No exit - turning point in China E-Book

Markus Arnold

• Herausgeber: novum pro Verlag
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 312

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Turn of the tide in China: "Zero Covid" leads to a relapse into self-imposed isolation and intensifies geopolitical tensions. The Chinese leadership soon considers itself the victor in the fight against the pandemic and the Western social system. Possibly prematurely, because at the same time it is risking its business model, which has been successful since Deng Xiaoping. Between facts and propaganda, the foreigners who remain in China experience how people settle into a country of contradictions. They observe how the country continues to progress in many respects, while repression and nationalism hark back to the days of Mao. At the same time, China mercilessly reminds the West of its own gaps between aspiration and reality. A snapshot with an open-ended outcome.

Leseprobe

No exit - turning point in China

End of December 2018 near Stuttgart: In cloudy Central European winter weather, we spend the turn of the year comfortably at home and make plans for the new year. Our daughters Alma (15) and Marina (just under 13) are open to new things anyway. My wife Verena and I also think a change of air would do us good. We plan to visit a completely different corner of the world on vacation and travel to Asia for the first time as a family.

After extensive research on the Internet, we set our sights on Japan during the cherry blossom season. Our euphoria quickly evaporates when the travel portal announces flight prices of 10,000 euros and more. While we are already making friends with the classics South Tyrol or France, Alma doesn't let up and announces shortly after midnight that she has found affordable flights, conveniently during the Whitsun vacations. Unfortunately, the climate table promises only rainy season and the cherries have long since faded at this time of year. But for the savings equivalent to a few hundred umbrellas, we gladly accept a few drops. During our anticipation of two weeks of "Asia light" we do not suspect that we are at the beginning of an adventure that would go beyond the limits of our imagination.

Soon after, I receive a call from my boss asking me if I would like to take on a new task at our unit in Singapore. That sounds attractive - after detailed discussion in the family council and precautionary contact with the German school abroad there, I signal my interest. In the subsequent discussions, the originally announced position in Singapore quickly turns out to be a position in Shanghai. The family council is now intensively challenged and we make inquiries in various directions - the dimensions of Chinese megacities, air pollution and censorship are legendary. On the other hand, there is an incredible amount to discover, more than in Singapore surrounded by tropical jungles and palm oil plantations. There is also a German school. So we decide to pull up stakes in Germany and move to the Middle Kingdom for three years. In the worst case, we think, we can still fly to Europe during the vacations and get a whiff of home air. How wrong we should be.

For Verena, who organizes our family anyway in addition to her job, a major project is about to begin. At first, everything starts out innocently enough. My company has hired a service provider who assists with moves all over the world. He sends us long questionnaires in which we have to state all our needs and hobbies. Alma and Marina are already thinking about how they will continue to play their favorite sport, field hockey, in Shanghai. At this point, we don't know that my company has long since canceled the contract with the service provider and that he couldn't care less about our move, let alone our daughters' hobbies.

The first doubts arise when our contact person for the procurement of our visas declares himself to be incompetent. My company has only sent a few foreigners to China so far and tells me that it would be best to take matters into my own hands and that the costs would be covered later.

After I can't figure out the instructions on the website of the Chinese embassy and consulates in Germany, I hire a specialized agency. Their friendly employee patiently guides me through the marathon of visa applications over the next few weeks. Again, it starts with questionnaires of several pages. In addition to the visa, I need a work permit, so after decades I bring out my high school diploma and my university degree certificates. A simple copy is not enough. A translation and notarization are required. My employer assists in the form of an official letter of invitation explaining the reasons why my cooperation as a "foreign talent" is needed.

We also learn that Verena can enter the country together with me, but that does not mean that she is automatically allowed to work in China. Only on the spot can she theoretically look for an employer, who then has to apply for an independent work permit. In reality, most partners remain condemned to professional inactivity because the practical and bureaucratic hurdles are very high. We learn our first lesson early on, namely that life in China is even more like an obstacle course than elsewhere.

Because of the aforementioned arrangement, China is particularly suitable for singles or for couples in which one partner either has no professional ambitions or intends to take time off. Because even in the most exciting big city, a new routine eventually settles in, this holds enormous potential for frustration. Many foreign companies offer a few hours of coaching for the non-working partners to help them find their way in the new environment and find a meaningful role while the working part spends long hours at the company. Couples with young children have an advantage here, because there is practically never any boredom. But when the offspring are older or out of the house, things can get difficult.

