A sip of Chinese tea and a number for love

A petite Chinese girl with porcelain skin and baby doll hair shows us into a tiny tea room. The wallpaper has a clay teapot design in shades of ochre, taupe and rusty browns. We sit down at a small table laid with tea sets and glass jars filled with tea leaves and flowers.

On the wall to my right hangs a scroll with Chinese calligraphy in honour of tea culture. On my right sits Yan Dan and Chen Zhi Hua, bright eyed and super keen to share their knowledge of tea and the history of China.

"This place in called 'The Great Xing Tea House' and it originates from the Xing dynasty," says Yan Dan and then looks to the tea master in front of us for more guidance.

Or perhaps I should rather say 'tea mistress'. She is so pretty in that red silk dress. When she starts to speak my eyes glaze over. I feel like I have been struck by magic. You see, I have this fantasy of being a pretty Chinese girl with silky black hair. One who pours tea into delicate China cups and serve them to men skilled in martial arts and sword fighting.

What's more, I wish I could speak all the languages in the world. The structure of a language can say so much about the mindset of the people. Each language presents different ways of saying things and thus broadens the possibilities of what can be expressed. Simply listening to a foreign language pleases me. Especially in a traditional setting such as this.

The fact that Yan Dan enthusiastically translates every word makes me feel eternally grateful. She explains how ingrained tea is in the local culture. She draws the symbols for tea and tasting and demonstrates how the symbol for tasting is made up of three mouths. Therefore a tasting has to be done in three sips only.

First we taste a Ginseng Oolong Tea which the tea mistress pours from one procelain cup to another. The empty cup we swirl around our eyes because "it's good for seeing".

The next tasting is quite a show. Our tea mistress pours the Jasmine Green Tea from high up into tiny cups.

"This tea is also called 'The Eye of the Phoenix' because the tea leaves and flowers are rolled into little balls that look like eyes and the Empress of the Xing dynasty favoured this tea".

We taste a couple more teas including fruit and flower teas but the Jasmine Green Tea remains my favourite.

"Strong tea such as Oolong and Dark Green Tea must be brewed in clay pots while fruit and flower teas should be prepared in glass teapots or even wine glasses in order to appreciate its visual beauty," I learn, "Porcelain pots are for milder teas."

By the time Chen Zhi Hua calls me a taxi I feel like I am stepping out of a dream and I am sad to say goodbye to these generous hosts. Not only did they give me a perfect memory but they also left me with a lucky number: 11, one and one, "for love".

Xie-xie, 'thank you'.

Visiting the ‘Paris of the Orient’

Today Shanghai is once again worthy of its 1930’s title, ‘Paris of the Orient’. At night the city lights transform the Bund area into a magical and colourful world, reflected in the Huangpu River which glides through the city.

Although it has become a cosmopolitan economic centre, Shanghai also has much to offer in terms of tradition and the celebration of art. In fact, the Shanghai Museum has won many awards and displays a proud selection of some of China’s most important cultural relics.

My own personal favourite is the hall dedicated to Chinese paintings. The whimsical brushstrokes and calligraphy tell enchanting stories of a spiritual life that honours beauty and is lived close to nature. As with Chinese calligraphy, these paintings are so delicate and it represents an era where people still had time to express their highest abilities.

Other halls exhibit Chinese ceramics, bronze and other sculptures, jade, furniture, currencies, ethnic arts and crafts as well as ancient Chinese seals. Although these distinctive seals were first used as a validation of authority it eventually became widely used as a personal signature and was fused with the art of calligraphy and painting.

What is astonishing is the depth of history that is contained inside this modern museum. It spans 5000 years worth of history from the Neolithic Age through the Ming and Qing Dynasties, while I even spotted some pottery shards from 6800 BC.

The museum shop is supposedly a great place to shop for souvenirs but as I am heading for the Yu Yuan garden and market I end up buying only with my eyes. Outside the door two young Chinese women ask me to take pictures of them.

“We’re visiting Shanghai from the north for a friend’s wedding,” says Yan Dan, “If you don’t mind, you can join us for a tea ceremony. We would like to practise our English and it would be nice for you to see this tea celebration.”

Considering my insatiable passion for Oriental tea, I cannot believe my luck. I look into Yan Dan’s eyes for a few seconds to try and gage if I can trust this stranger. Why do I always have this issue with trust?

Then I think of my mom’s words: “Who risks nothing has nothing and is nothing,” and promptly accept their invitation.

The Nazis were not alone

In my dad’s house there is a beautifully carved wooden box that has always fascinated me.

“Your great grandfather made that in the concentration camps,” my parents tell me. Only, they don’t know whether he was a prisoner, a commander, a Nazi or a Jew.

