Shut up, there are South Koreans in the room!

Saturday February 18, 2012

Paul, Jim and I are geeks. Specifically we are North Korea geeks. We're fascinated by everything about the most reclusive country in the world. We read voraciously about it, we dine at North Korean restaurants, we speak the language - the more they try to keep us out the more we crave her.

In fact we all met in North Korea. Paul, who is Canadian; Jim, an American; and I were all on the same tour on a visit in 2010 and have kept in touch since then.

Paul and Jim are westerners-living-in-Beijing so they kept abreast of my whereabouts in China and eventually joined me for a weekender in the north-eastern Chinese city of Shenyang. And it was only natural that we headed to a North Korean restaurant for dinner on our first night together.

Rainbow Restaurant - Shenyang, China

As the three of us entered Rainbow Restaurant we were amazed to find that it was packed with North Koreans. This may not sound like an extraordinary observation at first, but consider that the North Korean government does not allow freedom of movement for its citizens within the country, let alone allowing them an overseas holiday. Jim and Paul are veterans of the DPRK eateries in Beijing but even they were awestruck by this unusual sight.

And of course all eyes were on us too. It is very rare for westerners to be walking into a North Korean restaurant in Shenyang. They had one eye on us and we had one eye on them - it was just like visiting the DPRK all over again.

Kim Il Sung badge

We knew that the customers were North Koreans as they all wore the red Kim Il Sung badge. In North Korea all citizens receive this badge upon turning eighteen and adults wear it on a daily basis, at least in public, lest they be perceived as disloyal to the country.

We sat at a back table mesmerised by this sight of North Koreans outside of North Korea. It was just us ("the foreigners"), one table of three South Koreans next to us, and the rest were Badge Wearers. We guessed that they were one big tour group, all members of the very elite - how else could they afford an overseas trip from a starving country, let alone be allowed out?

All three of us ordered in Korean as the waitress stood in amazement. She wasn't expecting that out of the foreigners (well at least not from the white fellas sitting next to me)! And the staff were now curious about what we were about. They were delighted to hear that we had all visited North Korea and that Jim and I could speak Korean fluently. Paul's Korean is more basic, although he now holds the distinction that he has been to North Korea TWICE (lucky man!).

The band at the Rainbow, all North Korean staff.

In North Korean restaurants in China there is usually a musical show put on by the staff. It must be a requirement from the DPRK government when it licenses these venues that they show off North Korean talent to the outside world. The Rainbow was no different, as the live band and the singers started their set of Korean and foreign songs.

The show was very well appreciated by the "home crowd": There was much clapping along and appreciative applause after every number. Throughout the performance one North Korean man was particularly enthusiastic. I'm not sure if it was inebriation or nationalistic zeal (perhaps both?) but he was standing out front with the singers at every opportunity singing and dancing along with them. He was having a terrific vacation, good for him!

But when the set ended controversy reigned. The final song was a gentle number on how lovely "our home" North Korea is. After getting caught up in the emotion of that, upon its conclusion our Enthusiastic Man spontaneously started a rendition of a more brash nationalistic anthem (i.e. praising the Dear Leader and all that). He began inciting the North Koreans to stand and sing with their hands on their hearts. And the crowd obliged - it was an extraordinary scene as almost the entire restaurant began to rise in unison.

Singers at the Rainbow;
Audience in foreground are all North Korean customers

The staff realised what was happening and decided diplomacy was more important in the outside world than blind patriotism. They quickly stopped the Enthusiastic Man, and quietly advised that this was inappropriate. The restaurant management obviously did not want to offend or make anyone uncomfortable.

But the trouble didn't end there! As the North Korean diners had the wind taken out of their sails and began to sit down, another man took the microphone and started speaking in broken English. He too was immediately stopped by the staff, but from what we could gather he was trying to welcome the foreigners and perhaps explain the song that they wanted to sing.

