November and my first trip to China. I had been due to attend a meeting the year before, having even undergone the pain of getting a visa, but it had been cancelled.
The Consular section of the Chinese Embassy in London makes little attempt at welcome. To find it leave Regent’s Park tube station, walk round the crescent into Portland Place, and keep going until you find the line of miserable people snaking along the pavement, and you have arrived.

Make sure you won’t need the lavatory for a couple of hours (even if it is freezing), and if you have parked, pay for several hours. If you have to leave the line, attempts to rejoin where you were rightfully stood originally can lead to rioting, (your) public lynching, or both.
After about 90 minutes you finally make it inside the building, a shabby hall with a small number of counters, with the emphasis on removing large amounts of money from you as quickly as possible. I surrendered my passport, a photo, a form and a letter of invitation from our Chinese company. I fared better than the guy in front of me, who had no letter of invitation. Having braved the cold, and having fought his way back in line when he had to refill the parking machine, he was told summarily that he would have to come back and start again another day.

Anyway I had the right documents, so surrendered my passport and documents (£60 for a visa), and was told I could collect it in four days time. You can get “express service “ (same day) if you pay a truckload of extra money, but I had managed my travel so that I could do without a passport for this time.
Back again at the end of the week to do the whole thing again with the collections hall.
Jump forward in time, and I’m arriving at Heathrow Terminal 4, enjoying a chat with my old friend Paul. I check in and am told that there is a “short delay”.
On arriving in the lounge, I was updated on this “short delay” which had grown to 90 minutes. Great, nearly 4 hours to kill at Heathrow.

As a “gold card” holder I am entitled to use the BA “First Class” lounge. Today it was anything but first class, overcrowded so that there weren’t enough seats for everyone, with food and drink repeatedly running put as the weary staff tried (not too hard) to replenish food trays and bottles of wine. It was like watching locusts as entire trays and bottles were emptied within seconds of arrival. I thought about trying the other lounge but was too apathetic to move.
I half heartedly watched a rugby game on the television, and typed up another travelogue. Time dragged on and on but finally we boarded. Flight to Beijing uneventful apart from two hours late arriving. Owing to the time difference, we landed in early afternoon on Sunday, having left London on Saturday evening.
A long wait in immigration, and a sharp interrogation from the immigration officer (I had inadvertently transposed the digits in writing the flight number on my landing card). She obviously knows the flight numbers by heart. She must live an interesting life.
Collect my luggage and have a worrying moment. There’s a driver in the baggage hall with a hotel sign, but with someone else’s name on it. I tentatively left the baggage hall to be greeted by thousands of people. I walked past a long line of drivers and was just beginning to panic, when I finally saw my name at the very end of the line. My driver spoke very basic English, and led me to the car.
The roads were deserted as we sped down the highway into Beijing. The Beijing air is very polluted, and in the near freezing temperature there was a definite smog over the city.
The road signs were occasionally in English, and I was struck by the signs that talked about sixth ring road, 5th ring road, etc. (I checked with a local colleague, and this is a result of central planning. The city does indeed have 6 broadly concentric ring roads, the outer two being constructed in anticipation of future expansion of the city. That’s planning).
We finally turned off onto the third ring road, and finally arrived at the Renaissance. The receptionist spoke charming English and I was soon upstairs to my room to unpack. I was still tired after the flight and spent some time dozing. I had an abortive attempt to find an ice machine, but couldn’t locate one. I went down to the lobby and the receptionist tried gamely to understand my request to find an ice machine, but she clearly could not conceptualise what I was talking about.
Asian hotels differ from Western hotels in several ways. Firstly, there are way more staff, as labour tends to be cheaper. Secondly, there is a natural culture of service which does not expect to be tipped for courtesies (that’s what caused the confusion over the ice- in an Asian hotel the idea of you collecting your own ice does not compute). Another common feature is that the hotels often have “executive rooms” which are more luxurious, and give access to other services.
Early evening, and I went up to the executive lounge which had a happy hour. For the executive guests the hotel provides complimentary appetisers (very nice) and drinks (Chinese wine is rather rough). I finished my book (“Air Babylon”, an exposé of behind the scenes at an airport).
Time to find some dinner. I wandered down to reception and asked the concierge to recommend a place to walk to where there would be restaurants. I was a little worried when he recommended I go to “Lady Street”, thinking he had seriously misunderstood my intent, (I subsequently learned it’s called this because there are lots of shops where you can buy presents for women). Not what you were thinking.
Anyway, whatever exists in Lady Street , I couldn’t find it after walking a couple of kilometres. In sub zero temperatures I was thinking I should start heading back, and had noticed a Thai restaurant which had English signage, so I went to the door and asked a young lady welcomer at the door if she spoke English. “I ought to, I’m from Minnesota” came the reply. There was joke to be made about American English but I decided to be discreet.

