A great moment occurred in cricket history the other day.
The Bashers CC is well known for giving people a go. This past weekend we had a Swiss , Italian, German and Frency all making the debuts in cricket a true toast the global community which we live in.
We had been put into bat by the other team. We had freely volunteered our German to fill in for the other team who were short a fielder.
The French guy had had a particularly rough night the evening before. so much so that after an hour in the sun he feel asleep behind fine leg. Not being familiar with the rules of cricket he was unaware he fallen asleep in the field of play.
The German was slightly annoyed that the French guy had decided to sleep where he was fielding so tried a few times to wake him up. Our captain then gave him a couple of prods with a one of the stumps but still nothing.
However, Frank the Frenchy was out to the world. An over later the German decided more severe tactics might be required. In what will go down as the greatest moment in crciket The German took a few paces back and with a bit of a run up, ran at him shouting “Zee Germans are coming’ The Frenchman lay still and unresponsive on the ground, to which one of lads yelled. “That was the same reaction they gave last time” Just magic.
Monday, June 23, 2008
p before you q
One thing I don't understand is why there are queues in places. Sure when there is limited supply of resources, then it is inevitable that there will be a bit of a bottle neck. But surely people should do their best to make everyones life easier. Its just the good guy thing to do. As I write this I am waiting in the work permit hall at the entry and exit visa establishment in Pu Dong. The digital board is flashing red, a new number, 274, counter 6. I check that against my ticket, which just like then ten check before, still reads 456. At a rate of an update every 5 minutes. I know I will be here for a while. The average wait is about 2 hours here. They have had the courtesy to deck it out like an airport waiting lounge so you have a seat. As I look around every seat is full. This suggests they are well aware that this many people will be waiting. So why not put more people on the desks? There must be no Chinese equivalent of Sherlock.
From a quick count there are 20 desks to conduct the processing, of which about four are manned. (or womaned if I want to maintain the high PC integrity of this blog). Now last time I checked China wasn’t exactly in the middle of a labor force shortage.
Case in point two nights ago a nice lady happily spent 30 minutes cleaning 25 years worth of debris from my ears for the handsome sum of $1.80. So, I would have to assume that the current lack of staff is due to it being lunchtime. However, that is not a great excuse in fact it is not even a bad excuse. It is just no excuse. This is exactly the palaver they get up to at LAX immigration. Who cares about this 747 full of foreigners, I need another doughnut. Actually there might be some Americans on there so we better give them a special section with a one officer per passenger.
I have heard it said the patience is a virtue. Sure, I am happy to try and develop some of that. But how about the knobs and eggs doing the roosters meet me half way so I don’t have to spend my life tapping my toe waiting for them to join the party.
From a quick count there are 20 desks to conduct the processing, of which about four are manned. (or womaned if I want to maintain the high PC integrity of this blog). Now last time I checked China wasn’t exactly in the middle of a labor force shortage.
Case in point two nights ago a nice lady happily spent 30 minutes cleaning 25 years worth of debris from my ears for the handsome sum of $1.80. So, I would have to assume that the current lack of staff is due to it being lunchtime. However, that is not a great excuse in fact it is not even a bad excuse. It is just no excuse. This is exactly the palaver they get up to at LAX immigration. Who cares about this 747 full of foreigners, I need another doughnut. Actually there might be some Americans on there so we better give them a special section with a one officer per passenger.
I have heard it said the patience is a virtue. Sure, I am happy to try and develop some of that. But how about the knobs and eggs doing the roosters meet me half way so I don’t have to spend my life tapping my toe waiting for them to join the party.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Rain drops keep falling on my head
I hope you enjoyed my last installment about the smells of Shanghai. I wont take it too personally that you were far keener to hear me find creative ways to describe nostril invasion than hear my collective words of wisdom. No doubt I will try and dispense this over the course of the next few blogs.