From the to-ing and fro-ing between the customers and the staff we surmised that the restaurant management were not worried about our "foreigners" table, but the restraint was exercised for the sake of the table of three South Koreans. They understood it would be inappropriate to sing patriotic North Korean songs in front of the Southerners. Fair enough.

As Jim, Paul and I finished our meals we shared our mutual delight at witnessing what we had that evening. Sitting alongside North Koreans outside of their country is wild enough, but to have micro-diplomacy played out before us was even more extraordinary. It was an excellent night out for the North Korea geeks.

Beijing To Ulaanbaatar The Hard Way

Saturday February 25, 2012

As a US citizen my friend James did not require a visa to enter Mongolia. However I had to ask for an express tourist visa at the consulate in Beijing, for a hefty bill of $80. Upon application it was apparent I would not be able to pick up my passport until Tuesday afternoon.

The international train to Ulaanbaatar departed Beijing on the same afternoon so we said to ourselves "Let's catch the Chinese sleeper bus to the border later in the week and try to board a local train from there."

Let the trouble begin.

I'm unsure if sleeper buses are common in other countries but this was the first time I'd experienced one. It was amusing to see forty people crammed in to three levels of very narrow bunks in a coach that otherwise looks normal from the outside. We departed Beijing at 4pm, but James and I were not entirely sure what time we'd arrive in the border town of Erlian.

Chinese sleeper bus

The answer: 2:30am. What were we to do arriving at a deserted bus station at an ungodly hour, not knowing anyone, not knowing where to go? Fortunately a Mongolian couple on the bus had seen James read an English book and engaged him in conversation. They were also going to Ulaanbaatar too so were happy for us to follow them.

The first step was to hop on to the back of a ute. The Mongolian couple, James and I sat on our luggage and held on for our lives, hoping not to fall out of the truck. As I lost feeling in my fingers and face I asked James "How cold do you think it is, -20C?" He had no answer, likely because he was unable to move any part of his body.

The ute took us to a local motel where we could put our heads down for four hours. We would meet with our Mongolian guardians at breakfast and they would pursue a way for us to get across the border.

The next morning there was a concern that due to the Mongolian New Year holidays we would not be obtain train tickets to Ulaanbaatar. We tagged along with the Mongolian couple as they searched all over Erlian looking for train tickets. After all the leads failed it was apparent we’d have to cross the border not knowing whether we'd be stranded.

The jeep that took us across the China-Mongolia border.
left to right: James, Oyuna, Baatar

The border crossing was an event in itself as a small jeep with four seats squeezed in eight people, along with our luggage. Everyone had someone sitting on their lap! I was sitting on James' lap with my head perpendicular to my body - the driver's warning that the door may fling open any minute intensified the thrill. My apologies to James' girlfriend for getting to know him in the jeep in ways that no other person should.


After a tense standoff at the Chinese emigration desk where the officers somehow didn't believe that I was Australian, we finally strolled into Mongolia. We wearily headed to the railway station, still without train tickets.

At the station it was a mad scramble for tickets. Tourists and locals alike were desperate to secure a seat but with the New Year holidays demand far outstripped supply, and the allocation seemed arbitrary. There was one South Korean backpacker who had been stranded for two days and finally managed to get a ticket – whereupon he yelled in glee and hugged everyone in sight.

After persistent hustling the Mongolian couple managed to secure two tickets. They suggested we play the tourist "pity" angle to solicit tickets from the saleswoman.

I tried twice and James tried once but the lady at the ticket window firmly denied us. No tickets.

Oyuna, the female half of our guiding couple, then decided drastic action was needed. She confronted the ticket window with some venom, and although James and I can’t understand Mongolian we were left with little doubt as the debate escalated into shouting:

Ticket window lady: “I told you there are no more tickets. Go away.”
Oyuna: “Rubbish, I know you have contingency tickets back there! These foreigners have come all the way from Australia and America and have reservations to meet in Ulaanbaatar. Give them tickets now!”
Ticket window lady: “I don’t care where they’re from. There are no more tickets!”
Oyuna: “Don’t lie, I saw you give those people tickets just now! You can’t leave tourists stranded here at the border. Get typing and hand over two tickets!”
Ticket window lady: “Fine, I can give them two separate single seats. You’re a pain in the backside.”