So, on a recent trip to Munich I decided to visit Dachau, one of the most notorious of the German prison camps. This is also my heritage, I think, as I slowly feel the vomit getting stuck in my throat.

The more I listen to the former prisoners' stories on the audio guide the more I start to feel different. Not only does my body go numb, but different things start to matter. My own insecurities and worldly desires evaporate and instead I feel this overwhelming need to be a good person, to love, to love, to love. Even if I don’t agree, understand or identify.

When I reach the incinerators my body refuses to take me inside. The tears well up but then I take a deep breath and walk that walk of death. The prisoners were told that they were going to shower. First they had to take off their clothes and hang them up. Then they walked into the ‘shower’ where they were gassed to death. The bodies were piled in a room and then burned in the ovens. Grim.

However, while Germany’s concentration camps are the most well-known of its kind, it was not the only place in the world where these horrors occurred.

In his account of travels through China, Green Dragon, Sombre Warrior, Liam D’Arcy Brown relates the discovery of a 1930’s army camp museum in the city of Harbin: “Pingfang. Its jaunty name did not have the ring of an Auschwitz or a Dachau … Like Auschwitz it was also equipped with railway sidings and an incinerator and an airfield was constructed nearby.”

He goes on to explain how the Japanese experimented on Chinese prisoners with “almost the entire known range of those organisms that civilisation fears on a most basic level… Once infected… the victims were observed as the diseases took hold… All had been previously healthy; a prerequisite for their selection…

Prisoners were electrocuted, drowned, scalded, boiled alive or slowly desiccated in ovens... They were given full transfusions of horse blood to see if this could provide a plentiful supply for the front line. Nerves and arteries were severed, air and urine injected into veins.”

What happened in China may well be on a smaller scale, but it’s the same kind of thing and even if this happens to one human life it’s too many.

These wrongs are also running through my veins. What should I do now that I have stood on this tainted ground?

“Just love,” the voice in my head answers clearly. Easier said than done.

It really feels like I can fly

One of the worst things about travelling alone is dining alone – but not when I find myself at The Carousel Buffet Restaurant in the Chinese city of Guangzhou.

Situated on the 30th floor of the Garden Hotel, it takes two hours for the whole seating area to revolve 360 degrees. Which means that I get to experience a sunset and city light show from up in the sky while enjoying the buffet dinner.

Every time I get up to fill my plate, I find my seat next to a different part of the buffet which even includes newspapers and magazines just in case the view is not entertaining enough.

After finishing some sashimi, nigiri and do-it-yourself miso soup, I am now standing in front of a selection of ready made dishes. It includes Oriental delicacies such as teriyaki chicken and deep-fried shrimp balls (not to be confused with the pig’s trotters right next to it!) as well as a selection of fish, prawns and Italian style cauliflower.

All that and I haven’t even reached the highlight of the buffet: a selection of seafood, beef cuts and vegetables prepared to my taste, right here in front of me. I opt for fresh Chinese mixed greens sautéed with garlic and soya and some grilled fillet with teriyaki sauce. The hostess insists that I try at least half a lobster as well. I nod against my stomach’s will and end up with a feast enough for three on my table for one.

There are still salads, oysters and a host of desserts but I feel completely satiated. As I end my meal with some Chinese tea I notice that the only stars in the night sky are the ones reflected in the window from the restaurant roof. Outside in the smog, the closest it gets to stars are the lights of the planes coming in and out of Guangzhou’s brand new airport.

Before I prepare to leave, I walk up close to the floor-to-ceiling window, high above the panorama of city lights. The sensation almost tops the meal. Wow, from here it really feels like I can fly.

Read the full review on www.iafrica.com

Building a dream, dismissing the reality

The first and last thing you notice when passing through Beijing international airport is the impressive new terminal (see top picture).

To me it looks like a turtle, although Norman Foster’s design has been likened to a dragon and meant to represent two boomerangs placed side by side.

The International Herald Tribune said on Monday that China’s “fierce embrace of change has left Western nations in the dust”. It is indeed true that the exciting new architecture in Beijing has boomeranged the city into a creative space that bypasses anything that is being done elsewhere.

Besides the airport terminal there is also Paul Andreau’s egg-like National Theatre as well as the CCTV headquarters by Rem Koolhaas which the International Herald Tribune places “amongst the most imaginative architectural feats in recent memory”. With this building Koolhaas plays with the perception of scale, as it looks small from certain angles and gigantic from others.

Then, of course there is the Olympic stadium (see bottom picture) which is the brainchild of Jacques Hertzog and Pierre de Meuron. The elliptical shape resembles a bird’s nest and is a symbol of hope. It’s barely visible through the smog, perhaps a suitable expression of the dream that is the Olympics.

