Looks like wherever PRCs go, they create damage and destroy
Hopefully the PRCs don't go for European and American cruises.
Here is real account of 600 rich Chinese bumpkins going on a world cruise!! (Long report
http://chinadigitaltimes.net/chinese/2015/05/正午故事-环球邮轮:六百余中国人的甜蜜生活/)
Here is an English translation extract:
Costa Atlantica is the first round-the-world cruise to set sail from China.
When they boarded on March 1, being greeted by strangers made the Chinese tourists uncomfortable and nervous. To prepare for their voyage into the unknown,
some brought washing machines, hotplates, juicers, and wash basins. Some brought 15 kilos of Maotai, and one girl brought several suitcases filled with snacks. Another person prepared over 100 movie posters and stamps related to their upcoming ports of call, and some of the older people secretly brought on big bottles of mineral water to save their kids money.
During the first few days of the cruise, a number of Chinese passengers got into recurring spats over taking pictures at the entrance to the Tiziano Restaurant,
sometimes even coming to blows. “What are you so upset about? We still have three months!” Liao told them at the time. “Anyone who can take part in this cruise is surely someone who longs for civility.
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Costa has organized all sorts of activities for their Chinese passengers: dance lessons, art classes, Italian classes, folk performances, pool parties, magic shows, and more. There are cards and board games, an arcade, and karaoke to pass the time. If that’s not enough, the ship’s cabins have been divided up into 50 “neighborhoods” with the head of each putting on dance competitions, mahjong matches, ping-pong face offs, and talent shows.
Full of energy and enthusiasm, Chinese aunties are the main fighting force behind these activities. They’ve succeeded at moving their public dances to the cruise ship. Every night on the dance floor of La Dolce Vita they perform “Little Apple,” and every time the band asks for requests they all shout, “Play ‘Little Apple’!!!” After two weeks, Liao Yaozong has had it. He goes up to the front desk to tell the clerk, “You can’t play ‘Little Apple’ anymore. I can’t take it anymore. ”
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Actually, there is one other thing getting on Liao’s nerves. In the dining hall on the ninth floor,
there is a Chinese passenger with a patch of ringworm on his scalp. It must really itch, because sometimes while they are eating
he uses a fork to scratch his head. It makes Liao and his fellow passengers rather uncomfortable.
On this massive vessel, more than half of the passengers are over 70. The oldest is 88 and the youngest is 12 months. They’ve worked in some of the most eye-catching professions in China: retired employees of state-owned enterprises, owners of private companies, doctors, poets, photographers, authors, entrepreneurs, artists, singers, antique collectors, financiers, famous musicians, models. Businessmen make up the majority, and the majority of those work in real estate.
“There are too many petty people on this boat,” Liao says with contempt. “A lot of them just want to tack on the title of ‘global.'” He leans over the table and narrows his eyes, assessing the ship. It’s almost midnight, and the hall is empty. The boat hasn’t set sail yet, and it rocks gently, like a cradle, with the waves at the dock.
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To assuage the passengers, Costa has arranged an on-shore tour for the Chinese passengers. At 10:30 a.m., the guests get on a bus from the dock to downtown Athens.
Since this plan is spur of the moment, the young tour guide doesn’t speak very good English and is rather underprepared, and she is ill at ease the entire trip. On the bus, a male Chinese tourist has a printed guide and keeps interrupting her to correct her small mistakes.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” a short-haired, middle-aged woman from Shanghai suddenly stands up and cuts off the guide, then says to everyone else, “The tour guide is sloppy! She hasn’t translated everything.” She walks to the front of the bus, points one finger at the local guide and another at the young Chinese guide and says, “Like this. You say one sentence, and you translate one sentence.”
A bit embarrassed, the young girl nervously translates “basketball court” as “football stadium,” and just as before the male Chinese tourist loudly corrects her. “Wrong again!” The bus bursts into laughter, and even though it is at the expense of the man, the young lady becomes even more embarrassed, subconsciously shrinking back a step and hiding her face behind a seat back so the passengers can’t see her face.
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Onboard, you frequently hear conversations such as these: “The loose diamonds we bought in New York were so cheap!…” “My family has quite a few Omega wristwatches. Just taking one in to get fixed costs a hefty penny…” “Originally we wanted to bring a nanny onboard with us…”
There’s a constant, unspoken competition going on among all the “new money,” like in the film “Titanic.” Who’s bar tab is the highest? Who gambled the biggest at the casino? Who has a Leica camera? Who is staying in the most luxurious terrace suite with the panoramic ocean view? Who bought which luxury item onshore today? It’s as if there is an invisible scoreboard. Which miserable wretch will be wiped off the board today?
The RMB 150,000 ($24,165) each person paid for the cruise is merely their ticket onboard. Everything else they consume is extra, including any onshore excursions, bar tabs, Internet service, as well as the cafe, the duty-free shop, the casino, the exercise facilities and spa, and so on.
