This will be a long day. We're up at six and on the 8:00 a.m. airport shuttle.
Our flight leaves at 11:40, but by the time we check in and pass security, there's not a lot of time to spare. I get hung up in security, where they unpack my carry-on and make me give up my toothpaste and a personal item that I wish to heck they'd just toss in the trash rather than leave out here for everyone to see.
However, getting nervously embarrassed is not a good move at airport security, so I suck it up and spend the time re-tying my shoes.
We settle in at the gate and I go foraging for food and drink. I'm able to buy tea at a nearby kiosk for $4.00. I don't see how anyone can ask you for four bucks for hot water and a tea bag, but they did, and I paid.
Finding something remotely breakfasty takes a little more effort. If we could eat fashion or jewelry or drink pricey booze I'd have no problem. After walking for almost ten minutes I find some eclairs.
Meanwhile, Bernie has struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to him. He introduces me. Her name is Mary Ann and she was born and raised in Middletown. She now lives in West Chester. Her daughter is teaching English at a school in Seoul.
Again, what are the chances that we'd meet someone in Seoul, Korea, who even knew where Middletown, Ohio was?
We board the plane to fly over Japan, up to the Bering Sea, along the western edge of Alaska and across Canada, into the night. Somewhere north of Bismarck, North Dakota light begins to show in the east, our second sunrise of February 26, 2010.
After our second meal we become acquainted with our seatmate. She's from Seoul and has been there visiting her family for two months. She's on her way back to the University of Michigan where she's a research assistant. She's applied to twelve schools to do her Ph.D. work and is waiting for a response. We exchange contact information with her. She studied non-stop to get her undergraduate degree and has made few friends.
We land in Chicago a few minutes past nine. We have to claim our bags and get them to the next gate. This operation is surprisingly fast because people are waiting to direct us.
Getting a new boarding pass is not so smooth. Although everyone is directed to a self check-in terminal, four out of five passengers need help. And help is Ms. Dinardo. Period. She weaves in and out, listening to stories and coaxing intransigent machines to cough up boarding passes.
Ours, of course, won't spit out. Ms. Dinardo takes our information and disappears down the ranks of travelers, along the long counter where nobody lives. She's gone for awhile and traffic comes to a halt because it's Ms. Dinardo who directs each person to the next open check-in terminal.
Eventually she returns. I like Ms. Dinardo. She's chatty, unflappable, and gets the job done. She has two flimsy looking boarding passes for us. There's no gate number on them, though, so we don't really know where to go once we pass the barrier that separates those on the outside from those in past-security no man's land.
Since our flight doesn't leave until just after 5 p.m., we have plenty of time to determine our gate number.
It's past noon now and we need food. There's a Chili's and Bernie wants a hamburger. I was leaning toward a croissant and hot chocolate, but once seated I see the molten lava chocolate cake on the menu. It has my name written on it.
Meanwhile we have turned the data feature back on on our phones and hundreds of e-mails are coming down. For nearly two hours after we eat, I'm receiving and deleting six weeks worth of e-mails.
Our gate number is posted mid-afternoon, then changed about an hour before our flight, but the new gate is just across the aisle.
As we board we see the local weather in Dayton: a winter storm has started. We hear other passengers relate stories they've gleaned talking with relatives at home-slippery roads and wrecks on I-70.
I've talked to Mary a couple of times and know that Kenny and Evan are already in Dayton picking something up on the way to the airport to get us. It's an hour flight.
We land in Dayton to a nearly-deserted airport. Apparently only one other person had checked luggage on this flight. We wait with him for a while at the luggage carousel, but the same ten not-our-bags cycle through several times.
I've called Kenny; he and Evan are just outside the last door to our right waiting for us.
Suddenly someone is beside me - Evan! I'm so thrilled to see him I want to hug him tight and kiss him. He's fourteen, though, so I apply a modified bear hug. But we're both grinning ear-to-ear. I love that kid.
It takes a trip to the United counter to obtain our luggage. Another man there is not so lucky and he makes quite a scene-so much so that the poor woman behind the counter who was evidently at the end of her shift (she has her purse on her arm) eventually tells him that if he can't be civil she'll have to call the police.
With Evan's help we get our suitcases to Kenny's car.
In the car it begins to feel like we're home. We're with family, hearing about Evan's band concert, Brookie's new glasses.
And soon we're in Middletown, and on our street. The driveway's been shoveled - Jeff, our neighbor, has shoveled it twice while we've been gone.
Wonderful family, great neighbors - it's good to be home.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Our Last Day
Thursday, February 25, 2010
We awake to rain and a traditional Korean breakfast, which, with the addition of a porridge made with wheat, is almost identical to last night's dinner.
The porridge is good, and I would have loved it for lunch, but I'm more of a cereal and yogurt breakfaster, and I'm not usually ready to eat right away when I get up.
Bernie, who usually wants to eat right away, is just not up to having fish as the first meal of the day.
We feel terrible about wasting food.
Bernie whispers to me, "I know that's what Koreans eat for breakfast, but I didn't think that's what they'd give us."
I point out that he paid for us to have an authentic experience.
When they discover we haven't eaten our breakfast, our hosts take it off our bill.
We'd planned to explore the neighborhood some more, but with the rain we decide to visit the folk life museum.
It's located in a former palace and turns out to be a real gem, showing life as it was for common people in an agrarian society.
Bernie says that what's depicted here is the Korea he saw in the early 60s in a rural village.
One of the exhibits that fascinates me is the process by which fiber is made into the gauzy cloth used for summer garments.
I enjoy all the homey things about the folk museum. I learn about farming, fishing, cooking and laundry, making kimchi and storing rice. Bernie actually saw these things in 1964, so it's not new to him. But he gets a kick out of showing me the things he's talked about all these years.
I love the houses with boardwalks outside where shoes are removed before stepping onto the warmed floors in the cozy, compact living quarters.
What makes our experience here today so much richer is having spent the night in a house just like the ones that have been rebuilt here. The roof is the same, except that ours was tiled rather than thatched.
Bernie is delighted when he sees the three-man shovel he's told me about so often. It was used by villagers to irrigate rice paddies. And he's excited to see the buckets that were used to collect manure to spread on the fields (that's human manure, folks).
He remembers the special clothes that children wore on their first birthday (celebrated on the Lunar New Year), and the ceremony in which the child chooses from a selection of objects indicating what path his or her life will take: wealth, learning, etc.
Bernie's told me about the annual testing of students and how important it is. Here in the museum quite a bit of space is given to that civil service test, which allowed any boy who studied hard to secure a place in government administration that would allow him to rise to the top of society.
Again, as in the National Museum of Korea, we see the great emphasis that Koreans place on learning.
Bernie really steeped himself in this culture while he was here in 1964 as an American soldier. He came away loving the beauty and morning calm of Korea as well as the people of Korea. So much in this museum confirms everything that he told me.
I'm so grateful to have slept in a traditional Korean house and to have visited this place today.
Our last official tourist activity is shopping at the Namdaemun market to find something suitable as a souvenir for our hardest-to-buy-for family member: Evan.
We meander through the stalls weaving in and out so much that at one point Bernie loses track of where we are in relationship to our hotel.
I know I saw some leather goods here and I want to get a belt for Evan.
We never find the place I was looking for, but we do find a nice Gucci knock-off with a G (for Galdeen, in our case) belt buckle. Really, the Chinese make such good fakes that are of high-quality.
We do find an item we haven't seen anywhere else - a T-shirt with Korean writing. I pick up a key chain with a Korean mask for a fob, and even a baseball cap with the Korean flag.
We climb the hill to our hotel, where we eat our final free buffet dinner, and take a last tour of the hotel.
Back in our room we pack and repack our bags for an hour, then take one last look at Seoul at night.
We awake to rain and a traditional Korean breakfast, which, with the addition of a porridge made with wheat, is almost identical to last night's dinner.
The porridge is good, and I would have loved it for lunch, but I'm more of a cereal and yogurt breakfaster, and I'm not usually ready to eat right away when I get up.
Bernie, who usually wants to eat right away, is just not up to having fish as the first meal of the day.
We feel terrible about wasting food.
Bernie whispers to me, "I know that's what Koreans eat for breakfast, but I didn't think that's what they'd give us."
I point out that he paid for us to have an authentic experience.
When they discover we haven't eaten our breakfast, our hosts take it off our bill.
We'd planned to explore the neighborhood some more, but with the rain we decide to visit the folk life museum.
It's located in a former palace and turns out to be a real gem, showing life as it was for common people in an agrarian society.
Bernie says that what's depicted here is the Korea he saw in the early 60s in a rural village.
One of the exhibits that fascinates me is the process by which fiber is made into the gauzy cloth used for summer garments.
I enjoy all the homey things about the folk museum. I learn about farming, fishing, cooking and laundry, making kimchi and storing rice. Bernie actually saw these things in 1964, so it's not new to him. But he gets a kick out of showing me the things he's talked about all these years.
I love the houses with boardwalks outside where shoes are removed before stepping onto the warmed floors in the cozy, compact living quarters.
What makes our experience here today so much richer is having spent the night in a house just like the ones that have been rebuilt here. The roof is the same, except that ours was tiled rather than thatched.
Bernie is delighted when he sees the three-man shovel he's told me about so often. It was used by villagers to irrigate rice paddies. And he's excited to see the buckets that were used to collect manure to spread on the fields (that's human manure, folks).
He remembers the special clothes that children wore on their first birthday (celebrated on the Lunar New Year), and the ceremony in which the child chooses from a selection of objects indicating what path his or her life will take: wealth, learning, etc.
Bernie's told me about the annual testing of students and how important it is. Here in the museum quite a bit of space is given to that civil service test, which allowed any boy who studied hard to secure a place in government administration that would allow him to rise to the top of society.
Again, as in the National Museum of Korea, we see the great emphasis that Koreans place on learning.
Bernie really steeped himself in this culture while he was here in 1964 as an American soldier. He came away loving the beauty and morning calm of Korea as well as the people of Korea. So much in this museum confirms everything that he told me.
I'm so grateful to have slept in a traditional Korean house and to have visited this place today.
Our last official tourist activity is shopping at the Namdaemun market to find something suitable as a souvenir for our hardest-to-buy-for family member: Evan.
We meander through the stalls weaving in and out so much that at one point Bernie loses track of where we are in relationship to our hotel.
I know I saw some leather goods here and I want to get a belt for Evan.
We never find the place I was looking for, but we do find a nice Gucci knock-off with a G (for Galdeen, in our case) belt buckle. Really, the Chinese make such good fakes that are of high-quality.
We do find an item we haven't seen anywhere else - a T-shirt with Korean writing. I pick up a key chain with a Korean mask for a fob, and even a baseball cap with the Korean flag.
We climb the hill to our hotel, where we eat our final free buffet dinner, and take a last tour of the hotel.
Back in our room we pack and repack our bags for an hour, then take one last look at Seoul at night.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Unthinkable Happens
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
We're moving for one night to a traditional Korean guesthouse just on the other side of this hill in the Buchon neighborhood. The Hilton is storing our bags-we've packed a small bag for the two of us.
We take the subway, then a taxi to the guesthouse. However, we don't get all the way to the guesthouse, since it's on a narrow street behind the main street.
We don't find the guesthouse, so Bernie asks a man and woman who are refurbishing a building. We're fortunate-they have a plat of the neighborhood and actually walk us to the guesthouse because directions are too confusing to relate.
As soon as we arrive, we're served tea. I put my things down, go to the bathroom, decide I need to put on hand lotion and that is when I discover I don't have my purse.
The sinking feeling that sweeps over me combined with nightmare images of what happens to people who lose their passport makes me dizzy and weak in the knees.
Bernie summons the housekeeper who calls the owner. Do I remember the cab's number? No. Do I remember my passport number. No. I scramble through my file folder and find it on copy of my visa application, though. She suggests I call the American Embassy. Already thought of that, but hoping I can conjure up a miracle in the next few minutes and get my purse.
I insist we get out to the street and see if we can find the cab. This, of course, is harebrained. Seoul is a city of ten million people and thousands of cabs. We're not even sure of the cab company's name.
Even if the cab driver found my purse, he let us off not in front of the guesthouse, but on the main street in front of this not-easily-found oasis. I don't believe he'd know how to get back to us.
We walk the short distance to the subway stop where he picked us up and I hope that the subway station is one of his regular spots to pick up fares. No sign of him. We are now at a busy intersection and I am giving every "S" cab (that's the one we think we rode in) some pretty strange looks.
A young man in a business suit offers me help (because I look like a lunatic). After hearing my tale of woe, he points across the street about half a block down where the police station is located. We proceed there.
Bernie keeps telling me the most likely scenario is that the cab picked up another fare and never even saw my purse in the back seat. I agree, but as I tell him, I firmly believe that most people are honest and that someone may turn it in.
Again we need a translator, and I repeat my story. Eventually we get a police report filed, and the female police officer at the desk has called the cab company (I took the number down off one of the passing cabs). No one has reported finding a purse in their cab.
The translator and the police officer advise me to wait a while. OK, but I'm leaving (I hope) in less than 48 hours and I'm going to have to contact the embassy before the end of business hours today if I expect to get any help.
Leaving the police station we decide it would be good to get something to eat since my I've had only a serving of fruit to eat today and food should make me a little less shaky.
Over our snack, we decide we'll go back to the guesthouse, get on the computer, find the number of the U.S. Embassy and call them.
At the guesthouse we are greeted by the housekeeper who draws a rectangle in the air, smiles and says, "here." It's here? My purse is here?
I can't accept this idea until I actually see it. She hands it to me and motions that it has never even been opened.
Did I say I was weak in the knees earlier? I practically collapse now from sheer relief. I thank her profusely for five minutes in English.
The cab driver brought it back. It's that simple.
You're probably wondering how I could be so dopey as to leave my purse in a cab. I had been beating myself up for two hours wondering the same thing.
It was a small series of events that threw me off. When we got into the cab, I had my purse over my arm under my coat. When the cab driver didn't seem to understand where we wanted to go, I offered to get out of the cab and point to it on a map posted nearby where it was clearly shown, complete with the name of the house, Rekkojae, and a little drawing. As I did this, I took my arm out of the sleeve of my coat and slipped my purse strap off my arm.
Just as I did this, a light dawned and the driver understood where we wanted to go, so I settled back in my seat.
When we arrived at the point where he dropped us off, we could not see our guesthouse, of course, and we were unsure if we were in the right place.
All of this was just unsettling enough to focus my mind not on whether I had everything getting out of the cab, but what we might do next. Just a small quandary, only a couple of tiny glitches, really.
But enough to diffuse the hyper-alert state that is required of travelers in unfamiliar places.
I put the purse next to the refrigerator and vow not to take it out again until we return to the Hilton tomorrow afternoon. That's a factor, too. I don't carry my purse with me all the time because it's just too tempting for pickpockets and thieves, so I've lost that my-purse-is-part-of-my-body feeling that women almost always have.
I'm mellow now. All the adrenaline in my body was used up, and I'm now the most agreeable person in the world.
Now we take a very pleasant walk around this old neighborhood with traditional houses and many small shops and galleries. Still not yet too-artsified, the surrounding area is undergoing extensive gentrification.
Our guesthouse is perfectly Oriental. A typical boardwalk runs along the outside. We remove our shoes in the entry and walk on the warm floors, heated underneath by an andul. It's furnished with traditional pieces, with a variety of objects that were used in Korean homes in the past.
We're served dinner a traditional dinner on the low coffee table. They've added backrests to the mats we sit on. The menu includes Korean white bait (looks like minnows and is crisply delicious) Korean eel (it tastes like very good whitefish to us), seaweed (I love this stuff), mushrooms and kimchi. As usual, there is far too much food to eat.
After dinner we are directed to the sauna, where we lay on straw mats in the special short-sleeve tops and shorts we've been given. Soon we're sweating, with rivulets running down our arms. Half an hour later we head for the shower and don the robes provided for us.
We're sleeping on quilted floor mats. A very large window, almost covering the entire wall, faces the courtyard in our bedroom. After we've turned the lights out we raise the shades a little to see the lighted courtyard and other guesthouses around us. It looks just like a movie set.
We're moving for one night to a traditional Korean guesthouse just on the other side of this hill in the Buchon neighborhood. The Hilton is storing our bags-we've packed a small bag for the two of us.
We take the subway, then a taxi to the guesthouse. However, we don't get all the way to the guesthouse, since it's on a narrow street behind the main street.
We don't find the guesthouse, so Bernie asks a man and woman who are refurbishing a building. We're fortunate-they have a plat of the neighborhood and actually walk us to the guesthouse because directions are too confusing to relate.
As soon as we arrive, we're served tea. I put my things down, go to the bathroom, decide I need to put on hand lotion and that is when I discover I don't have my purse.
The sinking feeling that sweeps over me combined with nightmare images of what happens to people who lose their passport makes me dizzy and weak in the knees.
Bernie summons the housekeeper who calls the owner. Do I remember the cab's number? No. Do I remember my passport number. No. I scramble through my file folder and find it on copy of my visa application, though. She suggests I call the American Embassy. Already thought of that, but hoping I can conjure up a miracle in the next few minutes and get my purse.
I insist we get out to the street and see if we can find the cab. This, of course, is harebrained. Seoul is a city of ten million people and thousands of cabs. We're not even sure of the cab company's name.
Even if the cab driver found my purse, he let us off not in front of the guesthouse, but on the main street in front of this not-easily-found oasis. I don't believe he'd know how to get back to us.
We walk the short distance to the subway stop where he picked us up and I hope that the subway station is one of his regular spots to pick up fares. No sign of him. We are now at a busy intersection and I am giving every "S" cab (that's the one we think we rode in) some pretty strange looks.
A young man in a business suit offers me help (because I look like a lunatic). After hearing my tale of woe, he points across the street about half a block down where the police station is located. We proceed there.
Bernie keeps telling me the most likely scenario is that the cab picked up another fare and never even saw my purse in the back seat. I agree, but as I tell him, I firmly believe that most people are honest and that someone may turn it in.
Again we need a translator, and I repeat my story. Eventually we get a police report filed, and the female police officer at the desk has called the cab company (I took the number down off one of the passing cabs). No one has reported finding a purse in their cab.
