It's time to go... Guangzhou.

Wow, how is that it’s been almost 3 weeks since I last posted. Time moves way too fast.

The last three weeks have been a blur of long days, networking events, a bit of sight-seeing and shopping on weekends. My boss was away – which made me the boss – and I definitely noticed the change in workload and responsibilities. He’s back now, and guess what? My time in Guangzhou is up! Yep, I’m packing my bags and saying farewells and preparing for the next chapter… it was to be that I’d be heading home to my loved ones in a week or so, but the situation has changed. Instead of heading home to the Melbourne spring and daylight savings, I’m heading north, to the Chinese capital of Beijing, where the weather gets cooler every day in the lead up to winter. An alarming fact I read earlier this week was that the average temperature in November was 9C. In December, the average drops to toe-numbing 2C. AVERAGE. As in, it will get warmer, but it will also get MUCH. COLDER. Yeee-ikes!

Before that, though, I have another 48 hours or so before I leave sunny and funny Guangzhou. I have had a fabulous time and there has been much to be grateful for.

Cheap food
Cheap cabs
Good coffee
Gorgeous tea
Delicious fruit and veg
Fabulous foot massages
$10 pedis and $5 manis
Great climate and warm weather
Wonderful people
New friends
Money-can’t-buy experiences

For example, on Wednesday night, a colleague invited me to join the dinner of a friend and business contact he was attending that evening. Sure, I said. Sounds good. We got there and big and tall man wearing tracksuit pants, a stained polo shirt and slippers answered the door and ushered us in. His long, thick black hair was twisted into a bun, and his wide brown face was split by a big white smile. I am not proud to admit that I thought he was the help. I was wrong. “This is Andy”, my colleague said. “Today is Andy’s birthday”. Huh? I had thought it was a business dinner, but it turns out I was crashing the guy’s birthday dinner. Andy had a fabulous, split level apartment. He had a very modest, undecorated bedroom, whilst the rest of the apartment was a showcase for his two passions – Chinese art and French wine & cognac. There was a temperature-controlled cellar, full of old and rare wines (the oldest I saw was 1902 vintage), and another 3 rooms full of ancient Chinese artefacts – Jade Buddha statues, intricately carved swords, ivory and wood carvings. As Andy was still in the throes of preparing dinner (yes, he was catering his own birthday dinner), we looked around and I started to get a sense that Andy was a very eccentric, very (very, VERY) rich man. And his was ‘new’ money.

Further guests arrived. The only thing most of us had in common was that we didn’t, or barely, knew the birthday boy. It seems Andy had no friends to invite. He had two ladies from the Private Business section of his bank there, a highly ranked Air Force official, also invited by my colleague, as Andy was looking at building a tall tower in another city in Guangdong province, and needed contacts of influence to get approvals on the tower height. There was a wealthy man and his wife, who hailed from Andy’s hometown, but they’d never before met. And then there was me. Another ring in. I spent much of the dinner smiling and nodding, with no idea of what was going on, as they all spoke in their native Mandarin.

After dinner, and 7-8 bottles of wine later (lots of toasting ‘to new friends!’), Andy wanted us to have a full understanding of his wealth and the depth of his wine and art collections. Traipsing through his oddly furnished bachelor pad, he pointed out things (in Mandarin) to lots of oohing and aahing – I had no idea but joined in. Then, it was time for the birthday cake. Andy went to change for this, and returned in head to toe traffic cone orange. His hair was now in a ponytail, and around his neck, he was wearing an enormously heavy and detailed 2000 year old gold necklace from the Tang dynasty. I shit you not. More oohing and aahing, and then time to sing happy birthday and cut the cake. At this point, I was desperate to hear English – even if I was the only one speaking it! – and blurted out how ‘in Australia, when you cut the cake, if you hit the bottom you have to kiss the nearest girl”. My colleague translated, and my revelation was met with hoots and cheers and Andy couldn’t get to the bottom quick enough. He wanted to kiss all the girls (maybe it was lost in translation), and this then led to 10 minutes of photos. Of me. With everyone. Holding wine glasses. Holding a bouquet of flowers. Holding an artefact. Wearing the necklace. I was feeling like the characters at Disney World and very ready to leave, when the next part of our night started.

We piled into my colleague’s car and headed out to a very affluent neighbourhood where the wealthy man and his wife lived. They were obviously very proud of their home, and took us on a tour of the three levels. Many things in the house were very beautiful. But all together? Tack-o-rama. Very wealthy people with a need to communicate how wealthy they were by acquiring many very expensive (and often, very ugly!) things. ‘Please, take photos, it would be my honour’, said the wealthy man’s wife. She then woke her daughter up, and dragged her son out of the shower, to have their photo taken with me in the sitting room, then the foyer, then the tv room, and then back to the sitting room. “We are so honoured to have you in our home, you are so beautiful, like William’s Kate!”. 1. I know I look nothing like Kate. 2. Whilst I looked quite presentable at 8.30am when I started work, beautiful was a long way away 15 hours later. My lipstick was but a memory, my hair greasy and stringy, my face had eaten my makeup and my eyes – thanks to my contacts – were like two pee holes in the snow. I am horrified to think that they might frame and display these photos taken with me in their homes, and show their friends!

Somewhere in that time, the gentleman from the air force had become extremely intoxicated. He had learned how to say “I love you” and was saying it to me every 2 minutes. I wanted to Gretel Killeen him: It’s time to go, Mr Gu. He was bumping into walls and knocking over tea cups and the wealthy man’s wife could barely keep her pasted on smile on her face. I was, as I like to call it, completely shutting down. I was exhausted, I had no idea where I was and I’d had enough. I’d visited two very different homes of two very (very VERY) wealthy individuals, one very eccentric and one as dull as boiled rice (but with a budding interior designer wife!), but I needed to exit. Immediately. Sooner, if possible. I got home about midnight and was kicking myself – I’d had my photo taken many times, but didn’t take any myself. Photos would definitely help convey the bonkers-ness of my night.

