Shanghai by night

“The best places to hang out in Shanghai are…” says the trendy concierge at the Crown plaza hotel in Pudong as he shuffles through some business cards.

“Start at Barbarosa for some drinks. It’s a beautiful bar and very central. From there move on to Mundo Latino for some salsa and then try Atica – the newest and hippest club in Shanghai. If you’re still up for more after that, end your night at a Chinese club.”

He puts the last card for the Paramount Chinese club on the table and so we are ready to take on our first night in China.

However, when we meet our Chinese friend, Teo, he is not impressed with our plan.

“Don’t you trust me?” he whines as we flash him the cards we picked up at the hotel.

“Of course, what were we thinking!” we answer and decide to simply follow his lead.

I’m lucky enough to be surrounded by Asians for the night so when we arrive at the Uminosachi Japanese restaurant in Huai Hai Road, my Japanese friend Hisami orders some sake, plum wine and Japanese beer to get us started.

The plum wine is too sweet for my taste so I decide to stick to the sake. Although the beer is good too. Asian beers are not as heavy as the Western ones and therefore easier for me to stomach. I might as well try a bit of everything as you pay a standard fee to eat and drink as much as you like here. 150 yuan. That's only about 15 dollars.

We page through the elaborate menu and although I cannot understand any of the Chinese letters, there are pictures of every single dish and that makes it easy to order: simply point at the dish and smile at the waitresses.

How we manage to get through so much food I do not know… miso soup, sashimi, sushi rolls, tepanyaki, steamed rice, seafood, dumplings, tempura…

I try eel for the first time - “come on, don’t be scared” – and it's not half bad, although a bit fatty I would say.

When we finally cannot eat any more, we decide to move on to Park 97, a popular club in Shanghai. We do not manage to find a taxi, but its close enough to walk and since we have a Chinese guide in our midst we simply have to follow.

Downstairs at Park 97 the DJ is playing pop. We hang around there for a bit and my friend Ryan from Singapore orders jugs of Tiger beer from his hometown for us while we wait for the salsa band to start playing upstairs.

We dance and dance until we cannot dance anymore. Upstairs, downstairs, on the stairs... We drink some more Tiger beer. We laugh and laugh until we cannot laugh anymore. We dance some more.

Then we get a taxi home (easily this time), with the full moon beaming down on our happy but tired faces.

Seeing nothing in Manchester

“There is nothing to see in Manchester,” says my colleague as we touch down at the airport.

So I head for the streets anyway. It may be true that Manchester is a bit of a random city with no real centre or any of the spectacular sights that London has to offer, but it’s still fun to get lost in any city in the UK. There’s always a quaint little alley or at least a pub with good grub.

A few more adventurous colleagues decide to join me and soon we find ourselves next to the ‘Wheel of Manchester’ which caught our eye from afar. Six pounds later we’re on it and getting a 360 degree view of the Manchester skyline which sports at least a church tower or two. Ah, how I love to watch the world from above. The real thing is so much better than Google Earth.

Soon we find out that the Wheel is in fact transportable and only arrived in Manchester a few months ago. It’s the same one that used to be in Paris at the Champs Elysee for the last few years.

Ten minutes of enjoying sweeping sights left us feeling ravenous. We don’t have to walk far. Just around the corner we find a traditional pub that dates back to 1950, with colourful flowers in front of the windows. We’re all smiles for finding such a gem.

The specials board next to the bar at the Old Wellington says: “Try our traditional fish and chips” and I’m not in the mood to argue. While my colleagues’ chicken with bacon and cheese look pretty good, I am well happy with my beer battered fish. It’s been a while since I had some good chips too (I really can’t do McDonalds) and I smother them in salt and tomato sauce.

Of course, I can’t finish the large portion, especially considering that I am knocking it back with a pint. Of Strongbow and blackcurrant, not beer. My friend Kim in London introduced me to this drink and I have been happily guzzling it on all my UK trips. It’s not that I don’t drink beer, but I prefer Belgian.