It’s rainy season here at the moment. One thing growing up in Wellington taught me is that umbrellas are a complete waste of time. No sooner had you got it out in Welly than the wind had blown it back inside itself. On a moderate gust day every rubbish bins along Lambton Quay would be sporting 3 or 4 umbrella trophy’s. Persistence was certainly not going to pay off in this scenario.
So my lack of habitual umbrella possession has frequently caught me out. But now that I have accepted that it is going to rain everyday it makes it slightly easier to remember.
If biking wasn’t dangerous enough, the other day I was doing it one handed whilst wielding my umbrella. It would occasionally be filled with a wind gust that would pull me ground ward or into oncoming traffic. Believe me this idea is stupider than it sounds and I have since given it the chop. Marry Poppins made it look so easy. Everyone else has these heavy-duty covers that go over them and their bikes. I need to get one.
Last weekend I rode my bike to a shoot we were doing. When I went to leave it was absolutely hosing down.
It would have been raining cats and dogs but the got eaten already.
There wasn’t really much point in dilly-dallying. As I stood there looking at what seemed like the start of the great flood I pondered my options. Alas, for my bike and I (that sounds like a place in Kapiti) there was no other way than to bite the bullet. By my calculations I was pretty sure I would get home and be about 50% soaked and slightly less if I biked quickly and got favorable lights.
Before I reached the end of the driveway I was wetter than a submarine. There was thunder and lightening blasting down and I was pretty much drowning on two wheels.
The gutters on either side of the road were almost overflowing into each other. Meanwhile the lightening and thunder is just going for it. I picked up the pace, as the increasing number of lightening bolts combined with me riding in water, was an concept I was not too enthusiastic about. I took refuge on the tiled footpath, under the trees (safe from the lightening).
However, this particular stretch of footpath was that all-weather tile stuff.
As I approached an intersection my hair wax crust had abandoned my hair was making a run for it down into my eyes.
I needed to slow to make a slight right turn to get back on to the road
However, as soon as I applied a little bit of brakes my tires didn’t find any traction. I was suddenly horizontal and sliding with great ease and momentum across the tiles. It wasn't time to get all nostalgic but my mind flashed back to our 1980’s Taupo holiday slippery slide. I finally stopped when a puddle offered enough resistance. So I was now in dire need of a snorkel.
I got up and wrung myself off (context makes this phrase fine) and got back on my bike. And gunned it home down the middle of the road. When I got back to the garage under my apartment I realized my bike lock had been lost. Figuring it had probably come off in the spill. I then had to go back out in the deluge to go and retrieve. It, which was a ten-minute return journey. not stoked to be soaked.
I would like to go back to the all weather tile situation. Wellington has got particularly bad in recent Urban developments. How difficult can it be to pave the footpath with bricks or tiles? The base requirements are looks nice, and works in wet and dry conditions. On a dry day, no worries. On wet day most of these pedestrian areas become a natural selection accelerator. The amount of times I have lost my footing and turned to the observing bystander and said 'aw, that was close' or 'wopsy daisy'
Why do we always feel compelled to make some inane comment to that guy anyway? I guess there must be some kind of camaraderie in that fleeting moment. It’s a kind of a, I know, that you know, that I almost wasted myself bond. A special bond you share between him, you and that funny feeling that shot up your loins and into your puku.
It’s rainy season here at the moment. One thing growing up in Wellington taught me is that umbrellas are a complete waste of time. No sooner had you got it out in Welly than the wind had blown it back inside itself. On a moderate gust day every rubbish bins along Lambton Quay would be sporting 3 or 4 umbrella trophy’s. Persistence was certainly not going to pay off in this scenario.
So my lack of habitual umbrella possession has frequently caught me out. But now that I have accepted that it is going to rain everyday it makes it slightly easier to remember.
If biking wasn’t dangerous enough, the other day I was doing it one handed whilst wielding my umbrella. It would occasionally be filled with a wind gust that would pull me ground ward or into oncoming traffic. Believe me this idea is stupider than it sounds and I have since given it the chop. Marry Poppins made it look so easy. Everyone else has these heavy-duty covers that go over them and their bikes. I need to get one.