Victory! Oyuna’s fury had saved us from being stuck in the middle of the desert. I was very impressed – it seemed Mongolian women get what they want! James and I couldn’t hide our delight.

The train ride itself was an immediate immersion into Mongolian life and people. Obviously there were no spare seats, and the seats themselves were very uncomfortable – benches with minimal padding and perpendicular walls as support. There were children scrambling up and down the aisle, elderly folk in traditional clothing, and families snacking.

The train ride to Ulaanbaatar went on for an insufferable seventeen hours. James and I were separated by three carriages – fortunately in my carriage I was able to secure a bench to endure the trip supine.

Finally - Ulaanbaatar railway station!

James was not so lucky, with his carriage remaining packed to the brim for the entire length of the journey. It was no wonder as soon as we landed at Ulaanbaatar he declared “I can’t do that again, Tony. I have to buy an international sleeper train back to Beijing”. Purchasing James’ return ticket was the first thing we did in UB.

It wasn’t all a loss though. The local passengers treated James very well – plenty of homemade dumplings were shared around and they even dressed him up in traditional Mongolian garb. Initially they thought James was a Kazakh. Jagshemash!

In the Internet age when information travels in milliseconds from one side of the world to another James and I proved sending humans across adjacent countries can still take an arduous forty-two hour trip.

Intersection of China, Russia, and North Korea

Saturday February 11, 2012

In an earlier blog post I ranted on about how cosmopolitan Harbin was. But I now regret that description.

While Harbin is genuinely proud of its multicultural roots, it is exactly that - a legacy. Current day Harbin is dominated by the Chinese Han population, and there are literally no Russian or Jewish people living there. The buildings and museums are all that remains of their contribution.

Then this week I discovered Hunchun.

Hunchun is the major city in the narrow wedge of China squeezed in between Russia and North Korea. As I type this I'm just 20km from the former and 10km from the latter. We're about 100km as the crow flies from Vladivostok, the remote Siberian port city made famous in Australia by a Tim Tam advertisement.

Hunchun: Trilingual signs illuminate an avenue of karaoke joints.

Being in such a strategic location Hunchun is cosmopolitan right here right now. While it lacks the obvious architectural icons of Harbin there are actual European Russian people living here, alongside ethnic Koreans, and the Han Chinese. There are old Babushka ladies eating toffee fruit on sticks! All the shop signs are trilingual - Cyrillic, Korean, Chinese.

The hotel that I'm staying at seems to be especially popular with Russians - at breakfast I was the only oriental customer in the dining room. On the streets there are Eastern European ladies strutting around, and burly Russian blokes being all burly.

South of the city is a village named Fangchuan, which is where China stops (!). The place is set on a hill and on a clear day from the same spot you can face west and see North Korea then swivel to the east to see Russian territory. On a very good day one can even enjoy a vista of the Sea Of Japan off the Russian coast.

Terrific, I'd love to visit! In fact that's what most tourists come to Hunchun for. My guide Mr Urm and I made the drive towards this geopolitical wonder.

Checkpoint near Hunchun on the road leading
out to Russia.

We reached an ominous looking military checkpoint about 20km short of Fangchuan. Mr Urm had to show his identification but the trouble began when they asked for my papers. When they saw from my Australian passport that I was a foreigner, my guide and the soldier began a vigorous debate.

We were denied entry. Or specifically I was denied entry.

The story is that when Kim Jong Il passed away in December, South Korean television news vans camped in Fangchuan to point their cameras into North Korea to record the reaction.

Who knew the North Korean authorities would be sensitive about that sort of thing?! They immediately requested Fangchuan be closed to foreigners and the Chinese authorities duly obliged.

Far from Kim Jong Un's warm palace

Note: An edited version of this blog post was published in the newspaper The Periscope Post.

