gl08 sample

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GL_8_COVER_V.0.4 FINAL.qxd 8/2/06 3:44 PM

#36 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! China has a population estimated at 1.2 billion and an estimated horse population of 10,000,000 – the most in the world.

GL_08_China_07.qxd 8/2/06 5:09 PM Page 36

china

A Mongolian rugby player, a tin of yak meat, a pair of chopsticks anda lot to write home about– Penny Watson tastes more than her fairshare of China on a 25-hour train journey from Shenzhen to Beijing.

get in the know! At the 2000 Olympics, China won 28 gold, 16 silver and 15 bronze medals, putting it in third place overall and behind only Russia and the USA. ISSUE #08 get lost! #37

AN INTIMIDATING MONGOLIAN MAN WITHa wispy black moustache and WWFphysique wedges himself into the seat

opposite me. He has a can opener in one grubbyhand and a tin in the other. With a maniacal grin spread across his unruly features, he says, in stilted English, that it would givehim great pleasure if I were to share his yakmeat. It sounded like a really bad come-on line. It wasn’t. The tin was designed with asmuch flair as Chairman Mao’s uniform andlooked as enticing as the dirty fingers that held it. I guessed it was vintage 1950.

As my newfound friend pried it open, my eyesscanned the Mongolian script for a use-by date.But no, apparently tinned yak meat lasts forever.He handed me a pair of chopsticks (mastered onlya day or two before) and like a procrastinatingchild without an appetite, I prodded at the darkpink meat and dunked the coagulated floaties into the oil. It looked like tuna, smelled like wet dogand the sheep-like animals on the tin offered littleconsolation. On a 25-hour train trip from one end of China to the other, there was no getting out of it.

China has one of the world’s busiest railnetworks, an estimated 52,000km of railway

line linking towns and cities all the way fromXinjiang province in the west to Guangdong in the south and Heilongjiang in the north. Tibet, the only region without rail, will be connected via direct lines from Beijing, Shanghai andGuangzhou before the 2008 Olympics. With such a huge land mass (the fourth largest in the world) and a ban on tourists driving betweencities (not to mention the logistical and financialnightmare of hiring or buying a car), train travelis the best way for visitors to catch a glimpse ofanother side of China, the China not representedby the westernised powerhouse of Shanghai orembodied in the mystique and culture of Beijing. In my case it was also an opportunity to tastesome local fare, cuisine that in any othercircumstance I’d probably turn down.

Depending on the class – soft sleeper, hardsleeper, soft seat or hard seat, with comfort inthat order – Chinese trains can be surprisinglycomfortable, if a little outdated. Mod cons such as air conditioning are available in soft sleeper,while smoking, a liberal pastime elsewhere inChina, is prohibited in sleeper carriages. The hardand soft seats are not known for their comfortbut prices should sway most westerners toward

CHINA

beijing

korea

taiwan

shijia-zhuang

tai’an

jiujiang

ganzhou

hong kongshenzhen

text: penny watson

images: juliet coombe + penny watson

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#38 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! In ancient China and certain parts of India, mouse meat was considered a great delicacy. You can still find it at market stalls in Beijing!

choosing a sleeper carriage. To get to Beijing, we jumped on a train in Shenzhen, China’ssoutheast gateway. The words “jumped on” implyspeed and ease but the experience was neitherquick nor simple. After a sojourn in westernisedHong Kong the week before, Shenzhen station is a headache of migraine proportions. ForgetEnglish. Learn the Mandarin characters for your destination and leave the rest to Chinesegood fortune. Once on the train, it was morestraightforward. I had booked a hard sleepercarriage, consisting of an open compartment withtwo three-tiered bunk beds. The top is the leastpopular and the cheapest. The bottom bunks costmore, presumably because they are easiest toaccess. “Ni hao” (hello) was as much Mandarin as I could muster so I was summarily allocated a topbunk. As it turned out these were better suited tolong lanky foreigners. On the lower levels, legsthat poke out the end of the bed are fair game forpassing passengers. Up high I had room to stretchout, imperative for the 2373km journey ahead.

