The China Daily Baily Diary

As predicted in the last post, the spectacle of the closing ceremony in Peking was marred by an extraordinary display of incompetence by the British.

We are an easy target at the best of times, by this time we painted a really luminous roundel on our bottoms and shamelessly bent over to show it to the world.

The Chinese politburo could hardly contain its indifference as the mayor of Beijing accompanied Boris johnson, mayor of London, along a long red carpet to a podium in the centre of the Birds Nest stadium. Poor old Bozza may be a pretty dab hand at Latin and Greek, which he studied at Eton and Cambridge, but take him out in public and he seems to loose control - of his hands.

He gave several self conscious waves, rather in the manner of attracting a waiter at Whites, and for some reason saluted the president of the IOC, American style. Next he had to actually stand still for a few seconds whilst the flag was passed to the other worthies and then to him. Oh! The sight of his uncontrollable urges to stuff both his hands into his jacket pockets was a treat. He also had to wave the flag. It was 2-4 against he’d drop it but the bookies had a bad day this time.

Then, our hero had to walk back across the park with the Beijing bureaucrat and again, his hands were having a field, or should we say a pocket day. The left one was by now firmly planted in his jacket, and he was visibly fighting not to make it a pair. His right hand oscillated in and out of its normal abode as if it had been filled with very hot water.

After Boris’ antics it couldn’t get much more embarrassing, but the appearance of a red London bus made sure it did. After meaningless gyrations around the conveyance by a troupe of dancers and a (CDB is not making this up) school lollipop lady*, the red London to Beijing service morphed into a platform where several people made utter tits of themselves, viz a viz David Beckham gormlessly kicking a football into the crowd, an unknown and extremely poor singer threatening to give me all her love - no thanks I’m spoken for dear - and a geriatric rock star playing a Gibson guitar and gurning uncontrollably.

And so the excruciating 8 minutes passed, whereupon the politburo were given a shake by Mr Wen.

Following the British nonsense, the Chinese erected a rather suggestive tower in the middle of the arena, gyrated about it, made roses bloom on it using bodies, hung streamers from it, glued several Chinese celebrities to it who sang, and generally made us all forget the dreadful bus and dancers. No-one does fireworks like the Chinese.

Hey ho, youth of the world, we’ll make you all very welcome in London in 2012, with our red buses and bus stops. Get a grip, O Limp UK.

*Lollipop ladies are brave souls who control traffic around British schools when the pupils are coming and going. They are regularly abused by selfish motorists, and some have been seriously injured.

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As a part of the finale to the Olympic Games in Peking, we are surprised to see the “Best Of British” is summed up in the amorphous shape of Gordon Brown, who, having finally wrested command of the U.K from Tony Blair, has ceased to do anything useful, the poseur David Beckham, aka the failed England football team captain, and a “musician” called Jimmy Page.

Brian May, a similar geriatric guitarist, was last seen murdering the national anthem on his home made guitar atop Buckingham Palace. No doubt we can expect more of the same from Mr Page. What a shower of nonentities! The London Symphony Orchestra and the Royal Ballet will contribute the only real talent, it seems. Boris Johnson will make an idiot of himself as well.

If any of the readers of the CDB can think of some “better bests”, then let’s have your suggestions in a comment please!

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From Tuesday to Saturday this week, the LSO has been rehearsing with the assistant conductor of the Shenzen Symphony Orchestra, one of the best bands in China.

He is very good, and over the last few days transformed the sound of the orchestra into something worth listening to. He studied in Berlin for four years under a professor who has just been appointed as principal conductor of the Shenzen Symphony Orchestra, replacing Yu Feng. Funnily enough he speaks English with a German accent.

The most impressive characteristic of the man was his patience and great good humour, which is an example to everyone. If the rating of his orchestra is to be believed, they would probably not even rehearse Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo And Juliet” overture before a concert, and certainly would have been able to perform the last movement of Shostakovitch 5 at sight. In our situation, with the lack of practice and performances our rustiness really showed through at the downbeat on Tuesday morning, which was only to be expected.

So instead of loosing his cool and sulking or taking the easy way out and not correcting anything because he thought it a lost cause, which so many would have done, he generously and patiently worked on the pieces to produce a very credible result by Saturday afternoon. Bravo, Maestro!

We mount up on the 23rd to go to the oilfields of the Turpan Depression at ShanShan, to perform two concerts. I have decided to put the rosin in a vacuum flask. Most of the time it’s 40c in the daytime there!