Turns out she was the proprietors’ daughter. Her parents had opened a restaurant 7 years previously. I had a very pleasant meal, with the staff who had very little English, having fun trying their limited repertoire and staring at the strange guy, and then a long walk back to the hotel. All the buildings en route have security guards who wear military style uniforms so it felt a little intimidating.
Next day at the office, and my meeting with Susan and Leigh who were organising the logistics for my two events in China. They took me across the street for lunch. Susan is always cheerful and hugely competent. Leigh is a little more shy, with a bewitching smile.

Leigh was also on a mission to teach me some Mandarin. I already knew the words for “Hello” and “thank you”, and Leigh began by teaching me the Beijing dialect words for “yesterday”, “today” and “tomorrow”. This is not easy as the sounds are quite hard for a Westerner, but Leigh was very persistent and repeatedly tested me throughout my stay to check I had retained. (Leigh- I still remember them!).

Evening and we walked to the conference room where the event was being held. Here’s where the extra staff kick in. In Europe you often have to set up rooms yourself. Here a small army moved furniture, stuck posters, tested microphones, and generally asked for ways they could help.

When all was in order we walked to a local restaurant which specialised in Peking duck. Here the chef arrives and carves the duck in front of you, in a ceremony which is clearly considered very important. A great meal, and lots of fun with my Chinese colleagues.

My colleague Barry (from Hong Kong) takes me on a tour to Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. On the way I see a Beijing branch of “Hooters” (see my Singapore travelogue). Globalisation strikes again. In the freezing rain both are deserted, but both are eerie in the dark. An hour’s ride costs about 7 Euros.
Next day and my first session with a Chinese audience. As normal I test my English with the audience in the first few minutes, and find to my delight that they can follow both my English and my sense of humour. They are smart and eager to learn and we have a great day.
Next day we fly to Shanghai. I was a little worried as I was not sure how e-tickets work in China., but this goes smoothly and we have a smooth flight to Shanghai, descending once again into the polluted air.

The hotel have sent two staff to the airport, one to meet us and call his colleague, the other to drive round and round the airport until we exit and then collect us all.

A short drive to the hotel and we are sent to the “executive check in” on the 23rd floor (why are these always in a less accessible place?).

I unpack and prepare to join my colleague for “happy hour”. I look at the bathroom items and there is a comb in a cardboard box. I open it to look and it is “carved” out of wood. Can’t imagine any other country where one could get a manufactured wooden comb.
We check out the room and do a sound check for next day. This time our flawless admisnistrator is Jo, who again speaks flawless English and is an immensely accomplished young lady.
It’s clear that Shanghai is more commercial than Beijing. In the happy hour you can only have one complimentary alcoholic drink, and the appetisers stop coming 45 minutes before the end, so if you come late then too bad- there’s nothing left.
My colleague Barry is out to dinner with friends, so I have to fend for myself. I ask the concierge for a recommendation and he writes something in Mandarin that I can give to the taxi driver.
Be nice to the concierge in China. You never know when they will write “please take this person somewhere where they get mugged”.

I’m going to a trendy street in Shanghai. The taxi fare is again absurdly cheap- a half hour ride for £3. The video screen in the cab advertises Shanghai’s three branches of “Hooters”. East meets West.

The first thing I see when I arrive is a so-called Munich Biergarten. I walk up and down the street to look at the alternatives. Most are copies of Italian, French etc. One bar claims to be minimalist- “Come in, take off your clothes down to the minimum, and enjoy the freedom with other like thinkers”. I don’t think so.
In the end I decide on the Biergarten. The place seems to be playing an excellent tape of a live performance of a group that plays American west coast music. A duo I have not heard of plays the Orleans song “Dance with me”. This is “our tune” for Janice and I, so I am misty eyed as I think how much I am missing her.
My soup and Schnitzel are excellent. A couple of German guys walk in, chatting in “high“ German. “Great, you can get Wiener Schnitzel here” says one.
Finally I spot a video screen and realise that the live tape is actually a group playing in another area of the restaurant. Duh.
Taken back home by Mr Extremely Morose Taxi Driver. Step into the lift and take it to the sixth floor.
I remember being a little taken aback. There are two women in the lift, and one gets out behind me. Normally when a guy gets out on the same floor, a woman often drops back to see where the guy is going and ensure her safety. I’m conscious of this one matching my pace and she says “excuse me sir”. I turn to help, and cannot understand her next sentence. On the third attempt I understand she is saying “You want special massagey?” (my phonetic spelling) as she starts to rub my arm to illustrate.
I gently decline; I did not expect such a thing to happen in China.
Event next day also successful, and Barry and I go to celebrate. We take a cab to the south side of the river, close to the Bund building ( a landmark). The restaurant overlooks the river, and it’s intriguing to see the buildings that seem to be copies of those in New York, London, etc.