Last weekend I rode my bike to a shoot we were doing. When I went to leave it was absolutely hosing down.
It would have been raining cats and dogs but the got eaten already.
There wasn’t really much point in dilly-dallying. As I stood there looking at what seemed like the start of the great flood I pondered my options. Alas, for my bike and I (that sounds like a place in Kapiti) there was no other way than to bite the bullet. By my calculations I was pretty sure I would get home and be about 50% soaked and slightly less if I biked quickly and got favorable lights.
Before I reached the end of the driveway I was wetter than a submarine. There was thunder and lightening blasting down and I was pretty much drowning on two wheels.
The gutters on either side of the road were almost overflowing into each other. Meanwhile the lightening and thunder is just going for it. I picked up the pace, as the increasing number of lightening bolts combined with me riding in water, was an concept I was not too enthusiastic about. I took refuge on the tiled footpath, under the trees (safe from the lightening).
However, this particular stretch of footpath was that all-weather tile stuff.
As I approached an intersection my hair wax crust had abandoned my hair was making a run for it down into my eyes.
I needed to slow to make a slight right turn to get back on to the road
However, as soon as I applied a little bit of brakes my tires didn’t find any traction. I was suddenly horizontal and sliding with great ease and momentum across the tiles. It wasn't time to get all nostalgic but my mind flashed back to our 1980’s Taupo holiday slippery slide. I finally stopped when a puddle offered enough resistance. So I was now in dire need of a snorkel.
I got up and wrung myself off (context makes this phrase fine) and got back on my bike. And gunned it home down the middle of the road. When I got back to the garage under my apartment I realized my bike lock had been lost. Figuring it had probably come off in the spill. I then had to go back out in the deluge to go and retrieve. It, which was a ten-minute return journey. not stoked to be soaked.
I would like to go back to the all weather tile situation. Wellington has got particularly bad in recent Urban developments. How difficult can it be to pave the footpath with bricks or tiles? The base requirements are looks nice, and works in wet and dry conditions. On a dry day, no worries. On wet day most of these pedestrian areas become a natural selection accelerator. The amount of times I have lost my footing and turned to the observing bystander and said 'aw, that was close' or 'wopsy daisy'
Why do we always feel compelled to make some inane comment to that guy anyway? I guess there must be some kind of camaraderie in that fleeting moment. It’s a kind of a, I know, that you know, that I almost wasted myself bond. A special bond you share between him, you and that funny feeling that shot up your loins and into your puku.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Get your sniff on.
After months of extensive nasal research I am pretty sure I have got it down packed. This type of account has never been published in the tourist guides of Shanghai. The raw truth to potent to be legal. So please allow me to elaborate where the Lonely Planet dare not go.
There are four tones that form the basis of the Mandarin language. I have also discovered that there are coincidently four basics smells, which make up that atmosphere in Shanghai. But before we go into those we need to establish the neutral every day smells. These are the base fragrances that fill the air.
There is the Alpha smell here. Which smells like you have been to Great Aunty Mavis’s house and pulled an encyclopedia from 1954 off the shelf. As you peel back the cover and open it, swordfish scatter off the type. You are overcome by a musty plume, that is not at all palatable. This asthmatics delight is the basic smell, which gives the air its underlying chewable quality.
There is a Beta smell which is stronger and even out musters, musty book. It is dirty old cigarette smoke. Every chinaman loves his cancer sticks. The varieties are heaps stronger and lung munting. This smell can usually be avoided with a side step. Which returns you back to musty book. But, in a bar or local restaurant longevity of the lungs takes a back seat as, live in the now runs the show.