So now, I’m packing up and saying my goodbyes to my friends and colleagues in the Guangzhou office. We went to lunch yesterday and they surprised me with a gift afterwards – a red porcelain ornament on a necklace. Very beautiful and completed unexpected. I am very bad at goodbyes (I cry even if I’m not sad!) and it will be hard to say zaijian to Guangzhou.



What will I be in Beijing? Blissful? Bewildered? Or maybe Merry in the Middle Kingdom? Will have to figure it out when I get there!

It's all relative

I had another China moment last week. After a long day in the office and feeling a bit tired and emotional, I decided to take a taxi home. My apartment is a whole, hmmm, 3km from the office?? I usually catch a train, for the grand sum of just under 2 kwai (about 30 cents), so decided to splurge and spent 11-12 kwai for a cab home. I leaned in and told the cabbie where I wanted to go before getting in – “sure, sure” he says. Hai Feng Road, no problem. I get in (the front – no seat belts in the back) and immediately, he goes a different way to every other time I’ve travelled by car from the office. Right, I’m thinking. New driver, new route. No problem. Until he gets onto a ramp taking us in the TOTAL OPPOSITE direction of where I want to go. “Wrong way”, I tell him in my broken Chinese. I’m pointing down Huacheng Road “this is right”. I can almost see him thinking “Bugger. Stupid foreigner with no Chinese knows the way home”. No sh!t, Sherlock. I don’t know much, but I do know that you don’t need to take me north west to drop me 3km south east.

He then starts zigzagging up and down roads, and the meter is now up at 18kwai (A$3) – it should be 12 kwai (A$2), MAXIMUM. “No good! This is wrong!” I’m insisting. He is saying nothing, like he is a geographically-challenged mute. We’re up at 24 kwai – twice what it should be – and I’m unravelling. I call the reception desk, and ask them to tell him how to get there, pronto. "It's too much", I tell them. "I don't think he is lost, I think he is trying to get bigger fare". I pass the phone to him, he listens for about 30 seconds and hands the phone back to me. Suitably chastised, and a couple of (correct!) turns later, I’m home. The fare is up at 30kwai. No way am I paying that. I am soooooo p!ssed off. “30” he’s telling me. “Nope. Should be 12. Not paying 30”. (At least, I think I said that) “25?” he barters. “WRONG”, I say as I get out and offer 20 kwai to him. He accepts, and doesn’t push me for the other ten – he knows he’s tried to dupe me, and he knows that *I* know he’s tried to dupe me.

Fuming, I head up to my apartment but remember I need to pick up some fruit, veg and juice, so I drop in at the deli. Oooh! They have my favourite yoghurt from Australia! (Black Swan Greek-style yoghurt, in case you’re wondering). I pick it up and put it in my basket, completely unperturbed by the 86 kwai price tag. I also need *tampons*. They’re selling at the bargain price of 62 kwai. I start laughing, out loud, in the deli. No doubt they think I'm nuts. I’m paying almost 14 bucks for yoghurt, and 10 bucks for a small box of tampons, but I’m getting aggro and haggling over $1.50 with the cab driver. What is wrong with me!?!

I guess no one likes to feel that they’re (literally) being taken for a ride. The cab driver sized me up immediately – I couldn’t speak the language, I couldn’t direct him (other than NO, WRONG, BAD, LEFT and RIGHT) and there was very little I could do about it. The yoghurt – it's a luxury I’m prepared to pay for. The tampons – a Western necessity I didn’t want to go without. Paying $5 for a $2 fare – not fair and not necessary. Cabs are not a luxury here – they are cheap and plentiful and (usually) pretty good and honest.

So what am I grateful for… I’ve learned again that lesson about money. You know, how ‘shoe money’ has a different value to ‘bill money’ (or in my case, cab money –v- yoghurt and sanitary wear dosh). But even when you break it down, money is money and everything has a value, even if it varies wildly around the globe. And I’m very grateful that my fave yog was in stock at Corner’s Deli – a reminder of home and a comfort food.

Food, glorious food!

I’m not quite sure what to call the current holidays happening in China – some say National Holidays, some say Golden Week, but I am very, VERY grateful for some time out. After watching the AFL Grand Final with Aussie expats here in my temporary home in Guangzhou on Saturday, I flew up to Shanghai on Sunday afternoon to spend a few days with my best mate, L. It was so great to be back in the city after my trip 9 or so months ago, in the middle of (a very cold!) winter, to explore this gorgeous city, the Paris of the East.

When L and I started in the organisation, we were both a part of the Food & Beverage team. We worked with wineries, fruit and veg growers, cattle and dairy farms and many, many others, to grow their businesses into overseas markets. L had a background in the wine industry, whereas I had a logistics background, and a BIG LOVE of the good things in life – delicious good, gorgeous wine and great company. We have shared many food adventures together, L and I. From yumcha in Chinatown to 13 course degustation at Vue de monde, laksa in KL, curries in Bangkok, hairy crab in Hangzhou – we’re pretty adventurous and we’re very appreciative. Good food – coupled with a good experience – gets a big tick from us both. Exploring new cultures through cuisine is another big thing I’m into, but after 11-12 weeks, I’m feeling a bit Chinese’d out.

I arrived Shanghai on Sunday evening, and L introduced me to a gorgeous little Italian trattoria she’d just discovered, around the corner from her home. Sharing lots of little plates, we enjoyed buffalo mozzarella and tomatoes with extra virgin olive oil, marinated mushrooms and artichokes, yummy smoked salmon, delicious spinach with garlic, all washed down with our bevvie of choice, San Pellegrino. The break from rice and chopsticks that I needed!

The next morning, we walked an hour to our breakfast destination, a little café in the French Concession, where we enjoyed freshly made yoghurt with homemade muesli, freshly squeezed OJ and very. Good. Coffee.

More walking and exploring, chatting and window shopping brought us to the afternoon, where we pondered over what to do for dinner that evening. L is embracing TCM – Traditional Chinese Medicine – while she is here, and has a few TCM cookbooks on her shelf. We went through a selected a couple of dishes that looked to have (reasonably) easy to find ingredients and techniques, that would also treat ailments like dry skin, lack of vital energy, and sluggish digestive systems. We made our list and hit the local Chinese supermarket. It soon became a game of ‘Help the waiguoren’ (foreigner), as we tried to source black sesame seeds, fresh bamboo, Chinese rice wine, shiny asparagus, Dodder seeds and fresh bamboo. With about half of what we needed purchased from the supermarket, we were able to purchase the balance from the wet market and pharmacy a few doors down.

