Sweeping changes

Well. Tomorrow, Sunday 5th April, is my birthday. I shall be (apparently, so they tell me) 41.

Forty-one. Was a more depressing age ever invented? Like so many of its odd-number fellows, it sits uncomfortably between two even numbers each rich in cultural references. The only cultural reference point I can think of for 41 is that it was the age of the unfortunate character of Timothy, played by Ronnie Corbett, in the 80s sitcom Sorry!, which isn’t too great a role model. It was bad enough last year, when I stared and stared at all the cards on the mantlepiece with a large number on the front, wondering who on earth they could belong to as they quite clearly had nothing to do with me. But now I’m not just 40. I’m IN MY FORTIES. Last year I had to come to terms with the notion that I would be ticking a new box, the 40-49 one, on most forms from then on. Then last night I had the horrible realisation that there might even be forms with a 41-50 box which, as of tomorrow, will include me. I’m probably not even allowed another birthday party for the next nine years, and when I do have one, all my friends will be old. As well.

Here in China, this weekend also marks the annual Qingming (pronounced Ching-ming) or Tomb Sweeping festival. This is one of those ‘does-exactly-what-it-says-on-the-tin’ type of festivals when people, er, sweep tombs and generally tidy up and tend their family graves. They also make offerings at the graves in honour of their ancestors. It’s very similar in sentiment to the better-known Mexican Dia de los Muertos (though sadly without the fabby costumes, Watty & Mark!) As one of China’s few solar festivals it always falls on the 15th day after the Spring Equinox, i.e. the 4th or 5th April. Great. Just what I need when I’m feeling a bit sensitive about being middle-aged – a festival of death on my birthday.

Tomb Sweeping Festival was only designated a public holiday for the first time in 2008, when the traditional May Day ‘Golden Week’ was shortened to three days, and you get the impression that people don’t know quite what to do with it yet, especially as it falls on a weekend this year anyway. If the Scottish government ever gets around to making St Andrew’s Day a holiday like they keep threatening, the Scots will know exactly what to do – go to the pub and generally celebrate an extra day’s skiving off work – but the Chinese, as a largely workaholic nation, seem ill-at-ease with the concept of leisure time and appear to find it difficult to relax. They’re forever working at weekends to make up time and, with the exception of Chinese New Year, seem a bit confused by the idea of days off. This is no doubt why China is one of the few countries whose economy is not currently in recession, what financial problems they do have all being of external making.

Anyway, the only evidence of anything unusual going on this weekend has been the fires on street corners where people burn papers bearing blessings and gifts for their ancestors, such as we saw at New Year, only on a slightly wider scale – in Harbin anyway. For the past couple of evenings they were to be seen in every gutter, and the aftermath – in the form of piles of charcoal – was much in evidence this morning. Our ‘corner shop’ downstairs was selling bundles of brown paper specifically for the purpose. As we drove through town on our way to the airport today, there was a bit of a holiday mood - though that may have been due to the unseasonably warm spring sunshine which has made all the ice and snow disappear in the space of a couple of days – and on a road out of town which presumably led to a cemetery there was a mile-long tailback.

Then we arrived into Shanghai tonight in a downpour worthy of a Scottish summer, which would have extinguished the brightest of sacrificial flames and was distinctly non-tomb-sweeping weather. Part of the tradition involves picnicking, chatting and possibly flying kites by your family’s grave once you’ve done your sweeping, but it really wasn’t the day for that so I guess they all went home and ate the food they’d put out for the ancestors there. Apparently they only put the rubbish food like dry biscuits out on the actual graves in case ‘bad spirits’ (or very much alive scroungers, more like) help themselves to it, and save all the good stuff for indoors.

In many ways it’s a fitting conclusion to this week, which for me anyway has had a bit of an ‘end of days’ feel to it. This was my final week in our Harbin flat until the autumn, and I’ve been feeling quite emotional about it. Everything seems to be changing. Even B&Q is closing, a victim of the credit crunch, apparently. Said establishment, we found with some hilarity on our arrival in Harbin, was right on our doorstep, between our flat and Peter’s office. You’ll appreciate the comedy in this when you realise that Peter, who hates DIY with a passion (despite being, unfortunately for him, rather good at it), nearly tore his hair out having to visit our nearest branch in Edinburgh almost weekly in the run-up to our departure last year in an effort to finish our blighted bathroom refurbishments. Anyway, B&Q Harbin will remain open only as long as stocks last – which won’t be long if the swarms of locust-like bargain hunters fighting over humidifiers and buckets reduced by 20% last night were anything to go by.

