Shanghai shufflin'

On the 3^rd January we arrived at the biggest city in China…Shanghai. With nearly 24 million people, it has the same population as all of Australia. It was a bit of a step up from our Canadian home town of Clinton, Ontario, (with a whopping population of 3000) to say the least.

China is great. But holy heck is it different. Prior to landing, the first image I conjure up when I see the word China, is of Chinese food and Jackie Chan movies. Now, I have some more images…my first impression is that everyone in China spits. In the streets, in the train stations, inside buildings. Why is this necessary? And not just a little innocent bit of saliva but hacking a full on loogie. It’s like in Aussie Rules if you don’t bounce the ball every 15 metres you get pulled up, but substitute it for spitting! But luckily we stayed for four nights and gave us enough time to form a nicer opinion of China as a whole.

We took in the tried and tested touristy sights, such as Yuyuan Garden, Town Temple of the Gods, the scenic Bund overlooking the futuristic skyline of Pudong, an acrobatics show, and even went out to a pretty neat little ancient water town called Qibao, which is known as the Venice of Shanghai (although the only comparison is that they are both kind of smelly).

We even took in a bit of shopping, with Michelle on a mad hunt to find a tea pot from specifically from China. I pointed out that probably every tea pot she's ever drank from would have been made in China (isn't everything?), but I was missing the point apparently.

Here’s what I learned while in China:

-Coughing and sneezing all over everyone and spitting in public is perfectly normal…get involved.

-Street signs, and pedestrian lights mean absolutely nothing. And not because they are in a different script. I mean, nobody pays attention to them. The “green man” that means “walk” in Australia means “sure you can walk, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t vehicles that are going to fly past you with no regard” in China. If your vehicle is small enough to drive it on the sidewalk…why should it be limited only to pedestrians anyway?

-Little kids farting in public and giggling about it is funny no matter what country you’re in

-On weekends, crowds of enthusiastic parents flock to the central park (People’s Square) and set up a virtual “market” which have signs and pictures of their child in the hopes of setting up an arranged marriage (presumably with the child of another eager parent who is at the park). The information will contain their age, occupation, interests, even what kind car they drive. I’m sure glad that isn’t how it goes in Australia-I would have had slim pickings when it was my age to get an arranged marriage, driving around in a beaten up 92’ Lancer.

-China has banned Facebook. Seriously. And Youtube, and Twitter, and BlogSpot (hence why I couldn't blog about this when I was actually in China) and many other popular websites-they are literally inaccessible. Apparently they think it is detrimental to their society. I think they have bigger things to worry about (pollution, the North Koreans, losing their number 1 table tennis world ranking), but to be honest it was quite refreshing! Either way, I find it odd you can still access porn but not Facebook in China (ahhhh so I've been told that is-I never tested that theory, promise!)

I managed to get out and about for two runs while in Shanghai, and enjoyed them both. Although it is beautiful in its own way, it could quite possibly be the worst city to run in. Because…

-The air pollution is terrible

-There are people literally EVERYWHERE, and despite best dodging efforts you are destined for a collision sooner or later

-The buildings are so tall the Garmin absolutely shits itself and shows your location as somewhere completely different (so does Google Maps and everything else for that matter)

-You cannot drink the tap water so if I didn’t have a bottle of water on hand for before or after the run (which I generally didn’t) I’d just have to cop it sweet until I went back out again.

-As mentioned before, it is just as easy to get yourself run over when obeying the law than making up your own road rules.

 

The first run was a short 6.7km zip around the city, passing through People’s Square (I thought I might as well see what kind of market value I could get in the arranged marriage stakes). After getting lost in a series of underground pedestrian walkways and losing satellite reception, I headed east along Nanjing Rd. Nanjing Rd is “pedestrian only” road (and I use that term very loosely) with it’s bright lights, shops, restaurants and street vendors-it’s like Shanghai’s version of Las Vegas’ strip, complete with seedy guys handing out flyers trying to sell a “massssaaaagggeeee???”

