The Chinese Opera in Changzhou

Why not experience the Chinese Opera once in a lifetime? We were expecting 3 hours of agony for our eardrums but it turned out to be ok, notwithstanding the total incomprehesion of the story (which was subtitled on the sides of the stage: in Chinese, of course).

Luckily the rich sceneries and costumes and the (for me) unusual public keeps me alert: my neighbour is snoring, someone behind me is singing along with the singers, others are noisily eating seeds, commenting what's happening on the stage aloud. We reach a climax when a cat crosses the stage. A lot of people are strolling down the aisle, back and forth. Everybody is wearing their jackets, gloves and hats, since the theatre is not heated. At the end of the play, most of the people get up and exit the theatre, not giving a damn about the applause.

CBC and the Xmas Party

Nobody in Changzhou cares about Christmas: only the hotels for foreigners and Pizza Hut put decorations on.

In honour of us expatriates, CBC-Iveco organizes a Xmas party (see pictures). Those who have already had the pleasure last year, carefully avoid taking part in it this time; being new and naive I am given the full treatment:

- company trip to the enormous Budda statue just out of Wuxi

- huge lunch at the restaurant (the luck of the draw makes me sit next to the driver of the bus, who continuously fills up my dish, leaving me no alternative but to eat up everything - and I guarantee you it is a lot)

- transfer to the party location, where some 'funny' of games take place, with expatriates playing against Chinese

- neverending karaoke session where my office neighbour sings in a high, unbearable voice

- dancing session at the sound of unidentified music. The general manager invites me for a slow dance and against every social and hierarchical rule I escape and go play ping pong next door

- every expatriate receives a dancing Santa Claus - very very very tacky

- huge dinner with enormous quantities of food, only 4 hours after the devastating launch at the restaurant. The Brazilians cook Churrasco on top of it.

When they bring us home at 8 pm it feels like 2 am to me.

New Year in Hong Kong

Western New Year is nothing special, for the Chinese. At night, though, the streets of Hong Kong get overcrowded by hundreds of thousands of people, all perfectly sober and peaceful, and the police organizes "Don't Push" and "No Waiting" signs.(see pictures)

We don't make it to Times Square because a wall of people blocks us 2 blocks away. Looking for a nice spot where to toast to the new year (new year's toast? nobody seems to care) we end up toasting on the footbridge over the highway! Ten minutes after midnight everybody is already on their way home, at twenty past they're dismantelling the stage in Times Square and the local televisions are filming the road-sweepers and the garbage on the streets.

The One Child Law

Since many of you asked me about this, here is what I know about this Chinese law.

From the 1980s the Chinese government decided to get the fast growth in population under control, by introducing the One Child Law. Every couple in China is allowed to give birth only to one child. Couples who break this law are fined a very high amount of money, for the average Chinese. Couples of only children are allowed to have more than one child, but only with an interval of 4 years between one and the other.

The young couples you see in Changzhou all have just one child and I must say I find it a bit sad (notwithstanding me being an only child, too). In the countryside, hospital vans (Iveco Daily!) help mothers to deliver their first child and make them sterile straight after. It also seems that this law generated an increase in the abortion rate.

A taxi journey

This is the chronicle of a memorable taxi journey from the train station to the airport in Shenzhen. It's difficult to put into writing what we've experienced (and inhaled) but I'll give it a try.

Setting: it's 8 pm of the first of January, Davide and me have just re-entered China from Hong Kong and are happy to be back into the real China, much more disorganized, but also more genuine.

The taxi that picks us up arrives with a high, welcoming noise. We leave for the airport. After 5 minutes we start noticing a strong smell of exhaust gases. Maybe it comes from outside? We close the windows. The automatic doorlock starts activating every 2 seconds, adding tension to the situation.

The exhaust gas definitely comes from the inside of the car: quick, let's re-open the windows! The oxygen situation doesn't improve, I consider talking to the taxi driver , but for obvious communication reasons I decide to leave it (good choice, considering the epilogue).

We enter the highway. Davide and I exchange looks and try to make jokes about the situation, but laughing makes us breath more and we really can't waste any oxygen. The taxi has now become a gas chamber, freezing with the windows open at 100 km/h on the highway doesn't improve the quality of the air. The monoxide level is increasing and the meter scaringly signs only "40" when we know that the full ride will cost us about 110.

It becomes obvious that the driver is a zombie. We're in the middle of nothing, on a dark desert highway (excuse the quotation), breathing through our clothes and ensuring at intervals that the other is still alive.

We reach the toll and breath deeply, stretching out of the windows. We finally reach our destination, exhausted and intoxicated.

I want to pay.

The meter says "98" and I give 100. The driver starts talking pointing at the meter and the note I gave him. I say: “Ting bu dong” (=I don’t understand). I notice that he is waving a small piece of paper: it must be the highway receipt.

"How much?" - I ask him, gesticulating at the same time.

He doesn't understand.

I make him the gesture to write it. No reaction.

I show him the money. Blank.

I give him paper and pen, he takes them but hasn't a clue what to do with them.

At the same time, he's convulsively waving the receipt at me.

QUANTO CAVOLO VUOI?

Now I'm talking Italian.

No reaction.

I try saying some hypothetical amounts in Chinese, nothing.

Look, we've arrived to destination, after a (hell of a) taxi journey, I'm leaving, I have money in my hand... WHAT COULD I BE POSSIBLY ASKING YOU?

The guard that protects Chinese taxi drivers keeps me from shaking him.

I get out, walk around the car and take the recipt from his hand.

15 Yuan.

Exasperated, I give him the money, take back paper and pen and write: "98+15". He gapes at me, without a clue.

Oh hell, it must be what he breathes in his taxi....