From the Chinese perspective, the regulation has the advantage that most foreigners will leave the country of their own free will in the foreseeable future. Qualified partners with professional ambitions are not prepared to put up with the role of a tolerated appendage in the long term. For foreign companies, this makes sending expats difficult and expensive, because the lost income of a previously employed partner must somehow be compensated for and because employees often change more frequently than is good for business.

Fortunately, after many years on the treadmill, Verena can come to terms with taking time off from her job, and caring for two teenagers plus a dog means no boredom for now.

It is almost impossible for couples without a marriage certificate to obtain a residence permit together. An acquaintance from Switzerland is therefore happy to turn her back on China - first her fiancé was not allowed to enter, and later, as her husband, he was not welcome because of the pandemic.

Like its neighboring countries, China has never seen itself as a country of immigration. Foreign workers remain "guest workers" in the literal sense of the word, even after many years of residence. From a Western perspective, the idea of emigrating to China may seem strange. For people from poorer African or Asian countries, it looks quite different because of the economy, which has been booming for a long time. Later, in Shanghai, we meet several service employees from the Philippines. In Guangzhou, an African community has established itself. There, the authorities consistently take action against illegal migration and illegal employment.

To our surprise, we learn that China has introduced a green card based on the U.S. model, which allows particularly welcome foreign professionals to stay permanently after a waiting period of several years and puts them on an equal footing with Chinese citizens in certain matters, such as the purchase of real estate. And indeed, in the course of our stay, we get to know two compatriots who have secured the document in check-card format. So in individual cases, the authorities show flexibility. However, this kind of favoritism toward individual persons or companies does not change the basic principle.

Slightly annoyed by the mills of visa bureaucracy, we interrupt our preparations and tackle our original destination Japan. Maybe we can learn a few things for our stay in China, even if it is only the pure contrasts to Europe on the one hand and to China on the other. We are not disappointed: Our feeder flight to Düsseldorf is delayed by one and a half hours, we almost start to write off our trip. But we have done the math without the Japanese. The ANA crew is already waiting for us at the bus and guides us with selected friendliness, unobtrusively, but in a hurry through all corridors and controls up to the airplane. Relieved, we sink into our seats, our fellow passengers talk in whispers and put on their specially brought travel socks. With just three minutes delay we take off towards the east and reach Tokyo ahead of schedule. The passengers leave the plane without jostling and in almost reverent silence. We do not have to deal with visa applications.

In Tokyo, a chaotic mishmash of millions of mostly tiny houses awaits us; after two years in the midst of Chinese high-rises, they will seem even tinier than in the original. In the Tokyo subway, thanks to English-language signs, we find our way around, at least most of the time. Once, when we are lost in front of dozens of signs, a helpful local asks us where we want to go. He then guides us through the labyrinth to the right exit. The episode should also remain in our memory because such spontaneous helpfulness on the open road has never been repeated in China.

We already have to make a bitter experience in Japan. Despite decades of ties to the West, English language skills are sadly lacking across all regions and generations. For fear of losing face, many people avoid talking to foreigners. Even in Western-style hotels, the right person must first be found to communicate with the Westerner. When we pick up the pre-booked rental car in a provincial town, only the navigation system there knows English. With my hundred words of Japanese, I immediately capitulate. The suspicion creeps over us that it should not become easier in China.

We first come into contact with China indirectly. Since the number of Chinese tourists has increased significantly, the announcements in the Shinkansen are made in English and Mandarin in addition to the national language. In Kyoto, we encounter young ladies in traditional geisha costumes at the numerous temples, taking pictures of each other in the most diverse poses. We quickly realize that they are Chinese tourists who are practicing the popular sport of photography. We witness the love-hate relationship between the two peoples. Despite the conflict-ridden past and the tensions that continue to this day, Japan enjoys great popularity as a travel destination, especially among younger Chinese. There they find evidence of bygone eras that did not survive war and the Cultural Revolution at home. And for most people, politics ends with sushi and sashimi. This is even more true when it comes to shopping - the duty-free store at the airport seems to thrive primarily on visitors from the Middle Kingdom.