This stadium and the National Aquatics centre, which looks like an oversized cloud-cushion, has been given an honorary place on the ceremonial axis of Beijing which extends from the Forbidden City. This makes the Olympic village part of a selection of ancient and modern buildings that define Beijing.

Yet, in spite of all the historical and the visionary architecture, Reuters reported last week that although five star hotels are 77 percent booked, four star hotels are only 48 percent full. The lower cost hotels are looking even emptier for the Olympics, which starts early next month.

The reason for the lack of tourists are said to be “tight security, difficulties obtaining visas and terrorism warnings”.

“And why should they come?” says a fellow traveller, Alex, “China has no respect for their national resources, condemns the holy man who speaks of world peace and has no problem with letting their citizens eat tainted food. I don’t care what they build, I would rather spend my money somewhere else.”

'Xièxie' for reading this

Often the small kindnesses that we encounter along our way are exactly what we need to fulfil our destinies.

I am reminded of this while taking a walk along the Long Corridor at the Summer Palace in Beijing. It's an open air walkway with a roof to keep out the summer drizzle. From here the scenery changes from lazy boats and water lilies on my left to traditional Chinese palace buildings on the right. It is the largest painted corridor in the world, according to the Guinness Book of Records - and a lovely place for reflection.

The locals seem to think so too, judging by the amount of Chinese spending the day here at leisure. It's possible to watch shows in some of the palace buildings, go for a boat ride and have Chinese food and drinks at the market style outlets. Again, the prices are not inflated, which makes even the tourist experience here so much more authentic.

The Long Corridor paintings are fascinating. I stop to read up about them in a book that I found at the souvenir shop. The painting right above me depicts the story of Han Xin who became one of the founders of the Han Dynasty (206 B.C.-220 A.D.). When Han Xin was young, he was only committed to studying and practicing martial arts. Apart from some fishing he had no real means of earning a living. A laundry lady shared her meals with him freely for as long as he needed her kindness. Later, as the Marquis of Huaiyin, he went looking for this old lady to repay her kindness with a thousand pieces of gold.

There are over 8000 paintings to be found on the Long Corridor, which is 728 metres long. Some of these cover history, myths and legends while others are delicate or whimsical depictions of birds, flowers and pristine landscapes from a bygone era. The Summer Palace was first built in 1750, then burnt down during British and French invasions before being rebuilt in 1886. So much history and yet this age old story reminds me of how many people played a role in helping me find a way to live as a writer and traveller.

Have I said thank you to the people who helped me along? Perhaps not enough. Let me start with you – 'xièxie' (Mandarin for 'thank you') for reading and for leaving comments on this blog. Your growing interest and support is worth a thousand pieces of gold.

Entering the Forbidden City

“Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift, that’s why it’s called present.” – from the movie ‘Kung-fu Panda’

I think about this as I am walking through the Forbidden City in Beijing. It’s easy to live in the past and the future, but to really appreciate the present can sometimes be a challenge.

Declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987, the Forbidden City is an extensive collection of preserved wooden structures. It is an exhausting excursion: 720 000 sqaure metres of halls, squares and almost nine thousand rooms makes it the world’s largest surviving palace complex. The palace was built during the Ming dynasty (1368-1644) and used as the imperial palace during the Ming and Qing (1644-1912) dynasties.

It’s hot, my colleagues are irritable after a tough day and although there are picturesque corners in this endless complex of structures it seems that we are walking and walking and not really getting enough visual rewards.

Not all the rooms are open to the public and only a few of them hold treasures and art. Apparently Puji, the last Emperor of China, sold many of the original treasures to finance his extravagant lifestyle, while other valuable items were simply stolen.

What’s more; a part of the former collection is now hosted by the Palace Museum in Taipei. That doesn’t leave very much for the visitor to see here, especially since this complex is so large and so much walking needs to be done to see it. We’re trying to do it in half a day, although setting aside a whole day would have been wiser.

Interestingly enough, the locals enjoy hanging out here with their children, sitting around on benches in the squares, walking through the gardens and having lunch. Spending the day here at leisure seems to be the status quo. The food prices are not tourist orientated and it seems that the Chinese really do relish their cultural heritage.

The Forbidden City is called such because no one could enter or leave without the Emperor’s permission, which meant that many people lived out their whole lives within these palace walls.

I am counting my blessings, for my past, my future and the honour of being here, now, free.

Finding great peace on the Great Wall

It’s early and the mountains are draped in a morning mist. The cable car takes us up and up until the Great Wall of China becomes visible and then disappears again in the distance.

We decided to visit the wall at Mutianyu, since it was recommended to us by our other colleagues as the more authentic part. At Bandaling the wall has apparently been reconstructed in places and tourists hoard this more popular part of the wall.