Thursday February 9, 2012

"I remember as a kid regularly seeing dead bodies float down the river here." my guide Mr Urm quipped casually. On the banks of the River Tumen near Hunchun I had just asked whether many North Korean asylum seekers try to cross into China in this area. "They were all swollen - you know how corpses bloat after a little while?"

No, I didn't know. I'll take his word for it.

The Tumen River - which acts as the border between China, North Korea, and Russia further downstream - used to have more water and was a deadly hurdle for any North Korean wanting to escape their desperate situation. The strong current claimed bad and proficient swimmers alike, and those drowning victims are the ones a young Mr Urm and his mates saw.

Tumen River - North Korea on the left, China to the right (just outside Hunchun, China).

These days the depth of water is much lower in the Tumen, but fleeing from North Korea is no less dangerous. Even if you're fortunate enough to conquer the river without being detected by border patrol soldiers, China does not recognise North Korean escapees as refugees. If you're caught here then repatriation is immediate, and a long and painful "reprogramming" prison term back "home" is a certainty.

Like many countries China encourages the prosecution of "illegal" aliens with a RMB500 (AU$75) public reward. That's a week's wage for the average Chinese townsfolk.

"There are stories of refugees setting up a new life here in China for years - getting married, having kids - then some neighbour dobs them in and they're sent back." my guide told me. He then proceeded to gesture what sorts of torture they could expect.

In Tumen (the city) there is a detention centre on the Chinese side to hold asylum seekers before repatriation. However I couldn't pluck up enough courage to ask a local for directions, lest they thought I was a weirdo or a spy. Apparently even I have limits in seeking morbid "tourist" sites.

Being interested in North Korean affairs for many years I had decent prior knowledge of what a typical escapee endures. But seeing the sites where it all happens, in windy -10C degree weather, aroused a new level of consciousness of the oppressed folk across the river. I'm not reading about their plight from a book anymore, I'm on the banks of the freezing river where the perilous journey for refuge actually begins.

The North Korean asylum seeker demographic is different to other refugee streams in the world in that the majority are women. Once in China they're vulnerable to exploitation - many have been sold to Chinese farmers (as wives), bound as "hostesses" in seedy karaoke bars or even forced to concede their dignity for webcast on South Korean adult Internet sites. Yet like so many of the voiceless around the world they're forgotten.

A broken bridge over the Tumen River.
The guide commented the corn on the
Chinese side must be a cruel tease to the hungry.

There are those who have tried to publicise the awful situation faced by female North Korean asylum seekers. The two American journalists who were imprisoned by North Korea in 2009, pardoned only after a rescue mission from former President Bill Clinton, were inspecting this very same river, in the same area of China. They were working for a progressive television channel led by Al Gore, and were compiling reports on the exploitation of female asylum seekers. They also had a guide, and there is speculation the guide collaborated with the North Korean soldiers to setup the journalists as a diplomatic "prize". My contact who arranged the guide did ask me whether I was a writer or a reporter.

I mentioned the book Nothing To Envy in my North Korean trip blog in 2010. I have, and still do, recommend all to read it - Barbara Demick has written a wonderful account of the personal stories of six North Korean refugees. I have three copies floating around the world - let me know if you would like to borrow one!

Let's get nuts

Tuesday February 7, 2012

Owing to lunar new year this is the peak holiday period in China. Thus when I mentioned to people that I wanted to travel by train I was warned more than once that the experience would be stressful.

I was saying goodbye to Harbin for a ride to Yanji, 530km away. It would be a 12 hour overnight trip so naturally I wanted a sleeper ticket. But at this time of the year, forget it! I was told in no uncertain terms that I was lucky enough to even get a "hard seat" (economy). The ticket was just $6 so I thought "What choice have I got, I'll enjoy rubbing shoulders with the masses."

