Mission: Postcard - COMPLETE!

Finally, after a long long time, I have finished your postcards!!! I had the same idea back in Cambodia, but I really overestimated my ability this time... hahhahhahaha. A little overambitious, perhaps, but I think they turned out ok.

I hope these find you safe and well. There are 35 altogether, but the mail services in China certainly can be uncertain at times. Let me know if you don't recieve yours.

Welcome to my basketball team.

I'd never played basketball in my life before coming to Fudan, but I wanted to meet new people and stay fit, so I just signed up for the international women's team. It turned out to be one of the most awesome decisions I made, and thanks to me being unnaturally tall, I was a 'natural' - even though I was totally rubbish. After four months I still can't get the round thing through the metal ring. 

Skill level aside, my involvement in basketball unlocked a new sphere of Chinese life for me, which in turn has taught me a lot about this country and this culture. It's a damn big sport here in China, and aside from badminton (lol, I know, badminton) it's pretty much the only thing that the guys play. Chinese girls don't really play, I'm not sure why, but it might have something to do with the insane levels of gender inequality around here. Also, girls with 'muscles' are ugly. I'm not even talking about big guns and killer thighs and a six pack, I'm talking about a healthy physique - not cool. Here in China, young ladies should be the kind of thin that isn't healthy. I'm so sure that one of the reasons I get so many genuinely incredulous stares when I go jogging, is not only because I'm white, but because I'm female. The locals don't stare at the international young men who jog, only the young women. I am starting to learn that a lot of prejudice I experience in China has just as much to do with my gender as it does with my nationality and skin tone.

A relevant example from my basketball experiences, is the constant struggle we face with trying to get free local courts to practice on. All of the off-campus courts are free for women, and at first I thought this was a great sign of encouragement! But the slow-burn realisation was that because we cannot pay for the courts, we also cannot book them. If boys turn up to the court and pay, they have place over us because we did not pay. See what happens there? Yeah. It's a bitch.

There are open-air, free courts on the university campus which are always, without fail, full. The main area has about 20 half-courts, all full of players, stretching so far along that with all the pollution in the Shanghai air you can't see one end if you're standing at the other. Groups of boys wait for at least an hour on the sidelines before it's their turn to play, and these areas are just as much about the socialisation process as they are about basketball. Everybody knows that boys love to gossip and chat just as much as girls, and because basketball is such a massive part of everyday life for young men, the factors naturally come together to create a court environment perfect for connection and friendship. Whenever we try to play on these courts, either as a team or just a few of us wanting to shoot hoops, I can almost feel the animosity - as though we are somewhere we shouldn't be. We are encroaching on their turf. We are getting all up in their grills. Whatever.

The only female Chinese people we can see on these big multi-court areas appear in a ratio of maybe 1:100 female to male - and they are never playing. They are, without fail, dressed in lovely clothes, often high heels, and playing that perfect girlfriend-as-cheerleader role. They are there to support their boyfriends and buy them Gatorade and then go home with them whenever they are finished.  I'm pretty sure girls in Australia get laughed at for that kind of thing.

To them, we must appear abhorrently masculine. With our gigantic bodies and outlandish notions and swearing. We get hot and sweaty and when our faces turn red we just laugh at how freaked out they are. At first it upset me, but I don't let it get me down any more. I go running after dark and ignore the stares (read: the glares). There isn't anything I can do except continue to behave in a normal manner for a young western woman, and hope that maybe in a few years time after many more girls like me have come and gone, our behaviour and attitudes might not be considered so outlandish. 

I digress, this post wasn't actually meant to be so serious!!! I just wanted to show you some pictures of my team "The Strangers" because I'm so proud of us. When we are all together as a full team, we represent 12 different countries. When we get coach tips, we translate them into several different languages, and on court we communicate primarily though positive facial expressions and gestures. It's great. I feel like sport and music have this in common. Whilst I'm not a big sports kid back home, there is something universal about people coming together to appreciate sports or listen to a band. For me, basketball with my team in Shanghai has been one of those things that just transcends location and language and race amongst friends. It's great.

I highly recommend getting into some kind of sport the next time you move to a different country.

Yet again, I am learning new things from entirely unexpected places.

MERMAN

Just to give you an idea of the crazy kind of advertising I see in Shanghai...

I saw this massive poster just outside the metro station. There appears to be two mermen swimming with dolphins, towards a hot air balloon.