With our happy tummies, we take to the streets of Manchester once more. We get lost and find ourselves again. We discover some wonderful wine bars next to the canal (definitely the neighbourhood where I would hang out should I ever live here) and end up at The Salisbury Ale House. We didn’t know that it was the most popular Goth bar in Manchester but we sure had an interesting time amongst the S&M wall decorations and studded black leathers.

We walk back through Canal Street where “Only Fools and Horses” was filmed. The comedy was recently voted Britain’s best in a poll by BBC. There are fairy lights in the trees along the walkway and festive people inside the numerous bars and clubs.

It starts dripping and we congratulate ourselves on our good timing. By the time we get back to the hotel the rain is making soothing sounds on my window pane and I sigh happily.

So there, what a wonderful day of seeing nothing in Manchester.

When sex leads to suicide

“Hoping that the kindness will lead us past our blindness so not another living soul will ever have to be unloved.” – Jann Arden

Last night, as the Bokke claimed world domination on the rugby field, a beautiful young woman committed suicide here in Dubai. She jumped from her apartment window on the sixth floor.

If she didn’t die, she would have been jailed the moment she left hospital as suicide is illegal in Dubai. Still, so may people here seem to lack a reason to live.

What is it that drives a person over the edge of despair? There are things in this world that turn my bones to ice but there is really nothing that the smile of a good friend or a hug from my family cannot soothe. OK, so sometimes the situation calls for tea and Bovril on toast. Other times a decent bottle of red (or a tequila in emergencies) can also come in handy, if only to provide temporary oblivion.

I can only begin to understand why she did it. Dubai is a really lonely place and sometimes I do feel the wind howling through the spaces that my friends and my beautiful view used to fill back in Cape Town.

But her pain went much, much deeper than that.

In fact it lived inside of her. She didn’t die alone. If she would have had the baby here in Dubai, she would have been jailed as soon as she left the hospital as sex out of marriage is strictly forbidden.

Perhaps her family back home would have disowned her for bringing scandal into their lives. Maybe the father of the child didn’t care for her.

Whatever happened to forgiveness? How is it that humans rate pride higher than respect? That someone has to feel there is no one there when the day turns black? Mothers, fathers, friends, children, lovers. Aren’t these the people that we need the most when the earth starts moving under our feet?

Whatever happened to love?

Not the commercialized, Valentine version of love but the one that can sit down and say “You’re ok, I’m ok and whatever happens we’ll get through it.”

For millions of people around the world, a ball game in my favourite city provided moments of true happiness last night. At the same time some girl was so sad that there was no hope or dream to try and live for anymore.

If you are reading this, please say a prayer to whoever you believe God to be that “not another living soul will ever have to be unloved”.

Land of the pornographic shoulder

It’s winter in Dubai. From one day to the next, the seasons changed. Just like that.

A few weeks ago it still felt like the air was burning my cheeks – the same way steam from the kettle sometimes does when I get too close. Now it’s actually bearable to be outside. Instead of vomit hot, there is now more of a hanging heat. If I had a balcony I would sit outside and light candles at night.

Some say this is when people fall in love with Dubai and it’s true that there is a bit of romance in the balmy air. Yet, for me it is still hard to get used to my new home. It’s a lot more difficult than I imagined settling into a new city which is really a huge building site except for one street with skyscrapers. The locals are so rude I have to fight back the tears and the expats are here to make money - not to be happy - and that doesn’t bring the best out of anyone.

What do I miss the most? Well, the people I love, fresh air and the colours of the sea, the sky, mountains, anything. Here the scenery is really dull. There is sand everywhere, inside, on and over everything. It is suspended in the air like a mist that blurs my vision and blots out the sky. Although I must say that since the seasons changed, the sky is bluer than before. Or is this wishful thinking?

