Saturday, April 20, 2013

Indiana Jones and the Teahouse

A short travel related scribble which will be published in InTravel Mag, May 2013:


In the absence of anything else we were done. Time to leave.

I turned and made the universal cheque, bill, l’addition, conto sign. I wrote on my hand in thin air with an imaginary pen in the direction of the young girl standing attentively nearby. Immediately she scurried away and I returned to savour the view for what remained of my time in the exquisite Chinese teahouse.

Our day to that point had taken us on a local taxi ride from our hotel in downtown Xi’an central China to the Lintong District of the city. We were deposited close to, but not exactly at, the entrance of the World Heritage site containing 8,000 life-sized terracotta warriors built to protect the first emperor of China. The close to drop off point was by design. A barely disguised local conspiracy to funnel the thousands of tourists heading to the famous site through a well constructed street seller ambush. From the drop off point there simply was no other way there. If you wanted to visit it you have to run the gauntlet and judging from the skin colour and girth of our fellow travellers most had travelled some way to be there. It wasn’t as if they could come back later when it was less busy.

In my experience the Chinese are only beaten by the Egyptians when it comes to selling. Persuade, talk, keep talking, be physical, angry, happy, keep talking. 'No' is simply not part of a street sellers vocabulary. It doesn’t register. Keep going, keep talking, keep pestering and eventually, if all else fails the customer will buy just to make it stop. Persistence is key and Chinese street sellers have this in abundance. 

‘Don’t make eye contact’ I warned sternly as I gripped my girlfriend’s hand and pulled her firmly down the centre. I could see in my peripheral vision tourists being picked off with ease but we didn’t hesitate or falter. We kept going, body swerving the stand in front of you tactics and ignoring the calls, shouts and a plethora of terracotta offerings lining the route. An avenue of naked dancing medusas would have struggled to catch our eye that day. We were seasoned travellers, we had the boots, we had the hats, we had the bum bags. I even had the beard and it would take a lot more than a few shouts or a good price to make us fall into such a well-worn tourist trap.

Arriving at the entrance with our self-esteem and our wallets intact we breathed a sigh of relief and wiped plaster dust from our clothes. Behind us it was a feeding frenzy. A massacre. A lone tour guide held a flag high above the crowd, her flock were being picked off as she walked, pulled away, chewed up and spread to the wind. She arrived next to us. Alone and smiling. Perhaps she was part of the conspiracy too I thought.

We spent four hours wandering around the various marquees protecting the warriors marvelling at the sheer scale and craftsmanship on display. Whatever it was he had done it must have pretty damn serious judging from the protection Qin Shi Huang took with him into the afterlife. Eventually though it was time to leave.

Once more into the valley I thought as we stepped out into the humid spring day but fortunately the sellers were gone. The stalls were deserted. There was the odd tourist left standing outside looking confused and holding a life-sized replica warrior but apart from that it was deserted. There were one or two taxi’s waiting hopefully for the odd tourist not assigned to a bus tour (us) so we ambled towards them.

Next stop the Huaqing Hot Springs and a cup of tea in a teahouse.

Some time later the girl returned with the bill. 

She spoke in Chinese to my girlfriend. Her voice was soft and she had a very appealing demeanour. Waif like. She handed me a small handwritten note with both hands, bowed and stood respectfully back. The note was littered with unintelligible symbols.

My girlfriend glanced at the note, looked at me and then said a few clarifying, sing, song words to the girl. Her expression was dark.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked

‘We’ve been charged about €15 for the tea’

‘How much?!’

‘€15’

We’d been had. Been got.

For all our experience and savvy-ness we had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Don’t turn on the meter in the cab then pluck a number from thin air at the end of the ride. Don’t mention the price before you pull away or consume, then inflate after the service has been performed.

We had fallen for it and I scratched my Indiana Jones beard feeling more like a British accountant on holiday than I ever had during our adventure holiday. The girl stood by quietly smiling. She was smiling an ‘I got you smile’, that ‘You are so far away from home, try complaining, just try it white boy’ smile.

We looked at each other, the look was enough and we both knew it. That sinking feeling, that realisation we were not as worldly wise or tourist trap resistant as we had led ourselves to believe.

I started to count out the notes onto the table. As I finished I handed them over with a glare to our sweet young thieving hostess. She bowed yet again, smiled and then spoke in a thick, heavily accented English.

It wasn’t the jetlag and it isn’t my memory playing games with me. I am certain that as she spoke and for the briefest of moments her eyes glowed a deep dark red.

‘Each’ she said.

Monday, April 1, 2013

A big boy did it


As I sit here writing the outside temperature is slushing somewhere between 1c and 2c. 