So the prevailing smells are Musty book and nasty nicotine . But more often than not they are interrupted by something even more special. These are the 4 tones that turn your streetly saunter to a light canter. Your body usually votes with its feet long before your nose has regained consciousness. Make sure you have a good pair of sneakers when one of the following smells enters stage right.
The first is chicken coop.
This smell takes me back. It is straw, mixed with caked-on wheat and grain filled chicken poop. Made even more potent when the egg collection run is done in the heat of a balmy mid thirties afternoon.
The next is a real chest tightener. It goes through the nose and deep into the lungs. I liken it to the sensory exhilaration one would get if you found yourself eating olives stuffed with blue vein goat cheese whilst your head is buried in a vacuum cleaner bag. Your nose staggers to regain consciousness and you become incredible thirsty.
Now I wish to say that chicken coop and blue vein dust bag are over in whiff. But many a time have I expectantly taken a deep breath of musty book only to find that I am still within range of the chicken coop. It’s not good.
This next smell is usually over in a flash but not before it has shaken out of you your will to live. This one smells like a giraffe has taken a number two in an old pair running shoes. This is the one that makes you stop and check you haven’t soiled your own pants.
The last is the old favorite used nappy on a gas cooker. This has hints of mashed pumpkin mixed with baby poo burning in a disposable nappy. Whilst the smell is obviously unpleasant it's the warmth it brings to the nasal passage. The warmth of the gas cooker really ads to the flare. Due to the initially quite savory aroma of pumpkin it usually has a Trojan horse effect. Ones unsuspecting nose is tricked into thinking it is being offered a welcome reprieve from musty book or cancer sticks. The nose widens the nostrils and it is in Pinocchio heaven for a split second before it becomes aware of its tragic mistake. It’s too late to start up the extractor fan or light a match now. So I start the engines and start to gallop.
Through all of these the locals sit around eating and conversing amongst the smell, blissfully unphased by the fact that Armageddon may have just begun.
So rest assured my nose is having a real adventure over here. Whilst my eyes have been left holding the short straw. Due to the dreary grey of the pollution there is pretty much no vibrancy to the colors here.
I am sure what would happen if normal people started reading my blog. I am also sure China Tourism would put me on the block. However,I really do think Shanghai could be a lot more proactive with its pollution mitigation policy. I might invite the mayor out for lunch and take him on a guided nasal tour.
There are four tones that form the basis of the Mandarin language. I have also discovered that there are coincidently four basics smells, which make up that atmosphere in Shanghai. But before we go into those we need to establish the neutral every day smells. These are the base fragrances that fill the air.
There is the Alpha smell here. Which smells like you have been to Great Aunty Mavis’s house and pulled an encyclopedia from 1954 off the shelf. As you peel back the cover and open it, swordfish scatter off the type. You are overcome by a musty plume, that is not at all palatable. This asthmatics delight is the basic smell, which gives the air its underlying chewable quality.
There is a Beta smell which is stronger and even out musters, musty book. It is dirty old cigarette smoke. Every chinaman loves his cancer sticks. The varieties are heaps stronger and lung munting. This smell can usually be avoided with a side step. Which returns you back to musty book. But, in a bar or local restaurant longevity of the lungs takes a back seat as, live in the now runs the show.
So the prevailing smells are Musty book and nasty nicotine . But more often than not they are interrupted by something even more special. These are the 4 tones that turn your streetly saunter to a light canter. Your body usually votes with its feet long before your nose has regained consciousness. Make sure you have a good pair of sneakers when one of the following smells enters stage right.
The first is chicken coop.
This smell takes me back. It is straw, mixed with caked-on wheat and grain filled chicken poop. Made even more potent when the egg collection run is done in the heat of a balmy mid thirties afternoon.
The next is a real chest tightener. It goes through the nose and deep into the lungs. I liken it to the sensory exhilaration one would get if you found yourself eating olives stuffed with blue vein goat cheese whilst your head is buried in a vacuum cleaner bag. Your nose staggers to regain consciousness and you become incredible thirsty.