Yeah. I have no idea either, but when I saw it I burst out laughing so hard I almost peed my pants. It certainly does remind me of this scene in Zoolander.

today

And once again, I underestimate the how much the weather affects my mood. Today was wonderfully warm and sunny, with the perfect dash of cool breeze like the mint to a mojito. We strolled down the street with our shorts and our sunglasses and our skins soaked in the sun as though vitamin D was contraband-rare. A special kind of positive contentment settled within me.

Nothing super special happened today, but it was lovely, so I thought I'd try and share it with you in pictures.

 We arrived in Xintiandi, otherwise known as The French Concession, at about lunchtime with some very vague directions to a new cafe/restaurant. We love spending time in Xintiandi because although it's an expat hub, it's still wonderfully genuine in so many ways. Exhibit A: man busking with traditional flute.

The alleys and laneways are brimming with character - the residents are equally interesting... 

The whole of Shanghai is an ever-changing mix of past and present and future. Some older generations remember the Cultural Revolution and yet the younger ones have never even had siblings. They dress in all manner of ways and often behave even stranger than their "style combinations" would suggest. 

I am reminded of this when I take pictures of people around the city, some become worried and object - giving action to the ye olde belief that a photo would capture and steal the soul of the subject. Others smile politely and laugh at my tourist-like manner. Others stare in awe at my camera, not even able to imagine how many dinners it might buy, or how many hours toil it would require to own. Others grin and pose, happy and more-than-appreciative of the attention. Taking a simple picture always reminds me of the complexities of everyday Shanghai.

This is the great restaurant where (once we finally found the place) had lunch. Delicious organic food and good coffee recharged our dealing-with-China-batteries. There is nothing quite like pancakes to heal the soul. Homemade yoghurt and muesli might also do the trick... or even a free-range omellete with some garlic mashed potato??? I may or may not have eaten all of that. There was a kids party on nearby too, so the lovely early-afternoon air was filled with laughter and squealing. Hahahaha.

 On our way home through the many mini-streets we had to navigate our way through to find the restaurant, there was a kind of permanent marketplace set up. There was a butchers and fresh vegetables and grains and live animals and people sleeping and all the other elements you would expect to find on a quiet market day, including a very well-fed, content-looking cat which guards your produce while you nap. Classic China.

 Small dogs ran around all through the streets, but they were happy and definitely looked after. This man was baffled by me wanting to take a photo of his bicycle...

 I guess he didn't realise that HAVING CHUNKS OF MEAT HANGING FROM YOUR BICYCLE HANDLEBARS IS NOT NORMAL WHERE I COME FROM.

It's also amazing that the dogs just ran past the chunks... they really must be trained well...

 And then we took a few detours back to the metro station... it was the 'siesta' hour of China, and as usual, I managed to find no less than five people sleeping - quite literally - on the job.

Lastly, while I was buying some fruit, back in the neighbourhood near the university where I live, I noticed that the fruit shop suddenly had two pet chickens. They just ran all over the place together and never left the sight of the owners. I have noticed that people in shops do this kind of thing all the time with cats, where they suddenly have one or two or even three kittens... They always disappear after a while, I'm not even kidding, but this is the first time I've seen a shop owner with bet chicks.

I don't wanna know.

But they were certainly a spectacle, dodging around the bicycle traffic and getting in between people's feet. Quite endearing indeed.

And thus was the end of the day! It was pleasant. I hope you enjoyed yours in all of its simplicity, as I did with mine.

The Gift of .gif

Just some chefs?

The Gift of .gif

 

Turtles can be in .gifs too!
 

The Gift of .gif

Taken in (my favourite place) Sichuan.

I just realised I made this a little too big. Lol. Oh well.
I love it how everyone is moving apart from the tiny man - just glaring at me.

eating whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttt?!?!?!?!?

I write to you now having finished a few small things. Most recently, I finished a cup of tea and some cherries and a sweet bun. Before that, I finished class and then finished a wokful of stirfry with a steamed bun and eggs. I had just finished class, before which I had finished a whole pawpaw and finished the last of my oats and yoghurt. Six hours before that breakfast, I finished a book.

