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大润发 - RT Mart - crazy shopping time

大润发 or Darunfa, is the Chinese version of Wal-Mart. It is a massive shopping complex with home things, clothes, appliances and all manner of groceries. It's also affordable (read: really really cheap) and most importantly, is a hilarious excursion for a free Sunday in Jinan. 

Going on a Sunday ensures that the most people possible are cramming onto those escalators, and that the whole building is full of screaming children and is generally a serious fire hazard. It's worth going for the pure spectacle, and it brings you to a great plateau of understanding of the contemporary Jinan family. 

It's also hilarious to see not only what they sell, but how they sell it...

To begin with, a nice little slice of Engrish for you. Better not park your car too much like fruit or vegetables.

A couple of examples of how many people are flowing through this massive complex. And the 'sales' banners that seem to yell at you. So much red. Also, so much sauce.

And now my favourtie: this is how you buy rice from darunfa. It reminds me of a sandpit - and throws the "health and saftey" precautions of developed countries to the wind! I saw kids mashing their hands through it...  I don't wanna know what they find in there by the end of the day.

This next stuff is called Rousong. Simply put, it is dried and flossed meat. The Chinese version of jerkey. You can read an explanation of it in this post, as well as a horror (read: amusing) story of my history with this particular peculiar snack.

This takes grocery shopping to a whole new level. They have people making you fresh meals, the same as the street food stall holders do. People line up and wait, and place their orders, and then take away their lunch. There is also an incredibly dumpling selection, a massive bakery area, and a whole section for fresh seafood (so fresh that it's still alive in tanks) and a butchers.

Oh, and an extensive selection of pickled delicacies...

All in all, I always have a fun time at Darunfa. Needless to say, I'm always the only westerner there. I can spend at least twenty minutes just browsing the wall of instant noodles, let alone the sauce and flavour aisles. It is so inspirational and I get the most delightful cooking ideas! It's also overwhelmingly visually stimulating and quickly makes you tired. Unsurprisingly, it is always loud and people push you around here like they do in the rest of China, except in Darunfa they have trollies. 

I cant tell you for sure, though, that the bakery section alone makes up for all of Darunfa's discomforts.

A little introduction to Jinan

I haven't been out and around too much, but here's what I've seen so far.

Students on my beautiful new leafy campus. When the sun is shining it's like a big oasis.

This is the big church in the center of the city. I intend on going to a service one Sunday. I find it fascinating to see how the traditions change to envelop a different culutre. Chrisitanity in China is unlike Christianity anywhere else.

These ancient Chinese rock formations make up the large part of a prayer garden.

Good to know Jinan has it's fair share of delicious (and enthralling) street food.

I went to the town mosque as well, but it was being seriously restored/renovated. All of Jinan is like this, I am certain it's in the middle of a big boom. The inside of the mosque and it's gardens where nevertheless tranquil and beautiful. Also clearly unused.

A recently completed courtyard of the mosque.

I think some people live in some of the small quarters of the mosque grounds...

An idea of the older styles of building in Jinan.

Bicycles are really popular here too. Jinan, like Beijing and most of China, is also quite flat. I also want to illustrate the kind of stools I sit on when I eat street food. (See bottom left. And no, my bottom doesn't fit on it. And yes, my knees come up under my chin.)

wondrous cooking night number two

The second cooking class we attended had the accurate title of ‘Wine & Woks’. There was a lot of wok action and a lot of tasty wine. We made a total of three different dishes, and once again the vegetarian option turned out to be quite tasty indeed. My real interest in this class wasn’t necessarily the new recipes, but I really wanted to know how to match wine to Chinese food. Chinese wine isn’t famous for a good reason – it’s terrible. Brands like ‘Dynasty’ and ‘Great Wall’ are a serious joke (read: they taste like ass) amongst the expats in China, and most locals don’t fancy the western idea of what wine is. I had faith, however, that the dishes I had tasted throughout the year would find their true grapey soul-mates.

For entrée? Seared King Oyster Mushrooms with Glass Noodle Salad.

If I’m honest, this was actually my favourite dish of the evening. These mushrooms have a totally unique texture and when seared, seriously resemble scallops (which was the original recipe). The winner was the glass noodle salad. It was so light and yet had such a rich and satisfying flavour combination. It was also easy to make and surprisingly healthy for a Chinese dish. The salad had fresh capsicum and spring onions, and the dressing was made with a lot of fresh ginger, so this kind of thing goes well with a Chardonnay. With spring flavours and light Asian meals like this that often feature seafood (the picture on the right is an example of how this salad goes perfectly with garlic prawns) the dish needs to be paired with a white wine, but you don’t really want it to be too heavy like a sauvignon blanc.

