Golf

I went golfing last week. The VP of sales needed to “practice” for some boondoggle in the states. I didn’t mind helping out with the practice session. We went to Binhai in the north of Shanghai. VP has a driver, Mr. Shu. It took at least one hour to get there because after we ran out of freeway, we were on a two lane road that became a one lane road every 200 meters. As such, Mr. Shu was doing a lot of decision making at high speed in order to avoid busses, dogs, workers, ladies on bikes, dudes on scooters, old men and rich Shanghainese trying to figure out where second gear is in their new Mercedes.

When we entered the golf complex, it did not feel like China. We rolled past the helipad and up to the bag drop. Once we exited the car, it started to feel like China again as our handler/sales lady greeted us. We promptly had 5 people searching the van for our bags and other golf gear. Mr. Shu had to tell them to get out of there as we had nothing and needed to rent everything. The clubhouse closely resembled the lobby of a 5-star hotel including the 10 workers who were all eager to get us checked in. The VP speaks Chinese so he told them what we wanted. Even though the instructions were quite clear that we wanted two rounds and some clubs, the utter panic/confusion/unexplained need to look really busy caused all of the staff to run around bumping into each other and do a lot of yelling behind the counter. Meanwhile, our hostess/handler/sales lady was working me hard to become a member. Her name was Sylvia and she gave me full cost/benefit breakdown of joining. We had to stop by the pro shop for, well for everything. There were 5 people helping us. I think the VP told Sylvia I might join as she was still explaining how great my life would be if I would join while I picked out some balls and tees.

Eventually Sylvia led us out to the starter’s house. It was manned by 6 people. We met our caddies. Number 293 and number 509. They were a couple of girls from Hunan province that looked like they were about 15 both wearing bright green vests and bright yellow knickers. I think the bright colors were so we didn’t lose them. They paired us with another Chinese guy who had a swing coach/girlfriend as well as his brightly clad caddie. Sylvia wished us a good round and said she would find us when we were done. I was sure of that.

The course was an immaculate links style that loved to incorporate a bunker about 180 yards dead center from the tee box. Number 509 had no doubts to my ability as she told me to use the driver on every hole except the par threes. Actually, I’m not sure what she said but I think she was telling me to swing away. Things actually went quite well for a few holes. Number 509 was good with yardage and okay with club selection. She was best at cheering for me.

In short order, both the VP and I started to unravel. When your ball goes astray, your caddies will yell “Can Cho!” all in unison. We started to get pretty tired of hearing #509, #293, the other caddie and the swing coach/girlfriend yell “Can Cho!”. So we switched from golfing to drinking beer while hitting balls around. I kept trying to get #509 to have a cold beer. Of course it was a joke and I’m sure she has never had anything stronger than watermelon juice. 509 showed more caddying ability in her excellent beer holding skills. She was also good at finding the balls that I kept whacking into the Chinese bushes. After a while, the VP came over and told me we were down to the two balls we were playing. That prompted a new task for 509 and 293. They now had to find extra balls in the bushes for us.

Eventually we made it through the end of the round. We laughed our heads off when we found that 509 and 293 had marked us for at least 20 strokes less than we took. We tipped them well, said good night and went over to pay in the clubhouse. The way they do it in China is to charge you after the round. You have an account that you settle at the end. There we found Sylvia waiting to see if we wanted to join the club. We both said no, partly due to the fact that it was way too hard for us and also because it was inconveniently located down a torn up road about 2 hours from downtown.

We grabbed a couple of travel beers for the long trip (China doesn’t care what you do in your car as long as you don’t run anybody over). We also took Sylvia with us. I don’t know why or how, but somehow, she was riding shotgun on the way home. It’s just how it happens in China sometimes. Mr. Shu had to work extra hard to dodge old people on the way back as it was dark out. It was actually a better ride for me because I could not see what was going on out there. Plus we were a little distracted with Sylvia’s continued efforts to get us to join.

