Birthday at the Goose 'n' Duck Ranch

It was Dirk's birthday last weekend. He had a royal surprise thanks to his extremely competent wife-to-be and a bunch of scheming friends who plotted for weeks to ensure that this birthday would be one that Dirk would never forget.

First, the stake out at Goose 'n' Duck Pub at Chaoyang Park West Gate where Dionne lured the unsuspecting Dirk into a trap of confetti...

The birthday boy still reeling from shock (excellent! Mission accomplished)

We then hopped on the bus for the Goose 'n' Duck Ranch out in Huairou, about an hour's drive away from downtown Beijing. The Ranch is popular with the Beijing folk, both local and expat, because there are loads of fun things to do, such as:

Water strolling...

...aptly demonstrated by this weekend warrior

There was also a respectable enough looking swimming pool at the far end of the Ranch. Just mind the surly swimming pool lingdao and his besotted group of pool attendants. When will the Chinese ever understand that being hospitable is a pre-requisite of working in the tourism industry and switching off music playing at reasonable levels at 3pm is only going to piss people off?

Swimming pool at the Goose 'n' Duck RanchLazy, hazy days by the pool

Of course, there was fun to be had on dry land as well. Some of us released our inner Schumacher at the go-kart track.

Martin holding court with his adoring audience while getting a final check from Ofer

Ofer giving Martin tips on cheating to win. And I learnt this weekend also that Ruud is the only white guy I know who can squat properly.

In the meantime, I was starting to fall in love with a not so little guy called Arthur, a curious 5 month old Pit Bull Terrier.

"Mmm... that Schnauzer would make a great snack"

Look at that wee face!

Arthur and I

Time passes quickly when you're having a good time and before long it was dinnertime. Food at the Ranch was like that of a mess hall at best and its whole pig on a spit satisfied the most voracious of meat eaters.

Cheese!

This guy is helping himself to yummy pig skin dangling off what's left of its face

And when night falls, bring out the glo sticks!

Vinao so lovin' his neon sticks

Someone has a way too unhealthy obsession with her glo sticks

Ten things I did not know until I went to Cambodia

Oh Sacred Book of Angkor, give me strength to channel my inner Lara Croft and discover the secrets that lie within

1. Cambodia operates on a dual-currency system usually favouring the US Dollar over the local Riel.

2. Because of #1 most transactions from accommodation to haggling over tuk-tuk fares are conducted in USD making it a hell lot more expensive than even touristy Thailand. :-(

3. Angkor Wat is not an end in itself. Rather, it is a gateway to discovering Cambodia's many breathtaking temple complexes. My favourite is Bayon in Angkor Thom, a fantastic stone forest with vivid bas-reliefs topped with face-towers. While we're on the subject of temples:

4. Khmer obsession with 85 degree steps that feature prominently in their mountain temples. And wow have I seen some big old trees!

Angkor Wat

Apsaras are celestial dancers. Sculptures like these adorn all of Angkor Wat and all the Khmer temples in the surrounding area

Having a breather to take in the beauty Angkor Wat and the surrounding rainforest

Max makes the long, arduous trek to the peak. There's no turning back now. His life dangles by a thread... Will he make it?

Yees! Ain't no mountain (temple) high enough!

King McVillian surveys the temple grounds

Jo @ Bayon, Angkor Thom. This is probably my favourite temple.

One of the numerous face-towers at Bayon

Khmer history comes to life at Bayon!

Nature reclaiming what is hers - massive buttress roots of a silk cotton tree

Nothing but a tree hugging hippee! Any tree that grows that big deserves a hug from me!

5. No one speaks French despite nearly one hundred years of colonial rule?!

6. Everyone speaks really good English?! Compared to China there were no major signage cock-ups, the street urchins charmed visitors into buying things unlike the mini Sanlitun thugs yelling 'Fark Yoo!' at passersby who dare deny them of loose change. Which brings me to:

7. Cambodian children are probably the most adorable and charming I have ever come across. I generally think that children are devil's spawn but it's impossible not to like the Cambodian kids. Smiles ever at the ready and just bursting to say 'Hello!'as we pass them followed by 'Good bye!'

Me and three of the best saleswomen in Cambodia. They were persistent but always very sweet in convincing us to purchase postcards and souvenirs.

Max "Handsome Man" McVillian and our favourite sales girls. The Yashow/Pearl Market/Silk Market crew could learn a lot from these young women

8. I never knew that pubs/restaurants could keep live crocodiles in a sunken pit! Dead Fish in Siem Reap is a cool little place in town for good Western and Thai/Khmer food and traditional Cambodian dances in the evening.

The Dead Fish in Siem Reap

Jo @ The Dead Fish

9. Meandering cows and idyllic kampong scenery came as a side dish to USD 1.50 stir fried instant noodles. Stir fried instant noodles appear to be jostling with amok, a tasty broth of fish cooked in basil, lemongrass and coconut milk served with rice, as Cambodia's national dish. Both can be found in most establishments.

Waiting for my nutritious meal of stir-fried instant noodles lovingly prepared by the matriarch of the family who own the stall

Adorable little Cambodian girl chilling out with her mum next to the stall.

