How to find a husband - taxi driver style

Last night I spent a lovely evening catching up with friends. They headed on to a party but I was pooped (a real party pooper) and headed home to my bed. My taxi driver was a priceless gem � if only because he was so well-meaning and hopelessly rude to my British sensibilities in the process.

 

He asked STDQ 1 (Standard Taxi Driver Question) � where are you from? He then moved swiftly to STDQ 3 � are you married yet? I said no, but was too tired to explain that my Beloved was in the UK and that by British standards I am not on the shelf. At this point we stopped at a set of traffic lights, he bent his head around the little screen that separates the driver from passenger and, obviously taking my silence as disappointment, said "You just need some good advice, then you'll get married".

 

Curious, I asked what advice he would give me.

 

"Well, you smile too much" - I've heard this from Chinese men before � smiling is fine, but a full on headlamps Freya grin is too much. I should smile demurely, head tilted to one side, eyes hardly meeting the man I am smiling at. I had great fun getting some men in a foot massage shop to demonstrate what this smile was like. I decided that playing along with Mr Taxi could be good fun, so I earnestly asked for more tips on how I could save myself from spinsterhood.

 

"You're going home early on a Friday night, that's not a good way to find a man" I explained I was jetlagged, he told me I lacked stamina and would benefit from sleeping less.

 

"You're fat, very fat for a Chinese person" - I stifled a chuckle (obviously now that smiling was banned, I chuckled demurely) and nodded. It's true � I would struggle to buy clothes in China now as I'm firmly in XXL territory (that's a size 12 in the UK). I told him that I intended to do more exercise. He said this was good, but that eating less would be better. He recommended an apple for breakfast and dinner and just eating a very small lunch. Again, I felt the chuckle rising.

 

Was there anything else I could do, I wondered. Of course! I should cut my hair shorter � apparently longer hair is for young women. I was tempted to ask how old are you when you stop being a young woman as he had neglected to ask STDQ 2 (how old are you?).

 

Oh Masterful taxi driver, so full of knowledge about how to avoid being destined to a lonely loveless barren life, slightly pudgy from sitting still and driving all day long, with finger nails far too long for a man and a tendency to hawk phlegm every 3 minutes, what else could I do?

 

I could go out with him. He's not married either and his Mum keeps telling him to settle down.

 

I was laughing too much to say anything except thanks. And then I headed to bed.

Pyjama Party

I'm staying in a hostel in an old part of Shanghai. It's a 1920s mansion house that sits kind of out of place on a very busy market street � it's kind of like Broadway Market � except the meat and fish are all still alive, there's no one selling olives and I'd struggle to find baby clothes made from organic fair trade cotton.

 

My room is at the top of the house up several flights of lovely red wooden stairs and past several enormous chandaliers. I'm completely charmed by its ramshackle nature and feeling of fade grandure � though it did make the think of a friend's recent desciption of a hotel as  "just the sh*t kind of place you love, Freya". Other plusses include friendly staff, doors that lock, loos that flush and hot water all through the day � let's just say the place has character and now my Ma can rest easy that it's safe.  

 

I didn't manage to explore until later on in the evening by which time it was dark and the market outside had changed from bustling wet market to lively snacks on sticks market. The road isn't offcially closed to traffic so there's pretty constant beeping from scooters and the occassional cars and calls of "coming though" and "move it" from cyclists.  There are still lanes of houses nearby that do not have indoor plumbing so families wash together in a large stone sink in the  courtyards outside, a small group of women in their 20s were getting a foot massage and having a gossip, a group of older men in blue Mao jackets (though one had accessorised with a dazzling pair of bright white trainers) were playing a very heated game of cards around a table and a crowd had gathered around to watch. People live their lives out in the streets in these areas in a way I love. 

 

The area I'm in gives a feeling of what's often described as "real China" or "real Shanghai" - though I confess I find these descriptions kind of strange. I'm often told that Shanghai isn't "real" China � by which I think people mean it's modern, it's expensive and it's more cosmopolitan. But to me, it's part of "real" China � it's just the modern, expensive and cosmopolitan part of China.

