Opener / Andrew Tuck
Black eyes, please
A friend from Italy was staying at our house while he did an English course. In the evenings he would make dinner and, as the pasta jived around the bubbling pan, quiz me about the idiosyncrasies of my mother tongue. It soon dawned on me, however, that the English I use every day is sometimes a mystery to me too. Often I would have to confess that I couldn’t offer a reasonable solution to his enquiry – but, in the meantime, could he pass the olive oil?
But then one night he asked me what a “panda” was. Finally I was in safer territory. I explained that it was the animal from China that had a big white face and black eyes. I even mimed eating bamboo and made what I thought were a few good panda moves (in hindsight the generous bottom wiggle was perhaps a bit more Baloo). When I looked at his face it was apparent that this explanation hadn’t cleared the clouds in the way I had hoped. He swirled the pasta. “OK,” he finally said. “But I was in McDonald’s the other day and they had a ‘quarter panda’. What’s that, then?”
That story is just one of the many reasons that the panda has had a special place in my heart. Last weekend Monocle held its first-ever event in mainland China, in Chengdu, the home of the nation’s panda-breeding programme. I made sure I was on the trip: it was great to meet readers, see the city, make new contacts. But I was adamant that real pandas would be on the menu (not literally, don’t worry).
Now, Chengdu has done lots of clever things to sell its story around the world. This city of 9 million will tell you about its 3,500 bookshops, including the epic Fang Suo Commune. They will point out that they have numerous students and a slew of universities – and that they are pushing for a greener city. But it’s the panda that’s a global soft-power ambassador for the city.
And they are everywhere. There are panda statues doing headstands outside hotels; there’s a Godzilla-sized one climbing up the side of a shop; they are on warning signs and company logos. We were given a fluffy panda gift by the event’s co-organisers; we walked past an electronics shop and a menacing one came rushing out; we went to karaoke and a fat raving one barged into the room and shook its tush in time to the music (it had the Baloo moves too). Residents of Chengdu had panda T-shirts and headbands with panda heads on. The panda is not only an international marketing tool but a local hit too.
On the final day we were offered a trip to the research centre, which is home to 200 pandas, with our translator and a park guide. It would have to be speedy but I was on the bus – express panda, here we come. What should have been a day’s outing was completed in 90 minutes. We saw mothers, we saw cubs and we saw babies in incubators. We were hit with facts from every angle – hang on, did she just say that they let the males watch panda porn to get them in the love-making mood?
The funny thing is that while I still love pandas – indeed, even more so now – they are perhaps not the best brand ambassadors in every sense. They are lazy, prone to bouts of grumpiness, a little on the podgy side and not always the most loving of parents – like some chardonnay-focused mother, they will apparently drop their baby if offered honey or an apple. Oh, and the mothers eat their babies’ poo too. But hey, like a groupie to a renegade Hollywood actor, the panda’s fans will never desert it.
On the flight home I opened my bag to find my wash kit – and my fluffy gift poked its head out. When I came back to my seat, my neighbour – a rather austere gent who kept his well-pressed shirt on all night – gave me a smile and said, “Nice panda.” “Thanks,” I said with a certain paternal glow. But just then the stewardess came round with the offer of a glass of white burgundy and I chucked it back in the overhead locker.
