Zaijian UK....

A cold but beautifully clear morning in the town of Loughton. Sitting in the Last Post, formerly a post office – hence the wonderfully witty name – and about to enjoy the benefits of a little Wetherspoons cuisine. The fayre tends to be cheap and cheerful, but fits my needs of the moment. I have but a few hours to go before setting off once more for the joys of Heathrow Airport and the eleven and a half hour flight to Guangzhou. As ever, there are a few odds and sods to sort out at the last moment but, as ever, I am surprised with just how simple such undertakings are in this day and age. Visa, insurance and tickets in place, all that remains is the collection of a little cash, the purchase of a couple of presents and suchlike, and….that's it!
Once more I set out with the intent of learning Mandarin, once more I would guess the resolution will last for just a few weeks, once more though I will find that I am improving, even if progress feels disconcertingly slow at times. In some areas in life, I can be quite an academic learner, but with languages all that really seems to work for me is constant exposure and a receptive mood. Chinese, in particular, seems a very difficult language to learn if one approaches it via books or other more conventional means. Day to day interaction, on the other hand, seems to gradually coalesce into an almost unconsciously learned ability. The language itself is something of a challenge as it is so fundamentally different to any other language that Westerners would be routinely exposed to. On the other hand, in many ways it has an almost disarming simplicity as well. If one looks at a direct translation of Chinese words, one is struck by the sheer sparsity of the language; it seems to be cut down to the point that it reminds one of the type of wording ubiquitously employed in the sending of telegraph messages, or perhaps the modern equivalent, texting.
My relationship with China and the Chinese remains ambiguous, so much so in fact that I scarcely know whether I am looking forward to the journey or dreading certain aspects. Certainly the levels of air pollution one routinely experiences are no great attraction but, on the other hand, the rather pleasant thought of enjoying the oh so much richer, and oh so much healthier, food of China is very alluring. Having spent a month in the UK, the thought of eating Chinese cuisine again rather than what passes for food in this gastronomic wasteland is enough to start the salivary glands happily doing what they do best at the prospect.
One wonders whatever happened to the British in this regard. Other nations developed a wonderful range of mouth-watering delights whilst the British remained obsessed with such mundane fayre as fish and chips or pie and mash or, pushing the envelope of culinary creativity to the outer limits, sausage and mash. The only light in the darkness of the the British food firmament seems to be provided by the importation of foreign food, the almost ubiquitous Chinese, Indian, Greek or Turkish restaurants that are found on almost every self-respecting High Street in the UK. Even these oases of comestible indulgence are often outnumbered by Americanised fast-food joints, the horrors of McDonalds, Wimpys and, perish the thought, KFC (There was an almost credible rumour doing the rounds that the latter had to change their name from Kentucky Fried Chicken because there was not actually sufficient chicken content in their 'chicken' to merit the name…).
As pointed out in a previous blog, the damage done to the average Brit by succumbing to the offerings of the purveyors of multinational fast-food are all too self-evident. Indeed, another pleasant part of returning to China is simply being amongst a people who seem both able to enjoy their food (something of an obsession in China) and yet manage, for the most part, to do it in far healthier ways that are currently the case in the UK.
Time to finish up for another week. At the conclusion of this week's offering I find myself sitting on a rather hard wooden bench in the arrivals area (slightly less crowded) of Heathrow terminal 4. As the flight desk is about to open, and as my time is limited on this system, I fear I must bid a hasty farewell for now and submit this particular offering sans the usual editing and proof-reading. Apologies for any errors incurred by submitting to this unseemly haste (not at all my usual habit!), but, as the saying has it, needs must when the devil drives! 

 

Leaving on a Jet Plane...

 “No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow. ” 