Even the cows are friendly! This one loitered and poked around as Max and I had lunch while a couple others grazed nearby

10. The motorcycle as a common and effective way to transport pigs to the market! I just want to know how they manage to strap the pig - sometimes up to four - on the motorcycle in the first place. Most that passed us by appeared subdued enough, as if having resigned to its sorry fate. Others were not quite ready and put up a bit of the fight, all four trotters kicking madly and squealing with all its might.

This little piggy went to the market... and was very unhappy about it. Meat eaters take note: this is your bacon along the supply chain in all its horrifying squealing glory.

Pig on motorbike in the distance (click on image for a clearer view)

More pictures from our trip to Siem Reap, Cambodia.

An ordinary afternoon in Siem Reap. Tuk-tuk drivers waiting for their next fare and not very much else going on

Siem Reap countryside by tuk-tuk

Breakfast at Cafe de la Paix. Max ordered breakfast menu II - coffee, orange juice, freshly baked croissant and bread, with butter and jam, fruit salad and yoghurt. Just what a tomb raider needs to kickstart his day!

A little slice of heaven in my breakfast - waffles with caramelised apple and vanilla cream. Pure ecstacy...

Max in front of a traditional wooden house with the Sacred Book of Angkor. The book is so named because it was instrumental in guiding us around the vast and diverse temple complexes and decoding bas-reliefs.

"Mine! Mine! All mine! Bwahahaha!"

Bottled water - check. Sacred Book of Angkor - check. Humongous silk cotton tree roots in the background - check

Going out with a bang

I've always known that the Chinese loved their re nao but ever since the government lifted the 12 year ban on fireworks within city limits this Lunar New Year, things have been downright ridiculous. You would've thought that the people who invented gunpowder would put their creation to a more worthy cause, like developing alternative energy sources (plausible), detonating landmines (I'm just making it up as I go along here) or ... something!

I wonder what is the reason behind this about-turn in regulation. Do firework manufacturers have a powerful political lobby? Is there a tax levied on the sale of fireworks which translates into revenue for the State? Were lawmakers who grew up during the difficult years of political upheaval in the 60s and 70s so deprived of the joy of setting off fireworks in their backyard - which had been turned into makeshift smelting centres - that they decided to give themselves a second childhood? I don't want to be a chunjie Grinch or anything, but let's weigh up the pros and cons of fireworks.

Pros

• Erm... they're nice to look at? So are Jessica Alba and Ioan Gruffyd.
  

Cons

• Unnecessary decibels in a city obsessed with car horns, where conversations are yelled and not spoken, recorded announcements on loop are blared out from shops and the chorus of round-the-clock renovation/construction assault our tortured ear drums 24-7.
  
• Air pollution. Nuff said.
• They are an utter waste of money with no returns whatsoever other than the abovementioned. I haven't any figures on fireworks spending but it would not be unreasonable to assume that they run into the millions. This money could've gone to a better cause, like charity. Heck, like having a nice, romantic dinner with your wife! Whatever, there are countless ways to boost the domestic economy without going out there and setting off a bunch of explosives. Update: Estimates suggest that Beijing residents will spend up to RMB100 million on fireworks over the festive season.
  
• They are inherently dangerous unless one is from the bomb disposal unit. And still, mishaps do happen.
  
• As a dog lover, it's upsetting to see them running for cover from the loud noise. (I'd do the same if only there was enough room under my bed for Sam and I.)
  

I really hope that the government will realise the madness of lifting the ban on fireworks and reinstate it in the following year. In theory, there's nothing wrong with a bit of firecrackers. I used to play with them in my grandparent's garden in Ipoh when I was a wee un. The difference is that 1) Ipoh has a population of less than 800,000 (and KL 1.4 million for that matter) 2) without a single dominant monoculture, not everyone celebrates the same festival at the same time in the same way i.e. we realise there are other ways to have a jolly good time besides making excessive noise 3) we lived in houses, not densely populated apartment blocks.

Asian markets besides the Hang Seng and Nikkei

I recently discovered that there is a correlation between low office/work activity and me taking tentative, virgin steps towards becoming a proper lady who acts her age and away from the heady days of self-flagellation at work during the week and the blur of the Beijing nightlife on weekends. I had until the very recently refused to be tainted by such poppycock as to actually prepare a meal from scratch. But a Christmas present cookbook from Di and somewhat disastrous patch at work resulting in quite a bit of time to spare convinced me that I should at least give this cooking business a go. So, after a leisurely lunch on Saturday afternoon I tagged along with D&D to the fresh produce market in Xinyuanli, not too far off from the Sanlitun Diplomatic Area.