Preparing and cooking a meal with someone is a great thing. You chat about the ingredients, the technique, what it might taste like (or what it should taste like). It is quite therapeutic to go through the motions of preparation, process and then consumption.

The results were perfect – a white turnip herbal soup, a brown rice and bamboo shoot with dodder seeds dish, and black sesame drink to wash it all down. Perhaps not everyone’s idea of a great meal, but what we needed after months (and in L’s case, almost 2 years) of not really doing much cooking for ourselves. The dishes might not look like much, but they were delicious!



Tuesday was a gorgeous day, weather-wise, and perfect for a trip to YuYuan Garden, the Bund and Suzhou Creek neighbourhood. Knowing we would be having a big meal that night, we grazed during the day on tofu and tea snacks, xialongbao (Shanghai dumplings), and street food. It kept us going, and we were nice and hungry by the time we were due to dine at one of Shanghai’s top restaurants, T8. The head chef at T8, a talented young Aussie bloke and friend of L, had created a fabulous Autumn degustation menu and we were committed to trying it. The chef sent us out a Lobster Congee – not on the menu – to whet our appetites. Divine! We then started the 7-course menu…



L had the cod, I had the beef. My highlights were the Salmon Tsunami, beef and the chocolate soufflé.





SO YUM! How I love love LOVE gorgeous food! So happy and thankful to share such an amazing culinary experience with a fellow foodie and friend.

P.S. Check out the Bvlgari San Pell bottle... Fancy pants!

A Dog's Life

I have had a recurring nightmare these past few weeks.

It is set at my parents’ ‘old’ house (they moved last year after 28 years), and I don’t know the people living there.

In the dream, I return from China after being away for 3 months or so, to collect my dogs from this house. Remember, this is the house I grew up in and have so many wonderful memories of.

The new owners are not home, it is dark outside and I am there to collect my dogs. They are nowhere to be found in the house. Finally, I find them, chained up at the front door – starving, dirty, shivering. No beds or toys or comforts. They are not the happy little woofers I know and love, and my heart feels like it will burst with pain for what I’ve subjected these two loves of my life to.

Of course, I wake up from the nightmare and breathe a sigh of relief. Because whilst I am here, and they are there, I’ve left them in wonderfully capable and loving hands. My (four-legged) boys are in their home, enjoying all their creature comforts, with my (two-legged) boy. Every time I speak to D when he is home with them, I can hear my babies in the background, play fighting and barking happily and growling at D to stop giving so much attention to the phone and more ear scratching, tummy rubbing and rough housing with them, please. And another Scooby-Doo treat, too, please D. Well, with Leo, anyway. Mishy just wants cuddles and to get his tongue up D’s nose and inside his mouth.

On the few occasions when D has needed a break or is unable to look after the boys, they go to my folks’ new place, for a visit with Nanny & Poppy, and happily tear around the backyard and go for walks around the new estate and enjoy cuddles with my Dad.

I am so fortunate and feel most grateful that I have a bloke who loves my ‘fluffy, white, girl’s dogs’ as much as he does, as well as parents who enjoy the cheeky antics of this feisty twosome.



Leo, the Westie, and Mish, the Chihuahua, Christmas 2009

Thanks for loving and looking after my babies so well! xo

****************************************************************

In that vein, another story for unconditional and unwavering love for a canine kindred spirit. My dear friend, C, this week said goodbye to her faithful and much-loved Sheltie, Walter, at the ripe old age of 17.5 years old. I have known C for almost 7 years, and we bonded instantly. I have known her boy, Walter, just as long, and often think of them as “C & Walt”, like a couple, a team. Waltie has long been a feature in all aspects of C’s life, joining us for dinners at Albert Park, birthday drinks at Lamaros, long weekends on the Peninsula. My boys and I have spent a few nights couch-surfing with C and Walt, and them with us, and I’ve long referred to C’s boy as my boys’ “Uncle Walter”.

I’ve watched C rearrange her life to look after Walt in his twilight years, providing him with palliative care for 5 or so years until his soul’s departure from this earth this week. C’s love and dedication to Walt in his old age is something to be admired – we hear stories of people who can’t do that even for their own family, let alone a dog. But C did it, without complaint, for days, months, years. Because for those of us who love a dog, they are more than a pet. They are a trusted adviser, a part of our family, a protector, dear friend and soul mate.

In C’s email to her friends to let us know of Walt’s passing, she wrote “Walt exited this world when it was the right time for both of us - and in his departure and the days before - he handled it with patience, courage, grace and dignity. We had our chats about his passing beforehand and in the last day I kept up routine and smiles not to burden him with my grief. It was business as usual as far as Walt would be concerned. I am all the better for having such a blessed dog in my life, Vale dear ol Walt - you are and will be sorely missed”.

Indeed you will, sweet Walter. Grateful I had the chance to know you, too, and see the enormity of the love my dear friend C had – and will always have – for you.



Dear Uncle Walter at his 14th birthday party

Crazy/Beautiful

Falling in love. It's a crazy thing, yes? While I am a person with a lot of love - for my family, my boyfriend, my dogs, my friends, for seasons (summer and spring), for traditions (Anzac Day), for occasions (any time my beloved Blues are playing, and the AFL Grand Final, irrespective of who is competing), I can count on one hand the times I have consciously felt myself falling in love, or realizing 'this is love'.

Recent recognitions have been the arrivals of my much adored niece and two darling nephews. I can recall vividly the physical reaction I had to meeting my niece the first time - a swelling of my heart and physical pain that had a sweetness to it - a feeling that I knew was love. That I would devote my life to the protection and adoration of this tiny human. A feeling I experienced again when her brother and her cousin were born. This is love.

Then, a short time after I began to see my boyfriend, it dawned on me again. "Shivers. What is going on here?" I remember being alone, in a hotel room in Kalgoorlie, of all places. We'd just gotten off the phone and I was replaying the conversation in my head when I thought "here we go... I'm falling in love with this man".

