'Harbin has been called the Paris of the Far East, but not, I think, by anyone who has stayed there for any length of time.'
Peter Fleming, One's Company, 1934
The Manchurian city of Harbin probably had less cosmopolitan flair than Shanghai, to the south, in the 1930s. Nevertheless, it was home to an equally international population. Hollywood star Yul Brynner went to a school here run by the YMCA; Nikos Kavvadias, arguably still Greece's most popular poet, was born nearby, as was French actor Pierre Batcheff, the suicidal star of Luis Bunuel's Un Chien Andalou. And Vladimir Tretchikoff, one of the most successful commercial artists ever to put brush to canvas (his kitsch-defining Chinese Girl, also known as The Green Lady, is said to be the world's bestselling art print), grew up and learned his trade in Harbin after the Russian Revolution. By the time Peter Fleming, elder brother of James Bond creator Ian, arrived in the early 30s, the city was home to more than 160,000 foreigners, from more than 30 countries.
Established by the Russians at the end of the 19th century as a hub for the new Chinese Eastern Railway (an extension of the Trans-Siberian Railway), Harbin was for many years run jointly by Russia and China, with council input from the international community, as a sort of special administrative region. Then it came under Japanese rule from the early 30s until the end of the second world war. Today, the city retains a strong Russian flavour, one enriched by recent restoration of some venerable buildings and a heritage-awareness drive by the authorities.
The most visible fruits of Harbin's historical rehabilitation can be seen along Zhongyang Street (known as China Street in Russian times) in the Daoli district; plaques on many old buildings tell something of their original use, ownership and architectural styles. With winter temperatures nudging minus 30 degrees Celsius, however, loitering appraisal of such signage is less practical than actual investigation of the interior. So, with vital organs preparing to shut down, I step inside the distinctly unhistorical-sounding Modern Hotel.
Once trading under the jauntier name of the Hotel Moderne, it was opened in 1906 by a Jewish clockmaker and immediately became the place to stay. Fleming checked in on more than one occasion - as did most notable visitors. One of its most infamous residents was Frank 'One-Arm' Sutton, who became an unlikely general in the army of ruling northern Chinese warlord Zhang Zuolin. In 1925, Sutton successfully led a 6,000-strong army in an attack on the Great Wall against one of Zhang's southern enemies, before establishing his headquarters at the Moderne. Incidentally, Sutton died of malnutrition in Hong Kong during the second world war and is buried in Stanley Military Cemetery.
Once one of the top hotels in China, the Modern is these days about as exciting as its name suggests - a three-star package-tour place, although with a nod to its roots in the form of a dozen or so plaques around the lobby coffee shop noting former visitors (such commemoration of Sutton's patronage is, perhaps not surprisingly, nowhere to be found. My query about him is met with a look that suggests I have just inquired about rooms by the hour). The hotel also makes a stab at cashing in on its past in a promotional leaflet that sadly promises little more than communication problems, with the announcement of 'European style luxury and elegance, single, unsophisticated and newness but also has dense's modern mushy'.