Anyone who's ever been to an Asian market before will know that it is not the most pleasant experience and has been known to turn even the most voracious carnivores into PETA activists. They are a far cry away from sterile supermarket aisles bathed in warm light and individually plastic-wrapped cuts of meat without any hint as to their original hosts. I attribute my herbivorism to two individual visits to Asian markets. The first was a good few years ago when I was back in Kuala Lumpur for the summer holidays. My mother brought me to visit the chicken seller who has supplied the Chan family with our poultry for as long as I can remember. I can't recall her name, it was something generic in Cantonese: Ah Chan, or Ah Mei, or Ah Fong. In any case, we also called her Gai Poh which means Chicken Lady in Cantonese. I recall standing awestruck at her stall, watching her Indonesian hires (a further sign of the forward march of market forces: even the Gai Poh at Pudu Wetmarket has gone global) perform systematic slaughter of sickly battery chickens, living the last moments of their miserable lives with necks poking out of plastic crates, witnessing their own fate through fellow crate-dwellers. Two workers stood on either side of a column of plastic crates stacked about 6 high full of chickens. There was a small opening on the top from which one worker would reach in, grab a bird, snap its neck back, slit its neck and then promptly throw the bird - airborne and still squawking - into a cauldron of boiling water, feathers, blood and dying chickens still feebly flapping their half bald scalded wings against the side of the cauldron, which was really just an old rusty oil drum . The two workers would take turns killing the chickens and throwing them into the boiling water with such clockwork accuracy that only one chicken would fall at any time so that the other worker whose job was to stir the grim contents with a wooden plank would not be overwhelmed by chickens. The stench of cooking feathers, blood and in all likelihood, feces, was so bad that I had to hold my breath so as not to be sick. After the pristine grocery procurement environs of Sainsburys and Safeway, the reality of where my food came from could not be any harsher. Fast forward a few years to the time I decided to explore a neighbourhood market when I first arrived in Beijing and was living on the the 3rd East Ring Road just south of Panjiayuan. I was rather enjoying myself watching the cartloads of watermelons pulled by donkeys just outside the main gates of the market and old ladies grumbling about the prices of Chinese cabbage. I didn't realise that I had ventured into the meat section of the market and came face to face with a host of decapitated heads displayed on some stalls to identify the kind of meat that was being sold. I can still remember a pair of glazed over eyes staring up at me and a long, purple tongue potruding from one side of the snout from a massive hog's head. It was from that defining moment that I decided that if I couldn't kill it, I wouldn't eat it.

The Xinyuanli market was more similar to the one near Panjiayuan in that there wasn't any actual slaughtering going on. But it still turned my stomach to see goat carcasses splayed open in crucification stance and beef ribs resembling a giant, fleshy xylophone hanging from meat hooks above a variety of bovine innards . Di's first stop was the herb lady where such items as dill, lemon leaves, rocket leaves and mint were procured. While waiting for Di I poked my head next door and bought some galangal and lemongrass.

"What are you cooking with those?"
"Erm... I dunno. Buying them for good luck. Just in case..."
"Just in case what?"
"Just in case, D."

Indeed, everyone can afford some 'good luck' for less than 2 kuai, which was what I paid the herb lady.

I wanted some salmon for dinner so we made our way over to the fishsellers. Now after that tirade anyone would think that I'm vegan and subscribe to that famous Alicia Silverstone one-liner "Milk is mucus". As I said, I don't think it's right to eat anything I can't kill. Although I have never killed a salmon before (I've never actually seen a WHOLE salmon before, never mind alive) but I'm sure I'll manage by flipping it out of the water and waiting for it to die. I know. I'm lame.

The beauty about this particular market in Xinyuanli is that a lot of restaurants in the vicinity source their food from here. The fish chap from whom I bought salmon (market price that day RMB30/jin compared to RMB110/kilo from a supermarket near my flat) boasted that chefs from nearby Japanese restaurants come to him to buy tuna and salmon to make sashimi. The two Ds also purchased a couple of tuna steaks and a red snapper. The fish chap offered to fillet the snapper (I'm stll getting over the fact that he could say 'fillet') and even dished out advice about how best to cook and prepare the fish. It was amusing to watch him give Mr. D, who has handled a fish or two over the course of his illustrious culinary career, a lesson in basic fish cooking and that the secret to tuna steaks in a jiffy was to panfry each side for 5 minutes in olive oil. You'd never get that sort of personal attention in a supermarket, not anywhere in the world.

One of our last stops, and certainly my most reluctant one, was made at the Muslim butcher as Di wanted to some meat for soup. The stall owner, a hefty Hui man in signature white cap, sharpened his knife even as Di looked down her shopping list for the meat she required. Finally, she decided on ribs for meat on bone. The Hui butcher walked over to the aforementioned monstrous beef rib xylophone (I'm a city slicker through and through and somehow convinced myself that beef ribs were only as big as the ones served in Tony Roma's) and hacked off a couple of racks. As they were about a metre long and Di couldn't very well put those in her pot so she asked the Hui butcher to cut them up into more managable pieces. The butcher, happy to oblige, set the ribs down on a huge chopping block which was a round wooden coin-shaped thing sawed off a large tree. What do butchers use to hack bones into small pieces? Not even the traditional cleaver, a favourite with the Chinese around the world, not least Cantonese kitchen workers (if HK kung fu movies are to be believed) would do. The butcher picked up an AXE that was propped up against his stall next to the chopping board, swung it above his head and brought it down with a crack. Crack! Crack! Crunch! The sound of axe against bone, shards of meat and other fleshy matter flying through the air.

That night I made simple baked salmon and served it with leftover vegetarian curry and rice. The results...

Looking very pleased with myself (and secretly hoping that I wasn't about to give Max a violent bout of food poisoning)

Leading by example and diving into dinner.

Max gives the thumbs up to the first ever non microwavable TV dinner he's had at my home.

Menu in 3-Star Chinese Hotel

Bless. I know they're trying their best but they do have a long way to go. Thanks to my Uncle Kian Foo for sending these pictures, supposedly of an English menu in a 3-star hotel in China.