The translator and the police officer advise me to wait a while. OK, but I'm leaving (I hope) in less than 48 hours and I'm going to have to contact the embassy before the end of business hours today if I expect to get any help.
Leaving the police station we decide it would be good to get something to eat since my I've had only a serving of fruit to eat today and food should make me a little less shaky.
Over our snack, we decide we'll go back to the guesthouse, get on the computer, find the number of the U.S. Embassy and call them.
At the guesthouse we are greeted by the housekeeper who draws a rectangle in the air, smiles and says, "here." It's here? My purse is here?
I can't accept this idea until I actually see it. She hands it to me and motions that it has never even been opened.
Did I say I was weak in the knees earlier? I practically collapse now from sheer relief. I thank her profusely for five minutes in English.
The cab driver brought it back. It's that simple.
You're probably wondering how I could be so dopey as to leave my purse in a cab. I had been beating myself up for two hours wondering the same thing.
It was a small series of events that threw me off. When we got into the cab, I had my purse over my arm under my coat. When the cab driver didn't seem to understand where we wanted to go, I offered to get out of the cab and point to it on a map posted nearby where it was clearly shown, complete with the name of the house, Rekkojae, and a little drawing. As I did this, I took my arm out of the sleeve of my coat and slipped my purse strap off my arm.
Just as I did this, a light dawned and the driver understood where we wanted to go, so I settled back in my seat.
When we arrived at the point where he dropped us off, we could not see our guesthouse, of course, and we were unsure if we were in the right place.
All of this was just unsettling enough to focus my mind not on whether I had everything getting out of the cab, but what we might do next. Just a small quandary, only a couple of tiny glitches, really.
But enough to diffuse the hyper-alert state that is required of travelers in unfamiliar places.
I put the purse next to the refrigerator and vow not to take it out again until we return to the Hilton tomorrow afternoon. That's a factor, too. I don't carry my purse with me all the time because it's just too tempting for pickpockets and thieves, so I've lost that my-purse-is-part-of-my-body feeling that women almost always have.
I'm mellow now. All the adrenaline in my body was used up, and I'm now the most agreeable person in the world.
Now we take a very pleasant walk around this old neighborhood with traditional houses and many small shops and galleries. Still not yet too-artsified, the surrounding area is undergoing extensive gentrification.
Our guesthouse is perfectly Oriental. A typical boardwalk runs along the outside. We remove our shoes in the entry and walk on the warm floors, heated underneath by an andul. It's furnished with traditional pieces, with a variety of objects that were used in Korean homes in the past.
We're served dinner a traditional dinner on the low coffee table. They've added backrests to the mats we sit on. The menu includes Korean white bait (looks like minnows and is crisply delicious) Korean eel (it tastes like very good whitefish to us), seaweed (I love this stuff), mushrooms and kimchi. As usual, there is far too much food to eat.
After dinner we are directed to the sauna, where we lay on straw mats in the special short-sleeve tops and shorts we've been given. Soon we're sweating, with rivulets running down our arms. Half an hour later we head for the shower and don the robes provided for us.
We're sleeping on quilted floor mats. A very large window, almost covering the entire wall, faces the courtyard in our bedroom. After we've turned the lights out we raise the shades a little to see the lighted courtyard and other guesthouses around us. It looks just like a movie set.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Introduction to Korea
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
We'll take the subway to the National Museum of Korea today.
But first, we make a stop at Namdaemun Market, one of the largest markets in the world.
This market goes on street after narrow street, with shops on the first and second floors as well as the basements and hundreds of stalls in front of the stores.
Clothes, food, jewelry and household items are all for sale here; the quantity of clothes and jewelry boggles the mind. Who consumes all this stuff?
We buy dried fruit and nuts. We'll come back here later. Off to the subway.
The entrance to the museum houses a ten-story pagoda.
We bgin with the archaeological exhibits that give evidence to the people who lived on this peninsula from 8000 B.C. on, then move to Korea's history. The Mongols ruled the country for some time. The extent of the Mongol empire was vast - these are the same fierce people who threatened Rome.
Busy boys, those Mongols. Not someone you'd like to run into along the Silk Road on a dark night outside your tent.
Korean history is well-preserved because Korea has always placed a high value on education. The literacy rate was high and even small villages kept good records.
The Koreans, like the Chinese, were invaded and ruled by the Japanese from 1910 to 1945 and suffered greatly. The Japanese sought to erase all traces of Korean culture.
The painting exhibit surprises us-many of the 20th century works on display are Impressionist. I don't remember Asian art being influenced by the European painters of this period. They're very beautiful.
The museum has a fine collection of pottery and porcelain. We are drawn to the pieces with clean, simple lines; that includes most of them. The large exhibit of Celadon contains exquisite pieces.
Among the many Buddhist sculptures is the statue of the Contemplative Buddha, (the Maitreya, or future Buddha)probably made in the 7th century. It has the effect of making you want to stop and spend some time contemplating as well.
It's late in the afternoon by the time we finish. Outside, Bernie takes pictures of the lake and pagoda in the park in front of the museum.
We want to visit a large riverside park and perhaps take a ferry ride across the Han River, which is a much larger river than I had imagined.
We've just missed a ferry by the time we arrive in a taxi, and there won't be another one for two hours. The sun is going down now. It's been a beautiful day but it's beginning to get cold so we decide we won't wait for the next one.
We ask directions to the subway-or Bernie does, since he's the one who speaks some Korean-and walk to the station.
Seoul's subway is not as easy to figure out as Beijing's so we spend some time going over the maps. When we emerge at our stop near the hotel, we need to ask which exit to take to get to the hotel. At some stops this is not such a big deal, but here, if we choose the wrong exit, we'll be on the wrong side of an eight-lane highway.
The subway employee who told us which exit to take shows up on the street outside. He's on his dinner break, heading for a restaurant, but he takes time to walk with us to the place where we turn to go up the hill.
People in both China and Korea have helped us like this so often, going the extra mile (sometimes almost literally) to be kind to strangers.
Tonight I want to try one of the hotel's restaurants, but I don't know which one, so we walk around to each, examining the menus and prices. Cheap is not an option here.
At last I decide on the Taipei Chines, thought you'd think I'd have had enough Chinese food lately.
Fortunately here, as in China, so much food is served that Bernie and I can share. We enjoy beef and peppers and broccoli with mushrooms.
After dinner we're back in our room watching a TV show featuring young mixed-nationality couples: Korean-Russian, Korean-American, and maybe some others. Apparently they share funny stories about how the differences between their two cultures has affected their marriages.
I can't understand any of it but I get a lot from from expressions and gestures.
When we were in Beijing watching TV, we were surprised to find that we could follow a Chinese soap opera subtitled in French quite well.
We're ready for bed now, and turn off the lights to enjoy the view. We're on a hill overlooking Seoul and the city is spread out below us. It's exciting to watch the cars, the people, the lights.
I debate whether to close the drapes, but it's unlikely I'll ever have this view again, so I leave them open.
We'll take the subway to the National Museum of Korea today.
But first, we make a stop at Namdaemun Market, one of the largest markets in the world.
This market goes on street after narrow street, with shops on the first and second floors as well as the basements and hundreds of stalls in front of the stores.
Clothes, food, jewelry and household items are all for sale here; the quantity of clothes and jewelry boggles the mind. Who consumes all this stuff?
We buy dried fruit and nuts. We'll come back here later. Off to the subway.
The entrance to the museum houses a ten-story pagoda.
We bgin with the archaeological exhibits that give evidence to the people who lived on this peninsula from 8000 B.C. on, then move to Korea's history. The Mongols ruled the country for some time. The extent of the Mongol empire was vast - these are the same fierce people who threatened Rome.
Busy boys, those Mongols. Not someone you'd like to run into along the Silk Road on a dark night outside your tent.
Korean history is well-preserved because Korea has always placed a high value on education. The literacy rate was high and even small villages kept good records.
The Koreans, like the Chinese, were invaded and ruled by the Japanese from 1910 to 1945 and suffered greatly. The Japanese sought to erase all traces of Korean culture.
The painting exhibit surprises us-many of the 20th century works on display are Impressionist. I don't remember Asian art being influenced by the European painters of this period. They're very beautiful.
The museum has a fine collection of pottery and porcelain. We are drawn to the pieces with clean, simple lines; that includes most of them. The large exhibit of Celadon contains exquisite pieces.
Among the many Buddhist sculptures is the statue of the Contemplative Buddha, (the Maitreya, or future Buddha)probably made in the 7th century. It has the effect of making you want to stop and spend some time contemplating as well.
It's late in the afternoon by the time we finish. Outside, Bernie takes pictures of the lake and pagoda in the park in front of the museum.
We want to visit a large riverside park and perhaps take a ferry ride across the Han River, which is a much larger river than I had imagined.
We've just missed a ferry by the time we arrive in a taxi, and there won't be another one for two hours. The sun is going down now. It's been a beautiful day but it's beginning to get cold so we decide we won't wait for the next one.
We ask directions to the subway-or Bernie does, since he's the one who speaks some Korean-and walk to the station.
Seoul's subway is not as easy to figure out as Beijing's so we spend some time going over the maps. When we emerge at our stop near the hotel, we need to ask which exit to take to get to the hotel. At some stops this is not such a big deal, but here, if we choose the wrong exit, we'll be on the wrong side of an eight-lane highway.
The subway employee who told us which exit to take shows up on the street outside. He's on his dinner break, heading for a restaurant, but he takes time to walk with us to the place where we turn to go up the hill.
People in both China and Korea have helped us like this so often, going the extra mile (sometimes almost literally) to be kind to strangers.
Tonight I want to try one of the hotel's restaurants, but I don't know which one, so we walk around to each, examining the menus and prices. Cheap is not an option here.
At last I decide on the Taipei Chines, thought you'd think I'd have had enough Chinese food lately.
Fortunately here, as in China, so much food is served that Bernie and I can share. We enjoy beef and peppers and broccoli with mushrooms.
After dinner we're back in our room watching a TV show featuring young mixed-nationality couples: Korean-Russian, Korean-American, and maybe some others. Apparently they share funny stories about how the differences between their two cultures has affected their marriages.
I can't understand any of it but I get a lot from from expressions and gestures.
When we were in Beijing watching TV, we were surprised to find that we could follow a Chinese soap opera subtitled in French quite well.
We're ready for bed now, and turn off the lights to enjoy the view. We're on a hill overlooking Seoul and the city is spread out below us. It's exciting to watch the cars, the people, the lights.
I debate whether to close the drapes, but it's unlikely I'll ever have this view again, so I leave them open.
Goodbye, China-Hello, Korea
Monday, February 22, 2010
Goodbye, China, you contradictory giant of a country.
We love your raucous kaleidoscope of sounds and sights.
In your cities, elegant young women stroll the sidewalks in furs and fashionable tall boots while a pickup truck with 2 live hogs drives by.
Luxury cars park on sidewalks, horns honking to clear the path of pedestrians. Meanwhile men disgustingly clear their throats and spit on the sidewalks.
You're building high-speed trains that travel at 400 mph, but bicycles loaded six feet high travel your superhighways.
Your skyscrapers rise at an astounding rate, built by migrant workers who live on-site in crowded shacks that are freezing in winter and blazing hot in summer. They see their families, who live in villages hundreds of miles away, once a year.
Your people are kind, helpful, and welcoming. They are also pushy, ignoring rules, lines on the highway, and often common sense.
China, you are impossible to describe. You must be experienced. But that might take years, and by then you would have changed, for you are changing so fast.
Hello, Korea.
The lines to get into Korea are long, longer than those to get into China. Of course we cleared customs in China at 2:00 a.m. and it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Seoul.
It's nearly an hour before we get a taxi from Inchon airport to our hotel.
We're fascinated by the cab's GPS. Besides displaying the buildings, landmarks and streets in great detail, this GPS allows you watch TV. While stuck in traffic, we watch the news and some of the Olympics on the 5x7 screen.
The ride to the foothills of Namsan, or south gate, where the Hilton Millennium Seoul is located, takes another hour and a half through rush hour and it's dark by the time we arrive.
This hotel is a pretty fancy place that gets fancier when we decide to upgrade our room to secure the next night-Tuesday-and Thursday. We'd been unable to reserve those online. For Wednesday we've reserved a night in a traditional Korean guesthouse.
With our status upgraded, we turn in our silver key card for a gold one and have access to the Executive Lounges. As it turns out, these lounges put out a small but adequate buffet each evening and we enjoy dinner and free cocktails there and a full breakfast each morning.
Since it's too late to go out we tour the hotel and the gambling casino attached.
There are six restaurants and two bars in the hotel, not including the Executive Lounges on the nineteenth and twenty-first floors.
Restaurants include Taipei Chinese, Japanese, French, Italian, an English pub that serves prime beef and another that covers everything the others may have missed.
The hotel is beautifully decorated, with original paintings, a multi-level fountain, flowers, and cozy seating groups.
The casino, by contrast, is far from elegant. The smoke here makes it hard to breathe and the gamblers aren't the swanky high rollers we see in movies, but men and women who look as if they shouldn't be here because they can't afford to lose. More than a few seem tense, as if they desperately we'd to win.
We walk back down the hallway and take the elevator to our room, wishing the smell of cigarette wasn't clinging to our hair and clothes.
Goodbye, China, you contradictory giant of a country.
We love your raucous kaleidoscope of sounds and sights.
In your cities, elegant young women stroll the sidewalks in furs and fashionable tall boots while a pickup truck with 2 live hogs drives by.
Luxury cars park on sidewalks, horns honking to clear the path of pedestrians. Meanwhile men disgustingly clear their throats and spit on the sidewalks.
You're building high-speed trains that travel at 400 mph, but bicycles loaded six feet high travel your superhighways.
Your skyscrapers rise at an astounding rate, built by migrant workers who live on-site in crowded shacks that are freezing in winter and blazing hot in summer. They see their families, who live in villages hundreds of miles away, once a year.
Your people are kind, helpful, and welcoming. They are also pushy, ignoring rules, lines on the highway, and often common sense.
China, you are impossible to describe. You must be experienced. But that might take years, and by then you would have changed, for you are changing so fast.
Hello, Korea.
The lines to get into Korea are long, longer than those to get into China. Of course we cleared customs in China at 2:00 a.m. and it's 4:30 in the afternoon here in Seoul.
It's nearly an hour before we get a taxi from Inchon airport to our hotel.
We're fascinated by the cab's GPS. Besides displaying the buildings, landmarks and streets in great detail, this GPS allows you watch TV. While stuck in traffic, we watch the news and some of the Olympics on the 5x7 screen.
The ride to the foothills of Namsan, or south gate, where the Hilton Millennium Seoul is located, takes another hour and a half through rush hour and it's dark by the time we arrive.
This hotel is a pretty fancy place that gets fancier when we decide to upgrade our room to secure the next night-Tuesday-and Thursday. We'd been unable to reserve those online. For Wednesday we've reserved a night in a traditional Korean guesthouse.
With our status upgraded, we turn in our silver key card for a gold one and have access to the Executive Lounges. As it turns out, these lounges put out a small but adequate buffet each evening and we enjoy dinner and free cocktails there and a full breakfast each morning.
Since it's too late to go out we tour the hotel and the gambling casino attached.
There are six restaurants and two bars in the hotel, not including the Executive Lounges on the nineteenth and twenty-first floors.
Restaurants include Taipei Chinese, Japanese, French, Italian, an English pub that serves prime beef and another that covers everything the others may have missed.
The hotel is beautifully decorated, with original paintings, a multi-level fountain, flowers, and cozy seating groups.
The casino, by contrast, is far from elegant. The smoke here makes it hard to breathe and the gamblers aren't the swanky high rollers we see in movies, but men and women who look as if they shouldn't be here because they can't afford to lose. More than a few seem tense, as if they desperately we'd to win.
We walk back down the hallway and take the elevator to our room, wishing the smell of cigarette wasn't clinging to our hair and clothes.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Last Push in China
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Today we're taking the local train into downtown Dalian. While there's plenty of shopping here in Kaifaqu, it's geared more toward clothes-and plenty of them-than to gifts.
We should have tried the train before. It's easy and cheap and deposits us right at our destination, the Korean market. Bernie points out that we will be in Korea tomorrow and will have time for plenty of shopping there. Maybe, but I've been in China for over a month and haven't come up with all the gifts I want to give from China.
This market is like huge flea market. The building is the size of a large warehouse. There are five floors, all crammed with merchandise. The first three floors are clothing, but the fourth floor has an amazing array of decorative goods. It's dizzying.
Though I could spend an entire day here and not see everything, I move on. Shannon has told us of another great market a short taxi ride away where fabric and sewing supplies are sold. I want to get some fabric for Barb.
It's another huge warehouse, but here, you can stroll the aisles, select the fabric you want and the tailors will make your clothing, custom-fitted, for very little money. I wish I'd discovered this earlier, though maybe I don't. Even with the new suitcase we don't have enough space to take all I'd want.
I finally decide on one beautiful red fabric with Chinese designs and a back that's as pretty as the front, and a sunshiney yellow with dragons woven into the pattern.
We're hungry, thirsty and tired, so we take a taxi back to the train station, and line up to buy our tickets.
To say that the Chinese do not line up in an orderly fashion is like saying there's a speck of dust or two in the Beijing air. But I must say this group is doing well. There are four distinct lines for the four ticket windows. The lines are moving quickly, too.
When it's our turn, though, Bernie is getting money from his wallet to pay and there are at least ten people behind us when suddenly a woman appears beside me, outside the barrier, and begins shoving money at the ticket agent. I am pleased when the woman behind the glass ignores her and holds out her hand for money from the man behind us.
This is China. Pushing, shoving, and ignoring the rules are par for the course. We've come to expect it. But sometimes, as with this woman, we're still blown away.
We try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was about to miss her train. But it's worth noting that she said nothing, made no explanation (which, even though we couldn't understand it, we would have recognized for what it was). She just silently cut to the front of the line.
On the platform we wait for five minutes or so for our train. Soon there's a crowd of people waiting with us. We're standing two or three feet from where the doors will open when the train arrives.
We hear the train and just at that moment, a young woman whips runs over whips around me and gets in front of me.
Then and there I make a decision.
We know how this works. Once the doors open, people push and shove their way into the cars grabbing seats. Most of the pushers are young people, capable of the ruthless elbowing and shoving required to get in first.
