An Exercise in Socialism…

Greetings to all and sundry from a rather ornate and well-appointed tea-house in the East of Dongguan City. The man who owns this place runs it as something of a labour of love it seems. He has made a decent living in Chinese finance for quite some years now and chooses to devote some of his 'hard-earned' to create a very pleasant place of rest and recuperation, rather than trying to make much out of the business itself. The appointments are of an extreme solidity and of a distinctly antique style, much as one sees in the pavilions of Hongzhou's West Lake or the gardens of Suzhou.

Such places are a welcome retreat from the hustle and bustle of the hot and humid streets outside. This place actually has a small garden between the tea house itself and the road. It is made out in what I would have thought previously as Japanese Zen style: islands, gravel and bonsai trees; but I am assured it actually owes its heritage to much older Chinese traditions which migrated across to the land of the rising sun many centuries ago. 
Outside, in an open space next to the garden, a friend of mine teaches tai chi fan to a group of would-be students. Every now and again the air is ripped asunder by the surprisingly loud crack of the fans being opened at high speed, propelled by a skilful flick of the wrist. Even if the idea of using a fan as a means of defense seems somewhat quaint, it is nevertheless quite impressive when one sees it demonstrated.
The charm of such skilful practices, and the quaintness of the surroundings, contrast greatly with the busy-ness of the street outside, the noise of the cars, the rather grubby local shops, the rush of the people but, for me at least, this is no longer surprising as China is forever a land of contrasts. At times one could almost cry with frustration whilst at others find one's self lost in admiration at some wonderfully subtle expression of the underlying culture. 
One such aspect that one can but admire is the way the socialist system here provides all that is needed for the people to look after themselves physically. In every town, and many times in the larger cities, one will find open spaces where people are allowed, encouraged even, to so such things as group exercise, dance or practice tai chi. In smaller towns like Yangshuo, these gatherings may only consist of a few people, in the larger cities it is not unusual to see several hundred, or even thousands, engaged in such activities. A truly impressive sight and quite an enjoyable experience to share, although when I have plucked up the courage to do so, I have inevitably becomes the object of much curiosity, threatening to halt proceedings on occasions!

The government also provide what are known as 'gym parks'. These are inevitably massive affairs and usually quite well equipped. The local one, about 100 metres from where I am currently staying, consists of four tennis courts, eight basketball courts (Dongguan considers itself the 'city of basketball'), four table tennis tables, numerous and varied pieces of sturdy fitness apparatus and an open green area free for anyone who wishes to practice any other type of appropriate physical exercise. 

The cost of all these impressive facilities is … nothing, zilch, not a bean. The contrast with the UK and the US (and much of Europe for that matter) could not be starker. Where such facilities exist in the West, they are a priced in such a way as to make them unaffordable for the vast majority, especially the youngsters. The Chinese state seems to view it as part of its role to ensure that the youth of the country has adequate (far more than adequate, it would seem) facilities to enable their energies to be used in constructive and healthy ways. 
Perhaps because of this, one of the pleasanter aspects of life in China is that one barely ever feels under threat from gatherings of youths hanging about on street corners. Youngsters here seem relatively content, interested and socially included. Again this is in such stark contrast to the UK, where the poor so and so's have little or nothing to do (legally, at least) and often find themselves socially ostracized and, to add insult to injury, blamed for their predicament. The thought of providing a positive outlet for
their energies could not be further from the current UK government's thinking.
One also cannot but help notice the relative state of fitness of the youth of China. They are noticeably bigger and stronger than their parents and, with a few exceptions, look to be very healthy and fit. In contrast, one thinks of the ubiquitous 'couch-potato' culture that has gripped teenagers in the US and the UK, with all the concomitant problems of limited attention spans, social ineptitude and obesity. Something tells me that in this area at least, the Chinese have a far, far superior, and indeed a much more pragmatic, attitude.
Back in the tea house I find myself pondering these matters. I do not consider myself a socialist and have seen the deleterious effects of communist systems in the old Soviet Union and East Germany in my time, but perhaps my leanings have a tendency to be gently to the left. Perhaps idealism itself is the problem, and what is needed is a pragmatically eclectic approach, taking the best of each system whilst discarding the worst? If nothing else is achieved during these prolonged sojourns of mine, they at least give one pause for thought...

