Hangzhou: The First Two Weeks

When I arrived in Hangzhou the skies were silent, but during the last week fighter jets have been droning above our neighbourhood every night. For a while I was worried that war had broken out. It could have happened and I'd never know until the bombs start dropping. Even with a proxy I spend almost all of my time online preparing lessons or blogging and hardly ever glance at the news. And without internet, there are no news at all when I get home.

But things seem peaceful enough. There must be an airbase nearby. Hangzhou also has an airport (not much beloved by expats), but I have still not seen any evidence of civilian aviation.



Yesterday I saw six foreigners—as many as during my entire first week—but that is because I've visited the main tourist attraction in Hangzhou: the wonderfully scenic West Lake (see previous entry. EDIT: yet to come!). Although it is the main draw for foreign visitors in town I was still enough of a rarity that people stopped to take pictures of me, despite my dress being the wrong way round and my face glistening with sweat. I actually took makeup with me in an attempt to look presentable during corporate training, but nobody gets away with wearing makeup for very long. These are what the locals describe as the 'dog days', with the thermometer rarely dipping below 30 degrees. All through the neighbourhood the aircons wheeze and drip through the night. Rain falls from the ceilings of packed commuter buses where people stand face-against-armpit. It is as if the city itself is sweating. I thought that I was a fan of the tropics, but I am pretty certain that one of these days I'm just going to melt.

I walk for miles every day in this heat, working out the hard way where the bus routes are. One cannot get truly lost in Hangzhou as long as one succeeds in flagging down a taxi. Even my minder relented when we got stuck outside the hospital where I had my medical. I showed her the map with the bus numbers indicated in millimetre-high faint red print (there are hundreds of them), suggesting that she'd find the way, and she shook her head and flagged down a cab. However, it took 15 minutes. You can't call taxis here and they pass by entirely at random. Drivers are also known to turn down fares if they don't like the sound of them. However, I have yet to be ripped off. That is probably because I haven't managed to stop a cab when I actually got lost and continued to walk in circles around the landmarks until I found the right bus stop.

Circling around landmarks is the way to do things here. Our flat may only be two stops from where I change buses from the 23 to the 188, but the 188 goes for up to ten minutes between stops. You might think it's annoying that certain London buses only stop at certain stops, but at least these are less than 5 kilometres apart. Hangzhou's public transport system is creaking at the seams. A metro is under construction. One of my colleagues remarked that she won't be a guniea pig when it finally opens. She'll wait six months or so before she'll get on it. She may have a point. Last week the Qianjiang No.3 Bridge collapsed because a heavy lorry drove across it (that may have been the reason why we were stuck in traffic for 90 minutes on my first day of corporate training). The motto for the metro is: 'Expecting Unexpected'. Indeed.

But perhaps I'm getting into the zen of things. I always get home eventually. And overshooting the bus stop can have its advantages. The next stop up from our flat is probably the closest together along the entire 188 route: a mere ten minute walk. And on the way I passed a night market where most of the dinners sold are still alive. The huge seafood hall has become my daily haunt. I ogle at the fish, crabs, mantis shrimp, sea anemones and various species of mollusk on my way to eat chargrilled lamb skewers and chicken wings, washed down with a litre of weak but tasty beer. Just the thing at the end of a long day.