Although I did not personally take these shots, I can testify to their existence based on a visit Max and I made to the Xinjiang Sulitan Restaurant on Dongzhimennei. We were doubled over in our chairs and having fits of giggles while the staff waited for us to finish convulsing so that she could take our orders. I'm sure it wasn't the first time foreigners had walked into the restaurant as it is located near a rather nice local apartment complex that is home to large communities of underpaid embassy staff and other 2nd-rate foreigners like myself who do not have fat expat packages which include USD3000/month villas out in Shunyi. In fact, the waitress must have seen so many people fall off their chairs in guffaws when perusing the menu that she just rolled her eyes and waited impatiently for me to get over the hilarity that was "Dry Mother Embrace the Eggplant". The food itself wasn't bad and they deserved an A for effort plus top marks for complimentary side-dish of laugther with the meal.

Easy like (a Little Empress on) Sunday morning

Yes, I know, I have been rubbish and my blog is in a terrible state of neglect. What can I say? Our company's cultural intern has left (and was AWOL for the best part of his internship before that anyway, leaving me to play secretary), the senior manager is returning to her home country and I have been promoted to take over her as Department Head. One of my colleagues has gone on annual leave and nominated me to (wo)man the fort while she is away. And those new tasks have been added on to my not unsubtantial normal workload which means that I have taken on the tasks of 4 staff. One would think that this would be a most opportune moment to demand a fat pay rise but believe me, a hugely increased salary package is the last thing to ask for at the minute. My nearest and dearest, my inner circle, my Council of Elders will know exactly what I mean. To those who don't, well then you have that much to aspire to so that you're privy to the choicest cuts of gossip this side of Chaoyang District.

When it's as cold as Beijing this time of year, the partying and bar-crawling takes a backseat until the following year when spring breaks. Then, I can be stylishly presentable and stop wearing thermal underwear which really, really is the most unfashionable item of clothing that one can own. And yet, I am grudgingly grateful to the several pairs in my wardrobe for keeping me from the icy grip of death by hypothermia. Anyway, it is quite impossible to gather blog fodder when your weekdays consist of fending off the next wave of work-stress induced panic attacks and weekends are spent slumped in front of the telly and covered in homemade chocolate chip cookie crumbs. But there are rewards to be reaped by going out, namely encountering socially inept Party members' children who are highly entertaining if you like watching desperate Chinese girls throw themselves at the first white man who pays them any sliver of attention.

The Club M boys and I made Saturday a bit of a shopping excursion which brought us to the Zoo Wholesale Market a.k.a Dongwuyuan Pifa Shichang in the morning and the decidedly ghetto Tiancheng Shichang near the National Library in the afternoon. Max and I split up with Matt D and Matt K who launched devastating kan3jia4 assaults on unsuspecting stall owners. Watching them whittle an intial offer for a 5-foot Xmas tree complete with lights and ornaments down to RMB40 (less than USD5) to futile bleats of "pei2qian2!" from the Yuletide knick-knack seller was really rather painful so we took our money and spent it on RMB1 (USD0.12) tchotchkes for Max and more thermal underwear for me.

[This morning, I managed to wriggle a calf, a thigh and a buttcheek one at a time into a brand new pair of thermals after a long and exhausting struggle that left me (more) flustered (than usual) and late for work (as usual).]

We caught up at the designated meeting point after fruitful 2-hour procurement expedition - beyond the main entrance leading out from the underground Tiancheng market, up the stairs past the same man on the right with the same shivering kittens for sale as we had seen on the way down, facing the sight of a leathery old woman beggar with hearts just as cold and turning a well-trained deaf ear to the clinking of coins in her tin cup as she beseeched kind souls in the crowd for loose change.

After a short but mandatory on the spot comparison of purchases, Matt D told us about the strange girl who followed him around the market. It turned out that in true Matt D fashion, he decided to strike up a conversation with the nearest random stranger. The girl, he said, was unemployed and liked shopping to while her time away. She showed him the two purchases she had made that day - a couple of dangly mobile phone trinkets (surprise, surprise. I'm sure they were pastel coloured and cutesey as hell too.) She must also have held the mistaken assumption that announcing herself as the daughter of a senior Party cadre would be a foolproof pick-up line with American men because that's exactly what she did next. And then, with Matt captivated by her edgy style and political blueblood lineage, she moved in for the kill by requesting an exchange of numbers. Matt D's phone rang just as he was relating that part of the story. Sure enough, it was the girl he had just met at the market.

"Would you like to go to the Forbidden City tomorrow?"
"Uh... that's okay, I've already been."
"How about the Summer Palace? I can take you there and show you around."
"Erm... I've been there too. "
"No problem! I'm free, I can show you around."
"Well I'm pretty busy actually..."
"So when will you be free?"
"I... I really don't know. I'll be busy all week, I've got lots of studying to do."

A short verbal tussle later, Matt D hung up, the consequences of his over-friendliness slowly dawning upon him. I asked why on earth he hadn't politely declined to exchange phone numbers to avoid the unnecessary hassle of uncourted attention, to which he mumbled something about the thrill of an ego buffing or something or another which I couldn't quite catch in its entirety, but I knew exactly what he meant.

