the year of the tiger

I am not exactly sure how I came to be spending the night after Chinese new years on the 25th floor of a Chinese hotel, by myself. There is of course a technical explanation- problems with airline tickets that have led me to reevaluate the otherwise saint-like image I have long held of Cathay Pacific. But it seems they are not saints, of course, as no one and certainly no modern airline deserves such a position. So, last minute, I must spend one night somewhere in Southern China. And it is the night after Chinese new years, so predictably Hong Kong is practically entirely booked up. The hotel stand at the airport has only a handful of rooms available and the cheapest would cost me close to 1000 US dollars, even for a crap room in terminal 1’s soulless standard airport hotel. Macau seems even worse, as apparently everyone in the South with money to burn have already made their way to that odd enclave’s casinos. But there is no such rush to the mainland, and since I do have time to kill, I head there. Fortunately Hong Kong’s border with the mainland is less than 30 minutes away, and British passport holders don’t need advance visas, astonishingly, you can just show up. I take the metro to the last station and walk the rest of the way to the border. It seems surprisingly cool here in China, and a refreshing change from the tropical heat of the other places I have been in of late. I enjoy my stroll to the checkpoint, where there is virtually no queue and the bored and hungover looking guard waves me through after barely looking at my passport. I had been planning to then hop a cab to the hotel booked for me, but there is no point- I can see it from the border. Shenzhen has been converted into one huge shopping enclave, and not surprisingly, my 4 star hotel is located on top (or adjacent to? I never do figure it out) a major outlet shopping centre. As it was 10 pm by the time I arrived there, I was not able to check out the plethora of shops below me, but should I ever feel the need to visit a mango or polo Ralph Lauren outlet, I at least now know where they are to be found. My room turns out to be on the 25th floor, with a spectacular view of the urban development that surrounds me. In every direction all I can see are massive buildings that would impress the most ambitious of Soviet housing planners. Directly across from me is a 50-something story structure that extends for what must be a kilometer in length, comprising 5 subsections, all filled with peoples flats. In the closest dwellings, I can just make out familys going about their business, cleaning tables and moving children to bedrooms. I am thirsty and wander out of the hotel in search of the ever-ubiquitous asian 7-11, which turns out to be less than 3 minutes away from the hotel, over a high tech skybridge, which provides a stunning view of a well lit fly over. The sky bridge has a number of other people on it, some of whom stare at me, as do the girls at 7-11. They giggle at me and keep repeating “thank you very much” in stilted in English. I appear to be the only white person in town, or at least the only one buying noodles that night at a random 7-11 overlooking an autoroute. The whole population appears in post-new years recovery mode. I am sure if I had arrived a day earlier, all of Shenzhen whould have seemed totally different, and packed with revelers. But the people I pass all seems tired and dazed. The only people in the hotel bar are a squad of intoxicated young Chinese businessmen. I contemplate having a drink, but then they start singing a karaoke rendition of “Hotel California” and I decide to head instead to my super high-tech room instead, where I entertain myself pressing the various buttons around the bedside table. My father would be horrified by such a hotel, and in this way I represent a serious departure with the rest of my family, all of whom favour personalised, small-scale B&B style accommodation, the kind where you chat with the owner over a civilised breakfast. Even as a child, I hated such places. This sky scraper in a random city in the People’s Republic is my ideal- clean, modern, with high speed internet and a pool, where I can be completely anonymous. No one greets me by name. no one pays any attention, other than perhaps staring at my odd skin tone. In such an empty space, I feel safe. There is no need to put on a show. So, undisturbed, I crawl in bed with a Chinese beer and watch a ridiculous Korean soap opera on the 42 inch pazma TV. So far Western 2010 has proved a rotten year. Lets hope the coming of the Tiger will bring me better luck.