But today, I'm going to give them a run for their money. Bernie's hip is hurting. Though the sign posted above the bench seats clearly states, as it does in most subways throughout the world, that the seats there are for the elderly, the disabled and pregnant women, six teenagers will pounce on the seats and never make eye contact with you unless it is to stare.
As the train pulls into the station and the crowd around me tenses with anticipation for the struggle, I wedge myself in among them. Since this is happening at all the other doors, the competition is keen.
When the door opens, I push forward. I have to; I'm part of the surge. But I put effort into it. I can feel the shoulder blades, hips and ribs of the people I'm packed in with. I keep pushing.
Once inside, they run to the seats. Me, too. I claim one beside the girl who jumped in front of me.
This is not a pretty sight. I'm not proud of my behavior. But I'm beginning to see how civil society breaks down in the face of a constant "me first" mentality.
And now Bernie has a seat.
On this train I also encounter one of the politest men in all China. After several stops, he stands up and says "Please, take a seat." I usually decline these offers; I don't mind standing and only get tired when I have to hold onto the strap hanger way above my head for a long time. But this time, I accept. He's so gracious. It would be rude not to.
"Xie, Xie." I say.
At the apartment we suggest having Eddie's pizza for dinner. Shannon and Damon have never tried the taco pizza. When Shannon orders, Eddie asks about us. He says goodbye and wishes us a safe trip. I'm not sure what that says about our relationship with Eddie and his pizza. But it's nice.
Packing doesn't take long.
Next stop: Korea.
A note about photos: we've had a little camera/uploading problem, so we're delayed in getting them on our posts. We're working on it and will get them up as soon as possible.
Today we're taking the local train into downtown Dalian. While there's plenty of shopping here in Kaifaqu, it's geared more toward clothes-and plenty of them-than to gifts.
We should have tried the train before. It's easy and cheap and deposits us right at our destination, the Korean market. Bernie points out that we will be in Korea tomorrow and will have time for plenty of shopping there. Maybe, but I've been in China for over a month and haven't come up with all the gifts I want to give from China.
This market is like huge flea market. The building is the size of a large warehouse. There are five floors, all crammed with merchandise. The first three floors are clothing, but the fourth floor has an amazing array of decorative goods. It's dizzying.
Though I could spend an entire day here and not see everything, I move on. Shannon has told us of another great market a short taxi ride away where fabric and sewing supplies are sold. I want to get some fabric for Barb.
It's another huge warehouse, but here, you can stroll the aisles, select the fabric you want and the tailors will make your clothing, custom-fitted, for very little money. I wish I'd discovered this earlier, though maybe I don't. Even with the new suitcase we don't have enough space to take all I'd want.
I finally decide on one beautiful red fabric with Chinese designs and a back that's as pretty as the front, and a sunshiney yellow with dragons woven into the pattern.
We're hungry, thirsty and tired, so we take a taxi back to the train station, and line up to buy our tickets.
To say that the Chinese do not line up in an orderly fashion is like saying there's a speck of dust or two in the Beijing air. But I must say this group is doing well. There are four distinct lines for the four ticket windows. The lines are moving quickly, too.
When it's our turn, though, Bernie is getting money from his wallet to pay and there are at least ten people behind us when suddenly a woman appears beside me, outside the barrier, and begins shoving money at the ticket agent. I am pleased when the woman behind the glass ignores her and holds out her hand for money from the man behind us.
This is China. Pushing, shoving, and ignoring the rules are par for the course. We've come to expect it. But sometimes, as with this woman, we're still blown away.
We try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was about to miss her train. But it's worth noting that she said nothing, made no explanation (which, even though we couldn't understand it, we would have recognized for what it was). She just silently cut to the front of the line.
On the platform we wait for five minutes or so for our train. Soon there's a crowd of people waiting with us. We're standing two or three feet from where the doors will open when the train arrives.
We hear the train and just at that moment, a young woman whips runs over whips around me and gets in front of me.
Then and there I make a decision.
We know how this works. Once the doors open, people push and shove their way into the cars grabbing seats. Most of the pushers are young people, capable of the ruthless elbowing and shoving required to get in first.
But today, I'm going to give them a run for their money. Bernie's hip is hurting. Though the sign posted above the bench seats clearly states, as it does in most subways throughout the world, that the seats there are for the elderly, the disabled and pregnant women, six teenagers will pounce on the seats and never make eye contact with you unless it is to stare.
As the train pulls into the station and the crowd around me tenses with anticipation for the struggle, I wedge myself in among them. Since this is happening at all the other doors, the competition is keen.
When the door opens, I push forward. I have to; I'm part of the surge. But I put effort into it. I can feel the shoulder blades, hips and ribs of the people I'm packed in with. I keep pushing.
Once inside, they run to the seats. Me, too. I claim one beside the girl who jumped in front of me.
This is not a pretty sight. I'm not proud of my behavior. But I'm beginning to see how civil society breaks down in the face of a constant "me first" mentality.
And now Bernie has a seat.
On this train I also encounter one of the politest men in all China. After several stops, he stands up and says "Please, take a seat." I usually decline these offers; I don't mind standing and only get tired when I have to hold onto the strap hanger way above my head for a long time. But this time, I accept. He's so gracious. It would be rude not to.
"Xie, Xie." I say.
At the apartment we suggest having Eddie's pizza for dinner. Shannon and Damon have never tried the taco pizza. When Shannon orders, Eddie asks about us. He says goodbye and wishes us a safe trip. I'm not sure what that says about our relationship with Eddie and his pizza. But it's nice.
Packing doesn't take long.
Next stop: Korea.
A note about photos: we've had a little camera/uploading problem, so we're delayed in getting them on our posts. We're working on it and will get them up as soon as possible.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Welcome Home, Damon and Shannon
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Cleaning day. Aside from the fact that we have stuff all over the apartment, we have to make up for Aiye not being here either Tuesday or Friday. We assume it's because she took the week off for Chinese New Year/Spring Festival rather than because she couldn't tolerate having the messy laoweis underfoot any longer.
Also, any woman knows that what a woman most wants to see when she returns from vacation is a clean house.
Shannon calls just after they land in Dalian. They forgot to write down the code for the keypad at the outside door.
We're in the middle of a Lost episode when they arrive. They left Bangkok, Thailand, at 5:30 a.m.
We try not to keep them up but we're still talking at ten to midnight.
All the while we've been here we've looked at the snapshots covering the wall in the office and along the hallway.
There they are at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, in front of the pyramids in Egypt, on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, above the Grand Canyon, at the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City.
They've been to Rome, Paris, London, Cairo, and Hong Kong. They've visited Morocco, and Mayaysia, and now, Sri Lanka.
Shannon tells me they hadn't planned to go to Sri Lanka this trip, but their original flight was cancelled. When Damon looked at sale flights online he discovered a cheap flight to Sri Lanka.
They found it was refreshingly uncrowded, unlike Thailand, which is flooded with tourists. They were often the only foreigners in the areas they visited. They also discovered that the Sri Lankans are very friendly and welcoming and eager to have visitors now that the civil war has ended there.
Though Shannon and Damon love to travel and save their money to do so, they value experience over luxury, staying in youth hostels or with families they've contacted through a network of people who offer a spare room in their own homes.
We admire them for their courage and their curiosity about the world. When they finally return to Canada and settle down they will have a much wider knowledge of the world and greater wisdom about its people.
Cleaning day. Aside from the fact that we have stuff all over the apartment, we have to make up for Aiye not being here either Tuesday or Friday. We assume it's because she took the week off for Chinese New Year/Spring Festival rather than because she couldn't tolerate having the messy laoweis underfoot any longer.
Also, any woman knows that what a woman most wants to see when she returns from vacation is a clean house.
Shannon calls just after they land in Dalian. They forgot to write down the code for the keypad at the outside door.
We're in the middle of a Lost episode when they arrive. They left Bangkok, Thailand, at 5:30 a.m.
We try not to keep them up but we're still talking at ten to midnight.
All the while we've been here we've looked at the snapshots covering the wall in the office and along the hallway.
There they are at the Leaning Tower of Pisa, in front of the pyramids in Egypt, on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, above the Grand Canyon, at the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall, the Forbidden City.
They've been to Rome, Paris, London, Cairo, and Hong Kong. They've visited Morocco, and Mayaysia, and now, Sri Lanka.
Shannon tells me they hadn't planned to go to Sri Lanka this trip, but their original flight was cancelled. When Damon looked at sale flights online he discovered a cheap flight to Sri Lanka.
They found it was refreshingly uncrowded, unlike Thailand, which is flooded with tourists. They were often the only foreigners in the areas they visited. They also discovered that the Sri Lankans are very friendly and welcoming and eager to have visitors now that the civil war has ended there.
Though Shannon and Damon love to travel and save their money to do so, they value experience over luxury, staying in youth hostels or with families they've contacted through a network of people who offer a spare room in their own homes.
We admire them for their courage and their curiosity about the world. When they finally return to Canada and settle down they will have a much wider knowledge of the world and greater wisdom about its people.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Streets of Kaifaqu
Friday, February 19, 2010
Today's shopping is not going so well. New Mart is closed, so I can't roam the stalls there.
I fear passing up those pretty lacquered trays in Beijing I wanted to get for the girls was a mistake. I'm not finding any of those in Kaifaqu today.
China, vases, and pretty tea sets are abundant, but I'm afraid they'll get broken.
On top of that, I think my grocery list fell out of my pocket in the taxi and I can't reconstruct it in my head.
But even a non-productive shopping trip is an experience in Kaifaqu today. In front of the bakery a young man has placed a cremation urn on a blanket on the sidewalk and kneels praying, apparently keeping track of the number of petitions with chalk marks.
Loudspeakers blare from storefronts (McDonald's is especially deafening but others are worthy contenders). We walk down a sidestreet where vendors have set up shop on the sidewalk offering a variety of cheap goods.
Across the street food vendors preside. One sells sugar cane and as we come alongside he's stripping the barklike outer layer off a piece for a man and woman. He cuts it in half and wraps the bottom in plastic wrap and they suck on it like a lollipop. Bernie says he and his cousins used to do this when he stayed on the farm as a kid.
Next door the spiral-cut pineapples get our vote for the best-looking item on offer here.
A group of men stand in a circle intensely looking at a board on the ground. This is a gambling game. Bernie watches for awhile; I don't think the best place for me is in a crowd of Chinese men on the street.
Another crowd has gathered farther down the street, though, and Bernie calls me over to look this time. It's a painter, using an unusual brush to hand decorate a calendar.
At the grocery we get as many things as we can remember, then take a taxi home.
We watch four episodes of Lost. When we pause for a break I check my e-mail.
Shannon and Damon are coming home tomorrow night rather than Sunday. At least that's the plan if the weather holds.
Tomorrow's plan is changed. No shopping - just cleaning and straightening.
Today's shopping is not going so well. New Mart is closed, so I can't roam the stalls there.
I fear passing up those pretty lacquered trays in Beijing I wanted to get for the girls was a mistake. I'm not finding any of those in Kaifaqu today.
China, vases, and pretty tea sets are abundant, but I'm afraid they'll get broken.
On top of that, I think my grocery list fell out of my pocket in the taxi and I can't reconstruct it in my head.
But even a non-productive shopping trip is an experience in Kaifaqu today. In front of the bakery a young man has placed a cremation urn on a blanket on the sidewalk and kneels praying, apparently keeping track of the number of petitions with chalk marks.
Loudspeakers blare from storefronts (McDonald's is especially deafening but others are worthy contenders). We walk down a sidestreet where vendors have set up shop on the sidewalk offering a variety of cheap goods.
Across the street food vendors preside. One sells sugar cane and as we come alongside he's stripping the barklike outer layer off a piece for a man and woman. He cuts it in half and wraps the bottom in plastic wrap and they suck on it like a lollipop. Bernie says he and his cousins used to do this when he stayed on the farm as a kid.
Next door the spiral-cut pineapples get our vote for the best-looking item on offer here.
A group of men stand in a circle intensely looking at a board on the ground. This is a gambling game. Bernie watches for awhile; I don't think the best place for me is in a crowd of Chinese men on the street.
Another crowd has gathered farther down the street, though, and Bernie calls me over to look this time. It's a painter, using an unusual brush to hand decorate a calendar.
At the grocery we get as many things as we can remember, then take a taxi home.
We watch four episodes of Lost. When we pause for a break I check my e-mail.
Shannon and Damon are coming home tomorrow night rather than Sunday. At least that's the plan if the weather holds.
Tomorrow's plan is changed. No shopping - just cleaning and straightening.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Red Eye Recovery, Random Thoughts
Thursday, February 18, 2010
It seems to be much warmer today, judging by the temperature of the kitchen this morning.
We're not going out, though. Today we'll do laundry and relax.
I'm hoping the red has gone from my eyes. Beijing's air kept them red-rimmed. The dust from the fast-encroaching Gobi Desert, barely 150 miles away now, and pollution in the city have an effect on breathing (my cough returned)as well.
We're happy to be back at our Dalian home. It's bright, with lots of light from the large windows and the sliding glass doors leading to the kitchen and the balcony. We have hard floors-much cleaner than carpet. And the space heaters in the living room and bedroom help keep it comfortable no matter what the outside temperature.
One of the first things we learned from Shannon was that the radiator heat in the apartment is turned on by the government in November and turned off again in March. The grid is owned by the government, and they control it.
Our drinking water supply is a water cooler, like those we have in offices back home. Aiye arranges for new bottles when she comes in to clean. We put the empty bottle on the table in the dining room along with 15 RMB. Aiye calls someone on her cell phone, and soon a new bottle is delivered (up five flights of stairs).
Aiye wasn't here this Tuesday while we were gone. We think she was off for the holiday. We still have an unopened water bottle, but it occurred to me today that, should something happen to prevent Aiye from being here for a week or so, we'd be without drinking water.
We could boil water, of course, but since Shannon told us it's safe for brushing our teeth, I don't think it's bacteria we have to worry about. Chemicals are the more likely cause for concern.
There is virtually no place in China where the water is safe.
Of course my mind's logic says that if no water is safe and yet we're buying bottled water, where does that water come from?
Sometimes, when you're thirsty, it's best not to think too hard on these things. Bottoms up.
Our mattress is a palm husk mattress, about four inches thick, atop box springs. All mattresses we've seen in China are hard, except for the one at the Hilton in Beijing, and we expected to find western stuff there.
Today's the last day I can loaf around, though one of our goals is to get in the remaining episodes of Lost, which will really require some marathon watching.
But I also need to do more laundry, buy gifts(along with another suitcase to take them home-we're permitted two pieces of checked luggage and we each only have one now), and replenish any grocery staples we've used here.
So tomorrow, it's off to An Sheng Mall.
It seems to be much warmer today, judging by the temperature of the kitchen this morning.
We're not going out, though. Today we'll do laundry and relax.
I'm hoping the red has gone from my eyes. Beijing's air kept them red-rimmed. The dust from the fast-encroaching Gobi Desert, barely 150 miles away now, and pollution in the city have an effect on breathing (my cough returned)as well.
We're happy to be back at our Dalian home. It's bright, with lots of light from the large windows and the sliding glass doors leading to the kitchen and the balcony. We have hard floors-much cleaner than carpet. And the space heaters in the living room and bedroom help keep it comfortable no matter what the outside temperature.
One of the first things we learned from Shannon was that the radiator heat in the apartment is turned on by the government in November and turned off again in March. The grid is owned by the government, and they control it.
Our drinking water supply is a water cooler, like those we have in offices back home. Aiye arranges for new bottles when she comes in to clean. We put the empty bottle on the table in the dining room along with 15 RMB. Aiye calls someone on her cell phone, and soon a new bottle is delivered (up five flights of stairs).
Aiye wasn't here this Tuesday while we were gone. We think she was off for the holiday. We still have an unopened water bottle, but it occurred to me today that, should something happen to prevent Aiye from being here for a week or so, we'd be without drinking water.
We could boil water, of course, but since Shannon told us it's safe for brushing our teeth, I don't think it's bacteria we have to worry about. Chemicals are the more likely cause for concern.
There is virtually no place in China where the water is safe.
Of course my mind's logic says that if no water is safe and yet we're buying bottled water, where does that water come from?
Sometimes, when you're thirsty, it's best not to think too hard on these things. Bottoms up.
Our mattress is a palm husk mattress, about four inches thick, atop box springs. All mattresses we've seen in China are hard, except for the one at the Hilton in Beijing, and we expected to find western stuff there.
Today's the last day I can loaf around, though one of our goals is to get in the remaining episodes of Lost, which will really require some marathon watching.
But I also need to do more laundry, buy gifts(along with another suitcase to take them home-we're permitted two pieces of checked luggage and we each only have one now), and replenish any grocery staples we've used here.
So tomorrow, it's off to An Sheng Mall.
Yonghe Gong, The Lama Temple
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
We have time to visit only one more place in Beijing and we've chosen the Yonghe Gong, or Lama Temple.
It's easy to find; the subway stop bears the name. Soon we're walking down a neighborhood street, so different than the area around Ti'anan Men Square. Restaurants and shops line the street, some of them selling incense for offerings at the temple. Down the street a large street fair is in progress.
This temple, built in 1694, originally housed court eunuchs. Later it became home for a prince destined to become emperor. When he moved to the Forbidden City, half the residence was converted to a monastery and temple and became the home of the Yellow Hat Sect of Buddhism.
Five halls separated by courtyards make up the temple. The halls house statues and paintings. The statues range from slightly larger than life-size to immense. One of the buildings houses a 20-foot statue of the first Dalai Lama.
The statue of the future Buddha (as opposed to the past Buddha and the present Buddha) in the last hall is 60 feet high and was carved from a single piece of white sandalwood. This is the temple's most prized possession. It's very impressive.
This is an active temple, with real monks. It's a showplace for the government to display its tolerance for religion, and the monks and Buddhism represented here are state-approved. The sign on the right just as you enter the complex states that the government spends large sums of money for the upkeep of Yonghe Gong.
There's a separate governing body for Catholics and Protestants, too. Catholic bishops here, for instance, are appointed not by the Vatican, but by the body which oversees Catholicism in China.
The large crowds and no place for quiet meditation of any kind does little to deter worshippers from praying, performing prostrations and making offerings of food and incense. No one is reticent to pray in public. Jostled by dozens of people, people put their hands together and bow, silently offering prayers.
