Harbin - The City Of Ice

The City of Ice, where temperatures have been known to plummet to minus 40 degrees Celsius, welcomed us with a vibrant energy and an electric sense of excitement. Bustling crowds negotiated the icy ground with trepidation. Each individual wrapped in the thickest of furs. Only their eyes visible. Watering from the frozen air.

After hailing a taxi, amidst fighting off many other determined drivers - all yelling at once and vying for attention - we headed through the streets of this far north city. In many ways, Harbin is just another unattractive Chinese city. Grey in colour. It is hugely spread out, although the skyscrapers are placed in extreme proximity to one another. Claustrophobic and depressing in a sense. 

Our five-star hotel with its questionable luxury was a welcome sight. We were in need of hot showers, more layers of clothing and our adhesive heating pads. With our needs met, Zhongyang street – the most famous street with its cobblestones and foreign architecture dating back to 1925 - beckoned us. The day was glorious. The sky a cobalt blue. The temperatures stole our breath. Never before had I experienced such cold. No matter where in the world, when visiting a place for the first time, the priority is to set up base camp in a good coffee shop. We did. 

On the list of priorities was to savour the famous street foods of Harbin. Juices from the shrimp dumplings ran down our chins. Hot and salty. Bursting with flavours. Tantalising our every taste bud. Glasses of hot local tea washed the pearls of goodness down. The joy derived from suffering sub-zero temperatures is the gratification of consuming piping hot food. With bellies full and bodies warm, we were once again on the prowl in search of local culture. We avoided the famous Harbin ice creams though. On sale everywhere, there was no understanding as to why one would eat ice creams in temperatures of minus 23 degrees Celsius.

We explored the fur shops. Each one the size of a warehouse. Packed to capacity with the skins of dead animals. There was clearly a mix of fake and the real deal.  Price tags provided evidence of the slaughter of animals in the name of vanity, egos and a warped sense of beauty. My intense dislike of anything, or anyone, fake boiled up beneath my skin. However, in this instant, I am the first to support imitation. With the prospect of life in either Cambodia or Myanmar looming, we moved on and out of the warehouse. Without furs. 

We walked the cobbled streets. Absorbing the world around us. Appreciating it. Tucking it deep within our memories for safekeeping. Every twenty minutes, finding refuge in a shop to defrost. Wondering why anyone would choose to live in a place that agonisingly cold. Where each day you appear three times the size you actually are. In order to keep warm. Elegance – something of utmost importance to me – was non-existent. I chuckled as I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of the huge, heavy jacket. Between the two of us, we were wearing four woollen thermal hats, four pairs of tights, two pairs of thermal pants, four pairs of socks, four pairs of gloves. I gave up counting when Debbie reminded me of the six layers of tops she was wearing. 

We were both intensely happy. A delicious sense of freedom carried us on high. Exploring new horizons with open minds and warm hearts. I continued to wonder why anyone would choose to live in Harbin. The answer came around the corner in a blast of delicious, all-consuming aromas. The reason for life in the City of Ice became evident. The Harbin sausage lay there snug on its bed of red-hot coals. Proudly acknowledging its place of importance in the society. 

I had been introduced to these monsters a few months earlier in Beijing by a colleague who had grown up in Harbin. With the temperature at minus 23 degrees Celsius in brilliant sunshine, the increasingly powerful lure of a fat, juicy, piping hot sausage was all I needed to immerse myself in the local culture. Smothered in spices, the sausages were taken off the hot coals and impaled with sticks. To be eagerly accepted by our groping fingers. There are no words to describe the effect of that sausage on both one’s mental and physical state. The only way to describe it is to have another one. The red Harbin sausage was introduced to China from Russia and Lithuania about 100 years ago. It is made from pork, loads of garlic and other seasonings. Licking the aftermath of juices and flavour from frozen fingers, I suddenly had a clear understanding of why people would choose to live in Harbin. A sausage a day …

To be continued …