Moving on to mains… Tofu Burger with Paksoy and Shitake Mushroom Taro Mash.

This meat equivalent is the Soy Braised Pork Shoulder. I accidentaly ate all my burger before I got a nice photo of it.

Holy moses, this was easily one of the best burger patties I have ever had. The secret was in the texture, and by adding millet and barley to the mixture, you had something chewy and filling. Mushrooms provided that meaty kind of flavour, and with strong Chinese flavours like soy sauce and sesame oil it was totally tasty. The onion gravy was rich and sweet thanks to aniseed, bay leaves, dark soy sauce and ginger and complimented the taro mash amazingly. For this mash, the recipe says to actually add the Paksoy (a common Asian green vegetable) and mushrooms to the mix, but I guess the Australian in me just wanted to appreciate a creamy buttery mash mix. Nevertheless, the meal was wholly filling and reminded me of all the best kinds of winter comfort food. I found out that Chinese meals with heavy textures and flavours like this go well with (reds, of course, and) particularly a Pinot Noir or Shiraz. The meat version of main meal that evening was Soy Braised Pork Shoulder with the same Taro Mash. I’m sure you can imagine how great that smelled and looked, and the same wines would suit.

And finally for deserty deliciousness – Chinese Date Sticky Pudding with Ice cream.

 

They certainly were popular...

On paper, this recipe was your classic sticky date pudding recipe, but Chinese dates have a truly different flavour that puts a whole alternative swing on the dish. I know when my mum or grandma make this classic, it is sickly sweet (read: I love it) but Chinese dates don’t have that crazy sugar content that normal dates do, and so instead of having a pudding that tastes like pure sugar, you have a dessert that tastes like real dates. In case that disappoints you, I can say for sure that the hot sticky toffee sauce that goes on top is sufficiently sweet for even the sweetest-of-tooths like myself. So, what wine for such a sweet dessert? We were given both a South African Shiraz and an Australian fruity Merlo. Personally I preferred the Merlo, but possibly only because I’m more used to it. Either way, a rich and warm desert like this needs that rich redness.

So there we are. I learnt a lot about flavour matching, and now I know what to serve people when I try and take my recipes home. I also had a great fun evening full of cooking and eating and drinking. What more could you ask for. Seriously. It was wonderful.

wondrous cooking night number one.

A walk through the Beijing hutongs is never without insight.

When I was in Beijing during August, my mum and I went to two evenings of cooking classes together at a great establishment called The Hutong. It is, as the name suggests, situated in amongst one of the quaint and more traditional areas of Beijing full of hutongs, and they offer all kinds of classes and information sessions and excursions. As well as doing two cooking courses, we also enjoyed a couple of evenings of untutored life drawing and a local market tour and a big tea market tour. 

So, for this first cooking class I finally learned how to make my favourite kind of Chinese cuisine – Uyghur food. I’ve talked about it a couple of times before, and you can read those blogs if you want to know more about this kind of food in it’s own right. I’m just a little obsessed with it just because it’s just so damn delicious, and so when I saw that these people were offering ‘pulled noodles’ classes, I was totally pumped. Fully psyched. Jumping my bones. All over my China travels I have seen people standing out the front of their restaurants, massive strings of dough swaying in long ropes between their hands. They twist it and bang it down to such a loud *CLAP* on their boards that it’s hard to believe these thin noodles don’t break, but the secret lies in the freshness and the ancient technique. Pulled noodles are the perfect example of when the culinary world crosses over into artistry, not to mention athleticism. Damn, it ain’t easy.

That evening we also learnt one of the many possible deliciously rich sauces that can top these noodles. Usually this kind of food is famous because of it’s suitability to red meats (rich lamb & tomato stews and thick noodles like theirs can put any English ‘comfort food’ recipe to shame) but as I already knew, the vegetarian versions of Uighur food can be just as – if not more – delicious than their meaty counterparts. One of the reasons for this is because of the swathe of spices in every single dish, I mean, I talked about all this kind of thing in that other blog, but I just want to reiterate the fact that these meals are the Chuck Norris of Chinese food. You can throw that sweet & sour to the pigs, and the dumplings to the dogs, but Uyghurs know where it’s at. They’re on the down low for what the belly wants. They’re tapped into the tongue’s inner mind.

mmmmm plum juice. yeah baby. also machete.