As we are about to enter the third hall, a young woman and a boy of about twelve approach us. She tells us her little brother would like to practice his English with us.
I am frankly disappointed by this, using a child to work the scam. Although we've seen very small children begging in the streets with their mothers, trained to block your way no matter where you step (I picked one child up and moved him in Kaifaqu)it's still painful to see a child schooled in deception.
Bernie is more accommodating than I am. He walks and talks with this young woman and I move on ahead to what we've come to see. We have just a short time here, and I'm unwilling to spend it going through a charade. Somewhere along the line the little boy's "older brother" joins us.
That works to our advantage. Bernie cracks me up when he's the person who suggest we go somewhere for tea. Did he really say that?
The woman puts a little twist on things. She knows a famous Chinese restaurant where we could join all of her family and talk. (The way this works is that the laowai, or foreigner, accompanies one of these people to a teahouse or restaurant where they spend an afternoon, and the laowai is presented with an exorbitant bill, maybe $50 a person. With a family of say, ten, plus us, that could get steep quick.)
Bernie looks at his watch.
"What are you doing this afternoon?" she asks. We've gotten this far in this scam before.
"We're leaving Beijing this afternoon."
"What time is it?" I ask Bernie.
"It's a little past noon," he says.
"What do you think we should do?"
"I think we'd better head back to the hotel and get ready to go.
There. All done. And all absolutely honest, too. Who knows, maybe we've prevented another hapless laowai from being scammed just by occupying her time.
We're truly tired as we take a taxi to the airport. I'd stayed up late last night writing up my notes from the day.
At the airport we run into a Danish man who's married to a Chinese woman he met in Copenhagen whose family lives in Dalian, and an Italian woman whose husband has worked in China for several years and is now in Dalian.
As we descend in Dalian, we notice the snow. We already know it's -4 here.
And when we don't see Autumn at the arrivals gate, we suspect that "Autumn no go in snow." Sure enough, Shannon's phone rings and that's what she tells us. Autumn no go.
Take a taxi, she tells us and call her to give him the address and directions. So we get an airport taxi.
The roads aren't plowed. Shannon told us they don't have snowplows in Dalian as it only snows three days a year.
Drivers seem to be moving a little more cautiously, though one has pulled his car into the left lane in a u-turn maneuver and we see a five car pileup at an intersection in Kaifaqu.
As we open the apartment door, Ollie is there to greet us. We've missed Ollie, and he gets five shower drinks in the next ten minutes.
We watch Mad Max. This put Mel Gibson in the spotlight?
There's a lot of pointless violence; I cuddle Ollie.
We have time to visit only one more place in Beijing and we've chosen the Yonghe Gong, or Lama Temple.
It's easy to find; the subway stop bears the name. Soon we're walking down a neighborhood street, so different than the area around Ti'anan Men Square. Restaurants and shops line the street, some of them selling incense for offerings at the temple. Down the street a large street fair is in progress.
This temple, built in 1694, originally housed court eunuchs. Later it became home for a prince destined to become emperor. When he moved to the Forbidden City, half the residence was converted to a monastery and temple and became the home of the Yellow Hat Sect of Buddhism.
Five halls separated by courtyards make up the temple. The halls house statues and paintings. The statues range from slightly larger than life-size to immense. One of the buildings houses a 20-foot statue of the first Dalai Lama.
The statue of the future Buddha (as opposed to the past Buddha and the present Buddha) in the last hall is 60 feet high and was carved from a single piece of white sandalwood. This is the temple's most prized possession. It's very impressive.
This is an active temple, with real monks. It's a showplace for the government to display its tolerance for religion, and the monks and Buddhism represented here are state-approved. The sign on the right just as you enter the complex states that the government spends large sums of money for the upkeep of Yonghe Gong.
There's a separate governing body for Catholics and Protestants, too. Catholic bishops here, for instance, are appointed not by the Vatican, but by the body which oversees Catholicism in China.
The large crowds and no place for quiet meditation of any kind does little to deter worshippers from praying, performing prostrations and making offerings of food and incense. No one is reticent to pray in public. Jostled by dozens of people, people put their hands together and bow, silently offering prayers.
As we are about to enter the third hall, a young woman and a boy of about twelve approach us. She tells us her little brother would like to practice his English with us.
I am frankly disappointed by this, using a child to work the scam. Although we've seen very small children begging in the streets with their mothers, trained to block your way no matter where you step (I picked one child up and moved him in Kaifaqu)it's still painful to see a child schooled in deception.
Bernie is more accommodating than I am. He walks and talks with this young woman and I move on ahead to what we've come to see. We have just a short time here, and I'm unwilling to spend it going through a charade. Somewhere along the line the little boy's "older brother" joins us.
That works to our advantage. Bernie cracks me up when he's the person who suggest we go somewhere for tea. Did he really say that?
The woman puts a little twist on things. She knows a famous Chinese restaurant where we could join all of her family and talk. (The way this works is that the laowai, or foreigner, accompanies one of these people to a teahouse or restaurant where they spend an afternoon, and the laowai is presented with an exorbitant bill, maybe $50 a person. With a family of say, ten, plus us, that could get steep quick.)
Bernie looks at his watch.
"What are you doing this afternoon?" she asks. We've gotten this far in this scam before.
"We're leaving Beijing this afternoon."
"What time is it?" I ask Bernie.
"It's a little past noon," he says.
"What do you think we should do?"
"I think we'd better head back to the hotel and get ready to go.
There. All done. And all absolutely honest, too. Who knows, maybe we've prevented another hapless laowai from being scammed just by occupying her time.
We're truly tired as we take a taxi to the airport. I'd stayed up late last night writing up my notes from the day.
At the airport we run into a Danish man who's married to a Chinese woman he met in Copenhagen whose family lives in Dalian, and an Italian woman whose husband has worked in China for several years and is now in Dalian.
As we descend in Dalian, we notice the snow. We already know it's -4 here.
And when we don't see Autumn at the arrivals gate, we suspect that "Autumn no go in snow." Sure enough, Shannon's phone rings and that's what she tells us. Autumn no go.
Take a taxi, she tells us and call her to give him the address and directions. So we get an airport taxi.
The roads aren't plowed. Shannon told us they don't have snowplows in Dalian as it only snows three days a year.
Drivers seem to be moving a little more cautiously, though one has pulled his car into the left lane in a u-turn maneuver and we see a five car pileup at an intersection in Kaifaqu.
As we open the apartment door, Ollie is there to greet us. We've missed Ollie, and he gets five shower drinks in the next ten minutes.
We watch Mad Max. This put Mel Gibson in the spotlight?
There's a lot of pointless violence; I cuddle Ollie.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Forbidden City
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I think the cold wore me out. I slept for ten hours.
I was half asleep when Bernie asked me earlier if I wanted to go down to breaksfast with him. "It would be wasted on me." I said, pulling the comforter up to my chin. I was asleep in half a minute.
We're taking the subway again today. The fare is about 60 cents. We like traveling like the locals. Again, it's a peek at the daily lives and routines of ordinary people. We've taken the New York and Washington subways, the Boston Tee, the London Underground, the Paris Metro, and now the Beijing subway.
We're on our way back to Tian'an Men Square. On board is a little girl in a pink satin coat, about four or five year old. She stretches to see me, first on one side of her mother's legs, then the other. I smile at her. She tugs at her mom's coat, points at me and says something, never taking her eyes off me. Then mom looks up, smiles and waves. I smile and wave back.
When we get off at the square, the little girl and her mother join what we assume is the rest of the family, a small crowd of about twenty people. Everyone turns to look at me.
It's easy to forget how different-looking we are. My hair seems to draw a lot of attention. Most women in urban China dye their hair, it seems, no matter what their age.
Because of my hair I am called old without any hint of a slight. But I've also been called beautiful by strangers here many times.
Tian'an Men Square is full of people. The line waiting to get into Mao's tomb is the longest I've ever seen.
Bernie wants to take my picture alongside one of the soldiers on the square. The soldier is far less than thrilled about the idea, but he lets it happen. He's tall, but he looks about 16, and the stern look the Communist soldiers here are supposed to have comes across as a scornful expression, which is exactly how he feels, I believe.
We've almost made it to the Gate of Heavenly Peace when we are met by two young people, a man and a woman who tell us that they are college students in Beijing. They speak very good English but tell us they'd like to practice their English by talking to us.
We are familiar with scams that begin this way, but we are polite and continue to talk with them as they walk with us. They tell us about a student art exhibit they'd like us to see-another piece of the scam falling into place. There's a gate into the Forbidden City just ahead, not the one where all the people are flocking, but a gate to the palace gardens, we learn later. At the entrance to a room set up with art work, there's sign "Student Art Exhibit."
You cannot believe how fast these people talk. The idea is to never give you enough time to think, so you just keep responding to their patter.
No self-respecting con artist in the U.S. would try this-no sublety, no letting the target think everything is his idea.
We are given hot water, which we accept. Only hot water and bottled water are safe in China, and still the bottled water is questionable and the boiled tap water may contain chemicals you wouldn't want to ingest.
The young man, very politely and almost shyly, asks if I'd like to see his work. He's done a group of four paintings representing the seasons. It's pleasant.
Meanwhile the young woman offers to write our names in Chinese letters as a gift. And although I say to Bernie in a not so hushed voice, "Don't do it," he accepts her offer.
While the ink dries we look at more paintings. I can be very noncommittal when in situations like this. Uh-huh and mmm... are my basic vocabulary tools.
When the ink is dry we prepare to leave. At this point we are offered guide services, but these two have realized we're not going for any of this.
Bernie, conscious all the time of what was going on, was politely interested but unswayed the whole time. I'm in awe of the way he handled it.
What we most dislike about these encounters is the time they take.
The walk to the ticket booth at the Forbidden City is a guantlet of first-class fast talkers offering guide services. We were approached by no less than half a dozen.
This is one time when Bernie's gruffness does not bother me at all.
Among the large crowd are toddlers with split pants, their little bottoms showing in the cold. This is China, and when a little one has to pee or poop, the mothers just hold them over whatever the moms deem appropriate (I've read of one mom using an ashtray) and the kids let go.
The Forbidden City is a surprise. It's much larger than we'd expected. Of course, it was a city, the Emperor's city, with all the necessary buildings and people attached to run a government and a huge household.
Built in 1420, it was from here the Chinese emperors ruled feudal China until 1911. I covers 178 acres, contains 9000 palaces and halls, and is surrounded by a 30-foot high, 3000 yard long wall and a moat.
It's the largest, best-preserved group of ancient wooden architecture in the world.
In 1964, Mao had plans to bulldoze the entrance to the Forbidden City for a highway, but the Cultural Revolution interrupted those plans, so the preservation of the ancient palaces was an accident arising out of one of the most turbulent and frightening times in the history of the Chinese people.
Scattered throughout the grounds are huge iron and bronze pots, some of the inlaid with gold. These pots were kept filled with water from November through Spring at all times and covered with blankets in winter to keep them from freezing. The water was needed to put out fires.
Over a million objects are on display in the palaces here, some dating back to 700 B.C. Most are items used by the palace household, including cooking pots and utensils, as well as writing instruments and brush pots, ceramics and lacquerware.
Excavation continues as China's economy continues to grow and money is available to support archaeological work.
We're surprised when Bernie looks at his watch - it's nearly 4 p.m. Crowds are reversing direction, heading for the gate. We tarry a few minutes more, then join them.
We've probably seen a quarter of a million people today.
Just before we cross the last long stretch to the front gate we see the soldiers who serve as guards here forming up, apparently preparing to march. Perhaps we'll see a changing of the guard. Hundreds of people are lined up along the barriers.
However, the inspections go on and on, as each rank reviews the troops, repeatedly adjusting uniforms, elbows, heels, checking for straight lines, etc. with no movement.
I've never seen a goose-stepping army before, so we wait as the crowd thins out. Gradually our patience, too, is worn thin, and we prepare to leave.
But the lone soldier guarding this area has stretched a tape across the broad walkway leading to the gate.
A Chinese family elder apparently asks why they can't exit through the front gate. The answer is less than satisfactory judging by the ensuing shouts. But our soldier is unmoved. He indicates everyone must exit across the yard to our right.
This seems purely arbitrary to me, and I am not good-humored about it. My suggestion is to step to the side of the walkway with its foot-high silly piece of tape, step over the movable barriers that keep people off where the grass would be growing if this weren't the dead of winter and Beijing weren't being eaten up by the Gobi desert, and walk to the gate.
Bernie points out that our soldier friend does not want us to do that. My inner rebel is close to emerging. As my family will attest, I think respect for authority is earned and is not imbued by putting on a uniform or holding a position.
What was I thinking? Well, so far no one has come up with a way to read my thoughts, and because I did not act on my urges we just herded ourselves out of there like mindless sheep.
My outlook does not improve when I learn we cannot turn to our left and get out on the same street we entered from, but must go out the back gate.
Kicked out of the Forbidden City.
Into the midst of several pedi-cab drivers who surround us in the usual fast-talking manner.
Bernie wants to ride. I do not, and could probably use the walk to cool off.
However, Bernie is not willing to pay the first price. Never pay the first price in China. Just don't. You're not a walking ATM, are you?
I stomp on as Bernie negotiates.
He finally gets me with "I wanted to take a pedi-cab ride anyway." OK. This is the closest I'll ever get to a rickshaw.
We're still inside the palace gates when our driver stops. He can't go any further; pedi-cabs are forbidden on the main street. As we walk on I mutter several unkind things about our soldier in particular, the Communist Chinese army in general, former leaders of the People's Republic and the like for awhile.
I'm much calmer by the time we pass through the gates and the territory starts to look vaguely familiar and I'm ready to smile again by the time we reach the subway.
If I needed something to make me laugh, I find it as soon as we enter the hotel.
This is Shrove Tuesday, the night of the Great Pancake Race at the Hilton. It's the Beijing Hilton's answer to Mardi Gras.
The festivites are in full swing. We almost collide with two of the contestants carrying skillets with pancakes on their way to a tiny stage (the concierge desk) where they pull a hula hoop over their heads, spin it and try to keep it going while holding their skillets. The lobby has been transformed into an obstacle course. Several of the staff are wearing orange fright wigs.
We watch for a while, then try to make a quick stop at the gift shop where they've written the names of our grandchildren in Chinese. We came in to browse last night and were soon overwhelmed with the Chinese sales technique in such stores, which involves latching onto any item you show an interest in, telling you you'll get a special price and then acting as if no is just a bargaining ploy.
This kind of shopping takes a lot of energy, especially if you're a shopper like me, who wants to see everything before even thinking of buying. The upshot is, you just want to get out of there.
What kind of people don't understand that this doesn't work? But that's not true, of course.
Bernie explains that it's like the guy at the bar who tries to pick up a girl with some cheesy, lame line. Most of the time it doesn't work. But sometimes it does.
And in a country of 1.5 billion people, the law of averages works in your favor.
I think the cold wore me out. I slept for ten hours.
I was half asleep when Bernie asked me earlier if I wanted to go down to breaksfast with him. "It would be wasted on me." I said, pulling the comforter up to my chin. I was asleep in half a minute.
We're taking the subway again today. The fare is about 60 cents. We like traveling like the locals. Again, it's a peek at the daily lives and routines of ordinary people. We've taken the New York and Washington subways, the Boston Tee, the London Underground, the Paris Metro, and now the Beijing subway.
We're on our way back to Tian'an Men Square. On board is a little girl in a pink satin coat, about four or five year old. She stretches to see me, first on one side of her mother's legs, then the other. I smile at her. She tugs at her mom's coat, points at me and says something, never taking her eyes off me. Then mom looks up, smiles and waves. I smile and wave back.
When we get off at the square, the little girl and her mother join what we assume is the rest of the family, a small crowd of about twenty people. Everyone turns to look at me.
It's easy to forget how different-looking we are. My hair seems to draw a lot of attention. Most women in urban China dye their hair, it seems, no matter what their age.
Because of my hair I am called old without any hint of a slight. But I've also been called beautiful by strangers here many times.
Tian'an Men Square is full of people. The line waiting to get into Mao's tomb is the longest I've ever seen.
Bernie wants to take my picture alongside one of the soldiers on the square. The soldier is far less than thrilled about the idea, but he lets it happen. He's tall, but he looks about 16, and the stern look the Communist soldiers here are supposed to have comes across as a scornful expression, which is exactly how he feels, I believe.
We've almost made it to the Gate of Heavenly Peace when we are met by two young people, a man and a woman who tell us that they are college students in Beijing. They speak very good English but tell us they'd like to practice their English by talking to us.
We are familiar with scams that begin this way, but we are polite and continue to talk with them as they walk with us. They tell us about a student art exhibit they'd like us to see-another piece of the scam falling into place. There's a gate into the Forbidden City just ahead, not the one where all the people are flocking, but a gate to the palace gardens, we learn later. At the entrance to a room set up with art work, there's sign "Student Art Exhibit."
You cannot believe how fast these people talk. The idea is to never give you enough time to think, so you just keep responding to their patter.
No self-respecting con artist in the U.S. would try this-no sublety, no letting the target think everything is his idea.
We are given hot water, which we accept. Only hot water and bottled water are safe in China, and still the bottled water is questionable and the boiled tap water may contain chemicals you wouldn't want to ingest.
The young man, very politely and almost shyly, asks if I'd like to see his work. He's done a group of four paintings representing the seasons. It's pleasant.
Meanwhile the young woman offers to write our names in Chinese letters as a gift. And although I say to Bernie in a not so hushed voice, "Don't do it," he accepts her offer.
While the ink dries we look at more paintings. I can be very noncommittal when in situations like this. Uh-huh and mmm... are my basic vocabulary tools.
When the ink is dry we prepare to leave. At this point we are offered guide services, but these two have realized we're not going for any of this.
Bernie, conscious all the time of what was going on, was politely interested but unswayed the whole time. I'm in awe of the way he handled it.
What we most dislike about these encounters is the time they take.
The walk to the ticket booth at the Forbidden City is a guantlet of first-class fast talkers offering guide services. We were approached by no less than half a dozen.
This is one time when Bernie's gruffness does not bother me at all.