I'm a Commodity, get me out of here!

Once again today I find myself in the pleasantly cooler confines of Dongguan's 24 hour library. My trusty laptop, which has been a faithful friend through tens of thousands of miles and has accompanied me on many a meander across this globe, seems to have finally given up the ghost, leaving me relying on a Lumia 640xl phablet. To be fair, and to give Microsoft their due, it is a perfectly fine little performer, easily good enough for the likes of myself and my ongoing mission: to create intelligible and interesting blogs in the flanneurial style.

Given my perennially minimalist mindset, I cannot help but ponder if even the carrying of a netbook has now been rendered surplus to requirements, given the utility of the modern smartphone. This current two month Sino sojourn necessitated around about 15lbs of accompanying baggage, of which three or four pounds were accounted for by the weight of the laptop and its sundry accruetements. Less is very definitely more when one wishes to travel in the flanneurial spirit - the possibility of doing without another three to four pounds is tempting indeed.

Once this device has sufficient charge on its battery, I will probably wander upstairs to the English book section to lock horns once again with the curmudgeonly character who somehow holds down the job of librarian in that section. Being the furthest removed from the entrance, four floors and about 100 metres, and being the least used section in the library (not a great call for English books in a city of ten million Chinese speakers), methinks that this is probably the ideal post for this man.

Up to this point in my life, my contacts with librarians have been of the pleasanter kind. Indeed, it has been my experience that beneath their modest exteriors one often finds an impassioned and intense nature, just awaiting the opportunity to give vent to the deeper, darker and more nebulous needs that lie within.

The loathsome toad upstairs though seems to possess none of the more tempting traits of the species. His mind obsessed with any number of rules that govern social intercourse in his domain, he clamps down hard on those who would seek to stretch the envelope, even a little. I seem to have raised his ire for any number of transgressions in the past week, most of which seemed truly trifling and, at times, pathetically piddling, and which I dare not bore my readers with.
I do need access to the books though, not least because of the fine collection of Henry Miller's opus. If you are not already familiar with this author's output, I would recommend 'The Tropic of Capricorn' or Quiet Days in Clichy', but beware...these are not volumes for the prudish, the over-refined or the squeamish!

My own favourite of the moment is 'The Air Conditioned Nightmare', written on Miller's return to America (circa 1941) after spending a dozen or so years creating some of his best work in Europe.

The following passage, taken from this volume, mirrors my own feelings for many of the unnecessary and destructive excesses of modern life:

"I had the misfortune to be nourished by the dreams and visions of great Americans -- the poets and seers. Some other breed of man has won out. This world which is in the making fills me with dread. I have seen it germinate; I can read it like a blueprint. It is not a world I want to live in. It is a world suited for monomaniacs obsessed with the idea of progress -- but a false progress, a progress which stinks. It is a world cluttered with useless objects which men and women, in order to be exploited and degraded, are taught to regard as useful. The dreamer whose dreams are non-utilitarian has no place in this world. Whatever does not lend itself to being bought and sold, whether in the realm of things, ideas, principles, dreams or hopes, is debarred. In this world the poet is anathema, the thinker a fool, the artist an escapist, the man of vision a criminal."

I quite literally could not have put it better myself. Wandering around the streets of Dongguan or Shanghai, of Hangzhou or Shenzhen, is not significantly different to wandering the streets of London or Manchester, of Boston or New York, of Berlin or Paris. Everywhere the same dispiriting and de-spiriting rush to acquire the useless and the meaningless, possession for possessions sake, greed for greed's sake.

In this 'modern' world, 'progress' has turned us into consumers, or worse - into commodities, our lives bought and sold so the completely vacuous pursuit of glossy baubles can proceed at an ever increasing pace.

At a recent event in Shanghai, the first day's sales of yet another version of an iphone had to be suspended as the would-be consumers came to blows as they clambered over each other in an attempt to get to the front of the queue. Of course, I use the term 'queue' in the loosest possible sense - tis not a concept that has travelled well in China.

