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No responsibility will be accepted by the author for the wastage of your valuable time whilst reading this. Any claims that she has forced you to visit this site in order to inflate her ego will go ignored, and will only go to show your vulnerability to the author's exceptional persuasive skills as developed in Year 12 English. That is all.

Bonne vivante. Raconteur. Procrastinator.

After a weekend of lounging around, I was ready to go on another expedition led by Mr Wang: he was to take us to Yu Gardens (Monday, December 4).

Andy woke me up this morning in one of the most infuriating ways possible: rapping on my door, blinding me with the lights and calling my name. I AM AWAKE, thanks, but play the ‘light aversion’ card, and you will be on my black list forever. We got ready, had breakfast and met Heero – who lived upstairs – to go to school.

All of us took the No. 454 bus, and, as always, held our breaths and squashed into the human sardine can. It took a notably lesser amount of time to reach the bus stop – about ten minutes – and we arrived virtually outside the school, as opposed to the arduous hike from Eileen’s bus stop to Ge Zhi.

After laughing hysterically during 早操 (morning exercise), we met Mr Wang to go to the school planetarium. We scaled the stairs to the 10th floor, the highest floor of the Ge Zhi skyscraper, and eventually emerged on the roof. We enjoyed the panoramic scenery both below us (the ludicrously congested streets) and above us (the gargantuan towers of Shanghai). Also, we indulged in an extended photo shoot before stepping into the Ge Zhi school planetarium – and yes, I do have a photo on Photobucket. The venue for several ‘astronomy classes’, the planetarium was a massive dome inside which was projected an artificial night sky; this therefore avoided the futile practice of staring at Shanghai’s perennially smog-obscured sky. Intelligent.

While we slumped in some cushiony cinema-like seats, the astronomy teacher turned off the lights; this gave me the perfect opportunity to add to the Random Scream/Scare Count. When it was finally established that we couldn’t take photos in the dark, the teacher projected the night sky on the inside of the dome and treated us to an astronomy class. Although we had a look at the skies of several different countries including Melbourne, the teacher’s rapid-fire Chinese perplexed all but Shermayne; consequently, we were reduced to watching the planets and stars move in awe. We had another photo session, this time featuring the planetarium. After fervently telling the teacher of our love for Ge Zhi and its facilities, we said goodbye and got ready to go to Yu Gardens with Mr Wang and Ms Buckman.

Walking out of the school, we passed several formal dress stores and made our way towards Yu Gardens with our cameras carefully concealed in our inner pockets. As we collected the stares of innumerable passers-by, someone quipped: “Well, I think our uniforms make us rather conspicuous…” However, seeing several scarlet clad teenagers running around, we weren’t exactly so sure.

Suddenly, one of them came bounding towards us: “Hi there, we are from Korea and we’re on a mission: we have to take pictures of people in school uniform. Can we take your picture?” In spite of being rather taken aback by their request, we consented and, as countless cute Asians swarmed around us, we showed off our ‘Asian Pride’. After the extremely random photo, the Koreans seemed obviously spooked by the crazy Westerners and fled, leaving us slightly bewildered on the pavement.

The group eventually navigated between Asian architecture and through throngs of overzealous tourists, to emerge in a bustling square in the middle of Yu Gardens. We were allocated a set time in which we were expected to quench our insatiable thirst for shopping, and head off in groups. Flanked by Swee and Lora, we shoved past hordes of chirpy Caucasians, jabbering Japanese and keen Koreans. However, as all the stalls seemed to sell the exact same array of slippers, bags and jewellery with identical oriental motifs, we breezed past them without a second glance. Eventually, we reached a small arcade without the characteristic Asian-styled buildings, and found several shops sporting infinitely more useful items for sale. We bought some name tag stickers and I purchased a pair of over-sized sunglasses (both with the help of the haggling SAM) and wandered down a street that was likely to be outside our set boundaries before heading back for lunch.

Apparently, we were to have a lunch back in the square, at a restaurant boasting famous visitors such as Bill Clinton a diversity of other political leaders. After scaling the stairs to the second floor, we were seated around a circular table overlooking the stunning gardens. However, with the infuriating zeal of the Cultural Sponge (Ms Buckman), it was decided – pardon me, forced upon us – that she would order. Yes, please, let us go to a legendary restaurant in an once-in-a-lifetime only to have our meal ordered by someone who strongly believes that the ‘fried rice and sweet and sour pork’ is the epitome of authentic oriental cuisine. Excellent.

Although we did peruse the menus whilst Edward suggested some signature dishes, the decision was ultimately left up to the Cultural Sponge, who felt it was “inappropriate to order too much due to the lack of funds”. Yes, but not all of us spent our cash on male traditional costumes, ching-chong hats and tourist guides, thank you very much. Furthermore, she declared that we should not order ten dishes (one per person), and instead order half that to reduce the bill that, by the way, we had to split anyway. Well, there would certainly be no PMS (Post Meal Satiation) in that restaurant. Luckily, with the persuasive techniques of Edward, we were able to convince the begrudged Cultural Sponge to order some sweet and sour fish (“dear God, that is oh-so expensive”), the restaurant’s famous specialty.

After a photo shoot in the balcony, the dishes arrived to be greeted with the rolling of ten pairs of eyes. Indeed, she had ordered the rather ordinary selection of bok choy, Mongolian beef and, dare I say it, sweet and sour pork. Moreover, the diminutive size of each serve prompted some bitter Chinese muttering with regards to inevitable starvation. With everybody except the Cultural Sponge able to comprehend the Chinese language, we continued our resentful murmuring whilst Edward and Mr Wang flattered her with a fulsome praise. However, hearing this, Mr Wang promptly addressed us in Chinese, telling us that he would take us out for 小笼包 (a special Shanghainese dumpling) later. Oddly, the Cultural Sponge seemed grossly unaware of the monstrous eating habits of the Chinese, and their tendency to order more-than-substantial banquets to satisfy their extraordinarily large appetites. Apologies, but English tea and crackers do not even match the Chinese definition of a ‘snack’. Sponge, indeed… I shudder to think what would transpire if and when Ms Sarah Buckman meets Mr Andy Lu.

Thus, we commenced eating, feeling slightly more complacent. Fortunately for the Cultural Sponge’s already tarnished reputation, the food at the restaurant was faultless – it tasted ambrosial. From the steamed bamboo (peculiar, I know) to the 年糕 (sweet glutinous cake) to the crispy-skinned sweet and sour fish, we sated ourselves with the delectable – albeit small – dishes. Also, much to the Cultural Sponge’s horror, Mao Ling devoured a fish head. Yes, Cultural Sponge, welcome to China, the land of the fish head, dog and cat eating food connoisseurs.

When we finished our meal (the light snack cost us 30 yuan each, as opposed to a willingly-paid 60 yuan banquet from previous years), went to relieve ourselves and investigated a bizarre salted-egg scent emanating from the bathroom area (it turned out to be an adjacent function room), we emerged from the building out into the square. We gathered together, and allowed the Cultural Sponge to set a time to meet.

“Is one hour enough for you girls?”

Holding back our sniggers and wondering whether we could successfully bloat ourselves within the designated time limit, we nodded. Thus, in a suspiciously cohesive group of eight, we turned and walked away from the teachers. We were soon joined by Mr Wang, who had been unsuccessfully captured by the Cultural Sponge, to hear that Edward – who, being Chinese, was obviously in on the ruse – had been unfortunately trapped and forced to escort the Cultural Sponge… in the opposite direction.

Crying out in glee and feeling contemptuous towards the smug and complacent Cultural Sponge, we were then lead by the father goose to a renowned 小笼包 restaurant. Ascending a flight of stairs, we were dismayed to find a seemingly endless queue waiting for their share of the famous dumplings. Also, finding no empty tables able to accommodate a group of eight (or at least without riling a duo of bitter old ladies that had ‘blatantly’ marked their seats with empty tissue packets), we had no choice but to leave. Fortunately, with the expertise of Mr Wang, we managed to find another restaurant.

We squeezed onto a small table and ordered forty小笼包: five pieces each. Overwhelmed with greed, we snatched our小笼包and caused the precious soup inside – the best part – to leak out and drench the dumplings of more fortunate girls. Learning from this appalling mistake, we slowly ate our小笼包 and savoured every bite of this succulent delicacy, ever wary of the possibility of the Cultural Sponge accidentally traipsing past and catching us. Starting to suffer from PMS as well as muscle ache from craning our necks and checking whether the Cultural Sponge was indeed walking past, we finished our delicious meal, paid Mr Wang (about 10 yuan each) and headed out.