Among the large crowd are toddlers with split pants, their little bottoms showing in the cold. This is China, and when a little one has to pee or poop, the mothers just hold them over whatever the moms deem appropriate (I've read of one mom using an ashtray) and the kids let go.
The Forbidden City is a surprise. It's much larger than we'd expected. Of course, it was a city, the Emperor's city, with all the necessary buildings and people attached to run a government and a huge household.
Built in 1420, it was from here the Chinese emperors ruled feudal China until 1911. I covers 178 acres, contains 9000 palaces and halls, and is surrounded by a 30-foot high, 3000 yard long wall and a moat.
It's the largest, best-preserved group of ancient wooden architecture in the world.
In 1964, Mao had plans to bulldoze the entrance to the Forbidden City for a highway, but the Cultural Revolution interrupted those plans, so the preservation of the ancient palaces was an accident arising out of one of the most turbulent and frightening times in the history of the Chinese people.
Scattered throughout the grounds are huge iron and bronze pots, some of the inlaid with gold. These pots were kept filled with water from November through Spring at all times and covered with blankets in winter to keep them from freezing. The water was needed to put out fires.
Over a million objects are on display in the palaces here, some dating back to 700 B.C. Most are items used by the palace household, including cooking pots and utensils, as well as writing instruments and brush pots, ceramics and lacquerware.
Excavation continues as China's economy continues to grow and money is available to support archaeological work.
We're surprised when Bernie looks at his watch - it's nearly 4 p.m. Crowds are reversing direction, heading for the gate. We tarry a few minutes more, then join them.
We've probably seen a quarter of a million people today.
Just before we cross the last long stretch to the front gate we see the soldiers who serve as guards here forming up, apparently preparing to march. Perhaps we'll see a changing of the guard. Hundreds of people are lined up along the barriers.
However, the inspections go on and on, as each rank reviews the troops, repeatedly adjusting uniforms, elbows, heels, checking for straight lines, etc. with no movement.
I've never seen a goose-stepping army before, so we wait as the crowd thins out. Gradually our patience, too, is worn thin, and we prepare to leave.
But the lone soldier guarding this area has stretched a tape across the broad walkway leading to the gate.
A Chinese family elder apparently asks why they can't exit through the front gate. The answer is less than satisfactory judging by the ensuing shouts. But our soldier is unmoved. He indicates everyone must exit across the yard to our right.
This seems purely arbitrary to me, and I am not good-humored about it. My suggestion is to step to the side of the walkway with its foot-high silly piece of tape, step over the movable barriers that keep people off where the grass would be growing if this weren't the dead of winter and Beijing weren't being eaten up by the Gobi desert, and walk to the gate.
Bernie points out that our soldier friend does not want us to do that. My inner rebel is close to emerging. As my family will attest, I think respect for authority is earned and is not imbued by putting on a uniform or holding a position.
What was I thinking? Well, so far no one has come up with a way to read my thoughts, and because I did not act on my urges we just herded ourselves out of there like mindless sheep.
My outlook does not improve when I learn we cannot turn to our left and get out on the same street we entered from, but must go out the back gate.
Kicked out of the Forbidden City.
Into the midst of several pedi-cab drivers who surround us in the usual fast-talking manner.
Bernie wants to ride. I do not, and could probably use the walk to cool off.
However, Bernie is not willing to pay the first price. Never pay the first price in China. Just don't. You're not a walking ATM, are you?
I stomp on as Bernie negotiates.
He finally gets me with "I wanted to take a pedi-cab ride anyway." OK. This is the closest I'll ever get to a rickshaw.
We're still inside the palace gates when our driver stops. He can't go any further; pedi-cabs are forbidden on the main street. As we walk on I mutter several unkind things about our soldier in particular, the Communist Chinese army in general, former leaders of the People's Republic and the like for awhile.
I'm much calmer by the time we pass through the gates and the territory starts to look vaguely familiar and I'm ready to smile again by the time we reach the subway.
If I needed something to make me laugh, I find it as soon as we enter the hotel.
This is Shrove Tuesday, the night of the Great Pancake Race at the Hilton. It's the Beijing Hilton's answer to Mardi Gras.
The festivites are in full swing. We almost collide with two of the contestants carrying skillets with pancakes on their way to a tiny stage (the concierge desk) where they pull a hula hoop over their heads, spin it and try to keep it going while holding their skillets. The lobby has been transformed into an obstacle course. Several of the staff are wearing orange fright wigs.
We watch for a while, then try to make a quick stop at the gift shop where they've written the names of our grandchildren in Chinese. We came in to browse last night and were soon overwhelmed with the Chinese sales technique in such stores, which involves latching onto any item you show an interest in, telling you you'll get a special price and then acting as if no is just a bargaining ploy.
This kind of shopping takes a lot of energy, especially if you're a shopper like me, who wants to see everything before even thinking of buying. The upshot is, you just want to get out of there.
What kind of people don't understand that this doesn't work? But that's not true, of course.
Bernie explains that it's like the guy at the bar who tries to pick up a girl with some cheesy, lame line. Most of the time it doesn't work. But sometimes it does.
And in a country of 1.5 billion people, the law of averages works in your favor.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Beijing
Monday, February 15, 2010
I'm sitting at the gate waiting to board out flight to Beijing. I've just read, in the book I selected from Damon and Shannon's library (Lost On Planet China by Maarten Troost, author of Sex Among the Cannibals), that there is a shortage of pilots in China and therefore many pilots are young, and thus inexperienced.
Funny how fatalistic you become after even a short time in China. Polluted air, polluted water, maniacial drivers-all are greeted with a mental shrug and an "Oh, well, I'm here now and I can't do anything about it."
So I don't even peek into the cockpit as we board.
Just as we are about to land in Beijing Bernie calls my attention to something he sees through the window on the other side of the plane. I hold my place with my index finger. When I look back at my book I see the young man sitting beside me looking at the page.
The author is relating an incident that happened to him somewhere in China when he was mistaken for a German and a psychotic man began hitting him repeatedly. He's giving his reaction.
"WTF" (spelled out of course) is what I'm pointing to on the page.
I look at the page, then up at the face of my seatmate.
Yeah, he can read English.
Our hotel is nice, very nice. The concierge informs us that it's too late in the day to go to the Forbidden City, but that we might want to visit the Olympic Green, where the games were held two years ago.
We decide to try the subway. Signs are in English as well as Chinese, and on the trains a lighted display shows where the train is now, what stops it's already made and the rest of the stops on the line.
Olympic Green is crowded with tourists, 99.5% of them Chinese. This is the Spring Festival holiday week, one of the few workers have off, and there lots of families here.
Coming out of the subway we see a couple taking pictures of one another, so Bernie volunteers to take a picture of the two of them. Then they take a picture of us. They're funny, making faces and having a good time.
We run across them several times while we're at the Olympic site. We take more pictures, at the famous stadium and in front of a large tower.
We want to squeeze in a look at Tian'an Men Square at night, so we take the subway there. This is the world's largest square (99 acres), where 300,000 people can stand. The Forbidden City, the Great Hall of the People, and the museums of Chinese History and Chinese Revolution border the square. The Monument to the People's Heroes stands in the center of the square. Chairman Mao's portrait looks out across the square from his mausoleum.
It's dark now, and cold. Lights decorate the trees. The impressive glass-dome Performing Arts Center stands in the middle of an artificial lake.
But we're not thinking of the architecture or the museums. We, like most of the world, think something else entirely as we stand in front of the steps and look at the brightly lit Monument to the People's Heroes.
I'm sitting at the gate waiting to board out flight to Beijing. I've just read, in the book I selected from Damon and Shannon's library (Lost On Planet China by Maarten Troost, author of Sex Among the Cannibals), that there is a shortage of pilots in China and therefore many pilots are young, and thus inexperienced.
Funny how fatalistic you become after even a short time in China. Polluted air, polluted water, maniacial drivers-all are greeted with a mental shrug and an "Oh, well, I'm here now and I can't do anything about it."
So I don't even peek into the cockpit as we board.
Just as we are about to land in Beijing Bernie calls my attention to something he sees through the window on the other side of the plane. I hold my place with my index finger. When I look back at my book I see the young man sitting beside me looking at the page.
The author is relating an incident that happened to him somewhere in China when he was mistaken for a German and a psychotic man began hitting him repeatedly. He's giving his reaction.
"WTF" (spelled out of course) is what I'm pointing to on the page.
I look at the page, then up at the face of my seatmate.
Yeah, he can read English.
Our hotel is nice, very nice. The concierge informs us that it's too late in the day to go to the Forbidden City, but that we might want to visit the Olympic Green, where the games were held two years ago.
We decide to try the subway. Signs are in English as well as Chinese, and on the trains a lighted display shows where the train is now, what stops it's already made and the rest of the stops on the line.
Olympic Green is crowded with tourists, 99.5% of them Chinese. This is the Spring Festival holiday week, one of the few workers have off, and there lots of families here.
Coming out of the subway we see a couple taking pictures of one another, so Bernie volunteers to take a picture of the two of them. Then they take a picture of us. They're funny, making faces and having a good time.
We run across them several times while we're at the Olympic site. We take more pictures, at the famous stadium and in front of a large tower.
We want to squeeze in a look at Tian'an Men Square at night, so we take the subway there. This is the world's largest square (99 acres), where 300,000 people can stand. The Forbidden City, the Great Hall of the People, and the museums of Chinese History and Chinese Revolution border the square. The Monument to the People's Heroes stands in the center of the square. Chairman Mao's portrait looks out across the square from his mausoleum.
It's dark now, and cold. Lights decorate the trees. The impressive glass-dome Performing Arts Center stands in the middle of an artificial lake.
But we're not thinking of the architecture or the museums. We, like most of the world, think something else entirely as we stand in front of the steps and look at the brightly lit Monument to the People's Heroes.
A Bloggy Valentine
Sunday, January 14, 2010
Happy Valentine's Day.
Ten years ago today we were in London. I remember because I kept wanting Bernie to take me for a romantic dinner that night and we ended up eating supermarket food in our room at the bed and breakfast on Gower Street.
Today I have brought my blog up to date and published it. There's a big slug of entries all lumped together, but they're out there.
We're packing for Beijing. Autumn will pick us up at 8:00 a.m.
I've been at the computer all day.
Now we're going to call Eddie and order some pizza.
And, yeah, we're going to watch Lost.
Hope your Valentine's Day is great. Be good to one another.
P.S. Photos to accompany entries will be posted when we get back from Beijing.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Ten years ago today we were in London. I remember because I kept wanting Bernie to take me for a romantic dinner that night and we ended up eating supermarket food in our room at the bed and breakfast on Gower Street.
Today I have brought my blog up to date and published it. There's a big slug of entries all lumped together, but they're out there.
We're packing for Beijing. Autumn will pick us up at 8:00 a.m.
I've been at the computer all day.
Now we're going to call Eddie and order some pizza.
And, yeah, we're going to watch Lost.
Hope your Valentine's Day is great. Be good to one another.
P.S. Photos to accompany entries will be posted when we get back from Beijing.
New Year’s Eve
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Tomorrow the Year of the Tiger begins. Today is New Year’s Eve in China, the biggest holiday of the Chinese calendar.
The fireworks begin early in the day, the reverberations setting off car alarms in the parking lot.
I am making brownies to take to the Zhous. We also have the Jack Daniels and a large box of very good chocolates. We’ve bought gold paper and red gift bags because we’ve read that’s appropriate for New Year.
Yesterday I purchased an inexpensive red and gold jacket so I’d look festive for tonight.
At 3:40 they pick us up. This time Mr. Zhou is driving, a large Toyota SUV. His brother-in-law is with him and Gail. We’re going to visit some construction sites and Zhou’s offices to set off firecrackers to scare away last year’s ghosts. This is a Chinese tradition, and as we move through Kaifaqu we can see it’s going on everywhere.
Gail has said Zhou is a very successful businessman and our journey today tells us that he is indeed. Our first stop is a huge hole in the ground hundreds of feet wide, the site of a new building which Zhou is overseeing. At this and every stop along the way today Zhou’s associates (read subordinates) meet him at the site and place and set off the fireworks.
In addition to two other construction sites, we stop at his temporary office in Kaifaqu and later at his very impressive permanent office in Dalian. Ghosts are expelled at each stop.
Mr. Zhou regards his work as exciting; he works long hours and is absorbed in it. Gail, not so much.
We are impressed and understand how exciting it must be to be a part of China’s booming economy today.
Zhou also has high hopes for his country; he can see the day, he says, when China will be rid of pollution and the city’s air will be clean again. Zhou also has a high regard for building in the U.S. He says buildings there are much better, more beautiful. However, this might be typical Chinese modesty, claiming that other’s things are better.
Once we’ve finished ghost-busting we drive to the apartment complex where Gail and Zhou live, and Zhou’s mother does as well. Her home is where we’re eating dinner tonight. The apartment is small, Gail warns. Their own apartment, on the other side of the complex, is three times as large.
The apartment is small, but it’s clean and bright and very pleasant. Zhou’s mother suffers from dementia, and Gail’s sister-in-law cares for her. Tonight, however, she will be gone. A cousin, a young man, has cooked the food, and it’s beautifully presented.
Sheri’s cousin, just a year older, is here and she talks to us in very good English, though she apologizes for not speaking English well. She wants a photo with me. We take several photos, including one of me with Zhou’s mother.
Dinner is a banquet. On the coffee table there is fruit (delicious white peaches and pears), as well as candy and nuts.
Gail puts the finishing touches on the meal when the rest of the family leaves. It will be just Zhou’s mother, us and the Zhous for dinner. Gail puts dumplings in water to cook for a few minutes. There must be fifty of them and she has another batch, filled with something else, after this one’s finished.
It’s impossible to eat everything at a Chinese meal. We have crabs, clams, shrimp, fish, two kinds of dumplings, rice, a dish of pork fat with seasonings, and peaches.
We are indeed honored guests. Zhou presents the wine (really whiskey). It is Moutai, China’s official state liquor, served at state dinners and at Chinese embassies everywhere in the world.
I’m a heretic-it’s colorless, very powerful, and hot to my taste. But I’m hardly a connoisseur.
Tonight is a very big night, with the burning of paper for family members who have died (money in the afterlife). At midnight, every family will set off fireworks. Zhou has brought three large boxes to his mother’s to set them off. She enjoys them.
The Zhous drive us home after dinner. They cannot be gone long since Zhou’s mother cannot be left alone.
On the way back it’s obvious some people are getting a head start. Firecrackers are going off everywhere and we pass several fireworks displays that rival that of most small cities in the U.S. on July 4th.
At the apartment the celebration is gearing up. We see three of the big displays, then there are three on each side of the apartment. We keep moving back and forth between the kitchen, the balcony and the bedroom, trying to see them all at once.
This goes on for another three hours, increasing in intensity and frequency. We call Sarah to let her hear it, and try to call Mary but get her recording. Bernie takes what must amount to an hour of movies.
It’s spectacular and it’s going on all over China. I keep wondering what China must look like now from a satellite.
Gail told us not to go to bed before midnight because we’d be awakened by the noise. She said it would sound like a war. It does.
Amazing. We’re glad we’re here for New Year’s Eve.
Tomorrow the Year of the Tiger begins. Today is New Year’s Eve in China, the biggest holiday of the Chinese calendar.
The fireworks begin early in the day, the reverberations setting off car alarms in the parking lot.
I am making brownies to take to the Zhous. We also have the Jack Daniels and a large box of very good chocolates. We’ve bought gold paper and red gift bags because we’ve read that’s appropriate for New Year.
Yesterday I purchased an inexpensive red and gold jacket so I’d look festive for tonight.
At 3:40 they pick us up. This time Mr. Zhou is driving, a large Toyota SUV. His brother-in-law is with him and Gail. We’re going to visit some construction sites and Zhou’s offices to set off firecrackers to scare away last year’s ghosts. This is a Chinese tradition, and as we move through Kaifaqu we can see it’s going on everywhere.
Gail has said Zhou is a very successful businessman and our journey today tells us that he is indeed. Our first stop is a huge hole in the ground hundreds of feet wide, the site of a new building which Zhou is overseeing. At this and every stop along the way today Zhou’s associates (read subordinates) meet him at the site and place and set off the fireworks.
In addition to two other construction sites, we stop at his temporary office in Kaifaqu and later at his very impressive permanent office in Dalian. Ghosts are expelled at each stop.
Mr. Zhou regards his work as exciting; he works long hours and is absorbed in it. Gail, not so much.
We are impressed and understand how exciting it must be to be a part of China’s booming economy today.
Zhou also has high hopes for his country; he can see the day, he says, when China will be rid of pollution and the city’s air will be clean again. Zhou also has a high regard for building in the U.S. He says buildings there are much better, more beautiful. However, this might be typical Chinese modesty, claiming that other’s things are better.
Once we’ve finished ghost-busting we drive to the apartment complex where Gail and Zhou live, and Zhou’s mother does as well. Her home is where we’re eating dinner tonight. The apartment is small, Gail warns. Their own apartment, on the other side of the complex, is three times as large.
The apartment is small, but it’s clean and bright and very pleasant. Zhou’s mother suffers from dementia, and Gail’s sister-in-law cares for her. Tonight, however, she will be gone. A cousin, a young man, has cooked the food, and it’s beautifully presented.
Sheri’s cousin, just a year older, is here and she talks to us in very good English, though she apologizes for not speaking English well. She wants a photo with me. We take several photos, including one of me with Zhou’s mother.
Dinner is a banquet. On the coffee table there is fruit (delicious white peaches and pears), as well as candy and nuts.
Gail puts the finishing touches on the meal when the rest of the family leaves. It will be just Zhou’s mother, us and the Zhous for dinner. Gail puts dumplings in water to cook for a few minutes. There must be fifty of them and she has another batch, filled with something else, after this one’s finished.
It’s impossible to eat everything at a Chinese meal. We have crabs, clams, shrimp, fish, two kinds of dumplings, rice, a dish of pork fat with seasonings, and peaches.
We are indeed honored guests. Zhou presents the wine (really whiskey). It is Moutai, China’s official state liquor, served at state dinners and at Chinese embassies everywhere in the world.
I’m a heretic-it’s colorless, very powerful, and hot to my taste. But I’m hardly a connoisseur.