At the end of Nanjing Rd is the Huangpu river which, judging by the name is where Chinese go to hang a poo and the esplanade is known as the Bund, with great views of Shanghai’s skyline. It is here where you get your typical “I’m in Shanghai” kind of photo, or presumably dump all your rubbish in the river by the looks of things.

Negotiating the back roads returning to our hotel, I noticed the shops turned from selling touristy trinkets and western food, to selling mechanical parts in nearly every single shop. But since I was already doing a bolt and had two nuts, I kept on running, even passed the nice smelling food carts of the back roads and got back on the “tourist trail” of Nanjing Rd, where my run ended, and I had to find some bottled water.

My second run in Shanghai, two days later was fairly similar, although with a bit of drizzle around, everyone had their umbrellas out (and the vendors who were selling junky toy helicopters and rollerblades suddenly had tons of umbrellas to sell, being the entrepreneurs they are). This made the already crowded footpaths even more crowded, and even when people lifted their umbrella to dodge the running white man, I was still generally had to duck, as they couldn’t lift them high enough.

Getting a couple of sneaky runs in in a country where a lot of the food is deep fried (although somehow everyone is still as skinny as an Olsen twin) feels good, as you feel like you’ve “earned” the rubbish food you’re likely to eat…this couldn’t be more true in China. The food options were pretty glorious, even if I had to point to the menu, or mime a chicken in order to get the right food.

I learnt a lot in China, and even if the image of spitting in the streets stays with me, so will the thoughts of being warmly welcomed, having some great food and getting involved in a totally different and unique culture. Although I was looking forward to chomping into a dirty meat pie in Australia, which was just a ten hour flight away.

Digging into God-knows-what at a Chinese restaurant

Oh that's what it was-I got 1 of a lot of things?

magnificent skyline to match a magnificent beard

Awesome ancient style buildings

Getting owned by this sneaky fella

Getting artsy at Yuyuan Gardens

These guys were either looking for some coins they dropped, or praying...perhaps to find the coins they dropped.

People doing synchronised dancing on the street complete with fans (the ones in their hands I mean-there weren't many onlooking fans)

Saw the funniest sign!!!! Hahahaha. Actually, nah I don't get it either.

My starting and finishing point of each run...next to Miranda Kerr.

Sweet temple in Qibao

Pudong skyline at night....puuurrdddyyy

 

Staying sober enough for a sneaky run in Whistler

As mentioned in the last post, between drinking, snowboarding and drinking during the final four nights of the year, which was spent in Whistler, I somehow managed to get a sneaky run in. I had really hoped to, but knew it was a long shot. Like, teeing-off-with-a-nine-iron-on-a-par-5 kind of long shot. I guess the choice of club doesn’t actually affect the length of the hole, but it’s kind of ridiculous. Just like running in Whistler in winter.

We were welcomed to Whistler by old mates Cameron and Alan on the 27^th, and quickly found our way to the bar known as Longhorns for a good old fashioned getting shitfaced dinner and drinks. Meeting up with the boys’ friends, both local and visiting, it turned into quite the night, with vague memories of dancing on pool tables in nothing but our undies. Ok so it was just me that did that... (It’s way more manly than it sounds, I promise). Predictably, the next day was very unproductive but in the days that followed we explored the Whistler sights on foot, and caught up with more friends from home (it’s seriously harder to find a Canadian than an Australian in Whistler…and that has nothing to do with the fact that Canadians love wearing camouflage, the sneaky devils). We did spend an awesome day on what Whistler is famous for…the glorious glorious mountain. Snowboarding for the first time since high school was epic, and although I took it easy on the 1080’s and corkflips and all those things I can’t actually do, it came back easily to me and enjoyed carving up North America’s biggest ski resort. Although maybe I wasn’t as good as I thought-the muscles that hurt the most the following day weren’t any of the classic ones, but my forearms, and I was told this was because I took so many falls. I say it was from doing too many push ups from saying the forbidden m-i-n-e word (a game played religiously by the boys and which took a bit of getting used to. If they had of banned an obscure word like “calibrate” or “toejam” or “flatulent” ? I would have been golden, because I know I didn’t use that word, but thems the breaks).