The book is the important thing I finished. Why? Not simply because it wasn’t twilight or even Palahniuck (come on you know it’s just as trashy), but because it was a book about Chinese food and living in China and Chinese culture and China. It’s the first book about China I have really read apart from my lonely planet and I think this says something about the age we live in, and how much information I get from the internet, but it also made me realise something about my own tastes. When it comes to that imperative balance between current-book-being-read and current-life-situation, I prefer that the two not be too intertwined. A good book or television show or movie can have a particularly profound effect on me, and so I have found, that over the years, I cannot read a book about a student when I am studying, nor a drunkard when I am on holidays, nor a traveler whilst I am travelling – the two worlds become too confusingly co-reliant. My reality might pale and the fiction might flame up to the point that it breaches my perceptions of the here and now. My experiences from one influence my expectations on the other, and then vice versa. My sense of self is almost always lost as I battle between my own consciousness and that of the protagonist.

I had made the decision whilst still living in Australia that I would not read too much about China before coming here. Of course I researched into the practicalities of climate and expense and such, but I was keen to experience everything as though it were purely new. I deliberately steered clear of any blogs or biographies of Chinese or expatriates living in China. I am glad I did, because it meant I had nobody else’s expectations sitting in my mind. There were no little creatures in my conscience reminding me of situations or Michael Palin-induced-prophecies which needed to be fulfilled. I also had no dreads or worries of things that might lurk around the next corner. Each time I have walked into mishap here in China, I have done so proudly, with my head held high and a genuine look of shock plastered on my face as it is being slapped.

About a month ago, on the recommendation of a good friend, I began reading Shark’s Fin and Sichuan Pepper: A Sweet-Sour Memoir of Eating in China. The book seems to break the rules I have made for myself. Firstly I currently living and eating in China and so perhaps should stay away from books talking about those exact things, and secondly, I didn’t really want to hear of other people’s accounts of China so that I could make my own. What changed my mind? The same thing that troubles me now. I am experiencing a deep inner conflict.

Ok it’s not that deep.

Well, it’s pretty deep.

It’s about as deep as my stomach. That’s pretty deep – right?

Well it feels deep, so I’m just gonna keep on going.

I am a vegetarian, and on my birthday this year, I will have been vegetarian for six years. Sure, it makes me a little bit proud – but mostly it just makes me groan. It makes my family groan too. It also baffles them. I was, after all, a passionate omnivore (read: Ilovedmeatsohardcore) up until the fortnight before I decided to stop eating it all together. I’m not a vegan, so I don’t really deserve any true kudos, (dude, come on, cheese is so damn good) and unlike my luckier vegetarian comrades, the idea of meat doesn’t sicken me. I’m not ‘wierded out’ by the blood, nor am I ‘turned off’ by the scent of fresh sizzling bacon (I think perhaps it’s humanly impossible to not love that smell) nor am I ‘repulsed’ by the action of chewing the meat from a big old hunk o’ T-bone.

No.

When I smell a lamb roast, my mouth waters in the most natural possible way an individual’s saliva glands could react. It doesn’t matter that nobody knows what’s inside a hotdog sausage, what I do know is that when you wrap it in a soft white bun, cover it with tomato sauce, add mustard, and maybe a little fried onion, you have yourself an almost orgasmically-tasty, and pleasantly portable meal. Chicken skewers with peanut satay sauce pretty much make me cry with appreciation of their beauty. When you have some spaghetti, and then you but some bolognaise sauce on it, and then you eat it, it’s like the gods of the aesthetics of the universe open their plush lips and sing the praises of humans and their ingenious recipes.

I could go like this forever. In a melancholic state of bittersweet remembrance of the meat-eating days, but it’s not really the point of this post, which to be honest, I have severely digressed from.

And so, what I mean to say, is that one of the reasons I decided to read this book about Chinese food, is because for the first time in a long time, I genuinely feel like I am missing out. I can remember what all the western foods taste like with frightening accuracy. There is no excuse to eat them. Here, however, things are entirely different. My lonely planet has a special glossy section for no other topic than Chinese food, with a list of must-visit places for food lovers. I have been to four out of these six places, and have not been able to eat the ‘specialties’ of any of them. Of course, I eat my slightly modified versions, but I think it’s kind of silly to presume that Gongbao Chicken is just as good without the chicken. Then it’s just Gongbao.

That’s what I get. Everywhere I go. The Gongbao without the chicken. 

I don’t even know what that means.