Tonight is a very big night, with the burning of paper for family members who have died (money in the afterlife). At midnight, every family will set off fireworks. Zhou has brought three large boxes to his mother’s to set them off. She enjoys them.
The Zhous drive us home after dinner. They cannot be gone long since Zhou’s mother cannot be left alone.
On the way back it’s obvious some people are getting a head start. Firecrackers are going off everywhere and we pass several fireworks displays that rival that of most small cities in the U.S. on July 4th.
At the apartment the celebration is gearing up. We see three of the big displays, then there are three on each side of the apartment. We keep moving back and forth between the kitchen, the balcony and the bedroom, trying to see them all at once.
This goes on for another three hours, increasing in intensity and frequency. We call Sarah to let her hear it, and try to call Mary but get her recording. Bernie takes what must amount to an hour of movies.
It’s spectacular and it’s going on all over China. I keep wondering what China must look like now from a satellite.
Gail told us not to go to bed before midnight because we’d be awakened by the noise. She said it would sound like a war. It does.
Amazing. We’re glad we’re here for New Year’s Eve.
Gearing Up For The Holiday
Friday, February 12, 2010
The kitchen is like a refrigerator. Really. It’s not more than 40 degrees in here.
The glass-enclosed kitchen and the glass-enclosed balcony are on opposite sides of the apartment and are “bump-outs” –they protrude from the sides of the building.
All that glass five stories up doesn’t provide much insulation. Makes washing dishes out here uncomfortable sometimes. If I leave the dishes to air dry in the rack, I have to bring them into the dining room and let them warm up before putting them away. Otherwise water would condense on them.
Fortunately, the kitchen contains only the sink, stove, some counter space and storage. It’s about 5’ wide by 10’ long. The microwave, convection oven and refrigerator are in the dining room.
Aiye is here cleaning. I get out of her way by staying here in the office, writing. When she comes close to the door with the vacuum or mop, I know to move to another spot.
Bernie goes out to buy another pair of dress pants. He bought a pair two days ago. All men’s pants here come unhemmed. He tried to get them hemmed but something was lost in translation. The woman at the tailoring station hemmed up a quarter-inch on the raw edge, but that was all. I watched Lost and hemmed them, though it was a pretty deep hem. Good job, though, even if I do say so myself.
Today, he’s hoping to communicate well enough to get them hemmed to length. A man on a mission.
I write with determination because I want to get Far East Fishers up and running today.
I hear the door close indicating that Aiye is leaving. I don’t make it into the living room in time to say goodbye in my clumsy way. In a few seconds though I hear Bernie coming up the stairs.
He’s succeeded and is now the proud owner of a pair of black dress slacks of the right length. He models for me-we always do that. They look great.
The pants came in a nice chocolate brown shopping bag embossed with gold. On it is printed the following:
Man contain own character
Man
Belongs to the society, the company, the meetings and other occasions except himself.
To be successful sometimes
Means losing yourself.
So man needs an environment of his own to enjoy.
I love it. The meaning comes across very well. This kind of translation is what real Chinglish is, like the signs in the park. Autumn’s is her own brand.
The shopping center is packed. All 1.5 billion Chinese are in Kaifaqu today, he claims. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Taxi fares are up.
He tells me a story about the taxi driver who took him downtown. They passed a horse-drawn cart. Bernie pointed to the horse and said the word for horse, ma. Then he said to Bernie “Pegasus-ma.”
Bernie’s gone out again, this time to buy the chocolates for our friends and find red and gold wrapping paper for the gifts, because those colors are appropriate for New Year.
There are still 1.5 billion people downtown, but he thinks the stores are closing.
I’m about to find out.
The kitchen is like a refrigerator. Really. It’s not more than 40 degrees in here.
The glass-enclosed kitchen and the glass-enclosed balcony are on opposite sides of the apartment and are “bump-outs” –they protrude from the sides of the building.
All that glass five stories up doesn’t provide much insulation. Makes washing dishes out here uncomfortable sometimes. If I leave the dishes to air dry in the rack, I have to bring them into the dining room and let them warm up before putting them away. Otherwise water would condense on them.
Fortunately, the kitchen contains only the sink, stove, some counter space and storage. It’s about 5’ wide by 10’ long. The microwave, convection oven and refrigerator are in the dining room.
Aiye is here cleaning. I get out of her way by staying here in the office, writing. When she comes close to the door with the vacuum or mop, I know to move to another spot.
Bernie goes out to buy another pair of dress pants. He bought a pair two days ago. All men’s pants here come unhemmed. He tried to get them hemmed but something was lost in translation. The woman at the tailoring station hemmed up a quarter-inch on the raw edge, but that was all. I watched Lost and hemmed them, though it was a pretty deep hem. Good job, though, even if I do say so myself.
Today, he’s hoping to communicate well enough to get them hemmed to length. A man on a mission.
I write with determination because I want to get Far East Fishers up and running today.
I hear the door close indicating that Aiye is leaving. I don’t make it into the living room in time to say goodbye in my clumsy way. In a few seconds though I hear Bernie coming up the stairs.
He’s succeeded and is now the proud owner of a pair of black dress slacks of the right length. He models for me-we always do that. They look great.
The pants came in a nice chocolate brown shopping bag embossed with gold. On it is printed the following:
Man contain own character
Man
Belongs to the society, the company, the meetings and other occasions except himself.
To be successful sometimes
Means losing yourself.
So man needs an environment of his own to enjoy.
I love it. The meaning comes across very well. This kind of translation is what real Chinglish is, like the signs in the park. Autumn’s is her own brand.
The shopping center is packed. All 1.5 billion Chinese are in Kaifaqu today, he claims. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve. Taxi fares are up.
He tells me a story about the taxi driver who took him downtown. They passed a horse-drawn cart. Bernie pointed to the horse and said the word for horse, ma. Then he said to Bernie “Pegasus-ma.”
Bernie’s gone out again, this time to buy the chocolates for our friends and find red and gold wrapping paper for the gifts, because those colors are appropriate for New Year.
There are still 1.5 billion people downtown, but he thinks the stores are closing.
I’m about to find out.
Baby, It’s Cold Outside-In All Our Old Familiar Places
Thursday, February 11, 2010
This morning I feel much better.
The windows on the balcony are beautiful-covered in icy swirls.
I’d thought about going to the shopping center today but I want to catch up on my posts and if it’s as cold as I think it is out there, I’d just as soon stay in.
In the afternoon Bernie goes to the store underneath the apartment complex for bok choy to have for dinner with our chicken. The store is located outside the gate in a shopping center that is half a story below street level.
He confirms just how cold it is. An icy blast hit him when he opened the door and it kept up the whole time he was out.
I check MSN Weather. I’ve selected several cities to check while I’m here- Dalian, Middletown, Atlanta, and whatever city we’re traveling to next.
It’s cold everywhere in our world. As a matter of fact, Middletown, with a low of 7 is even colder than Dalian, at 12. In Atlanta, the temperature is 27 and they’re expecting snow.
Ok, well. Heck, might as well be here.
By nightfall, the wind out of Siberia has begun howling. It shakes the windows and whistles past the eaves.
I keep thinking of Dr. Zhivago. We’re east of where it took place, but the countryside looks much the same, minus so much snow. Just the Siberian wind.
And to think, people move here from Harbin for the mild temperatures.
This morning I feel much better.
The windows on the balcony are beautiful-covered in icy swirls.
I’d thought about going to the shopping center today but I want to catch up on my posts and if it’s as cold as I think it is out there, I’d just as soon stay in.
In the afternoon Bernie goes to the store underneath the apartment complex for bok choy to have for dinner with our chicken. The store is located outside the gate in a shopping center that is half a story below street level.
He confirms just how cold it is. An icy blast hit him when he opened the door and it kept up the whole time he was out.
I check MSN Weather. I’ve selected several cities to check while I’m here- Dalian, Middletown, Atlanta, and whatever city we’re traveling to next.
It’s cold everywhere in our world. As a matter of fact, Middletown, with a low of 7 is even colder than Dalian, at 12. In Atlanta, the temperature is 27 and they’re expecting snow.
Ok, well. Heck, might as well be here.
By nightfall, the wind out of Siberia has begun howling. It shakes the windows and whistles past the eaves.
I keep thinking of Dr. Zhivago. We’re east of where it took place, but the countryside looks much the same, minus so much snow. Just the Siberian wind.
And to think, people move here from Harbin for the mild temperatures.
Chinglish a la Autumn
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Today I have sore muscles, and I can tell it’s not from walking the steps yesterday. I don’t feel well. Taking it easy is no problem, though. Write, watch Lost, and let Bernie cook for me.
I decide that I will make one last attempt to call Gail. This time I’ve stumbled across the right combination of zeroes and ones in front of the number to make it work.
The first thing Gail asks is where we are. Once she knows we’re in town, she asks if we’re free to come to their home Saturday evening, New Year’s Eve. I tell her we are and she tells me she’ll pick us up Saturday afternoon.
This is a great honor. We did not know these people at all a month ago. New Year is the biggest holiday in China, and it’s a time for families to gather together. Millions of people are getting ready to travel home for the holiday right now. In size and significance, it’s comparable to Christmas. Businesses are closed for the entire week.
As soon as I feel better, I’m going to have to do something about getting a pair of dress pants to wear.
We’ve been trying to get our plane tickets changed so that we have a stopover in Seoul after we leave Dalian rather than try to make a trip there and back in the time we have left. It makes more sense, especially since our flight from Dalian on the 25th leaves at 6 p.m. and arrives at Inchon airport at 8 p.m. but our flight out of Seoul doesn’t leave until 11:00 or so the next morning.
We’ve just found out we can do that for a sizable penalty, and we go ahead.
Now we can plan the rest of our travel. We book flights to Beijing for Monday, returning Wednesday. Aiye will be here with Ollie on Tuesday morning so he’ll have some human contact and water from the shower.
Again we’ll need to make arrangements with Autumn.
I’ve hinted at Autumn’s charming and funny personality before. She always refers to herself as Autumn, as in “Autumn is here,” when she calls us from the parking lot downstairs.
Autumn is married and has an eleven-year-old son. She drives several of the teachers at the Canadian Maple Leaf School back and forth every day, and she gets up at 4:30 every morning to begin driving at 5:30. Her appointment book is full – Bernie’s seen it when we’ve scheduled her before. As she did with us, she drives many tourists to Dandong, into Dalian, and other places.
We gather that she feels she’s carrying most of the load in her household. She tells us men do work, go home, do nothing. Women, on the other hand, work, go home, work in the house, help with homework, cook, and so on.
We asked her about her weekends. “Autumn very busy. Go shopping. Go Ikea.”
She’s pretty and fashionable, funny and affectionate. Shannon is her good friend.
She likes to talk, and we enjoy talking with her. Trouble is, as she says, “Autumn no speak English (she’s taking lessons). Autumn speak only Chinglish.”
We get in the car. Bernie asks her a question. She begins with two words of English and a string of Chinese which she delivers as if Bernie should be soaking up every word. She shares jokes with us, but they’re in Chinese. Sometimes she begins in English, gets quite far along, and then, when she reaches the part of the sentence where meaning is crucial, she slips in a couple of Chinese words.
We get a little worried when making appointments with her because she hasn’t mastered all of the concepts like day before yesterday or day after tomorrow. But she always shows up on time.
Bernie sits in the front seat beside Autumn and they can be funny to watch. He starts a conversation. She replies, doing fine, then says, “you know…” and drops into Chinese.
“No, Autumn, I don’t know. I don’t speak Chinese.”
“Well….(more Chinese).
Bernie rubs his hands all over his head. “Autumn, I thought you wanted to work on your English.”
Autumn laughs. “Autumn no speak English. Autumn getting better. Now Autumn only speak Chinglish.”
Ah, if only we could speak Chinglish.
Today I have sore muscles, and I can tell it’s not from walking the steps yesterday. I don’t feel well. Taking it easy is no problem, though. Write, watch Lost, and let Bernie cook for me.
I decide that I will make one last attempt to call Gail. This time I’ve stumbled across the right combination of zeroes and ones in front of the number to make it work.
The first thing Gail asks is where we are. Once she knows we’re in town, she asks if we’re free to come to their home Saturday evening, New Year’s Eve. I tell her we are and she tells me she’ll pick us up Saturday afternoon.
This is a great honor. We did not know these people at all a month ago. New Year is the biggest holiday in China, and it’s a time for families to gather together. Millions of people are getting ready to travel home for the holiday right now. In size and significance, it’s comparable to Christmas. Businesses are closed for the entire week.
As soon as I feel better, I’m going to have to do something about getting a pair of dress pants to wear.
We’ve been trying to get our plane tickets changed so that we have a stopover in Seoul after we leave Dalian rather than try to make a trip there and back in the time we have left. It makes more sense, especially since our flight from Dalian on the 25th leaves at 6 p.m. and arrives at Inchon airport at 8 p.m. but our flight out of Seoul doesn’t leave until 11:00 or so the next morning.
We’ve just found out we can do that for a sizable penalty, and we go ahead.
Now we can plan the rest of our travel. We book flights to Beijing for Monday, returning Wednesday. Aiye will be here with Ollie on Tuesday morning so he’ll have some human contact and water from the shower.
Again we’ll need to make arrangements with Autumn.
I’ve hinted at Autumn’s charming and funny personality before. She always refers to herself as Autumn, as in “Autumn is here,” when she calls us from the parking lot downstairs.
Autumn is married and has an eleven-year-old son. She drives several of the teachers at the Canadian Maple Leaf School back and forth every day, and she gets up at 4:30 every morning to begin driving at 5:30. Her appointment book is full – Bernie’s seen it when we’ve scheduled her before. As she did with us, she drives many tourists to Dandong, into Dalian, and other places.
We gather that she feels she’s carrying most of the load in her household. She tells us men do work, go home, do nothing. Women, on the other hand, work, go home, work in the house, help with homework, cook, and so on.
We asked her about her weekends. “Autumn very busy. Go shopping. Go Ikea.”
She’s pretty and fashionable, funny and affectionate. Shannon is her good friend.
She likes to talk, and we enjoy talking with her. Trouble is, as she says, “Autumn no speak English (she’s taking lessons). Autumn speak only Chinglish.”
We get in the car. Bernie asks her a question. She begins with two words of English and a string of Chinese which she delivers as if Bernie should be soaking up every word. She shares jokes with us, but they’re in Chinese. Sometimes she begins in English, gets quite far along, and then, when she reaches the part of the sentence where meaning is crucial, she slips in a couple of Chinese words.
We get a little worried when making appointments with her because she hasn’t mastered all of the concepts like day before yesterday or day after tomorrow. But she always shows up on time.
Bernie sits in the front seat beside Autumn and they can be funny to watch. He starts a conversation. She replies, doing fine, then says, “you know…” and drops into Chinese.
“No, Autumn, I don’t know. I don’t speak Chinese.”
“Well….(more Chinese).
Bernie rubs his hands all over his head. “Autumn, I thought you wanted to work on your English.”
Autumn laughs. “Autumn no speak English. Autumn getting better. Now Autumn only speak Chinglish.”
Ah, if only we could speak Chinglish.
1000 Steps
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Aiye comes early this morning to clean. I’ve been up just a few minutes.
I’ve observed housekeepers in France and now China. I think I’ve learned some things. If I can get around to enough places where housekeepers come in each week, I might have something to say about my observations. Meantime, I’ll try to stay out of Aiye’s way.
We live on the fifth floor of this building, though our apartment number is 402. There are 73 steps to climb to reach our door. I’ve had trouble with the steps at about the fourth floor when I’ m bundled up. Today I’m going to try to see how it goes without all those clothes on.
Wow! It does make a difference. I thought pollution had gotten to my lungs and was holding me back. It’s just the extra bulk, especially on my legs.
Well, ok, I start huffing and puffing the third time I come up. But this is great exercise, especially on days when it’s just too darn cold to walk outside.
After going up and down 12 times I think I’ve done 1000, but I do the math and I’m short so I do two more rounds. Good workout.
I’ve felt guilty about not calling Linda and Joe, the couple we met on the way to Harbin. Linda had suggested we might ride over to the Ice Festival together, but I sensed some hesitation from Joe.
On our side, we thought we might not be able to stay very long because of the cold, and Bernie’s hip might start hurting, so we didn’t want to slow their pace.
But they seem very nice and Linda may want to talk to someone from back home – we don’t know how many of the Intel people are already her. So I call. Joe answers the phone. They are both sick. The caught head colds in Harbin. Linda may call when she’s well.
I’ve found a missed call on my phone that came in a week ago. The calling number shown on the phone isn’t really the calling number. I think it may be the way cell numbers display in China – a ten-digit number, the first three are zeroes, the next three 191 and the last three seem to vary. Trouble is, you can’t call back using those numbers.
I’m in a quandary. If I call Gail and she didn’t call me I may look presumptuous. If I don’t call and she left a voicemail, which I cannot access here, I’ll be rude.
I’ve sent an e-mail, but with e-mail who knows? Maybe it didn’t go anywhere. Maybe she only looks at her personal e-mail a couple of times a week.
And then there are the darker thoughts. I’ve been cut off from Facebook. Probably that’s just some computer slinking by and stabbing at anything that sticks its head out. On the other hand what if it’s more sinister?
I know that the surface appearance is designed to make this look like a free, bustling, very modern place.
But there’s more than meets the eye.
What if my new friends have been touched by something careless I’ve done to call attention to us?
All this is extremely unlikely. But when you’re in the shadow of darkness…
My worries about good etiquette may be for naught anyway. I’ve tried three phones and six different ways of dialing the number we have for Sheri’s mom and each time I get a recording telling me the number is no good.
I go to bed thinking there’s even a possibility she’s had to change her cell number because of….what?
You know, even when you’re all grown up and think you know better, you sometimes suspect that there really is something under the bed.
Aiye comes early this morning to clean. I’ve been up just a few minutes.
I’ve observed housekeepers in France and now China. I think I’ve learned some things. If I can get around to enough places where housekeepers come in each week, I might have something to say about my observations. Meantime, I’ll try to stay out of Aiye’s way.
We live on the fifth floor of this building, though our apartment number is 402. There are 73 steps to climb to reach our door. I’ve had trouble with the steps at about the fourth floor when I’ m bundled up. Today I’m going to try to see how it goes without all those clothes on.