Hearing Swee’s praise for the famous 汤圆 (sweet dessert dumpling things in soup) in Yu Gardens, I, much to his amazement, asked Mr Wang to take us over for a bowl; this in turn sparked over-satiated groans from my peers. However, with my persuasive skills, we again ambled through the myriads of eager visitors to a small but again famous 汤圆 outlet in the square.

Seated in a far table, we shared one bowl of eight汤圆 between two. To my horror, the girls had divided into pairs beforehand, conveniently leaving me with Mr Wang. Luckily, however, I had craftily seated myself next to Mao Ling, who then shared with me. We all wolfed down our four black sesame汤圆, chuckling at a particularly hideous picture of Mr Wang taken by Lora, not to mention our cunning deception. Yes, as Kathryn proclaimed, “Mr Wang, I’ll never ever forget this day.”

We paid Mr Wang back and, almost bursting out of our pleated skirts (one of the most tell-tale symptoms of PMS) with the post-binge bloat, we crawled out of the restaurant laughing. With our culinary cravings well and truly satiated, Lora, Swee and I had a rushed look at some nearby stalls. This included the crazy cinema, in which tourists would stare through a peephole into a box for 3 yuan. Most probably a puppet show, the audio was provided by a funny oriental-costumed man in CHINESE. Yes, I’m sure those foolish foreigners would have really loved it…

With not much time remaining, we returned to wait in the square for the Cultural Sponge and buy some water from a confectionery shop, which sold Hello Kitty Kit-Kats (no pun intended) and roasted candied roses (odd but tasty sweet). Rather hypocritically, the meeting time – that was, might I add, set by her – passed. Incredibly, still yearning for some more Shanghainese delights, I contemplated the purchase of a 汤包 (soup bun: apparently you are supposed to drink the soup and eat the filling inside, leaving the outer bun), which Swee had also recommended to us previously. Knowing that I would soon leave Yu Gardens indefinitely, I horrified the entire group – especially Mr Wang – by going one step farther and buying a汤包.

With Mr Wang and the FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers) staring in fascination at my enormous appetite, I drank the mouth-watering soup in the bun. Eventually, Edward arrived with the Cultural Sponge in tow:

“So girls, did you have a good time? Did you buy much?”

Stifling our sniggers, we nodded vigorously. We took another round of photos, and I crammed the last unbearable mouthful of 汤包 whilst everybody continued to marvel at my effortless bingeing. And in case you were wondering, the PMS did finally launch a vicious attack on my digestive system as I waddled over to the rubbish bin. Soon after, the group of smug Chinese people prepared to head off, lead by the grossly uninformed and almost pitiable Cultural Sponge. Ah, how I love the Chinese language.

On our way back, the effervescent FATs grew rather self-conscious with the familiar indiscreet staring. Knowing that Mello the Psycho Bitcho would be all too willing to humiliate herself in front of random strangers, they challenged me to wave to the random strangers that had their gazes fixated us. Adopting everything from the graceful royal wave to a World War II German salute (if you know what I mean), I effortlessly and swiftly established a reputation as a psychotic foreigner. Not willing to leave it at that, I further embarrassed myself by greeting onlookers with an overzealous “Hello! Yes, GA ZE GA ZE!” to save them time-wasting speculation. Thus, amidst gales of laughter from my peers, I was awarded an orange lolly and more stares for my toil.

When we reached school rather punctually, I took the bus home with Heero, Cherry, Andy, Sally, Lora and her host. Then, I was to endure a long night consisting of nothing but irritating Andy; tampering with his iPod nano; plucking his guitar and almost destroying it in frustration; learning how to flick Andy’s pack of cards and, most of all, jeering at Chinese people’s embarrassing definition of ‘English Pop Songs’, as found on Andy’s iPod.

In case you were wondering, yes, I am talking about the Backstreet Boys and Celine Dion.

-Mel

Random Scream Count: 4

Other Counts: Unfortunately as above, unless you count Lora’s gruesome picture of Mr Wang in mid-pucker or my random waving and greeting.

Labels: Chinese Exchange, Outings, Rants

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After audaciously battling to suppress the flu the previous day, I settled for a laid-back day (Sunday, December 3) consisting of nothing much but lazing around Andy’s rather commodious residences. Yes, the Paulinesque bursts of elation resulting from living in such an apartment were excitement enough.

Waking up in the king-sized bed at 8:30am (but still missing the genial cosiness of Eileen’s abode), I emerged from my bedroom to find a reply note on the table – Andy had obviously managed to make sense of my broken Chinese. Indeed, I had had nightmares during the night about writing mistakes and thus inspiring gales of laughter from my peers. I was supposed to wake up at 8am to go to the school’s English competition with him, but had just missed him. It took me a while to make out his scrawled Chinese sentences, which basically stated that I should sleep as much as possible (although it was a tad late for that) and that Bill was sleeping in the adjacent room if I needed him. However, due to my morbid fear of the shy Bill, I vanished into my en suite to promptly drench myself with toilet water and become a cursing tissue monster. In the fear that Andy stumbles across this blog and picks up the implications, I shall divulge no further information unless asked privately. I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to allow the reputation of Mello the Psycho Bitcho to shun the reputation of the far saner Melissa Tam.

After the catastrophe in the en suite, I escaped into the computer room and commenced my daily internet activities (checking emails, blogs and so on), tapping rather innocuously on the keyboard and logging onto About to learn how to play the guitar and impress everyone. Consequently, when Andy returned along with Heero, Sally and Max, I maintained my composure and doggedly continued staring at a blank computer screen, even though it swarmed with adult pop-ups for a reason that apparently escapes Andy… Instead, as they breezed past the doorway, I shouted a brief hello until they left, during which I shouted a brief goodbye. Yes, humiliating crisis averted.

After Andy left to see Max off, I was left in the company of Bill and Sally. But with the prospect of a hot, high pressured shower, I headed to the bathroom. Unfortunately, upon entering, I found that the shower was located next to the toilet without a barrier, and the fear of spraying the entire room with water bubbled uncomfortably in my stomach. Despite receiving some help from Sally and Andy, I dawdled hopelessly before mustering up my courage to turn the shower on.

Contrary to my inhibitions, the shower was bliss. Melting under the luxurious jets (which I had sorely missed back at home), I indulged in a half-hour long shower. But at the risk of crossing a line, I shall leave it at that.

After my shower, I attempted to clean up the mess I had made (yes, it was moulting season), got dressed and emerged to meet my rather distraught friends, all of which were wondering where I had disappeared to. However, I heard the rather agitated voice of Andy’s mother outside, which succeeded in reducing me to an involuntarily shivering mass in the corner of the bathroom. Apparently, I had been evicted to the 3rd floor apartment. With no choice, I agreed to flee the opulent residence (and THANKFULLY, the en suite).

Alas, when I returned to my room to dry my hair, my fear of Bill was further intensified a thousandfold. Sitting on the ridiculously firm bed (note to self: find out how it is humanly possible to turn a spring mattress into a material as hard as wood), I was raking through my hair with a towel when Bill came in. Quivering in terror, I managed to return his gaze and held it for what seemed like aeons, before tearing my eyes away and casting them to the floor. Yes, it was the mother of all awkward silences, and was a major contender for the Nobel Prize in Discomfort (competing against the all-time favourite, the Chinese mattress). However, I was, for some arcane and rather brutal reason, adamant in leaving the ice unbroken and remaining silent. Thus, when he could not bear the icy reception any longer, he produced a peculiar sound, turned around and left me sitting on the bed, aghast. Whether it was a greeting, a compliment, an apology or expression of mutual terror still remains a mystery to me; however, at that point, our relationship ventured into that bleak territory far beyond ‘Awkward Acquaintances’. Brilliant. And he was cute, too. Well done to Mello.

My hair eventually dried to a satisfactory level and, after Sally went to the toilet (although I would not normally delight in telling people about others’ excretory habits, the fact that this meant another scapegoat simply made my day), we carted my heavy luggage to the second apartment. Then, Andy’s parents took Andy, Bill, Sally and me out for lunch.

Firstly, allow me to introduce Andy’s family to you. With relationships seemingly tangled to the complexity level of a teenage soap, it may take a while to comprehend; but, here it goes. I shall forgive you if you choose to skip this - Channel Ten has overdosed us on painfully cliched soap operas.

Anyway, meet:

Andy
The protagonist of this tale that so kindly took me under his wing, offering me accommodation and food in his home. Approximately at the end of Junior High, his parents bestowed him with his own apartment in another building in the ‘Jade Mansions’ compound, whilst they remained in the 14th floor apartment (this is the one that I am currently staying in at this point in the story). After living on his own for a little while, he was joined by 爷爷and 姥姥 (his grandfather and grandmother) as well as his uncle (I’m not sure if he is, or just his aunt’s boyfriend) and aunt, who had moved to Shanghai. He now spends his time in this 3rd floor apartment, but occasionally returns to his roots, so to speak, to access the internet and computer there. He also enjoys reading, swimming and bubble baths, and strives for world peace.

