"Raise your glasses to Harry, who gave his life for our cultural benefit"

This free spirit to the right, fighting his way out of the net, was property of the Blue Dragon Restaurant, Beijing, and not so long ago may very well have enjoyed cruising the waves in the South China Sea (if that's where they come from) dodging predators, hunting plantlife. Every day being a new adventure!

Now, for those of you who find this creature undeniably adorable and a treasure to the Earth, don't precede beyond this paragraph. You'll either end up abhorring me and retasting what you've most recently eaten...maybe even both simultaneously. Let it be noted that, as part of this blog, entitled: "In one year...", my objective was to write about experiences of an eclectic spectrum of cultural and social activities while living here in China. I've done nothing that isn't done on a regular basis or considered barbaric to the people indigenous to this nation(with one exception noted later).

So, the quest - as it were - was to find a restaurant on New Years eve that would allow us to indulge in a custom found in the North Eastern reaches of China. In this relatively unknown area of China, turtles are held in high regard for their long life and it is believed that if one is to drink the blood of a turtle, you will be granted with a longer life and better health. One who drinks the (fluorescent green) bile of a turtle shall gain improved eye sight (I was hoping for either x-ray or night vision). So, myself, Nick, Megan and Sam (2 other teachers and an ex-student respectively) set out in the name of good health and cultural experience - living in a country with no RSPCA equivalent made this a doddle - to make this a more memorable new years experience. We were not to be disappointed in that respect.

What vodka is to Russia, Baijiu (translates to white alcohol) is to China...all purpose domestic cleaner and an excuse for fighting, bad parking, mug-pulling, wife-beating, dog biscuit eating and hitting on your best mate's better half...all rolled into one filthily distilled liquid. This, generally, 56%abv clear beverage is responsible for the worst hangover I've ever had in all of my years of social drinking. Make no mistake, it is harsh stuff. And despite having a party to attend to lead us into the new year, hosted by another one of our colleagues, we could not bring our selves to rush this baijiu/blood/bile bender!

Baijiu on the street is more than likely brewed in old mate's bathtub, but if you get yourself to a semi suave restaurant you can purchase a the little more upper class baijiu and join Beijing's affluent crowd. Half of the bottle was split into two glasses. One of those glasses you can see on the left is being topped up by Harry's very own blood via his recently severed jugular. The procedure in which to get to this point entailed our chef lying poor Harry on his back (obviously being scared stiff, he'd retracted his limbs and head inside his shell) and then punching him square on his belly (there's probably a more technical word to describe that part of a turtle's anatomy) which forced his little limbs and head to evacuate the safety of his shell. The chef had merely a second to grab the head and bend it over the back of the shell (imagine the back of your head touching the centre of your spine and a semi circular tube of neck exposed) revealing a stretched neck ready for a slicing. It actually took 2 forcefully fistings on poor Harry's underside to enable the chef to secure the head in place.

The look on the chef's face portrayed a difficult decision. It didn't take long for him to decide that a foot long meat clever was the most suitable tool for the job before running the blade multiple times across Harry's throat. At the same time, all of the kitchen staff spectated: the guys watching with grins surpassing the widths of their faces; the girls covering their faces in complete horror. I'm never felt more barbaric! Like I said, this isn't something out of the ordinary in China, except of the public display, and Nick constantly asking for room to take photographs. It's excruciatingly difficult to explain how I felt during this. I vividly remember laughing while feeling appropriately shameful. It wasn't that I found it comical to watch such an animal being ill-treat to suit our curiosity, but the laughter was sheerly a self defence mechanism put up to front the surrounding crowds. I'm NOT proud of this at all so think twice before criticising me - I'm sorry Harry!

After a few seconds, our skilled epicurean then squeezed Harry dry like a ketchup bottle until there was nothing left except what you see in the picture to the right (a gruesome shot I'm sure you'll agree...I felt a little guilty about publishing it so I made it as small as possible...you can still see all his veins and arteries and stuff).

We were shown to our table and given our glass of bloody baijiu filled with (what we were told was) long life goodness. We were then provided with a glass of baijiu turned a very beautiful shade of green. It took us a while to figure out what it actually was (something lost in translation), spending a good 15 minutes with Sam reciting various body organs. Yes, to our surprise, it turned out to be bile. As disgusting as the substance actually is, we were awe struck by the range of colour present before us on our table.

We toasted to Harry...infact we upgraded him to Harold in name of his altruistic sacrifice to us so that we could get well and truly soused and live for longer with improved vision (funnily enough, my vision didn't improve right away, infact on the contrary, at 12 midnight I couldn't focus on the numbers on my IP card while trying to dial Julia in New York). We necked our fair share of Harold's internal fluids, and polished off the bottle of baijiu at the same time (by this time we were the only ones left in the restaurant). The blood started to curdle rather quickly so I threw that back with pleasant surprise that it tasted merely of "good" baijiu. The bile, however, contained solids. Not exactly floaters, we refered to these anomalies as sinkies. Upon swallowing, feeling little lumps roll back, I instinctively reached for my beer and threw back a good few mouthfuls that I'd be proud of if at a rugby social. Well, the dirt was done...we thought...

Well, quite horrific you may think. However, this story does not end there. What of Harold's body? Well, here in China, no part of any animal is wasted; not chicken feet; not turtle. What remained was placed in a boiling pot and made into soup. Shell, head, innards, water, seasoning, it's all good. Into a pot they went. In that pot they stewed.

They say a picture is worth 1000 words, judge the truth behind that phrase when looking at the picture to the right.

As disgusting as it looks, the meat could pass for turkey if it came in similar quantities. There was a lot of cartilage as well, which after being boiled in seasoning was quite nice despite the saw jaw you receive as a result of repetitive chewing.

The Baijiu helped to wash down the unexpected stubborn chunks and sent us all into a rather delicate state of mind. But we were in no position to end that night at that! We had a party to attend. A black tie affair that left my formal wardrobe smelling of carpetted dancefloor in central nightclub. Cigs, booze, sweat. lovely ey?

So, my recollection of the events that followed on the 31st of December 2006 is nothing to be proud of. Although drunk dialing, throwing bottles from the 11th floor window at my colleague standing on the frozen lake below, smacking people with a spatula, a 6am meal at the local noodle outlet and the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, I still can't brag as I remember the innocent soul that was lost for the same price as a football ticket back home.

To long life, great vision, cultural indulgence. Cheers Harold! (you make great soup)