Wow! It does make a difference. I thought pollution had gotten to my lungs and was holding me back. It’s just the extra bulk, especially on my legs.
Well, ok, I start huffing and puffing the third time I come up. But this is great exercise, especially on days when it’s just too darn cold to walk outside.
After going up and down 12 times I think I’ve done 1000, but I do the math and I’m short so I do two more rounds. Good workout.
I’ve felt guilty about not calling Linda and Joe, the couple we met on the way to Harbin. Linda had suggested we might ride over to the Ice Festival together, but I sensed some hesitation from Joe.
On our side, we thought we might not be able to stay very long because of the cold, and Bernie’s hip might start hurting, so we didn’t want to slow their pace.
But they seem very nice and Linda may want to talk to someone from back home – we don’t know how many of the Intel people are already her. So I call. Joe answers the phone. They are both sick. The caught head colds in Harbin. Linda may call when she’s well.
I’ve found a missed call on my phone that came in a week ago. The calling number shown on the phone isn’t really the calling number. I think it may be the way cell numbers display in China – a ten-digit number, the first three are zeroes, the next three 191 and the last three seem to vary. Trouble is, you can’t call back using those numbers.
I’m in a quandary. If I call Gail and she didn’t call me I may look presumptuous. If I don’t call and she left a voicemail, which I cannot access here, I’ll be rude.
I’ve sent an e-mail, but with e-mail who knows? Maybe it didn’t go anywhere. Maybe she only looks at her personal e-mail a couple of times a week.
And then there are the darker thoughts. I’ve been cut off from Facebook. Probably that’s just some computer slinking by and stabbing at anything that sticks its head out. On the other hand what if it’s more sinister?
I know that the surface appearance is designed to make this look like a free, bustling, very modern place.
But there’s more than meets the eye.
What if my new friends have been touched by something careless I’ve done to call attention to us?
All this is extremely unlikely. But when you’re in the shadow of darkness…
My worries about good etiquette may be for naught anyway. I’ve tried three phones and six different ways of dialing the number we have for Sheri’s mom and each time I get a recording telling me the number is no good.
I go to bed thinking there’s even a possibility she’s had to change her cell number because of….what?
You know, even when you’re all grown up and think you know better, you sometimes suspect that there really is something under the bed.
Gifts, and A Diverted Shopping Trip
Monday, February 8, 2010
We have been wracking our brains for appropriate gifts for Sheri’s parents. In addition to the wonderful hospitality they’ve provided for us, it’s very likely we’ll be invited to their home for Chinese New Year.
My searches online for appropriate gifts have told me more about what not to give (clocks, anything in groups of four, anything wrapped in white, which signifies death) than what makes a good present.
The one good suggestion, giving something made in your own country, is a cruel joke for shoppers back home and almost ludicrous here.
Today, though, I hit a site that tells what to give your host for Chinese New Year! Anything to eat or drink is good. Thank heavens. We may actually be able to handle this.
Bernie’s decided we’ll go to Walmart in Dalian, not the Trust Mart that’s owned by Walmart here in Kaifaqu. We need to replace the broken closet rod in our room. And who knows, we might even find a suitable gift for the Zhous.
We need Autumn for this, though, for two reasons: it’s hard to get a cab into Dalian since the driver may not be able to pick up a return fare, and, if we buy more than two bags full or something bulky, we couldn’t carry it on public transport.
Autumn agrees to pick us up at 3:00. On the phone we’d gotten as far as agreeing to take us to Dalian, but hadn’t proceeded to exactly where we wanted to go.
In the car we tell Autumn that we want to go to Walmart. (Hearing her say Walmart is a sweet little experience all its own.) Yes, we know there are three, maybe four, Walmarts in Dalian. The closest one will be fine.
Autumn calls someone on the phone to ask which is the closest and we begin driving in that direction.
After driving for ten minutes or so, Autumn asks why we want to go to Walmart. Why do we not go to Metro? The Canadian teachers –all kinds of people-go to Metro. They have nice things, nicer than Walmart. Walmart has cheap Chinese goods (she said it – I didn’t). Metro has things from other countries.
Our decision is based on two things: If Autumn is not familiar with the location of a Walmart, we might be in a situation where we will make her lose face, and that would be terribly wrong; also if Metro has goods imported from other countries we might be able to get an American import there as a gift.
Metro is next to Ikea. I guess we could stop there if we were homesick for West Chester.
Metro is a supercenter-type store, with groceries and appliances and electronics. Fortunately, they stock closet rods, the first thing on our list. I’m able to buy European-produced milk which I’ve been hoping to find if I can’t get it from the U.S. We get salmon, chicken and steaks for meals this week. There’s a good selection of cereal here and I buy boxes to replace what was at the apartment when we came. When I say it’s a good selection, that means a good selection for any Chinese store, not for Kroger back home. There may be fifteen kinds of cereal here, not the dozens and dozens of choices we have in any supermarket in the U.S. The Chinese just don’t eat cereal for breakfast.
Mid-way through our shopping, trip, though, we don’t have gifts for our friends. We’d thought about California wine and good chocolate, but we haven’t found either, though we know we can get good chocolate at the stores in Kaifaqu.
Another tour around the wine section and this time, we spot something that is thoroughly American: Jack Daniels. Tennessee whiskey from a hollow in the Appalachian Mountains looks right to us hillbillies.
I’ve picked up a box of brownie mix. That will be something homemade (well, me and Betty Crocker) to which is a good thing, at least in America. The chocolate will be easy to get –young women are standing around the Dove and other manufacturers’ displays in the stores in Kaifau passing out samples.
This is the first place we’ve seen paper towels of any kind. These are the z-fold kind, but that’s better than having to wipe the floor with a dish towel or clean a mirror or glass tabletop with a wad of toilet paper.
We pick up paper plates and bowls as well. We like these for snacks and lunch.
Autumn meets us at the checkout. She’s amazed, apparently, at how much stuff we bought (not a lot by checkout standards in the U.S.) but she’s totally blown away by our paper goods. She picks up the package of bowls, asks Bernie what they are, and returns it to the cart. Clearly this is not a common purchase in her experience. Autumn is noticeably affluent, so it’s not a question of price.
As westerners, we do use a lot of paper goods and we know we need to cut back on our consumption.
Still, there’s some irony in getting reminded here.
We have been wracking our brains for appropriate gifts for Sheri’s parents. In addition to the wonderful hospitality they’ve provided for us, it’s very likely we’ll be invited to their home for Chinese New Year.
My searches online for appropriate gifts have told me more about what not to give (clocks, anything in groups of four, anything wrapped in white, which signifies death) than what makes a good present.
The one good suggestion, giving something made in your own country, is a cruel joke for shoppers back home and almost ludicrous here.
Today, though, I hit a site that tells what to give your host for Chinese New Year! Anything to eat or drink is good. Thank heavens. We may actually be able to handle this.
Bernie’s decided we’ll go to Walmart in Dalian, not the Trust Mart that’s owned by Walmart here in Kaifaqu. We need to replace the broken closet rod in our room. And who knows, we might even find a suitable gift for the Zhous.
We need Autumn for this, though, for two reasons: it’s hard to get a cab into Dalian since the driver may not be able to pick up a return fare, and, if we buy more than two bags full or something bulky, we couldn’t carry it on public transport.
Autumn agrees to pick us up at 3:00. On the phone we’d gotten as far as agreeing to take us to Dalian, but hadn’t proceeded to exactly where we wanted to go.
In the car we tell Autumn that we want to go to Walmart. (Hearing her say Walmart is a sweet little experience all its own.) Yes, we know there are three, maybe four, Walmarts in Dalian. The closest one will be fine.
Autumn calls someone on the phone to ask which is the closest and we begin driving in that direction.
After driving for ten minutes or so, Autumn asks why we want to go to Walmart. Why do we not go to Metro? The Canadian teachers –all kinds of people-go to Metro. They have nice things, nicer than Walmart. Walmart has cheap Chinese goods (she said it – I didn’t). Metro has things from other countries.
Our decision is based on two things: If Autumn is not familiar with the location of a Walmart, we might be in a situation where we will make her lose face, and that would be terribly wrong; also if Metro has goods imported from other countries we might be able to get an American import there as a gift.
Metro is next to Ikea. I guess we could stop there if we were homesick for West Chester.
Metro is a supercenter-type store, with groceries and appliances and electronics. Fortunately, they stock closet rods, the first thing on our list. I’m able to buy European-produced milk which I’ve been hoping to find if I can’t get it from the U.S. We get salmon, chicken and steaks for meals this week. There’s a good selection of cereal here and I buy boxes to replace what was at the apartment when we came. When I say it’s a good selection, that means a good selection for any Chinese store, not for Kroger back home. There may be fifteen kinds of cereal here, not the dozens and dozens of choices we have in any supermarket in the U.S. The Chinese just don’t eat cereal for breakfast.
Mid-way through our shopping, trip, though, we don’t have gifts for our friends. We’d thought about California wine and good chocolate, but we haven’t found either, though we know we can get good chocolate at the stores in Kaifaqu.
Another tour around the wine section and this time, we spot something that is thoroughly American: Jack Daniels. Tennessee whiskey from a hollow in the Appalachian Mountains looks right to us hillbillies.
I’ve picked up a box of brownie mix. That will be something homemade (well, me and Betty Crocker) to which is a good thing, at least in America. The chocolate will be easy to get –young women are standing around the Dove and other manufacturers’ displays in the stores in Kaifau passing out samples.
This is the first place we’ve seen paper towels of any kind. These are the z-fold kind, but that’s better than having to wipe the floor with a dish towel or clean a mirror or glass tabletop with a wad of toilet paper.
We pick up paper plates and bowls as well. We like these for snacks and lunch.
Autumn meets us at the checkout. She’s amazed, apparently, at how much stuff we bought (not a lot by checkout standards in the U.S.) but she’s totally blown away by our paper goods. She picks up the package of bowls, asks Bernie what they are, and returns it to the cart. Clearly this is not a common purchase in her experience. Autumn is noticeably affluent, so it’s not a question of price.
As westerners, we do use a lot of paper goods and we know we need to cut back on our consumption.
Still, there’s some irony in getting reminded here.
The Real Eddies
Sunday, February 7, 2010
One of the great things about traveling this way is that we need to stay “home” with nothing much to do for several days. After all, our animals, our raison d’être, need us.
At home we’d have a list of things we need to do and we’d feel driven to do those things. Here, housekeeping chores are limited (and we have household help), so they take up a small amount of time.
That means we can play or be lazy without guilt.
Except for this blog, which is fun but is still a commitment I’ve made to myself, I don’t have to do anything.
So five episodes of Lost in one day works for me.
Between episodes three and four we order pizza from The Real Eddies.
If you’d asked me before we left home about what I expected from food in China, I’d have said lots of rice, seafood, chicken and some vegetables and fruit that weren’t all that familiar.
There have been some surprises, like those stacks of chicken and pork feet in the best supermarkets. There are actually many, many more offerings in the meat cases – I just can’t identify them. And on my own I wouldn’t have tasted sea cucumbers and sea intestine (many thanks to Sheri’s parents for introducing us to those).
We’ve seen more noodles on menus than I expected, and I’ve eaten about the same amount of rice here as I would at home.
Good pizza in China would have been absolutely dead last on my list.
Bernie has pizza wherever we go if it’s available, though, so last week we thumbed through the housesitter’s book and found Eddies.
There may be thousands of pizza places in Dalian. But even if we had a phone book (and what good would a Chinese phone book do us?) we couldn’t get a pizza delivered because that would require that the order taker on the other end speak English. (See where this language thing can trip you up in unexpected ways?) So the housesitter’s book is invaluable. We know someone at Eddie’s will understand us.
Shannon had mentioned that had Eddie trained in the U.S. and came back to start his pizza business.
Realistically, though, I expected a too-sweet dough and toppings that are less tomatoey and more fishy.
I was very impressed, I admit, when he asked me if I wanted thin or thick crust.
Assuming the pizzas would be small and not too filling, we ordered one for each of us – the 12” cheese and pepperoni for Bernie and the 10” taco pizza for me.
The last part of the ordering process was giving our delivery address. Shannon had printed it on Eddie’s menu in the book and had even included a phonetic pronunciation guide. I gave it a shot. He seemed to understand (wonder if it’s Eddie I’m talking to?) and I hung up with a slight hope that we’d actually get pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door and we had pizza. We are positively elated when we accomplish something like this.
It looked like pizza, smelled like pizza, but what would it taste like?
Let’s just say that I ate the whole pizza. I stopped once and put two slices in the refrigerator, but took them back out after five minutes.
Eddie’s taco pizza (number 8 on the menu) is the best pizza I have ever tasted.
So here we are on this lazy Sunday and Eddie’s pizza sounds terrific.
We’ve ordered the large taco pizza to share because I raved so much about it.
It’s hot and cheesy, lots of yummy taco meat on the bottom, great sauce with some Chinese red pepper sprinkled in – just the right amount - onions and black olives (which Bernie removes from his slices and tosses on mine).
Ecstasy in pizza.
Wonder what Mao would say about such western decadence?
One of the great things about traveling this way is that we need to stay “home” with nothing much to do for several days. After all, our animals, our raison d’être, need us.
At home we’d have a list of things we need to do and we’d feel driven to do those things. Here, housekeeping chores are limited (and we have household help), so they take up a small amount of time.
That means we can play or be lazy without guilt.
Except for this blog, which is fun but is still a commitment I’ve made to myself, I don’t have to do anything.
So five episodes of Lost in one day works for me.
Between episodes three and four we order pizza from The Real Eddies.
If you’d asked me before we left home about what I expected from food in China, I’d have said lots of rice, seafood, chicken and some vegetables and fruit that weren’t all that familiar.
There have been some surprises, like those stacks of chicken and pork feet in the best supermarkets. There are actually many, many more offerings in the meat cases – I just can’t identify them. And on my own I wouldn’t have tasted sea cucumbers and sea intestine (many thanks to Sheri’s parents for introducing us to those).
We’ve seen more noodles on menus than I expected, and I’ve eaten about the same amount of rice here as I would at home.
Good pizza in China would have been absolutely dead last on my list.
Bernie has pizza wherever we go if it’s available, though, so last week we thumbed through the housesitter’s book and found Eddies.
There may be thousands of pizza places in Dalian. But even if we had a phone book (and what good would a Chinese phone book do us?) we couldn’t get a pizza delivered because that would require that the order taker on the other end speak English. (See where this language thing can trip you up in unexpected ways?) So the housesitter’s book is invaluable. We know someone at Eddie’s will understand us.
Shannon had mentioned that had Eddie trained in the U.S. and came back to start his pizza business.
Realistically, though, I expected a too-sweet dough and toppings that are less tomatoey and more fishy.
I was very impressed, I admit, when he asked me if I wanted thin or thick crust.
Assuming the pizzas would be small and not too filling, we ordered one for each of us – the 12” cheese and pepperoni for Bernie and the 10” taco pizza for me.
The last part of the ordering process was giving our delivery address. Shannon had printed it on Eddie’s menu in the book and had even included a phonetic pronunciation guide. I gave it a shot. He seemed to understand (wonder if it’s Eddie I’m talking to?) and I hung up with a slight hope that we’d actually get pizza.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door and we had pizza. We are positively elated when we accomplish something like this.
It looked like pizza, smelled like pizza, but what would it taste like?
Let’s just say that I ate the whole pizza. I stopped once and put two slices in the refrigerator, but took them back out after five minutes.
Eddie’s taco pizza (number 8 on the menu) is the best pizza I have ever tasted.
So here we are on this lazy Sunday and Eddie’s pizza sounds terrific.
We’ve ordered the large taco pizza to share because I raved so much about it.
It’s hot and cheesy, lots of yummy taco meat on the bottom, great sauce with some Chinese red pepper sprinkled in – just the right amount - onions and black olives (which Bernie removes from his slices and tosses on mine).
Ecstasy in pizza.
Wonder what Mao would say about such western decadence?
Ollie, and the Aliens Phone Home
Saturday, February 6, 2010
We’re staying in today, doing laundry, vegging, and watching Lost.
Bernie laughs at me when I make comments about Jack or Kate or Claire or Sayid. But he’s just as involved as I am.
I’ve been locked out of Facebook for several days now. I thought I might feel as if I were on a deserted island, but, except for being out of touch with Sarah and other members of our family (who are the reason I joined Facebook in the first place)and some friends of Sarah’s from school whom I like very much, it’s no big deal.
Besides, we can video-phone Sarah on Skype and see as well as talk to those guys. We’re thinking we’ll do that tonight, after they wake up, since we’re thirteen hours ahead of everyone at home.
But my friends have my e-mail address, and if they write and ask, I tell them about our trip.
Laundry is on the agenda today. We have a washer but no dryer. There’s a drying rack on the closed-in balcony. That can take a while.
We have missed Ollie and we think he missed us. He’s hanging closer to us now.
Ollie is a Korean cat, not a Canadian cat, as I once thought. Shannon and Damon got him when he was a small kitten. He’s black and white, with an odd tail- it’s accordioned so that it’s very short and thicker than most cats’ tails. They thought his tail might have been broken, but the vet said he was born that way.
His legs are long. When he makes a Halloween cat he’s a great one with those long legs and arched back.
When we came, Shannon told us she puts him in the bathroom at night (his litter box is in there) and closes the door because he gets wild in the night and wakes them up.
We tried that for a couple of nights but we wanted a kitty to snuggle. So now he sleeps with us. He sits on Bernie and meows in the morning before we are ready to get up, but we get our kitty fix.
He’s more Bernie’s cat than mine. I’d say I don’t know why, but cats can tell Bernie likes them. Ollie takes me for granted, but I love him anyway.
When he first sat beside me instead of Bernie, Bernie said Ollie was just trying to make him jealous, showing him that he could take his woman.
Ollie begins each day bossing me. My first task is to turn the shower on for him to get a drink. Ollie only likes running water. Once I convinced him to drink water from his bowl by having him stand beside me while I fill it, listening to the glug-glug of the water cooler, then holding the bowl in my hand, making sure to stir the water so he could see it was still moving. He drank more than half the little bowl.
Besides water control officer, Ollie likes being the Bear Scarer. He has a brown bear, sort of like a teddy. I get behind the door, hold Bear out and shake him so Ollie sees him, then pull him back out of sight. In a second or two Bear edges back around the door just a little. Then Ollie races past Bear and me and hunkers down on the other side of the room, shakes his buns and gets ready to do it all over again.