Eventually, we got Sylvia back to her home which was down an alley down an alley. She gave us one last chance to join, then said a cheerful good night as she jumped into the alley.

All in all, Chinese golf is a lot like American golf. It just involved a lot of people, yelling, selling and ridiculous action. Just like the rest of China. I like it.

Ransom

My boss’s boss had her passport, work permit, computer, cell phone camera etc. stolen last week from a Chinese Starbucks.

Today, some dudes arrived at her apartment with passport and work permit in hand and told her husband that it would cost 500 RMB to get them back. Actually, the husband doesn’t speak Chinese so he put them on the line with the office manager here. The office manager (ex- Chinese military) figured out what they wanted, said it was total crap and told the husband that he needed to talk them down to 100 or 200.

It was funny to me that instead of recommending to the husband that he A) whack these tiny Chinese guys over the head and take the documents or B) lock them out and call the cops, the manager recommended C) that the husband talk them down to 12 US dollars instead of 60.

Instead, the criminals handed over the documents to the husband for free and told the office manager they were on the way to the office to collect the ransom.

Sure enough, a dude that went about a buck ten with spiky hair and a cheap suit showed up about an hour later. He waited patiently in the lobby until the executive assistant came out with the 500 RMB. She told him that he could only have the money if he promised not bribe his way into my boss’s boss’s apartments anymore. I swung by the lobby to take a look at how a Chinese criminal gets paid off. It was quite surreal to see the young, smartly dressed executive assistant calmly sitting with spiky hair, punk guy and explaining to him the terms of his payoff. Apparently a deal was struck and buck ten spiky hair criminal took off with his 60 bucks.

One thing I can’t figure out is why the bone-head criminals would give up the goods before getting the ransom. I also can’t figure out why the company told them to come on down to the office to collect the ransom even though the criminals didn’t have the goods.

Finally, I cannot figure out where the hell I am.

Xitang

I went to town called Xitang on the weekend. It is about a one hour bus ride from Shanghai.

I went with one guy from Beijing and another guy from Tokyo. It was good to have the Beijing guy due to his ability to speak Chinese.

I have thought that sometimes having a native speaker present does not make things easier. In fact, it seems that everything spirals into chaos as people all start yelling at each other. In this case, we entered the bus ticket center and in true Chinese fashion, it was mass of humanity, slightly humid and extremely loud. My Beijing buddy figured out the deal and got in the massive line to buy tickets. After waiting for some insanity in front of us to subside, he approached the counter, yelled at the lady, waited for her to talk to somebody, yelled at her again and then purchased the tickets. Luckily, he can read Chinese because after he took a closer look, he realized we had the wrong tickets. We went to a small room where Beijing and the ticket people yelled at each other for several minutes and then they finally gave us our money back. We then waited in the massive line again and we got the right tickets. If it was just me, I would have said thanks a lot, chilled out until the bus left and I might have realized I was in the wrong town once I got there. Either way, not knowing what is going on certainly has its upside. The other upside is that the locals just want to get rid of you instead of fruitlessly trying to get you to understand. No yelling, no arguments, just a slightly irritated Chinese worker pointing you in the right direction.

Xitang is very nice. It is a canal town with very few tourists (relatively). It is an ancient town with lanes that can’t accommodate cars. As such it is quiet and the insanity is kept to a dull roar. It took me a short time to realize I couldn’t hear any cars or horns at all. It was nice. They have old houses you can tour and lots of restaurant type places right on the canals. The people are pretty mellow too. It was a nice break from the insanity of Shanghai.

On the way home, we got stuck in a traffic jam due to a tour bus just like ours that was involved in a massive wreck which left the mangled bus on its side and blocking the road. I was concerned. So was the bus driver; that we were behind schedule. He used all three lanes and the shoulder and generally drove like an aggressive, pissed off Chinese bus driver who wanted to get home on a Sunday night.