 

As I strolled along, a man in his 40s wearing his pyjamas came over for a chat. I add in his age only because an elderly man in his pyjamas is somehow not as interesting as a middle aged man in his pyjamas. This streetside PJ wearing this still tickles me � ever since Sam and I taught in Guangzhou after I graduated and found whole families out for an evening stroll in their jimjams. I still haven't had a conclusive answer about why this may occur � and it's something that many Chinese friends are exasperated to be asked about. It seems to be about demonstrating wealth � initially to be able to afford night clothes, and later to show that you live in the area which may also show you to be wealthier than the next person who is just wearing ordinary clothes but can't just trot around the corner and flop straight into bed.

 

Mr PJ asked me in English what I was doing. I said I was walking (also in English as I know how frustrating it is to want to practise my hard learned language and then have someone answer every question in English). He strolled along beside me, eyes straight ahead but every 10 paces or so he would take a sidelong glance. He looked kind of awkward so I said in Chinese that I was taking some exercise before I had my tea. At this he looked very much relieved and we set about a more detailed chat. Although we only walked together for 2 blocks, Mr PJ asked such interesting questions that I woke up this morning still wondering what the answers are.

 

"You are a foreigner and you can afford to come to visit China, so why would you choose to stay somewhere like this?"

 

"Isn't it full of Chinese people? You could stay somewhere better, somewhere nicer, where there are other foreigners"

 

"Why are you interested in seeing poverty? Here there's no money and people are struggling. Why do you want to see this side of China?"

 

To him, despite wearing his pyjamas to prove he lived in this area, it was somewhat embarrassing to have a tourist wandering around and seeing people live their lives. I didn't have my camera with me, I learned not to stare too long a few years ago after a man chased me with a not quite dead chicken he'd been killing and I like to think I just blend in (aside from being a whole different colour and everything!!). I wondered what the equivalent would be in the UK � but nothing else quite compares � which is probably why I love what's outside the door to my tumbling mansion house turned hostel.

 

It's all waiting for me outside. 

 

57 57 5777!

I must admit I arrived in Shanghai with a heavy heart � lots of goodbyes followed by a biting into a meat sausage posing as a veggie sausage in a sandwich shocker then one last super sad goodbye and no sleep � all ensured I wasn't in the mood for China when I finally emerged through customs and got outside.

 

My taxi driver was rather sedate (and rather grumpy) and asked me repeatedly about something I didn't understand which just added to my general feeling of wanting to be on the next flight to London. A long traffic jam later, lots of spitting out of the window (him, not me) and he was a bit more interested in chatting � I never did establish what he wanted to know. It left me with an uneasy feeling that my language skills are now so rusty and under-used that I'll be useless in all situations apart from giving my opinion on badminton or the weather. Reading that back, it sounds like the advice young ladies were given in Jane Austen novels! Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all!

 

I arrived at my hostel hot and harassed � but managed to explain who I was. Oh the pleasure of being understood! Blessed relief as I explained to the friendly receptionist that the pretty sinks they have in the bathroom here are really common in China but I've never seen one in England and hope to have one in my future house. OK, it's not UN negotiating but it made me feel better to understand and be understood.

 

I stepped out into the rain to sort out a phone so that I could say I've arrived safely. My previous Chinese phone and my UK mobile and both my UK and Chinese bank cards refused to work at the airport so I was feeling a little stranded and unsure of how I would resolve this. A new phone has restored the feeling of calm that comes from knowing that even if everything's going wrong, at least I can ring someone to tell them.

 

While I was waiting for my phone to be fixed, I had a penny dropping moment (no actual pennies were harmed in the making of this moment) that made me laugh and skip about in the street. I had to wait a little longer for my phone so that I could ring a friend and share my joy.

 

I spent a year in Shanghai travelling in taxis with an automated welcome system � as soon as the driver starts the meter, a little box says hello to you in Chinese and then in English and when you leave the cab, it says bye and reminds you "not to forget anything you take". One particular taxi firm has a catchy little line that I have often danced along to, translated it means "I eat, I eat, I eat eat eat" which is probably why I like it so much � a good motto for life. Still, it never made much sense why a cab firm would want a slogan about eating. While I was standing in the rain, feeling tired and overwhelmed, one such taxi pulled up across the street � I heard the little "I eat I eat" and started to smile. Ah Shanghai, you still have this power over me - to turn a crappy situation into a funny one. Then I had a lightbulb moment. The phone number for the cab firm is 57 57 5777 � which when said in Chinese sounds like "I eat I eat I eat eat eat". I felt that childlike rush of figuring something out and some of my optimism was restored.

 

Obviously doesn't take much to please me these days.