When I came to China I vowed that I would experience as much as I possibly could. I wanted to see all the sides of the country, I wanted to live in several different places and catch trains in between them. I wanted to trek and to ride and to talk and laugh here. Truly. I feel I have done everything I possibly could have so far. If you are a faithful reader of this blog, I hope that you will agree with me. But being in a country like China, where culture and meaning are associated so strongly with food, I cannot help but feel like I am missing a big part of the experience that everybody else takes away from this awesome nation. Chinese people say that “food is the heaven for the people”. Seriously. It’s a big saying. Everybody knows it. It’s probably even true. The sharing of a meal between people is so important. Every step of preparation is as precise and crucial as you would find in French cuisine. It is also one of the most affordable ways to enjoy your time here. I didn’t, and couldn’t have, understood any of this until I arrived and lived here for several months.

To make matters more intense, every region in China has a specific type of cuisine with distinctly different flavours, characteristics and base ingredients. One example is the simple fact that people from the north eat wheat products such as noodles and buns, whereas the southerners eat rice. An entirely different example is that Sichuan food is intensely flavoursome (made famous by Sichuan pepper) with rich sauces and multitudinous spices designed to almost assault the mouth with awesomeness, and yet food from Yangzhou focuses entirely on the natural flavours that fresh ingredients bring to the dish by themselves. Once you have travelled around China, you realise that there is no such thing as ‘Chinese food’ – such a term is a gross generalization of what could essentially mount up to enough different cuisines for multiple nations.

I am at a crossroads. The road in front of me is dusty and barren, stretching out to the horizon. It is a morally correct road of vegetarianism, and it stretches out behind me to show how far I’ve come. (Ok the analogy just got a bit lame, but bear with me. It might help if I look a bit more like Indiana Jones when I’m walking along this road, so lets visualize me in khaki with a wicked hat and pistol and whip.) So that’s the Y axis for this Cartesian square-of-a-crossroads-analogy… the x axis? It’s hustling and bustling like the hutongs in spring. If I stand too close to it I can smell the dumplings, and it’s like a new year’s celebration of colour and life and fireworks and chatter and music. So full of potential and adventure and possibility, I envy how these people indulge themselves on such a daily basis. I reach my hand just into this new territory and the fanfare immediately stops. The fireworks disappear and the music shrinks into silence. I know for sure, that the only way to get into the X axis of China is to jump in. You can’t reach a hand in or take a picture or even one forkful. Now is the time when I either plunge headfirst into this new endeavor, or be happy with the straight and narrow. I am almost exactly halfway through my time here. Decisions need to be made.

Fuschia Dunlop is a well published food writer who speaks mandarin and famously vows to “eat everything she is offered”. The book I just finished is a memoir of her travels around this country and the process of writing her cookbooks. She talks with incredible understanding of the link between food and the Chinese people. She explains how the famines of communism and the Cultural Revolution have imprinted within these people, a desire to eat all that they can at every opportunity. She talks about the elements of Chinese cuisine that appear almost barbaric to the Western world. It is a book I would recommend to anyone who has any interest in China, but also any interest in food.

What I did not appreciate, however, was the sheer amount of meat she consumed, and the number of endangered animals she consumed. In her “eat everything” slogan, she has excused herself from any moral qualms that might (and do) arise when it comes to controversial consumption. To make matters worse she will, on occasion, remark on how eating such immoral food makes her feel bad – and then continue to enlighten the reader on the texture and flavour of her serious crime. Sometimes it’s literally a crime – these animals are on endangered species’ lists. For example, one of the most famous examples of controversial Chinese delicacies is shark fin, and she eats it and then proceeds to talk about the brutal shark finning techniques as though they weren’t her problem. Many times in this book I became furious at her greed and waste. By the end of the book her conscience is catching up on her, and she eats less meat, but still has to “suffer through banquets”. That’s a direct quote. The poor thing has to suffer through plates full of food being offered to her then wasted.

So in this way, I am again presented with a conundrum. Her book has exploded my mind to what I am missing out on by not being able to immerse myself in Chinese food, and yet her own behavior as a saleswoman for the cuisine, is abhorrent to me.

I am utterly and entirely unsure of what to do. If I go back to Australia without ever having tasted a few real Chinese meals, I’m so sure I’ll regret it. Opportunities in my life so far have presented themselves to taste alligator, ostrich, ox testicles and dog. I tried one mouthful of each, and am very glad I did. I have such strong memories of the exact taste of each of those bites, and each was such an unforgettable experience! However, I was never the reason the meal was purchased. If the plate had not already been bought by another individual in an entirely autonomous action, I would not have eaten the meat. In each of those situations, my actions had literally no affect on the meat industry. Go ahead and call the vegetarian police, I’m not justifying it for you, I’m being realistic.

