Tag Archives: Shanghai

Shanghai scumbag – a Row Row rewind

Crapping your daks in public isn’t fun, but that’s what I did exactly five years ago. I was a 16-year-old girl, fresh off having my first period and ready to explore my bisexuality. Alright, that’s a lie, I was 29 and ready to explore China, and I wrote all this but never got around to actually posting it online. So let’s delve into my personal diary and see what I was up to way back when…

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There are few things more humbling than shitting your pants in public.

I was on a crappy old train, rattling through slums, half blind from food poisoning and stumbling through crowds of unfamiliar faces towards a filthy toilet, so I could chuck up another load of electric-orange bile. I stepped around one bloke, pushed passed another, and stopped in mid-step to squeeze out a little fart… and ended up with a river of liquid shit cascading down my leg.

And the best thing is, that was the day before I flew out to China.

Yeah, most people wait till they get to the exotic Asian country before they get food poisoning and start squirting from both ends like some sort of demented lawn sprinkler, but I’ve never been one to follow the well-worn path. I’m more likely to be swinging from a tree with my pants on my head or something (although, after the incident on the train, I won’t be plonking those pants on my bonce any time soon).

Thankfully, the effects of eating rancid sausages I’d picked up at a pub raffle were gawnski by the time my flight rolled around at 11am the next day, leaving me to enjoy the hospitality of China Eastern Airways without needing to wear a pair of adult nappies like some sort of perverted BabyMan.

The flight itself was painless enough. Being the only white person on board was good preparation for a trip to a country that isn’t known for its multiraciality, and the choice of in-flight entertainment was fantastic… as long as you like watching heavily-edited Leonardo DiCaprio movies and Chinese musicals so bad the People’s Republic probably use them to torture traitors. I was a little bit put off by the ancient woman behind me who seemed to be coughing herself to death, but when I realised she wasn’t going to hock up a lung anytime soon I was able to relax and settle in.

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Right, so Shanghai’s bloody huge. When the street lights first started burning through the pitch-black night below the plane I thought we were about to land, but then we kept on going and the lights went right on with us. Multi-lane freeways, industrial parks, houses, skyscrapers, unit blocks, it opened up beneath me like the embers of some world-ending fire. I’ve flown over huge cities like Bangkok, Los Angeles and Wyong, but nothing could prepare me for the size of this place. I now know how Tim Mathieson felt like the first time he saw Julia Gillard’s arse.

We landed without the wings falling off, I made it through customs without getting my cavities checked, changed some money, had a much-needed wee and navigated my way to the train station. With the previous day’s experience fresh on my mind I found a seat off by myself (not hard, ‘cos sweet fuck-all people were on there), and minutes later the little old rattler started clickety-clacking through Shanghai.

Only that’s not how it goes. See, China’s a proper first-world country, and first-world countries don’t have shitty trains that roll along at walking speed and break down if it’s too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry or there’s a full moon. Y’know, how it is in Sydney. Shanghai’s Maglev train belts along at around 300km/h, and makes the 30km trip from the airport to somewhere near downtown in around seven minutes. Seven minutes – that’s how long it takes a Sydney train to get from Central Station to four metres past Central Station.

I jumped in a cab at the other end, and 15 minutes later I was swaggering into the Oriental Bund Hotel. And it wasn’t a bad place for a young bloke from Gosford to stay. A king bed, lounge, 42 inch plasma TV, bathroom big enough to fit the New Zealand womens rugby union team – that’ll do, pig, that’ll do.

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After a quick shower I was back out the door and on my way to sipping a cold beer on the banks of the Huangpo River. Or I would’ve been if I’d walked East, where I meant to, rather than North, which took me into the strange and scary back alleys of nighttime Shanghai. Without a map, a GPS, a compass, or any fucking idea whatsoever where I was or where I was going. I didn’t even leave a trail of breadcrumbs.

Ah well, at least the architecture was nice. Heaps of 1920s-style Gothic buildings that made me feel like I was in a Batman movie. Heaps of scary homeless Chinamen, too, who were probably licking their lips and imagining me served up with rice and a side dish of albatross vomit or something.