We were soon rolling out through Shenzhen’sugly concrete jungle. Gradually, as the train movednorth towards Dongguan and Huizhou, abandonedcars, factories and kilometres of litter gave way to

acres of vegetables gardens. These were allmeticulously furrowed, ploughed and tiered to fit around disparate housing and unfinishedsteel and concrete railway infrastructure. Chinesemen squatting trackside, hoes in hand, stopped to watch as the train raced by. Inside, the train’spassengers were just as sedentary. Familiar with the scenery, many were already indulging in a tried and true method of keeping boredom at bay: cards. Others had been shyly eyeing us off – students who spoke limited English but were

keen to practice. We awkwardly introducedourselves and, like an inquisitive child, beganpointing out the window: locals on bicycles, half-built factories, seemingly abandoned houses andtrackside workers were all fodder for conversation.Each clickety clack kilometre of rail and everywindow frame revealed a new take on Chinesedaily life. As the train whooshed passed fields and paddocks, one of the students (Kevin was theincongruous Anglo name he’d ascribed to himself)pointed out large mounds of dirt decorated in

The bodies of farmers and their families wholive and work the land are burnt after death, thenburied under these big mounds of dirt.

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brightly coloured paper and thick burnt-out sticksof incense. He explained that the bodies of farmersand their families who live and work the land areburnt after death and then buried under these bigmounds of dirt. After a year or two the remains,marked by the faded paper, are raked over thefields. The ashes return to the soil in the full circle of life. There were many such colourfulmemorials dotted along the railway line. AfterKevin’s explanation they took on a new meaningand I found a new respect for these people whoselives were so bound up in the toil of the land, frombirth to death. I silently praised my decision to travel second-class where the open-plan of the carriage and the openness of the people was teaching me details I could never find in aguidebook. You can find air-conditioning and lacedoilies anywhere, but not these homespun gems.

The train stopped briefly in Heyuan, Longchuan,Dingnan and Ganzhou – big cities that lookedsmall on the map. To entertain myself beforelights out at 9.30, I wandered down to the diningcar, a grungy little restaurant with lace curtains,linoleum tabletops and a dusty ‘70s decor thatshould have sent a clear warning to diners about the quality of the food. Steam from bubbling pot noodles fogged upthe windows and the smell of

boiling vegetables made me realise that thestomach still rumbles when the mind isn’t sokeen. I sat down at the table and ordered a plate of chilli beef and a bowl of watery soup, carefullyavoiding a little pile of bones overlooked by thewaitress. It was here I met my match with a tin of “yak” meat. The Mongolian 10s rugby team were heading back home from the Philippines andsinking a disproportionate number of beers in theprocess. They told me that they hated Chinesefood, so had taken 120 tins of yak meat on theirtrip and just as many bags of dried meat to chew.Not wanting to unrest any ancient Mongol-Chineseracial tension I simply nodded and ate my portionof meat. Was the tin big or just the task? I was onlytoo glad at 8.30pm when the waitress told us thedining car was closing. We had just passed Jian,only 1700km to go. Some babies drift off to sleepin the back seat as soon as the car starts. Now I know why. The constant 4/4 hum of rhythmicwheels on steel and side-to-side slow-mo rockingof my carriage lulled me into a deep sleep. Eighthours out of my 25-hour ride I spent curled up inpeace as the train rushed through the sleepingcities of Linchuan, Nanchangand Jiujiang.

#40 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! China’s army consists of approximately 2.5 million recruits.


#46 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! The full length robes worn by local men in Lamu are called “khanzus”.

takemedown (by dhow and donkey)

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get in the know! Lamu is one of seven islands in an archipelago. ISSUE #08 get lost! #47

Nestling in the India Ocean, just off the northern coast of Kenya, thehistoric island town of Lamu has longkept its head down and avoided theattention of its more famous cousin– Zanzibar to the south. Sleepy andlaidback it is just emerging, blinkingas it enters the limelight, but is stillrelatively undeveloped and retainsits own distinct character. With dailyflights from the capital and plans to extend and improve the airport,things are set to change. Try to see,or rather feel, Lamu before itchanges forever.

lamu

kenya

text: steve davey

images: steve davey

cover story


#48 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! Dhows were traditionally made completely of wood – with no metal nails at all.

LAMU AIRPORT LETS YOU KNOW WHAT TOexpect. A strangely named ‘Duty FreeShop’ selling snacks and soft drinks,

an open sided check-in building and a fewthatched huts are all there is. My luggage isloaded onto a hand-cart, pushed down a ricketycauseway to a waiting dhow (a traditional arabsailing vessel) and I sail creakingly to my hotel.

Lamu seems to be all about dhows – anddonkeys. Laidback it may be but Lamu seems to be in a perpetual, yet languid, motion. Dhowshave been plying the coast for thousands ofyears. Small dhows head out fishing while largerones move goods and people up and down the‘Swahili’ Coast as far as Zanzibar and even to the Middle East and Oman. A new trade is nowdeveloping: ferrying tourists around and to theneighbouring islands to take in the various ruins,mangroves or just the sunset.