Bill
Having met Andy when he was eleven, they soon became nothing short of brothers and shared a strong fraternal bond. He stays in boarding school during the weekdays, staying at home (possibly the 14th floor apartment) between Friday and Sunday nights. He also scares me.

Andy’s mother
Staying in the 14th floor apartment, she returns to the 3rd floor apartment everyday to eat her dinner (they don’t cook at the 14th floor apartment), but otherwise spends her time going out with Tony.

Tony
Bill’s father and Andy’s mother’s de facto husband. He lives in the 14th floor apartment, eats at the 3rd floor apartment, goes out with Andy’s mother and unfortunately serves as our chauffeur (that’s right, he actually owns a real car).

爷爷 and 姥姥
Living in the 3rd floor apartment, these two live together, with 姥姥 cooking the meals and cleaning the house (which is vital but, when you think about it, hopelessly futile when the monstrously messy Melissa Tam lives there. Hence, she avoided entering my rather shambolic room at all costs whenever possible). Retreating to their room to watch TV at about 9pm, I am then free to prance about the house leaving a horrific trail of debris behind me.

Andy’s aunt
Although she usually lives in the guest bedroom in the 3rd floor apartment, with my presence, she moved to the 14th floor apartment in time to escape unscathed. Lucky. Also, in spite of Andy’s heartless objections (men are the same on every continent…), she is extremely pretty.

Andy’s uncle (or aunt’s boyfriend) guy
He doesn’t seem to live in either apartment… I have no idea… but he took us out for lunch once, which undeniably wins a place in my heart.

Oh, and by the way, due to the fact that I failed to introduce Eileen’s family to you before:

Eileen
A gorgeous doe-eyed girl (seriously, look at her photos) with a heart of diamond-encrusted, platinum-plated gold. Her favourite games include the dearly loved ‘帅不帅?’. She unfortunately spends time being cruelly harassed by Mello the Psycho Bitcho and answering to her unreasonable whims. As Swee and Lora affectionately put it, “她对你太好了, you psycho bitcho,” or “She’s too good you, Mel, you psycho bitcho psycho.” What more can I say?

Eileen’s mother
A dentist (excuse me while I frantically go and brush my teeth), Eileen’s mother met me with a hysterically excited and warm welcome. The stay continued in this exact fashion, and I was treated like a daughter, being showered with ambrosial cuisine and gifts. If you were wondering what she spends time doing, see the above…

Eileen’s father
He is a chef (and has thus established a bizarre ‘Brotherhood of the Chefs’ relationship with Bap) that spends most of his time in America earning a living, but returns for a few months a year to spend time with his family. With the fitness and energy of an Ironman (well, he did actively endure the Chinese torture in the previous post), he was also forced to endure Mello the Psycho Bitcho. That’s right, see above.

Anyway, after introducing these fascinatingly soapy characters and their relationships, please refrain from playing out a sitcom in your mind whilst I continue my story.

Heading off to a Korean restaurant to try some new cuisine, we settled down to dine on delights such as crystal noodles, pork chops and not-so scrumptious and slightly alarming ox tongue (yes, only after I devoured it did they tell me of its origins – although it was reminiscent of roast beef, but with extra chewiness). All the while, my ‘entourage’ faced me in fascination and quizzed me about Melbourne, China, whether I really could speak Chinese and whether I really well and truly could use chopsticks. However, despite amazing them with some spoken Chinese, the look of utter incomprehension creeped back onto my face; thus, Andy was asked to polish up his ‘mediocre’ English (mediocre my foot) and translate for me.

Luckily, I was soon granted a reprieve and was driven by Tony to go to Andy’s guitar lesson. Scaling the stairs and walking along a hall filled with music and instruments, we soon entered the room in which four students and the ‘Best Friend Music Co.’ guitar teacher were waiting. Seating ourselves in front of the teacher, I was bootlessly allocated Sally’s guitar. Because I can really play it... I introduced myself (no, not as Mello but as Mel) and they commenced their lesson.

I spent most of the time listening to them attempt the song ‘Lydia’ and other tunes that were aesthetically pleasing, albeit marred by the odd bum note. Also, we were meanwhile being entertained by the teacher’s rendition of Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’. However, finding myself understanding his banter whilst jamming bass guitar, the teacher also discovered that I could, in fact, speak Chinese. Hence, I joined in with his hilarious jokes, braggadocio and teasing, which included the mockery of Andy’s Chinese name 吕晔: apparently it could be easily morphed into the word 驴 (donkey) by simply slurring the words. Thus, the centrepiece of my relentless teasing was born…

Anyway, after more jokes as well as the witty comparison between Australian and Chinese teachers (you can shout at placid Aussies without consequence, unlike the ferocious Chemistry teacher at Ge Zhi), we finished our lesson; that is, the guitar teacher couldn’t bear the bum notes any longer. Hauling his guitar outside, we waited and choked on the aroma of 臭豆腐 (stinky tofu), whilst trying to figure out Eileen’s magic hoop and chain trick (don’t ask). Eventually, Tony arrived to take us back to home, and rest assured that I was not complaining...

Arriving at the 3rd floor apartment with nothing much to do, I spent the day lounging around in Andy’s room with Bill (but still avoided him like a fat kid avoids PE), disturbing and preventing him from completing his precipitous mountain of homework. Hey, what are little sisters for? Meanwhile, I tried teaching myself to play more guitar and Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’: in fact, I had managed to figure out how to play everything from ‘Look at the stars,’ until ‘look how they shine for you’. Yes, look out, there is a musical phenomenon in your midst.

After a while, I got fed up of being hopelessly outshone by Andy’s musical skills (he sight-read Wonderwall, much to my euphoria). I could not bear the caustic pain from pressing guitar strings and guitar in general. So, I pestered Andy to teach me some Chinese chess. Meanwhile, Bill was sitting in the corner playing games on an iPod nano, most likely smirking at Andy’s misfortune. Unfortunately, in an attempt to ensnare Bill and evoke feelings of reconciliation, I played against both boys in the normal Western chess (yes, I am a Western snob). Feeling rather charitable, I allowed them to have their queen back after a careless move and promptly lost my own, incurring the shock and derision of my opponents. I did struggle for a comeback, but was eventually cornered by two of his reincarnated queens. As the tension filled the air and I prayed desperately for a stalemate, Bill’s seemingly invincible assault faltered and he indeed achieved a stalemate. I danced in elation at the evasion of what seemed inevitable, although not too ostentatiously at the risk of attracting the attention of the placid Bill.

With the chess pieces (due to the absence of any Western chess set – for shame! – in the house, I had made them out of paper much in the way I made Eileen’s poker chips) abandoned on the table, we played 24 Points. I discovered that Bill had already mastered 3, 3, 7 and 7 rather effortlessly, so we marvelled and almost collapsed in shock when the freakish wunderkind took just five minutes to figure out a combination that took Andy a full night – and completely baffled Eileen and me. Yes, he had easily conquered the untameable beast that was 3, 3, 8 and 8. However, this still beat the activities of last night’s post-pool period, which involved Andy and Sally huddled around Bill and his staggeringly painful Maths homework, while I fluttered around the edges vehemently cursing Chinese mathematics before hiding in the computer room. God, even Maths Methods beat that.

In what seemed like ages, we were asked over to eat dinner. Dining on some roti, fish and vegetables, I still felt the trademark queasiness associated with the flu, and thus ate lightly. Halfway through dinner, Andy’s parents approached the door with Bill, announcing that he was leaving to go back to boarding school. Unfortunately, before he left, Andy’s mother asked him to bid farewell to me and give me a hug. Appearing like a caged animal, he wheeled around in horror, looking for any support or objection. However, when he had remained resolutely inert for several seconds, it was established that he didn’t want to embrace anyone anytime soon and they left, leaving me slightly piqued and slightly bitter. How could he not love this randomly-screaming-statue-whore?

When Bill departed and I finished my dinner, I went back to Andy’s room to further exasperate him and distract him from his untouched homework. I spent the remainder of the night in his room playing guitar, 24 Points (although not as fruitfully as Bill or even Andy, for that matter) and Chinese chess, successfully losing three times in the space of five minutes. That’s right, blogging was far from my mind, as I vowed never to return to the 14th floor apartment for glaringly obvious reasons.

Like mud cakes to Fat-Campers, Asian toilets will be my downfall.