That night, after Max had frogmarched me to and back from dinner at a distant Yunnan restaurant (Matt K had other engagements, Matt D went cheerfully of his own accord), we sat down in our usual spots on the sofa watching DVDs. We were halfway through a mediocre performance by Tony Jaa in Tom Yum Goong (then again, it's difficult to better that superb feat of wireless, special effects-free fight scenes and dizzying Bangkok tuk-tuk city chases in Ong Bak ) when the muffled sounds of Matt D's phone in his jacket pocket drifted across the living room. It had disconnected by the time Matt D got to it and he did not recognise the number on his Missed Calls register. Call me cynical but I had a good idea who it was. To be fair, it was just as likely Matt D's 4th cousin, twice removed on his maternal grandmother's side calling from the Shijiazhuang Grand Hotel in Daxing while in town on business.

But I'm positive it was her.

The next day as we were getting ready to go out for lunch, Matt D's phone rang again. Half-amused and a little exasperated, Matt D later told us that the conversation went a little something like this:

"Are you free today?"
"Well... not... not really."
"Come and meet me at Tiananmen!"
"I'm sorry?"
"I've got a Christmas present for you. Come and meet me in Tiananmen, I want to see you."
"I'm really very busy, I'm sorry, that's very nice of you."
"But I want to see you. I want to give you your present."
"You're asking me to leave Wudaokou and go to Tiananmen?"
"But I've got a Christmas present for you!"

Another spot of to-ing and fro-ing not unlike yesterday ensued. After he hung up, Matt D wondered out loud why every Chinese girl wanted to drag him around tourist attractions as a prelude to expressing their true feelings for him while I pondered whether being a white male was the main criteria to receiving such preferential treatment as I stuffed thick be-socked feet into my boots.

Baby, it's cold outside

Gone are the days when one could take a leisurely stroll through park and watch the world go by as one rests on the bench with the pleasant late afternoon sun shining down. Oh no. Winter is officially here, and I have, after a long, drawn-out resistance, given in to the need for thermal underwear. So what do you do when you are forced to stay at home all day and remain sheltered from the elements but when all 41 TV channels offer nothing but the usual shite: period dramas, programmes commemorating the anti-Japanese Movement and infomercials of anti-bacterial Y-fronts which kill off the parasitic organisms that cause the testes to resemble a couple of raisins? The Matts, Max and I decided to take matters of amusement into our own hands and had a bit of fun with some nifty picture-taking software on MattD's computer.

Note: the following images are not suitable for persons of sensitive or easily-distressed disposition.

Oh ... dear God... What monster have we created.... WHAT HAVE WE DONE??!

Floating shrunken Jo Head.

I think I'd make a really cute Malaysian boy but Matt D looks like Granny Smith.

MattK:"Dude... that is like... so totally radical man... that's far out dude..."
Me:"Dude... I like... make a totally freaky dude... totally cosmic, man..."

MattD:"Oi! What the *&^**!?! do you think you're doing? You looking at me, punk?"
Me:"Og.. urgh... Oggg... Yeurgh...Grugh...!"

Me:"Aww... what a cute baby!"
MattD:"Yeah, we can make a nice stew with it, throw in some potatoes and carrots and onions..."

I have decided that I really do not want to wear the pants in this relationship. And I want my hair back, Max.

Chinese Coal Miners - Part I

I came across this photo blog on Peking Duck. My thoughts go out to the brave men who work deep beneath the ground and their families in light of the recent mining accidents that have followed one after another and the dozens more which will never be reported. It is sad the only time we are reminded of their existence is, ironically, when they are no longer with us. When will the unsafe practices stop and when will enough be enough?

Captions accompanying the pictures are direct translations from the originals. which can be found here. The humanity of these men on whom the world's fastest growing economy depend so much really shine through these images and I hope that they touch you as much as they have touched me. Spare a thought for the true heroes of Chinese modernisation who have sacrificed so much for so very little.

Thanks to Shanghaiist who first brought these pictures to the attention of TPD's Richard and subsequently mine.

A coal mine in Xiangzhong (Hunan Province). Summer temperatures in southern China can soar as high as 40 degrees Celcius. Coal miners who have been working in the pits 450 metres underground for 8 hours haul their indescribly exhausted bodies back above the ground. They see the sun once again and breathe the fresh air. Clean water washes away the soot from their bodies. You can see the happiness at going home on their faces and feel their joy. Today, I have captured you using the camera in my hands, but will I see you again the next time I visit? Hard-working miners - I wish you well!

There is a blackboard in the small room at the pit entrance where miners pick up their lamps. Each number on the blackboard represent a miner's life which change as frequently as the numbers, hurriedly coming and going...

Back above ground, the miners are in good spirits. Hard labour is over for now and it is time to reunite with their families .

Sometimes, miners working in the pits earn miserable daily wages because solid rock formations or mechanical malfunctions hamper progress and production levels. These returning miners' are deeply disappointed...

The bond between coal miners are like that of brothers, their love like those of hands and feet. They are connected through they toil together in the depths of the earth, in life and death, through adversity and hardship.

Carefully read expression in the eys of each miner as he comes and goes from the pits - they are so deeply solemn and stirring. One look will haunt forever.

At the entrance of the pit, I observed that through years of close contact with coal the hands of many of the miners had turned yellow from exposure to sulphur . The two hands belonging to this labourer here mines more than 20 tonnes of coal a day from the pit but earns a daily wage of less than 30 Yuan (USD3.70).

Coal miners are the axle of the great wagon representing our society. This giant wagon of humanity could not move forward without them.

