Starting with the poking
Ok, so I've finally decided I'm ready to start my journal. Actually I've left it too long. So many things have happened already that I don't know where to start. But that was my excuse at the end of the first day, so I've just got to start. The internet at Captain Hostel, where I'm staying, is so freaking expensive: 20 Yuan, or about A$3 an hour. Lonely Planet claims there are places where you can get an hour for 3 Yuan (of Internet access, you dirty bugger). I've yet to find any of these places, as they frequently change location or shutdown completely.
My first International Airport was Kuala Lumpur. It was 6am, and we couldn't leave the airport, so I just wandered around for a bit and found a small jungle enclosed in glass in the centre of the Airport. I asked the nice Malaysian girl at the Information desk if we could get into the garden, and she laughed. "Only for looking," she said. So I had to be content with the striking but emotionally bereft interior of apparently the best airport in the world, according to a group of people who probably never use airports, because they all have their own private jets. I really didn't get what was so great about it; two of the internet terminals lacked a usable mouse, and the information screens were hard to read. The superfast train that arrived in the airport itself was pretty cool though.
The idea that I was in another country was about as tangible as the idea that there is probably life on other planets. Arriving at Shanghai Pudong Airport was surreal. It was surrounded by farmland and at 2 pm in the afternoon there was a thick, soupy mist that made the whole thing look unreal. I was struck by some of the airport buildings, which where all white and shaped like lips, almost sensual. Walking towards Immigration, I stared at the strange shapes floating outside the massive windows and felt detached from my body. I had a sense of foreboding based on my simplistic view that Chinese officials would be cold and cruel. But really, they were just impatient, and even the large LED screen warning of Avian Bird Flu could not crush my relief at finally making it through Immigration after waiting anxiously in line for half an hour.
On the bus from Shanghai Airport into the city my heart filled with joy. I really was in another country. The bus driver beeped and swerved and although I felt mildly concerned my mind was frantically processing the unbelievable landscape that was rushing past my field of view. There were painfully delicate trees with their trunks painted white (to keep them warm in winter, apparently) and there were piles of refuse and debris from demolished buildings, and there were cars and bikes and people everywhere, and there were huge billboards proclaiming all sorts of proclamations. But the most amazing thing was the colour of this new world. Millions of subtle pastel shades, floating in the mist. It was all a bit new for a boy whose world up until then had been painted brashly with brilliant blue and gold.
My first International Airport was Kuala Lumpur. It was 6am, and we couldn't leave the airport, so I just wandered around for a bit and found a small jungle enclosed in glass in the centre of the Airport. I asked the nice Malaysian girl at the Information desk if we could get into the garden, and she laughed. "Only for looking," she said. So I had to be content with the striking but emotionally bereft interior of apparently the best airport in the world, according to a group of people who probably never use airports, because they all have their own private jets. I really didn't get what was so great about it; two of the internet terminals lacked a usable mouse, and the information screens were hard to read. The superfast train that arrived in the airport itself was pretty cool though.
The idea that I was in another country was about as tangible as the idea that there is probably life on other planets. Arriving at Shanghai Pudong Airport was surreal. It was surrounded by farmland and at 2 pm in the afternoon there was a thick, soupy mist that made the whole thing look unreal. I was struck by some of the airport buildings, which where all white and shaped like lips, almost sensual. Walking towards Immigration, I stared at the strange shapes floating outside the massive windows and felt detached from my body. I had a sense of foreboding based on my simplistic view that Chinese officials would be cold and cruel. But really, they were just impatient, and even the large LED screen warning of Avian Bird Flu could not crush my relief at finally making it through Immigration after waiting anxiously in line for half an hour.
On the bus from Shanghai Airport into the city my heart filled with joy. I really was in another country. The bus driver beeped and swerved and although I felt mildly concerned my mind was frantically processing the unbelievable landscape that was rushing past my field of view. There were painfully delicate trees with their trunks painted white (to keep them warm in winter, apparently) and there were piles of refuse and debris from demolished buildings, and there were cars and bikes and people everywhere, and there were huge billboards proclaiming all sorts of proclamations. But the most amazing thing was the colour of this new world. Millions of subtle pastel shades, floating in the mist. It was all a bit new for a boy whose world up until then had been painted brashly with brilliant blue and gold.
posted by Phil at
8:00 PM
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