From Fújiàn to Guǎngdōng

Well, we have done it! We’re in a new city in a new province, Roger has a new job working for the Chinese Government, and I have survived both moving and, I find, looking at the calendar, 2 years in China!

Preparing to move from Zhāngzhōu to Zhànjiāng is not as straightforward as it might be in Australia. By chance I had a contact from teaching with an agency for a parcel delivery company, so arranging transport for our belongings was not as hard as it might have been. However the packing was up to us. Packing tape was easily found as I passed lots of small stores selling tape, and only tape, on my way to yoga classes, but the boxes were harder. We had been told to wait until we heard someone calling from the street wanting to buy waste paper, then to catch up with them on their loaded tricycle to buy boxes. I had no faith in this option as understanding the different calls from all the itinerant merchants was next to impossible, but finding enough solid boxes to meet our needs would be a miracle. Finally Roger spotted a small shop, on the outskirts of town, packed high with second hand boxes. So, with piles of ‘China Daily’ (the ‘feel-good’ national English language newspaper), I was ready to start packing, a rather bigger exercise than even I had imagined. We had arrived with maybe 5 suitcases between us, but we moved with 29 boxes, 17 bags, a couple of drawing tubes, and a bike. A little embarrassing as the Chinese seem to move with a just a couple of ill-assorted bags, a doona and maybe a bucket too.

With the bulk of our goods loaded on to a truck, thanks to Roger’s young work colleagues who carried it all down 4 flights of stairs, and our train tickets booked we had one last evening in our favourite bar. Unlike the other bars in town, which are dark, smoky, very, very loud, and not to our taste, Kōng Píngzi, (Empty Bottle), in the historic part of town, is calm, relaxing, and even groovy. It is the perfect place to sadly say goodbye to our foreign and local friends.

The next day, with 4 suitcases, a drawing roll and a couple of day packs between us, and bags of fruit given to us as a leaving present, we head to the station. We are marched, by women in very smart uniforms, to the correct place to wait on the platform. Saluting the train as it rolled in, the staff bundle us on and into our soft sleeper berth. We load in our bags, hand over our tickets to be replaced by plastic cards, and make tea from the thermos of hot water provided. We just need a meal and we will be set for the night. In the dining car a written menu, with no pictures, is supplied, slightly complicating the ordering process. However the tactic of peering over people’s shoulders and ordering what looks good on their table works quite well and results in us being given a serve of chilli sauce by a group of men travelling from Sìchuān.












During the meal I manage to entertain the entire dining car. After a visit to the toilet I had to resort to mime as I tried to explain to the train staff that I lost my plastic ticket down the toilet. I was pulling paper out of my handbag just as the train lurched, and the paper and the both our tickets shot up out of the bag. One ticket made a beautiful arc in the air, and vanished down the squat toilet and under the train. We needed the tickets to get off the train station so I was convinced I would be filling in forms, in triplicate, for the rest of the night. Eventually the staff, and everyone else, understood the problem, and the result was a huge fine - 6 yuán, or just over $1!

Arriving in Zhànjiāng we are warmly greeted by Roger’s new work colleagues and taken to our newly renovated apartment a couple of floors above Roger’s new office. There is great concern over our comfort, and Roger’s new employers have done a wonderful job making the apartment lǎowài (foreigner) friendly with bright rooms and Scandinavian style furniture. Yet, all I can see is the ‘Chinese bathroom’ with the shower and the toilet in the same, tiny, room. There is no shower cubical and to get to the toilet you have to pass the shower, across the wet floor. Things get worse when I have a shower after our long trip. My heart sinks as the water trickles out.

We struggle on with low water pressure and anxiously wait for our belongings to arrive. Finally Roger enlists the help of his new work colleagues. Suddenly there are men downstairs working on the water mains, one of the drivers (who turns out to be a great handyman) in the kitchen under the sink, and someone on the phone to the delivery company. The very next day a truck arrives with our boxes, again carried up to our apartment by workmates, and with a bit of fiddling around, and a day or two with no water in the kitchen, we have wonderfully strong water pressure all through the flat. I find the world looks a better place after a good shower and a few personal things around. But equally I now know we have our new friends to help us settle in Zhànjiāng, just as our old friends in Zhāngzhōu made us feel at home there.








Our 'Welcome' banquet with Roger's new colleagues.