Shenzhen, Caution

The landing was faultless. But the moment I stepped into the airport and looked around, my stomach dropped. Everyone here except us was a Chinese. I'd nothing against the Chinese as a people or a concept, it's just that I'd never seen so many Chinese in my entire life. My wife sensed my abeyance and pressed my shoulder. "Come on, this is China. Not Italy". I knew, but, I mean, all these Chinese and so many. "China, Chinese la" She reasoned out. This line of logic left me with very little to argue.

Last month I was in Shenzhen and nearby Guangzhou. Nearby was actually 150 km away. These two cities are now China's boom towns, growing at breakneck rates, and home to 23 million people, all Chinese (What do you expect? 23 million Italians?).

It's hard to find another place more sanguine than Shenzhen. And so devoid of character and charisma. If you love museums, castles and art houses, don't go down to Shenzhen. Go to Leuven. Or Leiden. Nobody here has time for contemplation. Culture and theatre are a waste of space. This is the soulless motherland of finance, factories and fakes feeding off world's rapacious greed and relentless consumption. Only 50 years ago the mantra was fish, farm and fight for the country. Now? Let's make more money.

I was part of a touring party of 17 fine-looking people, all my family members, including wife and daughter Aida. The youngest was nephew Umar, 10 years old. We'd been travelling around together quite a bit to whet the wanderlust. Well, not to Las Vegas or Las Palmas, but mostly the more affordable local and regional hotspots. This time we broke our long-held tradition of self-styled backpacking and bespoke itinerary by taking a guided tour. Backpacking with a guide? Now that's embarrassing. Why? Because this is China, that's why.

In case you've forgotten, China is officially a communist state, you know, Marxist-Leninist, Mao Zedong, Falun Gong, Gang of Four, Shaolin Temple, and all the scary stuff. We heard that government officials in China are summarily shot even for corruption, which, in our country, isn't really a crime. So quite naturally, we were worried. Who knew, we could get jail term in China for laughing or reading. We'd to agree with Ronald Reagan's pearl of wisdom: Why take chances?

Our Chinese tour guide, named Felix, could speak English and a smattering of Malay. He was a native Shenzhenian or Shenzhenese or simply Chinese and very proud of his city. According to him,  the average age of the Shenzhen population was only 31 years. I knew I was the oldest person in my group. Now I was also the oldest person in the whole city of Shenzhen. I quickly told wife that she was technically the second oldest person in Shenzhen. She dismissed it offhand, accusing me of conspiracy, hangover, late-life lapses and so on. All too familiar, if you know what I mean.

After five days and four nights in Shenzhen and Guangzhou, we came away mixed. Well, no place in the world has all pluses. Not even Paris. And certainly not Ottawa. (One of my brothers-in-law still thinks Ottawa is in Japan). You'd always end up with a bone or two to pick. So there's this nagging and uneasy feeling that we might not have seen and done enough. Or, in Obama's language, we weren't getting the biggest bang for the buck. Guangzhou especially deserves more time. The jury is still out, so to speak and I hate this phrase. We've to really sit back and think hard before passing a verdict.

In the meantime, I've put together some takeaways from our tour, if you're interested. If you're not, then just scroll ahead for some Android-quality photos. This list is strictly my opinion.  The 10-year old nephew may have other ideas. PM him if you want to know. 

1. A Guided Tour Is A Time-Waster.

A guided tour of any part of China requires that you visit a number of state-sponsored "craft or cultural centres". The Shenzhen jade factory that we were taken to had the uncanny feel and atmosphere of Hotel California. Yes, that part "You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave..." and the searing guitar licks.  Lucky thing a sister-in-law bought something. That probably was enough to save us and let us live to fight another day. Hahaha.

What's worse than one jade factory? Two jade factories. We'd to visit another jade factory, in Guangzhou. Same bloody scripts and tricks. But this time around we were all prepared to fight back, communist or not. It all ended peacefully though, with nobody buying anything. 

Then there was this Chinese herbal medicine centre or clinic in Guangzhou, where they had a professor from Beijing touch our hands and size up our state of health. Apparently everybody seemed to be down with at least one chronic condition. A sister-in-law seemed to be critically short of oxygen. Hahaha, thanks prof, finally we knew why she was what she was. But no worry, because the kind professor, as expected, would prescribe the necessary (and expensive) concoction. I know a scam when I see one.

We'd easily wasted precious eight hours on these state tours, which we could have easily spent exploring Guangzhou's Muslim quarter, fruit markets, the subway, and the old city with its narrow alleys and quaint shops. Both Shenzhen and Guangzhou were safer than Subang Jaya and taxi drivers eat and live by their meters. We would survive on our own.