And then, tonight, it happened again. I'd just attended my umpteenth Chinese banquet, shared 13-14 courses of food with 500 or so of my peers here in Guangzhou, exchanged countless business cards and partaken in endless toasts. Afterwards, driving home, from 'old' Guangzhou to my apartment in Zhujiang New Town, it struck me - I love this city. This crazy, beautiful city of 10.2 million, wild disparity and unexpected beauty. I truly love it here. And - in a different time or different way (with my bloke and my pups and regular visits with my family), I think I'd happily live here. For a while, anyway.

Falling in love with a city is a strange thing. I am seeing everything through fresh eyes. The next 5-6 weeks will fly by, but I hope to make the most of my new paramour while I can. And grateful for the chance to fall in love, again.

Old friends are gold

I can’t remember when I heard the saying, but it has stuck with me for many years.

Make new friends, but the keep the old – one is silver, the other gold.

There is nothing better than time with an old friend. This weekend, I was thrilled to receive a visit from my absolute bestie. L and I have been great mates since our first overseas trip together in November 2005. L joined the organisation in October 2004 and I in January 2005. We had clicked and been friendly before then, but that trip cemented our friendship and I could probably count on two hands the number of days that we *haven’t* been in contact in that time. L has been living and working in Shanghai for almost 2 years, and in that time, we’ve been in contact every day. Seriously. Whether by email, call or text. I realise this perplexes people, including my family and boyfriend – ‘what could you possibly still have to talk about?’. As it turns out, plenty. We are never short on topics of conversation. Work, life, romance, celebrity, religion, sport – we’ve covered it all and then some.

This weekend marked the second time I’ve seen L since February 2010 – the last time was over Christmas/NY 2010/11, when I flew to China to spend the holidays with her. You never expect, when you start a new job, that you’ll make lifelong friends. You hope that you’ll click with a few, so that you have lunch and coffee dates, someone to chat to in the kitchen, and strategise with when things get political. I am lucky that in the past 7 years, I have made some great friends – people who know my ups and downs, and I theirs; people I will travel hundreds of kilometres to see and celebrate milestones, like weddings and birthdays, and people I will get a stamp in my passport for – such an unexpected delight.

24 hours before L’s arrival, I felt like crap. Achy, tired, chills and fever. Raw throat. I went to the clinic and discovered I had tonsillitis – and that I’d likely feel worse before I felt any better. Yay. Not. I called L to tell her, and that I wouldn’t be up for much for the weekend. “Good!” she said. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just chill out, do nothing.” Hurrah. Not many people would be happy to fly two hours to visit to do nothing. The expectation is that we’d doll ourselves up, put on our party frocks and have a wild, raucous night. But I’m not like that. And neither is L. And so, our rockin’ Saturday went a little like this: Manis & pedis. Cheese platter and chit chat. Flicking through mags, no chit-chat. Indian takeaway and True Blood. Lights out. And I loved it. Sunday was more of the same – chit chat, True Blood, lunch, foot massage. Early night. Heaven.

It’s nice when you can just be yourself. And just ‘be’. I’m grateful that I have a friend who knows me so well and understands – even better than me – the pressures of the job we do up here. It’s manic and exhausting. Relentless, but rewarding. Brilliant but hard to define. So thanks, L, for a weekend of mooching and green tea and Sookie Stackhouse. Let’s do it again soon.

F * R * I * E * N * D * S

Lying in bed last night, thinking of my peculiar circumstances over here – that is, I’m Scott Nomates – I thought back to one of Seinfeld’s closing monologues, to an early episode, ‘The Boyfriend’.

“When you’re in your thirties it’s very hard to make a new friend. Whatever the group is that you’ve got now, that’s who you’re going with. You’re not interviewing, you’re not looking at any new people, you’re not interested in seeing any applications. They don’t know the places. They don’t know the food. They don’t know the activities. If I meet a guy in a club on the gym or someplace, I’m sure you’re a very nice person, you seem to have a lot of potential, but we’re just not hiring right now. Of course when you’re a kid, you can be friends with anybody. Remember when you were a little kid, what were the qualifications? If someone’s in front of my house NOW, that’s my friend, they’re my friend. That’s it. Are you a grown up.? No. Great! Come on in. Jump up and down on my bed. And if you have anything in common at all, You like Cherry Soda? I like Cherry Soda! We’ll be best friends!”

Even though I’m in in thirties, because I find myself displaced – relocated to a foreign city for a short period of time – I’m making friends like I was a kid.

You’re an Aussie, I’m an Aussie! – they’re my friend.
You like beer, I like beer! – another friend
We like footy AND you like beer?? We’re BEST FRIENDS.

It’s amazing how much more open you are to making new friends when your social life consists of doing everything alone. Wake up alone, live alone, eat alone, commute alone. Don’t get me wrong, my colleagues here have been fantastic – very kind and very welcoming but see, they’re in their thirties. I don’t know the places, I don’t know the food , they’re just not interested in seeing any new applications. When the working day is over, they’re going home to their family and their (full roster of) friends.

I have made, I think, 2 possibly 3, proper friends here. People that I reckon I could call if I were in a jam.

The first I bonded with over football. We barrack for the same team at home, we speak fluent Navy Blue, and we enjoy a beer.
The second I bonded with over celebrities and television. We were similar ages, both Australian, love gossip mags, not into reality tv (for the sake of it, like Keeping up with the Kardashians, or The Hills – but if there is a competition involved, like American Idol, America’s Next Top Model, we agreed it’s not so bad), and watch the same tv shows – Rush, True Blood, Offspring.
The third is pretty much my China ‘best friend’. We both like footy, we both like beer and we are both here alone as our partners are back in Melbourne (he’s here much longer than me, though). Life can be lonely without your partner, so a midweek coffee or a beer watching the footy with someone who really *gets it* is very therapeutic.