Running aside (I will eventually get to that), the a few highlights of our four day Whistler stop over in no particular order would have to include:

-Unforgettable first night in town at Longhorns. (well it was kind of forgettable but that’s not because it was terrible)

-Our day up on the mountain, with epic views, epic snowboarding and epic company. Special mention goes to Jen teaching Michelle how to ski, and them both getting tangled, tripping over and becoming a two-woman human bobsled and sliding speedily and ungracefully away from the rest of us, who couldn’t contain ourselves.
-Casual drinks at Brandy’s to watch the mighty San Diego Chargers clinch an unlikely playoff spot.
-New Years Eve house party with the boys and about 15 others from all over the world.
-Hanging out with old mates, like Al, Cam, Jen, Gerard and Rhys and meeting a bunch of new friends, all who are bloody champions.
-Randomly bumping into the one and only Justin Jones (of Cas and Jonesy fame-who kayaked unsupported from Australia to NZ, and also did a return unsupported trek to the South Pole, both which were world firsts) and talking adventure stuff.
-Going for a walk/hike with Michelle and Jen to Alta Lake (perhaps “Alta” means “Lost in a different language?) despite the foggy views. Fondue and oysters afterwards was awesome too.

I planned to go for a little exploration run on the morning with the mildest hangover (I am not just a pretty face) and took a look at the map to see where the hot spots were. Whistler is pretty hilly even at the base of both Whistler mountain and Blackcomb Mountain, and I was looking forward to a change up, as rural Ontario is about as flat as Keira Knightley a pancake.

As I’d had a nice little run by Lost Lagoon in Vancouver a few days earlier, I headed for the similarly named Lost Lake, not far away. I guess the early explorers of Canada just sucked at explored, or were a fan of the hit TV show as there a quite a few things named with the prefix. The problem with naming everything Lost Lake, Lost River, Lost Pond etc, is you’d get lost trying to differentiate them. Instead of Lost Lake, why not name it Barry? I’ve never heard of a lake named Barry and that’d be easy to find…silly Canadians.So off to Barry I went, and found the fresh mountain air to my liking, as was the concrete footpath tucked just out of sight of the road. Everything was going great until I got to the trailhead and everything turned to ice. Running on ice is hard enough as it is, but when there’s even the slightest incline, it becomes unbearable. The inclines near Barry were pretty decent and I found myself “spinning my wheels” with every step, and was reduced to a walk for the majority of it, and especially during the ups and down hills.

With the run becoming more of an ice skate and not being able to see the sights with all the concentrating on not slipping, as soon as I got to a fog covered Barry I cut away from the ice covered trail network and towards the less icy footpaths by the road.

Being able to pick up a bit more pace, I saw more, and found myself at the base of Blackcomb Mountain, dodging skiers and snowboarders dressed in their brightly coloured ski gear and looped around back towards Whistler Mountain.

I had been told there was a nice run around the golf course in the valley, and headed in that direction. It was actually pretty nice, running through enormous pine trees and watching chipmunks dart all around the place, crossing a few frozen rivers as I went. Although I’m unaware of the name of the golf course (it very well could be “the Lost Golf Course”) it was here I got lost. It would generally be easy to get my bearings on a clear day, with a whopping giant mountain as a reference, but, having a bit of a thing for maps (and cheeky rest breaks) I pulled the map out to find the best way back to Al’s place, as I was happy enough with my 12km little exploration. A new spot to run, and although the most challenging part was staying sober enough to actually go for a run the slippery ice, it was awesome to explore this sweet place on foot.

Taking the Saucony’s off for the last time of the year was bit sad, knowing it was my final run in Canada for at least a year, but knew the beers would taste even better after actually exercising in this little party town. And I knew that in a few days, we would be in our next stop-China, where it will be even easier to get lost, regardless of what they call their lakes.