I hasten to point out that I’m not particularly emotional about the closure of B&Q. I may be hormonal but it hasn’t got that bad – yet! I have however been stressed by several things. The first was trying to book a cheapish hotel in Kyoto at the height of their sakura (cherry blossom) season. After fruitless attempts via several useless websites with non-real-time booking systems, we had to grovel to Peter’s Japanese colleague to find us somewhere, after initially turning down his offer of help because he didn’t seem to believe us when we said we didn’t want to pay £275 a night.

The second was having to leave Harbin just as spring is starting in earnest after five months of grim winter. I’m gutted about this. Unlike all other migratory creatures, we are flying south for the summer. Not sure what species of swallow that makes us – not African or European, that’s for sure – maybe just perverse? Though in a supreme irony, as the infamous Harbin heating has another two weeks to go before it’s switched off, it’s been a like a sauna in our flat there this week, while in Shanghai we still need to wear winter clothes indoors and take them off when we go out!

But the worst part was having to clean the flat. Cleaning rented flats before moving out of them is something I deeply resent, especially when I then have to scrub the new one from top to bottom as I did last week because the previous (western!) inhabitants had left it caked in ingrained grime. In all my years of moving house, I’ve tried in vain to establish whether there is in fact some code of practice which states whether it should be the outgoing or the incoming tenants who do the cleaning. As an outgoer, I’ve always done it under the unspoken but ever-present threat of the Lost Deposit, only to find that the people moving out of my new place had taken this threat a lot less seriously than me – no doubt with good reason, as I’ve never heard of anyone actually losing a deposit due to poor cleaning. Of course we’re not really moving out of Harbin, but a vague threat that the landlady might want to come in some time to have a look at the place was enough for me, so I’ve dusted and hoovered and mopped (well ok, Peter mopped) all week with spectacularly bad grace.

Our Chinese colleagues, and other non-British westerners such as Big Boss (who’s Australian), can’t understand why we don’t get an ayi – a kind of maid-cum-nanny who seems to be de rigueur for all westerners in Shanghai. How do you explain to a foreigner the peculiarly British angst which surrounds the whole question of employing domestic servants, especially ones of a different (whisper it) race? It smacks so strongly of colonialism and the class system that we wring our hands in liberal anguish, convinced that by paying other people to do menial tasks which we’re quite capable of doing ourselves we’re somehow suggesting we’re socially superior to them, despite the fact that this is what goes on in workplaces every day. Couple this late-20th/early 21st century crisis of conscience with the very mid-20th century view, inculcated in us by our mothers and grandmothers, that the worst fate that could ever befall a woman is to be judged by others for having a dirty house, and you see why it becomes impossible to hire a cleaner, who by definition will see us at our worst – unless we clean up before she comes, obviously.

I grew up in the kind of home which got cleaned when – and only when – we had visitors. When we visited others’ houses they had no doubt been cleaned the day before as well. (The trick is not to do it the same morning; that way they won’t smell the polish and so will never guess.) For my mother’s benefit I must point out that this is not meant as a criticism! Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a spectacularly convenient arrangement which allowed everyone to maintain the charade that their house was immaculate at all times while not actually doing much work – though the question of the impromptu guest was always a fraught one, of course. Despite now seeing the inherent ridiculousness of this - and wondering why these people were our friends anyway if these were the criteria on which we judged each other – I have nonetheless embraced the same practices wholeheartedly in my own adult life: something which both amuses and infuriates my husband, whose own family had a much healthier take-us-as-you-find-us approach to the whole business.

So the idea of letting a Chinese woman into my house to poke about in my toilet and behind my fridge, all smiles and Ni hao’s while probably thinking ‘God these westerners are filthy heathens’ fills me with horror. Even if what she’s actually thinking is ‘Thank goodness these westerners are such filthy heathens or I wouldn’t have a job’. Or even just ‘Thank goodness I’ve got such a cushy job where all I have to do is clean up after these oddballs’. For the Chinese, you see, it is – oh so ironically – all just a question of market economics. We can pay, they want a job; what’s the problem?