 I digress. I was wondering whether or not to actually write up the recipe for you. The reasoning was this: Nah, don’t bother. Would anybody really believe me enough to try and make this? Then the reasoning was this: DUDE, COME ON. PLEASE IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE THEN ENRICH IT WITH THIS DELICIOUSNESS. So, as you can tell by the capitals, the second reasoning won out and I shall attempt to recreate the recipe for this blog. I really feel condescending saying this, but in case you don’t normally cook a lot of real Asian food, it might take a little getting used to. With Uyghur food, and especially with the noodles, it’s a lot more about personal judgment than about the measurements. On that note, I’m giving you the vegetarian version, with possibly some notes about how to adjust it for meat content, because I am more confident with how to do the vegetarian version. It’s not vegan, though, it does have eggs. But chances are that if you’re vegan you’re already pro at altering recipes to suit your diet. The recipe below also includes all of my personal annotations from the evening, and should serve 2 hungry hungry hippos. (read: people like me who like eating) The recipe is in three parts, so here goes!

PART 1 – THE DOUGH. mmmmm noodly doughy. so much good dough time to be had.

The important thing to remember with the noodles, is that they share an impatient temperament with scones – i.e. you have to be quick when you’re preparing them or they won’t work. The noodles also have to sit for about half an hour before they are cooked, so it makes sense to do the dough first then make the sauce, then come back and finish the noodles. 

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of plain flour – wholemeal flour can’t really be substituted here because the noodles must be stretchy, and you can’t get stretchy with the grainy.
• ½ a cup of room temp. water – use vegetable juice for extra goodness and also extra colour.
• Pinch of salt
• Small bowl of vegetable oil – any kind of oil can be used, really.

Directions: 

The kneading. Look closely and you can see that this
dough is still a little lumpy. It should be nice and smooth.

1.       In a bowl, add the pinch of salt to the flour. Add just a bit of the water (or other liquid) to the flour, stirring with your hands/fingers in one direction only. (The temperature of the hands helps the dough bind.) Keep adding liquid little by little until you have a mixture that resembles the consistency of bread dough. It should be kind of sticky, and very malleable – springing back a little when pushed. (Best described as the texture of an earlobe. But whatever.) 

Cover the flat disc of dough in oil to seal the moisture in.

2.       Dust a wooden board with flour, and knead the dough until it is lump-free. Remember not too take too long, but it needs to be completely smooth, but if you knead too hard the dough won’t be soft enough to pull. I know, she be a demanding beast. 

3.       Push the dough into a round, flat, disc kind of shape. Use your fingers to coat that dough in a layer of oil. Cut it into thick strips. 

An example of the diameter and shape of such coils.

4.       With those same oily hands, take the strips of dough and roll them out into long strips about 1cm in diameter. Take a flat plate and wind the long rolls into a coil on it the cover them with a bit more oil, and cover the plate up. The noodles can be layered on top of each other with no worries – the oil is necessary to keep them soft and stop them sticking together.

5.    Cover the plate and set aside for 30 minutes.

PART 2 – THE SAUCE. mmmmmmm saucy. all that rich saucy goodness. get into it.

One thing that really strikes me about this part of the dish, is just how much oil it contains. I’ve given my best estimate of the minimum amount of oil you have to use, but I can honestly say that the finished product doesn’t feel oily at all, and olive oil can be used so it’s not too bad for you. But hey, I never claimed it was a healthy recipe, I just reiterate how gosh darn DELICIOUS it is.