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After wandering past an endless number of traditional Chinese chain stores like Starbucks and McDonald’s, I finally stumbled upon Shanghai’s famous Naning Road, renowned for it’s world class shopping. Perhaps during the day, but at night it’s better known for women (and blokes) offering sexy massages with the option of mouth-sex. Now, I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but after the 27th offer in 27 seconds I started getting the feeling they weren’t being totally honest with me, and that maybe they were offering prostitution. So, as tempting as a quick, AIDS-encrusted shag with a street-walking, drug-addicted Oriental bint was, I said no, continued my walk and finally hit the river. And what a river! It was wet! And riverish! And there!

Of course, the main visual attraction is the truckload of futuristic buildings over the side of the water in Pudong, which are covered in flashing lights and look really cool, like giant Christmas trees. Sadly, I’d spent so long wandering the back alleys that I was too late for the light show, so the only thing I got to enjoy was another 11 people asking me if I wanted a sexy massage.

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Still unfed, I started making my way towards where I thought my hotel was, hoping to find some sorta kooky Shanghai street food on the way, if only to relive my brief-but-torrid love affair with food poisoning. I didn’t find any food, I barely found the hotel after an hour, and I wound up my first night in the exotic Far East with an exotic meal of Pizza Shapes.

Oh, and a sexy massage. But I didn’t charge myself for that one.

Journey to the end of the east Beijing

Not content with spending my first two days in Shanghai wandering aimlessly, I did the same today. With a few hours to murder before jumping on a train to Beijing, I swaggered off find something to eat. Of course, I did what I do best and got lost, heading down tiny, filthy alleyways while the locals looked at me as if I was green and had a three-foot dick hanging out of my cargo shorts and dragging in the dirt.

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It was wetter than [insert fat celebrity] with a [insert type of junk food]
It rained, I got soaked, but I did find some traditional Chinese food. Nah, I’m just kidding, I ended up going to Maccas, but I’ve gotta say the paedophile clown serves good food over here – the two burgers I had didn’t taste like hobo arse at all. They were spicy and Asiany enough to stop me feeling like I was chowing down in George Street, and by the time I waddled out it was time to bugger off to catch the choo-choo.

Shanghai Hongqiao Railway Station is just a little bit bigger than Gosford Station. Like, instead of having three platforms it has about 45,000, and instead of having room for 17 people and one dog, it holds over 10,000 – and the place was bloody packed. To be honest, it was quite intimidating. Every sign was in Chinese, I was getting pushed this way and that by an endless swarm of Chinamen, and I was short on money for a ticket without a money swapper in sight. But I wasn’t in as much trouble as this bloke I met in the toilets.

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One Chinaman, two Chinamen…

They love those weird hole-in-the-ground squat toilets in China, and when I headed into the brasco there was this bloke who had his leg stuck in the hole. He was hootin’ and hollerin’, as you would if you were trapped in a toilet, and a horrible mess of sloppy shit was splashing around and soaking into his nice blue slacks. Then his poo-drenched shoe came unstuck, and old mate went face first into a huge puddle of piss on the floor, fresh from a thousand little yellow dicks.

Now, this isn’t the first time something like this would’ve happened. Chinese blokes would be falling into those stupid holes all the time and ending up splattered with arse chocolate, so why do they still use them when they know there’s better alternatives? It’s like seeing an Xbox 360 and saying, “Nup, I’ll stick with my Atari 2600 with the broken power cord and the cartridge slot that hasn’t worked since my weird uncle Dean shot a load of tadpole mayonnaise in there last Christmas.”

I finally got a ticket, waited three hours for the train, and settled in for the five hour ride. Traveling by train at over 300km/h really does give you a fantastic appreciation for this mind-blowing country. Shanghai stretched on forever, until finally the skycrapers gave way to farms. But massive cities – nameless to me, but home to thousands or millions of people – were constantly zooming past my window, part of a dirty urban sprawl that spreads for thousands of kilometres.

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The endless cities of eastern China

One weird thing is that, no matter the size of the town, city or village, every single building in that town, city or village is made to the same design, like the background of a dodgy cartoon. There’ll be dozens of 30 storey buildings, and every one of them identical. But the buildings in one town will be totally different to those in all the others, mental.

About halfway along the train stopped at some place or another, and the fattest Chinaman I’ve ever seen got on… and sat next to me. This fat, horrible waste of flesh must’ve been pushing 400kg, and his bulging gut hung out from beneath his snazzy blue t-shirt. He ate boiled eggs constantly, only stopping when he needed to fart. I named him Chunk. He was the most horrible bloke I’ve ever met, and it gets worse.