The river has many brightly lit boats which cruise up and down the river with passengers, the view is stunning, and I am struck by a boat which has a giant flat screen, and sails up and down simply as a giant floating billboard.
We walk back towards the Bund, and Barry won’t look at the taxis, who he says are all ripping off tourists (If they are standing outside their cabs this is bad news), and we head to the subway. The steps down are full of vendors selling horribly coloured cuddly toys. As you know I live teddy bears, but there are limits.
The subway is very cheap, but there is no such thing as off peak when you trasport millions. We take a cab later to a place called Hengshang Road to an approximation of a Spanish Bar, and then a cab home to the hotel. This night I get no offers of physiotherapy.
Friday morning. Flights are every other day so I have a day to kill. I do some email for a couple of hours and head for the metro, taking in the obviously Victorian church across the street which claims to be a cathedral. It looks forbidding with gates locked and notices forbidding photography.
Successfully buy a ticket to People’s Square (more horrible cuddly toys), and surface in the sunlight.

It’s grim being a single male Western tourist in Shanghai. I managed about 50 metres before I was stopped by some very friendly Chinese “students”. They spoke flawless English, and were keen to invite me to a traditional tea ceremony “to practise their English”.
(I was told by a colleague that this may be a con trick. You go, have the ceremony, they claim poverty, you pay a fortune for everyone, they collect their cut later).
I didn’t know this but declined their offer because I simply wanted to be alone. I walked in the park to see large numbers of men playing a Chinese variant of checkers, but could not go more than 50 metres without being accosted again.
I left the square and walked to Nanjing Road, apparently the longest shopping street in China. This too proved impossible to navigate as I was stopped again every 50m and offered “genuine” Rolex watches, Mont Blanc pens etc., not to mention several massage variations, and someone who claimed to be selling babies. I got so fed up I decided that I would not speak English and responded only in French.

I was offered invites to calligraphy exhibitions , more massages, etc, but resolutely stuck to French and looks of incomprehension. Even as a “French guy” in Shanghai I soon tired of the constant barrage of “offers”, and took the subway back to Hengshang Road. In early afternoon this was a haven of peace and I found a bar which served food, and enjoyed relative peace. Even here, as I ate and had a regular call with my Indian colleague Sunil, people stopped to stare and take photographs of me. Feeding time at the zoo.

Another call with a European colleague, and back to my hotel.

In London it’s said that the black cab drivers are reluctant to venture south of the river after dark. I tried to get a cab back to the hotel (rush hour was underway), but on giving him the address he signalled to me that he would not take me, since his cab was pointing in the wrong direction on the street, and this was apparently enough to make the fare unviable, so I took the metro again.

I changed, showered and decided that I’d liked Hengshang Road and had seen some promising restaurants, so returned there.
On Friday night it’s a very different place. I had barely left the station when a lady stopped and invited me to go with her for another “special massage”. I pointed out that I was married and brandished my wedding ring. “Yes, but your wife is not here. You need to live in the moment” she said in perfect English.
“Great”, I thought, “an existentialist philosopher “masseuse””.

Existentialist Philosopher Masseuse was very insistent, but I shook her off and headed back to the bar where I had had lunch. It was clear the whole street was changed. I ordered a beer and noticed a set of young women standing in the bar. As I sat outside drinking my beer, they removed their coats to reveal that they were all wearing T shirts saying “Love Time”. At this point the proprietress of the bar barked an order and the “Love time” girls stood to attention while receiving a military style briefing. Goodness knows what they were told.

I still don’t know whether they are waitresses or “hostesses” but I was not staying to find out. Ignoring the restaurants, I took the subway back to my hotel and walked into the nearest chain restaurant. With my six words of Mandarin this was a challenge.

The staff were keen to point out that they were closing soon, and that they would not wait if I was not finished (amazing what you can communicate with sign language). I left most of my food, but it felt more wholesome than “love time”.
Next day, an early start to the airport. Traffic is light, and a smoggy haze lies over the city. We pass the impressive sports stadium, and there is a majestic view of a massive suspension bridge in the hazy distance. Public building can be wonderful in China.
The 48km drive is uneventful and I arrive in good time.
Immigration again hostile, (I’m leaving the country folks-don’t make it hard), and the lounge very primitive. The flight boards late, and we are told about an hour’s delay. I’m upgraded to First Class, but when you are next to a baby who screams for 14 hours , no flight is fun.
Arrive at 5pm in London on Saturday evening, with a ton of laundry to do as I am off to the US for two weeks on Monday.
I love China, and want to return.