Now I wish to say that chicken coop and blue vein dust bag are over in whiff. But many a time have I expectantly taken a deep breath of musty book only to find that I am still within range of the chicken coop. It’s not good.
This next smell is usually over in a flash but not before it has shaken out of you your will to live. This one smells like a giraffe has taken a number two in an old pair running shoes. This is the one that makes you stop and check you haven’t soiled your own pants.
The last is the old favorite used nappy on a gas cooker. This has hints of mashed pumpkin mixed with baby poo burning in a disposable nappy. Whilst the smell is obviously unpleasant it's the warmth it brings to the nasal passage. The warmth of the gas cooker really ads to the flare. Due to the initially quite savory aroma of pumpkin it usually has a Trojan horse effect. Ones unsuspecting nose is tricked into thinking it is being offered a welcome reprieve from musty book or cancer sticks. The nose widens the nostrils and it is in Pinocchio heaven for a split second before it becomes aware of its tragic mistake. It’s too late to start up the extractor fan or light a match now. So I start the engines and start to gallop.
Through all of these the locals sit around eating and conversing amongst the smell, blissfully unphased by the fact that Armageddon may have just begun.
So rest assured my nose is having a real adventure over here. Whilst my eyes have been left holding the short straw. Due to the dreary grey of the pollution there is pretty much no vibrancy to the colors here.
I am sure what would happen if normal people started reading my blog. I am also sure China Tourism would put me on the block. However,I really do think Shanghai could be a lot more proactive with its pollution mitigation policy. I might invite the mayor out for lunch and take him on a guided nasal tour.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The boy who cried towering inferno.
Rightio.
Back in the writing saddle.
I would like to take a moment to thank you my loyal readers for tuning in to read my blog. It is nice to know you are there. Because for once in my life, the conversations that happen in my head on a fairly regular basis now have a reason to get out. That sentence should probably raise some concerns for most of you. However, This blog certainly contributes to keeping me sane in this city. So thanks for reading. I am encouraged by your intermittent feedback so don’t be afraid to drop me a sneaky comment or two.
I need to apologies for the distinct lack of photos accompanying the blog. There is almost more going on visually than there is nasally here. I suggest one can get an authentic nasal sense of the blog if you step in a dog poo just before you sit down to read.
But visually it is hard for ones imagination to get on board. Especially when my explanations are anything but, to the point.
The short of it is my camera went patu after about 20 photos. I have taken it in to be serviced today. I have booked the camera, so the photos will come.
Well enough of the emo, what shall we discuss today.
I learnt a new way to make a dick out of ones self yesterday. I thought I had given this a good nudge already. But unsurprisingly there is plenty of gas left in the how- to-make-a-spectacle-out-of-yourself tank.
I was talking on the phone as the sun started making its return journey back to the horizon. I was looking out the window and as I turned my head I let out as a gasp as my eyes refocused. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There were raging orange flames filling the windows of a building across the way.
I quickly surveyed the office for any sign of reaction from my thirty or so present colleagues. They all seemed blissfully unaware that this towering inferno was taking place.
I’ll admit to getting a little bit excited, because there is always something about being the one to deliver the news. I grabbed the opportunity by the horns.
I ran to the window and shouted ‘oh my goodness there is a fire’
When I got to the window the flames now appeared to also be licking the adjacent building’s windows too. I yelled again, this time almost cracking a high note. My escalating excitement rattled around the room.
With everyone’s now undivided attention I looked back towards the building, my face pressed against the window. My excitement turns to bemusement as I realize the first building is no longer ‘on fire’. It is in fact in perfect health. Now I have twenty or so colleagues gazing at me, rather than at my fire.
With a captive audience demanding to see fire I start searching for answers.
I take a step back to my original vantage point and suddenly it is on fire again.
I look to my right and see the low setting Shanghai sun. It is burning a fiery orange as it angrily tries to break through the smog.