Though they are always eager to spend competitively, the Chinese passengers seem just as committed to thrift. The cruise offers several wifi packages. The Chinese all quickly choose the cheapest package, around $100. In order to conserve their data usage, many are willing to wait to use the Internet until the ship pulls into port.
The bottled water in the rooms cost about $5 each, so Chinese guests generally bring free water from the buffet back to their room, or else come up with ways to bring back water from onshore trips. The cruise held a wine tasting for about $15, and hardly anyone went. But every time there is a free activity, it’s filled to the brim. If you forget your cell phone or umbrella while watching a show in the Caruso Theater, you will never see anyone bring it to reception.
Most complaints are about bad food and poor service. The reception desk at La Dolce Vita has become the staging ground for conflict.
But there was a complaint that surpassed all these. Twenty-four hours ago, an 80-year-old retired teacher from Shanghai, Mr. Yan, rushed from his room to the reception desk in righteous indignation. What upset him was that the TV on board the ship had broadcast a foreign talk show which attacked the Chinese system of government and the state of affairs.
“I won’t stand for it!” Mr. Yan and his wife tell me as they pull me into Caffe Florian on the third floor. “What qualifies them to criticize China? We now have the money to tour the world. Isn’t that because China’s economy is prospering, and the motherland is strong?” Mr. Yan was agitated, his voice rising.
The real Caffe Florian opened in 1720 in Venice’s Piazza San Marco. It is said that Hemingway once lingered there. “Quiet, quiet.” Mr. Yan’s wife, 76 years old, tugs at the hem of her clothes. She warns her husband, “Speak quietly in public places. Don’t disturb others.”
Mr. Yan allies with a few old comrades and complains to reception several times. “China can’t be bullied by foreigners,” he says. A few hours later, the program is finally taken off the air. “We won!” Mr. Yan and his comrades shake hands excitedly and celebrate in the hallway.
After Mr. Yan and his wife retired, they always longed for travel. They are now seasoned cruise aficionados. They can compare at leisure the merits of Princess and Costa cruises, down to the finest detail.
Mr. Yan and his wife visited Hong Kong in 1998, the year after the city was returned to China. They found Victoria Harbor ablaze with light, a world utterly apart from their own. But when the cruise passed through Hong Kong this time, Mr. Yan had a new experience. “Victoria Harbor isn’t much, you know. It looks so small. Our Bund in Shanghai is certainly not inferior.”
Mr. Yan seeks out a woman from Hong Kong who owns a noodle shop. “What will you do when you get back to Hong Kong? Do you support Occupy Central?” he asks. “I don’t,” she replies. “The kids are listening to other people and going out to stir things up. I’m worried to death. The restaurant has also suffered—we’re at the brink of closing down.” Mr. Yan is gratified by this response.
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On the morning of April 2, the Costa Atlantica finally arrives at a harbor near Rome. We join a tour heading downtown. Most of the people on the bus are elderly.
The guide starts to introduce Rome’s ancient architecture. The Taiwanese lady says to a few mainlanders nearby, “I don’t care about going to see all these old buildings. They’re a waste of time. We’d be better off shopping.”
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As we approach our destination, the tour guide tells everyone we will get off here and meet again in five hours. The man in the peaked cap is upset. He turns off his video camera and fumes, “I can’t speak English. How can you throw us out here?” The guide hurriedly explains, “The onshore tour you purchased is self-guided. There’s another fully guided tour for people who can’t speak English.”
“Then take us to see the sights! Or else you won’t have any business.” An old man next to the man in the peaked cap yells. Several older men clammer after him, “Yes, we don’t know the way.” The whole bus erupts in chaos, and several of the old men get excited. The voice of the man in the peaked cap rises, his face flushing red.
All of a sudden the Taiwanese businesswoman stands up and throws a jumble of English and Chinese names at the young Italian guide. “Hermès, Kelisiting, LV, Xuenai’er, Prada…?” The guide is perplexed. The Taiwanese women quickly turns to the Chinese guide and asked, “Help me ask her where I can buy brands from local designers? They must be from local designers.”
The younger passengers do nothing to hide their disdain for the whole scene. Mr. Y, a Beijinger sitting beside me, flips the bird towards the older group. The last time he showed his middle finger to someone, he and his target nearly came to blows. “Come over here! I’m not afraid of them!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. Mr. Y was born in the late 60s, but on this trip, that makes him relatively youthful.
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At 11 p.m., the ship, which was scheduled to depart at 10, remained motionless. An ashen man from Hong Kong quickly walks from the stairwell to the reception desk on the second deck. He yells at the receptionist in urgent Cantonese, “I want to get off! This ship isn’t safe! Give me back my passport!”
It appears something is wrong with the ship. A few other Chinese tourists have already made similar visits to the reception desk. “Throw the captain into the sea!” screams one passenger. Rumors and gossip are inevitable on such long journeys. A few passengers quietly inform me that the boat isn’t moving because “someone ran! Illegal entry.” And the number of people who “illegally entered” the current port country rises from one to three.
“The Chinese are too anxious,” ...