My boss asked me this afternoon if I had plans on Friday night, as there was a work function he was happy to flick me an invitation to, to save me from a weekend of myself on high rotation. “I’ve got plans”, I told him. “Hmm?” he queried, eyebrows raised. “Off to the pub to watch the footy and have a few beers with my mates”, I told him with a wink. “Good for you”, he smiled.

Yes, indeed – they are good for me.

It’s been a while between drinks…

I had the best of intentions when I started this blog to write at least once a week… I’ve been a little lax (but in my defence, also very busy!), so here is a short update on what I’ve been up to and what I’ve been grateful for…

Blue skies, rolling green hills and the kindness of strangers
I spent a few days – including my birthday – in a neighbouring province, visiting local government departments and animal farms. To spend your birthday alone, away from your family, friends and beloved, in a strange city in a foreign country can be a confronting experience if you’re used to, well, *not* being alone on your birthday. I was delighted and overwhelmed by the outpouring of kind thoughts and well wishes from my online peeps (the paper here calls them ‘netizens’) – I’ve never received so many notifications from Facebook ever! The Chinese government even momentarily unblocked it so I could access FB on my iPhone, rather than VPN’ing in on work computer – birthday miracle! The people I spent my day with – 2 colleagues (that I don’t know all that well) and 4 strangers, were so kind and sweet, even taking me out for a birthday dinner where I got to pick ALL the dishes (mabodofu!).

And that wasn’t even the best bit! An animal lover, I got to spend two days visiting two goat farms and a cattle farm. I am not sure what I was expecting, but I was so impressed with the quality of the establishments and the evident health and happy nature of the animals I saw. The farms and practices were on par with anything you’d see in Australia, and the kids and calves sooooo cute! The countryside we visited was breathtaking, and so far from the China I had so far experienced and expected.






Love, in person
My darling BF visited for a week. Best. Week. Ever. I love that in 9 hours, he flew across an ocean to visit me here. I love that I was able to share this amazing, crazy, confronting, challenging, surprising and astonishingly beautiful country with him. I arranged a surprise trip for us while he was here – for our birthdays. A recommendation from a friend, to visit a romantic, scenic, stunning part of the country. After our 1 hour flight, we both started unravelling about an hour in our 2.5hour drive to our destination. My surprise getaway was turning into a potential disaster. The chit-chat we’d enjoyed became short, stroppy sentences about a) how long it was taking and b) how the windy roads were making us ill. But then, we arrived and it was everything promised and more. We had the best, best, BEST time exploring and just being together. So grateful for time to reconnect, recharge and relax with my man.





A change is as good as a holiday
Right before my darling arrived – literally 12 hours before – I moved from my old, noisy apartment to a gorgeous, light, spacious apartment about 3km away. I am actually able to sleep, I get peace – heaven!

My new view, so green and lush and inviting!

My humps, my humps, my lovely lady lumps (and other oversized bumps)

Sometimes, this place kicks my arse. Just when I think I am 'learning China' - much like Hamish & Andy "learned" India in lead up to Comm Games - something happens to make me realize that not only am I still crawling in terms of understanding this place, I still have a long way to go before I understand myself.

I am a person who is pretty accepting of where my weight/body shape/size is. Sure, I could be thinner, lighter, tighter, flatter in parts but ultimately, I'm okay with who I am and my 5'6' size 8 frame. I made peace with my body a few years ago - around 30 - and promised to stop trying to wear current fashions if they didn't suit me, and stop beating myself up about the things I can't change (height, shape etc).

Over the weekend, I was in Shenzhen for a work function and so decided to spend Sunday AM shopping, before I returned 'home' to Guangzhou. There was a mall a short walk from my hotel, and with dodgy weather forecast, I decided this was my best shopping option. Central Walk Mall had lots of stores, including a very disappointing Zara and uninspiring Esprit store. The local designer stores were full of gorgeous things, but it wasn't long before I realised, they weren't for moi. The pants were designed to accentuate the tiny hips and posteriors of the local ladies, or to create the illusion of ass where there is none. There is no question about my ass, so in the slim-fitting strides, my ass was hanging out, and when I dared slip it into the ass-accentuating pants (as there was sufficient room and material to do so), I looked ridiculous. My rear looked comically large.

Adding to my frustrations were the many young (4-8 year old) girls out shopping with their mothers who found it quite hilar to pull back the change room curtain of the waiguo ren (foreigner) so that they could get a personal peep at my super sized - compared to their Mum's - assets (aka ASS).

Finally after a dozen stores and change rooms, I gave up. I was so down on my body and myself that I had to cease and desist before I dissolved in a puddle of tears. On my way out of the mall, I went into a store I had discovered the previous day - gorgeous (pricey) silk dresses and skirts that were Alannah Hill-esque. The girls remembered what I'd been looking at the previous day and brought them to me immediately - in my size! - to try on. There were no little peepers poking through the change room curtains to get a glimpse of my hump, lumps and bumps. I felt good - happy!! I couldn't decide which skirt to buy, so decided to get two (it *is* almost my birthday, after all!).

So after disappointment, success. And an appreciation that we're all physically different and all have our bad days in the change room. I'm loving my new skirts, so girly and unlike me. But they're gorgeous and they fit... and perhaps my style is changing, too. We shall see.

Go crazy?! Don't mind if I do!

You know how sometimes you think something is going on and you ask other people “do you see that/smell that/hear that?” and they look at you like “no, I don’t, crazy person – it must be all in your head”. I have been having a bit of that since I got here, which is unsurprising, but it reached its peak this week.

After almost 4 weeks of grabbing 2-5 hours of sleep a night, I acknowledged something was amiss. I wracked my brain trying to figure out what was keeping me awake at night. MSG in the food? Mattress too hard? Aircon is too cold? Not drinking enough water? Drinking too much water? I have tried an array of Chinese herbal tea concoctions in an attempt to calm my body for bedtime and sleep. The thing is, there is no issue with me being tired. My brain is tired. My body is tired. I’ve been practicing yoga, meditating, taking my night-time vitamins and even though I desperately *want* to sleep, I can’t.

