Sunday, May 08, 2005
Pandas, Temples and Chongqing
I am now in Shanghai, a very modern, dynamic and international city where you often forget that you are even in China.
Eats Shoots and Leaves
When I last left off, I was in Chengdu and about to visit the famous pandas of China. Since I wanted to see some geographically dispersed locations, I hired a driver for the day. I first visited the famous Feng Feng and his fellow cuddly-looking pandas, covered in their black and white fur. They are very cute animals that are quite photogenic as they lounge around eating bamboo shoots. Pandas are born very small, but grow to weigh as much as 100 kilograms.
Qing Cheng Tian
After seeing the pandas, we drove past huge ultra-modern factories along beautifully landscaped roads to a Taoist mountain known as Qing Cheng Tian. These modern divided expressways had perfectly trimmed shrubs all along the median for miles and miles. On either side of the highway, there were flowers planted in attractive configurations. It was a display worthy of the botanical gardens. This landscaping is maintained by an army of ragged-looking peasant ladies whom you actually see clipping the shrubs, fixing the flower displays and sweeping the shoulder of the highway with brooms, as cars whiz by at 120 kilometres per hour. On more than one occasion, I saw one of these women tending her shrubs while standing in the passing lane, seemingly oblivious to traffic. Each time, fortunately, drivers would calmly swerve around the gardener. Labour in China is cheap and, apparently, so too are workers' lives: These ladies must surely get run over on a regular basis.
Qing Cheng Tien is the site where the Taoist religion was founded. It is billed as being the most secluded place in China. However, when I arrived and saw the chaotic situation in the parking lot, I suspected false advertising, and indeed I was correct. There were literally thousands of people hiking up the mountain. I was the only white person among them, which led to some friendly stares and hellos. However, it seemed nobody spoke any English, beyond the word “hello.” As I climbed the trail, I visited a succession of both ancient and refurbished temples, reminiscent of the scenery in the film Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (minus the martial arts, of course). Once I got away from the crowds, Qing Cheng Tien was actually somewhat peaceful and the view from the 1,200-metre mountain was quite spectacular, despite a mist in the air.
At a temple near the summit, I was shyly approached by a Sichuan University student named Shirley (or some Chinese name that sounded similar). She is studying English and asked if she could practise with me (Unlike with similar requests that I have routinely received in Shanghai the past couple of days, she honestly simply wanted to practise her English).
I engaged her in conversation about current events in China in order to see what she knew and what sort of Communist brainwashing she had been subjected to. When she expressed a desire to live in freedom, I figured that I had manoeuvred the conversation in exactly the direction I wanted. However, when she elaborated that she was anxious to finish school in order to start earning the money that would give her the economic freedom to be able to do as she pleased, I realized that her view of freedom was exactly the same as that of any Canadian student. She did seem aware, though, that the Chinese government controls the domestic media and that broadcasts of the BBC International into China had occasionally been blocked by the Chinese authorities when their content was not to its liking. In addition, we discussed the importance of Guanxi (connections) in China. Shirley also asked me whether we had corruption in Canada, so I briefly described the Gomery Commission to her.
That night, I walked along Chengdu's immense outdoor pedestrian mall with its tacky neon commercial signs, few of which I could understand, as they were all in Chinese (I now know what it is like to be illiterate!). The place was packed with people strolling along, enjoying the warm evening air. The area reminded me of Fremont Street in Las Vegas (minus the casinos).
I also visited one of the trendier clubs in town, known as Age of Red. All of the decor was red, including a glow-in-the-dark red bar counter. The decor included photographs of Communist heroes - mainly Che Guevara. At certain points in the evening, scantily-clad go-go dancers (4 female, one male) danced along a mezzanine in front of huge Chinese flags (red with yellow stars) to the beat of loud techno music. Despite the Communist theme, the club is located next to the US consulate, serves Budweiser beer and plays mainly American music. Also, as I later learned, it is owned by a Chinese-Canadian.