Mutianyu feels almost deserted this morning and I get the sense that the mist veils a thousand stories, ones that we will never know.

I take a deep breath, ah, there’s nothing like mountain air, before I climb the steep stairs to the top. Then, suddenly, I am there, walking on the only manmade structure that is visible from space. Lush green tumbles down into the valley below. The wall crawls out into the mist, mysteriously writhing into the distance.

When we stop walking it is so quiet that I can almost hear my own thoughts. A sense of nostalgia fills me, a longing to rediscover the peace and quiet I experienced as a child, a desire to live somewhere majestic, close to nature, once again…

“You can only make money in cities and without money you cannot look after yourself,” the voice in my head answers.

As we approach the next watchtower I stumble over the uneven stones and the smell of old urine breaks the spell. A tout tries to sell us some souvenirs. It’s time to go back down in order to keep this memory pure.

At the foot of the mountain there are more touts: “One dollar, only one dollar…,” but we manage to make our way to a taxi without too much harassment.

We drive past a host of cherry farms back into Beijing where the pollution in the air and the minds of the city people is as thick as the mist on the mountain.

Give me fresh air and breathtaking Buddhas

The cable car to Po Lin (Precious Lotus) monastery envelops us in the natural quiet of the mountainous Lantao Island in Hong Kong. It’s almost, well, enlightening, to look down over the city rush and not be a part of it.

Up and down we go, over Tung Chung Bay, the mountains and the valleys. The South China Sea stretches out and out in the clear light of this day. 25 minutes later we arrive in Ngong Ping Village. The fresh air is intoxicating.

An 80-foot-tall bronze Buddha overlooks the village and the monastery here. ‘Big Buddha,’ as he is known, is sitting in the lotus position and holds his hand up as though waving or offering a blessing. It evokes awe for the sheer size of it.

The Chinese style village here is somewhat commercialised but it doesn’t have that empty feeling that often goes with commercialism. The tea house offers traditional Chinese teas and tea sets, the shops sell soulful trinkets and even the ‘Monkey’s Tale Theatre’ seems worth a visit – the souvenir toys are gorgeous.

For those who want to know more about the story of Buddha, there is also a multimedia show that takes visitors through his journey to enlightenment.

My colleagues and I decide to enjoy the outdoors scenery instead. We climb the thousands of chairs up to the world’s biggest sitting Buddha and indulge in the free ice-cream, our reward for making it to the top.

The small museum features Chinese calligraphy depicting the wisdom of Buddha, as well as some precious relics. However, what interest me most are the enchanting view and the colourful Chinese monastery below. It’s really pretty.

In fact, I would have to say that I have only felt wow, wow and wow from the moment I got into that cable car today. From the flower tea and the fortune sticks to the traditional architecture, the dim sum and the glorious natural scenery over which the Buddha towers.

I know that I am moving much too fast at the moment to experience true peace and contentment, but for this one day I truly feel it.

Stillness is part of the thrill

There’s no lack of energy in Hong Kong. People walk with a purpose here, whether it's businessmen rushing to a meeting or expats shopping for the new Prada fairy bag.

Flashing billboards throw colourful lights all over the city and at night the skyline adds to this smorgasbord. All that, combined with the smells of Chinese medicine shops, spices and rain makes this a kind of tropical New York.

Just being here makes me fizz with joy. So I decide to order a glass of champagne and toast one of my favourite cities.

My colleagues and I are in Lan Kwai Fong, an area packed with bars and clubs of any kind imaginable, from Irish pubs and dirty drinking joints to classy bars and the rooftop spot on top of the IFC centre from where all the city lights evoke awe.

It’s tempting to stay out all night but then we’ll miss our shopping day.

Any day in Hong Kong should start with Dim Sum, the steamed snacks that the city is famous for. We grab some at the centre across the road from Sunrise supermarket in Causeway Bay. It’s just behind the Regal Hotel where we are staying.

From there we proceed to Sogo, a Japanese department store, where we stock up on so much tea, teapots and other Chinese tea accessories that we probably never have to buy tea again. The excuse? Well, Asia is the only place in the world where I can ask for green tea and get a reply such as “What kind of green tea do you want?”

We drop the tea off at the hotel and catch the MRT to Moongkok station, where we follow the signs to the Night Market and the Jade Market in Kowloon. Our noon timing is not exactly good as its best to visit the Jade Market in the morning for ‘morning price’ and the Night Market only really buzzes from about 4pm. However, on our short visit we have to make the best of the time we have been given.

The Tin Hau temple which we pass on the way is a traditional delight.

“Those who can run can also be still,” says Deepak Chopra in his book, Buddha: a story of enlightenment. There is no better example of that than the peace that emanates from this holy place right in the middle of the thrill called Hong Kong.

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.