Firstly a couple of non-running photos...

Beers with Al and Jen...a common occurrence

 

Bumped into Jonesy-an Australian adventuring legend

 

Artsy shot from Whistler Mountain

 

Getting my snowboard on!

 

 
 
Now for some running pics...

Cross country ski trails-a great place NOT to run...

...but a great place for makeshift ice skating

Even small inclines like this gave me slippery attitude

Lost Lake, lost in the fog

Apparently you can't poop in the snow either-you can't win!

 

Vancouver...Terry Foxes and Ronnie Raccoons

(This post was meant to go up on the 28^th of December, but after arriving to Whistler to meet up with the boys and celebrate New Years Eve, I was basically either drinking, or snowboarding, or both. I then thought I’d be able to catch up on some posts with some downtime in Shanghai but among the websites banned in China (Facebook, Youtube, Twitter) is innocent little blogspot. So these accounts are a little late, but don’t think of it as being ripped off, think of it as a cheap version of time travel, back to a remote and distant time known as “two weeks ago”).

With a beauty of a white Christmas behind us, we flew out of Toronto on the 27^th December to start our two week holiday on route to landing back in Australia on the 8^th January. Vancouver was our first stop, and knowing we had about 24 hours to soak all that Van City had to offer, we made a beeline to our hotel as soon as we got off the train downtown. I don’t really know if a beeline is a good thing, or a fast thing, or exactly what it is…every bee I’ve seen seems to just buzz around petty aimlessly, perhaps stopping for some nectar every now and then. So yeah I guess beeline is the correct term, as we struggled to find our hotel with our already-too-much luggage, bouncing around the city aimlessly.
Once we arrived, we noticed we were right across the road from BC Place, Vancouver’s football stadium, which was hosting a music festival / rave, meaning our room vibrated with every annoying pounding of the bass. The brochures described it as having the most talented DJ’s around…which is as is an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one…I guess they are pretty talented at simply pressing buttons those DJ’s…but I’m good at pressing buttons too (I have ninja PS3 skills, and are pressing keyboard buttons as we speak! Maybe I should be a DJ). But I digress…

The night was spent at a bar, trying to drink enough beers to sedate us and get a good night sleep in spite of the annoying doof doof going on across the road.

This led to a bit of a hangover the next morning, but not enough from deterring me from a good ol’ fashion yog around a new city. At 8.30 I got my gear on and headed outside to a leisurely 5 degrees…with absolutely zero snow on the ground and the hottest temperature I’d felt in weeks, I was like a pommy on Bondi Beach in winter, displaying my pasty white pins for the first time since summer.

My starting point was at Terry Fox Place, which had a statue and plaque dedicated to the great man himself. Terry Fox was a young man diagnosed with a bone cancer and was an above-the-knee amputee at age 19, and attempted to run across Canada (on his prosthetic leg) at age 21, in 1980. His cancer got the better off him about 1/3 of the way along his journey and he never finished his goal, but his legacy lives on, especially in Canada. I’d first heard of Terry a few months before our Melbourne to Sydney run. I won’t give you the full details (as I’d like to in more detail in another blog), but you can read about him here.

After a few snaps with Tezza (or T-Fox to some), I headed off, inspired and motivated. Inspired from Terry, and motivated by the fact I was kind of hungover and pretty hungry.

Terry Fox Plaza. Place of legends

 

 

I headed towards to famous Seawall, which is, as the name suggests a wall by the sea. But the cool thing about it is the fact it is a cycle and walking path that surrounds just about the entirety of Downtown Vancouver, meaning you can run for 30-40kms with the city on one side of you, and the Pacific Ocean, or the various bays on the other. And it seems it’s no secret. Every man and his dog were out walking or riding along the scenic seawall (ok, so only half the men had dogs, but there were a lot of mutts).  The people I was passing was as varied as the scenery…couples with prams, running groups, serious cyclists, lots of fit looking people, and even a guy jogging along in his jeans and dress shoes who looked quite hungover, in turn making me feel relatively good about myself.