The sun never fails to shine down on the backs of miners returning from the pits. They will always be messengers of light. Alas, light forever eludes them!

Every miner returning from the pit looks forward to the sun because it represents freedom. Is there anyone who does not look forward to being free...?

Coal miners have a happy attitude toward the realities of life. But in their eyes, what is "happiness"?

It is very common in the coal hills for sons to follow their fathers footsteps because that is what life demands of them.

The hardest thing inside a coal hill are the hands of a miner and his passionate heart.

Come out from the mine and take a deep breath of fresh air! Feel the warmth of the sun!! Have a cigarette! Today's work is over!

Wash away the fatigue of the day, live each day to the fullest. Here's to all miner brothers!

Chinese Coal Miners - Part II

(This is the second part of the English translation of a Chinese photo blog depicting the everyday lives of miners in China.)

I was just leaving the coal hill when I saw the innocence in the eyes of this new coal miner and my own slowly grew misty.

Rescue worker at the scene of a mining accident in Henan.

The world looks very, very small when looking up from the entrance of the pit but one can find sunshine and fresh air up there.

Hills of coal residue piled high can be found at the bottom of a lot of such pits. These hills contain countless number of lives!

In the springtime, I saw the form of a little coal miner next to a machine on a coal hill. Fragile and tiny is the tender leaf that sprouts against steel.

I went to the end of the coal hill where I could go no further. My eyes were full of forms of the miner brothers that I had photographed. Perhaps we will meet again on the side of the train tracks one day. I will bring my old camera again to take pictures of you and to remember your stories.

The back belonging to another miner brother who was going up the hill just as I was coming down. He gradually disappeared into a small coal hill in the south of the mines.

This wood is used to mine coal and makes me think of many things. Actually they are the form of miners.

Miners at the beginning and end of their shifts.

I visited some other small coal hills a while ago. The mining and working conditions there were even harsher.

I will never forget these rough conditions. A tunnel as high as a man accompany the miners day after day as they carry out their difficult tasks...

How do you feel when you see the miners in the distance?

This giant scale records the amount of coal collected by miners each day and is their constant companion through the seasons, in happiness, anger, grief and joy!

At midnight, this month's last two remaining grain tickets will follow the departing miner to a faraway place! The scene are you are witnessing is the life of a miner.

In the early morning, puffs of slowly billowing smoke and the coal hill dawn chorus of pots, pans and other crockery rise from the miners' simple. A new day has just begun.

Warm bellies, cold Beijing nights

Alright then, hands up those of you who did not leave your cosy, central heated apartments last weekend. I don't blame you. Saturday and Sunday were the embodiment of all the reasons I hate the winter and why I think think it is the most pointless, godawful, evolutionary screw up this side of the galaxy. Max is still in the denial stage of accepting that sub-zero temperature is the original freak of nature. I expect him to come round when his frostbitten schnozz falls off his cute little mug.


It took a very good reason to convince me to step out the door at all and Caribbean food at Dionne's washed down with Bajan rum shooters is about as good as it gets! Dionne and her Little Helpers i.e. Dirk and Sophie had been slaving in the kitchen all day when I arrived. I promptly got on with cutting up the French loaf which was my meagre contribution to the bountiful spread of gastronomical delights. My efforts didn't exactly merit 3 Michelin Stars but, to be honest, there's not much you can add to an entire roast turkey, homemade cranberry relish, BBQ'd pork ribs, black eyed peas, Mauritian potato chutney, sweet potato casserole, stuffing and papaya salsa, not forgetting the tuna, pumpkin & pine and spinach & cashew dips that went with the French loaf I hacked into uneven chunks.

"Look Ma! I still have at least TWO fingers left after that venture into the kitchen. That's a record!"

Dirk:"Not so fast, lady, hand over the silverware."

Me, Sophie and Anou.

Eva-va-va-voom!

Max, a shining example of good guest etiquette - drink the beer your host offers to you and always express your appreciation with a smile.

Louise:"You're not my husband! What have you done with him?!"
JosefBot:"Heh heh heh... now I have you all to myself, my lovely..."

Anou and Martin

Max looking like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar on his 14th trip to the buffet table.

We had all eaten till we were about to pop so the girls decided to make the best of our newly acquired pot-bellies. Obviously somebody had to go first...

"You want me to do what??!"

Celine gives the booty shake belly dancing malarky a go...

... but Dionne wasn't terribly impressed...

Anou shows us how it's done...



... while i chase her ass around the room with the camera...

... until i get a perfect shot...

The paparazzi gets papped!

Back to normal, and Max decides that I'm safe to be around again.

Ross' 22nd + Layo & Bushwacka in Beijing!

I know it's been more than a week, but you know what they say about keeping a diary, and the same applies to keeping a blog - good girls have nothing to write about and bad girls simply don't have the time! What better time that now to catch up on back-dated blogging now that it's approximately -6 degrees Celcius (that's 21 degrees Farenheit for the Americans reading this :-))

Ross turned 22 last weekend. When Max and I dropped into Bar Blu on Wednesday where he does the quiz nights, he casually announced to me "I'm gonna have a birthday party." I paused, expecting him to give me details - where, when, dress code, after dinner plans, who was going to be there. And then I realised that the party was would be another little project for me to manage. Ross gave his instructions : Friday night at Purple Haze opposite Gongti North Gate, around 9pm, 10 people expected at most as he had lost his mobile phone and was unable to get in touch with anybody. Alllllrighty then... True to himself, Ross turned up 50 minutes late to his own birthday party and guest numbers doubled to 21. But nothing a level-headed, quick thinking, problem solving under pressure party planner to make sure that everyone had enough to eat. And pronto!