So perhaps I should just count my blessings. Qingming Festival is also about celebrating spring, planting, and new life. I may be 41 in a few hours, but in a few months, by some miracle – having genuinely thought I’d left it too late – I’ll be having a baby. A sweeping change indubitably, but the most amazing one to happen to me yet. And tomorrow, as my birthday treat, we’re going to Japan: first to Tokyo for a few days, and then to Kyoto, which is a place I’ve always wanted to visit. Japan may be as near to here as going to France is from the UK, but it’s still fantastic.

Changes. Like the man says, turn and face the strain. It’s not all bad.

What a load of Ox

Is it a bull? Is it an ox? Who cares, it's Chinese New Year!

The whole of China has gone de-mob happy (this being one of only two weeks' holiday that most of them get each year), trains and planes are filled to bursting, the shops are crammed with people making last minute purchases of festive fare, and the trees are full of pretty lights. Everything pretty much shuts down for a week, and attempting to get anything done in the preceding couple of weeks is a struggle. Sound familiar? Having just spent Christmas in the UK it gives one a distinct sense of déjà vu. I have to say though, they really know how to do fairy lights in Harbin. There are even fake trees whose branches are made entirely from lights. Princes Street, eat your heart out.

Curiously, the new year holiday is more regularly referred to as 'Spring Festival', which is kind of hard to reconcile with the temperatures of -20 and the permanent covering of ice. Usually it all happens in February, but being a lunar festival (the second new moon after the winter solstice - or the first new moon in Aquarius, according to your taste) it does sometimes fall early, like those annoying years when Easter's in March. Technically this is the year of the Earth Ox, not just any old ox, and each year is also considered either yin or yang on an alternating cycle, so the astrological thing is much more complicated than it at first appears. I'm not going to pamper you with links here though as I'm sure you can do your own Google search if you're genuinely curious about it!

All day and night for the last week we've been deafened by the sound of fireworks and firecrackers going off all around. The firecrackers are in long strings which means the explosions go on for ages. They're allowed to do this for a week before New Year and two weeks afterwards, but not at any other time. Great - three whole weeks of being kept awake until 2am on weeknights and woken up at 9am on Sunday. Guy Fawkes night has nothing on this. If Russia ever decided to invade China, this would be the time to do it - they could shell for a week before anyone noticed.

Unfortunately there's not much to see though. You do see the occasional firework going up, but the emphasis is definitely on noise rather than the visual. Apparently the idea is to frighten off some demon called Nian, which is the word for 'year'. He is also scared of the colour red (clearly a bit of a wimp, as demons go) which is why they hang up red lanterns in doorways. Of course if you were paying attention during last year's Olympics coverage, you'll all know that red is also associated with good luck, so there are lots of red decorations about. Children are traditionally given red envelopes containing money at New Year, and people like to wear red clothes.

Anyway we were hoping there'd be a big public fireworks display tonight, but we got our man to phone the government (as you do!) and he tells us there isn't. These really only seem to happen in places like Hong Kong where the private use of fireworks and firecrackers is banned for safety reasons. I don't think they care much about safety in Harbin but they do like to avoid anything which requires organisation in advance or officials actually doing any work. It's a bit flippin' cold to hang around watching fireworks anyway, so I'm not that bothered.

The weirdest thing we've observed - speaking on a relative scale, this being a country of ultimate weirdness - is the fires on street corners. People traditionally light fires to make offerings to their ancestors: for example, if you think they might want a car, you write down 'car' on a piece of paper and burn it - a bit like a primitive form of online shopping. The thing is that they do this in the gutter, on the street corner. Over an open fire of burning coals. Right next to all the cars, buildings, trees and people. Like I say, safety not a big concern really.

But the main thing is that it's all about family. They have a big family meal on New Year's Eve, then they go out visiting relatives the next day, and on the second day they're supposed to visit the graves of their ancestors I think, but this is now considered bad luck. Anyway, in this day and age most people have to travel to see their families, hence the rail and air travel chaos. Kevin was in despair earlier in the week having failed to get a ticket for any train for his first visit home in a year. In the end he had to fly first class as that was all he could get. Time to learn the merits of forward planning, my boy.