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The Row Show with Chunk the Hunk

To take my mind off Chunk, I watched an episode of raunchy television program Californication on my computer. Of course it took about three seconds before Hank chucked it up some big-titted stonker, and when Chunk saw that he started bouncing around with his hands in the air and making a weird “woo woo woo” noise. And then he put his hand into his filthy pants and started wanking himself off, right there next to me. It sounds funny, but having a gigantic Oriental gentleman fondling his spring roll next to you is actually kinda scary.

With one final “Woo” that would make Ric Flair proud, Chunk blew his load in his pants, farted, and fell asleep. I was thinking that I’d never sleep again.

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My hotel in Beijing. Actually, that’s a lie – I basically stayed in a flop house

After finally arriving in Beijing, I took a cab to my hotel and was astonished to discover that my $30/night room was an absolute shit tip. There were actually footprints on the wall and what appeared to be blood stains on my bed. I doubt you could count the number of hookers who’d been killed there on two hands.

By that time it was late and I was tired, so I grabbed some KFC and went straight to bed with visions of wanking Chinamen dancing through my head. The exploration can’t wait till tomorrow – after the nightmares have stopped.

Originally written April 29, 2012 –

Holding hands with Jackie Chan

China’s not going to explore itself, so let’s check it out!

The first stop on today’s magical mystery tour through Shanghai was the Yu Garden, which is a sort of ancient temple place filled with trees and lakes and artifacts and half the population of Tokyo wandering around taking photos. I sauntered up there, but as I waited to cross the road outside, a snappily-dressed Chinaman came over and said G’day. Well, not G’day, but hello. This is Shanghai, not fucken Birdsville, remember.

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Any place that has frankfurts hanging from the roof is cool with me

He told me he was 56 and a teacher, and because he looked pretty fit and probably knows kung fu, I’ll call him Jackie Chan. Jackie told me a bit about the temple, then said he’d show me the entrance to the gardens. Only Jackie wanted to go for tea first. Now I don’t drink tea at the best of times, and certainly not with old Chinese men wearing white slacks pulled up to their nipples, but that’s not the reason I didn’t go – the tea house scam is as old as the Pope’s virginity. A well-presented dude or dudette walks up, starts a convo, and somehow gets you into a tea house for a drink. After a glass or two they say they’ve gotta go for a slash (or a srash) and bugger off, leaving you with the bill.

Ah, but tea’s cheap as shit, right? What’s a couple of bucks in return for a few minutes of staring into the eyes of a handsome Chinese cheapskate? The people from the tea house are in on the scam, and present you with a bill for couple of hundred bucks, saying you ordered special tea. Refuse to pay and a couple of happy-go-lucky Chinamen will come along with swords and threaten to seperate your doodle from your nutsack unless you cough up.

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I would clean up on If You Are The One

So, as nice as it would’ve been to have sipped green tea with Jackie Chan while listening to stories of his life in Shanghai and secretly wondering what he’d look like naked thrusting his penis into a microwave-warmed pineapple, I’m glad I didn’t go with him. It would’ve been the worst date I’ve had since I went out with that girl who turned out to be a midget, but who refused to root me and thus fulfill my fantasy of rooting a midget.

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Fuck writing a caption for this one. I’m not even getting paid for this

Yu Garden? Nice enough. Very gardeny. Was sick to shit of it by the end and very happy to escape and get something to eat in a mega-busy shopping area just outside the doors.

And what a meal it was! Spring rolls… uh, something that looked like potato gems on a stick… and some sort of deep fried animal that could’ve honestly been anything. Hippopotamus foetus, perhaps? I can’t be sure, so I’ll cross it off the bucket list just in case.

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Diarrhea in a bucket

Back up to the river and the massage-spruikers had been replaced by an arseload of tourists. I grabbed a couple of beers from a convenience store, slugged two, then cracked the third and got on a ferry to the other side. There’s something so awesome about brazenly drinking beer in public. It’s probably just that it’s almost impossible to do back in Australia because wowsers are everywhere, but it’s grouse. Got off at the other side and followed the throngs towards the Oriental Pearl Tower, which looks like a gigantic deformed turnip.

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Locals call it the Ron Jeremy Tower. No idea why

A few more beers and I was on my way to the top. Well, more like the middle, where the observation deck is. Dunno how high it is and can’t be stuffed looking it up, so let’s just say it’s 207 Daryl Somers’ high. Can you imagine that, 207 Daryls all stacked up on each other? It would either be the greatest or the worst thing ever… and very, very sexy.