Similar scenes of mercenary mayhem were seen across the globe in the last week as the aptly named 'Black Friday' had shoppers frothing at the mouth in a frenetic frenzy of abject gluttony, pushing, pulling, pinching and punching, in order to acquire things that will be soon become yet another abstract acquisition or rendered redundant within but a brief period of time.

v> And thereby hangs the enslavement of modern man...

Sitting now in the shady portico of the library, I ponder these thoughts over an Americano as I watch the World go by, seemingly at an ever increasing pace. I feel like a tortoise lost in a world of  hyperactive hares...

Carmaggedon…

This evening, I find myself in a pleasant little eatery near the main city square in Dongguan. I tend to like this place for its convenience and the fact that it only charges 5 RMB for a cup of filter coffee, as opposed to the 25 to 30 RMB of many nearby establishments. Coffee has the aura of a luxury item in China. Given that the average wage in this part of Dongguan is around £10K a year, 25 RMB would equate to around £7 a cup. Not particularly cheap…

The relative peace of this place is constantly interrupted by the noise of car horns sounding. The average driver here seems to be an odd mixture of the calm and the impatient. They seem not to concern themselves at all at some of the most outrageously bad driving that you will see anywhere on the planet, but if they find themselves having to wait for any more than a fraction of a second, the hand goes straight to the horn, as something of a reflex action.

Progress is often slow and jams almost a permanent feature of life here. Hence the use of the horn is an ever-present background to one's enjoyment of a cup of Java. Oddly, one gets used to it and often I find myself scarcely aware unless I make the effort. What I do tend to be aware of though is the constant presence of car fumes. It is hard not to be. The very act of breathing is challenged at times.

Dongguan, formerly a mainstay of Chinese manufacturing, is now far more concerned with financial and services to make its mint. Few of the factories that were once such a prominent feature here now remain. Unfortunately, the loss of pollution from the factories has been more than made up for by the rapid increase in car traffic.

Emission laws, where they do exist, are a lot less stringent than in Europe or the United States. This being China, even if the law has been written, it is rarely enforced anyway. Both a certain charm and a sense of exasperation can result from the Chinese attitude to laws and rules. Basically, unless the somewhat paranoid authorities perceive there to be a 'threat to social order' then almost anything goes. The elite will often address a given issue with a raft of new legislation, but like most of the legislation that has gone before, it is likely to be ignored unless something very dramatic happens to make it too embarrassing to continuing with such a laissez-faire attitude.

Incidents such as the recent massive and spectacular explosions in Tianjin or the high speed train crash in Wenzhou were sufficiently catastrophic to catch the authorities attention, otherwise life goes on from one near miss to another. Of course, such incidents are on the macro scale, but the attitude they betray can be seen and experienced every hour of every day that one spends in China.

A few simple examples might suffice to illustrate my point at this juncture. Last Sunday, whilst returning to Dongguan after a couple of days in Chang An, the bus became stuck in one of the many traffic jams that tend to bring the city to a complete halt on the weekend. The bus driver, as it is their wont here, decided that he would change route at this stage and we were asked to leave the bus (no compensation, no 'by your leave', just we are going a different way now so get off).

Forced to walk a couple of miles into the city centre, we were constantly beeped by cars who, having realised that little progress was to be made on the roads, decided to simply drive on the pavements (sidewalks) instead. As far as these guys are concerned, might is right in these situations – if you don't get promptly out of the way you are risking life and limb!

The next morning, en route to the coffee house, my attention was momentarily distracted by the antics of a child in a shop. When I looked back to the pavement I found myself facing a rather large and rather deep hole a mere two or three feet in front of me. No warning cones, no guardrail, no anything in fact - just an open hole in the middle of a busy pavement, waiting to swallow up the unwary pedestrian, with some wires coming out of it (probably live – for good measure!).

I could go on, such examples are experienced constantly as part of 'normal' life here in China.

Air quality is depressingly bad here at the moment. Up north, in the cities of Liaoning, it has become so bad that records are being broken. The WHO recommends that pm2.5 (particles small enough to penetrate the lungs) should never exceed an average of more than 25 parts per million over 24 hours. In Shenyang last week, they averaged over 1,000 and even levels of 1,400 were recorded. Not good from a country that is supposed to be addressing this problem.