Surprisingly, some people aren't aware this famous seawall even exists...the captain of this boat was clearly one of them

 

The scenery was abundant, as was my love for the countless female Vancouver hotties jogging along the seawall this beautiful city. I caught a glimpse of the ocean after a while and noticed a bunch of rocks on the shoreline. Not any old rocks, but six strategically placed rocks to form the equivalent of a 15 foot “rock man” known as an Inukshuk. Inukshuks hold a special place in Canadian’s hearts, as they represent their useful rock-man-making skills, or something like that.*

Inukshuk. Very Inuk-y shuk-y

 

 

*Ok, so it's more than just rock-making skills by the looks of it

 

Moving on from the Inukshuk, I noticed I was entering Stanley Park, the massive forest-like park adjacent to downtown. I don’t know who Stanley is (maybe he was an Inukshuk) but I like his park! Countless trails, hills, stairs, lakes and of course the Seawall surrounding it, makes for a pretty neat and accessible playground for the locals.

I ventured away from the Seawall and into the belly of the park, and soon realised that without the water to my left to guide me, I didn’t exactly know where I was going. I came across the beautiful and aptly titled Lost Lagoon, which made me feel a little better about not knowing exactly where I was.

Getting lost at Lost Lagoon

 

And just then, in front of me I saw an animal that I semi-rarely come across while on a run-a raccoon! He was about twice as big as a housecat (or once as big as one morbidly obese housecat), and leisurely waddled across the path a few metres in front of me to the lakeshore to grab a drink. I paused, and tried to get a photo of the little fella, but he was camouflaged in the shrubs and branches and weeds. I crouched and waited for him to come into view and within five minutes he was on his way back to the path. He eyed me up and down as he came towards me, and I tried to remember if raccoons were aggressive or how bad the damage would be if he decided to claw my face off…Rabies? Mad cow disease? Herpes? I couldn’t remember. By the time I remembered it was rabies, he was three feet away and I thought that jumping back and shrieking like a teenage girl at a Katy Perry concert probably wasn’t a smart idea, and with not much more than a sniff in my direction, little Ronnie Raccoon waddled back off into the bush with as little urgency as he had waddled out of it.

Ronnie Raccoon grabbing a drink at his local...

 

 

...and then doing a dine-and-dash

 

I continued along the lake hoping to see some of Ronnie’s family, but only came across swans and geese and Asian people…that’s not being racist, that’s just telling it how it is.

 

 

I veered out of Stanley Park and onto the northern side of downtown, joining back up with the seawall again. Instead of being lined with beaches and parks and Inukshuks like the southern side, the northern side was home to high rise buildings and wicked views over the bay to Northern Vancouver. The most interesting building I ran by was One Canada Place with it’s distinctive sails on top, which is where the seawall ends. Running by One Canada Place, I passed under a banner saying “The Canadian Trail”, and as I did, I noticed the bricks under my feet were engraved with the names of various Canadian towns in B.C, it’s most western province. Within 20 metres, a large coloured strip declared that I was now passing into the next brickwork province of Alberta, with the bricks now representing Alberta towns. This continued for all 13 provinces and territories, from west to east until I had run across this brickwork Canada in about 30 seconds…Terry Fox eat your heart out!

Crossing brickwork Nunavit, a Canadian territory at Canada Place

 

With the seawall coming to an end, I again headed inland, and dashed and darted around the downtown area known as Gastown, a neat little district with old red brick road and old school shop fronts, before returning to our hotel a little over an hour after I had left it. 12kms of photo-snapping, scenic running in and I was ready for breakfast, a coffee and to explore the rest of this sweet city.

As I draft this post up, it’s 5pm and we’re sitting on the bus headed to our next stop of Whistler, which will be our home for the four days...on the agenda is snowboarding, and catching up with mates from back home, meaning if today was my last run for 2013, it would have been a cracker of way to end it off!