Turns out it was all just smoke and mirrors, the old orange sun reflection chestnut. It was very convincing and it certainly had me hook line a sinker.
All my momentarily alarmed colleagues gave me a slightly unnerving sympathetic look before returning to their work.
So a bit of a shocker really. Next time I will be sure to double check if I think something is on fire. Because I am only another false alarm from being the boy who cried wolf.
As this blog winds to an end it is time for me to put my pen to rest but let my imagination run wild. For my next blog topic it's readers choice. Option A is a blog post dedicated to trying to classify the different phylum of smells in Shanghai. or Option B is my collection of wisdom based on the things your mother didn't get around to telling you.
In the words of captain Planet - The power is yours'. (Pertinent quote given to day is Earth Day 2008)
Back in the writing saddle.
I would like to take a moment to thank you my loyal readers for tuning in to read my blog. It is nice to know you are there. Because for once in my life, the conversations that happen in my head on a fairly regular basis now have a reason to get out. That sentence should probably raise some concerns for most of you. However, This blog certainly contributes to keeping me sane in this city. So thanks for reading. I am encouraged by your intermittent feedback so don’t be afraid to drop me a sneaky comment or two.
I need to apologies for the distinct lack of photos accompanying the blog. There is almost more going on visually than there is nasally here. I suggest one can get an authentic nasal sense of the blog if you step in a dog poo just before you sit down to read.
But visually it is hard for ones imagination to get on board. Especially when my explanations are anything but, to the point.
The short of it is my camera went patu after about 20 photos. I have taken it in to be serviced today. I have booked the camera, so the photos will come.
Well enough of the emo, what shall we discuss today.
I learnt a new way to make a dick out of ones self yesterday. I thought I had given this a good nudge already. But unsurprisingly there is plenty of gas left in the how- to-make-a-spectacle-out-of-yourself tank.
I was talking on the phone as the sun started making its return journey back to the horizon. I was looking out the window and as I turned my head I let out as a gasp as my eyes refocused. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. There were raging orange flames filling the windows of a building across the way.
I quickly surveyed the office for any sign of reaction from my thirty or so present colleagues. They all seemed blissfully unaware that this towering inferno was taking place.
I’ll admit to getting a little bit excited, because there is always something about being the one to deliver the news. I grabbed the opportunity by the horns.
I ran to the window and shouted ‘oh my goodness there is a fire’
When I got to the window the flames now appeared to also be licking the adjacent building’s windows too. I yelled again, this time almost cracking a high note. My escalating excitement rattled around the room.
With everyone’s now undivided attention I looked back towards the building, my face pressed against the window. My excitement turns to bemusement as I realize the first building is no longer ‘on fire’. It is in fact in perfect health. Now I have twenty or so colleagues gazing at me, rather than at my fire.
With a captive audience demanding to see fire I start searching for answers.
I take a step back to my original vantage point and suddenly it is on fire again.
I look to my right and see the low setting Shanghai sun. It is burning a fiery orange as it angrily tries to break through the smog.
Turns out it was all just smoke and mirrors, the old orange sun reflection chestnut. It was very convincing and it certainly had me hook line a sinker.
All my momentarily alarmed colleagues gave me a slightly unnerving sympathetic look before returning to their work.
So a bit of a shocker really. Next time I will be sure to double check if I think something is on fire. Because I am only another false alarm from being the boy who cried wolf.
As this blog winds to an end it is time for me to put my pen to rest but let my imagination run wild. For my next blog topic it's readers choice. Option A is a blog post dedicated to trying to classify the different phylum of smells in Shanghai. or Option B is my collection of wisdom based on the things your mother didn't get around to telling you.
