My AGGHHHHHH CHIIIIIINAAAA Moment

Jean Paul Sartre once stated, ‘for an occurrence to become an adventure, it is necessary and sufficient for one to recount it.’ I have said before that every day in China is an adventure and even bad experiences often make for great stories. Yet life in a Chinese yard sale can sometimes be infuriating, confusing and downright difficult. The Chinese have a delightful way of doing some things unbelievably efficiently and others the most seemingly illogical way possible. During these moments it is necessary to take a deep breath and scream CHINA!!!!! as loud as you can (inside or out of your head). It also helps to have a ready brigade of like-minded wine quaffers to laugh at the ‘AAAAHHHH CHINA!!’ moments with.

 


I have been incredibly fortunate since I moved away from England. I have met some wonderful people; people who have not only enhanced my life with their humour and interesting stories but with whom I have found genuine connections. I am told that connections are rare, yet for me they seem to happen at exactly the right time and I couldn’t be more grateful. While there is a long list of people both in China and The Czech Republic who have permanently inked their name on my life, I feel that my three China bum chums – Sharin, Alex and Dominic - deserve a special mention in the greater context of this story. Not only do we work together, seeing each other all day every day, illuminated by the harsh lights of Disney English and usually irked about one thing or another, we also spend most of our free time together. I can honestly say that I absolutely, whole heartedly (and verging on being slightly pansy-esq) adore these three wacky human beings. Anyway, enough of the (completely unnecessary) ego boosts.

Pretty much sums up our Shanghai lives

The point is that this year we spent a wonderful, unconventional Chinese Christmas together, complete with turkey carved using a butter knife and chopsticks and eaten from paper cups, a Japanese BBQ and one hell heap of Saki.

Turkey Dinner provided by Disney

For New year’s, along with our friends Austin and Jo Jo, we decided to swanky pants it up at a seventh floor bar on the Bund – a row of expensive bars and restaurants inside old, European-style buildings that line the Huangpu River. Dressed up to the point of distraction, we saw in 2012 on the roof terrace of New Heights, drinking champagne and looking out over Shanghai’s most breath-taking views.

View of Pu Dong from New Heights at Three on the Bund

The street below was absolutely rammed with people, characterizing all that is China on this traditionally un-celebrated event. The theme of the party was fire and ice and was accented by ice sculptures, a laser dancer and fire cocktails. It was possibly the most lar de dar event I have ever been to and was a fantastic way to see in the new year. I feel I have to preface the real point of this tale with the positive energy of this past festive period. What follows is my all-time top of the ring number one AAAAAAAHHHHHH CHINAAAAAA! moment….

We left the bar, slightly worse for wear and breaking all of my new year’s resolutions before the sun had even risen on 2012. Attempting to get a taxi was unsurprisingly difficult, as it is in every major City on New Year’s Eve. When we did finally get one, he took us to completely the wrong place. To be fair to him, our intentions were not exactly as clear as they could have been, considering the language barrier and the immensity of the City in which we live. ME: Do you know C’s? DRIVER: Blank stare, DOMINIC: You know, rapey bar. C’s. Shit, what’s the address? ME: Somewhere near, urm…somewhere. Zhong Shan Park, I think.

Equally as clueless

Standing on the side of the road in the middle of somewhere near something (not C’s bar) we were discussing our options when another driver, this time on a tut tut, approached us. We tried to communicate our intentions with more vigorous hand gestures and slightly louder voices. I can only imagine that this had the effect of waving candy in the face of a child: I was holding my purse…waving it, basically in his face, repeatedly…cue slap stick comedy moment as tut tut driver grabs my purse from my hand, hurdles onto his bike and stutters off down the street. Dominic took off after him, coat tails bellowing, arms flailing. It was almost, but not quite, worth the 500 yuan nestled unawares inside my kidnapped possession. Not the best way to begin the New Year, but a lesson none the less and a semi amusing story with it.

Two days later, I decided to brave the bank and get a new card ordered. At this point it is worth noting that in China, if you lose your bank card the bank will freeze your account for a week until your new card gets delivered. This means that you cannot access your money (even if you take your identification actually into the bank) for a week, regardless of rent payment or any other life related necessities. So I went to the nearest ICBC bank but they were rammed and unorganised. So I walked further up the road, found another and took my number – 1089, twelve people in front of me. Be patient.

When it was finally my turn, none of the people behind the counter spoke English. I called my assistant teacher and official SOS Chinese language champion and she explained my situation. CHINESE TRANSLATION: So you want to open a new bank account? ME: No. I want to keep the same account; I just need a new card. CT: Can I have a look at your existing card? ME: No, it was stolen. Which is why I need a new card (???????!!!!!!!!!!). CT: So you want to order a new card? ME: YES!! CT: Ok, please fill out these forms. All three of the forms were written in Chinese characters. ME: Urm!!?? Be patient. Finally someone who spoken English came over to help me fill out the forms and we began to make some progress; as we entered hour two of Chinese bank fiasco.

Another side point worth noting: before I arrived in China, my company set up my bank account for me. All they took into the bank was my passport number and personal details. I didn’t sign anything, in fact I didn’t even know they were doing it until they handed me my card and bank book at our first meeting. Therefore, when the bank woman asked me to fill out the address my account was opened under, I had no idea. I explained the situation to her and she said that I would need to provide this information before we could progress. ME:  So what you’re telling me is that some random person can open an account in my name but you won’t let me access this account, even though I have my passport and gave you my pin number, unless I provide some arbitrary address given six months ago before I had even moved here? Be patient. BANK WOMAN: I’m sorry, it’s bank policy. ME: But can you not see how ridiculous that is?

A conceptual image of the inside of my mind

I phoned the HR manager of my company and explained the situation, hoping that he could give me the address which was apparently so necessary. He wasn’t in the office and said he would e-mail it to be the following day. We were now approaching the 90 minute mark of my epic test of patience. The bank woman said that they would see if the address was really necessary but if it was then I could go to the branch that my card was set up at (an hour metro ride away) and that it wouldn’t be necessary to have the address there. Her colleague said that he would check straight away and tell me if I would need the address or not. He didn’t check, instead he served another eight people and kept me waiting for another half an hour. Be patient.

Finally, they said that as long as I had my company name it would be fine. I told them (by this point there were five bank people, mulling over my issue) and they proceeded to laugh at me in Chinese, but using the English for my company, over and over in an almost ludicrously obvious manner. BANK WOMAN: We need the Chinese translation. ME: It’s Disney English; there is no Chinese translation for Disney, it’s just Disney…internationally, Disney. BANK WOMAN: But we need it. Be patient. Ten minutes later…BANK WOMAN: We don’t need the Chinese translation, it’s okay.

AAAAAHHHHH!!

They then photocopied, scanned, photocopied, scanned, went through every page, scanned and photocopied my passport until man number four of the five-bank-clerk-brigade was holding seven photocopies of my passport and another seven of my visa. I think it’s worth interjecting that I am in no way over exaggerating this story. Not even a little bit. Another ten minutes of excessive stamping, examining, stamping and giggling and they finally handed me back my passport with a slip of paper which I will need to return with, in order to finally get my card.

Several lessons were learnt from this epic fiasco. 1. Don’t make alcohol related New Year’s resolutions while downing champagne…It destroys all validity. 2. Never wave your purse in a tut tut driver’s face while doing a particularly accurate ‘obnoxious foreigner’ impression. 3. In the face of absurd adversity…BE PATIENT! (and laugh like a loony toon on E!)