Ingredients:

•        3 or 4 eggs – depending on how hungry you are and how much you like a good egg. (1 cup of tofu or lamb or beef or chicken can be used here instead.)
•        A handful of mushrooms – only if you’re doing the egg version.
•        10 tablespoons of oil – vegetable oil is fine, but I recommend olive oil.
•        ½ an onion, chopped – the original recipe calls for a quarter, but I love the onion with the spices, so you can switch it up depending on your onion and your preference.
•        500 grams cherry tomatoes
•        1 to 2 garlic stems, chopped – I can never find these in Australia, but they can be substituted with a small capsicum.
•        Chilli – this is totally up to preference. If you like it hot, I suggest one or two fresh chillies. If you like the flavour without the pain, I suggest 3 small dried chillies.
•        5 garlic cloves
•        1 ‘thumb’ or ginger – in other words, a good knobbly chunk of it.
•        3 tablespoons of vinegar
•        1 tablespoon of dark soy sauce
•        ½ teaspoon salt
•        1 teaspoon sugar
•        1 teaspoon of cumin – add more if you’re having meat.
•        1 star aniseed
•        2 or 3 bay leaves – dry.
•        1 chunk of cinnamon bark – it literally looks like bark. If you can’t find it, a normal roll of cinnamon can be substituted, but is certainly less cool.
•        1 teaspoon of Sichuan pepper
•        Fresh coriander for topping – optional but highly recommended.

Directions: 

Frying that delicious assortment of crazy herbs in the oil.

1.       Crack the eggs into a bowl. Dice the mushroom and two garlic cloves and a chunk of ginger, and add it all to the eggs. Give it a good stir around. 

2.       Scramble the eggs as you normally would for a Sunday breakfast, then cover them and set them aside. 

The cherry tomatoes on their way to sauciness...

3.       Make sure your pan has no water in it at all, and put the oil in it at a medium temperature. When the oil is hot, add the Sichuan pepper corns, the star aniseed, the cumin, bay leaves, and the chilli. When it smells really good (takes a couple of minutes) take all the spices out. 

4.       Add the cherry tomatoes (unchopped) to the oil. Be careful of splatter here. Fry the cherry tomatoes for about 10 minutes. Make sure they keep moving and stay covered with the oil. 

5.       Once the cherry tomatoes are soft and saucy, add the onion, capsicum, salt, sugar, dark soy sauce, and vinegar. Braise on a low heat for another 10 minutes.

Everything coming together at the end.

6.       Once the sauce is sufficiently saucy, add the eggs and cook for a minute or two all together. Now remove from heat and cover. 

7.       Add in the remaining fresh garlic and ginger just a minute before serving and stir through.

PART 3 – THE PULLING AND COOKING OF THE NOODLES, AND SERVING. this is the fun part. but also the hard part.

Directions: 

1.       Bring a big pot of water to boil. Add a pinch of salt. 

2.       Unwrap the coils of dough, and on that same oiled board/surface, roll the dough out into really long snakes. Take a length by each end in each hand, and whilst pulling the dough longer, also swing it up and down banging it on the board. If your dough is soft enough, it should be pulled to about a meter. It will expand too, so don’t make the noodles too thick. 

 

3.       When all of the dough has been pulled into long strands of noodle-potential, put them all together into the boiling water and cook as you would spaghetti. The noodles should rise when ready. 

4.       Rinse the cooked noodles quickly under cold water to remove and glugginess. Split them into two serves and into bowls. 

5.       Give the sauce a quick high-heat reheat, and pour it over the noodles. To taste and for prettiness, I recommend the chopped coriander on top. 

Eating this meal with proper chopsticks also makes it taste better. Do it. To drink? Plum juice is traditional, but a strong red wine or cold beer is somewhat more suitable and satisfying.

Here's one a prepared earlier. This is served with a cold cucumber and chilli salad on the side. I also prefer mine a little saucier, and therefore more suitable to the humble bowl. Humble Mr. Bowl is less photogenic though.

As with most things in life, this meal is also better when shared.

So there it is! It’s my first recipe recitation, so please forgive any discrepancies, and questions are welcome. Drop me a line for more info on the meat substitution options. More vegetables (potato is particularly good) can easily be added, and the noodles are also wicked for soups.

coming soon...

Over the next few days I'm going to revisit some times that I very-much-enjoyed in Beijing. They were great times. You should be excited.

Jinan digs my Hermit Mode.

So here I am. Finally. Fully settled into life here at my new university. In this new city in this new province. A lot is new here. Almost everything, actually. And it’s all new in so many different ways. What kinds of ways? New ways. And do you wanna know what the best thing about it is?

IT’S AWESOME.

To begin with, my room is about six times bigger than my old one. I am sharing it this time, with a lovely young woman from Sierra Leone. At first she was a bit reserved, but I broke the ice by teaching her that when I say “see you later, alligator” she has to say “in a while, crocodile.” Now she thinks I’m mad, for sure, but at least she knows I’m friendly. When I go out she plays SUPER loud African music. It’s so great. It isn’t even reggae, it’s actually African music like what I listened to when I was there. It brings back the most wonderful memories of crossing borders and seeing the scenery change. I am just washed over with the most wonderful feeling when I think about an African person and an Australian person living together in China. How few years ago our situation would have been totally impossible.