Finally, I’ve put it down to too much noise. My apartment overlooks a major road, and aside from the odd domestic between neighbours, my nights are filled with a cacophony of horns, sirens and squeaky breaks. I asked a colleague staying in the same apartment building if she had a noise problem in her apartment. Cue the “no, crazy person” look. Huh. Maybe it’s me. I mentioned it also to the office manager, who had found and secured the apartment for the duration of my stay. Again, the look. A self-deprecating smile from me, and ‘maybe I have supersonic hearing, ha’. Lame joke, I know. My colleagues suggested that before complaining to the property manager that I first check the windows weren’t open. Duh, hadn’t thought of that. What am I, a moron? Off course the bloody windows aren’t open! ‘We’ve never had a complaint about it being too noisy before’, says the property manager. I. Don’t. Care. I am NOT crazy, and I’m not making it up! Get someone onto it, pronto! They’ve since sent someone to my apartment to check what the problem is. GOOD.

Except… I got home last night to my apartment and seems that the tradesman they’d sent spent more time kicking back in front of the television than rectifying the problem, as the street sounds were loud and clear (possibly amplified!?) and I had to re-set my cable tv because someone had mucked around with it. Maybe I am going crazy? Maybe I *do* have supersonic hearing? Either way, something has to be done as no way can l last 3 months on limited sleep (or with the increasingly regular ‘crazy person’ looks). Then, finally, victory! A text message to confirm that YES the seals in my apartment windows are faulty and the apartment is not sound proof. That they will try to fix them (but the ‘engineer’ is not sure how – encouraging!). My hearing is normal. I am not going crazy. And today, acknowledgement – from the sceptical staff who suggested that maybe I should check if the windows are open – that YES I do look “very, very tired”. I know, even I am surprised that I am happy to hear that my face is looking like the crumpled seat of an old pair of trousers! But no more crazy person looks. And finally, someone is backing me to get it sorted out. I just hope it is before I look too much more old and tired!

It's a small world after all

Two things happened today that were pretty cool. The first made me smile initially, and then laugh. Quite a bit. The second took my breath away.

Around 7.30 this morning, I heard it. A vaguely familiar tune, repeated over and over again. What was it? A Christmas carol? A nursery rhyme? By the time I walked out the door for work, it was running on a loop in my head but I hadn’t identified the song. And then, I realised – the Disney song. You know the one, “there is just one moon and one golden sun, and a smile means friendship to everyone… though the mountains divide and the oceans are wide, it’s a small world after all”. Well done ME for remember the words, as I gave myself a mental pat on the back. But where is it coming from? I figured, must be an ice-cream truck, a la Mr Whippy and Mr Gelati in Australia. I tried to remember what songs they played as they meandered through Australian streets every summer, selling ice-creams. I mean, an ice-cream truck makes sense – it *is* summer here, and it hasn’t dropped more than 1-2C below 30C since I arrived 3 weeks ago. So, on my walk to work, I’m looking around, trying to find this ice-cream truck. Kind of seems a bit early in the day for ice-cream, but who am I to judge? Almost at the office, the music become significantly louder, and I stopped in my tracks to figure out *where* it was coming from. Visions of Micky, Minnie and Donald danced in my mind. All I could see in the street were taxis, a police van, and a garbage truck. The tune was coming from – that’s right – the garbage truck! I then started to think of how many Chinese men must leap out of bed at the sound of that song, realising that they didn’t put the bins out when their wives asked last night (it probably sooooo doesn’t happen that way, but still!) and cracked up. I love it! Musical garbage trucks!

The second cool thing today was a visit to Canton Tower, the highest TV tower in the world and less than 1 year old. It opened in October 2010 and is kind of like Eureka Tower in Melbourne but much sexier. On September 1, they are opening a new attraction – a slingshot bungee (not joking!) to complement the ‘world’s highest ferris wheel’. From www.gztvtower.info: Mark Hemel, the IBA architect that together with his partner Barbara Kuit designed the Guangzhou TV tower, comments, ″Where most skyscrapers bear ′male′ features; being introvert, strong, straight, rectangular, and based on repetition, we wanted to create a ′female′ tower being complex, transparent, curvy and gracious.″ ″Our aim was to design a free-form tower with a rich and human-like identity that would represent Guangzhou as a dynamic and exciting city. We therefore wanted it to be non-symmetrical so that the building would look as if ′in movement′ and ′alive′. The result is a tower like a ′sexy female′, the very reason that earned her the nickname: ′Xiao Man Yao′.″ which means "young girl with tight waist”. I love that this tower is a chick. Impressive by day, glamorous by night. She has a few ‘sky platforms’, like that in Eureka Tower in Melbourne. As you can see, from 433m up and from the vantage of the sky platform, Guangzhou is a HUGE city. And the picture only shows you a tiny part of it. But then, another reminder of how small the world is – chatting with another Aussie in the group, we realised we lived 2 streets apart in Melbourne’s East when we’re not expat-ing it up in old Canton.



So today I am grateful for another great day in Guangzhou; a big, big city in a small, small world

Postscript to my great Thursday – severe food poisoning from lunch at restaurant in Canton Tower. Spent my night alternating between being balled up on bathroom floor, and my head in the loo. Being sick SUCKS. Being sick when you’re all alone in a big city in a foreign country sucks even worse. Grateful for my bestie in Shanghai who checked in on me all night by call and text. I lived to tell the tale of my first GZ food poisoning. I hope there isn’t a second!

Ready, steady, cook! Not.

Confession. I don’t mind a bit of dixie-bashing. Seriously, I don’t. I am an enthusiastic (but not particularly good) cook, I love reading recipes anywhere – books, mags, online – and I don’t mind cleaning up my own mess. I actually find the whole process – from preparation, to cooking and then the repetitive, wash, rinse, repeat on dishes when it is all over quite cathartic and a good way to slow the mind after a busy day. I also take some pride in some of the structures I have built while stacking the dishes in the dish rack. So taking all this into consideration, it is not a stretch to say that my kitchen here is beyond basic. Beyond rustic. The lack of equipment is actively encouraging me NOT to fend for myself and make my own meals. And that is hurting me.