It's also traditional to start the year afresh by cleaning your house thoroughly before New Year's Eve (oh damn, that's today - oh well, missed it!) but you mustn't clean at all during the first few days of the new year in case you sweep the good luck away (now it's starting to sound like my kind of holiday). You should also get a haircut and an entire new set of clothes, which probably explains the shopping frenzy last weekend. The supermarkets are full of really cute traditional mandarin-style outfits for kiddies. On the first day of the new year you're supposed to leave your windows open to let the good luck in, but in view of the climate I say: arrange these words to make a well-known phrase or saying: that, soldiers, game, sod.

However, in keeping with the 'out with the old' ethos, I thought I would share with you the following video which I actually filmed back in September when we first moved into our apartment but which I've been unable to upload here due to having an ADSL line with the diameter of a pinhead. It shows the fab but crazy Chineseness of the flat, including the kitchen light which we dubbed 'the disco jellyfish' (you'll recognise it when you see it) which sadly died this week and had to be replaced with a boring white light.

Also, since I had to enlist the help of a kind friend back home at Christmas (thanks John) to get any video clips onto this blog at all, you've also got more ceilidh dancing from our party back in December. Sorry for the tardiness in sharing these, but make the most of them as they may well be the last videos you ever see here. And it is also Burns Night, so a bit of Scottishness doesn't go amiss. Incidentally Peter got a letter from Lidl this week telling him they've extended their range of kilts. It's a good thing we're over here, I'd have had to hold him back.

Happy New Year! Again.

Fun

Last night we had our first social engagement since we came to China a month ago (if you don’t count a token-gesture meal out with the Big Boss in Shanghai the week we arrived, which you shouldn’t).

This was a ‘party’ given by the Less Big Boss here in Harbin, ostensibly as a belated flat-warming but really a Meet the Girlfriend event, as she’s visiting for the week. This is, annoyingly for those of us stalled in the middle of visa processing, a holiday week here. Today, 1st October, is China’s National Day – the anniversary of the founding of the PRC in 1949 – and they get a whole week off for it. All of them. Well, shops are open, builders are still building (drilling above my head as I type), but nobody else is doing a stitch of work all week.

Up until last year they had three of these ‘Golden Weeks’ as they’re called: this one, one in February for Chinese New Year, and one in May for Labour Day. The purpose of these is to boost the economy through increased domestic tourism and binge shopping and NOT, as you might imagine, to give the poor overworked Chinese a few days’ paid holiday, which they actually don’t get otherwise unless they’re lucky enough to work for a western company. But as of this year the government decided people weren’t spending enough and the detrimental impact on the economy from everything shutting down was outweighing the advantages, so they cut one of the Golden Weeks (the May one) and replaced it with a few extra one-day holidays instead. Now everyone is up in arms about it because a three-day weekend isn’t much use for visiting long-distance family in a country the size of China, and as a result this week was predicted to be the busiest October week for travel ever.

Apart from that, I don’t think much goes on really. There are quite a few red lanterns up around the place (see pic), which is pretty. I was hoping to see some kind of spectacular parade, but it seems that unless it’s a special anniversary that kind of thing went out with Mao. There might be a firework display but I’m not hopeful.

So, to return to the subject of Fun, Chinese style. Now those of you who know me know I like a party. Drinking, dancing, chatting, loud music, more dancing, more drinking, etc. That’s a party, right? Wrong, it seems, in China. Perhaps it was just that particular group of people, who were all Chinese apart from us, Boss and Boss’s girlfriend, or perhaps we’re getting old (heaven forbid!), but this so-called party consisted of nine people sitting around a coffee table picking at nibbles – rather self-consciously as the Chinese weren’t touching them – talking mainly about the weather and the best methods of cleaning hard-wood floors (I kid you not), and then having to go out for a meal because Boss didn’t have enough plates to serve us all food. We got to the restaurant about 9pm, which is considered extremely late for eating here, and everyone picked at their food again and at 10.30 all went home.

Just wait until we have our flat-warming party; we’ll show them how it should be done.