We have the room worked out so that my desk is just underneath a lovely window. Each morning I get up and turn my computer on and I look out across the rooftops and to a balcony just like mine, and the man there keeps pigeons and just before the sun sets each afternoon, the pigeons are let out to fly. In an endearingly imperfect formation they perform the most ephemeral loops above their home. I watch them with such intent, and yet I have never caught the moment when they are released or when they return. It’s inexplicable. From my balcony I see across to the dormitories of local students, six or eight to a room, and they are so cramped but they have such fun. Their laughter and chatter carries across the space between our buildings, and as I watch them hanging their laundry I also watch cats on lower roofs who slink around as though nobody can see them and I see steam rising from chimneys at predictable times of the day and early night. I can see to the left, that gardeners here tend their beds with just as much attention and affection as green thumbs back home. I can see to the right, that the bags of groceries parents carry home here look nothing like what fills my fridge and pantry back home. I have a (literally) birds-eye view of a small space of the community around me. It goes bustle-then-quiet each day in the same glorious repetition as the pigeons take their flight. It doesn’t matter what I just read on BBC about the tenth anniversary of September 11^th, those pigeons still fly. I overbrewed my tea? Pigeons don’t care. I can stand on my balcony and look out and feel so assured of my smallness. On rare occasions, I suppose, we can all truly relax and feel like everything makes sense.

Looking back inside the room, I can see my material life in front of me. My bed covers are Mr. Men hand-me-downs from my brother’s years of youth, and the quilt I bought in Cambodia. The bookshelf sits against the wall, filled with books sent for me from home. A map covers the wall and it’s cross-hatched with lines of travels. The sill is covered in plants that my mum bought for me while she was here and I over-water them because I love her so much. There must be so many reasons that it feels right for me to be here now, because I’m genuinely happy.

Without wanting to sound like too much of a hippy, I really just dig optimism. The ridiculousness that I have to preface that statement with a pseudo-apology is not lost on me. In youth, our optimism is often mistaken for naivety simply because we make so many mistakes. Cynical people call themselves realists because it makes them cool, and I feel that a cynical attitude towards China is often much easier to maintain than an open-minded, positive one. Before my mother arrived in China I was a knot. A knot of what? Disappointment, fatigue, anger, sadness, loneliness, etcetera etcetera. Shanghai was difficult. I had, as usual, overestimated my capabilities on all fronts and, as usual, failed at a lot of things and learned a lot of lessons. There is nothing quite as humbling for a young person, than to take a leap of independence, only to be saved a short time later by the parents whom they leapt away from. We all walk out that door with our heads held so high that they aren’t sitting on our shoulders properly, and I suppose they sit at home laughing at us patiently, waiting to see us reappear on the porch – except this time on our hands and knees. Crying. Poor, if not in debt. Probably cold and definitely in need of a good spaghetti bolognaise. Six weeks of holidays with my mother in Beijing was like spaghetti bolognaise for the soul. I don’t know what I would have done had she not come to see me. It is a constant affliction of a loving child, that they may never express the sheer galaxy of gratitude which they feel towards their parents. A good mum and dad seem to me to be the best things that fate could ever give anyone. Ever. In the world.

