Being decisive

Sunday 15th and Monday 16th Feb – Chinese New Year holidays

To my dears at home,

It occurred to me that I have not told you of some of the basic, ‘normal’ stuff that might help you picture my day-to-day life here. Perhaps such information will enable you to rationalise even visualise me in this world so different from where I have been and where I am from. Therefore, bear with me for a few paragraphs as I outline my Sunday and then Monday mornings.

It began with a decision. Well several actually… although perhaps a closer focus still? More detail… It started with three things: a sliced banana squished betwixt two Tuc biscuits; close reflection of this breakfast, and a decision to go food shopping. Anyone who knows me, however, knows that shopping on an empty or insufficiently filled belly will undoubtedly lead to disaster and potentially danger. Thus prompted the aforementioned second decision of the day (after the obvious like I’m going to get non slip-stoppers for that effing rug because skating on the way to the kitchen when barely awake is NOT the way to start the day, or: shit! I’m not supposed to use the tap water for drinking, I’ll have to brush my teeth again – that’ll solve the problem). It (second decision of the day) was to go food shopping after popping to the coffee shop for the purposes of fuel consumption & general public safety and wellbeing. I would eat a club sandwich and enjoy a large coffee to provide sufficient energy for a fairly disaster free venture to the supermarket. Or so I hoped.

As I waited for the lift, I kept my fingers crossed that the left one – as you face them – would be the one to arrive first. Reason being that the right one – as you face them – still plays Christmas music and it freaks me out a little compared to the other one which ever so coolly, ever so casually, plays some chilled yet funky Chinese music that I have aptly named Chilled Chinese Lift Lounge Tunes.

My luck was in. I enjoyed a pleasant journey of head bobbing, shoulder swaying and an occasional knee bend from the 18th floor down.

 

Further pleasing news that Sunday morning was that the mist was entirely natural rain mist and not an all-consuming pollution monster cloud. Such a surprising treat put a smile on my face which was further extended when I realised the cold that had until now pierced through any coat I had donned; penetrated any thermal vest I tried and splintered into my blood stream had ebbed. It was warm! The smile adorning my face faded – just a tad – when a puffer jacketed moped riding old lady nearly ran me down. Obviously, as the strange grinning westerner standing still on a pavement, appreciating some clear, clean air, it was my fault and the silent and deadly electric scooter driver simply moved on, no word of an apology or acknowledgement – of course.

I grimaced, rolled the balls of my feet and bounced off to the supermarket brushing it off. Running as many other supermarkets do at home – apart from the fact that fresh noodles I selected cost me 10 pence – made me splash out and perhaps over confidently buy some frozen dumplings (you know, for rainy days). I’ve no idea what’s in them but the picture displayed green stuff and was therefore deemed safe to risk. I was unlikely to be consuming cat and/or dog if the picture was green, surely.

Breakfasting and fridge replenishment successfully and safely executed, I returned home. My flat is lovely. I actually love it. Pictures of home (Dubai and England) surround me now and I have the essential nicnacs around me so I am happy to spend time here sitting at my desk which, incidentally, affords me one of my greatest pleasures: an old-school, green, drop down lamp. You cannot possibly begin to understand the insurmountable pleasure and satisfaction derived from pulling the chord on that lamp when my work is done of an evening – unless of course, you have one?

It was as I sat, alone, in this lovely, suddenly too spacious, suddenly too quiet apartment that I made my final notable decision of the day: I would accept the proffered invitation to join the family of one of our Admissions assistants for Chinese New Year. The destination Fenghua; the journey about 3 hours outside Shanghai, and what I needed? Warm clothes. Right. I confirmed my delightful acceptance and set about planning. You see, it’s about taking opportunities, right? It’s about immersing myself in the culture which currently hosts me, and that doesn’t just mean learning how to order dumplings or instructing a taxi driver how to ‘stop here’ – which, by the way, I can now do. It also does not mean ordering Pizza, craving Yorkshire tea and feeling amiss at the unavailability of an oven or bath in my lovely home. I was doing the right thing.

Seeing as most people travel during Chinese New Year, spending time with their families much like many of us at Christmas, there was a decided lack of train tickets. As a result, I conceded in making the decision to book a standing ticket on an available train. This may seem okay – it’s a little over three hours – but I am preparing myself for the worst on my journey: spitting, crowding, not necessarily respecting ones personal space are all going to be factors I must deal with. The only thing I can’t handle, as many of you know, is that I know I’ll freak out if someone’s hair touches me. You know, when some annoying person flicks their hair in your face or leans a little too close, allowing a strand or two to brush against you – I’m talking about that. It makes my skin crawl and fingers clench to resemble a cankered, gnarled old weaver’s hands; I have actually been know to even twitch, shudder and gag at such an occurrence. I breathed out heavily and pushed the thought from my mind, I’d be fine, I’d be fine.

The other thing to note is that buying train tickets in Shanghai means going to the train station to buy them; or finding a travel agent (yeah, good luck with that when everyone’s on holiday). Therefore, Monday, and the adventure started with a nervous trip to Shanghai Railway Station. I’d spent an hour at my desk ridiculously researching the closest stations in Shanghai for practically no reason – I still don’t really know where I live! How the bloody hell was I going to purchase tickets to go to a place I have no idea of from a place I – at best – vaguely recognise? How? I didn’t know but figured with a few hundred RMB in my purse and a taxi card to the station, I’d be fine once I got there.

‘Hen Hao’ (very good) says the taxi driver, enthusiastically nodding and simultaneously prodding the car radio when he thoughtfully selected an Ingo ren (English) radio station playing popular music from home. We sing ‘She’s a good girl’ together – bit weird when you consider the connotations of the song but hey ho. I sing, obliged because he’s so enthusiastic I can’t not and he sings because he’s just pleasant and hospitable, I guess. When he took his hands off the wheel to rave to the next tune I just smiled, well, grimaced, touched and amused that this man was having a jolly good party while transporting his nervously amused passenger.

Part (most) of me was scared as we faced lines of traffic on the impressive yet intimidating elevated road. We were driving into the clouds. Not like in Grease though. Even though I was wearing a black bomber jacket, my hair slicked back a tad, my companion looked very little like Sandy! We were leaving the safety of the part of Shanghai I vaguely recognised. I reflected that it would be so much easier to simply go home, pour some Great Wall red wine and hide beneath covers watching Zoolander. I didn’t know where I was but I guessed that if this grinning, dancing, stunt man of a taxi driver could sing along in an alien tongue and dance whilst driving, I could get to a main railway station to buy a frickin’ train ticket – even I could do that.

And I did. I made it! Another decision: Monday afternoon I shall aptly prepare myself for the ominous trip by having a massage (my first by a man, actually – was very good – so good in fact that my teeth started trembling at one point); a manicure and a glass of champagne. I shall focus on these beautiful things when tomorrow I am standing nose to nose, chest to chest with a tobacco chewing, spit fest ridden carriage avoiding eye contact and generally being very cold and western. I would say ‘wish me luck’ but I’ve already done it and write post trip. Luck, the playful little bugger, was both present and occasionally distracted the next day.