Then there are the donkeys: thousands ofthem. There are no cars on the island – just a few motorbikes and a couple of old tractors. All the goods that are unloaded from the dhows are loaded onto donkeys to be ferried around the town and the island. Walking around thenarrow streets of Mokomani, the Stone Town, I am careful at each blind corner lest I meet a caravan of labouring donkeys or a lazy localcatching a sneaky lift. Most of the buildings

in the old town are rendered with old coral, minedfrom a dead reef now above sea level on nearbyManda Island. The town was founded in the 14thCentury and soon became a thriving port. Manyof the ruins in the area date from this time. ThePortuguese arrived some 100 years later and did what they did best – constructed a large fort that dominated the town!

In the 17th century Lamu was a republic with responsibility to the Sultanate of Oman. This was the zenith of Swahili culture on the EastAfrican coast and when the island developed itsdistinctive style of life. The giant carved woodendoors and Middle Eastern architecture also datefrom this period. Standing on the ramparts of thefort and looking out over the square and rooftopsof this ancient town it is not difficult to imagineits bustling heyday.

Islam is the predominant religion in Lamu and gives the place a relatively conservative feel. Only a few bars are to be found and publicnudity is severely frowned upon – even on themiles of golden beach on the outskirts of town.Conservative dress is expected, most localwomen wear black headscarves and some don the all-covering bui bui. Islamic festivals are celebrated here. Visit during Ramadan and you will experience a completely differentLamu. The Maulidi (the popular name given toMilad-un-Nabi, an Islamic festival held during the third month of the Muslim calendar) has more of a local feel. Centring on the RiyadhaMosque, the festival celebrates the birth of the Prophet Muhammad with overnight prayervigils, songs and donkey racing!

One of the stranger aspects of Lamu is its odd collection of ex-pats who have washed up here over the years. Some arrived on theisland decades ago. Others have just fallen in love with the place and bought property, opened a restaurant or settled down and married a local – or, in one unique case, built a fort on the beach. It might be the isolation or the frontier feeling from the perennial bandit activity on the mainland from Somalia but propping up the bar of the legendary Peponi Hotel – one of the

Lamu airport lets you know what toexpect. A strangely named ‘Duty FreeShop’ selling snacks and soft drinks, an open sided check-in building and a few thatched huts are all there is.

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africa


#50 get lost! ISSUE #08 get in the know! Lamu is the oldest living town in Kenya, dating back to the 14th century.

few bars in town – I encountered the most eclectic bunch of people I have found anywhere on the continent.

Although you wouldn’t come to Lamu for lazing on the beach – rather just for lazing – it does boast a long and relatively desertedstretch of beach three or four kilometres out of town at the village of Shela. Most of the betteraccommodation is located in Shela and the village has benefited from foreign investment.Strolling down the beach in a pair of shorts itseems strange to come across a woman dressed in the full bui bui who, behind the impenetrableblack shroud, is watching her children paddling in the ocean. More incongruously, as I standobserving this scene, a dhow full of tourists andproudly flying a fluttering Bob Marley flag sailspast and I catch the unmistakeable whiff of dope.

Nowhere is the western influence on Lamumore evident than with its boat boys. Caughtbetween their Islamic roots and the lure ofWestern liberalisation and money, they seemsomewhat lost in the middle – seeking refuge inBob Marley! Many have dreads and both reggaeand spliff can be found on many of the dhows.These self-styled boat captains hang around onthe waterfront, lightly hassling tourists for dhow

Peponi HotelPeponi is one of the classic hotels of Africa. It has been run by the Korschen family since 1967. Popularwith the rich and famous for years, it was arguablyfirst put on the map by Mick Jagger in the 70s.

The bar is presided over by the laid back Charles, who will knock up one of the house ‘old pal’ cocktails that will leave you staggering (vodka, angostura, soda water and sugar). The bar is Charles’ domain and rumour has it he once threw Jagger out forsmoking a ‘funny cigarette’ at the bar!

With 24 rooms set in shady gardens and an infinity pool shaded by baobab trees, Peponi is a close to paradise as you can get. The food is probably the best on the island and the bar is a lively meeting place for tourists and ex-pats.www.peponi-lamu.com


#88 get lost! ISSUE #08

HE: A SWEATY, CRATER-PORED, MONEY-HUNGRYAustrian fashion mogul with a businessexporting to Europe, a nightclub in Paris,

and a penchant for disgusting hedonism, youngmodels and exploiting his staff. His unnaturallyevil behaviour, as well as his uncanny likenessto the drooling, bug-eyed being from Stars Wars,caused me to baptise him ‘Jabba’. Like Mr Hutt,all his minions lived in fear of him.