When I was nearing the end of my last semester, I remembering wanting to kill myself at the thought that I had another whole semester to go. What a dramatic teen. It felt very intense at the time, though, so I wrote out a plan of attack. A kind of guide for how to get through another six months. I decided I would go into what I like to call ‘Hermit Mode’. Hermit Mode involves strict schedules, correct amounts of sleep, reasonable exercise and a reasonable diet, with allocated time for each area of my life. Making the time to do the things that make me happy, and doing them everyday. The cost? Ridding myself of all possible uncontrollable variables – i.e. people. It’s not as crazy as it sounds. When I get enough sleep at night I wake up on time and don’t nap in class so don’t have to do so much homework. When I’m not hungover I get several extra hours of the day in which I can get the missing album artwork for my iTunes library. YOU CAN’T TELL ME YOU HAVEN’T DREAMT ABOUT THE DAY WHEN ALL OF YOUR MUSIC HAD ITS PROPER ALBUM ARTWORK!!! Hermit Mode is amazing! I cook amazing food, because my schedule allows it! I read every night before I sleep, and I feel so energized because I’m so fit. I see some new friends during class, sometimes on the weekend, but mostly I keep up infinitely better contact with preexisting friends via the internet. I write people letters. YOU CAN’T TELL ME THAT YOU DON’T DREAM OF WRITING LETTERS TO YOUR FRIENDS!!! A lot of the time they don’t arrive, but hey, that’s China. Do I feel lonely? No. Undoubtedly, it helps that I am living in the same room as someone else now, but you know what the real reason is? I have a big ‘ol handful of friends of diamond quality, and I don’t feel inclined to go mining through the rough for any more. Seriously. Rad. Quality. Of. Friends. Thanks. Don’t really need any more. I am content. I feel I am in perfect balance between enjoying my time here and longing for home. The former outweighs the latter only because I know the latter will arrive all too soon. Perfect, I know.

I haven’t got any pictures just yet on account of the shabby weather, but as soon as it clears up again, you’ll see my little slice of Jinan. I have two more in-China trips planned before the end of this semester, one to Xinjiang and the other to Yunnan, in that order. I suspect that in between those trips, this blog might morph into something of a different nature, given the change in my living Mode and general disposition. Not quite sure yet. I guess you’ll know when I do. I’ve never sustained Hermit Mode for longer than a few weeks, so it will be interesting to see what happens over several months.

I have so much more I want to say, but it is now my official bedtime, and if I go to bed now I will wake up at official wake-up time, and experience another day of OFFICIAL GENERALLY-AWESOME TIME. Oh yeah. Shazam.

Democratic People's Republic of Korea - part 6 (conclusion)

Our hotel was on a little island with one bridge in and one bridge out. One night we went for a walk around the island by ourselves without the guide, and the next morning we recived a sombre scaolding about the "incident".

I suppose the final thing I would really like to talk about regarding the North Korea trip fits itself rather well into a kind of conclusion for this series of posts. A trip to the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is more like a journey back in time than it is a distance of space between one place and another. I think, above all, North Korea taught me a lesson about history. About the way that systems and societies develop through time. About the way that human beings themselves change in nature over time – ‘evolution’, I believe it’s called. Not in a biological way, of course, but in a way that makes us look back on our ancestry and feel both pride and horror simultaneously. It’s the same kind of way that you look back on your teenage self and feel repulsed. No? Just me? Okay then let’s move on.
   

Government-published newspapers sit in public stands like this for people to read. The papers cannot be scrunched or put in the bin because the have Kim's face in/on them. If someone intends of getting rid of the newspaper, it must be respectfully folder (preferrably without the face folded) and respectfully placed somewhere for someone to respectfully take it away.

Upon arrival I was quick to notice that DPRK was the splitting image of what China was in the late 70’s early 80’s when it was first opening up. Not because I’m particularly good at that kind of observation, but because it was so damn obvious. Take clothing, for example. A communist government seeks to keep all citizens as one big unit of inseparable equality, and regulating clothing is the perfect way to do that. It is a natural conclusion to draw, then, that in their grey uniforms and standard outfits, they might in fact look incredibly similar to how China did several decades ago, because at that time China was also a strict communist country. It helps that they all have the same colour of hair too, but the example extends to every single visual variable of the nation. The architecture is instantly recognisable and could be from Soviet Russia. The current trains are often old gifts from the Soviets, or at least made from Soviet designs, and the plane I flew from Pyongyang back to Beijing was the Air Koryo airline whose planes are all decommissioned from original Soviet use. The newspapers are all owned by the state and are painfully predictable, bearing a striking resemblance to the propaganda leaflets of Nazi Germany. The big portraits of the Kims everywhere are straight out of the Dummies Guide to Communism. These are only the visual examples, but my point is that North Korea could be one of many countries if you only travelled back in time instead of across the land and ocean.
   

They all wear the same clothes. Either the uniform of all grey (left), or a pale shirt with black pants. All of them.