Great food and even better company.

Jia and I with her Denis and Evan, Jia's crazy Parisian co-workers.

Ross - b...b...b...BAD from the day he was born!

Ahh... the happy couple...

A celebration of London's hellraiser rep in Beijing was made whole when we nipped over to Babyface for the Layo & Bushwacka gig. RMB100 later door charge later (*ouch*), we were in and jumpin' with the rest of the party crowd.

Ross in fine form, as per usual.

Jia, Ross and Alex... and a very dejected looking Zach in the background.

Group hug!

Happy Birthday, Ross! Life's so much more colourful with you around. (In my case at that particular moment, the colour in question would be a shade of monkey bum red...)

Bush is another word for c*nt

Priceless. Thanks to Sarah Peart-Bentham for the forward, and somebody give that photographer a medal!

Thanksgiving in Beijing

I meant to post pictures of my first ever Thanksgiving but I have spent much of this week in a vegetative post feeding-orgy state, much like a python after a big meal of deer/tapir/Cheesy Wotsits or whatever it is that pythons eat. That's what you get for hanging out with Americans although that said, Brits don't really celebrate anything and when they do it invariably involves large-scale consumption of alcohol, so much so that all different celebrations kind of meld into one indistiguishable lager-swilling festival. Josh did mention something about starting a bonfire for Guy Fawkes Night but somehow I couldn't see a bunch of tanked up laowais dancing around a blazing pile of old matresses going down very well with the Public Security Bureau.

The first Thanksgiving Dinner I attended was held last Sunday by Max's classmates. They rented the canteen at the old Beida Foreign Student's Dormitories for a couple of hours and used the industrial size kitchen to prepare food, including the all important turkey. Max and I were assigned mash potato duty which I'm proud to say is one of two things I am able to prepare, the other being spread on toast. I have to thank my Belfast years for my spud skills where I regularly prepared tudouni (and a dizzying array of fried, chipped, broiled, baked, boiled, grilled, roast, deep-fried or otherwise prepared potatoes) for the 30 screaming cousins, bickering aunts and uncles and random house guests that would descend upon my then boyfriend's grandmother's house in North Belfast for Sunday dinner. We stopped off at the Zhicunlu subway station on the way to Wudaokou because we wanted to check out Walmart and also because well, it seemed like a perfectly safe assumption to make that Walmart would stock your ordinary household potato. We eventually found the fresh produce section after running around in circles following misleading direction signs. We scoured all the alleys but could not find a single potato. Sweet potato - yes. Dragon fruit - check. Durians from Thailand - I'll have a half dozen. Bay leaves - yep. But when I went up to the supermarket attendant to ask for tudou all I got was an all too familiar reply: a curt "Meiyou!" Plenty of attitude and not a potato in sight - that's Walmart with Chinese characteristics for you. Max and I eventually hunted down the fugitive spuds and made it to the Thanksgiving Dinner. Now, I became a vegetarian for many reasons, including developing healthy eating habits. However, I am positive that vegetarians at Thanksgiving Dinners are at risk of developing adult onset diabetes. Whilst everyone else helped themselves to large chunks of turkey, I found myself in high-carb heaven that was every Atkin's followers nightmare, filling myself with stuffing, mash potatoes, sweet potato casserole, pecan pie, pumpkin pie, apple crumble and freshly baked biscuits.

I had only barely recovered from that ordeal when I experienced my second brush with this American glorification of masochistic over-eating at the legendary Club M. The boys really outdid themselves and made full use of the limited cooking equipment they possessed. The turkey was cooked in the microwave and turned out very nicely indeed while the toaster oven churned out pumpkin pies and apple pies. Because it was a quasi-potluck do, the guests also folded up their sleeves and got crackin' with making stuffing, garlic mash potatoes, some killer grilled mayo-parmesan southwestern bread things, jiaozis and salads while others came bringing gifts of cheesecakes and other devillishly sinful desserts. And what's a party without a room full of happily tipsy guests? My contribution: two buckets of deceivingly strong fruit punch.

Chez MattD and Bertha the Turkey

Feeding frenzy!

Mmm... dessert time...

David:"Eeek!"
Matt:"Eeek!"

Josh:"Hmm... this punch looks dodgy.."
Max:"Yeah, it's as evil as the woman who made it. Won't catch me drinking that witch's brew, which is why I'm sticking to tasty, refreshing, watered down Yanjing beer."

Josh:"It was HER idea!"

Me:"Oh shut up Josh and just lap it up. You're my muse. *coo*"

Josh:"You mean I'm your aMUSEment."

Josh:"I dunno... what does the Parisian say?"

Denis:"Ooh lala, tres chic, mon amour..."

Josh and Pete in the middle of an attempted murder.

You know what they say about the 3Ms - beautiful women follow them around like flies on shit every where they go.

Smokin'!

Julia and Alina doing what they do best - looking irresistable.

Josh, ever the Englishman, could not hide his contempt for his American contemporaries and their encroachment on his personal space.

