Life in China is full of victories of all colours and shapes (I get paid to sing songs about yellow triangles and blue squares). These are not just the simple kind of victories that I’m used to, like drinking only once in the week or waking up early to go to the gym. These are a kind of me against the grain victories, the kind that deserve, nay, require a particularly enthusiastic, all limbs flailing ‘victory dance’. Sometimes this has to be done in public, but such is such.
Last week my biggest victory had several layers. After getting my flat mates to draw me a very comprehensive map, and still managing to get lost in the back streets of Hong Kou for about an hour, (Thomas: ‘Sophie, it’s just up our street, first right, first left and you’re there), I finally found the local police station. In China one must register their residence within 24 hours of plotting anywhere, whether it is in a hotel, hostel or a particularly swanky pants apartment. My passport (I now have my own China style little red book of residency-yep yep another victory!!) had been at the visa office since I had moved to Hong Kou and so I was over two weeks late registering with the police. My Spanish housemate, David had had the same problem and had been kept at the police station for over two hours with no explanation, only to be let go without so much as a fine. The Chinese police can be unpredictable and also, kind of scary. However, I sailed through my residency registration with absolutely no problems and was out within ten minutes. England-1, Spain-0, a quick celebratory finger dance and I was back on my merry way to school. Usually I try to avoid the public toilets on the road side at all costs, especially the ones in my neighbourhood, but after the previous mission and subsequent Chinese police related nerves, I really had no choice. The final layer of Saturday morning’s victory ensues…
In China the concept of queuing is really not much of a concept at all. Far from the British style of wait and wait, grumble and wait, it appears to be customary in China to move yourself to the front of the queue and avoid waiting at all. As I was in the queue for the toilets, an experience which is made more uncomfortable by the inescapable smell, a woman practically pushed me out of the way and stood in front of me. In just one month I have learnt how to deal with such situations, and so I tapped her on the shoulder, shook my head in a stern, yet not too rude, NO! and re-inserted/asserted myself in my rightful place in the queue with a nifty little hip barge. She looked at me with disgust, decided that she would rather hold than wait another two minutes behind me, turned and walked away. She looked back a few times and shook her head as if she truly could not believe that such an unfair situation had been stowed upon her. I smiled politely: yet another small victory. In front of me were two women who began arguing in raised tones, which appeared to be regarding who was next in line. As the woman in the cubicle opened the door, both women barged into the cubicle so that all three of them were crammed together in a small, smelly, squatter toilet, squabbling and flapping in an absolutely hilarious fashion. They remained crammed in there together, pinning the poor woman who had rightfully earned her toilet time for about a minute before one of them was forced to back down from the fight and out of the cubicle. What a surreal, yet in no way surprising, China experience to begin my 13 hour working Saturday.
While I am on the subject of toilets I have another interesting observation to impart, although I’m still not sure exactly what the routes of it are. If someone hands you a small child in China, beware of how close you place it to your clothes. Nappies are not readily used and most small children have big holes in the crotch of their trousers or baby grows. As far as I'm aware, this is so that they can go about their business whenever they are, whether it's on the side of the road or wherever, and I believe it is also to aid toilet training. However, this means that while you are mushing over the beautiful baby in your arms (and Chinese babies are in my opinion the cutest in the world), said beautiful baby may be laying waste to your daily attire. The Chinese civilisation is one of the oldest in the world and this fact leads me to think that there must be some logical reason why they choose the 'let lose’ method over the conventional method of ‘catch that shit before it ruins someone’s day’. Aside from nappies being expensive, bad for the environment and a bit of a pain to change, I haven’t yet discovered the reasoning behind these crotch-less garments, although my mission is not over yet. What I will say, though, is be careful with how you deal with your shock the first time you witness this phenomenon. Take the example of Papa-T today at Tiger hill in Suzhou. Me: Dad, look, there’s a kid with those crotch-less trousers I was telling you about. Dad: Oh my god, I need to get a picture of this. Me: Dad, it’s still not ok to take pictures of small children’s nether regions. Dad: If only the world recognised the difference between anthropological interest and paedophilia…If only indeed, Pops!
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