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Fuckin’ Daz. He can’t even go to the beach without pulling two birds

But I’m not here to talk about Daryl Somers – I’ll save that for my next holiday, where I will explore every centimetre of Daryl’s glorious body with my tongue. The Tower gave a good view over a city that stretched to the horizon in all directions. There were people and cars absolutely everywhere, and a thick cloud of smog strangled the whole place. Shanghai’s not a beautiful city by any stretch of the imagination – impressive, certainly, but not attractive. Apart from the beautiful European-style buildings that the French and English built a century ago, and a handful of truly jaw-dropping modern skyscrapers, the rest are ugly and functional. Cheap, nasty towers thrown up to house a bulging population attracted to the opportunities of the biggest city in the world.

Another 80 metres up is the Space Needle, which I call the Space Noodle, and which is actually called something else entirely. It was exactly the same as the floor below, only smaller and 80m high, so I was upset about coughing up the extra $10 to see it.

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“Hey, I can see my imitation Puma sneakers from here!”

Back down to the main observation deck, and on the way out of it was another level where the floor was SEE-THROUGH AS FUCK. Like, I’m just standing there and looking straight down at a drop of 207 Daryls. It was kinda like being on the glass table at Don Lane’s place, only no-one pooped on me.

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I was just glad Rebel Wilson wasn’t up there with me

Needless to say, the Chinese and Japanese tourists went absolutely bananas, like they couldn’t grasp what was happening. They were clinging onto each other and screaming, so I got out of there before someone screamed so loud they shattered the plastic floor and send me plummeting to my doom.

Feeling hungry from eating sweet fuck all in the last two days, I strolled along until I found a place that sold the authentic Chinese meal of potatoes stuffed with meatballs. Hell. Fucking. Yes. And oh, it was glorious! Sure, I reckon it brought my first heart attack forward by about six months, but I’d only spend that half-year wanking and dancing in my bedroom to old Dannii Minogue songs anyway, so I figure it was worth it.

Full of spud (no, I don’t mean Mark Carroll) I headed back across the river on the ferry, snapped some more photos of The Bund, and then headed back to the hotel. The long way, of course, due to getting horrendously lost again (I blame the shithouse map I was using).

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Time for some Chinese culture!

After  almost getting mugged by an old lady in a dark alley, almost having my camera stolen by another scammer, and ended up settling for a packet of fish-flavoured chips and a bottle of lukewarm tea (Jackie would be proud!) for dinner.

It’s all high quality when Row Row goes a-go-go.

Originally written April 28, 2012. I think Gillard was running Australia back then, fuck that.

Shanghai scumbag – a Row Row rewind

It’s as wet as a fish’s pocket outside, so my adventures this week will be limited to playing PlayStation and dancing around the house in my undies while listening to Pink. I don’t think anyone’s interested in reading about that (except the weird bloke across the street, who often stares through my window as I’m shakin’ my groove thang to Blow Me). So, instead, let’s jump in the ol’ time machine and head way, way back to April 27, 2012, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and the World Wide Web was little more than a giant, erm, web spun by a spider who was taking over the planet.

I was a 16-year-old girl, fresh off having my first period and ready to explore my bisexuality. Alright, that’s a lie, I was 29 and ready to explore China, and I wrote all this but never got around to actually posting it online. So let’s delve into my personal diary and see what I was up to way back when…

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I was taking selfies before selfies were cool

There are few things more humbling than shitting your pants in public.

I was on a crappy old train, rattling through slums, half blind from food poisoning and stumbling through crowds of unfamiliar faces towards a filthy toilet, so I could chuck up another load of electric-orange bile. I stepped around one bloke, pushed passed another, and stopped in mid-step to squeeze out a little fart… and ended up with a river of liquid shit cascading down my leg.

And the best thing is, that was the day before I flew out to China.

Yeah, most people wait till they get to the exotic Asian country before they get food poisoning and start squirting from both ends like some sort of demented lawn sprinkler, but I’ve never been one to follow the well-worn path. I’m more likely to be swinging from a tree with my pants on my head or something (although, after the incident on the train, I won’t be plonking those pants on my bonce any time soon).

Thankfully, the effects of eating rancid sausages I’d picked up at a pub raffle were gawnski by the time my flight rolled around at 11am the next day, leaving me to enjoy the hospitality of China Eastern Airways without needing to wear a pair of adult nappies like some sort of perverted BabyMan.