I walked to Harbin train station two-and-a-half hours early. I'll give myself plenty of time, sit back in the waiting room and read my Kindle - so I thought. The first omen for the night to come was the railway station itself. The station is massive like an airport, but there were so many people there was barely standing room. No seat in the waiting room was left vacant for more than a few milliseconds. There was a mad scramble as soon as an incumbent stood - I hadn't seen such feral behaviour since witnessing British passengers boarding my RyanAir flight to Barcelona. Yikes.

All aboard. No really, ALL! (Harbin station)

After standing around awkwardly for over two hours unable to even open the Kindle, the boarding announcement for my train came. The best way to describe the boarding "queue" is a 2000-person rugby union scrum. There were just three ticket inspectors at the turnstiles but thousands people rushed. The melee lasted a good forty minutes in the concourse before we actually saw the platform.

Once I took my economy bench seat I could tell the next twelve hours would be a physical and mental test. Every seat occupied shoulder-to-shoulder, benches that recline at a fixed 90-degree angle, standing ticket passengers in the aisle, unheated carriage with inch-thick frost on the inside window frame (see picture), stench of cigarette smoke... The cobblestone streets and the sophisticated shopping centres of Harbin already seemed another world away. Things were about to get REAL.

Frost inside the train.

The locals found comfort in cup noodles (hot water is provided on board) and Harbin sausages, while I finally opened my Kindle to occupy the time.

China has many comfortable modern "bullet" style locomotives running these days, but as this was not a major route our train was in the old rickety socialist style - plus we stopped at every tiny station with no signage. The destination also meant I was likely the only tourist on the train, and this was to be the modus operandi for the next few weeks as I travel off the beaten track.

Yanji station - I arrived a shell of a man. But I arrived.

As people alighted along the way a lucky minority were able to find themselves space to lie down and get some sleep. Unfortunately I was wedged between people the entire trip - in fact I wrote a lot of the notes for this blog post while stuck between two women sleeping with their heads on the table.

My shoulder was sore from carrying my pack, my legs were cramping from being in the same contorted position for hours, I was exhausted from lack of sleep, and I was shivering even with all my layers on. But after a week of touristy Harbin the real China was beginning NOW and I was full of glee.

Cosmopolitan Harbin

Saturday February 4, 2012

Street sign, Harbin.

Big fur hats, cobblestone streets, 19th century street lamps, Cyrillic signs, grand Art Nouveau buildings, and a city park named after Stalin. One would think we're in the Soviet Union, but we're sixty years and six thousand kilometres from Stalinist Moscow. I'm in Harbin, in the region of China historically known as Manchuria.

Harbin was a small village until the Russians built a railway through here in 1898 for a shorter route to Vladivostok. After the socialist revolution in Russia this city absorbed a large group of White Russian refugees, and became the biggest populace of Russians outside the Soviet Union. People from other eastern European countries also migrated here in the early 20th century - the 1913 census showed over fifty nationalities being represented. The city became the gateway through which western goods and trends arrived in China.

With such a cosmopolitan background the architecture is fascinating. And unusually for a Chinese city Harbin is very proud of its foreign heritage, with the local authorities very protective of the old buildings and streetscape against the pressures of modern development.

At the old part of Harbin - also the main tourist/shopping strip - one cannot turn anywhere without seeing gorgeous Russian-era buildings. Art nouveau and art deco are both well represented, along with pseudo-Baroque frontages.

A business must diversify to thrive.

The street itself is a charming sight with cobblestone, Victorian street lamps, signage in Cyrillic and is pedestrian only, in the purest sense - the one part of China without bicycles or cars to mow you down! There is an endless number of Russian souvenir shops selling not just the predictable Matryoshka dolls and tea sets, but bizarre items like massive busts of Lenin and menacing knives you could never hop on a plane with in this day and age.

At the northern end of the main street overlooking the Songhua River is Stalin Park. Russians stopped naming things after Stalin fifty years ago! And the White Russians came to Harbin to escape the Communists! One would guess the park was named by the Chinese Harbinites.

Harbin: A Jewish wedding, 1930s.

