Day 2 (continued)

CA953 came low along the northern Chinese coastline as we approached Da Lian. From my window, I look down at the Yellow Sea (Huang Hai). Little islands float by surrounded by the azure waves reminding me of a bag of marbles scattered. At 2000ft, the Paris of North China showed her beautiful face. Orchards, streams at their journey's end, sailboats, aqua-farms, quaint little coves and harbors beckon me.

We go lower and zip past fields of manicured apartment blocks painted in different shades of happy pastel.

My hosts gave me a generous hug 'Its been a LONG time Comarade! Welcome! Welcome!'. Chinese in the far north are notorious for their forthrightness and 'Re Qing' (Literally translated: Hot Passion). The best and the worst of society have a knack of being born here. Welcome to the Home of Guan Xi (personal relationships) where a handshake, where one's word is one's bond and one's honor still counts.

Its also host to the Chinese nuclear submarine fleet and Admiral Cheng Ho.

Da Lian has a character all its own. The architecture, old and new ranged from the illogically zany to New Age to its huge bank of German/French/English/Greco old dames. 40 turn of the century gigantic traffic roundabouts dot the city each with its own history and air. And they have a fully functioning network of antique fixed rail trams driven by overhead electrical cables!

Boy, these guys really had everything prepared. Barely out of the airport, I was given the card key to my room at the Furama Hotel, a list of appointments for the next few days that seemed to center around meal-times and Happy Hour and introduced to my driver and car (an old Mercedes 500SEL with fitted curtains)

Over lunch, the first meeting of the day concluded with the demolition of a 24-bottle case of Tsingtao beer between the 3 of us. I black out in total bliss on my bed until 4.30pm

With a 7pm dinner appointment, I took the opportunity to walk the streets of the city. Things change over time in any city with the old demolished to make way for the new, but not Da Lian. Grand old Soviet-era buildings erected with huge granite blocks co-exist shoulder to shoulder with skyscrapers.

The 5 degree C air and cold sea-wind calmed my hangover as I blew 2 rolls of film on a feast of street activities.

At 7pm I found myself seated facing a table piled with food. Sitting in one corner were 3 not-so-innocent cases of beer and a dozen bottles of Chinese red wine. I smile quietly when the toasting orgy starts. The propensity for alcohol seemed like a talent northern Chinese are born with. And they drink quick (dinner ended at 8.30pm).

It pained me to see them go 'bottoms up' on the red wine or mixing it with 7-Up and ice but hey, its their culture.

By 9.30pm, I sit in a drunken stupor at a local watering hole trying hard to write down everything I promised my client between drinks. The hand seemed to work but I just could not hold my thoughts and focus at all.