Lin Yutang

It seems that, after a mere four week break, that my more far-flung flaneurial duties will be once more resumed in the coming weeks with trips to South China and Thailand. It is a tough job, but someone's gotta do it. In the meantime, I spent the weekend preparing the few odds and sods needed for such a trip. This task was not particularly onerous, chiefly consisting of the obtaining of sufficient funds to get by in my first few weeks in China. This is something one needs to arrange before visiting that particular country, unless one enjoys the hour and a half proceedings that tend to occur every time one endeavours to change money in a Chinese bank in any place other than the most obvious of tourist destinations.
If one already has visas and insurance in place, then it is a simple matter to prepare for such a trip, even when that trip is planned over a period of months rather than weeks. I am sometimes asked by friends and relatives how I set about these things. The answer is surprisingly straightforward; once one has completed such technicalities as visas, insurance and funds, it is simply a matter of getting on a train, then a plane, then….well, that's it...really, that is all there is to it. In the interconnected world in which we live today, such travel is no longer that much of a challenge. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that the biggest part of the challenge is the ennui of long journeys on aircraft. Personally, I usually find the 'entertainment' on offer through various films and TV shows very dull, the films being almost invariably of the more commercial type, popular but vacuous. Every now and then a little gem somehow sneaks in, but often as not I scarcely bother these days. Thank heavens for the invention of the e-reader! With this in hand I find I can happily wile away many an hour tucking into the delights of Henry Miller or Anais Nin, or any one of about fifty authors that I am currently indulging in, whilst suspended 40,000 feet above the planet's surface.
In retrospect, I think that the return to the UK at this time of year was perhaps not the best notion that every crossed my mind. The pleasurable part has been catching up with various friends. Oddly, it seems to matter little how far one has travelled or what adventures one has indulged in, on return such relationships, after an obligatory handshake or hug, return to much the same as they were before. This is something that I appreciate very much. Time and distance seem to make little difference, the core of such friendships remains essentially unaffected.
The country itself...hmm, let us just say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, whilst confrontation with the reality of its fundamentally parochial nature, its class struggles, its asinine politics and, on a more banal note, just how cold it is this time of year, soon dissipate one's delusions about the place. The UK can be a very beautiful country, from the end of April to the end of September. If one is fortunate, even October can be reasonably pleasant, the rest of the year it is a struggle simply to survive the cold, the wet, the wind, the mud, the ice and the snow. The days themselves are incredibly short at this time of year, seemingly consisting of a sunrise and a sunset, with scarcely anything in between.
The inward-looking nature of the country can also be a tad wearisome, the somewhat dated beliefs as to its significance bearing little relation to today's reality. There was a time, many, many moons ago now, when Britain was indeed very influential on a global scale. Whether this influence was at all beneficial is another matter. Much of what was done in the name of Empire now looks very dubious with the benefit of hindsight. Numerous examples spring to mind: running India as a company, rather than as a country, the Opium War in which we forced the Chinese to import the drug in return for access to their markets (tea, interestingly, in particular), our efforts in Africa (such dubious efforts as the setting up of the first concentration camps by the British in the course of the Boer War – not as fundamentally awful, admittedly, as later iterations, but still very unpleasant), and...well, I could go on, but suffice it to say that much of the British contribution was not exactly positive in nature, mainly consisting of a ruthless exploitation of raw materials and local populations. Much of the 'civilising' influence claimed was something of an afterthought, the very notion betrays a level of smugness that looks remarkably ill-founded given the pecuniary motivation for almost all of the British interventions.
To be fair, almost every country one visits suffers from similar delusions as to its own influence. America seems to be forever wagging a finger at the rest of the World and lecturing about human rights, whilst conveniently ignoring them on their own escapades around the globe. The Japanese to this day remain in denial of the nature of their occupations during World War Two, a subject that causes much friction with its Asian neighbours. The Chinese and the Russians adopt a slightly different approach wherein they portray themselves as forever victims of foreign aggression, conveniently ignoring the fact that their own leaders were responsible for far more suffering than any invading armies ever inflicted.
And so it goes…
Personally, I rather liked the words of the venerable Thomas Paine on nationalism. This old Thetfordian (interestingly, as I write these words, I am a mere few hundred feet from his birthplace) simply stated:
“My country is the world, and my religion is to do good.”
I could not argue with such noble sentiments.

The Fat of the Land...

Today I find myself in a wet and windy Exeter, enjoying the hospitality of the library in the city centre which has been thoughtfully provided with a pleasant little coffee shop in the vestibule. The castle backs on to the grounds of a centuries old Norman castle which, in recent years, has been thoughtfully landscaped to provide a very pleasing setting on a warm summer's day. Unfortunately, at the time of writing, warm summer's days are but a distant hope; the ground beneath one's feet squelches to the tread and all is soggy and waterlogged, adding an extra incentive to stay within the confines of the building and enjoy the fayre on offer here.
Apart from a wide variety of cakes and similar comestibles, the fayre seems reasonably fair in this place, in contrast to most establishments I have visited since returning to the UK. What passes for food in this benighted land is normally high in fat, swimming in grease or comes pre-wrapped from a factory, bearing little or no resemblance to anything natural or organic. Quite often these packets come with pretty little labels indexing all the various ingredients and percentages thereof and just how much fat, carbohydrate and protein is contained therein. Little or no food seems to come in its natural form, unprocessed or sans addictive that add little to the nutritional value. 