Visiting the documentation center of the first use of an atomic bomb in Hiroshima, we notice that it is exclusively dedicated to the suffering of the victims. Hardly a word about the prehistory, especially the Japanese occupation of China, Korea and other parts of Asia. Critical self-reflection does not seem to be in vogue in the region, not to mention permanent self-mortification as in Germany.

After returning from Japan, things start to get serious, and we are not spared further surprises. For example, the German school in Shanghai advises Alma, who is supposed to complete the two-year course leading up to the Abitur, to repeat grade 10 for safety's sake, despite her good academic performance. After a moment of shock, we vehemently resist and finally manage to allow her to continue seamlessly in grade 11.

Since we are going to an area of the world with many stamps, Verena wisely suggests that we get new passports. The current ones would expire in a good year and you never know, after all. We set off for the photographer and the local citizens' office, and after barely two weeks we are holding freshly printed passports in our hands. We make another, much more nerve-racking investment in new cell phones. After all, China is considered the spearhead of digitization, and we don't want to embarrass ourselves with our old beaters. Rarely has a purchase proved as successful as this one.

Since we don't want to leave our home empty for three years, we struggle to rent it out. Easier said than done, because there are still some repairs to be done. In addition, all our household goods have to be sorted and prepared for shipment to China. At least it's an opportunity to get rid of some of the superfluous things that have accumulated over the years. Verena does hard work, the craftsmen go in and out.

Our vehicles would not be superfluous, but still ballast. And so we are also selling the e-vehicle we just bought and the caravan that our children love so much. Each project in itself costs us several days of effort and some nerves.

We do not, however, part with our family dog Willy, a strong 20-kilo male with a pronounced urge to move in the wild and with a fur that predestines him more for the Arctic than subtropical Shanghai. We are pleased to read in my company's posting guidelines that dogs, unlike horses, are expedited to China as part of the service package. But Willy's move also involves overcoming a number of medical and bureaucratic hurdles. Fortunately, he has been properly registered, vaccinated and dewormed from the beginning. On top of that, as the only member of the family, he does not need a visa and does not have to overcome any language barrier. But here, too, the pitfalls lie in the details: My parents gave me three first names at once, which unfortunately are difficult to squeeze onto the corresponding customs form for the dog's owner - and without the correctly completed form, no entry for the dog. The solution of this problem in a hectic night-and-fog action costs Verena the penultimate nerve.

The freight forwarder had some really bad news in store for us: In China, unfortunately, there is the speciality that the removal goods from the country of origin, in our case from Germany, may only be brought on the way as soon as we have received the actual residence permit on site. This takes at least three to four weeks from the time of entry. Our visa is not sufficient for this. We curse the bureaucracy and put the residence permit at the top of our priority list for the time after our arrival. We prepare to live out of a suitcase for several weeks, in the end it will be almost five months.

Our packing operation is also not without incident. We neatly separate our removal goods between the air freight, which should arrive "already" after a few weeks, and the large mass, which is shipped by sea. Despite reminders from Verena, I fail to put one or two suits in the suitcase in time. After the packers have disappeared, we are horrified to find that my suits have ended up in the sea luggage.

The shipping company assures us with the greatest expression of regret that it is impossible to get a few pieces of clothing out of dozens of boxes. In order to start my new job halfway respectably, replacements must be obtained urgently. Instead of spending the evening relaxing before my departure, we arrive at the nearest department store at 7:40 p.m., exhausted, and I buy two suits almost blindfolded. Fortunately, it's the summer sales ...

In order to find suitable accommodation for the first few weeks and to be able to look for a permanent place to stay in peace and quiet, we rent a furnished apartment for the initial period with the support of the relocation service provider, one of the few that also accepts dogs. It is the same apartment that Verena herself had already found on the Internet - only with a commission for our helpers, as it turns out later.

On the evening of August 7, 2019, I fly to Shanghai as an advance party, while my family does another week of hard labor in the liquidation of our household. On the morning of August 8, I soar into Shanghai above a sea of skyscrapers. When entering the country, I meticulously follow the instructions of the forwarding agent to fill in and have stamped two customs forms each for air freight, sea freight and the dog. Without this form, the later import would unfortunately not be possible. After I have found the right counter and received the stamps, from now on I guard the forms like the apple of my eye.