Felix the tour guide was a part-time bait-and-switch artist. He was so good at his trade that he managed to lure us into buying bags of nuts, Longchamp purses, and watches from him.

Hwang He, the Chinese River of Sorrow, shall be my witness as I promised myself to never ever again take guided tours and go near tour guides.

2. Muslim Meals Are Marvellous

Chinese Halal food or Halal Chinese food? Doesn't matter. Heaps of horror stories about this. Bland, tasteless, sticky and so on. Don't listen. The food was glorious and out of this world. It was vegetable based, with superb soy and only touches of meat and fish. Very healthful. My weight and pulse rate fell after two days.

3. Fakes Are Fine

Shenzhen and Guangzhou are full of fake stuff, with miles of malls plying the bogus high styles. I'm all for this counterfeiting and bootlegging. I think for far too long the much celebrated European haute couture are getting away with exploiting unsuspecting Asians through clever marketing and subtle branding. Those designer labels are never worth their extortionate prices. They are the real fakes, not the fakes. A fat girl flagging a 100,000 dollar Hermes bag is still a fat girl.

Louhu Mall near Shenzheng railway station was a five-storey affair choked with fakes and knock-offs. The action here was thick and fast. The goods were excellent value, at less than 5% of the "real" thing. The Chinese "designers" have really come a long way. The stitching and sewing was splendid and it'd tough to separate the wheat from the chaff. If your friends can still tell it's not Chanel, you're the problem. Not the bag.

Bargaining here was more intense than watching Lee Chong Wei. Price of anything starts at 850 Yuan (RM 500). You must poke back with only 50 Yuan and then watch the sales girl feigning (or actually going into) fits or short comatose. You must hold your ground and walk away. She'd bolt after you and this fast furious sequence should last for ten minutes before you and the girl finally settle for 100 Yuan, a discount of 80%. The process takes plenty of energy. But well worth it. You get a fake bag and lose 400 calories of real fat. What's not to love.

4. The Magnificent Mosque Of Saad Abi Waqqas

The name alone conjures up the mystique. You simply have to see this old mosque in Guangzhou, a shoo-in in traveller's bucket list. The blatant collision of Arabic and Chinese architecture, set among lush gardens, will just blow you away. The dark red panels and pillars were bold, defiant but delightful.

Saad was Nabi Muhammad's close companion and relative, warrior, archer, traveller and diplomat extraordinaire, all in one. He purportedly travelled all the way to China with his kabilah in the 7th century to propagate the Islamic faith, 700 years before Marco Polo and his gay brothers.

Climbing up the steps, I hesitated. I was overcome by the poignant thought of the old mosque of Kg Laut, where I grew up. It's  not as old, but the warmth and welcome were strikingly similar. I could still picture the mosque standing triumphantly where it was 50 years ago, just like this very mosque in Guangzhou.

5. Beijing Street, Dongmen Market, Baima Wholesale Market, Mangrove Park (or Whatever).

A standard tour will happily drop you off at these (in)famous places. These are duds and dreadful and should be officially certified as state tourist traps. My lawn is bigger than the Mangrove Park, and more birds. Skip if you can. That jade racket was more fun. Go to Sungai Wang instead, when you come back.

6. Finally, Oh My English!

The Chinese love the English language. They've a long way to go. But, believe me, pretty soon they'll speak English better than our public university graduates. Notices and signs everywhere carry the English translations. The intention is noble enough, but you'll almost always end up bemused and amused. You've probably read and heard loads of cruel jokes about this. I can confirm they are all real, not a joke. Here's a selection. Enjoy !      

     

Whatever It Is, Just Don't Do It.

             

Warm Prompt? Heat Spout? Mirror Burst? Be Afraid.

So Profound. Haha

If You Don't Brush, The Door Won't Open

Take Your Time To Rise.  Man, Never Thought Of This. Thanks. 

Kg Pandan Backpackers In Action (Plus A Tour Guide)

 The Great Warrior Was Here

  

Tiap Hari Sayur Dan Air Kosong. Tak Ada Milo Ke? Aparaa.

This Big Guy Is Blocking My View. Wait I'll Tell My Husband.

The Girls Were Laughing At Jade Jokes

"You've Too Little Oxygen, But Too Many WhatsApp Groups" 

Feels Like Taiping. Please Take Us To Jade Factory.

Just In Case You Don't Believe We were In Shenzhen

The Oldest Couple In Shenzhen

 

Dalam Kenangan: Yusof Dohab (1953 - 2016)

I lost a friend last week.

