Conspiracy Theory and Rejection Reality
The first time I travelled to Shanghai now seems an eternity away, but by the Gregorian calendar on my desk it was only on the last National Chinese holiday. Then as now I was impressed with the fast trains and although it is about 350 km from Jinhua to Shanghai it still takes about three hours to make the trip because of the five stops along the way, including Yiwu and the capital city of Hongzhou. That makes for an unimpressive average speed although the read out above each car door tells the passengers the top speeds and on this trip we were humming along at 238 km/hr about fifty feet above the landscape on a massive concrete causeway that stretched almost the entire distance from point of origin to my destination city.
The Chinese made the Great Wall, which by the way can not be seen from space any better than our highway 401; they also built the Great “Firewall” which blocks all internet contact with the outside world, truly another marvel of modern technology and they have built an elaborate infrastructure for their fast train network. Did I also mention they have already orbited astronauts around the planet that we share, will circle the moon and soon land on it. How does one say “One small step for mankind...” in Chinese. My how “the times they are a changing”.
On this trip I had made reservations in the Seventh Heaven Hotel on the Nanging Road in central Shanghai. This according to my google map, the Lonely Planet and Agoda my hotel booking site tells me that it is in the hub of the action in this cosmopolitan world class city. I figured if “Cloud Nine” was a good mental place to be then a hotel called “Seventh Heaven” should be right up there, excuse the pun.
It wasn’t.
It is a Chinese hotel, but it did have western toilets for which I was forever grateful. I was on the 16th floor and looking down on the busy street far below people looked like a swarm of ants. I packed my back pack to join the swarm.
Being tall, white, single, and western I stand out as a target. Immediately I was approached by a man who flashed me a card picturing various electronics and asked me in Ginglish if I wanted to buy anything. Not being in the market for an i-pod, cell phone, laptop, or GPS, I passed up on his offer.
Quickly seeing that I was not interested he asked, “Massage?” He took out another card that did not feature any electronic items what-so-ever. Pictured were what appeared to be professional, licensed and well trained masseuses. Not being born yesterday, and given my wide range of experience when it comes to massage and things of this nature I immediately declined his offer of a massage, as I knew at a glance that these girls in the pictures were not certified by any North American standard, and that any massage they had to offer would clearly be sub standard and of a non-therapeutic value. I was not so easily fooled!
As the young Chinese man held the card with the pictures of the women and noting my hesitancy, he added, as if for encouragement or emphasis, “Sex Massage.” My mind raced, Oh I get it and I bet all those electronic devices were also pirated clones of the originals. This guy was clearly not as advertised. My spider senses were on full alert. This situation reminded me of that lovely girl I met on the streets of Honolulu who said she only wanted a coffee and a chat, or that blond in Buffalo with the mini skirt, wasn’t even real leather, or that redhead during spring vacation in Fort Lauderdale who said she needed to get out of the sun would I join her, well you get the idea.
Fortunately, growing up Mennonite has prepared me for these situations and I proceeded to walk along Nanging Road toward the South Bund, but before getting there a distance of about a km I had been offered a range of electronics and women enough to stock my own store and fulfill a life time of fantasies.
Out in the streets I was jostled by the teaming millions, or at least they teamed by the hundreds of thousands. I read that about 18 million people had left the city for the holiday but about the same number arrived, but concentrated around the core of the city making for an explosion of population thereby making Shanghai one of the most densely populated places on Earth, at least for the week I was there.
I sought solace and refuge at a sidewalk bar which kept most people away by virtue of its high prices. I ordered a Corona. It came with a lemon not a lime, but I didn’t really care. I sat there and nursed my drink and watched as the crowds streamed by thousands in both directions. I felt a stirring on my foot and was abruptly brought to my senses. A shoeshine guy with his box of trade kneeled at my feet ready to attend me. I wanted to be left alone. I was wearing suede shoes. Who shines suede shoes? Apparently this guy did and he started right in.
“No, don’t worry, I no charge you. I have five children and I can’t find another job, but you not pay me for the shine.”
I could see where this line of rhetoric was going. I tried to pull my foot back but he was too quick for me and held my ankle in a vise like grip as he looked up at me and smiled. “You pay only what you want. I have no job. I shine shoes. I have five kids.”
Bullshit had this guy not heard of the one child policy. Who the hell has five kids in China? “Listen I have 6 kids and I don’t want by shoes shined, now let me get back to my Corona. You get back to your five kids and leave me alone.”
I gave him 15 yuan for doing nothing and he insisted on 100 (about 16 Cnd) his English suddenly improving as we faced off. I looked him in the eye and calmly said, “There is no fucking way I am giving you 100 yuan for not shining my shoes, take this and go shine your own fucking shoes.”
He went.
I know, language Marty, what were you thinking, but it was hot, I was annoyed, okay it wasn’t justified. I get it. I have my regrets.
I drank my beer, now warm, in mouldering, festering anger. Five kids my ass. But now I was really in the “holiday mood” so I moved on.
The same scam was tried on me about a dozen times between the shoe shine show down and the Bund. It was either electronics or sex massage, or both maybe some enterpriser was selling electronic sex toys, but I never found out. It was hot. My nerves were frayed being jostled around in the crowds. It took over a hundred soldiers to regulate the crowds crossing the streets at each intersection. The place was insane.
I felt a tug at my elbow. My kids may get away with pulling my elbow, but no one else pulls my elbow. “I heard the words that threw me over the edge and into the black abyss. I heard the phrase, “Sex Massage mister”.