At the exit, I am greeted by my friendly driver Tian, who is probably just as curious as I am about what awaits him in the next three years. After several years in the service of American expats, I am his first European. Tian speaks passable English, drives confidently and spontaneously instills confidence in me.

After a good half hour, we reach my accommodation via excellently built highways. At the reception it takes a few minutes to find the only English-speaking employee. He explains to me that the apartment is unfortunately only ready for occupancy in the afternoon. So I leave my luggage behind and drive, unshowered and rumpled, to the company to meet my future colleagues. There, our personnel manager and my assistant greet me in the best English. They think I deserve lunch after the long flight. We go to the nearest Japanese restaurant, which confirms my observations from Kyoto.

When I leave the office tower, it almost takes my breath away. It's high summer in Shanghai with well over 30 degrees and 90% humidity. The subtropical sun burns mercilessly from the sky. A 200-meter walk to the mall opposite is enough to make any Central European sweat. I secretly envy my assistant, who, like many other female office workers, has armed herself with an umbrella that protects against sunburn and heat stroke in equal measure.

The ordering process in the restaurant catapults me unexpectedly into the next stage of the Internet age. To ensure that things move quickly and that every table can be filled several times at lunchtime, guests use a QR code attached to the table instead of a conventional menu, long before Corona also pioneered such methods in Europe. Within a minute, the order is placed online and paid for in advance. The necessary apps are still missing on my cell phone. That's why I outed myself as a newcomer and asked for a nice classic menu. This is quickly brought to me. To my pleasant surprise, it is bursting with colorful pictures, in this case even with bilingual explanations. So I will definitely not starve. As I find out later, the pictures are standard throughout the country, only the English translation ends outside the stores and restaurants frequented by foreigners.

After an initial round of introductions, briefing on the office and technology, the main task in the first few days is to establish my survival skills for everyday life in China, in the order of bank account, cell phone contract and equipment with the most important apps. These include above all WeChat, the Chinese equivalent of WhatsApp, and Alipay. Registration is done with passport and various other personal information. The Big Data algorithms of the authorities are guaranteed to read along, but since the visa application, there are hardly any secrets left anyway.

Paying via WeChat or Alipay is the absolute standard, the use of cash almost arouses suspicion. For the transitional period, I get a minimum amount of cash at an ATM by credit card of necessity. The import of cash is forbidden, except for small amounts, because of the currency management, western credit cards are rarely accepted and without a bank account none of the most important apps work.

Thus equipped, I move in the early evening again in our accommodation, but before the longed-for shower, it is also here to overcome the hurdles of payment. The receptionist insists on prepayment for four weeks, which our alleged relocation expert has not reported. Unfortunately, the rent exceeds the limit of my credit card, no wonder with the rents in Shanghai. After some back and forth, the receptionist settles for a down payment. By phone I ask V. to ask our bank at home for a more generous limit.

The apartment assigned to me is modern, the slightly musty smell does not bother me after a long day. To get an idea of the new surroundings, I decide to take an evening walk. Since about 6:30 p.m., the night is pitch black. Because of the location on the 31st latitude it gets dark almost abruptly, a longer twilight of northern character is unknown.

In our pre-departure research, we had neglected the time zone aspect, which now turns out to be gross negligence. Due to a west-east extension of more than 5,000 kilometers, China lies within five of the world's 24 time zones. Since 1949, however, Beijing time has applied uniformly throughout the country, symbolizing a deeply rooted centralism. Since regional special ways are easily seen as a precursor to separatism, no one dares to question the status quo. There is not even a daylight saving time, after a five-year attempt in 1986-1991 probably met with little response1 .

This is how we first feel in the land of darkness; after all, we can't for the life of us get up at four or five o'clock in the summer to enjoy the morning sun. All the more reason for us to look forward to stays further west in China in the next two years, where there are bright summer evenings similar to those in Europe.