-Mel

Counts: As below…

PS. 8 ÷ (3 – 8 ÷ 3) = 24. Argh, what a freak.

Labels: Chinese Exchange, Meh, Outings

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Today (Saturday, December 2) was preceded by a feverish night of boiling hotness and the shivering chills, as the dreaded influenza virus caused my body temperature to fluctuate wildly. With the consumption of Panadol and a bottle of spring water during the night, however, I managed to ready myself for the ‘Change of Host’ planned today.

Today, I had an amazingly adequate amount of sleep, getting up at 8am (which was almost twelve hours). Unfortunately, suffering from extreme dizziness, disorientation and a splitting headache, I staggered to my room to pack (I had failed both pack and blog last night, which marked my descent into total indolence and neglect with regards my blog). After throwing in items of clothing, FAS and what not into my suitcase in a random fashion, I eventually finished packing within an hour (hurrah) and got dressed to take my luggage to Andy’s house. When it came to the shoes, memories of a rainy Hangzhou came flooding back, where my exquisite gold flats were covered with filthy black stains and ruined. My own feet were frostbitten and drained of all feeling. Thankfully, Eileen’s father was compassionate enough to clean the shoes (although I should have done it) and restore them to their former glory. So, I chose to wear my tacky Adidas shoes.

However, in spite of arranging to meet Jezza and Swee at Century Park at the outrageously early time of 8:30am, it was already 9am when I bid goodbye to Eileen’s parents and set out to Andy’s apartment. Furthermore, with Eileen slightly bewildered as to where his apartment really was, we were again delayed, reaching there at about 9:20am.

When we saw Andy waiting for us in front of the apartment blocks dubbed ‘Jade Mansions’ (and I was soon to find that it was for good reason), he swiped an ID card on the door and took us into a lavish hall. With excessive use of marble as well as a widescreen TV by the elevators, SAM (Stingy Asian Miser) was brimming with anticipation. He helped us load the luggage into a sleek elevator, and took us to the 14th floor where his penthouse-like residence was. When he opened the door and welcomed us into his home, I was astonished. With trendy ornaments; glossy polished floors; sparkling glass; a massive TV and swivel couches arranged neatly in the room, the apartment resembled a swanky modern apartment by the Yarra River. With my mouth still gaping and SAM screaming rather Paulinely in my head, I had a brief meeting with Andy’s half-awake mother (relative to Eileen’s parents’ effervescent fussing) before being whisked away to Century Park.

We were all driven by Tony (Andy’s de facto stepfather guy) to Century Park in a car - YES, an actual car. Seeing the stunning sights that I had witnessed several nights ago with Eileen, Andy and Bill, we got off to find Jezza and Swee waiting patiently by the eight poles. Upon seeing her, I bounded towards Swee, embraced her tightly and muttered hoarsely into her ear: “SU WEI KHUNG, HE’S RICH.” Seeing the look of incomprehension on her face, I described his apartment in detail whilst we made our way into Century Park.

Before exploring the park, however, we headed off to hire a bicycle to make the journey a tad more enjoyable. Coming to the hire area, we were amazed to see rows upon rows of tandem and even triple bikes, as well as creepy rickshaw things complete with a lacy tarpaulin roof. Swee and I simply admired the panoramic view of the largest park in Asia, but occasionally burst into laughter as our Chinese hosts deliberated in Chinese over the best method of transport and threw in several jokes about the creepy rickshaws. Eventually, we settled for a creepy rickshaw for three and a tandem bicycle, when Swee began hyperventilating.

“Mel… Mel…” she croaked in between raspy gulps of air, “Melll…”

“Swee, what’s wrong? Do you have ash-ma?”

“Mel… he’s loaded…” she exhaled.

Indeed, she had spotted Andy at the ticket office flashing his sizeable wad of 100 yuan notes. In fact, Tony had asked Andy earlier: “Do you need a little bit of cash?” When Andy agreed, Tony proceeded to pull out a hefty stack of 100 yuan bills from his wallet, and I watched, feeling slightly faint, as he made a concerted effort to squeeze it in. Fortunately, Swee quickly recovered before Andy returned, although she did seem a bit flushed afterwards when he retrieved his wallet, saying: “Do I have enough cash?” and checking his turgid wallet for the glaring scarlet notes. Little bit of cash, indeed.

While Jezza, Swee and I climbed into the rickshaw (Jezza and I were pedalling), Eileen and Andy hopped onto the tandem bicycle. However, due to my girly weakness, they sped off leaving us inching forward slowly. That’s right, the unfortunate Jezza was actually pedalling for three, although I did move my legs to disguise my failure.

The park was absolutely magnificent: it was filled with innumerable visitors (including yours truly) admiring the evergreen trees, lush green grass (as compared to the parched weeds back home), a vast lake and sculptures. We took several photos and dodged psychotic some-kind-of-open-bus-thing drivers. After a while, I sacrificed poor Swee and 'allowed' her to take the wheel, figuratively speaking (the second wheel on the right was actually a fake, just to add in some symmetry in the ugly beast).

However, we soon caught up to Andy and Eileen, who were already waiting patiently by some grass sculptures for us to arrive. The grass sculptures were incredible; they loomed over us like majestic Goliaths and reached almost two stories high (photos will come eventually, I promise). We also stopped by a small lake sporting several grass ducks and a corpulent grass frog, which I blew a kiss to compensate for my lack of statue whoring in the previous day.

Tired of the arduous pedalling, Swee and I swapped with Andy and Eileen and climbed onto the tandem bicycle. Regardless of a shaky start (I sat in the front after Swee almost ran over into a toddler), we soon coasted past several grass sculptures ranging from a Big Ben clock tower to a massive hand pouring tea into a steaming cup (there was an actual fountain of water and real steam to a family of bears with hula hoops. Yes, they were all of great symbolic significance...

However, we eventually grew sick of cruising into random lanes, and decided to create some mischief. Well, Mello the Psycho Bitcho did, anyway. Thus, when we neared a bridge with a base of steps, we realised that these machinations could be fulfilled. Choosing that route, we cycled into the path, followed by Jezza, Eileen and Andy (the lucky Eileen was sitting in the middle while the gentlemen pedalled). Reaching the end, we then turned around and cycled back, much to their dismay. With the cumbersome size of the creepy rickshaw, they were forced to go backwards while we raced away cackling hysterically. Nevertheless, we managed to catch sight of their efforts in turning around the large beast. As they couldn't reverse by pedalling backwards, they were then forced to get out and manually haul the hefty rickshaw (with Eileen inside too) in order to perform a three-point turn.

With our hosts lagging behind for obvious reasons, we continued our ride, and, after realising that we were moving in a large circle, chose a narrow pathway in order to further torture them. However, not feeling brutal enough to force them to perform another three-point turn (and quite possibly backing into some thorn bushes), we rocketed ahead and swerved to the left as they negotiated their way through undergrowth. Turning to the left again, we leapt off our bike and hid behind some thick bushes, watching them as they emerged from the bush in bafflement. We listened to cries in Chinese as they debated about our whereabouts. However, when we saw two legs sprout from each side of the creepy rickshaw so that they could reverse and turn in the opposite direction, we had achieved our goal and could not contain ourselves any longer.

“HEY! OVER HERE!”

When the three victims of our ruthless pranking turned around, their combined shouts of both relief and frustration reverberated across the park.

After their legs scuttled around and turned to follow us, we resumed our cycling and creepy-rickshaw-ing in a similar fashion (minus the machinations and plus another fleet of photos). Eventually, we reached a rather congested highway flanked by a pond and theme park. With the passage teeming with tourists, we were unable to crash into unsuspecting minors without being arrested. Hence, we gave up our hit-and-run campaign for lunch.

We returned our bicycles and creepy rickshaws and sat down at the swanky ‘Century Park Restaurant’ for our meal. The always rapacious Andy instantly asked for every single item present on the menu, but I simply ordered a cheeseburger to satisfy my yearning for the good ol’ saturated-fat-infested burgers at home. Swee ordered a dish of spaghetti bolognaise.

The prominently Asian take on Western cuisine was sufficiently tasty. But with Swee having arranged to meet her new host 音乐 (Music) at school, Eileen, Andy and I were forced to bid adieu to Jezza and her while we went off to play [insert frenzied hand movements and ricocheting-bullet sound effects, due to the lack of translation]. Thus, we passed the lake and found ourselves in the aforementioned theme park in queue for the ‘Crazy Mice’ (I think they meant the ‘Mad Mouse’, a rollercoaster ride similar to that in Luna Park). Yet, seeing the relative tameness of the ride in comparison to those in Australia (no dips at all and a speed akin to that of a fat kid running), as well as the pricey admission fare of 20 yuan per person, we chose to take an electric boat and float along the massive lake in the centre of the park.