 A possibility might be to undertake a week of meat-eating and see how I feel after seven days. It is entirely likely that I will be violently ill.  It is a little bit likely that I will be revolted with myself. It is highly unlikely, however, that I would regret the expedition. I would almost rejoice in a re-invigoration of my passion to not eat animals. If I did indeed hate myself for taking part in that week long mean-eating streak, I would almost definitely be cured of my lusting of meat for at least another six months, probably a year.

The flipside of that coin, however, is that I might go darkside. I’m talking Vader levels of darkside here. If the chewy tasty bloody fleshiness touches my tongue, there is every possibility that it will evoke within me a hungry beast that has been starved too long. If it escapes, I am not sure I will be able to reign it back in. 6 years is a long time to abstain from something so good… you know what I mean. What if I can’t go back after I get a taste of what I’m missing?

I need some guidance here, guys. Times like this I wish I believed in a God or had some other kind of imaginary friend who told me what to do. Or at least one that would let me absolve my guilty spirit after a week of meat-eating simply by sitting in a box telling a random dude I was truly sorry. Unfortunately, however, we must all actually live with our actions. Let me know if you have any bright ideas.

Welcome to my favourite local restaurant

My favourite local restaurant is a Uyghur (pronounced wee-ger) place, whose name I cannot read leatalone pronounce. But what I do know, is that their food is damn tasty.

The Uyghur people come from Xinjiang province, which is the big one on the far north-west side of China. Now, we all know that China is a massive place, and obviously the people are going to be different on each side, but the people from western China are especially special. For starters (pun intended) the majority are Muslim. This means that they don't eat pork - which is insane when you consider that pork is the number one meat consumed by the Han Chinese. (The Han Chinese are the majority race of Chinese people.) Their physical appearance is incredibly different from the Han Chinese, as are their social customs and their climate and their dialect and their everything.

Perhaps one of the only reasons the Uyghurs are technically Chinese citizens, is because the Chinese government tells them they are. For sure, there are horrible and very serious (to the point of being deadly) tensions between the Uyghurs and the Han Chinese. What doesn't help the situation, is the attitude and actions of the Chinese government. For the past several years, the governement has been encouraging (read: forcing) vast numbers of Han Chinese to move to rural areas which have traditionally been inhabited by minorities. Once the Han families arrive, the government provides them with housing and education and support, and the Han Chinese can often afford to work for much lower wages than the local minorities who recieve no government help.

What this means for rural areas like Tibet, Xinjiang, Qinghai, Inner Mongolia and Sichuan, is that the minorities are being driven out or simply overwhelmed. Dialects are being wiped out in favour of Putonghua - the official standard Mandarin, local faiths and cultures are being overwhelmed with either Christianity or nothing, and recipes are being lost.

I digress.

What I mean to say, is that Uyghur cuisine is AMAZINGLY TASTY. Because of the closeness of Xinjiang to central Asia (all of the'stans) there is almost a Turkish influence to the food - for example they also do a mean skewer kebab. Based on noodles and stews, there are endless combinations of their wintery spices and veggies to keep you entertained. They eat a lot of potato and sheep meat, and also do delicious buns and pastries.What is interesting, is that there is also a very Han-Chinese influence to the Uyghur restaurants you find in non-Xinjiang cities. A restaurant might use more local and very Han-inspired vegetables, whilst still using their own traditional spices, or vice-versa. The way they make their noodles is often also influenced from the north-eastern Chinese cities, which eat noodles and buns rather than the southern rice-eating cities. It makes for eternally surprising and satisfying cuisine, thats for sure. For example, this is what I ate for lunch today:

This is similar to the traditional egg and tomato stirfry, which is a staple of my diet here, and absolutely Han. However, the sauce around the noodles was incredibly rich and tasty, and the egg was fried almost whole instead of scrambled. The noodles were soft and fresh, and in clasic Uyghur style, incredibly filling.

Best of all? It's 10 kuai. Less than two Australian dollars. BOOYAH!

Welcome to the Fudan laundry lady.

I just want to introduce you to the awesome lady who does out laundry here at Fudan university. Originally she was in a room near the foreign students' office, opposite the mailman's room (you'll meet him soon) but then she had to move to fit more washing machines in... so now her little laundry room is underground and she hates it. She is separate from all the other staff at Fudan, and I mean come on, who wants to work a nine hour day without sunshine. 