The street lamps provide a twinkling light in which even pedestrians have to be careful. On the glittering streets of the business district and along the Huangpu River, which runs through Shanghai, things look different, of course. The numerous drivers of e-scooters are incomparably more dangerous than pedestrians. In order to make full use of the range of their batteries, hardly anyone considers it necessary to switch on the lights, which are certainly available. They also save on weight - almost no one wears a helmet, not to mention the few cyclists. Car drivers respect the red lights because of the omnipresent cameras, moped riders seem to regard the lights more as a non-binding recommendation. It quickly becomes clear to me why most foreign companies either prohibit their expats from driving, given the high risk of accidents, or at least strongly advise against it.

A German or European driver's license is not recognized in China. Already the first impressions confirm me to do without the acquisition of a Chinese driver's license. Actually, it's a pity - the traffic is by no means chaotic once the cars are among themselves, the roads are mostly good.

The darkness is accompanied by a unique soundscape. But it is not the noise of the streets or industry that reaches my ears, but a shrill concert of tens of thousands of giant crickets that have taken up residence in the avenue trees. Otherwise, it is extremely quiet despite the dense population. Most people have long since gone home, and the stores and restaurants are sparsely frequented at this time of day. No trace of exuberant crowds.

I plan further explorations for the first weekend, but have made my calculation without the weather god. My colleagues warn me of the approaching foothills of a typhoon. On Friday afternoon, from my office on the 37th floor, I get a box view of the approaching wall of black clouds. Shortly afterwards, it poured with rain. On the way home, the few meters of sprinting to and from the car are enough to get me completely soaked.

The next morning, the streets are littered with branches and loose objects carried away by the storm. The rental bikes that had been neatly lined up the day before are lying on their sides like dominoes. The temperature has dropped to a tolerable 25 degrees, and the app with the current air quality data reports top values. So I set off, despite the still pouring rain, to get a few groceries and to walk around our quarters. This enjoys great popularity with foreigners, perhaps a suitable place to stay can be found nearby.

My excursion ends after a few minutes, when the first strong gust shreds my umbrella. Equipped with a sturdy splendid specimen of domestic production, borrowed from the reception, I make a second attempt. I head for the Carrefour shopping center around the corner, which conveniently has a food court with dozens of snack stands, restaurants and cafés. The supermarket turns out to be unimaginably empty, which I initially blame on the bad weather. Later, I learn that most customers now have their groceries delivered to their homes. The staff is standing on their feet, the huge supermarket suddenly looks like it has fallen out of time, even before Corona.

The assortment bears witness to the recent acquisition of Carrefour China by a local investor. Apart from some French-influenced wine racks, one has adapted to the local taste. I am unable to identify many products without knowing the language. The need for really fresh food seems to unite Chinese and French. Instead of freshly caught fish from the Mediterranean, a - still living - bullfrog greets us here. Fruit and vegetables are plentiful.

In other respects, unfortunately, we follow the bad example from America. Pastries, chocolate and even yogurt contain vast amounts of sugar. Cheese is presented großte ils in the form of rubbery slices, which were en vogue during my childhood but fortunately did not catch on in Europe. Bread is either packaged in the form of unstable slices of toast or freshly made in the French style. Since the staff doesn't speak a word of English and the translation app fails on specialties like "gluten-free," my first purchase turns out puny. When I am the only one to pay in cash at the checkout, I feel like a relic from the Stone Age.

A few days later, I become the proud owner of a Chinese bank account. This requires the help of two colleagues who have brought all kinds of documents from the employment contract to the registration certificate to the bank branch and translate them. The regulations for foreigners seem complicated. Two, at times three, employees of the bank are busy processing the opening of my simple checking account. After about an hour and a half, it is done, and I have also bought my ticket to the world of Chinese e-business. After that, we take care of a mobile number. The process is similar to the one in Europe at a branch of the telecom provider, but with a bit more data and signatures. The passport with visa counts as standard equipment in all these processes and as proof that one is in the country completely legally.

In mid-August, with tongue hanging out, my family arrives in Shanghai. Verena and the children were busy preparing our house for renting until the departure. Without the energetic help of our relatives it would have been very tight. For Alma and Marina the summer vacations fall into the water, because the old school year in Baden-Württemberg ends only at the end of July and the new one in Shanghai starts already around August 20th. On top of that, the shortened summer vacations in 2019 resemble a work camp due to the move.

