Submitted by admin on Sun, 2005-10-16 08:00. ::
The locals spend hours peering into plastic containers full of the sundry creepie-crawlies. People buy the crickets so that their gentle chirping will help children get to sleep at night, which is nice. Crickets and other insects are also reared for battle so that the gambling-mad Chinese can bet on the outcome, which is not so nice. But, with the same fascination as you would have for a corrida in Spain, the Buffer spent many hours and much pointing at words in the phrasebook in search of a cricket fight.
Eventually, it was a Bearsden lady who helped us find such a contest. She is a trailing spouse in Shanghai. That means her husband has come here to work. While he’s at the office, she has had time to check out the city in some detail. Like knowing a few places where you are likely to see a cricket fight. After an hour trekking around an extremely lively and authentic quarter of the city, we found the main event.
There appears to be a great deal of ritual and paraphernalia involved in a cricket fight, with boxes and cages and bits of stick. The endgame is when the two contestants end up face to face in a Tupperware box being goaded with the sticks to indulge in some violent conduct.
To the untrained eye, little seemed to be happening. Neither fighter seemed to be a contender; an Ali who could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee or even a Tyson who could bite an opponent’s ear. There was much more violence going on in the scrum of avid punters pushing and shoving for a better view and to get a few yuan on their favourite. Sadly, the Buffer retired buffeted from the madding crowd before any action had been seen in the Tupperware arena. We did not see death in the afternoon.
Speaking of combat, there are various methods of getting around Shanghai. Taxis are cheap but stressful as you face an intense verbal grilling from the driver. Buses, metro, bicycle, and even walking have an element of physical danger. If you really want to test your holiday insurance to the limit, get the crash helmet on and be a pillion passenger on one of the taxi motorbikes.
By far the best form of transport is to travel with a trailing spouse in her air-conditioned car with English-speaking chauffeur. Especially in pursuit of some of the gentler delights of the city such as the tea ceremony, a sushi lunch, a visit to the flower market, some quasi-designer shopping, or just a stroll in the park. In a city where excess is easily achieved, there are also healthier options. The lady in the tearoom at the quaint Yuyuan gardens said the oolong and ginseng brew would aid fitness and weight loss. The Buffer had 10 cups with little sign of shedding pounds. Perhaps the subsequent consumption of Tsingtao beer at lunch was a factor. A cheap and cheerful health initiative is to join the old folk for their early morning routine of tai-chi, ballroom dancing, or vigorous arm-swinging. When the Buffer reported for duty at the People’s Square at 7am, the exercise was in full swing. The slow motion martial arts looked too elegant and stylish to mimic. The Buffer never has been good at ballroom dancing and would not have been an acceptable partner to any of the ladies gliding about. Even if we did know the Chinese for “Ur ye dancin?”, such an approach did not seem appropriate. One old codger was simply shuffling about to the music, so we followed his lead. The music, it should be said, was not Chinese classical but a plinky-plonky rendition of I’m Off To Alabama With A Banjo On My Knee followed by Do Re Mi and other tunes from The Sound Of Music. Sadly, the search goes on for sightings of walking backwards or therapeutic screaming, other relaxation forms we hope to encounter.
A lot of oolong and ginseng and dancing in the park will be required before the Buffer can take advantage of the bewildering array of clothes shops in Shanghai. Their biggest size, XXXL, is still a little on the neat side, even in the Wanxiang Elephant Dress Company. Luckily, there is the textile market where hundreds of haberdashers and thousands of tailors cater for the over-nourished.
A blue linen suit with maroon silk lining is currently under construction for the Buffer, as is a pyjama jacket from a bolt-end of garish red material. There would have been enough cloth for a small Chinese chap to have the entire pyjama, but for the Buffer only the jacket and maybe a handkerchief or two but nae breeks. The number of shops in Shanghai is egregious, as in verging on the gross. Commercialism is rampant. This is communism, Karl, but not as we know it. All the brand names of glittering consumerism are here. A Prada bag would require the investment of two or three years’ wages by a working class Chinese girl.
Fortunately, there is the Huating fake market. There is a big sign at the entrance displaying the world’s most famous brand names with a warning that any trader dealing in counterfeit items bearing these labels will be severely dealt with. So, presumably, the stuff on the stalls is legitimate. If so, we don’t know how Dunhill can do their leather belts at under £2 or how Louis Vuitton can survive charging only £3 for an elegant valise. The Buffer would have gone Rolex but couldn’t resist the Chairman Mao watch with the four hands – hour, minute, second and Mao himself waving at you.
A much more uplifting shopping experience is to be had at the flower market. There are exotic tall blooms that look like a bird. There are carnations sculpted into the shape of a cute poodle. There are indescribably beautiful blue roses. There are flowers of every stripe and, if you can bargain effectively, you won’t be able to carry home a tenner’s worth.
IT would be remiss not to tell you about the Shanghai museum of sex culture. It is filled with ancient artefacts in porcelain, wood and copper which give us far more anatomical detail than we probably need. There are scrolls which are sadly lacking in supplementary information on the “one principle of shallowness and the nine principles of deepness”. Not to mention the 30 methods of Dongxuanzi, which sounds a few too many, or Sunujing which has only nine.
Gentlemen may walk briskly past the display of castration knives. Ladies may linger for a photo opportunity at the bronze statue of the chap who is as big as he is tall, if you get the drift. This sex stuff is all very well but, frankly, is not a patch on the exhibition of fish next door with tank after tank of the most colourful and lugubrious scaly chaps you have ever seen. The most amazing thing is that the dogface pufferfish and his pals the wimplefish and the black-footed clownfish didn’t end up in a wok down an alley to be cooked Shanghainese-style and served at a pavement table.
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