"Sometimes, I think, slurping a decent wonton, that if it wasn’t for the heat and the city it’s as if we’d never left Notts at all."
Photo: Ben Zabulis. NTU Alumni
The Trent flows east at Notts; well, not exactly and not as catchy a code phrase as ‘The eagle flies at midnight’ either but, judging by a number of folk met recently, it’s a code that certainly opens doors of a less-secret kind out east – the east being Hong Kong and the Trent, not our fair river but the university which courses more than a few people in that direction. In fact over 1200 Trent graduates now regard Hong Kong as home, enough to warrant a thriving alumni group upon whose invite we attended a reception hosted by the Vice-Chancellor. A popular do and in one way it was odd meeting so many with a Notts link so very far from Notts.
From a mix of disciplines, legal, fashion, engineering, travel, you name it, the group evenly comprised Hongkongers who had wisely chosen Trent, and a variety of Brits who’d opted similarly – good company and great to meet the very affable VC! Even met a gent I’d worked with donkeys years ago, never knew he was a Trenter. Suspicion tells me however that I may have been the only Nottinghamonian aboard and should this ever count as an arrow in the group’s capable quiver I remain poised for any future flag-waving duty.
From a mix of disciplines, legal, fashion, engineering, travel, you name it, the group evenly comprised Hongkongers who had wisely chosen Trent, and a variety of Brits who’d opted similarly – good company and great to meet the very affable VC! Even met a gent I’d worked with donkeys years ago, never knew he was a Trenter. Suspicion tells me however that I may have been the only Nottinghamonian aboard and should this ever count as an arrow in the group’s capable quiver I remain poised for any future flag-waving duty.
Photo: Ben Zabulis
Seems everyone enjoyed our fair city, compact, easy-to-get-around all opined with excellent pubs – and being able to merit familiar Notts watering holes way over here was deffo a first. Apart from the teaching (excellent) and the friends (invaluable) I have two endearing memories of Trent. The first was explaining to my dear mother, who by this time had hit the floor, why I was about to embark on a degree; our circle was very much mining community and these things were simply not done, plus I’d left school at sixteen with nowt to show.
The second was sat with classmates in a somewhat jaded state. Really? Okay, semi-inebriated. What? All right! Fully inebriated, outside the Trip to Jerusalem, last exam done, year one survived. But Trent certainly set me upon that easterly flow, before which I’d barely contemplated working outside of Notts let alone abroad. And in one way that was a point of the VC’s visit, not only to promote Trent in Asia but, amongst other things, highlight future opportunities for mentoring, student placements, internships, recruitment etc. even overseas. A laudable objective in which, under the VC’s vision, alumni and representatives are actively involved worldwide – it made me feel rather proud you know.
The second was sat with classmates in a somewhat jaded state. Really? Okay, semi-inebriated. What? All right! Fully inebriated, outside the Trip to Jerusalem, last exam done, year one survived. But Trent certainly set me upon that easterly flow, before which I’d barely contemplated working outside of Notts let alone abroad. And in one way that was a point of the VC’s visit, not only to promote Trent in Asia but, amongst other things, highlight future opportunities for mentoring, student placements, internships, recruitment etc. even overseas. A laudable objective in which, under the VC’s vision, alumni and representatives are actively involved worldwide – it made me feel rather proud you know.
And so we left the British Council that evening, threading our way down between the dazzlingly illuminated skyscrapers, a magical milieu, the New York of Asia Chris Patten once said. Ten years ago we’d have stopped off in Tsim Sha Tsui, sunk five pints of Guinness, before heading home the wrong side of midnight and early up for work – but not now, must be gerrin’ old or growing up at least (mother would be pleased).
Sometimes, I think, slurping a decent wonton, that if it wasn’t for the heat and the city it’s as if we’d never left Notts at all. And so it was two weeks later, opposite me also wanton slurping sat ex-Trent pal Ken, divine master of all things aromatic, succulent and savoury - not to mention creator of West Bridgford’s Oriental Pearl – on hols here in the Pearl of the Orient. It’s not often yer get the chance to treat the proprietor of yer local Chinese to a Chinese in China – ‘tis a small world indeed.
Photo: Ben Zabulis
The month wasn’t totally subsumed by Nottingham bits and for those who enjoy culture I’ve just enough space here to ramble on about a favourite seasonal ritual: the Tai Hang Fire Dragon. The fiery creature has recently been listed under the Social Practices, Rituals & Festive Events category by UNESCO, all to do with preserving Intangible Cultural Heritage. Good, though a wry giggle wells within as I recall my first ever visit.
A sweaty, middle-aged participant leaned louche against the railings by which I was standing and, with fag dangling precariously from side of mouth, vented spleen on the total waste of money of it all as few tourists, he ventured between slow but needy drags, showed any interest and as for the locals, well, they were dismissed with a cursory wave of the hand.
This, despite the fact that it all goes back to 1880 when Tai Hang was but a small fishing village enduring a run of poor luck. You know the sort of thing, bad weather, plague, stock-hungry serpents; and so to right matters they decided to run the dragon dance over three nights in Mid-Autumn, which it did and that in short is what the modern event celebrates.
A sweaty, middle-aged participant leaned louche against the railings by which I was standing and, with fag dangling precariously from side of mouth, vented spleen on the total waste of money of it all as few tourists, he ventured between slow but needy drags, showed any interest and as for the locals, well, they were dismissed with a cursory wave of the hand.
This, despite the fact that it all goes back to 1880 when Tai Hang was but a small fishing village enduring a run of poor luck. You know the sort of thing, bad weather, plague, stock-hungry serpents; and so to right matters they decided to run the dragon dance over three nights in Mid-Autumn, which it did and that in short is what the modern event celebrates.
Photo: Ben Zabulis
The dance itself is fairly similar to its non-combustible version, only the dragon’s anatomy differs; this one made of straw, rope and rattan, illuminated by some 70,000 joss sticks planted along its 6o-odd metres. Supported by a cast of hundreds this sinewy smoke trail wends its way through the streets of Tai Hang, the lengthy bulk trying to gain on its flaming balls which race on ahead (we’ve all been there).The dragon enjoys several laps leaving its balmy discharge and a load of rheumy-eyed spectators in its wake. Don’t wear smart or clean stuff as you’ll wreak of cheap incense for ever - great fun and a great spectacle, catch it if you can…
Ben Zabulis is the author of Chartered Territory An Engineer Abroad.
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