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In a few days we will be mounting our camels for a trip across the Turpan depression to play at the oilfield near to Turpan. No doubt they have aircon and a nice concert hall, just like the people on the edge of the Gobi mining minerals for JNMC. And good stabling for the camels.

Naturally, we have hired a conductor for the gig, none other than the assistant conductor of the Shenzen Symphony Orchestra, which is a first rate band, so I’m told. They employ ten Double Basses. We have a mere four, against nine ‘cellos. Luckily, I have a very loud Hawkes, affectionately known as the big bad wolf!

So first up at 9.00 am today was Tchaikovsky’s “Romeo and Juliet” overture. Now, it’s not the most difficult piece in the world, but it has its hard parts. Lots of syncopation and plenty of semi-quavers, a few keys heavily infested with flats - all that sot of thing, but no big deal in the grand scheme of things. Fiddles have a field day as usual.

So wouldn’t it have been nice to have had a look at the music yesterday, especially since we haven’t done any serious playing since the last concert in Beijing, just before the earthquake?

I can’t believe that “The Management,” whom God preserve and bless, suddenly decided this morning that we would play this overture. There again, maybe they did?

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I read a headline just now. “Amy Winehouse to stop singing.” I have never consciously heard the said diva, and now it looks as though I never will. Hurrah!

Mosquitoes have awoken here. Ouch!

Ram Singh Munda is innocent!

I heard a little rumour yesterday. We, the orchestra, might be going to Xinjiang again to see more Uighurs and play to them. Very jolly people, the Xingjianers, and there’s not just Uighurs there either. Have a look at this post to see what we did last time. Also, cop an eyeful of this blog, which comes from the province. Read it with a pinch of salt; It’s just one American’s view of the place. Still more blogs on Xinjiang are found here, on a most colourful and vastly informative travel site. Mei has just said “we really have to go there for a big tour”. I agree!

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Yesterday was the most bizarre food day ever! I spent most of it in the company of a young theoretical physics student from Lanzhou University, who has fixed me up with gig at the local T.V station’s “English Corner” launch on Sunday.

An “English Corner” is a place where people meet to practice speaking English, such as the one at Lanzhou University at 7.00 pm on Fridays.

After some coffee and a lot of talking at Pizza Mira, my new friend, who calls himself James Floyd Yang in Chinglish, decided we should go to a restaurant called Ya Tai Lai for lunch. On the menu I looked at a picture of a tray with come food on it. So useful, these pictographic menus! It looked fine - a bowl of soup, a meat dish, some rice and some greens. All for a knock down price with endless tall glasses of a tea that defies description. I ordered it.

The food came. James had chosen the minute steak on a sizzling platter, which I have tried before and found a bit too greasy. My tray turned up, and I started to tuck in to the meat dish. Tasted like chicken. Small bones though.

“Er Philip. Sorry. I should have told you. Thats frog!”
“Don’t worry James, it tastes just like chicken”

I looked down at the dish and right on cue a froggy eye stared back at me from above a withered, gurning froggy mouth. I picked up a froggy leg with foot attached, replete with claws. Claws? More research needed.

“Well, it’s not really a frog. It is a sort of nearly like a frog”, explained Angel when I got home. “You can’t eat frogs. That’s illegal. More tea?”

Later on, after talking myself hoarse with James down by the river, I went off to catch the end of an epic film being shown to the orchestra and lots of others at the theatre. With English subtitles, it seemed to consist entirely of people in pajamas riding horses and killing each other in a fascinating variety of ways. Later, in the 2 1/2 hour 2nd episode, they will apparently do the same thing on boats. Possibly better than watching paint dry, but not much.

Now, Kung Fu, as the west knows it and is actually pronounced “Gong Fu” in Chinese, is just as much a dramatic obsession as the warring states slaughters described above. So much so that the latest restaurant to open in Lanzhou is full of people in yellow trimmed black pajamas loudly applauding each dish as it comes out of the kitchen. There is no menu. The first rule of the Kung Fu restaurant is you don’t ask for a menu.

The waiter chooses the food for the guests, flexing his Kung Fu muscles as he does so. It was chicken this time, really. With rice. Jolly sort of place, but not worth a repeat visit. Aiee Ha!

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There is scant regard for public safety by British standards around Lanzhou. Creeks full of untreated effluent flow into the Yellow River, where tourists are given rides on rafts and speedboats. The stink down by the Zhongshan Bridge last night was unbearable.

Kerbs seem to be at no mandatory height, appearing like small cliffs for pedestrians to ascend and descend, whilst they dodge the bikes, motor bikes and cars that regard the pavement (sidewalk) as just another fun place to drive an SUV. Asia in general has a lot of shocks for the first time Western visitor. Food safety is a problem too, with very poor quality oil and too much salt a signature in dishes at most lower class places. Asia all over really.