A very good friend, and a quietly remarkable person. I thought I'd write a few words in memory of our friendship and the good times we'd had over the years.

I met him for the first time on the very first day we checked into UKM campus way back in 1975. His room was next to mine. We hit it off in no time. Not sure how, but we just bonded and blended.

We shared the same name, so our fathers had to come in. Our old IC both started with 44. Beyond that, we'd nothing much in common. He was from Kedah, and me, well, you know. I loved football and music and books, while he could never hit a decent tune. I stayed up late, he'd sack out at 9.30. But I could pass along in perfect Kedah tongue. That probably rubbed his sweet spot and sealed the deal.

But there's one more thing that we both passionately shared right to the end: Sense of humour. I'd never met a guy with a sharper sense of humour. Nothing that he couldn't joke about. He had this special talent of seeing the lighter side of anything. His friends, lecturers, brothers, food, sugar readings, and even me, and himself. Nothing escaped his perceptive mind.

When we last met, at a class reunion at Shah Alam, we were making fun of, you've to believe this, Waze. I knew he'd problem locating the venue, but he took it all in his stride "Senang cari tempat ni?" I provoked him. "Senang sangat. Aku pakai Waze". We burst out laughing. He was old-school to the bone, literally scared of  gadgetry and  anything technically complicated. His secretary turned on his desktop and did the emails for him. He'd be the last person in the world to use Waze or any GPS. 

It's hard to be serious whenever we met. There was always something to laugh about. Nothing offensive, just pure, clean fun.       

During those "dark" college days, he'd contrive to occasionally bring a group of Tabligh guys in full garb and gear from the nearby Masjid Al Rahman to my room. He'd call me out as if it was life and death or more than that. Then he'd stand well behind to watch my reaction as the men-in-white launched into a full-blown sermon. He'd nod repeatedly and smile when I said "In Sya Allah". When it was all over, he'd slip back into my room, trying his best to appear apologetic "Sorry la tadi, tapi aku suka la tengok hang serious dok dengak depa tu lecture", and we both roared with laughter. Nobody else could pull off pranks like this.
 
We stayed off campus in the second year.  Our lair was a spacious four-room real estate at Lorong Maarof, Bangsar we shared with six or maybe seven other students. He had a sexy Vespa for class commutes and occasional getaways to the old Lake Gardens. I was his PO1 (pembonceng number one).

For some strange reason, I still remember the Vespa's number to this day: KF 5278. The old workhorse is still around at his house in Kedah, tip-top, raring and ready. I'd never expected it to outlive its master.

He didn't graduate first-class or first in class. Neither did I. But he found his true calling as a "government servant", turning in first-rate performance that deserved not one but two Datukship (three if you count the grandchildren, haha). I heard his boss, the minister, just couldn't operate without him in the mix. Of course, he could operate without the minister.

I think what set him apart was his humility. You didn't have to deal with his ego because he didn't have any. The only thing he "bragged" about was his massive cocktail of medications, which, according to him, the doctors prescribed in kilograms. Even with his social standing, he'd remained faithful to his simple tastes and minimal sophistication, no airs and graces, and no fancy philosophies to flaunt. Showy stuff like culture and architecture would never motivate him. He was driven more by his rural and religious roots. With him, you only get what you see. No wonder he was so easy to like and enjoy.

Last year he did me a favour. Although retired, he still had useful connection in high places. My daughter had applied for a Mara loan to do a degree in UK. It was turned down outright. I thought she had a solid case because she was accepted straight into the second year.

So my last resort was to appeal to the minister, incidentally his former boss. He got me an appointment with the minister's personal assistant (his friend). The minister approved and signed, not one question asked. The following week the minister was sacked. No, not because of that appeal letter, but because of 1MDB.

If you want to know, my daughter is now at KDU College, in Damansara, not England. What happened to the letter? Use all your imagination.

A few weeks before the fasting month, he called me just to catch up. He was all over, up and running about his little orchard around his house in Kedah. I accepted his invitation to a fruit-picking and sleep-over at his house after Hari Raya. This time we were serious. I was all game and looking forward to this exciting event. Who knew, we might even get randy enough and hit the road again. Yes, a retro ride on that old Vespa. Man, I couldn't wait.

It was not to be.

I had very little sleep that night of 16 July. Tossing and turning, my thoughts were with his family. He was very ill and had been under intensive care since afternoon. I woke up at 3.30 am. At about 4.30 the message came in, from his phone. His wife Ani wrote.

My heart sank as I looked on, speechless, shaken and swamped by a deep sense of loss and despair.

                     

Happy And Hippie Hairdays. YD And Me (Back)