Blog 19
I'll certainly say one thing for China. Just when you think you've got used to something and you're psychologically preparing yourself for that something, another, often more terrible and haunting thing takes its place. And so it was last night.
Last night was the official dinner for this round of training for this particular educational bureau (EB) - there's a dinner for each area we go to. You may remember the table full of intestines and other unspeakable parts of animal from Chongqiug (around Blog 5). Well, I was expecting something similar. I was also expecting plenty of alcohol, as I'd been warned that the big EB boss man was a heavy drinker. Not such a problem, I thought - I can knock back a few beers with the best of them. So, picked up at 18:30 in a posh car and driven through town to a leafy, secluded hotel made of chalets and things with ornate stone carvings (no pictures this time, as I thought it not quite appropriate for Mr Camera).
In we go to a private hut with the usual lazy-Susan and round we get seated, Nick and I are on either side of the big boss man, Mr Jaa. He speaks no English but this is OK as translators, in the form of our beautiful Chinese assistant Judy and an EB English researcher (the ever cheerful Mr Yu), are on hand. The food arrives and it begins to look quite promising - a small plate of green veg, a little fried tofu and a kind of pancake thing. And then the giant wasps. Fried. Lots of them. OK, can deal with those. And what next? Oh yes, the fried baby scorpions (to be eaten whole). A touch more challenging. And what's next? Of course, the cicadas (large tree insects measuring two inches by half an inch) in a curious brown sauce. As my eyes drifted across the evening's fayre, my grin became fixed in an attempt not to betray my emotions. Well, at least I can wash these things down with beer, I thought. Ho, ho, ho. What a foolish thought. No beer to be had, just the local spirit - baijou (pronounced 'by' and 'Joe') at a cool 53% and tasting rather like terps, or at least how I expect terps to taste. Not to be sipped slowly, oh no. As the new foreigner in town I was told it was the "test", to see how much I could drink. I stopped counting after 20 shots and just tried to concentrate on how not to throw up if I had to force down yet another baby scorpion.
To be honest, the fried scorpions and giant wasps weren't too bad. A little crunchy, but otherwise OK. My mistake came, when attempting to make poilte conversation, when I said that it was my first time to eat scorpion. This meant that as soon as the fried chaps were done, fresher ones were ordered and it was more for the eating. The fresher ones hadn't been fried of course, just boiled enough to kill them, apparently. At about three inches long (tail included) they made an interesting snack which revisited me later that evening... The cicadas, well, there was just no need.
As guests, Nick and I had to drink / toast with each individual diner three times (two toasts from them and one from us), downing the 53% liquid of death each time. This was in addition to the standard whole table toasting. All of this meant that I had almost three times more alcohol than anyone else, except Nick, who being senior to me, had to drink even more. He also protected Judy admirably by drinking in lieu of her at times. The result of all this drinking with no carbohydrates and a little protein from the insects was, in a word, carnage. Nick, whose last memory was half way through dinner, had to be carried to his room by me and Mr Yuu; I, once in my room, spent a curious amount of time on the floor not being able to get up off it, having fallen off my chair while trying to log into my e-mail. I think we've all been there, though.
In a final note about breakfast, while trying to stop my hand from shaking, and therefore my chopsticks, so I could actually eat the rice, a large crab (body the size of a fist) scuttled across the floor of the breakfast area quite quickly, having evidently escaped from the kitchen. In a curious kind of a way, I could almost feel empathy with its need to run away and find a dark place to hide. The waiter seemed surprisingly uninterested in it. Perhaps it's a kind of pet?
Who'd have thought dinner could be such a wonder? Or breakfast for that matter?
I'll certainly say one thing for China. Just when you think you've got used to something and you're psychologically preparing yourself for that something, another, often more terrible and haunting thing takes its place. And so it was last night.
Last night was the official dinner for this round of training for this particular educational bureau (EB) - there's a dinner for each area we go to. You may remember the table full of intestines and other unspeakable parts of animal from Chongqiug (around Blog 5). Well, I was expecting something similar. I was also expecting plenty of alcohol, as I'd been warned that the big EB boss man was a heavy drinker. Not such a problem, I thought - I can knock back a few beers with the best of them. So, picked up at 18:30 in a posh car and driven through town to a leafy, secluded hotel made of chalets and things with ornate stone carvings (no pictures this time, as I thought it not quite appropriate for Mr Camera).
In we go to a private hut with the usual lazy-Susan and round we get seated, Nick and I are on either side of the big boss man, Mr Jaa. He speaks no English but this is OK as translators, in the form of our beautiful Chinese assistant Judy and an EB English researcher (the ever cheerful Mr Yu), are on hand. The food arrives and it begins to look quite promising - a small plate of green veg, a little fried tofu and a kind of pancake thing. And then the giant wasps. Fried. Lots of them. OK, can deal with those. And what next? Oh yes, the fried baby scorpions (to be eaten whole). A touch more challenging. And what's next? Of course, the cicadas (large tree insects measuring two inches by half an inch) in a curious brown sauce. As my eyes drifted across the evening's fayre, my grin became fixed in an attempt not to betray my emotions. Well, at least I can wash these things down with beer, I thought. Ho, ho, ho. What a foolish thought. No beer to be had, just the local spirit - baijou (pronounced 'by' and 'Joe') at a cool 53% and tasting rather like terps, or at least how I expect terps to taste. Not to be sipped slowly, oh no. As the new foreigner in town I was told it was the "test", to see how much I could drink. I stopped counting after 20 shots and just tried to concentrate on how not to throw up if I had to force down yet another baby scorpion.
To be honest, the fried scorpions and giant wasps weren't too bad. A little crunchy, but otherwise OK. My mistake came, when attempting to make poilte conversation, when I said that it was my first time to eat scorpion. This meant that as soon as the fried chaps were done, fresher ones were ordered and it was more for the eating. The fresher ones hadn't been fried of course, just boiled enough to kill them, apparently. At about three inches long (tail included) they made an interesting snack which revisited me later that evening... The cicadas, well, there was just no need.
As guests, Nick and I had to drink / toast with each individual diner three times (two toasts from them and one from us), downing the 53% liquid of death each time. This was in addition to the standard whole table toasting. All of this meant that I had almost three times more alcohol than anyone else, except Nick, who being senior to me, had to drink even more. He also protected Judy admirably by drinking in lieu of her at times. The result of all this drinking with no carbohydrates and a little protein from the insects was, in a word, carnage. Nick, whose last memory was half way through dinner, had to be carried to his room by me and Mr Yuu; I, once in my room, spent a curious amount of time on the floor not being able to get up off it, having fallen off my chair while trying to log into my e-mail. I think we've all been there, though.
In a final note about breakfast, while trying to stop my hand from shaking, and therefore my chopsticks, so I could actually eat the rice, a large crab (body the size of a fist) scuttled across the floor of the breakfast area quite quickly, having evidently escaped from the kitchen. In a curious kind of a way, I could almost feel empathy with its need to run away and find a dark place to hide. The waiter seemed surprisingly uninterested in it. Perhaps it's a kind of pet?
Who'd have thought dinner could be such a wonder? Or breakfast for that matter?