There was a significant Jewish community in this city - initially amongst the Russian immigrants, and later from Germans fleeing Nazi persecution. The New Synagogue now hosts a very good museum depicting their life in Harbin, where the Chinese proudly declare their role in providing the "wandering peoples" a safe home. The Old Synagogue has also been preserved, currently used as a hostel. A large Jewish cemetery still exists in the suburbs, and has regularly hosted Israeli dignitaries and visitors.

Many of the Orthodox churches have disappeared but the impressive St Sofia in the centre of the city is still standing as Harbin's premier tourist attraction. Fittingly the building now houses an architecture museum/gallery. St Sofia is now accompanied by a large European style square, the site and church having been renovated in the 1990s.

Harbin: St Sofia Orthodox Church

A couple of mosques remain in Harbin - I visited the Turkish one in the middle of old town which has been long abandoned.

At the end of World War II the USSR took back Harbin from the occupying Japanese, and briefly administered it before handing over to Communist China. Under Soviet administration many Russian Harbinites were forcibly repatriated (to labour camps). Some, along with the other Europeans, fled to countries like Australia and the United States. I was told back in Australia that almost all people of Harbin heritage you'd meet in Sydney are Caucasian.

After my lukewarm impression of Beijing in 2010 the rich mix of cultures in Harbin has charmed and restored my faith in Chinese cities. 

Show us your fried bags

Monday January 30, 2012

"Don't eat strawberries in China" my friend Tim said during our trip to North Korea in 2010. "You'll catch polio because of the unsanitary farming techniques"

Those words have since echoed in my mind whenever I've travelled overseas. Tim is a wise fellow and I'm sure he's offered me much more profound advice, but strawberries in China are all I think about.

Notwithstanding the anxiety with fruit I've certainly had no reason to disagree with China's reputation as a gourmand's paradise. And naturally I've had people back in Australia ask me about the food in Harbin.

Manchuria is less rice orientated than the warmer southern regions of China, so dumplings ("jiaoxi") are well presented as typical indigenous fare in Harbin (In fact I'd only eaten rice once over the five days here). Thanks to the guide book I found a dumpling restaurant which had an English menu. Although upon arrival it was apparent they literally have only one copy of it - the only white people in the packed restaurant had their menu ripped out of their hands when I asked for one.

I'd now been to the the Orient King Of Dumplings multiple times and enjoyed the shrimp, pork & chives and "three meats" dumplings there. A meal takes less than AU$3 to feed me which, if you've seen me eat, is some effort. Moreover the place has free wi-fi, so I can check my e-mails on the phone during the interminable wait for my order. Bravo for value!

Orient King Of Dumplings, Harbin

There are many Russian restaurants in the old part of town, reflecting their erstwhile contribution to Harbin. Cafe Russia 1914 is popular with locals and tourists alike, and is always crowded. When I visited for lunch the scramble for tables was so fierce a Kiwi family and I decided to consolidate as one table. When the owner saw this he made sure we were in no doubt that separate bills would not be provided. Yes, yes, we understand - please let us eat, we are cold and hungry.

Cafe Russia 1914, Harbin

The Russian dishes we tried were all terrific, not that I'm an expert on eastern European cuisine. The borscht looked authentic, the thinly sliced Russian sausage was smoky heaven, and my favourite - bread pockets stuffed with meat and onion - were perfectly spiced. Later I found out those pies were called "pirozhki" in Russian - a complete mystery at the time as the English menu described them as "fried bags". Mmmm, bags.

In Iran a couple of months ago tour mate Gabrielle warned "Don't eat ice cream whilst travelling". She then began to tell of an epic personal story of how foreign ice cream could devastate one's body, the details which I will spare you of (as much for Gabrielle's dignity as your enjoyment of reading).

Incredibly people of Harbin can't get enough of this yellow paddle pop ice cream, despite the -25C degree temperature. Seeing the frenzy I thought "I'll ignore Gabrielle's advice just this once. It must be good if people are going mad for it in this weather."