It is also the end of Ramadan, the Holy Month of fasting. This weekend is Eid and the Muslims are celebrating. Even more of a celebration for me is that I can now once again wear my summer dresses. During Ramadan, women are not allowed to wear short, tight-fitting or sleeveless clothing in Dubai as the Muslims are not only abstaining from food and drink during the daytime, but also from temptation.

The tourist crossing the street with her sleeveless top might not know it, but the local Emiratis who are staring at her are having the same experience as Western men in a strip club. Oh yes, the shoulder is pornographic in the Middle East. Even now that Ramadan ended, it still provides a cheap thrill for the locals as well as the numerous Indian builders who are longing for their women back in India.

Do I feel cheap and objectified when wearing a T-shirt without sleeves in Dubai? No, in fact I feel free. I am not a Muslim and I will not cover myself from head to toe just because I am a woman.

If the men want to stare, I will choose to feel like a goddess. If you think my shoulder is sexy, wait until you see my knee.

Tasting Asia in Auckland

Trust the Asians to discover all that is Asian no matter where they are in the world. Or perhaps my Thai friend, Bird (because I cannot pronounce her real name), is just really homesick. Either way, since I am crazy for Asian food and fashion I don’t complain.

While walking down Queen street, which is one of the main shopping areas in Auckland, she is the one who discovers all the little alleys with Japanese and Korean fashion stores. What strikes me the most about these shops is how they get the balance between sweet and cool just right. It’s simply irresistible and after trying on a few items I am forced to swipe my credit card. This is, after all, not cheap and cheerful Chinese offerings but Japanese fashion – although store names such as ‘Pinky Girl’ can hardly be taken seriously.

More serious New Zealand fashion brands are the likes of Kate Sylvester (see http://www.katesylvester.com/), who wowed fashion editors and fans alike at the latest New Zealand Fashion Week. I find her store in High Street, amongst other popular local labels such as Workshop and Moochi. The summer collection at Kate Sylvester is very girly, with balloon prints as well as balloon shaped tops (which, sadly, doesn’t suit me at all). Hoodies bring some street cred to the collection in store and after trying on a few items I am quite happy to live in the comfy grey and red with-a-bit-of-bling garments.

We decide to give our credit cards a break and opt for lunch instead. Back in Queen street, Bird finds a food court and heads straight for the Thai counter to order Tom Yum soup while I decide on Chinese barbeque pork with noodles. I buy a rosewater drink while we wait for our food to arrive. Both dishes end up being fresh and flavourful, as well as good value.

My Chinese dish is about half the price of the mussels I had at the Waterfront Café in Quay Street on the day we arrived. The shellfish was prepared in a French style – and while it didin’t compare to having it in France (with some French champagne, of course), it was really fresh and comes highly recommended. There’s just something about having seafood while watching the sunset and hearing the waves.

Auckland seems to be the best of all worlds. A safe and organized city by the sea, with all the Asian flavours that I desire. It is much more tropical than I expected, which gives it a wonderful wild edge just so the sweetness doesn’t get boring.

Auckland reveals a mystic truth

“The true artist helps the world by revealing mystic truths,” the American artist Bruce Nauman once said. ‘Mystic Truths’ is also the name of a current exhibition at the Auckland Gallery, according to the guide I picked up at the airport...

With its slate houses and neat streets, Auckland looks sweet, but what am I doing here - apart from my job?

... perhaps I should go.

Our hotel is opposite a volcano (which has reassuringly not been active for the last 600 years or so). Fancy that. It looks more like a little hill though and not dangerous at all. On top, university students are making sexy eyes at each other against a backdrop of jungle trees and a birdsong soundtrack.

At the foot of the volcano and just down the road, sits the gallery. I enter just in time for the daily guided tour, which starts at 2 pm. First up we look at the collection of historical art and I am surprised to see how much colonial Auckland looked like colonial Cape Town. Same as my hometown, this was also a Dutch and British colony at respective times.

