This is a really long one, but I’m not going to apologise because if it gets boring you can stop reading it, and I can’t tell, so I won’t be offended.
Wednesday morning started at 7, in order to catch the bus to the Oriental Pearl TV tower. The bus ride wasn’t so bad, despite it being so early- Jessie and Hair Elise played snap while me and Bookworm Bethany looked out at the ‘real Shanghai’. To get to the tower we had to drive through a much shabbier area, with shanties and street stalls, as well as grubby naked children running through dirty puddles- very National Geographic.
The tower is huge (obviously) and in a large, majestic square surrounded by multicouloured flags. Although the Subway (the sandwich place, not underground train system) ruined the effect somewhat, it was still very impressive. To get in we had to go past the police at the gate, and then again when we were inside. Our bags had to go through x-ray and we even had to throw out our water bottles. Jessie said the harsh security was because somebody once threw a panda off the top floor, but I’m pretty sure she was lying.
At first, we went to the very top (it was actually only about the 93rd floor, but when you’re as terrified of heights as I am, does it really matter?) where all the viewing platforms are. The Lonely Planet says you can see all of Shanghai from the platform, but when we stepped out of the lift we saw… nothing. For a second I thought that there weren’t any windows, but then I realised that the outward wall WAS a window, and that the fog and pollution was so bad you couldn’t see anything. At all. After about half an hour, you could see indistinct buildings if you went right up to the window and looked down, so this is when our group decided to go out onto the glass platform. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. I stayed as close to the inner wall as possible, because I’m one of those weird people who like to have more than 10 inches of glass separating myself from death. Crazy, I know.
We were then directed back onto the lift by some employees of the tower, but when the doors opened, we were a little confused.
“Women quchu, dui bu dui? (We go out, right?)” Someone asked.
“Dui (Right)” nodded the woman, and so we stepped out of the lift into what was clearly a games arcade. I am not kidding- it had Tekken and everything. Our teachers where nowhere to be seen, so I suppose we did what any uni students would do in our situation. We played arcade games. All except for Old Tony, who shook his head and said, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t travel halfway around the world to play Time Crisis.”
“Time Crisis? What’s that?” I asked, “My knowledge of arcade games doesn’t really extend beyond Pacman.”
“I have a 20-year-old son” He nodded sagely.
Then the teachers showed up anf took us to the museum (by the way, we still hadn’t left the building. Not only that , but on the way from the arcade to the museum we passed a rollercoaster. INSIDE the building. Seriously, this place was enormous). The museum was in both Chinese and English, which was useful, and contained the best collection of wax models I’ve ever seen. Not that I’m an authority on wax models or anything, but still it was creepy how very human they seemed. They covered Ancient China, to the forming of Shanghai, to the French Concession, stopping right before the Boxer Rebellion. Neither Confucious or communism were mentioned.
Walking through the museum with us were a mixture of schoolchildren and tourists. Half of the schoolchildren were Caucasian, and they all spoke English, which was evidenced when Hair Elise said “They’re so cute! Look at the ginger one!” A little too loudly, and he turned around to frown at us. They were all fluent in Chinese as well however, and one of them, a little blonde girl of about 10, helped me out when I was having difficulty understanding one of the tourists. He was gesturing wildly back and forth between myself and his camera, speaking to quickly for me to understand.
“Ni xiang wo pai yi zhang zhaopian, xiang ni he nide qizi? (You want me to take a picture of you and your wife?)” I asked, but he shook his head and wifey said “No no no!”
“Duibuqi, tingbudong (Sorry, I don’t understand)” I sighed, and the little girl came up and explained in her strange half-British accent that he wanted to take a picture of me.
“Oh dear.” I said, blushing.
“It’s okay.” She said, posing in the picture with me. When photo guy and Mrs phoo guy walked off satisfied, Blondie turned to me and sighed in a very world-weary way for a 10-year-old. “I get that all the time,” she shrugged.
She told me she attended the nearby international school, which explained the accent, and that even though she was born here people still call her waiguoren.
“It’s the hair, probably” I added, and she nodded.
“I want hair like a boy, but my mum likes to play with it- she won’t let me cut it.” And indeed, the complex braids and sparkly hairclips would seem to suggest outside influence.
“Well, see ya!” She chirped, and bounced off to natter away in Chinese with her classmates.
“SO cute,” sighed Hair Elise.
