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10/22/07 |
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August 13, 2004. Chest X-Rays and Barber-Shop Hookers: A Fortnight’s Introduction to Shanghai You read a lot about China these days. Nearly every day, pundits and publishers wager that China is the next big thing, that it will boom, that it will bust, or that it will go on as it is. But rarely do you get a glimpse into the real China. So I’d like to offer that glimpse on the cheap. Reading this, you should get an idea of what being in China is really like. It’s not all manufacturing capacity, exchange-rate regimes, human rights issues, and expansive economic and population growth. It’s not about the fragile financial sector, the disparity of income between coastal and inland areas, or the consumption of would-be domesticated animals. It is, quite simply, about chest x-rays and barbershop hookers. China in the early 21st century is caught between old and new, between state control and market forces, and between young and old. These tensions are exemplified by what I’ve seen in Shanghai over the past two weeks. In two surreal experiences, much of what China is today was explained to me. One of those experiences was a visit to the health clinic to get a residence permit. The other was trying to get a haircut, and ending up being ogled by scantily clad Chinese girls out for a good time. Upon arrival in Shanghai, those wishing to obtain resident permits must undergo a medical exam to prevent people with AIDS, SARS, or drugs from coming into the country. The process is truly one of the great remnants of the communist system here. You arrive at the Shanghai Visitors and Overseas Chinese Quarantine Facility on the Western outskirts of the city. You see the receptionist who takes your three passport-sized photos and your passport (woe is to the man who arrives without them), staples them to appropriate forms, hands you a number (like in a bakery) and sends you to Waiting Room One (WR1). There, you complete the forms. Once this is done, you wait for your number to be called to see the data entry specialist. He enters your information into a computer with remarkable speed, asking questions when he can’t read your writing, and—in Carolyn’s case—asking whether to use her English or Chinese name. You then proceed to Payment Office One (PO1) where you pay roughly $40 for processing. Then it’s on to WR2, where you remove your top only and slip into a white robe and surgical booties. The motherly matron in the changing room directs you to the exam room One (ER1), where a surly woman grabs your arm and without hesitation jams a needle in. Then it’s on to ER2, where you disrobe and have a chest x-ray. The radiation machine is constantly humming and I can only hope that for his own sake, the attendant is wearing lead underwear. ER3 is for ear, nose, and throat, while in ER4 you are attached to an EKG machine—the old type with suction cups on the end. Finally, you are efficiently ushered into ER5 where a “doctor” asks you questions—in Chinese of course—and you answer the best you can in English. Lucky your wife speaks Chinese (or at least mine does). In between rooms, you wait in a hallway with a dozen other would-be residents and examine your chart. Why has the technician in the ultrasound rooms written something in Chinese on your chart instead of just stamping it? Why is there a black “X” near the tope of your chart by the weight section? It’s all very perplexing and of course you have no right—legal or otherwise—to be informed of the results. Does the black “X” mean you’ll be on the next flight out? Does the Chinese from the ultrasound indicate that you will be willing to donate a kidney? What the hell have they done to you? At the end of all this, you go back to PO1, submit your results on the chart you’ve carrying from room to room, and pay a nominal additional amount for having your results mailed to you. The most amazing part of this experience is the time involved. From the moment we walked in the door to the time we walked out was no more than one hour. One hour for the most complete medical exam (blood work, ultrasound, chest x-ray, EKG, ENT, and general physical) that most of us have ever had. Ten days later, we received a complete (English) summary of our exam and surmised (though it was never stated) that we were fit to stay. Hurrah!! The efficiency of the operation was blinding and was testament to the way that parts of communist China still operate. In many ways, our experience at the clinic was emblematic of the old China. People are innovative and efficient, but rules are rules. Don’t question the system. Just go along with it. Later the night of the exam, arms still aching from the rather brutal treatment of the surly blood letter (I told her that I’d liked it gentle…) we strolled through the suburban streets of Gubei, a Western section of Shanghai, home to Anna and Martin, Carolyn’s aunt and uncle. I had been complaining that my hair was too long, bothering the back of my neck in the hot Shanghai sun. So I decided to get a haircut. As I started down the block towards the barbershop, Martin came racing after me shouting and waving his arms. What he knew—and what I learned—is that there are two types of barbershops in Shanghai: one for cutting your hair and the other for more nefarious activities, many of which include a “happy ending.” Sure enough, as I peaked in the barbershop across the way, I found ten of the most scantily clad young girls (sitting in actual barber chairs) looking expectantly out the window. In the back of the shop was an older couple, no doubt the girls’ “handler” and his wife. Yes, this is a family business. Outside the shop, two policemen patrolled the area keeping the peace. I had a good chuckle at the scene. After all, prostitution is illegal in China and the government recently initiated a major crackdown on pornography, citing its disruptive nature. Still, here was a brothel out in the open with policemen standing right out front. So you have to wonder at China. On the one hand, the rules are strict and are enforced at times with rigor. God forbid you step out of line at the quarantine facility! At the same time, shady dealings from prostitution to counterfeit goods and organ theft go on most unabated and in full view of the authorities. I guess there are two lessons here. The first is that in China everything has its place and as long as it doesn’t disrupt progress and peace, the authorities are laissez-faire. The second is that next time someone living in China tells you they’re going to get a haircut, you should give them a knowing glance.
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