The suitcases have not yet been stowed, and Verena and the children are sniffing through the apartment, while I had resigned myself to the musty smell. After barely ten minutes, they have located several moldy nests. Despite being tired, we insist at the reception desk to find another apartment that is not on the first floor. What luck that we have not yet paid in full, the threat of rent reduction works wonders even in China. We quickly move into an apartment on the upper floor and stow the contents of our suitcases.

On the same day, our dog is welcomed with a big hello. Willy was the best of all of us, as he didn't have to contribute anything to the joint venture and was allowed to travel first class by animal standards. We have not seen such an oversized dog crate over all these years. Now we understand why the company paid all the transport costs, but not the 250 euros for the transport box. On inquiry we learn that in international air traffic animal protection is capitalized. The box supposedly has to offer enough space for the four-legged friend to stretch out comfortably lengthwise, plus tail of course. In comparison, our economy seats were the purest cages. As a reward, Willy is allowed to go out on the street for a short while. In view of the persistent heat, he seems to have aged years. He plods slackly along beside me until stray cats briefly awaken his hunting instinct.

The following days are marked by the preparation for school and the procurement of the necessities for the household. Despite bulging suitcases and excess baggage, we had to limit ourselves. The equipment of our apartment aims more at the beautiful appearance than at the practical. The knives do not cut, they leave bluish streaks on the butter even after repeated thorough rinsing. The other cooking utensils are sufficient for scrambled eggs at best.

Reason enough, after Carrefour, to pay a visit to one of the half dozen or so IKEA stores in Shanghai. We encounter a prime example of global standardization: the same endless winding aisles, the same order of furniture, and the same table decorations as everywhere else. In contrast to the supermarket, furniture stores still seem to offer a real shopping experience for Chinese consumers. Complete families with all generations arrive, and some take extensive advantage of the opportunity to try out the furniture or take a nap right away. Discount promotions are very popular: At first, we are irritated by the cashier's verbosity, until we understand that she only means well with us. She insists that we take the customer card so that we can buy the new cutlery and pots at the lowest possible price. We don't want to disappoint her and accept with thanks.

Trusting that IKEA has a reputation to lose and does not poison its customers, we dare to prepare food in our kitchen in the next few days thanks to the new appliances. We have already found some sources of supply, but we are getting used to drinking water from 4-5 liter water cans. Colleagues and the staff of the moving company strongly advise against using tap water for cooking or even drinking it, because heavy metals unfortunately do not disappear by heating. We don't even want to imagine what contribution the drinking water supply of 1.4 billion people from plastic canisters alone makes to the swelling of plastic waste.

Along the way, we organize the care of our four-legged friend. There is no shortage of pet supply stores. The number of dog and cat owners is increasing exponentially, an unmistakable signal of rising prosperity and perhaps also of the high number of singles with few contacts. Some dog accessories cannot be shrill enough, so that the environment notices the living status symbol also duly. So our Willy will not lack for food.

His room to maneuver soon turns out to be limited - on public transportation, pets are strictly prohibited, understandable given the crowds at rush hour. Unfortunately, there is also a ban on dogs in most parks. In the immediate vicinity of our temporary accommodation is an industrial park, which lives up to its name thanks to a pretty little lake and lush greenery. The access roads are, as usual in China, monitored by a private security service, at least during the usual business hours. Thus, our first attempt to explore the terrain fails because of a resolute lady, who is probably as frightened by the concentrated danger of foreigners and dog as I am by her nagging.

From now on I keep it with the local dog owners. They use a few trails away from the official entrances and prefer to come early in the morning or evening, while the security people enjoy their evening off. Once you have made it into the park, you are rarely in trouble. In view of the heat, the few guards move within a radius of 20 meters and let peaceful dog owners have their way as long as the distance is large enough. It is important to save face at all times: If you happen to have spotted each other out of the corner of your eye, both parties look purposefully away from each other and avoid any escalation. It's only unpleasant if the boss is on patrol with you or if you get caught in the military-style morning roll call of the security squad - in such a case, no one shows any nerve. With the help of whistles and wild gesticulation, intruders are driven away without compromise - until the cat-and-mouse game begins anew the next day.