When we got back to the uni it was still only 11.30, so we all piled into the lecture hall for a lecture on Confucianism by one of the resident professors. Here, for your education, is an extract of my notes on one of the most boring and most interesting lectures in my life. First, the boring bit (feel free to skip over).
“-Confucianism aims for the successful cultivation of self.
-Confucius born in East China to a lowly noble family in the decline of the Zhou dynasty (16th Century)
-The Analects- compilation of Confucius ideas
-practicalities of interpersonal relationships
-personal cultivational in that context
-governance policies
-some sexist crap
-Li are the rites pertaing to propriety and sacrifices, Li must be maintained for successful life
-more sexist crap
-Do unto others, etc.
-even more sexist crap
-Mencius- All for wisdom and compassion, yet tried to justify regicide and anarchy
-yet even more sexist crap.”
I couldn’t believe what was coming out of this man’s mouth. Yr 12 history made out Confucius as an alright guy, but some of the stuff the lecturer was explaining was awful- all about the patriarchy using “necessary moral force” to maintain the “heirarchy of the family” and “retain kingship”. I looked around the room to see if anyone else was sitting open-mouthed with horror, but realised with a start that more than half of the lecture hall had fallen asleep. Even Spider Robert was playing on his phone, and Old Tony was sorting through character cards. Geeky Albert’s glasses had fallen into his lap and he hadn’t noticed. At some point the lecturer must have noticed this, because he called a 10 minute break, which allowed nearly everyone to leave and not return. When we resumed only about 20 of us remained, and unfortunately for those who left, this was when things got really interesting.
He started talking about the resurfacing popularity of Confucianism, which the communist party was trying very hard to quash. But then he started talking about Mao.
“You know the history of Mao Zedong, yes? He was our leader, you could compare him to your Hitler and Stalin.”
At this, murmurs whipped through the crowd. Surely he hasn’t allowed to talk like this? What happened to the Chinese cultural amnesia? After all, Mao’s statue still has pride of place where the Bund meets Nanjing Road, his face is still on the bank notes.
“Mao fronted the communist party, telling people to get rid of Confucianism, get rid of the emperor, yet he himself wanted to be emperor… very paradoxical. Oh yes,” he said, when he took the mutters of disbelief to be mutters of dissent, “yes, Mao wanted to be emperor. He writes so himself. The government is more free now, the release documents not seen before. How do you say? Declassified. Yes, declassified.”
After that little bombshell he compared neo-Confucianism to neo-conservatism, and that was that.
Dazed and a little worried for the lecturers health, Me and Jessie joined Hair Elise, Bookworm Bethany, Blond Robert and a guy I recognised from lectures, whom I shall call Crazy Leon (‘Crazy” because he looks a lot like a less-hairy Rasputin, only now after talking with him I realise how very accurate this title is). We stopped at a street stall to get these crepe-like things with egg and chives, as well as this dark sauce I sincerely hoped wasn’t duck’s blood. We got some fruit from a stall further up- red lychees and this huge citrus fruit the colour of grapefruit but with a coconut-like shell. On the way we stopped at this wheelbarrow selling heaps of books, manned by a girl who didn’t look a day over seven. Blond Robert asked her how old she was, using the quantifier for numbers under 10.
“Shisan sui (Thirteen)” she said, looking pissed.
I perused the collection and was excited to see the Harry Potter books in Chinese. I got the first one for 3 yuan, however Bookworm Bethany was paying more attention.
“Hang on, there are more than 7 here,” she said, and I picked up two that I didn’t recognise, “Harry Potter and the City of Dream” and “Harry Potter and the Spun Sugar”.
After that we wnt our separate ways to study, before meeting up in a diner ( I say diner instead of restaurant because restaraunts I would classify as having more than 3 walls). Already there was a guy I had seen around who was studying Chinese 1. Needless to say, he was having a bit of difficulty ordering off a menu with no pictures. He introduced himself as Sean, but I will call him Navy Sean, since that is his occupation. Two of Blond Robert’s friends joined us well. They were from Japan, and one, Kosuke, spoke very good English and the other didn’t speak at all. The food was excellent, some kind of beef, rice and egg dish covered in soy sauce and all kinds of dumplings. The patrons were very excited to serve us, probably because with all of us there their establishment was completely full.
That’s all for today >phew<. Well, I have to go study for a test. Zaijian! Ellen.