 
These days, such 'food' is the standard fayre on offer in the UK; if one requires anything beyond the range of these mundane offerings one is required to both search far and wide and to pay out a proverbial arm and a leg. Most don't bother, or simply cannot afford to bother, hence insuring an unremittingly poor diet for themselves and their families.
For all my criticisms of China, and there were many, the diet there is infinitely better (and infinitely cheaper) than it is here. One comes across the odd rotund person in China, but the norm, even into great age, is slim and fit-looking people. The contrast with the UK could not be more stark, and seems to become more and more obvious each time I return from one of my sojourns.
The streets of Exeter seem to be filled to bursting with the rotund, the generously-proportioned, the wide-of-berth, the ample-figured, the big-boned, the plus-sized, the hefty, the chubby, the plump, the obese and even, what we used to call in previous, less politically correct times, the fat. They wibble and wobble down the street, huffing and puffing, panting and grunting; so much so in fact that one is concerned as to their very survival whenever they are met with such severe challenges as an incline, a few steps or a slightly more than normally substantial door..

A close friend of mine insists that these people are their own worst enemies, that the choices they make dictate the state of their bodies, that they really should have the self-discipline to make appropriate food choices and to take a little exercise occasionally. Personally, I feel that is a tad unfair given the type of fayre that is normally on offer in the supermarkets and hostelries of this land. There really isn't that much choice, particularly if you live in straitened circumstances, as so many do in what the Daily Mail insists is economically successful Britain. 

 
Another good friend espouses a type of conspiracy theory wherein the great mass (no pun intended…) of people are fed rubbish in order to render them suitable customers for the pharmaceutical industry as their health inevitably deteriorates. Again, I would not fully subscribe to such ideas, but one has to admit that the average UK citizen is usually imbibing a copious cornucopia of tablets and other forms of medication by the time they reach the ripe old age of fifty. Huge sums do indeed seem to be made at both ends of this equation, firstly in feeding people such poor food as to lead inevitably to obesity, and secondly from the doomed attempts to deal with the concomitant health problems such as cardiovascular disease, high blood pressure and diabetes. 
 
Many moons ago, back in the nineties, I enjoyed an interesting, if somewhat challenging, trip to India. As happens to so many who take on extended visits to that land, I managed to contract a form of 'Dehli-belly' (appropriately enough in Dehli) and came back from my travels some 10 kgs lighter than when I left. The people of the sub-continent were, in those far off days, more or less inevitably slim. A couple of months later, I followed that trip with another to Florida, my first to the United States. The contrast could not have been greater. On my first morning, I came across my first mall and my first food section, stuffed full of fast-food outlets. A few metres in front of me, bound for the same outlets, was a woman of indeterminate age wearing, perhaps unwisely, shorts and a singlet. She must have been at least 150 kgs, probably more. As I observed her ponderous advance towards her fervently desired destination I found myself trying to work out within which folds, of a very high number of folds in her ample legs, her knees were contained. The image reminded me oddly of the Michelin Man in those wonderfully antediluvian French posters.

At the time it was known that the US was in the midst of an obesity crisis. Little did I realise that just a few years later many of those same fast-food outlets would be littering the streets of the UK (and indeed, Europe and the World) bringing with them the subsequent problems and deleterious effects on the nations health, perhaps particularly on a younger generation who have scarcely ever known anything better.
Back in the library café, the rain is lashing hard against the windows as I finish this week's offering. Currently in the West country, it tends to vary between drizzle and violent downpour, so I await my chance to get merely slowly soaked rather than drowned beneath a veritable inundation. In the meantime I have treated my self to a second Americano but, in view of the above, resisted the temptation to indulge in the various cakes, muffins and sticky buns on offer ...

Keeping Abreast of a Breast...