In the words of captain Planet - The power is yours'. (Pertinent quote given to day is Earth Day 2008)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Accquistions and Mergers
I have been acquiring a few DVD’s and I plan to catch up on all the seasons of Boston Legal over the next month. I will then move on to demolishing the rest of House. No matter how much time I have up my sleeve I will never ever start watching Lost. Unless, I was in a particularly ironic mood. And was granted a choice of one form of entertainment before being marooned on a deserted island. However, the novelty of my humor would soon wear off. I would then be forced to live in the torment of watching a pointless show the scriptwriters have no idea how to finish. Lost is a good reason the writers strike should have remained a classic case of lets agree to disagree.
Last night I acquired myself a bicycle. It is a classic one gear, ready-to-go cruiser bike. It unfortunately weighs a metric tonne, which is pain in the elevator (see what I did there) But with our combined weights it should give me a fighting chance in my inevitable head on with a stray taxi.
There is not one piece of evidence to support the notion that riding a bicycle in Shangahi is a safe idea. No greater irreverence has ever been shown for the saddle, towards ones personal well being. At least not since male, soap-dodging, naturalists, took to riding horses bare-back.
But if I wish to explore this giant of a city there is no better means than on bike back. Wish me luck. I hope to live to tell the stories. The positive side is this should definitely increase my photo opportunities. So stay tuned.
I am also acquiring a little bit of Mandarin at the moment. I have discovered that if I take lessons I will learn faster. This is proving far more productive than my immersion and highly favored osmosis techniques. It is a touch frustrating currently because you have to learn how to make all the Chinese sounds. Most of which do not come that naturally at all and they often sound exactly the same.
The four tones thing is a touch tricky. This is where every vowel has 4 different ways of being pronounced which completely changes what the words mean. However, this brings more joy to Chinese than anything else in the world. They just love listening to the La Wai trying to speak in Chinese.
The efficiency created by every word having at least four different meanings also makes this language the most open to pun’s. I can’t wait to learn them and purposefully use them incorrectly all the time.
I am prioritizing learning how to bargain in Mandarin. I will then leverage my ‘I am local’ status to avoid paying Lao Wai prices.
The only merger to speak off seems to be the one between my large and small intestines. With the small one forgetting its job and letting everything in sundry pass through border control without clearing immigration. Someone neglected to tell the Delhi Belly that he is not welcome in Shanghai. Anyhow, Should be good for the quick loss of a couple of kg’s.
Last night I acquired myself a bicycle. It is a classic one gear, ready-to-go cruiser bike. It unfortunately weighs a metric tonne, which is pain in the elevator (see what I did there) But with our combined weights it should give me a fighting chance in my inevitable head on with a stray taxi.
There is not one piece of evidence to support the notion that riding a bicycle in Shangahi is a safe idea. No greater irreverence has ever been shown for the saddle, towards ones personal well being. At least not since male, soap-dodging, naturalists, took to riding horses bare-back.
But if I wish to explore this giant of a city there is no better means than on bike back. Wish me luck. I hope to live to tell the stories. The positive side is this should definitely increase my photo opportunities. So stay tuned.
I am also acquiring a little bit of Mandarin at the moment. I have discovered that if I take lessons I will learn faster. This is proving far more productive than my immersion and highly favored osmosis techniques. It is a touch frustrating currently because you have to learn how to make all the Chinese sounds. Most of which do not come that naturally at all and they often sound exactly the same.
The four tones thing is a touch tricky. This is where every vowel has 4 different ways of being pronounced which completely changes what the words mean. However, this brings more joy to Chinese than anything else in the world. They just love listening to the La Wai trying to speak in Chinese.
The efficiency created by every word having at least four different meanings also makes this language the most open to pun’s. I can’t wait to learn them and purposefully use them incorrectly all the time.
I am prioritizing learning how to bargain in Mandarin. I will then leverage my ‘I am local’ status to avoid paying Lao Wai prices.
The only merger to speak off seems to be the one between my large and small intestines. With the small one forgetting its job and letting everything in sundry pass through border control without clearing immigration. Someone neglected to tell the Delhi Belly that he is not welcome in Shanghai. Anyhow, Should be good for the quick loss of a couple of kg’s.
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