All this is bearable, and if a body is careful and maintains an optimistic outlook it probably won’t find it’s life terminated too prematurely. And who wants to drag on into a crippled, ignored old age anyway?

One thing that is very soft is a child’s skull in relation to the road when travelling at bicycle speed. More so at motor scooter speeds; around 25 mph around here it looks like. In fact, wearing one of those cycle helmets spawned from the aerodynamic requirements of the velodrome probably won’t help in a lot of bicycle crashes. An American football helmet or full face motorcycle crash helmet is better protection.

A voice crying in the Loess wilderness here we know, but this is a suggestion from the CDB to increase the safety of the innocent in Lanzhou. When motorcycling, wear crash helmets, and stop allowing children under 16 to ride pillion on motorcycles and scooters. And whatever you do, never, never ride one of those scooters with a driver up front and two little children facing each other on the pillion playing, as seen yesterday in a totally traffic law free Jia Yu Guan Xi Lu!!

In the UK, when motor cycle crash helmets became compulsory, one of the main advertisements to announce the law showed a hammer smashing into an apple, which duly obliged by becoming juicy pulp. That is exactly what happens when a child’s skull hits the road at motorized speed.

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Lanzhou has just rolled out a new fleet of No.56 buses, of interest here because if anything is new in China, it has to have some red decorations for good luck. The old 56 buses now ply the No.33 route, which used to be a trolley bus. Trolley buses no longer run here, which is a shame because they had a certain clunking charm. All Lanzhou public transport, including taxis, runs on Compressed Natural Gas, which does wonders for the air quality.

Something did wonders for the author’s cringe factor on the 56 bus today. Being old and stupid, he didn’t take note of the new grab handle arrangement - a bar just above head height.

As the bus neared the gate to the estate, he got up from his seat at the back and started to walk down to the central doors. The bus slammed to a halt when something - knowing this place probably a camel - leaped out in front of the bus to test its brakes. Consequently the author plunged forward and ended up in an embrace with a rather fetching young lady. Red faces and chuckles all round.

Further up the transport front, the province with Mt. Everest in it has been re-opened to tourists. The line to the aforementioned runs through Lanzhou. The CDB will report from there fairly shortly, weather permitting, so to speak.

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The day dawned bright, birds sang, flowers scented the air. Time for a walk up Lan Shan. Or rather a cable car because Mei is a wimp.

The grass below the cable car shone with wildflowers and lovely long grass stems. Butterflies flew their jumbled courses amongst the meadow. We got to the top after 15 minutes and took our seats at a place with a view over the city. The birds, so many kinds, sang all around us. We ordered San Po Tai, the fruity tea that’s perfect for a long relaxing afternoon. Then a bowl of noodles with tomatoes and a dish of wild dandelion leaves, lightly cooked with a little chili pepper and sprinkled with vinegar.

On a brief walk along the hillside, this fledgling White-browed Laughingthrush kindly stood still long enough to be photographed!

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One of the greatest pleasures if you live in China is buying books on line. It’s a bit of an extravagance, but in the absence of libraries and any English literature apart from the classics in the Gansu Foreign Languages Bookstore stranded LaoWais have to have their little indulgences.

So when I rang Mei at lunchtime, she said she had received a package from Amazon, and I was pretty pleased because had arrived in record time and it had a couple of really good books about China in it. Or so I thought.

Imagine my consternation when I opened the package to find a set of five books on fashion! Amazon are usually very good, but this time they really got it wrong. It has all the hallmarks of a scene something like this.

“Look out Fred, that pallet’s a bit wobbly on the forks. Correction Fred, it’s not wobbly any more, it’s on the floor!”

“Oh dear Jim - look at all those books.”

“Yes Fred, but it’s no problem the packages bursting open. We have the addresses on the packets and all we have to do is match the books to the packing slips”

“Right Jim”

“Jim?”

“Yes Fred?”

“Have you had a look at these packing notes?”

“No, but I bet I’m just about to!”

“Bleeding things just say ‘1 EA GB Book’ for each item. We can’t match anything to anything this way.”

In a clear example of dear old Murphy’s law in rampant charge mode, Amazon’s packing notes didn’t mention the actual titles of the books in the order. Under the heading “Description of Goods” it simply read “Book”. So no-one could really work out what went where, and Fred and Jim are no doubt down the pub laughing the froth off a couple as we speak.

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