Back in the bracing but very clean air of Thetford in Norfolk, I find myself enjoying the local fayre at the Red Lion in the centre of town. Tis a tad 'down to earth' but they do a rather pleasant vegetarian English breakfast for the negligible sum of £2.49, topped up with endless cups of refillable coffee for another 80p, which seems quite reasonable even after months of relatively cheap Chinese offerings The internet is somewhat slow here, as befits such an establishment, but still many, many times faster than anything I experienced during my time in Dongguan.
Interestingly, and somewhat bizarrely, the Chinese hosted an internet conference in the final weeks of December in the ancient town of Wuzhen, a pleasant if atypical spot criss-crossed with canals in Zhejiang Province, in which the main subject under discussion was censorship and freedom on the web. It seemed somewhat incongruous to yours truly, even a little Orwellian (as in double-speak) for the Chinese government to be expounding on such a subject. 

 
The minister in question, one Mr. Lu Wei, succumbed to the need to wax lyrical on the question of web censorship with the rather oxymoronic statement that China does not censor the internet but merely blocks access to sites. This rather mind-numbing notion passed with barely a comment on the Chinese state's media outlet, the Global Times, the correspondent penning the article apparently unaware of the rather startling contradiction in the minister's statement.
If one's internet search in China is limited to the commercial or the completely non-controversial, then the experience is merely frustratingly slow. If one dares to start to investigate issues that may be in any way even slightly controversial or, perish the thought, critical of the CPC (Communist Party of China), then it can take an age. I am sure that in this day and age the search goes through all sorts of algorithmic checking, but one feels almost as if there is some spotty clerk sitting at a desk in a gargantuan ministry in Beijing, peering through a pair of thick-lensed spectacles, going over the query word by word, searching out any potential problems. Tis the stuff of paranoid fantasy, of course, but it does indeed often feel that slow.
As ever with these issues, there are levels and levels. I recall that a certain W.S. Churchill said of the Soviet Union that it was 'a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma'. One could think of China in much the same way, but one would need to add a few extra layers. They routinely reject the entreaties of the likes of Twitter, Facecbook and Instagram, usually hinting at security concerns, but the reality probably has more to do with protecting monied interests inside China. The likes of Baidu, Weibo and Youku are now enormous, helped to a significant degree by the simple fact that they do not have to compete with their Western counterparts. One sometimes wonders about the mutual connections between those who run such enterprises and the higher echelons of government inside China. Although I would imagine there are no direct connections, I would not be at all surprised if mutually advantageous links existed nevertheless…
Censorship is such a difficult issue, and much of the reaction to various situations is very culturally dependent. I remember a few years back the huge outcry in the US when one of Janet Jackson's pendulous bosoms happened to escape her apparently insufficient bodice during a Superbowl interval (I say 'apparently' as it is quite likely, being the US, that the whole episode was something of a publicity stunt). Given the reaction, one would have thought that the sight of a woman's near (only 'near') naked bosom was a harbinger of the apocalypse. 

 
On the other hand, American films quite happily will show scenes of people being blown up, shot, stabbed, beheaded, garotted, strangled, minced, sliced and diced with barely a raise of the eyebrows from the censors. This is particularly the case if the victims of such violence are some kind of foreigners. I remember attempting to watch an early 'Rambo' film. The basic premise was that one American had been captured by the 'gooks', those inhuman Vietnamese who, apparently, never had a mother or a father, never went to school, never had an ambition, a first love, girlfriend, wife or lover, never suffered all the trials and tribulations that are the very stuff of being human. Essentially, their only role in life was as cannon fodder to the ever diligent Rambo, conscientiously engaged in his attempt to rescue said American from their evil clutches.