The not-so-visual examples of policy, control and fear, are much more offensive examples of course and need not even be listed again here. On the whole it is a terrible country, but riddle me this: as fair-minded people of advanced civilizations with wondrously clear notions of what humanity is, do we still deem it as acceptable to call a tribe of people living off the land as ‘savages’ because their society is not as ‘developed’ as ours is? Do we still believe that ‘we’ are better than ‘them’ because we appear to exist centuries ahead of them in science and table manners? No, we do not. We are taught that the word ‘different’ is to be used in place of ‘better’. I used to think that was a load of politically correct rubbish, because none of my people died from smallpox anymore and forks are great for spaghetti, but the Masai people do not commit suicide from accumulations of unpayable bank loans, nor do they really contribute to global warming. When a child has learning difficulties in class and falls behind she is no longer beaten, and when a pup is born the runt of the litter he is no longer drowned. I believe I am coming to understand that many of the differences between different countries of the world exist not because of a difference in the fundamentals of humanity, but because of a discrepancy between time frames.

Perhaps I am not making myself clear. When I landed back in China I felt as though I was free again. Yeah. I felt free – in China. How crazy is that? Pretty damn crazy. If I went back 40 years ago, I would feel as suffocated in China as I did in North Korea. If North Korea opened up tomorrow and we went 40 years into the future in a Tardis, I honestly believe that as a country, it would enjoy great levels of general betterness. How long is fort years? It’s really not that long. Not that long at all. The people I met in North Korea were not evil. They are communist because they were raised that way, in the same way that you and I believe in a system of voting which is often messy and ineffective. They are the same sacks of blood and organs and spirit encased in skins that differ only ever so slightly from yours and mine. Give them the gift of openness and forty years, and tell me what you think would result. Everything important about a human being gets better with time. 

We were, of course, subjects of intense scrutiny and attention.

What this kind of thought also reveals to me, is just how far China has really come. In the same way that people are born into different circumstances in life, I think it is possible to say that countries begin in certain (read: unfair) circumstances. Hardships and setbacks that they begin with – things that they have to carry on their shoulders where others have no weight. Even culture and tradition can be weights themselves, and such things are inseparable from the country itself. The opium wars and the Korean wars, the struggle against and then for and then against communism. A massive population over a massive space with unsteady leadership. Every country has a cross (or several) to bear. Long ago it was decided that when it comes to measuring human beings against one another, a paradigm like social Darwinism simply isn’t fair and will never work. We might be running the same race, but nobody begins on a equal starting line. Perhaps humans, and indeed countries, cannot be wholly judged on where they stand now, but by how far they have come. Australia is such a young nation. We have metaphorical rosy cheeks and always had bigger siblings to help us learn the ropes. We are still, in fact, within the Commonwealth and being about 200 years old (as opposed to thousands of years) we do not have heavy weights of history or culture or tradition holding us down. Australia may have started with convicts and a bloody and disgusting battle for land with it’s rightful owners, but compared to a lot of countries, we have it easy. We began with democracy – there was no need to fight for it and there is no ‘losing team’ who resent it. Our nation began with all of England’s history behind us. We were able to learn a lot of lessons from others’ mistakes. We are the classic youngest child.

Just one example of the many, many monuments that we saw. They have a thing for monuments. Seriously. So many.

I have begun to look at China with a softer eye. This doesn’t meet that I don’t see the faults and sores, but I believe that I now have a fuller perspective of their weight. I know the scale now. Before I went to North Korea I didn’t realise what 1 meant compared to 10 when you’re comparing countries. The trip has made me to reevaluate what I originally thought of as being ‘terrible’ and ‘shocking’, and it’s also made me a lot more perceptive to the good that occurs right under my nose. The transformation that China has undergone has been a rapid and epic one, something akin to hurricane or cyclone. They began with a rough false start, and have been sprinting madly ever since. Things like the ‘one child’ policy give me faith that China is on the right track and things like Tibet make me think it isn’t, but I know for sure that if spitting in public makes me truly furious, then my perspective is way off. It’s all about perspective and it’s all about the scale, and I’m trying not to sweat the small stuff now that I can see how small it really is.

I wish I could go back in time to see what China was like when it first opened up. I have no doubt it would bear a striking resemblance to what I saw in North Korea (but perhaps slightly more populated). I feel as though I just met the parents of China and saw it’s childhood home. Now I understand where it comes from and how far it has travelled from it’s origins. How often do we dismiss an individual on infinite grounds, only to feel guilty and offer redemption when we discover a sad past – a difficult beginning. Being bullied does not excuse the act of bullying, but it helps us to understand. My trip to North Korea helped me understand China in a way I never could have imagined.