Thus, Willy unintentionally provides us with another cultural experience: Contrary to many Western prejudices, we experience a pronounced tendency toward laissez-faire, even downright anarchy. Rules invite to be interpreted freely, bent and creatively circumvented. If they succeed, they earn respect and admiration. In contrast, taking the direct route in the Teutonic manner, even if it means stubbornly running headlong into the wall, is seen as evidence of a lack of maturity.

On August 20, the school year begins at the German School in Shanghai. There are actually two of them, at opposite ends of the city. Alma and Marina visit the one in Yangpu, which is almost a dwarf school with 300 students from kindergarten to high school. The students are as diverse as the teachers. Children of expats like our daughters, who stay a few years and then return, make up perhaps half, because the number of expatriates has been declining for several years. The other children come from families who live permanently in Shanghai, many of them mixed marriages between a German and a Chinese partner, or Chinese families with passports from a German-speaking country.

Chinese citizens are not allowed to register their children at the German school. This is not surprising, since it is one of the few places where people can express themselves freely outside their own four walls. Cultures and opinions clash at school, and so it is not uncommon for values or positions that are taken for granted in Europe to be attacked by students who are close to the Communist Party.

A Chinese schoolgirl justifies the massacre in Tiananmen Square by saying that the demonstrators had been warned beforehand. Those who disregarded this had only themselves to blame. Her parents spent years in Germany, but probably took nothing of democratic values with them, or at least passed nothing on. To make matters worse, the student who denounced the massacre is supposed to apologize for hurting his classmate's feelings. As in Europe, where ideology and aggression come mainly from the Islamist, left-wing or right-wing radical scene, the German School in Shanghai also offers space to the enemies of freedom. We wonder how freedom is to be defended when German institutions allow radicals to go unpunished. In addition to such differences in worldview, Alma and Marina perceive a strong sense of competition among the students compared to Germany.

Soon we will start looking for an apartment. Our daughters are already looking forward to a nice house with a garden and terrace. To help us find our way around the metropolis, my employer's relocation package includes assistance from a friendly, English-speaking helper. He picks us up early in the morning on a Saturday. We set off on a round trip to what must be twenty houses in the typical estates for wealthy locals and the foreign expats. Since building land is astronomically expensive, these are located far from the city center, at least a half-hour drive to the office, whether by car or by subway.

From the outside, these compounds give a neat impression. Surrounded by lush greenery and protected by high, partly barbed-wire walls, countless cameras and the omnipresent security guards at the entrances, the uniformly styled houses promise security and generous living comfort. As soon as we enter the first house, it takes our breath away. The warm, humid climate has left its mark. Mold is flourishing, unless it has just been freshly whitewashed.

In view of the poor insulation of walls, windows and doors, we inquire about heating and air conditioning. The house turns out to be an energy fossil. Heating and air conditioning come from one and the same electrically operated ventilation system. The real estate agent explains to us that this is the standard and by no means an exception. With around 300 m2 of living space, electricity costs approach the 1,000-euro mark in the peak months, even though the price of electricity is only a third of the German level. The garden turns out to be a musty meadow. The terrace is still covered in water from the last downpour because the workmen unfortunately installed the slope in the wrong direction.

We gratefully decline, but in the next houses it gets even better. In one of the living rooms, we are amazed at the furnishings that would do honor to any European castle. The owner of the house has purchased an oversized gilded throne chair, which would require our entire family to fill. Another has had a 10 meter long cellar bar and disco built in. In a residential complex that is estimated to be 25 to 30 years old, the houses are scaffolded in rows because a basic renovation is pending. They're not building for eternity here.

Around noon, our initial despair gives way to increasing cheerfulness, because the combination of botched construction, nouveau riche furnishings and outrageous rent demands provides material for an entire evening of cabaret. We decide to view the tour as an adventure and an object lesson in how we don't want things to be.

House after house we cancel, whereupon our helper Henry thinks he has to enhance the experience. Possibly he interprets our good mood as an expression of pleasure. Last but not least, we end up in a Tudor-style complex with a living area of 500 m2 . The energy costs correspond to an average German wage, and the huge garden would keep a gardener busy.