Of course, the Americans are not alone in doing this. The Thais do it, the Chinese do it, even educated Brits do it (...let's do it, let's exterminate a foreigner...). In fact, it is a phenomenon one finds in many countries across the globe. The dehumanizing effect of labeling people as Nips, Yids, Towel-Heads or Gooks; Goys, Farangs, Dagos and Cooks; Spics, Chinks, Gweilos and Spooks seemingly renders it 'OK' to impart great violence unto them, with ne'er a thought as to their humanity.
It seems so strange to yours truly how barely anyone raises any sort of objection to such violence and racism yet… show a breast on daytime TV, a mammary gland that has, to the best of my knowledge, never actually hurt anyone, then there is hell to pay.
Strange World…
Back in the Red Lion, the lunchtime clientele are now chatting happily enjoying some post Christmas merriment. It is good to see that for one week of the year at least, people are released from the onerous chores of the 9 to 5 to enjoy a little rest, a little socializing, a little time to simply be. It seems something of a shame that this privilege is granted to them only in the very depths of winter, but it is still to be enjoyed. For my part, I am finishing my third coffee and thinking that it is probably enough, even for one so inured as myself. Time to take a stroll back to where I am staying, perhaps taking the river and the bridge in en route. The walk along the river bank is all very beautiful at this time of year, even if the water levels are rather alarmingly high at the time of writing. Hopefully, the centre of town remains unflooded. The current plan is to write next weeks episode from the hopefully pleasant environs of Exeter in Devon, but the weather being what it is, there may be a few challenges to overcome before achieving that. We shall see...
 

So this is Christmas (and what have you done...)

As I start this latest set of meandering musings I find myself back, if only just, in a very wet England. This, as yet, is second-hand knowledge rather than directly experienced. For now, my first act on entering this literally benighted land was to head over to the Caffe Nero in Terminal 2 at Heathrow and treat myself to a large and thoroughly pleasant Americano. I have a soft spot for Nero's, the coffee is excellent and the décor much to my taste – old, tatty, sunken armchairs and sofas, ideal for cogitating whilst one waits, flaneur style, for the hubbub of the evening rush hour to die down before embracing the delights of London's antiquated underground system.
After this particular flight, it is with some relief that I take my seat and sip my coffee. Not only was it an incredibly long eleven hour flight (mostly spent reading and chatting as there was not an offering of note on the 'entertainment' system), but it finished in fine style with the aircraft being heavily buffeted by some very strong winds on the descent followed by visits to both sides of the runway as it slewed and skidded quite alarmingly on landing. Far too much excitement for me, I prefer my landings to be barely noticeable.
In my bag, folded up very carefully, I bring back a gift created by one of the guys at the martial arts club. Jun and I had shared many a conversation in the past few weeks, from politics to policing, wandering to wushu, communism to Confucius. Jun was both a devotee and a well read student of Confucianism. Something of a gentle giant of a man, he expressed himself powerfully through his martial skills, but also rather more subtly through calligraphy, the latter being something of an art form in China. Before I left he had presented me with a piece he himself had created on fine tissue paper, about two foot by four foot, of a saying from Confucius: Ching Xian Wei Fu – which roughly translates as 'Leisure is Happiness' (Jun had come to know me well during my stay in China…).

Would that more of the Chinese people could reconnect with such ancient wisdom. Instead, the words that one hears all the time is 'Ying Gai' which can be translated as 'should' or 'ought to'. Modern Chinese life, much like modern life in the West, seems to consist of rather a lot of Ying Gai; a huge long list of social and civic duties that one should do in order to be acceptable in Chinese society. Formal law in China is nowhere nearly as strongly enforced as it is in the West, but informal law, those pressures and constraints imposed by peers, familial expectations and those from the surrounding culture are very strong indeed. From cradle to grave, Chinese life seems to consist of a long and daunting list of Ying Gai's.
Of course, such societal and cultural constraints and strictures are by no means the exclusive preserve of Chinese society. We all live lives that are an endless reflection of having to conform with so many 'shoulds' and 'ought tos'. A lengthy list of our duties and responsibilities, of what is expected of us to earn at least a modicum of acceptance within our given cultures. This time of year perhaps, such pressures are felt even more strongly as we churn through, yet again, all the rather onerous demands that make up Christmas, often fearful that some aspect will go horribly wrong and we will be exposed for the miscreants that we are! The right cards need to be sent, the right presents should be bought, the requisite amounts of money splashed out, the right people should be seen, the right food prepared. Many at this time of year find themselves feeling pressured, fearful of making some dreadful social faux pas, of creating some dreadful cock-up of a meal or of not including all the people we 'ought to' include, but really, what if a present remains unopened, the food uneaten, the parents unseen, the dishes unwashed, the napkins unfolded, the gifts unwrapped, the crackers unpulled, the bottles unopened, the turkey unstuffed, mince pies unfilled, words unsaid or the wine unmulled? Somehow, I am not sure quite how, but somehow the world seems to manage to go on much the same at it ever did…

