As people limp on through an increasingly soggy January (both meteorologically and alcoholicly), let me whisk you away with a tale of corruption, action and romance that all begins in the depths of the triad-run Orient. My mate, George, has just got back from Beijing. As a fellow Cumbrian singleton, he has given me permission to retell some of his experiences in China which, I must say, absolutely trump my own dating disasters, hands down. Without further ado, let me begin…
George landed in Beijing and things did not get off to a good start. He made his way to the metro station and attempted to navigate the ticket machine: he selected the right type of ticket and destination then, as instructed, inserted his money into the slot. Nothing happened. It was at the point that George realised he had accidentally just fed the equivalent of £10 into the bin meant for unwanted receipts. Having quite literally thrown away money, George forked out once more and eventually made it to Tiannamon Square. Although the blame for this error must be laid entirely upon George, it had not provided a good first impression of Beijing.
As George trudged up the subway stairs he heard someone address him; ‘Excuse me, where are you from?’. Accustomed to the positively stand-offish silence of the tube, George was rather taken aback. He looked around to make sure this question had been directed at him, and as the only caucasian in the immediate vicinity, he concluded that it had. His addresser, he soon discovered, was a Chinese girl called Ming. Ming had spotted him and seized the opportunity to practise her english. Maybe George had been wrong in his initial impression of Beijing, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.
Ming suggested they head to a tea shop to practice her English at greater length, and seeing the ideal opportunity to immerse himself in authentic local culture, George agreed. Ming led George away from the main tourist areas and down several sketchy backstreets before arriving at what could only be described as an Asian version of a greasy spoon. As they settled in, George’s companion proved utterly char-Ming. A cup of tea led to a beer and beer led to a glass of wine (the latter two of which Ming suggested they mix together, an offer George politely refused).
As the drinks flowed more freely, Ming admitted her attraction to pale men. I don’t think George will mind me saying that he is hardly tanned at the best of times and, following the long flight, was looking even pastier than usual. Starting to think that maybe this inter-cultural social experiment had gone far enough and, noticing it was getting dark, George decided to draw the encounter a close. Being a gentleman, George offered to foot the bill. With it being his first day, he was still a little unsure of the exchange rate (which he assumed was 100 to 1) but even still 4172 yuan seemed a little steep. Tipsy and somewhat intimidated by what was an abnormally large sommelier, George coughed up. Ming walked him back to the subway where they bade their farewells.
It was only once George reached his hotel and cracked out his handy currency converter app that he realised he had actually just handed over £480 for two teas, a beer and a bottle of wine. The following day George’s sister and mother joined him in Beijing so, flanked by a female on either side and accompanied by a member of the hotel staff, George returned to what was now quite obviously a fake bar. There was no sign of Ming but George was promptly introduced to the mastermind of the operation, Sean. It transpired that George had been locked in the previous day as they were expecting more of a fight and therefore were very surprised when he had paid the bill without any form of argument.
This initial compliance had apparently worked in George’s favour, however, and Sean was now more than happy to negotiate a more reasonable scam. They managed to negotiate a 65% return on the original drinks bill and the money was duly counted out. George noticed that he seemed to still be a couple of notes short but at this point his companion from the hotel (who had, up until then, been cowering in the corner) interjected that this really wasn’t a very safe environment and that they should leave with what they had. Leaving the bar for the second time, only £180 out of pocket, George felt he had really done rather well and eventually parted Baejing with the fondest of memories.