The roads have been gritted a nasty dirty brown, my garden is a thick blanket of white and my overcoat is rapidly becoming a threadbare embarrassing rag. Its been this way for some time now, not the coat, the weather. In fact as long as I can remember and even knowing I have the short term memory of a demented blowfish this is still a long time.

We have already Spring-ed forward, the days are getting longer and winter is supposedly over. Only problem being is it isn’t and as of today it shows no sign of abating.

Is this the beginning of a new ice age or a global catastrophe? A Hollywood style icy cold, icebergs covering Paris, Jeff Goldblum, Armageddon thing?

No apparently not. This is Global Warming.

Some time ago in another blog, in reference to an unpronounceable Icelandic volcano I suggested we might need a global naming body (GNB) to police the naming of things. Global warming seriously needs their help as it is someway away from adequately describing the weather outside my living room window just now. It’s actually the polar opposite if you forgive a very loose pun.

I understand the concept that global warming doesn’t necessarily mean warmer. Its more extreme weather. I am grown up enough to know that it doesn’t necessarily mean the Costa del Govan anytime soon. But still, change the name please.

So, who is to blame?

As with most things these day, if something bad is happening or has happened, then someone or some organisation must to be to blame. The economic crisis = bankers. Horse meat burgers = Romanians. Greek, Spanish, Cypriot austerity measures = Germans.

Having someone to blame allows us to deflect responsibility and direct our anger at someone. Kill the bankers! Stone them! Tax them! Burn them!

Of course the reality is somewhat different but having someone to blame is much much easier. And if that someone happens to be rich, aloof, a bit poncy or German then even better.

It’s a load of rubbish though. Sorry, but it is.

I watch on the news the vitriol being directed at Chancellor Merkel and the nasty Germans from the streets of Athens or Madrid. Why? Because Germany are bailing them out, loaning them money and expecting some guarantees in return? 

If I was German, facing a tax hike because I lived in one of the few countries in the world which have not mismanaged their economies, I would be very pissed off indeed.

Sorry Mr Stopalopalos, if it was me I would be just letting you get on with it. Take responsibility for the mess you have created yourself and go back to smashing plates for a living.

In a illegal drug market who is responsible? Is it the drug dealer coming in and pushing his dirty, nasty products or is it the existing demand and the dealer is just taking advantage of the market conditions?

One simply would not exist without the other. 
A drug dealer wouldn’t exist in a town full of saints in the same way as an economic crisis would not have happened if everyone stopped, took time to considered it and then realised that they couldn’t afford the house, the plasma TV, holiday to a hot place or new car.

It just wouldn’t.

Its not just the bankers fault. Its as much your or my fault for being so fucking stupid in the first place. Just because you are offered something, doesn’t mean you should take it.

This is why when I read the anti-banking propaganda being peddled in the news or from both sides of the political spectrum I instantly think witch hunt or scapegoat.

The problem with following my train of thought is that it shifts the blame from the nasty fat cat, tax avoiding, Southern English sleazy, scum, tory bankers onto you and me. And this isn’t nearly as much fun or easy to stomach however true it might be.

So global warming, who is to blame for the ruination of the planet and me having to delay my first barbecue of 2013?

Again the answer seems to be everyone. The difference it seems with global warming and the economic crisis is that there never has been some group or individual to blame. It always has been everyone to blame and I would contend this is why we are still arguing about the real causes and the real impacts – i.e. not doing anything real about it.

Judging from my garden right now its real. I don’t need some politically or financially motivated organisation telling me otherwise. Its real, just look outside or try taking off from Zurich airport this afternoon on the first day of Spring.

The penalties and restrictions which are being proposed for the banking world have a Treaty of Versailles-esq feel about them. Almost vengeful. And its not just restricted to banking. Cross border legislation is being proposed to hinder larger businesses taking advantage of their earned economies of scale. The whole point of growing a business is to increase such opportunities, any country which restricts these opportunities will increase the percentage of tax they receive, yes, but unfortunately it will be a higher percentage of a much lower pot. I haven’t done the calculations. I cant do the calculations but I would bet a lot of money this will work out to be a lower number.   

As Bill Gates is supposedly said recently, the world and life isn’t fair, get used to it. He’s right - it isn’t. 
There are winners and there are losers and not necessarily the right ones.

If you have spent the last 25 years sucking up cheap unaffordable credit or enjoyed your annual holiday in the sun on the never-never. If you have built a thriving economy based on debt and employed an unaffordable army of civil servants who are essentially parasitic in nature, from a tax balance perspective, or built up a nanny state where personal responsibility is largely absent then I fail to see how anyone can claim to be a victim.

Its yours, mine and everyone’s fault so please stop blaming the bankers, the Germans or anyone else for that matter.

Unless you happen to have your life savings in the bank of Cyprus that is. 

Then I might start to agree with you.