It is interesting to note that Europe managed to transform the whole world to their concept of ‘civilized’ society. In New Zealand this has lead to a loss of culture for the Maori’s. Twenty years ago the gallery put together an exhibition of 174 Maori treasures to celebrate the culture, This exhibition ended up touring the United States and introduced Maori culture back into the world.

Across the globe people are turning to original culture for inspiration and wisdom on how to live. Culture is a human need and the more modern society guides us away from it the emptier our lives will become.

In South Africa the new government is desperately trying to claim back the African roots that got tangled up with Western culture. In the process I am losing my culture, which is unfortunately a product of Apartheid and therefore surely doomed. This does not make it any easier to lose the soil I grew up in. It is still a process of grieving.

I treat my eyes to the rest of the gallery once the guide finishes her talk. Some pieces make me smile. Others make me cringe.

One turns me inside out and makes me feel hollow. It is a small painting of a jug and a lemon on a table - a simple still life by Picasso. The description reveals that Picasso wanted to capture ‘the physical sensation of absence’. Whether it’s the absence of hope, love, family, friends or material things are not specified.

For a while this painting keeps me spellbound. This is why I travel. To keep filling the empty spaces. I refuse to allow the sensation of absence a power over me.

What the hammam just happened?

I laugh out loud as the ‘petit taxi’ stops in front of the Park Hyatt hotel in Casablanca. It’s the tiniest taxi I have ever seen. It’s also siren red.

The girls and I are going to try out hammam, a traditional Moroccan beauty treatment that involves exfoliation. The little car only takes a few minutes to get us there, more because the driver is speeding than because it is close.

Pretty tiles line the entrance of our destination, an authentic hammam chamber called Hammam Ziani. We walk inside, choose a full treatment package and prepare to be pampered.

Tiny pieces of fabric are (almost) all we are allowed to take with us as we enter the steamy marble chamber. The lady who meets us inside belly laughs as she sees us trying to cover ourselves up with the sarongs.

“No this must go,” she says, as she rips it off our bodies and leads us into a small steam room.

“Sit down.”

We follow orders in slow motion as our jaws drop to the marble floor. Big, fat women are bathing, shaving and conditioning their hair in here. We are too stunned to talk, but we try to catch each other’s eyes – should we leave now before it’s too late?

“You stay,” orders the lady who brought us here, “10 minutes.”

So we stay and gasp at our bizarre surroundings. Do these people not bath at home? Does the water have medicinal properties? I am so intrigued that I forget I am naked and by the time we are led to another room I am too relaxed to care.

We wash ourselves with bowls of lukewarm water and lie down on marble slabs to get scrubbed down. Excess layers peel off my skin like macaroni and get washed away into the slits in the marble floor.

I try not to think about all the body waste that passes through this place at any given time. It seems clean enough. The marble gets washed with boiling water every time they finish a client.

When I am done I get to wash with olive soap and bowls of water from the marble basins again and then there’s another marble slab for me. This time there is plastic on top of it. I slide down onto the plastic and immediately feel hot sticky stuff being smeared onto my skin, from my toes to my hair line. They don’t waste any time in here.

Then I get wrapped in the plastic like a sticky toffee. Whatever is on my skin is really hot and it stings. I would guess it’s peppermint but a local later tells me that it’s more likely henna.

I fall asleep until I get woken up by the girls.

“Are you ok?” they whisper from their plastic wrappers.

“I’m not sure,” I answer.

After another wash there’s another marble slab and a very forceful massage. I get moulded and shaped like a piece of clay. I want to say: “Take it easy,” but my face muscles are too lazy.

All of a sudden we are done. We get handed our tiny sarongs for the two-second walk back to the changing rooms. Why bother? After getting dressed we sit in the room next to the marble chamber for what seems like an eternity. Without saying a word.

What on earth just happened?

By the time we are ready to take a taxi back to our hotel I laugh out loud.

However weird that was, it felt really good. My skin is super smooth and all my stress is washed away with the skin macaroni. What an experience, hi-hi.

For more, see http://www.hammamziani.ma/