Interestingly, just after those figures were released, China announced that it was building a bunch more coal-fired power stations. In a country that a recent report estimated to be losing 4,000 people a day to the effects of pollution it is hard to believe that not only are they continuing to produce so much of their electricity by coal burning, but they are actually committing themselves to even more.

The Global Times, a state sponsored media outlet, was even celebrating that in August of this year record car sales were achieved. Personally, I am not sure 'achieved' is the right word in this context. One thing that China does not need is yet more cars.

Of recent times, many fine words have been spoken and apparent 'commitments' to addressing the problems of pollution in this country have been made but….as the old adage has it, actions speak louder than words. One would imagine that with an international conference on climate change coming up in Paris soon, this rhetoric will only increase. If only it were matched by action…

As I complete another week's blog I found myself back in the same cafe the next morning and enjoying the first rain for a couple of week's. I say 'enjoying' as a decent downpour tends to clean up the air to something like breathable levels. I have actually avoided exercise for the past week, simply because the prospect of breathing deeply in such an atmosphere seemed to be anything but a step on the road to health and vitality.. 

 

PS. On the way back to the flat last evening there was a protest on the stairs to the massive City Administration building overlooking the Square. Those protesting seemed to consist of about 30 people, the majority women of more mature years with one or two younger women mixed in, plus a couple of elderly gentlemen. I have no idea what they were protesting about as we were not allowed within 50 metres and their placards were quickly taken from them by a group of around 50 or 60 members of a SWAT team; tall, fit-looking young men dressed in black and looking somewhat like the AGM of the Darth Vader Appreciation Society. It did seem like something of a very large hammer to crack a very small nut ...

(Forgive the slightly over-dramatic image, but I daren't take an image myself and this was the best I could come up with online!)

Give Us A Twirl

On another hot and steamy day in Dongguan, I find myself sitting in the spacious confines of the city's magnificent library. I use the word 'magnificent' advisedly, it truly is a wonder and there is nothing we have in Europe that compares to it as a public amenity. It also has the distinct advantage of being air conditioned which, in such a hot and sticky atmosphere as Dongguan possesses, is a distinct plus point. I am also feeling rather replete, having dined at a local Buddhist restaurant where they lay on the most generous spread each lunchtime. An entirely vegetarian affair, they often include grapes, bananas and/or pears to round off the already generous offerings. Today there is a choice of some 16 dishes, 5 soups and a range of dangao (cakes) and fried fancies. One can return to the trough as often as one desires – all for the princely sum of 15 yuan (approx. £1.50 or $2).

I have used this particular restaurant on several occasions since arriving in South China, the range and freshness of the food on offer being hard to resist, especially at such a reasonable price. The only problem has been that, as so often in my existence on this earth, I am struggling with an inability to resist temptation. On arrival in these parts, I was a sprightly and fit 101 kgs which, for my rather large frame, is not at all bad. Now, after only two weeks of regular indulgence, my weight has climbed to a rather portly 107 kgs. I even gave up the distinctly refreshing and unbelievably cheap (45p UK, 60 cents US) bottle of Tsingtao that I would imbibe at the end of each long day of diligently observing my flanneurial duties. Unfortunately, foregoing the pleasure of downing a cool beer at the end of the day seems to have had no measurable effect on the situation.

I have also been tempted into doing some exercise. In these conditions, walking two or three miles is normally enough, but it now seems necessary to supplement my flanneurial jaunts with some extra-mural calisthenics. So it was that when I came across a gentleman in the local square swinging nunchaku to and fro I became quite interested in learning this particular martial art myself. My companion here, a master at Tai Chi, was equally fascinated. Originally the intention was a few stretches and a round or two of qigong, but seeing this highly-skilled gentleman twirling the nunchaku with such dexterity aroused more than a little curiousity in us both.

Nunchuku (sometimes known as 'nunchucks' in the West) consist of two metal bars, each about 12 inches in length, connected by a sturdy piece of chain that is approximately 5 inches in length. Apparently, they were originally developed as a weapon from a wooden flail whose original purpose had been to pound rice in historic Okinawa. At the time, the Japanese had invaded the island and banned the possession of all weapons. The locals responded by teaching themselves karate skills and develop the use of such implements as staves and scythes as a means of defence.