'Don't sweat the small staff', a modern day apophthegm appropriately assures us. Without apology, I would go a step further and urge the non-sweating of the big stuff too. Remarkable as it may seem, despite all the dramas, big and small, personal and impersonal, urgent and non-urgent, somehow the world keeps on spinning, the sun comes up, the sun goes down (or, if you are currently in the UK, it just keeps on raining...). People work themselves up into apoplectic states of annoyance and vexation, indeed, some seem to specialize in such posturing, spending much of their time in such a state of mind. Scarcely, perhaps never, does all this sound and fury, whether it be externally expressed or internally withheld, result in anything positive, useful or even significant.
Back in Caffe Nero's, I take a sip of coffee and realize that with all this cogitation my Americano is now completely cold, although still surprisingly tasty. Tis a problem I commonly face when working on these blogs (if one can call it 'work' – it often feels like an indulgence to yours truly). I find myself looking forward to a few weeks of clean, fresh air after the challenges of the Chinese environment, but I am guessing that pretty soon the inclination to resume my travels will have me yearning for other places, other climes. The UK is a very beautiful country … from May to September; the rest of the year has me dreaming of other realms, other shores. We shall see...

How you gonna keep them down on the farm…(after they’ve seen gay Paris)

This week I am indulging in the pleasure of returning to an old haunt, although it seems largely unchanged from a year ago. The Café de Coral in Chang An is one of the few places where the theoretical ban on smoking in restaurants in China is actually observed and enforced, thereby rendering it one of the more salubrious places to relax, think and write. Not all is quite as I would wish it, at this time of the year they do insist on playing endless Christmas songs in the background, usually conversions of Western songs performed by prepubescent children with screechingly high-pitched voices, the Chinese ideal of cuteness (my idea of annoying...). The PRC very definitely celebrate Xmas and not Christmas – all references to Christ himself are expunged from the celebrations and what remains is yet another excuse to justify yet more consumerism (as if there were a shortage of excuses for such splurges already...)

It is somewhat early in the morning, around half past eight or so, a little too early by normal standards to find oneself committed to composing a blog, but the air quality outside is 160+ for PM 2.5s, those nasty little particles which are so small that the body has no defence whatsoever to and allows them to filter down deep within the respiratory system. A mask would need to be about as thick as a brick to stop the inhaling of these pesky particles. Once inside the lungs they tend to sink to the bottom where they are absorbed into the bloodstream and thence into the arteries, causing tiny lacerations to the walls of the blood vessels as they make their way around the circulatory system. Such lacerations then attract plaques which, if unchecked, eventually lead to the blockage of arteries, heart attacks and strokes, and even, not to put too fine a point on it, death.

Chang An is an outlier suburb of Dongguan, a second-tier city in the south of China. It used to be the base for much manufacturing, but in recent years has undergone something of a transformation to become a centre for finance and banking, with very few factories and no coal fired power stations in the vicinity. Nevertheless, on some days here the air quality is bordering on the unbreathable. Some of this is due to windblown pollution from the numerous other conurbations along China’s east coast, but far more emanates from the presence of so many motor vehicles, particularly diesels, belching out huge amounts of particulates, day in and day out.

On a personal level, I like to indulge in at least a little exercise each day; of late that has meant tai chi, qigong or twirling nunchucks. None of these activities is particularly strenuous, but in the current conditions I tend to avoid even such minor exertions, my slightly paranoid suspicion being that one probably does far more harm through the inhalation of the PM10s and PM2.5s than any good that the body could potentially gain through the exercise.

The news in China in the last couple of weeks has frequently referred to the problems in the North of the country where measurements for these pollutants have either been very high or, quite simply, off the scale. This comes at quite a sensitive time for those steadfast guardians of environmental virtue, the Chinese government, as they are trying to run an intense PR campaign to demonstrate just how positive they have been in addressing the problems of global warming and pollution whilst engaged at the Climate Change Conference in Paris this week. If their ever reliable, totally immune from propaganda, manipulation or statistical fixing reports are to be believed, they are the ‘good guys’ who are spending far more than their Western counterparts in the battle to stabilize the climate.