Overall, the trip to Xitang was very nice except for the ticket station insanity and the aggressive bus driver. But so far, I have found that if it is not slightly insane, it is not China.

Old Ladies Hawk Loogies While Biking

I bought a bike a few weeks ago. My Chinese co-workers have no idea what a “bike” is. I have to tell them I bought a “bicycle”. I paid 60 bucks for a Giant brand bike and two locks. The transaction included no English dialogue at all. I picked out a cheap, simple, one-gear bike with the anticipation that it will either break or get stolen. If it breaks, maybe someone can fix it because it is simple, if it gets stolen (and it will), I will get another one.

Anyway, the dude wanted me to test ride it in front of the store. The front of the store is a four lane road with all of the chaos you can imagine. I weaved around on the sidewalk and then jumped into the road when it looked safe and did a few laps. It was a huge relief to remember how to ride a bike.

I bought the bike, told them thanks a lot and took off. I jumped into the road, took two cranks and the bike broke. The chain assembly just exploded. I pushed it back in and the guy was really apologetic (I think). He fixed it quickly and sent me on my way.

Now I am cruising Shanghai dodging busses and taxis on my new bike that may or may not break down at any time. It is actually quite similar to my Subaru situation back home.

The bike has been a great way to tour the town. The traffic moves quite slowly so I have plenty of time to rubber-neck while I ride. Some people think it is crazy to ride a bike in downtown Shanghai. I think maybe it is, but then I see the 80 year ladies rolling along hawking loogies and yelling at the guy in front of them and I realize it is not that big of a deal.

The picture is near the Bund and People’s Square. It is a popular part of town so it is busy.

Notes to Myself

After two months of living in Shanghai I have made it a point to remember the following:

If I am in a cab and my co-worker pisses off the driver, get out. There are no seatbelts in China. When the cab driver flips his lid and starts going 85, weaving and laying on the horn, seatbelts are needed.

Most people will never say no. For that reason, everything is great until it’s not.

The dust in my apartment will never go away. That is because the fog outside is actually air pollution. At first I thought an ionic breeze would help, but now I think it would get overloaded and break.

Red lights are a suggestion.

Just like at home, a free right is permitted on a red light. Unlike at home the driver doesn’t have to stop, or look.

Just because the bus driver is laying on the horn as he comes barreling through an intersection doesn’t mean that he sees you. It means he may or may not see you, but either way, he is not stopping.

When riding a bike, don’t close the eyes to try to get out the metal shavings from the construction site out. Better to have burning eyes than not see the car going the wrong way in the bike lane.

Eat everything. It’s usually good. Ask your Chinese friends not to tell you what it is though.

If you need food but there is no English or pictures, point at stuff. People sitting at the next table do not care. Walk the whole restaurant to see what looks best.

When exiting an insanely crowded subway car, hold your bag with computer in it like a football. Otherwise, while you still have the strap on your shoulder and have left the train, your computer is still on the train wedged into the mass of humanity. If you hear the beeper indicating that the door is closing, pull very hard.

When your co-worker gives you some kind of smelly fish wrapped in plastic for breakfast, eat some, wait till she’s not looking and then chuck it in the trash in the next cubicle. When she gives you another one, say you are full and hide it.

If you say anything in Chinese, expect a barrage of Chinese questions, instructions and yelling. Resort to speaking in English and doing charades. Do not waste too much time doing charades as you look like an idiot.

When the Chinese person is yelling at you, it’s not because they are mad. Unless they are the cab driver your co-worker pissed off.

When construction workers wearing 3-piece suits and leather jackets break the last support that causes a roof to cave in on itself, they think it is just as cool as you do (the caving in part).

I think these tips will help anyone who comes to China. If I can think of some more useful tips I will put them on this internet blog.

That’s all for now.

