A typical day: Evening

It is late August and the heat is easing. It is still hot during the day but the evenings and nights are a little cooler so, as the day closes, the locals congregate in the streets and parks. Mothers and grandmothers sit under the trees watching children playing together while they mind babies, in traditional yellow wicker ‘strollers’ or new plastic buggies shaped like cars complete with bells and steering wheels. Shopkeepers move their chairs out of the heat of the concrete buildings and on to the cooler pavement overseeing their store while drinking tea and eating dinner. The daily card game continues and other groups of men join in as they return from work, while the parks fill with people playing badminton, strolling, exercising, or just relaxing. We wander our local streets and are frequently acknowledged by both our neighbours and people we do not recognise. Occasionally we’re greeted with ‘chī fàn le ma?’ (literally translated as ‘have you eaten? but meaning 'Hello’) and children enjoy practicing their English ‘hello’ with us. The atmosphere, on these pleasant late summer evenings, is relaxed and inclusive.






























The calm does not seem to be disturbed by, to my ears, incessant and very corny music that is piped through the apartment complex for a couple of hours from 5.30. Mushroom shaped speakers are set liberally through the garden beds ensuring ‘surround sound’ and are occasionally used to make public announcements. This un-requested din drowns out the more beautiful music from our resident pianist who practices in an adjoining apartment most afternoons and evenings.

Almost religiously dinner is served at 6.30; if you eat out any later you risk the kitchen running out of rice. Our local Fujian cuisine is fragrant and lightly spiced with chilli. Seasonal vegetables are complemented with chicken or duck, and small amounts of meat, including all the intestinal bits I can’t quite relish. There is abundant sea and river food; fish of all shapes and sizes, mussels, clams, and crustaceans of familiar and unfamiliar varieties cram tanks at the front of restaurants. Coriander abounds and pork is another favoured seasoning, while bowls of salt, sugar and MSG sit close at hand to woks burnt black with use. ‘Stomach food’, rice or noodles, is essential to complete a meal, which is not to be lingered over as there is much to do in the cool of the evening.

By 7.00, or earlier, it is dark and people are preparing to move on. Lads cruise the streets riding large motor bikes with larger sound systems, groups of the elderly, business men, or women with children, drink tea in open air tea ‘gardens’, while youngsters might window-shop or hit the karaoke bars and internet cafes. The network of temples across town regularly fund performances of local opera or, more infrequently, puppet shows. And after an early dinner opportunities to consume snack food are plentiful. Vendors peddle the streets calling out their wares, and mobile barbeques set up grilling skewers of meat, fish, vegetables and tofu seasoned with chilli powder and spices.

Then, almost abruptly at 11pm, a slightly un-nerving silence descends; it is not completely quiet but most of the buzz of human conversation ceases, any opera troupes wind up, the traffic movement slows, and the neighbourhood sleeps.

The Olympics, outside Beijing

Across China the anticipation is building; students eagerly ask me “will I be going to Beijing for the 2008 Olympic Games”, “don’t I think it is very exciting” and “won’t it be a huge success?” The print media has detailed every step of the way; Olympic facilities have been reviewed and announcements made when venues completed, the torch relay has received ongoing and front-page coverage, the English language newspaper, China Daily, has produced lift-out sections documenting the rules of the various sports, and there are regular updates on the efforts to reduce pollution in Beijing. CCTV9, the English language channel, has conducted Olympic themed language lessons, though I am not sure of the ongoing value of learning ‘canoeing’ in Chinese.


Marketing material displaying the Olympic logos abound, both for officially endorsed products and just enthusiastic illegal applications like the local flower shop that had spelt out 2008 and the running man logo in roses. The Olympic mascots are so prevalent that they seem to be leading an invasion, and the official souvenir shops, found at most tourist sites, airports and in major shopping areas have, apparently, been doing a brisk trade. The release of the 10 yuan note with an Olympic theme caused over-night queues outside banks and a profitable on-selling trade.


There have been tensions too, probably better reported overseas than in China. Clearly evident is the horror at the disruption in Tibet and of the torch relay, while equally troubling within China is the threat of ongoing trouble. These anxieties are exposed in the new travel restrictions; since March tourists and business travellers have only been able to get 30 day visas, some westerners employed in China have not had their work visas renewed, and more recently anyone travelling internally to Beijing and the other Olympic cities have had to produce their identity papers, even when using the bus or train.

But regardless of these and other tensions I will avidly watch the Games. In particular I, a confirmed sports cynic, will be scouring the coverage for women’s volleyball matches. My new interest stems from Zhangzhou being the training base for Chinese Women’s Volleyball. The team won ‘gold’ in the Athens Olympics and Zhangzhou holds them in great esteem; there is a large sculpture commemorating the players and civic receptions when they return ‘home’. Indeed the team holds a certain prominence across China with the coach, Chen Zhonghe, appearing on soft drink bottles! I had heard about the team and had even seen their training facilities, so was intrigued when a friend, who runs a private language school, said she was looking for a native speaking western woman to hold conversation classes with the captain of the team. I, at that point, was the only native speaking western woman in town! Feng Kun, the captain, was fascinating to teach. Kun at the age of 29 is nearing the end of her playing life and had recently returned from America after significant knee surgery. She proved to be a focused, committed and able woman, and, as we saw in a demonstration match against the powerful Cuban team, leads her team in intelligent and skilful play. To work with an elite athlete, and to continue to watch her and her team play, will be my Olympic highlight.

Feng Kun (right) and the Chinese volleyball team playing Cuba (left).