Julia:"Ooh, what a lovely bunch of people."
Josh:"Stay away from me, you freakoid!"

Jia:"Hello, darlings."
Josh:"Gaah! Gyaaah! I hate all of you!! Stop touching me!!"

Elsewhere, Pete just could not seem to stay out of trouble...

"How many times do I have to tell you? Stop copping a feel when my back is turned or somebody's gonna get hurt real bad. I'll take you out, mister, just you wait!"

"You may have foiund me golden egg tarts but Oi told you then and Oi will tell ye once again, boyo - you will never foind me gold!"

Matt K looked his usual rock star self...

... and Pete is still hell bent on foinding me gold...

Sigh... so many hot chicks, so little time...
Denis in the background:"Psst... pass them to me when you're done"

All things considered, I think we had ourselves a wonderful Thanksgiving Dinner!

Friends, new and old, are what make time spent Beijing so unforgettable.

Matt and I go into a state of shock when faced with the task of cleaning up.

We woz all here!

3 days later, the aftermath...

I'd like to see how the authorities cover up this toxic spill.

Japan to have 'military' for the first time since WWII

Frankly, this is rather disturbing.

The ruling Liberal Democratic Party Tuesday formally unveiled a revised draft of Japan's pacifist constitution that would allow the country to possess an official military for the first time since World War II and give the armed forces a more assertive international role.
The proposed revisions, the first since the constitution was drafted by U.S. occupying forces and adopted by the Japanese in 1947, would keep intact Japan's renunciation of war as now stated. But it would grant the country's 240,000-strong Self Defense Forces -- whose role has been strictly limited to defending Japan's home islands for the past half century -- the higher military status as well as new authority to participate in overseas peacekeeping missions.

More importantly, the revisions would open the door for a broader interpretation of the constitution permitting Japan to engage in so-called "collective self defense" -- or coming to the military aid of an ally. The most likely beneficiary would be Japan's closest ally, the United States, which has privately urged Japan to adopt such measures. Changes in Japan's constitutional status would have major significance in the region, particularly in the event of a conflict between China and the United States over Taiwan.

Although not explicitly mentioned, it doesn't take an expert on Sino-Japanese relations to point out that this move is probably also in response to the combination of China's emergence as a military power in the region and growing anti-Japanese sentiment which could turn out to be catastrophic for a demilitarised Japan. In addition,

...The draft ... waters down language separating church and state, a measure apparently aimed at making it easier for sitting prime ministers to visit Tokyo's Yasukuni Shrine, which honors Japan's military dead including World War II criminals. Koizumi's annual visits to Yasukuni have caused outrage in China and South Korea and sparked a host of lawsuits.

The draft still faces major hurdles as it will require parliamentary approval and majority support from the public through a national referendum. However, opinion polls indicate that "a majority of Japanese support amending Article 9 to enable Japan's Self-Defense Forces to play a greater role in international peacekeeping duties, and perhaps assume other responsibilities."

Moves like this can mean further deterioration of Sino-Japanese relations, yet it is only natural that Japan is nervous about its giant neighbour to the west. In turn, this development and the rise of Japan's right is, according to a Japan Times article, seen by Beijing as "the most disturbing of current trends."

I hope that is is not the beginning of a trend of where tit-for-tat measures are taken in retaliation, potentially escalating into Asia's very own Israeli-Palestinian conflict-like situation but to the power of ten.

Sources:
Revised Constitution Strengthens Japan's Military
Sino-Japanese Relations Continue to Cool

Charlie and the Great Chinese Takeaway

Prince Charles is taking legal action against the Mail on Sunday newspaper for publishing excerpts of his private memoir written in 1997 after the Hong Kong handover. I just love it when national leaders make snide comments about China.

It concerned the handover of Hong Kong, and in it he described the Chinese Communist leadership as "appalling old waxworks" and railed against Tony Blair and his coterie of advisers... A spokesman admitted that the move in effect confirmed the authenticity of the remarks...

Looks like Charlie sure knows how to let off steam and enjoys having a good old rant like any one of us. His Royal Highness' eloquent whingemanship has prompted me to think that we are quite possibly a match made in heaven. Now if only he'd throw his weight behind the anti-foxhunt campaign....

Entitled The Handover of Hong Kong or the Great Chinese Takeaway, the prince's note criticised the "ridiculous rigmarole" and "awful Soviet-style display" of goose-stepping Chinese soldiers during the ceremony, referred to the diplomatic jockeying to prevent royal loss of face beforehand - in the event he was not required to bow to the then Chinese president, Jiang Zemin - and mocked the Chinese leadership.

He added: "After my speech the president detached himself from the group of appalling old waxworks who accompanied him and took his place at the lectern. He then gave a kind of 'propaganda' speech which was loudly cheered by the bussed-in party faithful at the suitable moment in the text."

Notwithstanding the embarassment stemming from public scrutiny of what previously were private musings, Prince Charles' memos did not involve leaking state secrets, uncovering of CIA operatives nor lead to baby seals being clubbed to death. On the contrary, his observations are on par of his Sinosceptic views reflected in his boycott of the last official state visit by China in 1999 and missing Hu's recent visit to the UK. He should therefore call off the legal action against the Mail for reporting what really lies behind the rigid handshakes and overly gracious smiles.