The next day, I checked out of my hotel. After I paid the bill, I was given what appeared to be a Chinese version of Canadian Tire money in denominations totalling the amount of my bill. Each of these coupons had what looked like a scratch-and-win section. Indeed, that is exactly what it was. In order to minimize under-the-table transactions, the Chinese government requires businesses to provide customers with these receipts, which double as scratch-and-win coupons. A business' gross income must at least match the total amount of scratch-and-win coupons distributed by that business. The government funds the small jackpots that are paid to holders of winning tickets. Since the Chinese population enjoys playing games of chance, they insist on being given these official receipts and, as a result, local businesses are forced to declare most of their revenues for tax purposes. I think it is a stroke of tax enforcement genius on the part of the Chinese government (although waiting for the customer in front of me in line at the hotel to scratch all of his receipts did try my patience somewhat).
I took a nearly five-hour bus ride to Chongqing. The driver of the luxury coach steered through the turns on the winding highway like he was a Chinese Michael Schumacher. He passed every other vehicle on the road with his horn blaring the whole time. The suspension on the bus was weak and I was seated at the rear of the bus, so it made for quite the bumpy ride. To make the trip more pleasant, though, there was an attendant on board (like a flight attendant, except that we were not airborne). Her only job, so far as I could tell, was to serve us Dixie cups full of plain boiling water as a refreshment. We arrived 15 minutes late in Chongqing, because the driver decided to stop en route to have the bus washed!
Once we were finally dropped off in the centre of Chongqing, I proceeded to the Canadian consulate in a nearby building, where I was to meet my friend, Philippe, who is Canada's consul in Chongqing.
Chongqing
You have probably never heard of Chongqing in the past, but you are likely to hear about it in the future. Until 1997, Chongqing was a poor polluted town with old grimy dilapidated buildings and smoke-belching factories. In 1997, an order came from the central government in Beijing to turn Chongqing into a modern showpiece of China. The unspoken logic behind this decision was that, in order to maintain social peace throughout China, the Western provinces had to gain a taste of the sort of prosperity that the regions of the East Coast (i.e., Beijing, Shanghai, etc.) were experiencing.
Since 1997, entire neighbourhoods in Chongqing have been razed and replaced by gleaming skyscrapers and non-polluting industry. Buses and taxis run on natural gas and electric scooters are becoming popular. The latest skyscraper currently under construction will be 76 storeys high. There are presently more construction cranes in use just in Chongqing than there are in all of North America! When I mentioned to my friend, Philippe, that a certain place was located near the bridge that is under construction, he asked me, "Which bridge that is under construction? There are several." The metropolitan area of Chongqing has recently grown to become the largest metropolitan area in the entire world, with a population of 31 million people, surpassing the previous holder of that distinction, Tokyo (that being said, the urban centre of Chongqing has "only" 14 million residents).
When I arrived at the Canadian consulate on the 17th floor of a major office tower, the guard on duty took a look at me, determined that I was not a North Korean refugee seeking asylum on Canadian territory, and let me into the consulate. In the reception area, there was a large Canadian flag, a poster of Bonhomme Carnaval and official photographs of Prime Minister Paul Martin and the minister of foreign affairs, Pierre Pettigrew. I immediately felt at home.
I was greeted by Philippe, a former colleague of mine at my law firm, Lavery, de Billy, and a classmate at McGill Law School. Philippe has been Canada's consul in Chongqing for the past year-and-a-half. He is responsible for the surrounding territories in Western China, an area encompassing 250 million people, with a gross domestic product equal to that of the province of Quebec. However, in contrast to that of Quebec, Chongqing's GDP is increasing at a rate of 13 percent each year, meaning that its GDP is doubling every four years. Philippe's role is to help Canadian businesses take advantage of this growth by selling their products and services in Chongqing and the surrounding territory. He oversees a staff of 10, including his personal driver.
Since Canada is well-respected internationally and diplomats are held in high regard in China, a nation filled with so-called "important government officials," Philippe is often quoted in the local press and courted by local officials and businesspeople. He also receives very good service in local establishments. For instance, when he moved into his apartment located within the confines of a beautiful five-star hotel, the entire staff of the hotel was apparently summoned to a special meeting and told that a very important person, the consul of Canada, would be moving into the hotel and that if management received a complaint from the consul about any hotel employee, that employee would be summarily dismissed. Needless to say, the staff treats Philippe very well. Since I was staying with Philippe (in a huge two-bedroom suite), I was able to benefit from that high level of deference!