Donning blindingly orange life jackets, we collapsed into a boat literally, due to the size of the diminutive interstice between the high jetty and the low roof of the boat. Even though the waves caused the boat to pervicaciously move in the exact opposite direction of what Andy intended, after a three-hundred-point turn, we managed to back out from the jetty of laughing boatmen and drifted into the middle of the lake.

During the ride, we marvelled at the great speed of a speed boat (hence the name) and scoffed at immature parents encouraging their children to crash into us. When the novelty of driving a boat wore off, we turned off the engine and resorted to teaching Andy how to play poker (yes! Another innocent corrupted!) and playing 二十四点 (24 Points) until the chilly breeze blew our cards away. By the way, they were foolishly placed on the nose of the boat by yours truly...

In case you are unaware of the game 24 Points, it is an infuriating mathematical game devised by equally infuriating Chinese wunderkinds with nothing better to do than to mystify and completely belittle unsuspecting foreigners. The basic aim of the game is to draw four random cards and use all of them once with four basic operations to make up the number 24.

For example: if you are given 3, 3, 7 and 7, you could say (3 ÷ 7 + 3) × 7 = 24. In case you were wondering, yes, I was the only one on the boat that failed dismally in figuring that out, and there was NO way that I could ever possibly do otherwise.

When the threat of frostbite slowly became reality and our hire time dwindled away, we shivered back to the jetty. Meanwhile, we attempted to figure out the combination of 3, 3, 8 and 8 given to us by Andy. With the quantity of hyperventilating comrades severely depleted (and replaced by a painfully smug Andy, who had taken a whole night but still figured the above combination out), Tony drove us back to Andy’s house.

We were met there by Sally and Heero, and, after idling around in a slothly manner, we left together for a game of pool. On the way, we laughed at Heero, who ran ahead of us and scared the life out of an innocuous cat sitting by the gate, and walked for an unbearably long time to the pool tables.

The pool and snooker tables were located in an underground bar-like basement, which was filled with seedy men, cigarette smoke, the noise of colliding cue balls and the distinct flavour of human flatulence (much to the seedy men’s amusement). Andy went to the other side of the room while we arranged ourselves around our pool table, only to return with an extremely creepy three-fingered frictionless glove wrapped around his hand. Trying not to shiver at the spine-chilling accessory, I teamed up with him against Eileen, Sandy and Heero.

After one game, I had already established a solid reputation as a powerful player whose cue balls seemed to have a magnetic effect on the pockets. Little did they know, however, it was all a fluke and I was, in fact, aiming for another ball entirely. Not that I’m complaining, of course.

After winning our first game, we reshuffled the teams: the boys versus the girls; however, with Andy’s incredible skill (that single-handedly won the previous game anyway), they easily thrashed us.

At this point, Bill (the de facto stepbrother guy from Sunday) arrived with another creepy red glove. I joined Heero and Andy while Bill teamed up with Eileen and Sally. Granted, Bill had a psychotic command of the pool table and with the deafening crack of cue balls under his hand, and received Andy’s indignant shouts: “你干嘛?! 这样打的?!” or basically “What is wrong with you, you billiard freak?” Yet, with Andy on our team, we still seemed unconquerable. So, after more of my fluky shots (which gained the fraudulent admiration from my peers) and Andy’s not-so fluky victories, we won again.

Feeling slightly empowered by my flukiness, I decided to rearrange the teams to make another girls versus boys match, irrespective of the extreme talent of Andy and Bill. Smart move. Therefore, we began another game, and, while the boys soared ahead by at least three balls, us girls were reduced to a giggling round of ‘帅不帅?’ with the Gollum-like billiard champions on the wall. Eventually, after the boys had long sunk their last ball, they were aiming for and startlingly missing the 8-ball. Then, it was my turn. Chalking my cue as professionally as possible in order to mask my incompetence, I simply tried to aim my cue away from biological balls and hit something I was supposed to. However, to my utter disbelief, I managed to sink my own ball. Taking the rare opportunity of a second go (it took me aeons to establish the Aussie rules with my awful Chinese), I again, to my surprise, hit another ball in. Thus, the girls only had a purple ball to go before we were equally matched, both scrambling to hit the black ball in gaining the prestigious title of pool champions. Unfortunately, if I were to hit the purple ball, it’d set up their 8-ball perfectly. Therefore, I only made a tentative shot and missed. This meant that I had to hand it to Andy (of all people) and a perfect set up on a platinum platter. As predicted, he still managed to sink the ball within two tense shots (but strangely missed it the first time).

Still reeling from the – possibly contaminated – flatulence of the male snooker group beside us (yes, hilarious for them, though), we paid the fees (a mere 12 yuan or AUD$2 per hour) and left in search of food. Heero went home. As it was getting late and nearing Eileen’s curfew, we combed the streets urgently for a decent banquet for five, and, after finding that all of the restaurants on the street required queuing up, called Eileen’s mother and persuaded her (with the help of her father) to allow Eileen to wait for a bit longer to eat dinner. Thus, we settled for barbeque.

Most of us could not stand the coldness outside and entered the restaurant. Waiting on the ground floor and choking on the blankets of smoke swirling around the restaurant, it took us about half an hour to get a seat. Meanwhile, we watched as several customers cheerfully placed skewers of meat and other unidentified objects onto a metal frame to barbeque them, which sat above a metal box of hot coals. This was embedded into the table.

Eventually, we were allocated a seat on the second floor. The waitress filled our boxes and covered it with a metal pan to allow it to heat up. We got ready to order. Sally, Eileen and I left the boys poring over the order form and selecting the items of the night’s feast. When they were finished (God help us when Andy Lu orders food), we didn’t wait long before our food was delivered.

Always the gentleman, Andy took charge of the roasting of his and my food while Bill looked after Sally and Eileen. After leaving it to roast and sprinkling ample amounts of spice, seasoning and what not, Andy gave me several skewers while we joked about his culinary incompetence. We all began to devour the food ravenously. I gorged myself on chicken, lamb and 馒头 (buns), steering clear of 臭豆腐 (the pertinently named ‘stinky tofu’) and chicken and duck hearts. Following another round of skewers (thanks to none other than Andy), we emerged suffering from severe PMS (Post Meal Satiation), bid Eileen farewell (nooo!) and stumbled home.

When we reached home, I was, to my utter elation, allocated the master bedroom - Andy’s mother went to the adjacent block to live in their second Jade Mansion. Bouncing at the sight of a personal en suite, king sized bed, view of the Huangpu River and, most importantly, a widescreen TV, I moved my luggage into the room as Andy and Bill played the gentlemen and escorted Sally home. However, enticed by beauty sleep (yes, that’s right, Mr Wang) and feeling slightly awkward in the presence of two teenage Chinese-babbling boys, I changed into my pyjamas and scribbled a goodnight note in Chinese. This was to avoid exposing my mediocre Chinese oratory skills and at least give the impression of a polite brat.

Let us hope for a peaceful night devoid of any night terrors. That is, nightmares about creepy rickshaws and frictionless gloves…

-Mel

Statue Whore Count: 3

Other Counts: Argh, don’t ask.

Labels: Chinese Exchange, Outings

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Today (Friday, December 1) was the eagerly awaited day of the excursion to Nanjing Lu to buy ridiculously cheap real pearls and not-so ridiculously cheap goods.

Cowering in fear at the thought of being interrogated by the severe on-duty students again, Eileen and I dashed to school earlier than usual, making it to class by about 7am. According to our itinerary, we were to attend 'a Chinese class by Ms. Sun'. Thus, after the morning exercise (I will never stop laughing during the routine, regardless of how many times I have done it before) we combed the hallways, A-ba-ling-jiu and A-ba-ling-ba (A809 and A808 in Chinese) for Mr Wang, eventually finding him – well into the first period – dining jovially with fellow teachers and jabbering away in the familiarly rapid Chinese (let’s just assume it is the familiarly rapid Shanghainese).

We were instructed to wait for him for ten minutes, which was when the first period began; however, due to his loquaciousness, it turned into fifty minutes, which was when the second period began. Yes, sure, of course, 当然, trust a Shanghainese man to finish talking within ten minutes. Thus, we all passed the time doing what the Romans (or in this case, Shanghainese) do and gossiped. Subjects ranged from Carrie’s inexplicable absences and its mysterious link with a cosy relationship with a boy in her class (her denials and explanations only seemed to make it worse) to Shermayne’s strong bond with her super protective; extremely sweet; seemingly infatuated and bordering creepy host. However, after being ruthlessly teased about the boys in my class, I was reduced from the raving, scandal-hungry gossip to a beaten puppy in the corner. Great.