Unfortunately for these protectors of truth and integrity, the facts are pretty stark. Whilst most Western governments are reducing their emissions from levels already below China's, the Chinese wish to go on increasing theirs until the year 2030. The justification often cited for this somewhat dubious policy (given that hundreds of thousands of Chinese citizens are dying of pollution related illnesses every year) is that China is a ‘developing’ country, as opposed to the developed nations of the West. From my experience, China is not only developed, it is possibly even over-developed (although often badly developed, as pointed out in a previous blog). Many Chinese people remain very poor not because of lack of development but because of an uneven distribution of wealth. The wealthy are exorbitantly, outrageously, beyond the dreams of avarice wealthy, whilst the poor are abysmally, hopelessly, desperately so. This state of affairs is unlikely to change significantly in the next 15 years, so the rather feeble excuse that China needs to develop in order to care for its people is, effectively, a smokescreen in a country of smokescreens (smogscreens?), both physically and metaphorically. 

Over the years, the Chinese government have lived in mortal fear of threats to ‘social stability’. To remain in power they feel it is necessary to forever go on increasing living standards. As they understand it, this means such things as more consumerism, flats, cars and all the other paraphernalia of Western style ‘developed’ countries. Their belief is that if they can maintain growth at the kinds of levels they have seen in the last 25 years, then all will be well. But even the densest of observers is beginning to comprehend that endless material growth at the cost of the environment does not lead to a better lifestyle. To slightly amend some words of wisdom form the Bible: what profiteth a man if he gaineth the whole world but cannot breathe!?

Chinese citizens themselves are becoming increasingly restive in recent times because of the air pollution problem and the increasingly obvious effects it is having on the health of the nation. Last year, a Chinese journalist Chai Jing, worried about the effects of pollution on her baby girl, created a short documentary on the subject entitled ‘Under the Dome’. This production was originally backed by the Environment Ministry here, but when it was noticed that over a hundred million downloads of it had been made in the first couple of days alone, they were overruled by an even higher authority leading to the film being banned for fear of being too great a threat to ‘social stability’.

(Oddly, readers can easily view the film...as long as they don’t live in China. It is readily available on youtube.com, and very worthy of viewing if one wishes to understand the nature of China and its government as well as the air quality problems here. As a small aside, this week a Chinese minister stated at an internet conference in Northern China that there was ‘no web censorship in China, merely sites that are blocked’. George Orwell would, I imagine, have been amused by such a blatant example of ‘double speak’.)

Criticism of the government in these areas is becoming stronger and stronger of late. One knows that something is amiss when even the official news organs, such as the Global Times, start to criticize the government and their inability to effectively address the problem. The government's reaction to criticism is often to threaten to jail critics for making ‘socially irresponsible’ comments on blogging sites and suchlike. The sheer amount of comments and discontent is becoming a problem now though, and given that the problem is likely to get worse in the next few years, then clearly the Chinese government needs to amend its ideas as to which is the greater threat to social order.

Back in the café, people are going about their business in much the same way as ever, kids run around playing, adults indulge in conversation or stare, blank-faced, into their mobile phones.  One cannot help but notice now though, how many Chinese people are getting into the habit of wearing masks. Previously, here in South China, one saw these on the faces of a few cyclists only. This year, they are far more common and many pedestrians also resort to what limited protection, more apparent then real, they offer. This will probably be my last post from China for some time. Although there are reasons to come back in the not too distant future, part of me is really quite reluctant to do so until they get a grip on this particular challenge.

At the Paris conference, Xi Jingping, the Chinese Premier, made an opening speech during which he lectured Western countries on their responsibilities towards remedying global warming. One cannot help but think that perhaps now is the time that such people should resist the temptation to lecture others and start to put their own house in order.

Wanna Fight ?

Another evening spent in the enjoyable, if somewhat controversial, company of martial arts practitioners at the local Jeet Kun Do School. For this particular group of Wushu experts, the training itself is often interrupted by long interludes of sipping tea from tiny cups seated around the heavy wooden trunk alluded to last week. The conversation is mostly related to technique, exactly how to inflict the most damage possible with a given punch or kick, or everyday life in China. As such, it is a source for much material for this blog, although the conversations can get a tad surrealistic at times.

