Having spent the previous two days on the piss in the confines of the hotel bar educating my new American friend on Australian slang, I thought it was time I ventured out of my comfort zone to seek a visa to ensure my safe and swift exit from China... after two days and one too many horror stories I was anxious to get out and get out quick. The thing about China is that if you’re on top of your game you embrace the natural buzz of the place and ride with it but when you're not it can suck you in and trample all over you.... at this stage I was feeling the latter.
Apprehensively I made my way to the Visa office with the yank in tow, he had a better command of the language and general local knowledge than I, so he came in handy. For a 'septic tank' he had a very good sense of surroundings, he realised that the world didn’t evolve around him and United States, which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of them... while waiting to be allocated a room by the hotel receptionist, an American woman in front of me was chastising the friendly staff about their lack of communication skills before turning around to me and whining 'I can’t believe these people don’t speak English?'..I thought to myself... 'Are you kidding me? You are in THEIR country you should be making the effort to speak THEIR language'..The epitome of hubris.
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| Useful as pockets on a pair of underpants!? |
On the journey to the Visa office we felt very much the outsiders, I have a feeling our hotel was not placed in the tourism hub of Shanghai.. and as we made our way down the street I felt many eyes watching these pasty skinned, round eyed westerners walking the pavement... more of curiosity than aggression, I saw them murmuring to each other what I can only assume was something along the lines of ‘Hau du dey get dere eye’s opwen so wide!?’. I also happened to notice parents dangling their children ala Michael Jackson style out of windows and over bridges, when I quizzed the 'tank' about their actions; he explained that because many struggle financially under the communist regime they could ill afford nappies. Instead they had pseudo nappies with the crotch and arse cut out of them (pointless really), so whenever nature called it was a matter of whipping 'We-ing Cok' out the window and letting it run down the side of the Toyota.
After brief negotiations with the Visa's office they told me all I needed to do was pay a fine to the Custom's officials and they would let me through the gate (Money talks in any language). I went back to the comfort of the hotel and sadly farewelled the 'tank', we promised to keep in touch but as it was the day’s pre-facebook it was a promised left un-kept. I kept myself occupied the evening before my flight by reading the Holy Gospel, the word according to Stephen Waugh in 'Out of my comfort zone'. An incredible read, as if his unflinching, ruthless style of cricket was not enough, his ability to analyse and compartmentalise not only cricket but life made him an even bigger hero in my eyes.
Eventually my head hit the pillow but not before setting every alarm clock available, leaving the curtains open inviting the morning sun to wake me and having the television on turned up whilst the Chinese version of Australian Idol (it should be Idle Australians) played in the background. If this show was not agonising enough, you should hear this shit in Chinese... Finally I was off in the land of Z's and before I knew it, safely onboard my vessel to the Motherland...
The flight was largely uneventful, it felt surreal to look at the navigation tracking system that maps the planes journey and think that I was flying over places like India, the Middle East and Europe. Finally we hit the tarmac and I said my goodbye's to a lovely American/Chinese tee tolling lass who was studying French in England (work that one out) who accompanied me during the flight. During which she preached to me the evil's of alcohol 'All my friends go out and get wasted and embarrass themselves and yadda yadda yadda... why would you do that to yourself!?' at which point I was too tired to argue the many pluses of the amber fluid 'the lack of inhibition, increase of personality and the improved if somewhat unwarranted self confidence levels' and agreed with a polite but empty 'Yeah.... why would you do that!?'.
We exited the plane and I entered a tin shed to collect my luggage.... not exactly what I had in mind for Heathrow one of the world’s busiest airports. 'Puleease loin up here sir' were the first words I heard spoken in a broad Londoners accent straight out of East Enders as a staffer ushered me into the cue.
Getting through customs, I was picked up by Western Districts and Chipstead legend Mark Ennis, who was sporting a rather ordinary looking 'tach, long before Movember’s popularity. It of course was part of his costume for the long awaited 'Extravaganza' (a night of boozing, dancing and frivolity) which I had made in just a nick of time. All I remember is Matty Boothroyd buying my first English beer (which was made in Japan) and seeing some massive unit (I later found out he was the 'Big Big Jimmy') dressed as Richie Benuad..... THAT IS IT!! Those poms know how to throw a party.
The following day I was woken up by Mennis' mum offering me a cup of tea...'yes please, white and two' was my response. Somebody ludicrously scheduled a cricket game the day following the extravaganza that I was selected to play in. So it was a collection of dusty heads and parched mouths that met outside of the Pavilion. I don’t remember too much about the days play apart from when I walked out to bat a Bangladeshi spin bowler wished me luck on the way to the crease... I was taken aback 'is this bloke having a f*%#en crack or what' by the time I thought of something smart to say back I realised he was genuine... clearly I was not accustomed to these sorts of well wishes in Australia. Approximately four minutes and one run later I made my back past the 'deshi who consoled me with a 'better luck next time... it was almost as bad as being sledged!!
In the field my only memory of worth was a ball being skied my way at mid off, instantly I set off charging into catch the miscued off drive before realising the ball was sailing over my head, quickly I tried my best to rush back but my spikes failed me and I ended up splayed out on the turf only to see the ball land precisely where I was standing whence it was delivered. In the distance I heard some Pom quip 'This is why we now have the ashes'. Filled with embarrassment, the only thing I was looking forward to was the tea interval.
At tea I was surprised somewhat that they actually drank tea, I assumed like in Australia it’s just a 20 minute stop to freshen up and smash some icy cold fluids to rehydrate after spending a few hours in the hot Australian sun but of course the mercury over here has more trouble getting up than a seventy year old war vet.
After whinging and taking the piss out of their tradition I succumbed to their peer pressure and made myself a cup of tea 'but only with milk and sugar, I’m not drinking that black shit' after pouring the tea and applying my sugar I then proceeded to spill what was left of the milk all over the tea room the table leaving me with a boiling hot overly sweetened tea....Brilliant!!
Welcome to England..
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