I was provided with:
• Saucepan (IKEA)
• Fry pan (IKEA)
• Basic utensils - ladle, egg flip, spaghetti server (also IKEA)
• Plateware for two – two plates, two bowls, two rice bowls, two tea cups (from, can you guess? IKEA)
• The saddest excuse for a knife block ever - these knives can’t cut an apple without bending and warping (very disappointing, IKEA)
• Cutlery for two – 2 knives, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 2 teaspoons
• Glassware for two – two glasses (I’ve broken one already) and 2 wine glasses (thank you, thoughtful landlord)
• Microwave
• Hot plate
• Fridge
End of stocktake. For shiz, that is seriously it.

Oh wait, I fib. I also have a large and very modern rice cooker. Cos, you know, they eat a bit of that over here. ^_^

But where’s my wok, man? What about a toaster, dude? And thanks for the hot plate, but I guess an oven/griller combo is out of the question?

Talking to one of the ladies in the office, she laughed at my desire for an oven. Why? They just don’t bake ANYTHING at home here. She also suggested that the lack of appliances may be deliberate attempt to keep me *out* of the kitchen. To save the maids from having to clean up all the greasy splatters from the wok. “But I would never do that!” I protest. “I clean up after myself!” (refer second sentence of this post).

Having my apartment serviced by the maids every Monday and Friday is quite nice, don’t get me wrong. The amount of dust that accumulates in just 24 hours has to be seen to be believed, so it is great that they come and dust, sweep and mop the floors. But I haven’t yet left more than a teaspoon or juice glass in the sink for them. It just feels so WRONG. I’m one person, and have hardly any dishes to dirty anyway, so seems a bit mean-spirited to leave for poor Ayi (Chinese for maid) to come in and do twice a week. As if I could even I could leave them that long to be done, I have so few to use! And, as I’ve said previously, I don’t mind doing it. Though, if my bf is reading this… oh never mind, the horse has bloody bolted and I’ve put it out there now and you will never offer to wash up again! *wink*

So… what is my point today, what am I grateful for? I am loving the RMB10 shop ($2 shop) for the various containers, utensils and cooking apparatus they stock, all for the bargain price of about $1.50 per item. I appreciate Ayi making my bed every Mon and Fri (sorry – that is all in good conscience I can leave for you to do apart from dusting and cleaning the floors). I’m lucky that no one else has to eat the food I am managing to prepare with my meagre provisions *hehe* And I’m grateful I live in a neighbourhood with lots of dining options for when I just couldn’t be arsed messing up my one pot and one frypan to make a dish that is missing a small but vital ingredient and so ends up tasting utterly BLAH. Oh, China. You’re testing me! And I’m grateful for *that*, too.

To market, wet market

I emailed my family this week about a trip I had made to a 'wet market' close by my apartment here in Zhujiang New Town, Guangzhou. Why is it called a wet market? Well, apparently it is due to the fact that the vendors are constantly 'wetting' down the vegetables, fish and meat. They sell food here very close to it's natural state. Chinese supermarkets, even more so than in Australia, over-package their perishables. All the fruit and veg here are wrapped and wrapped again - 3 tomatoes on a tray and glad-wrapped, 2 cucumbers wrapped together, 1 apple on a tray wrapped etc. So much waste! And the products - as is often the case with supermarkets - fall well short of the quality you can find at your local green grocer, or as is the case here, wet market.

The fruit and veg at the wet market were vibrantly coloured, impossibly fresh and much more flavoursome than those I had purchased the week before at Jusco supermarket. The merchandising wasn't fancy, just piles and piles of gorgeous, fresh from the farm fruit and veg.




In my email, I was admittedly a 'bit of a girl', squeamishly describing how you could buy fish - freshly plucked from the tank and then killed, descaled, gutted and filleted in front of you, and how I instead opted for pork and tofu as my protein choices. I also gabbed on about how there was a part of the market where they would kill the chicken on the spot for you, and how I didn't want to meet my meal in advance.

My very wise father sent me a note with his thoughts on my squeamishness and his admiration for the way the Chinese do their best with what they have...

"In many respects I like their simplistic approach for unlike us and not having an oversupply of electricity they use those natural things to keep things fresh – viz

• Use the water that fish swim around in to keep them fresh before they are needed (I bet at the fish shop they had oxygen going into the tank to keep the fish swimming)

• As for Chickens – keep them in a cage (which is where you normally keep them) until they are processed = fresh meat"

Thanks Dad, for the reality check and different perspective. You're right (you usually bloody are, which can be frustrating at times!). Next time I'm at the wet markets, I won't be such a big girls' blouse and instead I'll admire the measures the vendors take to keep electricity use and costs down, their lack of superfluous packaging, and the unquestionable freshness of the products they're selling.


The pork shop


One of the many fish shops

Aussies rock

One of my favourite aspects of travelling abroad is running into other Aussies. I mean, of course I’m not going to have an immediate affinity with every Aussie traveller I meet, but more often than not, it’s bloody great to run into them. I particularly love running into someone in a foreign city who has settled, knows the city, has loads of tips and is happy to share them with you. True of most expat Aussies. The good news is that there are many expats living and working here in Guangzhou – I guess due to a combination of the business opportunities here and the proximity to nearby expat hot spot, Hong Kong.

Last week, I was invited to expat drinks last and was told about something fabulous. Something that excited me more than $10 massages, $7 pedicures, yummy hot pot, rich culture, incredible shopping. An Aussie bakery. WITH PIES. AND SAUSAGE ROLLS. AND…. *LAMINGTONS*! Only a short walk from my apartment! Wheeeeeeeeee! And they stock Aussie beer and wine, too! Did I mention PIES? And sausage rolls? Oh and I almost forgot (over excited about pies and s/rolls) – I could get a SOY LATTE. Even a soy chai latte if I were so inclined! Here! In Guangzhou! The saying ‘all the tea in China’ wasn’t born out of them drinking a little tea here, ya know? They drink loads of the stuff and good lattes – soy lattes! – are like hen’s teeth.

So today I’m grateful for the Aussie sheilas who set up Boomerang Bakery. I haven’t met you yet, and I hope to soon but I am soooooooo glad you’re here and will be visiting on a regular basis.

P.S. Mum, if you’re reading – they also have caramel slice! How ace is that?!