Abandoning any thought of the Chinese class, Mr Wang completed his tirade with his deafened colleagues and took us to the Physics class by Ms Wang (no relation…?). We again searched through the hallways for several of the ten floors in total, with no avail. After collapsing into the lift for the fourth time to the third floor for the second time, we concluded that there was, in fact, no Physics class. But with the third period well and truly begun and therefore no classroom to enter, we retreated back into A809 and had lunch at the canteen at 11am before our 11:30am jaunt to Nanjing Lu (we were to meet Ms Buckman there at 11:45am).

The time came, and we AGROed (Almost Got Run Over) our way to Nanjing Lu, not before marvelling at the colossal seven storey high Coke bottle marking the monstrously large shopping mall street. In fact, we had a notable AGRO incident entering Nanjing Lu, whereby a car did not stop for us (as they never do anyway), and instead coasted centimetres close to our hips, much to our panic. Welcome to Shanghai, girls.

Seeing random dance and music classes being held on the street (as there was simply no commodious classroom to accommodate them), Ms Buckman took the opportunity to comprehensively document this rather unremarkable spectacle with her un-detachable video camera. Spot the foreigner. We then found ourselves outside ‘Pearl City’, the place in which held thousands of real pearls for ludicrously cheap prices. Entering the store, we headed into the variety of stores (all of which were selling exactly the same thing) in search of some pearls.

Swee and Lora managed to find a dazzling pearl and jewel charm bracelet for Rachel, which happened to be the only one of its kind (damn). However, feeling particularly pedantic about the size of the pearl earrings on offer, I browsed several other stores in search of earrings and a duplicate of that stunning bracelet amidst raspy whispers of ‘Ga Ze, Ga Ze!’ as well as appraisals of my ‘impressive’ uniform and badge. Although each store did have the right sized pearl earrings on offer, the excruciatingly Stingy Asian Miser in me (affectionately known as SAM) leapt off her pedestal and began ranting about the apparent expensiveness of an 8 yuan pair of real freshwater pearl earrings. Because you can really get it cheaper in Australia…

Having obliterating any chances of obtaining a pair of originally 10 yuan earrings for cheaper, I browsed the stores in desperation with no avail. However, capitulating in dismay, I headed out with Swee and Lora, leaving behind the indignant cries of other Sams in the surrounding stores.

With Nanjing Lu holding the prestigious and noteworthy title of the largest and busiest shopping street in Shanghai, we decided to make the most of it and head to the modestly named ‘Number One Department Store’. We negotiated our way through a bustling crowd taking advantage of a ‘clearance sale’ outside and entered the store to be greeted by several sleek white monoliths standing in random spaces on the huge floor and towering over us. Yes, we had emerged in the cosmetics section, and were promptly harassed by cosmetically masked vultures urging us to clog our pores with mangled sample lipsticks. Perhaps later.

Passing countless gorgeous but over priced items such as 500 yuan haute couture (way too expensive by Shanghainese standards), we decided to give up on fashion section and go up to the entertainment department to satiate our craving for cheap DVDs. However, after finding nothing but plasma TVs, gadgetry and general hi-tech bric-a-brac, we concluded that there was no way that we could cart a home theatre back to Melbourne. Thus, we asked several shop assistants the way to the coveted shoe section, only to receive instructions that seemed like pure gibberish each and every time. Nodding and smiling vaguely to confirm our ‘understanding’, we drifted back down to find the 1000 yuan Chanel heels and leather boots by serendipity. However, astonished at the prices in spite of the fact that those prices were about right in Australia, and still preposterously cheap compared to Myer’s Miss Shop, we accidentally stumbled out through the correct entrance back into the bustling Nanjing Lu.

Next, we hopped over the possibly affiliated ‘Number One Food Department Store’ to gorge ourselves on anonymous Asian confectionery and bizarre seemingly-not-so-edible treats (roasted candied roses?). After being targeted by Argus-eyed stall assistants, Swee bought some custard tarts whilst another seller indiscreetly checked me out (you get used to it, however), pardon the pun. Squeezing into a chaotic array of mini-stalls, shop assistants and, most daunting of all, ravenous Chinese people, we entered the massive department store. Before Swee and Lora bought their fill of miscellaneous unidentified candies, I had my eye on a box of Lindt chocolates. Upon my arrival at her house, I gave Eileen and her family several blocks of Cadbury, Lindt and Ferrero Rocher, which she so generously offered and gave to all her classmates. This ultimately sparked their infatuations with chocolate, and so, in the hope that I could show them what real chocolate tasted like, I decided to go to the stall to buy them some. I chose the hazelnut variety in lieu of the milk chocolate kind, and, when I finished talking about my nationality and academic origins with the seller, Lora and I purchased a box of fourteen for 68 yuan.

Buzzing with pride at my apparent thoughtfulness and hence my redemption from my ruthless teasing of both Eileen and Chen Bing (I managed to introduce some eligible young ladies from Australia during the course of the week, much to his humiliation), I burst out carrying my bag of chocolate bliss, while Swee again bought another custard tart and we had a free sample (rather uncommon practice in China, I must say) of 肉干 or a barbequed honey pork patty thing. After this, we were to meet Mr Wang and Ms Buckman at our designated meeting point in front of Pearl City, only to find that he was still at Pearl City for an arcane reason. However, with no time to spare, I was cruelly denied a second chance at buying my pearl earrings at a reliable outlet, and we walked back to Ge Zhi.

By this time, I was extremely exhausted and felt my battered feet buckling under my possibly increased weight (my mealtime small talk: “Please, I swear, I am full already. Please. Have mercy on my digestive tract.”). Thus, after getting repulsed by a nose-picking cyclist and a taxi driver excavating ear wax with his car keys, I waddled past the beggar that we had passed previously (this time, her child and she seemed suspiciously more well off) back to school.

Having learnt that the Physics class was not actually the second period but the second period after lunch, we made it to a Gao Er (Year 11) classroom on the third floor for the lesson. Slumping back in the chairs brought in for us by gentlemanly students (but not before groaning in disdain and podiatric anguish upon entering and seeing that the chairs had not been brought in yet), we settled down to enjoy a class on Newton’s Second Law and forces in English. However, after braving the chill of Shanghainese weather (at that point, the weather was in the teens and roughly tantamount to the Melburnian winter climate), I managed to bounce in my seat in excited recognition whilst mentally solving the Newtonian problems and listening to the material that we had covered previously in the year, but not for too long. Within no more than ten or even five minutes, my exuberance had paled, and I descended into a feverish, nauseated state and ceased to listen to or make sense of otherwise simplistic questions. Although I was almost lapsing into a sickly snooze, my fear of being pointed out as an insolent foreigner with the attention span of a fat kid with a birthday cake prevented me from doing so. Therefore, I slumped further into my seat and complained about the ominous pounding in both my head and my stomach.

I endured for the entire duration of the class in a semi-comatose state, and, by the end of Ms Wang’s admirable English efforts, I stumbled, disorientated, from my seat and informed Mr Wang of my ailing health. However, with the chocolate still in my quivering hand and the prospect of collecting the smiles and thanks from my peers still unfulfilled, I quickly made my excuses and dashed to class to give them the chocolate.

Unfortunately, with the possibility of an imminent collapse, I only managed to quickly hand over the chocolates to a bemused Andy and retreated to A809 with my FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers). Seating myself at the massive wooden table, I indulged in some playful chitter-chatter before succumbing to my somnolence and resting my head on the table (just like Swee, who was dozing right next to me). With the rather chirpy voices of Kathryn, Lora and Yin Ling providing some not-so soothing background music, it took me a while, but I eventually fell asleep at 3pm, only to emerge about half an hour later from a pool of saliva albeit feeling slightly better. Charming.

Wiping my drool off the classy polished table, I endured a miniature lecture from Mr Wang about health consciousness and sleep. This was due to the fact that I was tactless enough to inform him that I had slept at about midnight last night after a rough session of blogging and spending time accompanying Eileen during particularly arduous homework-ing. By accompanying, I mean stopping her progress, playing the beloved game of ‘帅不帅?’ whilst gossiping about everything under the (invisible) sun and then falling asleep while she worked laboriously into the night. Argh, when it comes to being Eileen’s foreign exchange student, I put the ‘Mel’ in malevolent.