Abe Lincoln

I was required to get a Chinese name for my official documents. I needed to pick one right away after I arrived in Shanghai. My co-worker Sabrina decided to help me by carefully researching the best name for marriage and wealth. She came up with the name Si Ma Tang. She told me that it was a very good name. Actually everyone said it was a good, classic Chinese name so I gave it to the cops to put on my official documents.

I have to get some business cards with a Chinese name on them. It's easier for the locals just like it's easier for Americans to call someone "Helen" instead of "Xiaominxiang". As such, a good name is important.

I realized something was up about a week later when I was doing a presentation and I told them my Chinese name and the whole group broke out laughing. I asked Sabrina and she said not to worry.

I then told another Chinese guy who lives in America and he told me it was a little odd for an American to be named Si Ma Tang but not to worry because it is a good classic name. Later, I went to a big banquet with 30 people or so and my Chinese buddy had a few beers and started making toasts to me so he could yell out "Si Ma Tang!" as loud as he could. Now I really knew I had a goofy name but I could not figure out just how goofy.

I kept asking people what the deal is with Si Ma Tang but it is like pulling teeth to get a straight answer (at least that I can understand). Either they don't want to hurt my feelings or it is a national conspiracy to keep me in the dark so they can keep laughing at me. Everyone tells me not to worry, it's a good name but then they break out laughing.

I need to get some business cards but I can't have a ridiculous name on there. I told Sabrina that I don't think Si Ma Tang is going to work because people seem to think it is pretty funny. She seemed a little disappointed because it was such a good name for marriage and wealth. She also insisted that it was a good, classic name.

Finally, I went to dinner with some Chinese people and a couple of Americans who have lived in China for several years. I told them my name and they both smirked and then started laughing. It turns out that Si Ma Tang is a very famous family name of emperors or something like that.

I get it now. It would be like if a Chinese guy moved to America and decided to name himself Abraham Lincoln. Both the Americans told me that is about the size of it.

I am the Abraham Lincoln of China.

Duck Blood Soup and KTV

I went to dinner in a fancy restaurant with about 25 co-workers. Dinner was full-on Chinese. I was just calling things “round meat”, “meat with Jell-O/fat” and “meat with bones in it”. I really had no idea what anything was except the fish since you typically get the whole thing on a plate (I’m not sure if you can eat the fins). Also, meals are almost always shared. So, the table I was at had about 10 people spinning the lazy susan to get some round meat, meat with bones, or meat with Jell-O/fat.

Don’t let my description fool you. The food was really good. It was a meat festival. One of my favorites was the spicy soup with meat and vegetables. It had what looked like liver but I did not care since it was spicy. As I was chowing down on the spicy soup, someone from America asked one of our Chinese co-workers what this delicious soup was. She said it was Duck Blood soup. I guess the liver things were actually congealed duck blood. That would also explain the dark red color of the broth.

Of course, the westerners at the table flipped out. The best part is when the Chinese guys can’t figure out what the big deal is. I have to admit I do not know what the health consequences of throwing down a bunch of duck blood are so I slowed down my consumption.

After Duck Blood soup, everybody wanted to walk across the way to do some karaoke (they call it KTV in China). I have never had any desire to do karaoke; ever.

I ended up doing 2 solo numbers and a lot of backup vocals. I was not even close to drunk; I was just hanging out with Chinese and Japanese people. In America, we think of karaoke as maybe a drunken cry for attention. In Asia, these guys do not need alcohol or a low self-esteem, they just need a microphone. They love it. We entered the place and got a sweet private room. It had a huge flat screen to play the videos and computers to choose your song. Mood lighting was at our fingertips along with leather couches and a call button for snacks and beer and water.

I am not saying that I will ever ask anyone to go find a karaoke joint when I get home, but I will say that as a pastime in Asia, it is not too bad if you hang with the right people.

I am pretty easy going. I like to try new things. I never thought I would ever throw down Duck Blood soup and top it off with a karaoke session (and enjoy both). This excursion to Shanghai is definitely challenging my comfort zone.