I turned with my full force ready to look eye to eye with my solicitor only to realize he was about a foot and half shorter; so I had to look down. I practically yelled at the little guy. “Sex massage, do I look like I want a fucking sex massage...no, NO, NO. A thousand times NO!”
I guess it wasn’t a case of practically yelling. I yelled and the crowd looked in my direction ... the crazy Westerner in their midst and while I couldn’t actually read their thought bubbles above their heads because I was not in a cartoon, but something felt surreal about the situation, I knew what they might be thinking.
I was so pissed. The little guy fled the scene and I walked on through the crowd seeking oblivion not really watching where I was going. I finally reached the Bund and stood in front of a massive statue of Chairman Mao wearing a great coat and smiling at the crowds. He looked content like he had just had a sex massage, in fact, and I was beginning to think that maybe I needed one too, or at least a shoe shine. It might calm me down.
“Chairman Mao,” I said talking to the statue trying not to move my lips so no one could tell that I was going mad. “What happened to the Revolution?” Is this where it all stops? Is this what it all about...” I could have gone on but I thought I should stage my existential break down at a more suitable location and perhaps with a different icon.
The sun was intense and with the crowds I felt a little dizzy. I was drowning in a sea of Chinese. I spotted a tour group of Westerners. I craved their company. I approached them from the side and merged with them, only to discover that not all westerners speak English. The Spanish for example do not. I looked for another group. I found one and struck up a conversation with a farmer from Scotland. Not exactly English, but it would do.
He was retired and he and his wife were on a cruise with a stop in Shanghai and yes they were enjoying it and they had western food onboard but in the end the tour moved on and we said our good byes. I felt such a strong connection in such a brief time. it seemed like only minutes. He looked at me funny when I asked him to take me with him on board away from all of this and I pointed to the crowd. He grabbed his wife and quickly walked away as if something had frightened him.
On the second day I was determined to see more of the city, stay in a good frame of mind despite the millions of tourists and just be in the moment. You now “zen is as zen does”. I don’t know if that is an actual quote, maybe Forest Gump might have said that, or I may have just made that up. I walked in the opposite direction to The Peoples’ Park. Okay, between the Seventh Heaven and the Park I received 7 massage offers. I stayed calm. I did not lash out. (refer to my earlier article, Sept 2012, entitled “Anger Management and the Zen of Chinese Foot Massage”). I crossed the street with the aid of the military. Saw the beacon of life of all that is pure and holy in the western world and hopped into Starbucks for a latte.
I was in good spirits. I walked up the stairs to the park. A young Chinese couple approached me. “Could you please take our picture. We are on our honeymoon and would like to have some memories.”
I was in a good zen frame of mind. I took a moment and posed the couple, framed the picture beautifully and took a couple of shots.
“How’s that for memories?”
“Where are you from?”
“Canada”
“Oh Canada, very cold.”
“More polite stereotypical conversation.”
“Would you like to join us for tea”?
RED FLAG
My staff had warned me that there was a scam afloat in Shanghai involving tea invitations and never accept one no matter what because you will end up paying for a very expensive tab at the end or worse. I didn’t know what that meant and I didn’t want to find out.
I was still holding my Starbucks latte and said, “No, I’m good, not really a tea person, but thanks.”
I turned and disappeared into the park where another nice couple, actually a group of three asked if I would take their picture...they too invited me for tea. Between Starbucks and the National Museum I had seven tea invitations. I determined if I go south its electronics and sex, north is tea and over billing. What lay east and west I did not know.
In the park I passed the many rows of match makers. I saw table after table with pictures of young men and women and intense negotiations taking place, no doubt over the marital future of the young people in the pictures. Oddly there were only parents and match makers present. No young people. Conspiracy?
I walked on and reached the two hour line into the gallery where many of the nations historic art treasures were housed.
Instead of joining the line I thought I would sit in the shade with my book, one of the Bourne novels not actually written by Robert Ludlum. I sat in the shade under the Banyan tree wondering if Robert Ludlum still lived and whether or not I should join the line in the blistering afternoon sun or just wait.
I waited.
A street person came by, one of many in Shanghai, ironically I thought all people are equal in a socialist state but some are more equal than others. He gestured with his hand placing it to his mouth indicating he was hungry. I could have given him money, instead I opened my backpack and gave him the three bananas I had bought from a street vendor the day before. I guess they had been a little bruised while riding in my pack. The beggar examined them closely and then by whatever standard, he rejected them out right and handed them back to me and moved on.
“What the...I muttered under my breath in bewilderment. What manner of beggar is this who refuses my sustenance. I get all olde English Shakespearean when I am confused. Just a thing I do. Rejected.
As I left the museum I was approached by a nice couple asking if I would take their picture. Politely I replied, “How many pictures do you need today?
I walked towards a huge water fountain at the center of the park outside the museum where children ran in the water as they flew kites with long red tails that drifted in the breeze. I was transfixed by the beautiful site of the colourful kites and the laughing children when I was approached yet again.
“Hi, could you please take our picture.” The well dressed young couple eagerly held their camera out to me.
I smiled.
I had a moment to decide would the camera go into the fountain, or would I do the morally right thing. I chose the high road.
“No I can’t and won’t take your picture, but since this is your honeymoon no doubt, I can tell you where to get a great sex massage.”
I smiled and walked away fervently hoping they actually were part of the greater Chinese tea conspiracy.
Marty
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