With the phone-like bell reverberating off the corridors, I escaped Mr Wang’s haranguing and went back to my class, to find several students wiping brown sticky residue (chocolate, gosh) off their mouths and crinkling empty wrappers. I politely declined (rather reluctantly, though) the last piece of chocolate from Sally, Eileen’s friend, and waited for Eileen to finish whatever after-class cleaning duties she was obligated to do. Meanwhile, I seated myself on a desk next to Andy whilst he strummed melodies rather impressively on Sally’s guitar. After listening to him show off his musical savvy, I pleaded for a turn and skillfully managed to pluck ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ rather off-time, off-key and off-tune within the hour. All hail Mel, the musical wunderkind.

Once I had determined that the guitar was in tune on the dodgy piano (refreshingly familiar territory) outside, which, by the way, was itself risibly out of tune and incapable of playing a high E, I ran back into the classroom to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ relatively well; that is, relative to my previous effort on ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’. However, I soon gave up after realizing that my not-so notable melodies was laughably outshined by Andy, and resorted to irritating unfortunate classmates. After spending time waiting for Eileen (who was actually doing nothing but watching us, anyway), she received a flustered and rather peeved off call from her parents, who were waiting for aeons by the school gate while we plucked Sally’s guitar (parents were forbidden by the intimidating guards out the front to enter the school grounds).

We took the lift down to meet her parents with Andy, and, after some speedy Shanghainese prattle and rebuking, Eileen’s mother left her father, Eileen, Andy and I (as well as some agonizingly hefty amounts of luggage) to the streets in search of a sushi dinner. May I warn you, now, that this spelled the beginning of the most torturous walk of my life, and most likely shortened my life by ten years.

In spite of the fact I was almost passing out with fatigue and the early stages of the flu, we again took the route past the Coke bottle to Nanjing Lu (which had almost caused me to collapse just one hour prior). Nanjing Lu was distinctly different during the night time: although it was essentially the same street, it was now filled with night-time shoppers (by the way, my favourite kind – night shopping is strangely rewarding) as well as being peppered with dazzling Vegasian lights and neon signs capable of blinding even the most obsessive moths. Yes, it was a slice of heaven sprinkled with paradise with a side of utopia. Consequently, the smarting travail in my legs was swiftly forgotten as I ambled down the street with my Shanghainese family in wonderment. Even though we had already passed a Japanese noodle shop (the one Eileen and I ate at on Day 1), they continued down to the very end of the endless road, which included the five minute crossing of a small alley. Yes, with the ubiquity – excuse me – I mean, with the total domination of the roads by bicycles and motorcycles, we were forced to wait as never-ending queue of cyclists zoomed past one after another. With astounding patience, we eventually found a diminutive break in which we could dash across the pathway and continue.

After the brightness and bustle of Nanjing Lu, we found ourselves walking through several smaller and quieter alleyways (but never deserted; no, not in Shanghai) amidst vociferous complaints regarding my aching feet and swollen bladder. With my companions finally hearing of my long withheld urgency for the latter, they stopped for directions (yes, the men) whilst I made a mad sprint for the toilet. Then, much to my disgruntlement, we continued on our way.

Eventually, whilst listening to me estimate the total distance walked so far (I swear it’s been over five kilometres! I swear!), we found ourselves in the affluent district overlooking the Huangpu River or, to Westerners, the Bund. Passing through tunnels; dignified and elegant old buildings as well as some cheap souvenir and snack stalls, we arrived on the raised pathway on the bank of the Bund. Despairing with the darkness and consequential obscurity in the photos (insert bitter “well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”), we marveled at the magnificence of the ‘long wavy ribbon of prosperity’ for quite a while and used our 交通卡 or Transport Cards (I swear they can be used for anything!) to take a ferry across the river.

On the ride, I found myself next to a Caucasian girl of about eight (she turned out to be six… well done to me). Overflowing with anticipation, I spoke:

“Hi, where are you from?”

“Australia,”

With this one word, I unleashed a long string of incoherent exclamations of enthusiasm and excitement. At last! A fellow ‘good ol’ Aussie battler’, albeit slightly younger than preferred. Thus, ignoring the majesty of the Bund, I had an animated chat with both the girl and her Australian family, which did border on random. For example, after an awkward silence, the girl said: “You know, it’s weird. I’m the youngest in my class but I’m way smarter than the annoying guy that sits near me.” Ah, childish pettiness. How I miss you.

After Eileen’s father unsuccessfully managed to converse with the young girl in his heavily accented English and several photos (with the girl making rude faces on camera with me), we arrived on the other side of the river and bid farewell to the battlers.

Although the traffic was shockingly less (the streets, devoid of cars, strongly reminded me of home), we walked in a similarly painful fashion – although I was now carrying the light guitar whilst Eileen’s father hauled my backpack along – past a false alarm sushi bar (it wasn’t good enough? As long as it has food and means no more walking, I’m FINE with it) until we reached a colossal shopping centre near the Pearl Tower (yay, photo opportunity even though I wasn’t really there!). After many vanity shots, we climbed several stories to the Japanese restaurant.

Thanks to my own starvation and the choices of Andy, the extremely edacious eater, we ate beyond our heart’s content and feasted on sushi, noodles, wasabi (my tongue is still healing) as well as things usually deemed to be gross and inedible (eel and salmon roe, anyone?). Furthermore, we ate whilst I frightened and disturbed patrons with my happy snapping. Although the food was not exactly worth a ten kilometre walk (almost nothing is), it was still amazingly good.

By this time, I realised that every time I relaxed and sat down, I was promptly knocked down by an oncoming flu; thus, I eventually limped (yes, I was actually limping and clutching Eileen’s arm ominously) into a taxi (THANK GOD) and napped after Andy was dropped off and while we were driven home.

Reaching home at 8:30pm, I immediately changed and crashed onto the sofa, instantaneously falling into painful sleep.

My dearest Shanghainese friends, please. There are countless more humane ways to kill an insolent foreigner.

-Mel

Counts: As below...

Labels: Chinese Exchange, Outings, Rants, School

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By the way, the Maths Methods (and my report, but whatever!) results came out today.

In an attempt to fight jet lag, I slept in and woke up after 9am to find my parents huddled around the computer with the results of a year's worth of complaining, hard work and burn outs. Yes, you all know about it.

However, I shall conform to the PLC Asian tradition of avoiding publication (at present, anyway) so that I do not appear like a braggart or whiner. Perhaps both. Anyway, I must continue wading through memories, and I shall expand on the end of Mathematical Methods soon...

-Mel

Labels: Maths, Milestones

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(Yes, what a coincidental title!!!)

NOTE: Suffering from a mild bout of the flu (quite possibly due to the hacking coughs of fellow sardines on the No. 782 bus) as well as pure indolence, within a few days of my trip, I vowed to stop spending three hours typing two thousand word posts and hence torturing my poor sleep-deprived host parents (their computer is in their room). However, due to an unfortunate incident near Nanjing Lu involving a grimy hand and a rather loaded camera, I have decided to salvage and sort out the mish-mash of precious memories before they dissolve into oblivion in my rather forgetful mind. Unfortunately, with the lack of any visual aids (until I manage to steal photos from my fellow travellers when I see them at school next year) and poor memory, please excuse the patchy collection of vague memories.

In spite of the fact that the prospect of staying at school was just slightly less exhilarating as going to Hangzhou, I was nevertheless extremely excited. Although this may quite possibly incite the horror and derision of my Australian friends, the dynamic environment coupled with the aforementioned facilities truly make Ge Zhi unique and interesting, and something I look forward to every day (in fact, Carrie even opted to stay in class the whole day in lieu of a massive shopping spree!).That and the hot Chinese pimps too…

Eileen and I were late today (Thursday, November 30). Although I had woken up rather punctually at the time of 6am, without the presence of a digital clock, I did not get dressed and instead chose to lie idly on my bed (that is, the infinitely softer sofa). However, hearing my host mother burst out of the room to wake up the whole household, we got up at 6:15am and dashed to school. With breakfast holding extreme significance in Chinese hearts, we decided to stop for some breakfast (and some torturous passive smoking) before heading to school rather tardy. Thus, we were met by an intimidating sentry of on-duty students awaiting the metaphorical execution of late-comers.

Although we received a stern interrogation from a tall and authoritative male student on duty, the rather simple excuse of “Oh… I was the exchange student,” proved to be sufficient. Because we were so late, we had time to mock the exercising exchange students (who were in mid-high-kick) before heading to class (by elevator, naturally).

The morning passed rather uneventfully, and consisted of several periods of complicated and unimaginably difficult classes; daunting invitations from teachers asking students to stand up amongst fifty or so peers to answer a spontaneous question (or worse still, do a question on the board); as well as some not-so-subtle perving from me.