The Chinese seem to love a fight. So much of the culture here is related to, or directly involves, martial arts. In matters on the macro scale, the Chinese military have not shown themselves to be particular competent in any area, their greatest victories coming when they are fighting each other, as in the Chinese Revolution. The modern day People’s Liberation Army seem to be in the business of liberating people in much the same way as the Americans liberated Iraq in 2003 or the Russians liberated Poland in 1940. Their most notable victory in the last fifty years came when they briefly entered Vietnam in 1979 whilst the main Vietnamese forces were away in Cambodia. When these threatened to return, the PLA quickly changed strategy and advanced in a generally backward direction to the safety of China. For all their historical limitations militarily, on the smaller scale, as in hand-to-hand combat, the Chinese fighting man represents a formidable foe.

 The attitudes contained within the Wushu (martial arts) lifestyle are, in a sense, almost a national metaphor. The ways to success are often seen in militaristic, martial or very directly competitive terms within this society. Far from being a particularly co-operative or socialist society, the underlying culture is one of constant struggle against others who are seen in terms of being fellow competitors.

Even a short trip down a metropolitan Chinese road will aptly demonstrate this point. Co-operation is the very last notion to cross the mind of the average driver here. It is very much dog-eat-dog and too bad if you cannot keep up. An interesting statistic will serve to illustrate this point. A person in charge of a motor vehicle in China has, per capita, something like eight times the likelihood of becoming a fatality on these roads as on the roads in the US (which, in itself, is hardly the least competitive society on the planet). Of course, there are many other factors involved in that statistic, but the vast majority of the accidents here are down to ‘driver error’, a pleasant enough euphemism for ‘driving like a lunatic’.

During this current stay in China, I have had many fascinating interaction with some very interesting, and even occasionally charismatic, martial arts practitioners, from those practicing the gentler skills of tai chi to the representatives of the local school whose skills are far more practical in nature. Personally, I am getting a tad long in the tooth (and carrying a few too many injuries) to train too seriously with these folk, but I have enjoyed learning to use nunchucks, a strangely fascinating and absorbing activity the learning of which requires a great deal of concentration, perseverance and the willingness to take the odd bruise here and there as the fast flailing handles forever shoot-off in random directions each time I lose control of a sequence.

The sheer variety of skills and techniques studied and employed here in China is enough to boggle the mind of the Western observer. In my short time here, I have seen people training with swords, short-swords, long-swords, cutlasses, daggers, spears, both short and long, staffs, sticks, nunchucks, flails and fans and observed them using various techniques to stab, jab, slash, cut, skewer, pin, impale, flail, smash and generally do untold amounts of damage to their opponent. Happily, all the violence I have witnessed using implements has been of the practice variety, although I have seen several injuries even within that context (I have my own bruises from the nunchucks to illustrate my point all too painfully….).

The more direct weaponless techniques allow for tightly controlled contests to take place. Last weekend, I witnessed my first ever Taekwondo tournament. Originally a Korean martial art form, Taekwondo has been happily adopted by the Chinese who now have hundreds of thousands of active participants in the sport. The contests are conducted mostly with the use of kicks, scoring kicks being made to the central anatomy and the head of the opponent who wears thick pads around his/her ribs and a helmet incorporating some protection for the face and skull. These protective measures are very necessary as the power of the kicks from a properly trained practitioner is impressive indeed. When training with these guys, the sheer weighty thud of a well placed kick into the heavy punch bags is enough to send a shiver down my spine. One would definitely not want to be in the way of such an attack, even if wearing protective pads…

 The wushu specialists at the school I attend are fairly liberal and eclectic in their approach to martial arts – almost any technique is countenanced if it is likely to have the desired effect. At times, one can watch them practicing punches, slaps, backhand slaps, elbows – both horizontal and vertical, knees (usually applied to a particularly vulnerable area..), kicks to the ankles, legs, stomach and head and even butting for street fights.  

Oddly, each and every one of them seems a relatively gentle, even genteel, soul when not fighting. We sit around the intricately worked trunk and consume the tiniest of tiny cups of green tea. The cup is forever replenished as long as you drink it. The host, whoever that is on any particular evening, has the duty of ensuring that your cup is never empty. Each cup is but a couple of sips, but the teas are often delicious, each practitioner taking it in turn to supply his own particular tea. Each of these gentlemen has enough knowledge of martial arts techniques to do considerable damage if they so desire, but each seems to be the perfect gentlemen in such surroundings. It is my good fortune to have met and learnt so much from these gentlemen whilst in China.