Public Bath Houses and Private Massage in China

After a day of blogging, surfing and trawling the web, I find myself at Xiawu fandian (restaurant), the small eatery, barely a stone's throw from the compound where teachers' residences are located.

The warm spring breeze that nature mercifully blessed us with on Valentine's Day is now gone. It's been replaced by the chilly wind that blows in from different directions, but mostly the North.

I zip my jacket all the way up and snuggle in its feathery warmth as I wait for a table. The restaurant is full and I ask for a chair to brought out where I can sit and gaze at the passersby and, hopefully, share a smile and hello with some. I ask for a small helping of baijiu to keep me company and warm my body while I wait.

Huainan is not a firendly city. Hellos are hard to come by and smiles are a rarity. Sometimes, one's very own students prefer to pass by without so much as a cursory glance or a greeting out of courtesy. Respect for teachers is a tradition in China. Imports are out of the ambit, I think, as I watch a student eye me, then try to look through me and then, on afterthought, cross the street to save herself the bother of a hello. I smile to myself to make up for a lost hello.

I sit, my back to the restaurant, facing the street. It's wide enough and as dirty as some Indian streets. The sidewalk is mined. Tiles are coming loose and every time an unwary passerby steps on the wrong one, he is splashed with little jets of dirty, brown-black water onto the shoes and sometimes the ends of trousers. I wonder if crafty businesses have a hand in that. I walk gingerly, carefully choosing the tiles on which to step. I have learnt through my share of the mines. Now, I am like a war-weary veteran!