Me: his house model-cum-aspiring designer,with a healthy disrespect for ill-gotten gainsand a longing to visit the home of fashion and the ‘City of Lights’ – Paris. Jabba would danglethis glittery carrot of a prize before me, but nevermanage to come through. He also wanted me to sleep with him.

The Place: Thailand in the ultra-hedonistic80s. Jabba had a probable coke problem and alecherous streak wider than his jaw was flaccid; he also had thousands of poorly-paid staff in hisfactory, churning out cartoon-print pyjamas and many other things no man in his esteemedposition would ever dream of wearing. I didn’tlike the clothes, I didn’t like the way he treatedhis workers and I didn’t like him, but if being housemodel to an over-indulged ego-maniac would getme design experience and a trip to Paris, well, I was prepared to compromise.

One day I was summoned to his office, whichwas unusual. “I want you to do something for me...?” he paused, (oh God, what?), thenassumed a cajoling benevolence, “I have a girlfriendcoming from overseas... and I want you to lookafter her...take her shopping... keep her happy.”Wonderful. Becoming the nominated bimbo-sitter

would be a great career starter. He reached into a drawer, “Will 10,000 be enough?” I hesitated. Ten thousand Thai baht ...well... arestaurant, some clothes... it could be done, quitegenerous really. His clammy paws pushed abundle of notes over. It was US dollars! Even ifhe was the richest foreigner in Thailand I stilldidn’t expect this level of ... you couldn’t call itgenerosity. Obscene excess?

Jabba gave an oozing smile, “The car is waitingout the front... have a good time”. Sliding fromone side of the glossy Daimler seat to the other Ifumed, damning the fact that I would have to lookafter his jumped-up tarts and overlook my guiltover ethics, money and my inability to forgo Paris.

Victoria turned out to be surprisingly likable,a fresh-out-of-Yale looking girl with a twinkle fortrouble in her eye that matched mine. But didshe have some sick fetish for grossly repugnantmembers of the opposite sex or just low selfesteem? We went shopping to blow the tengrand. It wasn’t hard at places that stockedComme de Garcon, a famous Japanese label back in the day. Back at her hotel room, after we’d gotthe pyjama party for two kicking along at a chattypace with her stash, we looked at the menu. The Krug seemed to have the largest number of zeros next to the price tag, so we ordered it.Twice. We were thirsty. It washed all that Belugacaviar down beautifully.

Predictably, Victoria didn’t last long. Thephenomenally expensive hotel bill that I knewnothing about had Jabba’s eyes threatening todepart their sockets.

But it was baby-sitting model French Francinethat ended my tenure with Jabba. She was young,very young – just nudging 17. A cruise on Jabba’s105 ft boat was planned in her honour and I feltobliged to go for her protection, if nothing else.Things started going awry after we wrecked thejet-skis trying to fulfill our Bond-esque fantasiesof alighting bikini-clad on a white atoll – youshould never take a jet-ski up onto the sand, for future reference.

Things went from awry to awful after wereturned from clubbing on Phuket Island. Lined

Jabba was as ill-gotten as itgets and she was prepared to grin and bear it, until it got too much. Tara Strong explains why playing chaperone to a Bangkok mogul’s mistress can cause distress.

up outside the tawdry old lech’s suite wereendless pairs of hookers’ shoes. Soon, Francinewas urgently pleading with me to let her into mycabin. “ ‘E wants me to sleep with zhem... maisnon! I cannot dooo eeet!” Repulsed – she was 17;he was mid-forties – I concocted a plan. At firstlight we sneaked off the boat and flew back toBangkok. We bribed an employee for Francine’spassport, which Jabba had locked in his office.

My guerrilla-style tactics were not appreciatedand Jabba and I parted ways with strong feelings of mutual disrespect. Months later, I finallyarrived in Paris determined to discover whatgleaming treasure the ‘City of Light’ held for me.One night I found myself clubbing in Jabba’s jointamong the all beautiful people. And there, in thecorner booth, a slithering mass, its arms gropingthe young things giggling around it. Jabba!Ordering a large drink I walked up to him with aconciliatory ‘let’s put it all behind us’ smile, whilehis ever-present legion of sycophants looked on.

“Would you like a drink?” I asked, tipping itover him. “It’s fully paid for.”

get in the know! Thailand’s red light district is called Patpong and is home to the famous ‘ping-pong ball’ act.

Sliding from one side ofthe glossy Daimler seat tothe other I fumed, damningthe fact that I would have to look after his jumped-uptarts and overlook my guiltover ethics, money and my inability to forgo Paris.

’’’’

MENTALmogul

confessions

text: tara strong

image: andrew bennett

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