ISpyShanghai

I almost went to Beijing this weekend, almost in the sense that Emma said “Let’s go to Beijing” and I said “OK!“, but then my boss said “Let’s work on Saturday” and I said “OK!“.

So now I’m not going.

Forgive me father, it has been 11 months since I came to Shanghai and I still haven’t visited anywhere in China except Suzhou. Perhaps if they moved Beijing closer, or had trains that left from outside the Eager Beaver at 4am. Shanghai is very pretty though, especially in the clear autumn sun. Here’s a photo of a blimp edging past the JinMao tower and the Gilded Palace Of Shimmering Prestige (or whatever the hell that building is called).

Why the blazes did this never take off as a method of public transport?

During that whole Cultural revolution / “Isn’t being Communist the best!” phase that China went through in the olden times, I bet they had statues of Mao everywhere. I’ll bet it was a statue-fest, a totem carnival, an icon-if-u-likem, a Mao-a-rama.

These days though, no-one cares much for plaster busts of slightly dubious historical figures, so what do you do with the left-over statues?

Mao lives on

Meh- just stick a sheet over it, and use it in an Amusement Park’s Ghosthouse.

Unsurpisingly, JinJiang Park is a rich vein of badly translated English- it doesn’t bother me, and the meaning is pretty much clear what they need, but if Disney opens a theme park here, they should maybe get someone to do the signs that beard knows what they’re talking about:

“And no bloody wine empresses neither!“:

Here in a rare “behind the curtain” glance is a look at the top-secret operations control room from which I oversee ISpyShanghai.com:

This is my personal computer monitor on which I Gimp up images of fake bank notes, or airbrush out any minor imperfections from my otherwise immaculate face. (And yes, fellow geeks, that whole thing is being driven by one PC)

Here are a few of the ISpy Team drafting out the latest update for my approval. Ryan (top left) is the one who makes the occasionally grammatical errors.

As you can see, they need to use several different monitors all at once. Some of them display projected visitor numbers if I post yet another photo of a Chinese sign where the English is slightly incorrect, whilst one is permanently showing “The Song Of Optimus Prime” by A. Appleyard to remind us of the standards we are trying to reach.

This is the boardroom where all executive level decisions are taken- changing a theme perhaps, or not posting on a Thursday because I’m hungover and need need to spend lunchtime wiping my brow with a damp sponge.

Photo by Dan Meyer

And here I am with two of the major shareholders, surveying our land and loyal subjects (/the apron of the airport) .

The thing with some people is that they do not respect the natural cycle of life.
For every Spring there must be an autumn, for every snowflake, a sunbeam- for every death, a birth (unless loads of people die and no-one is born, like in Florida).

In short, after a Friday night drinking binge, I should not be woken before 3pm. Minimum.
Emma this means you.

Emma woke me up at the crack of midday on Saturday to go to a funfair on the far west of the city. This place was so far west in fact, that by the time we got there the taxi driver had turned the radio up to cover the noise of my teeth grinding.
Still, once you’re there, it’s a lovely place- 70RMB lets you enjoy pretty much all of the attractions (+20RMB for the giant ferris wheel), and the queues are a lot shorter than say, buying cooking oil from Carrefour.

They’ve got a ghost train. I wouldn’t class it as the scariest thing in the park.

The ferris wheel is the main attraction- it’s 108m high which doesn’t sound like much when you’re on the ground, but Ooo-wee. When you’re up there and you hear the bolts creaking, thoughts about China’s shaky safety reputation start running through your mind…believe me- it’s high enough.

In fact let’s not beat around the bush- I was frigging terrified; palms sweating, face locked in a grimace, wondering whether vomiting on the floor would unbalance the tiny glass gondola we were trapped in. Emma was having a lovely time looking at the train tracks and spotting the bridges in the distance, I felt like the Senator’s daughter in “Silence Of The Lambs“.

Here’s a photo of me, trying not to be physically ill.

If you book 3 nights Bed & Breakfast, you’ll receive quadruple Delta Airways Air Miles and a complimentary fruit basket.

(Valid until February 29th 2008)

Due to a combination of my shirty landlord and having my pocket picked at the weekend, it was finally time to get a Chinese bank account this week.

Basically it’s easy- all you need is

1 x Passport
1 x Guy what speaks Chinese
1 x The patience of a saint.

The patience is for when you first take a ticket and realise that there’s only 1 person in front of you. And yet that person leaves and the number doesn’t change for the next half an hour.

The Chinese speaker is to fill the form in, explain why your passport doesn’t have a password , or why your name is not in Chinese characters.

The passport is the only ID you need.

If you’re of the bald persuasion- the Chinese person will also be userful to explain that the guy in the passport photo really (no honestly- I think he must have been ill or something, yeah just 29- and he gets fatter every day too) is the same guy who’s standing in front of him.

Ten minutes later, they’ll give you a bright and shiny new ATM card right there and then

Followed immediately by your 6 digit (they don’t mess around here) PIN number in a little sealed envelope:

Leaving you with just one problem, what to press on the auto-feedback-machinator

It’s a shame there wasn’t one for bewildered, but quite impressed.

Top 3 things you’ll find in a Chinese KFC, but not its UK equivalent

1. Toothpicks
2. Mashed potato Egg tartlets
3. The middle class

Family and friends back home often axe me what I eat for dinner now that I’m living in foreign climes.

“Is it all pigs snouts and dumplings full of ants and that?”

they ask, like fools.

Well, no. It seems difficult to me to order Chinese food for one, and I’m such a busy young go-getter that I’m normally very pushed for time. The last few days I’ve been eating in the food court at the airport- “Rose House” sounds like an English country garden where you sip tea on the lawn, but it’s actually a drafty corridor alongside the Maglev station where people go to drink Soy milk, smoke, and occasionally eat food.

The menu at Rose House is just plates of the food left out to go cold

On the way from Jing-an metro station to my house, I pass by a Muslim restaurant where they have a guy knocking out Chicken kebabs. These things are delicious, even deliciouser than the Old Beijing Chicken Wrap from KFC which was my previous favourite. Fresh coriander and onions beat the Colonel’s best offering and for half the price too.

I keep asking the kebab guy to teach my how to say the name of these things, but it goes in one ear and out the next- so I just tell em

“I’ve got 6RMB. I want a chicken thingy”

Sometimes (OK then, twice) I go to the dark and slightly ominous restaurant on Beijing Xi Lu where they have reasonable (but not in my top 3) Xiao Long Bao. The reason I only go occasionally (OK! OK! Once!) is because they ask you what you want as soon as you walk in the place, and get impatient when it takes you any time at all to decipher the (huge, chinese) menu.

Then they make you wait 15 minutes for the dumplings.