The gentleman in the square who gyrated the nunchaku so skillfully turned out to be a Mr. Chen, a Shaolin trained master-artist who hailed from a small village in the Shandong district, just south of Beijing.  Apparently, his village has something of a tradition of training and teaching martial arts so, for Mr. Chen at least, this sort of thing runs in the family. This is by no means untypical of China, where certain areas will have certain specialisations, and even certain families be known for their expertise in certain fields. In Tai Chi in particular, it all gets a little too competitive, and perhaps just a bit silly, as each of the famous families involved tends to claim the right to the true lineage of Tai Chi (and, of course, the right to train the devotees at ever increasingly large fees).

 The idea appears to me that skills are passed down through the family line, usually from father to first born son. Though one imagines that genetics would have some bearing on the level of skill likely to be possessed, this sort of extreme attitude to the role of birth is hard to swallow. Although it often happens that a famous sportsman's son will follow him into that sport, rarely does that son display the same level of skill as his pater. There are exceptions of course, but the exceptions are so few that they rather lend support to the view that such extreme 'geneticism' cannot be based on anything more than belief.

The whole situation can become a very touchy subject, with each faction believing that they have the sole rights to the teaching of the given skill – and the right to denigrate the other families who are possessed by a contrary opinion.

Mr Chen, fortunately, seemed pleasantly free of such concerns, but his love for his art shines through his teaching and his attitude to his students. Mostly, he carries a demeanor of calm and patience – he scarcely ever raises his voice. When he does, just a few short, sharp words are enough to reassert the required discipline needed once again. He has clearly taught a range of fighting skills for many years now, as many photographs of him tutoring would-be martial artists of many nationalities demonstrate. My own desires in this area are far more modest; I simply wanted to learn how to use the nunchaku, hopefully without injuring myself in the process.

 Easier said than done! After a week now of twirling these bars  I have now successfully managed to hit my fingers more times than I care to remember, my elbows all too often and even managed to give myself quite a painful blow to the cranium on one occasion. My arms bear witness to my own ineptitude, with several bruises coming up nicely now. Still, there is something fascinating in the whole pursuit, something about the desire to get to grips with a very challenging skill, something in the feeling one gets when one actually does manage to manipulate the nunchaku skillfully. When it is going well, there is a certain sense of togetherness, of focus, of flow. It is a sense I have known in several other fields in the past, and each time I come across the state I enjoy it immensely.

There is also something rather lovely in that relaxed yet focus state which comes upon you as you practice well. Often, with me at least, it takes about 15 minutes of decreasing clumsiness before I get near that state. Each time I start at the moment, it feels like the first time all over again, but…. gradually, those periods of ineptitude are getting shorter and the feelings of competence becoming more and more sustained.

Mr. Chen looks upon my efforts with quiet and friendly eyes. He has seen it all before – the clumsiness, the incompetence, the frustration, but he knows that if one quietly perseveres the skills will come along in their own time. At first, I would curse under my breath or even, as few hear know when I am happily blaspheming, swear out loud. But gradually, session by session, I am learning to let go of that frustrating and simply pick the nunchaku up each time they clatter noisily to the ground and start all over again.

Weighing myself this morning, I still turn the scales at around 107 kg but … whether I lose weight or not exercising in such a way, I found myself both enjoying the learning of a new skill and, perhaps more importantly, re-learning the benefits of patience with one's own shortcomings.

Tucked away now in a quiet corner of the foreign books section of Dongguan library, I find myself smiling at the prospect of enjoying another session with my 'shifu' (master) later this evening. The gentleman in question is but few years older than me, but he is vastly more experienced in these areas. Martial arts here in China are, naturally, about fighting skills but, more than that, they are also a vehicle for one to learn about oneself, one's limitations and, ultimately, one's possibilities.  Beneath the combative exterior, there are layers upon layers of beliefs, philosophies and concepts.

Such notions deserves a little more attention than I have the time or the inclination to give today. It is an area, though, that I may well revisit in coming blogs. For now though, I must be on my way. Hopefully, barring too many blows to the head from fast moving sets of nunchaku, I will be in a position to continue my flanneurial activities next week.

Until then … Zaijian!