However, during the fourth period, we were to have a lesson about Shanghai in the hi-tech language lab by Edward. Thus, meeting most of the girls (Carrie seemed to have ceased existing), we were escorted to a language lab to see a documentary about Shanghai on a impressively large projector screen. After unanimously choosing English as the language of choice (with the exception of Swee the wunderkind, who voted for Chinese… argh), we sat back to enjoy the film. However, this film was one of those shameless extended advertisements for their respective cities, which was very informative albeit cringeworthy and
painfully flowery. Also, the fact that it was an English translation of an originally Chinese documentary, it also included several American-accented comments that could only avoid mass derision from its viewers if in its original Chinese language track: “Look at the Huangpu River: it looks like a long wavy ribbon of fortune, luck and prosperity, leading us to the bright future of wealth and happiness.” Very nice. Moreover, the documentary was littered with several characteristically Asian-styled tunes: the kinds that begin with a slick and jazzy Ocean’s-Eleven-like introduction, only to morph into a screechy oboe version of ‘Fur Elise’. Great.

When the bell rang, we quickly abandoned the disturbingly interested and intrigued Ms Buckman with Mr Wang and Edward in the language lab, while we escaped the video and headed back to class. After lunch at the canteen, we headed off to 书城 (aptly translated to Book City) to purchase dirt cheap real DVDs, stationery and of course, books. Led by Mr Wang, the Shanghai guru, we walked to the store and eventually ended up in the lobby of a vast and extravagant book store. Boasting a high ceiling and several separate adjoining stores, we passed countless guards, people and of course, rows upon rows of artistically stacked books. The lobby alone was colossal, and was twice or three times the floor size of the comparatively modest Borders at Knox City (and I thought that was large). Reaching a packed escalator, I was stunned to find that 书城 had no less than seven floors in total. If Nancy were to see this…

As some girls were bestowed with ATM cards instead of cold hard Chinese cash, Mr Wang took them out to exchange their money at the bank. Hence, I located the stationery section on the map and made my way to buy some more FAS without the company of my comrades Swee and Lora. Browsing the store and spotting the location of the stationery, I passed several staring and pointing shop assistants (the unsubtlety of Chinese people will never cease to shock and amaze me: when they stare, they stare and do not stop for anything) and listened to the raspy exclamations of “Ga Ze! Ga Ze!”, which, I figured, was Ge Zhi in Shanghainese (the pointing at my badge made it slightly obvious). Turning my back to them, I avoided any eye contact and began searching through stationery to find decently scented pens. After scoffing at the four yuan pens (yes, yes, I have become a stingy Asian), I purchased some cheaper FAS, whilst inevitably, being quizzed in Chinese about my impressive school uniform and academic origins. After having my slightly improved Aussie Chinese marvelled at by the shop ladies, I dashed out with a bloated ego and bloated bag of smelly pens.

After that, I tried more shops for stationery and books to do with Chinese culture. Yes, next year’s detailed study is oh-so daunting, although Eileen was so sweet in helping me choose Chinese calligraphy from my stack of cultural pamphlets from the museum the day before. Unfortunately, it also happened to be the one that I had stupidly taken from the Japanese section (what?! They look the same!), so Eileen took time off her mountainous stack of homework (if Australians ever ever ever complain about Maths Methods homework again, I swear I will ship you to Shanghai) and helped me allocate the speaking time for this subject. Meanwhile, I played ‘帅不帅?’ (the Chinese equivalent of ‘Hot or Not?’) with her and read ‘Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul’, where I swooned during the relationships and love section in spite of Chinglish (this consists of excruciatingly bad grammar, spelling mistakes and even letters that were written the wrong way around on giant billboards) disguised as American-penned anecdotes. I mean, the Americans bastardise the English language, sure, but not the extent of “Me love him long time”. This was in spite of the fact that I had cruelly teased her about a half-an-hour long phone call to one of her best friends, Andy (“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? Isn’t he?! ISN’T HE?!?!). Well done to ‘Mello, the Psycho Bitcho’ (the name I had earned on the bus trip to Hangzhou).

Anyway, digression aside, I eventually found myself on a high floor (albeit with the same amount of browsers as well as ‘erudites’ reading – not buying – tomes not-so furtively against the rails of the escalators) looking at the considerable collection of DVDs and VCDs in stock. I stole someone’s basket and eagerly loaded it with fluffy rom-coms; trashy Hollywood blockbludgers and the odd Chinese hit (in spite of it being made specially for Western Audiences) just to make it look authentic. However, although I had not yet seen the mega-hyped flop that was ‘The Da Vinci Code’ as well as the fact that buying the authentic DVD in China was actually cheaper than renting it in Australia, I avoided it for rather well-known reasons.

During this, I ran into Eva Chen, the cute little Asian (as they usually are) from Physics and GM*. In shock, I dragged her around to show her off to the FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers), much to their own exclamations of astonishment. It’s a small world… but it’s simply burgeoning with Chinese people.

Then, I was joined by Lora and Swee fresh from the bank, and spent an hour simply perusing the collection (and being alarmed at the pervasiveness of VCDs relative to the tiny corner of DVDs) and unsuccessfully deciphering the arcane code that is written Chinese to figure out whether or not it had an English track or English subtitles. As a result of this, I ended up rejecting half my hoard. However, I did manage to get a few, and spent about 140 yuan in total for about six DVDs (about 20 yuan a piece). After this, we navigated through the floors one by one in search of bilingual books, stationery (we eventually returned to the same shop and again received several stares, albeit colder for some reason) and Harry Potter (the first) in Chinese (which was half the size and more than half the price). Although we did have to do this all in Chinese (for the sanity of our Chinese teacher, Ms Liu) and encounter a cold (probably xenophobic) checkout guy, we enjoyed the splurge on cheap but quality goods. Who wouldn’t?

After meeting the rest at the bottom floor (and again marvelling at its gigantic size), we shared our experiences and most importantly, our purchases around, which included Chinese romance novels sporting several appearances of fobby emoticons such as >_< and ^_^”; anime (well, it is an Asian country) and makeup magazines (although vaguely following Chinese instructions could lead to a Donatella-Versace-like countenance).

We returned to Ge Zhi at 4pm carrying heavy loads of literary and filmic gold, which was when we were to go to the Tea Art room near the sports centre to see the Tea Ceremony.

We entered a lavishly furnished room (I’m sorry about the photos, but I will put them up once I get someone else’s) with polished tea tables and chairs; gorgeous oriental decorations and trinkets; bamboo ornaments; authentic Chinese paintings and a special kitchen area for making tea. It was absolutely palatial, and even included a widescreen TV at the front. What more can you ask for? After snapping innumerable photos at every possible angle, we seated ourselves before the table and met the tea makers (I also happened to run into Eileen and Doris, my previous exchange student, who just happened to be there for some untold reason).

Quite a while after everyone arrived, we finally began. Seated next to a Tea Art student (again, no photos yet), we all watched in awe as a model student of sorts sat in front of the special tea art table (which was conveniently fitted with a vent for spilt tea) and performed the Tea Ceremony whilst the teacher commentated. This consisted of solidly set methods and order of preparation, and was to be performed with graceful and fluid hand movements. Although this was all rather tedious (they had to spend ludicrous amounts of time ‘washing’ the condensation off the inside of the cup by rotating it and using the boiling water inside to ‘wash’ it off) and hypnotic, it was aesthetically pleasing and did eventually produce an exquisite cup of tea.

After bidding our tea makers goodbye and enjoying the subtle tastes and personalities of each individual glass of tea (yes, a minor's wine), we retreated to the back of the room. Pulling out some ancient oriental costumes (resembling the outfits of the stereotypically screechy dynastic dramas Chinese people call television), Kathryn (it actually suited her really well), Swee and Shermayne squeezed into the ‘one-size-fits-all’ costumes whilst Mr Wang attempted to convince us to try on a male jacket: “Don’t be silly! It’s for girls!”. However, after Ms Buckman pulled it on in order to further embrace Chinese (albeit male…) culture, we again launched into an extended photo session. Moreover, Yin Ling and Mao Ling tried on the headdresses and took head shots to appear to be a screechy monarch without the hassle of dressing up. That is what I call intelligence, especially when you see (no photos!!!) the amount of clothing.

However, the video camera permanently and seemingly surgically attached to Ms Buckman’s hand throughout the entire trip didn’t exactly enhance the dynastic atmosphere.

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: Insert bitter-toned “I don’t know anymore.” However, it was roughly 30 including others’.

Statue Whore Count: 2 (by the way, this is another new concept, which involves pictures of me in mid-pash with random male statues. Good times… except that I lost one).

Random Scream Count: 2 (no videos either, but I remember roughly).

Labels: Blog, Chinese Exchange, Outings, School

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