"Tell her to relax"

This week has been crazy. Manic. Apart from the sensory overload of my surrounds, and my inability to understand much of what is said around me, I have had a really l-o-n-g week. I can't remember the last time I was working - as in, still at my desk, proofing docs, replying to emails and calling colleagues - after 7pm. Okay, 6pm.

Time seems to be measured in a different unit here, it moves so fast. Every day I find myself thinking 'No! 12 o'clock already?? What happened to my morning?'. Or I look up from my screen at 6.30pm and see the core group of my local team who are still plugging away, knowing that they have another 60-90 minutes in them (or even longer, if we weren't kicked out by the prime agency in the building).

So, it was with great relief when I packed up my laptop at 7pm last night, slipped on my flats and made my way home.

Let it be said - I love a massage. Whether Swedish, Thai, remedial or relaxation and everything in between, I love that time on the table - having someone soothe the aches, work out the knots, or twist my limbs like a pretzel. And when I'm travelling, my love of massages increases exponentially. In Melbourne, I might treat myself to a massage every few months, but when I'm travelling, my 'massage money' has no value and I average 3 a week. I think part of it is the need for physical contact and part of it is just the need to stop, take time out - forced relaxation (which doesn't sound all the relaxing, but trust me - it is).

Exploring the city on Wednesday night, my colleague and I found a fantastic Traditional Chinese Medicine massage centre, open til 2am (!) every day, chockablock with locals waiting for their massage, and very reasonably priced. Friday night we returned, with two more fellow travellers in tow, for a 70minute TCM foot and leg massages each, kicking off with a neck and shoulder massage.



The first 10-15 minutes of having my neck and shoulders pummelled was more torture than therapeutic. How could this tiny woman inflict so much pain on me? But at the end - sweet relief. Every second of grimacing, screwing up my face and gritting my teeth had been worth it - I felt light. Energised.

Then - she moved to my feet. Getting around in Havaianas this week had done my arches no favours. "Tell her to relax" my therapist asked my Cantonese-speaking colleagues to relay to me. "I'm trying!" I beseeched. Distracting myself with the endless supply of red tea, watermelon and sweet bean soup, it sort of crept up on me - I was relaxed! It wasn't hurting, it felt good, great even! And then - she moved to the next foot. Back came my pain face, tensed muscles. The message came again "Relax, don't fight me". Again, the watermelon and tea distractions.

And then it was over. I was kicking myself for my silent wishing it would just *hurry up*, because when it was finished, I just wanted MORE. My tiny torturer was now my new favourite person in GZ, with her magic hands and no-nonsense attitude. I thanked her profusely and let her know that I had remembered her number - I would be back for more of her tough love physical therapy. And all for A$13-14! So thank you, Ms 56 - and see you soon.

Don't take it personally...

A friend relayed a story to me that had me howling with laughter. I was literally crying I was laughing so hard. The story starkly pointed out the differences between Western and Eastern culture, and why you need to have a thick skin over here.

My Aussie friend, we'll call her A, was visiting the Guangzhou office with another (Aussie) colleague, B, and caught up with a local colleague, Y. A & Y hadn't caught up in person in 2-3 years, but they had worked together on a number of projects and initiatives over a 5-6 year period and so were quite excited to see each other.

Our GZ colleague, Y, exclaimed "you look so good, A! You were so fat but now you are skinny! What happened?".
A was flabbergasted and tried to conceal her shock with an incredulous laugh. At *most* she had been a small size 12, whereas now she was a size 8-10. Hardly fat. On the small side for a Westerner, really. A sort of laughed and said "Oh, thanks, Y! You look great, too!"

B was intrigued, though. "Really? How fat was A?", she asked Y
"Hmmm probably as fat as you, B. But - she is skinny now so maybe you can do what A did? How did you get so skinny, A?"
B is now red-faced, and probably wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.
A, trying to get a reaction, told Y "I had a really tragic thing happen in my life and I was too upset to eat and that is how I got so skinny".
Not missing a beat, Y said "Oh well, you look great now"

It reminded me that in country of 1+ billion people, you can't be too sensitive. Occasionally, people will be direct and feelings might be hurt, but you can't take it personally. They just don't have the time or the inclination to pussy-foot around and pump up your tyres. You were fat, now you're skinny - good for you. Next topic!

A timely cultural reminder I'm thankful for. Not to mention the belly laugh I had as A relayed the tale to me. Thanks A xo

I'm here. So... what now?

Right.

So here I am. Can't quite believe it.

Day 5 (? really - only day 5??) in Guangzhou and trying to figure out how to successfully manoeuvre my way throught this hot, steamy, bustling city of 10.2 million.

First impressions - it is much greener, newer and less dirty than I'd imagined. GZ has always been made out to be the grungy, uncool, bogan little bro to sexy Shanghai and successful, ambitious Beijing. Perspectives vary... I've been told by more than one person that you either love it or hate it here and some of those have *really* hated it, recommending I spend as much time as possible anywhere but here! It's too early to tell, but I am definitely not hating it so far. I mean, I can't understand about 98% of what is said to me, I can't jump in a cab and give them directions of where I want to go - lots of written notes and pointing to directions that I cannot understand - but I can tell you this. I can order 'kafei' - GOOD, Italian brewed illy and Lavazza. I can request 'da bao' - take away - from the pizza place and Japanese restaurant around the corner. And I can say 'xie xie' - thanks to those making my coffee, giving me food, ferrying me around.

This opportunity I've been given - to live and work in a foreign city, with a life and culture so different to my own, with a team of people so different and yet similarly motivated is extraordinary. That my lovely fella and family have supported me in this undertaking - "Sure, go! We'll look after your dogs, we'll look after everything! Just go, enjoy, learn as much as you can and we'll be here when you get back" - is pretty incredible and something I am so thankful for.

It's going to be hard and I will have my 'China moments' where the lack of control, understanding, and immediate support network will see me throw a tantrum, cry, have a total melt down. But you know something...? I think that the good moments will outweigh these 'China moments' a hundred to one. Or maybe 10.2 million to one.

And if they don't - I'll say xie xie for the memories. And the kafei ;)