Anyways, she is always lovely to me and she was so sad when she had to move I felt terrible. One day I was picking up my laundry on my way home, and I had just bought some fruit, so I gave her a nice green apple. She was so happy!!! I'm serious, like, incredibly happy. I had a chat with her and now we are the best of friends. When I went in two weeks ago she sat me down and gave me some rockmelon and asked me all sorts of questions about Australia. We say to each other ni chi le ma? which means 'have you eaten?' and is pretty much the Chinese way of saying 'how are you?'. She works way too hard and all us dirty kids bring her bags and bags full of our smelly laundry.

The other week, I saw a street vendor selling plants, so I bought her a little pot plant, you know, to liven the place up a bit. She was so thankful that she became earnestly embaressed. That plant cost me less that two Australian dollars, and it brought her so so much happiness.

She keeps the plant on her tiny windowsill which is at ground level, and when I walk past on my way to class every morning I can see it growing. She must take good care of it.

It makes me think about how many people are working underground right now. At this exact moment. I can't imagine living the majority of my hours away from sunlight. Toiling in a middle place, where wires and pipes are supposed to run, away from the consciousness of others, out of sight of the things we are supposed to see.

newsworthy

Reading the news this morning and this story, naturally, jumped out at me:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-13813688

I think perhaps I will start a kind of news page for things that happen in China? It has been raining like a bitch for almost a month now, but I only just found out this morning that some parts of China are seriously flooded with hundreds dying. I do not have a television here, and there is no point buying the newspapers because they are so heavily moderated.

Would you appreciate having links to the latest news about China on here somewhere? I've never asked to hear from you (anonymous reader) before, but if this is something I can do to help people be more aware of the bigger-picture goings-on here, then I would be more than happy to rig it up.

Let me know.

vegemite

I was simply doing my duty as an Australian when I introduced my local friends to the wonderous phenomenon that is vegemite...

I could predict the reactions. The horrified faces. Tears running down burning cheeks. Painful gurgles coming from deep within choked throats. Fists banging on tables. Furious looks being thrown my way. 

I know, I know, women and children first!

Needless to say, the excited (read: manic) expression on my face made them a little cautious at first. They were uneasy, but willing participants in this social experiment (read: ritual that all Australian expats inflict upon their foreign friends). 

I had, after three days of searching, found a whole loaf of bread that wasn't full of sugar, and had finally also found some imported butter. (Don't dare tell me yout don't have butter with your vegemite. If that is the case, I'm sorry but we can't be friends anymore.) I would love to have been able to toast the bread, but normal families in China don't have toasters. And seeing as my friends are a normal family, they don't have a toaster. 

They also didn't have a bread knife. This was very surprising at the time, but hindsight reveals to me the stupidity of presuming that people who don't eat loaves of bread would own a bread knife. Confusion aside, I tried cutting the bread with a normal knife and just squashed it - the result?

Me sitting in the middle of their family's dining table, breaking bread with my hands, and passing it down person to person, talking to them about the meaning of what they were about to eat. 

Yeah, I know. I know.

This is what you get when you google 'Vegemite'.
LOL.

I took the liberty of spreading their vegemite for them, because we all know what a fine line that is. How easy it is to be too cowardly and not have enough, to be uneducated and not spread it evenly, or be to careless and end up with a serious salt overload. Each family member recieved their hunk-of-bread-with-condiments in a slow procession, and we waited untill all had their share before digging in.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. There were no casualties at least, and we are all still on speaking terms. The faces were hilarious (see above image). They tried (in vain) to find a taste similar to that found in the golden jar, but nothing was realateable. Questions sprung forth as to the ingredients, origin and alternative uses of such an insane spread, and I happily obliged them with well informed answers. 

I concluded with - "It's pretty much in our blood. vegemite is to Australians as rice is to Chinese."

Then, and only then, did they truly understand why I had brought this thing into their home.

Nobody asked for seconds, but none of them puked. I would count that as a success.

Welcome to milk.

I first introduced my wonderful tutoring family in this post, but I forgot to mention what I learned about the amazing milk service here in Shanghai. Peng and his family get milk delivered, by a milkman, every day of the week.

Yes perhaps you might be thinking -

      'Bri, why are you telling me about milk?'

