Since the sudden and, frankly, disturbing revival of the Happy Hardcore musical movement in my Guangdong hometown, I've tended to shun the local pubs and clubs, opting instead to get my weekend kicks in the hairdressers. I've long been a fan of the Chinese hair wash. Some of the local establishments may not be suitable to take the wife, or mother, for a visit. However, such is my love of the purer pleasures of the salon experience that I have introduced both to visit my favorite joint.

Last Friday night comprised my usual hour-long wash and blow-dry. All the normal routines were observed: The five-minute struggle to get the air-conditioner working was lively as ever; the conversation about the fact my feet were hanging off the end of the bed followed a well-trodden path; we danced around the subject of whether I wanted my ears cleaning me trying not to sound too eager, my attendant implying she didn't wash the aural passages of just anybody.

With an impressive five lathers and rinses behind us, "No.17" (as she insisted I call her) said my hour was up and suggested that I "xiuxi, xiuxi" ("rest, rest"). I had just spent the last hour being pampered as only a 21st Century metrosexual can without enduring severe dignity loss and/or a beating behind the bike sheds. I had spent not one calorie on mental or physical exertion (beyond, perhaps, burning off a baozi when trying to remember how to say: "Could you turn the Happy Hardcore down a jot?"). And here I was, being told that what I really needed to do now was take a proper rest.

The Chinese word "xiuxi" does not equate to having a lie-in, reading a book, or playing golf. The xiuxi is a paradox worthy of Laozi: The xiuxi that looks like a xiuxi is not a true xiuxi. For example, that hair wash didn't count because, one, somebody was touching me, and, two, I was chatting with the person next to me. A real Chinese xiuxi is about closing one's eyes and shutting down all life systems. It's about momentarily ignoring the 1.3 billion people and retreating into your own personal bubble. It's meditative, man.

A xiuxi is what unfolds when a hard-pedaling courier slumps himself across his metal cart and takes a nap beside a six-lane city center thoroughfare. It's what travelers do when they close eyes and pull beatific expressions as the aircraft's engines scream on take-off. It's what I do when somebody tries to press advertising material into my hand.

It's also what Chinese shops do when they want to close for the day. I love the way shop signs don't use that cold, unfriendly word "closed" but prefer "resting" instead. The owners haven't gone anywhere. They're probably asleep on a table somewhere out back. Bang hard enough on the door and they may even awake and let you in. In China, the xiuxi may be a beautiful thing, but it's only ever temporary. Especially where Happy Hardcore is concerned.

(China Daily 04/26/2007 page20)