Despite the great hotel service, Philippe is in the process of moving into a spectacular 2,500 square foot 35th floor penthouse apartment in the centre of town overlooking the Yangtze River. It is positively Trump-esque.
Philippe has established some good Guanxi (connections) here in China, but also in Canada, having had opportunities to meet and brief important Canadian officials, including Prime Minister Martin.
Because he speaks (and writes) excellent Mandarin, Philippe has had no trouble meeting the locals. Also, when you are a 6-foot-2 white man speaking Mandarin in a place where nobody is taller than six-foot and there are at most 800 white people among 31 million Chinese, you tend to attract attention. It was hilarious to see the jaw-dropping looks of passers-by when Philippe would start joking with a sales clerk in fluent Mandarin.
As another 6-foot-2 white man, I also attracted my share of attention in Chongqing, such as when I went for a walk through one of the few remaining poor shantytown neighbourhoods in one of the central hilly areas of town. As I strolled down narrow alleys past crumbling two-floor clapboard houses with barbershops, tailor shops and the like on the ground floor of each, I was constantly stared at and sometimes approached by the locals. They engaged me in apparently friendly conversation. However, they did not speak a single word of English (not even hello), so the interactions would mostly consist of my smiling, waving and repeatedly saying, "ni hao" (hello) and "Canada," while they blabbered on incessantly - in a friendly tone - under the mistaken impression that I understood them.
At one point during that walk, I wandered into a food market in the basement of an old apartment complex. Business was quiet, so as I walked past the primitive stalls - one selling vegetables, another eggs, another live chickens and still another, live fish - the shopkeepers would engage me in the same sort of friendly, but incomprehensible, one-way conversation as had the folks in the narrow alleys. Eventually, I had attracted so much attention that I had a crowd of some 15 people following me around the market and actually applauding whenever I would take a photograph of one of the shopkeepers or their children. They clearly do not get many foreign visitors in this neighbourhood. The local residents treated me as though they were welcoming an alien from another planet! It was truly an unforgettable experience - for me, definitely, and for them too, probably.
Even in the fancier area of town, where they occasionally see foreigners, we attracted positive attention. One evening, we visited the trendiest club in town, whose owner, Mr. Bao, is a friend of Philippe's. Mr, Bao is a small always-smiling 40-year-old who supposedly has a net worth of over $100 million. He travels with bodyguards. Several months ago, he opened this nightclub as a sideline.
We first bumped into Mr. Bao in the bar of the hotel where Philippe lives. We had a drink with him and his two associates. Mr. Bao and I got along well, despite the fact that he does not speak a single word of English (not that my Mandarin is any better). The secret is to smile a lot and clink beer bottles (Cheers!) on a regular basis. Mr. Bao insisted that we visit his club later in the evening.
After an excellent dinner of Australian rib steak and French wine at the 39th floor restaurant at the Marriott (Even though we were in China, man needs more than just Chinese food to live!), we checked out a couple of clubs. Being white men, we never had to pay a cover charge.
When we arrived at Mr. Bao's club, it was hopping. Mr. Bao was there to greet us and spent a good part of the evening plying us with alcohol and ordering his staff to bring us fruit baskets (a little different than a Montreal bar!). Everything was on the house. While there, we spotted a Chinese movie star in the crowd (I cannot recall his name; and in any event, even if I could, you probably wouldn't know the difference).
We were the only foreigners in the club. Some of the customers were apparently peasants from the countryside who were in town for the May Day holiday. Even though they couldn't communicate with us, they would thrust drinks into our hands and attempt to engage us in conversation. It was hilarious: Being seen with us foreigners was like some sort of status symbol for them!
Although I enjoyed being a status symbol, it was time to move on to Shanghai, the business engine of China, where English is widely spoken and foreigners abound. It is a very different place than Chongqing, but also a lot of fun. I will tell you more about Shanghai in my next e-mail.
Until then, be well.
--Larry
