The hotel room could be almost anywhere in the world, with its oandlewick bedspread and large screen TV, but looking out of the window I know that I am in China or, to be exact, Shanghai, a cosmopolitan city full of energy and optimism. The man across the road is making noodles; it is like watching a well-choreographed dance. Next door to him a woman has set up a stand and is preparing wafer-thin pancakes, spread with an egg, a brown savoury paste, stuffed with coriander and spices; breakfast for the early shift. It is 7am and already hot; yesterday the temperature reached ninety-five degrees, with the air a heavy mix of humidity and pollution, like a thick soup. I am on my way to the Pottery Workshop in Jingdezhen to be a resident artist for five weeks, a prospect that fills me with both apprehension and excitement.
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