Indeed it was excellent - one of the creamiest things I've ever tasted and surprisingly refreshing under the warmth of all the clothing. However it did give me an ice cream headache that lasted four hours.

I should have taken it home - it's not like it would have melted!

The bitter cold constantly tempts one to eat and as with other Chinese cities there is plenty of street food to grab one's attention - lamb kebabs (80c for two sticks!), Harbin sausage, freshly baked bread. All absolutely delicious and WARM.

Street food in Harbin

Competing with the paddle pops as the most popular street food is jujube covered with toffee served on a stick. I'm not sure whether this snack is particular to Harbin, but they seem to be everywhere. I'd never tasted fresh jujube before - only dried - and didn't even realise what they were until I looked it up online afterwards. I had no idea Chinese dates tasted like apples, I was impressed. There are also many other fruits sold on sticks covered in toffee - Kiwi fruit, pineapple, bananas, STRAWBERRIES - but jujube seems to be the original and the best.

All sorts of toffee-covered fruit!

It sounds like I've been delighted by everything. For the sake of balance I'll mention that wheat noodles are also a speciality in this part of China but I've not had a satisfying dish yet. The hand made noodle houses in Sydney's Haymarket do pretty well! Hot pots are also meant to be a delight in this weather and region but it's unlikely I'll be indulging in that.

Harbin is a modern cosmopolitan city, and as such there is plenty of other cuisine available - Cantonese, Shanghainese, Korean, Taiwanese eateries are abundant. I even saw a Middle Eastern kebab outlet, which I've promised myself to visit later.

Unfortunately as with much of the world the young people love visiting the multinationals - KFC, McDonald's, and the western pizza restaurants are all jam packed at all hours. Starbucks opened its first Harbin branch just six weeks ago and already there are two within 200m of each other in the old part of town. Shoot me now!

With all this going on outside the apartment the groceries I bought on the first morning are going to waste. I'm especially having trouble tucking into the apples as I keep hearing Tim's voice:

I don't like polio.

Harbin is cold. I'm cold. It's cold.

Friday January 27, 2012

Like a couple of strangers meeting for the first time let us talk about the weather.

Most of my family and friends are aware of my anxiety before this trip about landing in Manchuria in the middle of winter. Although I'm reasonably well travelled I had never visited temperatures of -30 to -20. I wasn't even sure what that would feel like.

Harbin folk madly buying ice cream to enjoy in -20 degrees. You can take them home without fear of melting! (The ice cream, not the people)

Fortunately there has been no wind over my first two days in Harbin so I've survived. It's still pretty chilly though! Some rambling and observations:

• My friend Chris, who spent a couple of years in Canada recently, advised before the trip that I should wear anything necessary to stay warm and NOT BE CONCERNED ABOUT HOW I LOOK. I think he was calling me vain.
• Frighteningly I had never heard of "neck warmers" until two weeks ago.
• It is difficult to turn the pages of the Lonely Planet with ski gloves on. I felt like an elephant trying to dial a telephone. 
• My own breath kept condensing and freezing onto my glasses. Definitely wear contact lenses for the rest of the China leg.
• Everytime I have to go outside I'm dressed like I'm about to rob a bank. But the locals are audacious in their lack of headwear [Harbiners are tough: Exhibit A].
• The air conditioning is on full blast in my apartment but the warmest the flat can reach is 19 degrees.  [Harbiners are tough: Exhibit B]
• My thermal long johns don't fit under my tight jeans. It'll have to be the less flattering hiking trousers in China. I think Chris may have been right.
• There are delicious yellow paddle pop ice creams on sale everywhere. And people are going nuts for them in -20 degrees.  [Harbiners are tough: Exhibit C]
• Notwithstanding the harsh weather there are many tourists (albeit most of them domestic) here for the Ice Festival. Whoever thought of this idea that actually attracts people to Harbin in sub-Arctic temperatures is an absolute genius. 

So in conclusion: I've not died.

I will write later about what I came actually came to Harbin for - the Ice Festival and the Russian heritage. Stand by!