The flight itself was painless enough. Being the only white person on board was good preparation for a trip to a country that isn’t known for its multiraciality, and the choice of in-flight entertainment was fantastic… as long as you like watching heavily-edited Leonardo DiCaprio movies and Chinese musicals so bad the People’s Republic probably use them to torture traitors. I was a little bit put off by the ancient woman behind me who seemed to be coughing herself to death, but when I realised she wasn’t going to hock up a lung anytime soon I was able to relax and settle in.

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“Hey, I can see my dim sim from here!”

Right, so Shanghai’s bloody huge. When the street lights first started burning through the pitch-black night below the plane I thought we were about to land, but then we kept on going and the lights went right on with us. Multi-lane freeways, industrial parks, houses, skyscrapers, unit blocks, it opened up beneath me like the embers of some world-ending fire. I’ve flown over huge cities like Bangkok, Los Angeles and Wyong, but nothing could prepare me for the size of this place. I now know how Tim Mathieson felt like the first time he saw Julia Gillard’s arse.

We landed without the wings falling off, I made it through customs without getting my cavities checked, changed some money, had a much-needed wee and navigated my way to the train station. With the previous day’s experience fresh on my mind I found a seat off by myself (not hard, ‘cos sweet fuck-all people were on there), and minutes later the little old rattler started clickety-clacking through Shanghai.

Only that’s not how it goes. See, China’s a proper first-world country, and first-world countries don’t have shitty trains that roll along at walking speed and break down if it’s too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry or there’s a full moon. Y’know, how it is in Sydney. Shanghai’s Maglev train belts along at around 300km/h, and makes the 30km trip from the airport to somewhere near downtown in around seven minutes. Seven minutes – that’s how long it takes a Sydney train to get from Central Station to four metres past Central Station.

I jumped in a cab at the other end, and 15 minutes later I was swaggering into the Oriental Bund Hotel. And it wasn’t a bad place for a young bloke from Gosford to stay. A king bed, lounge, 42 inch plasma TV, bathroom big enough to fit the New Zealand womens rugby union team – that’ll do, pig, that’ll do.

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It’s like Paris, buy more Asiany

After a quick shower I was back out the door and on my way to sipping a cold beer on the banks of the Huangpo River. Or I would’ve been if I’d walked East, where I meant to, rather than North, which took me into the strange and scary back alleys of nighttime Shanghai. Without a map, a GPS, a compass, or any fucking idea whatsoever where I was or where I was going. I didn’t even leave a trail of breadcrumbs.

Ah well, at least the architecture was nice. Heaps of 1920s-style Gothic buildings that made me feel like I was in a Batman movie. Heaps of scary homeless Chinamen, too, who were probably licking their lips and imagining me served up with rice and a side dish of albatross vomit or something.

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They don’t serve meat pies – trust me, I asked

After wandering past an endless number of traditional Chinese chain stores like Starbucks and McDonald’s, I finally stumbled upon Shanghai’s famous Naning Road, renowned for it’s world class shopping. Perhaps during the day, but at night it’s better known for women (and blokes) offering sexy massages with the option of mouth-sex. Now, I’m used to women throwing themselves at me, but after the 27th offer in 27 seconds I started getting the feeling they weren’t being totally honest with me, and that maybe they were offering prostitution. So, as tempting as a quick, AIDS-encrusted shag with a street-walking, drug-addicted Oriental bint was, I said no, continued my walk and finally hit the river. And what a river! It was wet! And riverish! And there!

Of course, the main visual attraction is the truckload of futuristic buildings over the side of the water in Pudong, which are covered in flashing lights and look really cool, like giant Christmas trees. Sadly, I’d spent so long wandering the back alleys that I was too late for the light show, so the only thing I got to enjoy was another 11 people asking me if I wanted a sexy massage.

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The skyline is reminiscent of such cities as New York, Hong Kong, and Huddersfield

Still unfed, I started making my way towards where I thought my hotel was, hoping to find some sorta kooky Shanghai street food on the way, if only to relive my brief-but-torrid love affair with food poisoning. I didn’t find any food, I barely found the hotel after an hour, and I wound up my first night in the exotic Far East with an exotic meal of Pizza Shapes.

Oh, and a sexy massage. But I didn’t charge myself for that one.