To which I reply - 

      'Dude, if you could just taste this stuff you would understand. It's how milk used to be. It's how milk should be. It's everything you could ever dream milk to be.' 

And then you say - 

      'I don't believe it!'

And I interject with -

       'You'd better believe it, man! This is the real deal.'

You're really excited now, naturally. - 

       'Tell me more! How can it be that good?!?!!'

I oblige with an informative answer - 

      'Well my dear milk friends, this milk is not pasteurised nor is it homogenised. It is not sweetened, nor skimmed of its fats. It is delivered daily, to a little lockable tin box in your apartment (see above photo) and for less one Australian dollar, you have yourself a cool, creamy beverage.'

But let's get serious. This is actually the best milk I have ever tasted in my life, and I'm a real milk kid. I've tried them all. This milk tastes more like cream than drinking milk. It has a slightly thicker consistency than normal milk, but doesn't leave a thick residue in the mouth. (It does, however, provide an appreciater with a satisfying and mildly humorous milk moustache - a technique at which I am proficient.)

I can almost taste the cow's teet with every gulp.

Ok. Too far? Clearly you don't love or understand milk the way I do. 

Not too far? Clearly you are the kind of milk connoisseur I want in my life. Please email me.

I digress. I just want you to know that despite all the milk-related scandal in China as of late, some of them still really do understand and appreciate the more natural way of life. It's about quality not quantity.
And it's delicious.

so much China.

I just feel compelled to share this image with you. It really doesn't get more 'China' than this.

 I was walking around the small lanes of Xintiandi yet again, and amazingly enough, I got lost, yet again. I ended up strolling down a particularly thin alley which was completely devoid of shopfronts, and so I realised that perhaps I had ventured too far. The ramshackled houses leaned inwards as the grew upwards, leaving me with only a thin slice of sunlight, but the silence was lovely and peaceful compared to the nearby shopping lanes. I was looking through windows into dining rooms of people's houses, and I'm sure I accidentally walked through someone's bicycle garage.

The small details were incredible. I was almost drooling at how cliche this whole area was. Original wrought iron detailing on the windows, big wooden doors with their original red licks of paint faded, rhythmic dripping from every rusting pipe, and a subsequent cool dampness which encouraged a lovely deep green layer of mould on almost all surfaces.

My pace had naturally slowed as I appreciated the surroundings, and I snapped a few pictures. The one you see here features a thick ceramic sink, sitting up sideways, on top of an old table, underneath someone's window. The original reason this mini-scene caught my eye was because I also use White-Cat (bai-mao) dishwashing liquid, but then I realised that the bamboo container beside it is the traditional dumpling steamer basket, and beside that is a small bowl made from traditional Chinese porcelain and pattern. The rust, the steel wool scrubber and the plastic bag are just about as 'everyday' in their nature as you can find in China. I really hope I am expressing myself clearly. To me, this is just such an incredibly information-filled image.

China is made of old men sleeping during siesta, women sweating away in steamy kitchens, children playing in the street, and an extreme attitutde of ordinariness toward extraordinary things that I have not previously encountered. Things like this really have more of an impact on my long-term memory than the big pagodas or the most sccenic parts of the great wall.

Roll 9 - the last

 These were taken at Hua Shan. Overall I'm really happy with how they turned out. It seems you are as well! - Thanks to everyone for the lovely comments.

Roll 8

I think this might actually be my favourite roll out of the nine. All but the last two were simply taken from around Fudan one day in the winter. I remember feeling so enchanted by the cold, and I was only just becoming comfortable around campus. Things were still fresh to my eyes, and I felt nervous for what lay ahead of me.

The trees had no leaves, the people are all rugged up tight, and the skies were grey. I was melancholy for sure, but only so much so that I became thoughtful. Not too negative. There is a certain silence that comes with a true winter that I think Australia perhaps misses out on. People naturally become more introverted and so more self-reflective.

It is an interesting time, and interesting times always make for interesting photos.

Roll 7

 Just some more from Jiuzhaigou.

A friend took this one. I am the walking figure.

Roll 6

This is a particularly good roll. All of the photos are from Sichuan province, my personal favourtie place in all of China so far. I'm quite sure they are all from Chengdu, which is famous for its great food and 'chilled out' attitude. It's not exactly baffling why I loved it so much. The people here were the most awesome. So friendly. In case you missed it, I wrote a city report on it's awesomeness.

 Personal favourtie.