property developers. The scene from the ascending lift was all too depressingly familiar. Scars – 50 feet deep – were all that remained of huge plots of land where once had been characterful close knot sixty-year-old dwellings. The odd island of yore remained surrounded by blue fences, cranes and construction noise and mud.
In Shanghai the local government has protected many of the large old buildings while totally bowing to the avarice of property developers when it comes to old style accommodation. The city is a mess right now as it hurtles towards hosting the World Expo next year. Once locals have had time to look around after the dust settles, they might just regret the out and out pursuit of new dizzying skyscrapers. New office blocks I am reliably informed are only 35% taken up at the moment. This rash of overbuilding has also hit the sprawling hotels with occupancy rates at leading five star establishments now hovering dangerously low around 30%. Some day, someone will learn: less is more.

The Wofe

Setting up on the mainland as a small independent concern is no easy task, harder still if you happen to choose a second tier city such as my new home, Dalian.
About a year ago I set up a bank account in France. I remember walking away from the place, my wrist aching thanks to the incredible number of times I was asked to sign pieces of paper – something like 50 in all.
All this though was merely good practice for the bureaucratic assault that is China. In Hong Kong we take for granted just how simply everything works. Setting up a mobile phone service, for instance. Five minutes and away you go. Trundle down to China Mobile on the other hand and prepare for a good hour’s hanging around.
Rent was admittedly quite straightforward – and wonderfully cheap.
Which then brought around the issue of company registration. This is a minefield. But it was a battle I had to win to ensure decent visa status. I was aiming to set up a WOFE (Wholly Owned Foreign Enterprise, pronounced woofee) rather than a representative office in the knowledge that come another Beijing immigration crackdown as witnessed in the run up to the Olympics I would be safe.
However, being a penny pincher I simply refused to splash out exorbitant reams of renminbi on the myriad company registration firms, who charge an arm and a leg essentially to fill in forms and sit in long queues. No way. I’d do this myself.
I located the right office in the centre of town for the initial batch of forms. A pile of dense Chinese documents was presented to me from the austere grey surroundings of the tax bureau. A friend helped me fill them in. Signature count: around eight. I handed them in a few days later. A burly bloke with acne scars and a gruff demeanor took one look at them, mumbled something about filling in one line incorrectly and plonked the papers back on my lap. He returned to his tea while I sought out a new batch of forms. I found out that any firm registered in Dalian has to be monikered with the opening word Dalian (eg Dalian Acme Co). This was proving difficult and my near non-existent Mandarin was stretched. I relented after a while and sought help.
A friend up here who is a bit of a government fixer said she’d help out for 5,000RMB – under the half the normal third party charge. Plenty more signatures scrawled and we had successfully crossed the first hurdle.
Before proceeding to the Foreign Commerce Bureau – another giant, dull edifice this time on the outskirts of town, we had to have a contract with an accountant and office rent secured. Odd, I thought. Jumping the gun a bit to lay down cash for office space when you are not guaranteed a company. But, now into the swing of things, and not at all surprised by the diktats of Chinese bureaucracy these two parts of the jigsaw came together quickly.
Round two of the signature express – this time for the Foreign Commerce Bureau – saw our next batch of papers rejected thanks to Gordon Brown. Since I had started the registration process, I had slapped down 10,000 pounds as my registered capital for the firm (you need to show 100,000 RMB or equivalent as a minimum). Months down the track and London was being referred to as Reykjavik-on-Thames, the pound was worth a pittance and I needed to up my stakes.
This then done, we were presented with a gold and red embossed certificate of approval. Though looking the part, this document only serves as a certificate of approval … of the application. We were about half way down the track.
The process then moved to the municipal government for their approval.
Sitting in queues in government offices has been very good to catch up on my reading.
As I write this I have been embroiled in this messy process for nearly five months. I am now just about complete. Days spent in tax bureaus, chop making holes in the wall, foreign currency centres and then the Bank of China and finally I am up and running.
It has by no means been easy but in the long run this will all prove worthwhile. It has proved to be the biggest bureaucratic test of my life and a handy insight into the sprawling apparatus of local government.

Winter delight

Woke up, drew back the curtains and gazed out at a snowy urban scene. While everywhere in China from Shanghai south tends to warm up post the Lunar New Year, up here in Dalian February is traditionally the coldest month.
Part of the reason for taking so darn long to move of Hong Kong was that I had become a southern poof. This is my first winter this decade. In Hongkers one quickly becomes used to the fact that winter simply does not exist – the slightest drop in temperature bringing out a ridiculous display of thick North Face jackets.
Dalian sits exposed on the Liaoding peninsula, overlooking and buffeted by both the Yellow Sea and Bohai Bay.
The other day I went outside having just washed my hair. I stepped out into the curious vortex of wind that is my building’s entrance and within five seconds I could feel ice forming on my bonce. As I stepped gingerly on the tricky ice outside my gaffe, behind me all of a sudden a loud, protracted female shriek echoed around the buildings. A well wrapped up young woman behind me was pushed 10 metres, sliding, along the ice by the fierce wind.
And yet here really is not too bad. The thing is Dalian is very dry, so the worst cold does not go to your bones like you get in other cities like Shanghai. And besides in New Zealand recently I bought a possum fur hat and that really can withstand any cold.
The forecast for tomorrow is heavy snow. I might have to pull a Dr Zhivago to get to the airport on time.