Sometimes Bear kisses Ollie and wants to ride on his back. Ollie hugs the bear or carries him in his teeth for a second or two the way a momma cat carries her kittens.
We thought we’d lost Ollie one day. We’d been out and when we came in Ollie wasn’t there to give us his usual greeting. We searched the apartment looking and calling for him but no Ollie.
Then Bernie led me into our bedroom and showed me the lump in the covers. He pulled the comforter back and Ollie looked up as if to say, “Were you looking for me? Sorry, I was asleep.”
Sometimes Olllie likes a good hand wrestle session, but he never scratches or bites so that it breaks the skin. He’s a smart kitty, and kind.
We’re about halfway through our time in China and we miss our children and grandchildren. It’s Saturday, evening here and morning at home, so we’ve planned to stay up long enough for our family to get a little extra sleep on Saturday morning and then call both of them.
We’ve used Skype for several years now. The first time, we called Sarah when they lived in their first house in Atlanta. We were able to see Jacob and Elyse.
In France we bought $10 worth of calling time. We called all we wanted and still had about $4 left on our account when we came home, and we still have that.
Because Sarah has Skype installed on her computer and we each have built-in cameras, we can talk to, and see, Sarah for free from anywhere in the world we can make an internet connection.
Tonight the connection is great and so is the picture. Once she knows we’re on, Elyse pops into the picture. This is such a kick for us. Juliet got up early and is already down for a nap so we don’t see her, but Josh sticks his head in front of the camera for a second.
Mary’s family doesn’t have the Skype set up, but we have great conversation while they eat breakfast. It’s so good to hear the kids’ voices.
Before we get too sleepy we call Kathy in New Orleans and Barb at home.
We still have money left in our account, but Bernie buys another $10 worth. It’s too good to pass up.
We’re staying in today, doing laundry, vegging, and watching Lost.
Bernie laughs at me when I make comments about Jack or Kate or Claire or Sayid. But he’s just as involved as I am.
I’ve been locked out of Facebook for several days now. I thought I might feel as if I were on a deserted island, but, except for being out of touch with Sarah and other members of our family (who are the reason I joined Facebook in the first place)and some friends of Sarah’s from school whom I like very much, it’s no big deal.
Besides, we can video-phone Sarah on Skype and see as well as talk to those guys. We’re thinking we’ll do that tonight, after they wake up, since we’re thirteen hours ahead of everyone at home.
But my friends have my e-mail address, and if they write and ask, I tell them about our trip.
Laundry is on the agenda today. We have a washer but no dryer. There’s a drying rack on the closed-in balcony. That can take a while.
We have missed Ollie and we think he missed us. He’s hanging closer to us now.
Ollie is a Korean cat, not a Canadian cat, as I once thought. Shannon and Damon got him when he was a small kitten. He’s black and white, with an odd tail- it’s accordioned so that it’s very short and thicker than most cats’ tails. They thought his tail might have been broken, but the vet said he was born that way.
His legs are long. When he makes a Halloween cat he’s a great one with those long legs and arched back.
When we came, Shannon told us she puts him in the bathroom at night (his litter box is in there) and closes the door because he gets wild in the night and wakes them up.
We tried that for a couple of nights but we wanted a kitty to snuggle. So now he sleeps with us. He sits on Bernie and meows in the morning before we are ready to get up, but we get our kitty fix.
He’s more Bernie’s cat than mine. I’d say I don’t know why, but cats can tell Bernie likes them. Ollie takes me for granted, but I love him anyway.
When he first sat beside me instead of Bernie, Bernie said Ollie was just trying to make him jealous, showing him that he could take his woman.
Ollie begins each day bossing me. My first task is to turn the shower on for him to get a drink. Ollie only likes running water. Once I convinced him to drink water from his bowl by having him stand beside me while I fill it, listening to the glug-glug of the water cooler, then holding the bowl in my hand, making sure to stir the water so he could see it was still moving. He drank more than half the little bowl.
Besides water control officer, Ollie likes being the Bear Scarer. He has a brown bear, sort of like a teddy. I get behind the door, hold Bear out and shake him so Ollie sees him, then pull him back out of sight. In a second or two Bear edges back around the door just a little. Then Ollie races past Bear and me and hunkers down on the other side of the room, shakes his buns and gets ready to do it all over again.
Sometimes Bear kisses Ollie and wants to ride on his back. Ollie hugs the bear or carries him in his teeth for a second or two the way a momma cat carries her kittens.
We thought we’d lost Ollie one day. We’d been out and when we came in Ollie wasn’t there to give us his usual greeting. We searched the apartment looking and calling for him but no Ollie.
Then Bernie led me into our bedroom and showed me the lump in the covers. He pulled the comforter back and Ollie looked up as if to say, “Were you looking for me? Sorry, I was asleep.”
Sometimes Olllie likes a good hand wrestle session, but he never scratches or bites so that it breaks the skin. He’s a smart kitty, and kind.
We’re about halfway through our time in China and we miss our children and grandchildren. It’s Saturday, evening here and morning at home, so we’ve planned to stay up long enough for our family to get a little extra sleep on Saturday morning and then call both of them.
We’ve used Skype for several years now. The first time, we called Sarah when they lived in their first house in Atlanta. We were able to see Jacob and Elyse.
In France we bought $10 worth of calling time. We called all we wanted and still had about $4 left on our account when we came home, and we still have that.
Because Sarah has Skype installed on her computer and we each have built-in cameras, we can talk to, and see, Sarah for free from anywhere in the world we can make an internet connection.
Tonight the connection is great and so is the picture. Once she knows we’re on, Elyse pops into the picture. This is such a kick for us. Juliet got up early and is already down for a nap so we don’t see her, but Josh sticks his head in front of the camera for a second.
Mary’s family doesn’t have the Skype set up, but we have great conversation while they eat breakfast. It’s so good to hear the kids’ voices.
Before we get too sleepy we call Kathy in New Orleans and Barb at home.
We still have money left in our account, but Bernie buys another $10 worth. It’s too good to pass up.
What’s for Breakfast, A Temple in Winter, and a Korean Dinner
Friday, February 5, 2010
Breakfast is included with our hotel plan, so off we go to a buffet of Russian, Chinese, and Western breakfast dishes.
Ever eat salad for breakfast? Dumplings? Prawns? Pickled cabbage with red pepper (wakes you up, I’m told).
Fortunately for us, fruit, yogurt and eggs and bacon are also on the buffet, as is French toast, though by another name.
Two cooks are at the egg station, and we assume that eggs are cooked to order. Nope. You get them one way-fried almost hard, and cold. The cooks pre-fry them and until one round of eggs is gone, they don’t cook again.
We try to guess what nationality our breakfast-mates are. The heavy woman with white hair is almost certainly British. She is accompanied by a younger, blond-haired woman who may be her daughter.
The couple who came in bundled up as we were yesterday on our way to the Ice Festival and began stripping off layers is a little harder to place. They’re not American.
It’s hard to say how you know this but when you travel, you just do. Of course once you hear anyone talk you can tell, but there are subtler clues-a hairdo, the cut of clothes, and almost always, shoes. Perhaps a few in every hundred thousand people in a crowd in the U.S. could be British or Australian and you’d not notice any difference. So there’s a certain overlap. But like this, isolated, and with a couple, it’s definite. The one exception is Canadians. They look like us, buy their clothes at places like The Gap and, like the same stuff we do, watch a lot of the same TV, and if they are not from a part of Canada that says Eh? at the end of some of their sentences, you’ll never know if they’re from San Antonio or Saskatchewan.
And there’s the young man with extreme bed head in black jeans with zippers on the pockets. My guess is he’s Dutch. The Dutch speak perfect English. And though I have nothing on which to base this other than personal observation, I think their young people travel extensively.
The men at the table nearest us are Chinese and Western businessmen. Everybody there is very serious. I make a wild guess that the westerners are German.
Our first outing today is the Confucian temple, which is located a few miles away. We want to make sure we’ll have plenty of time to get back to the hotel to pack and check out before going anywhere else.
It’s a busy weekday, and what’s going on in the streets makes yesterday look like a kiddy car parade. They’re driving faster and they are just as determined to make a lane change in the space of two feet with no warning except for the incessant horn blast (that goes for each of drivers on either side of you-how it’s determined who gets it is a mystery westerners cannot fathom).
They rocket out of side streets into the traffic without ever looking to see what’s coming (that one was hurling straight at the rear passenger door where I am sitting and missed by, oh, maybe a foot).
Added to this mix are: bicycles and carts, which are expressly forbidden by the signs along the street above the lane in which they are traveling, trucks built on motorcycle or motorbike bodies loaded six feet high, and motor-driven rickshaw-like vehicles . Oh, and pedestrians.
“Did you see that!?” we keep saying to each other.
Bernie asks “What was he trying to do?” after one near-incident.
“I don’t know, B. I am in this cab but not of it.”
At our destination, we see that we are on a dead-end street. Next door to the temple is a large military installation with a fence around it. We are thinking our chances of catching a cab here aren’t good so we ask our driver if he will either wait for us or come back and get us.
That sounds straightforward but of course we are dealing with one non-Chinese speaker and one non-English speaker. I stay out of these conversations.
After five minutes in which I believe not one word has been understood on either side, our driver takes out his cell phone and points. I do the same and he keys in his number on Shannon’s phone. His phone rings. We’re cool.
The monastery in winter, it turns out, is closed up. We are free to walk around and look at the buildings but we cannot go inside. The buildings are worth looking at. They are exquisitely painted with carvings on each corner.
We’d hoped to find a quiet place indoors to sit quietly for awhile. Failing that we’d just like to find a place to get warm after several minutes outside. At the end of the walkway we see a building that is different from the others. It’s plainer, and there are curtains at the windows.
My first thought is that it’s the mess hall for the monks. But we see people leaving who look as if they are visitors, so we open the door.
My first thought was right. This is the mess hall.
Ok, so have you ever been thrown out of a Confucian monastery mess hall? Thought not.
Back to the gatehouse. We ask the gatekeeper, a middle-aged woman, if we can come in and wait while we try to get our taxi.
I let Bernie talk to him since the two of them have previously conversed. No use confusing him with a woman’s voice.
At the end of the conversation Bernie thinks the driver has said no. We agree to wait a few minutes just in case.
Now that we’re inside we’re treated as insiders. The woman motions for both of us to take chairs while we wait. We smile. She smiles.
Soon a young woman comes in, puts something in a refrigerator (I think) and after a short conversation with the lady in charge, leaves.
After a few minutes another woman of approximately the same age as our hostess enters. She takes off her coat and settles in.
They look at us. The new lady smiles at me and gives me a thumbs up while she makes a remark about me to her companion. They look at me and talk about me for a few more minutes and then, having exhausted the subject, drop into gossip.
Gossip is recognizable in any language. You can tell by the little laughs, the nods of the head, the lowered voices. It happens all over the world, from women gathered around a well in Africa to men warming themselves at a stove as they guard the China/North Korean border.
After fifteen minutes we think we’ve worn out our welcome here and get up to leave. We’ll go out and hail a taxi. The visiting woman decides this is not a job for us; she’ll go out and get it. She and Bernie have a gentle go-round about this as he doesn’t want her to stand in the cold for us. The upshot is, she’ll go out with us.
And she tries, she really does. We are touched by how considerate and helping the Chinese people are. So many of them have gone the extra mile and beyond for us, a couple of total ignoramuses in their midst.
The cabs coming out of the military base are full, though. And those going in have been called to pick up passengers there, so we walk up to the main street.
The taxi ride is the usual terror trip. We’re about to break out into a couple of verses of “Nearer My God to Thee.”
We don’t have a much time left in Harbin after checking out of the hotel and storing our bags with the concierge. It’s 2:30 and we need to leave for the airport a little before 5 p.m. We don’t want to take a taxi anywhere because we might get tied up in traffic.
But we’re in the most architecturally interesting part of Harbin and on a great shopping street, so we’ll explore our surroundings.
I love the bakeries here. The cakes are works of art. So are many of those in bakeries at home. There’s just a little different twist to the decorating done in Chinese bakeries and it fascinates me. I resist going in since I ate so many cookies last night in the hotel room.
Farther down our street is occupied predominantly by optometrists and athletic shoe shops – Adidas, Converse, Nike.
Just as we’re about to turn around, we’re stopped by a young man who introduces himself as Peter. He tells us he is a freelance translator and likes to practice his English by speaking with native speakers. Philip is very friendly, very nice and he is loaded with information about Harbin. He tells us that there is a Jewish synagogue nearby, just a couple of blocks away, that he would like to show us.
We decline and tell him we really don’t want to leave Central Street because we have to prepare to leave for the airport soon. He gives us his business card. Turns out he’s a guide as well as a translator.
We believe Peter was just what he said he was. But we have also read about the schemes in which someone approaches you saying they want to practice their English and then they take you to a tea shop or art gallery and you end up paying a lot of money.
We’ve stood in the cold talking to Peter, who wore no gloves and all the time he was talking I thought he must be freezing. Now we are cold, so we’re going to duck into the inside mall.
The mall has four floors of shops and restaurants. We’re going all the way up and window shop our way back down. At least that was our intent.
But here on the third floor is something I don’t think we have in the U.S. It’s something like a Chuck E. Cheese play area, but without the pizza. It’s like an indoor rent-a-playground for little kids. The parents pay at the desk and the kids come in and take off their shoes. Most of the kids strip down to their long underwear. (As a grandmother, I’m pleased to see that parents here dress their kids warmly for the terrible cold.)
Then they bounce, slide, climb and run around doing the usual kid stuff.
We sit outside on a bench and watch them for awhile. It’s always nice to see little girls in China and there are several of them here. Children are very precious to parents here.
We cross to the other side of the mall and see a Korean restaurant, a Korean barbecue. There are hibachis in the center of the table. We’ll cook our own meat, the waitress tells us. Rather, we hear that from another restaurant employee who translates.
We order beef and scallops and soon a man brings hot coals and places them in the fire pit in the center of our table. The beef comes next, along with a pair of scissors to cut the strip into pieces. Then come the scallops, on the half-shell.
The beef is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, slightly sweet and very flavorful.
The scallops, one of my favorite sea foods, are great, but the beef is superb.
It’s time to leave now. The hotel is just a short walk up the street. The concierge calls a taxi for us and soon we’re on our way.
Autumn is waiting for us in the Dalian airport with hugs.
We’re glad to be back “home” in Dalian. No wonder the people from Harbin flock here for the warmer climate.
Breakfast is included with our hotel plan, so off we go to a buffet of Russian, Chinese, and Western breakfast dishes.
Ever eat salad for breakfast? Dumplings? Prawns? Pickled cabbage with red pepper (wakes you up, I’m told).
Fortunately for us, fruit, yogurt and eggs and bacon are also on the buffet, as is French toast, though by another name.
Two cooks are at the egg station, and we assume that eggs are cooked to order. Nope. You get them one way-fried almost hard, and cold. The cooks pre-fry them and until one round of eggs is gone, they don’t cook again.
We try to guess what nationality our breakfast-mates are. The heavy woman with white hair is almost certainly British. She is accompanied by a younger, blond-haired woman who may be her daughter.
The couple who came in bundled up as we were yesterday on our way to the Ice Festival and began stripping off layers is a little harder to place. They’re not American.
It’s hard to say how you know this but when you travel, you just do. Of course once you hear anyone talk you can tell, but there are subtler clues-a hairdo, the cut of clothes, and almost always, shoes. Perhaps a few in every hundred thousand people in a crowd in the U.S. could be British or Australian and you’d not notice any difference. So there’s a certain overlap. But like this, isolated, and with a couple, it’s definite. The one exception is Canadians. They look like us, buy their clothes at places like The Gap and, like the same stuff we do, watch a lot of the same TV, and if they are not from a part of Canada that says Eh? at the end of some of their sentences, you’ll never know if they’re from San Antonio or Saskatchewan.
And there’s the young man with extreme bed head in black jeans with zippers on the pockets. My guess is he’s Dutch. The Dutch speak perfect English. And though I have nothing on which to base this other than personal observation, I think their young people travel extensively.
The men at the table nearest us are Chinese and Western businessmen. Everybody there is very serious. I make a wild guess that the westerners are German.
Our first outing today is the Confucian temple, which is located a few miles away. We want to make sure we’ll have plenty of time to get back to the hotel to pack and check out before going anywhere else.
It’s a busy weekday, and what’s going on in the streets makes yesterday look like a kiddy car parade. They’re driving faster and they are just as determined to make a lane change in the space of two feet with no warning except for the incessant horn blast (that goes for each of drivers on either side of you-how it’s determined who gets it is a mystery westerners cannot fathom).
They rocket out of side streets into the traffic without ever looking to see what’s coming (that one was hurling straight at the rear passenger door where I am sitting and missed by, oh, maybe a foot).
Added to this mix are: bicycles and carts, which are expressly forbidden by the signs along the street above the lane in which they are traveling, trucks built on motorcycle or motorbike bodies loaded six feet high, and motor-driven rickshaw-like vehicles . Oh, and pedestrians.
“Did you see that!?” we keep saying to each other.
Bernie asks “What was he trying to do?” after one near-incident.
“I don’t know, B. I am in this cab but not of it.”
At our destination, we see that we are on a dead-end street. Next door to the temple is a large military installation with a fence around it. We are thinking our chances of catching a cab here aren’t good so we ask our driver if he will either wait for us or come back and get us.
That sounds straightforward but of course we are dealing with one non-Chinese speaker and one non-English speaker. I stay out of these conversations.
After five minutes in which I believe not one word has been understood on either side, our driver takes out his cell phone and points. I do the same and he keys in his number on Shannon’s phone. His phone rings. We’re cool.
The monastery in winter, it turns out, is closed up. We are free to walk around and look at the buildings but we cannot go inside. The buildings are worth looking at. They are exquisitely painted with carvings on each corner.
We’d hoped to find a quiet place indoors to sit quietly for awhile. Failing that we’d just like to find a place to get warm after several minutes outside. At the end of the walkway we see a building that is different from the others. It’s plainer, and there are curtains at the windows.
My first thought is that it’s the mess hall for the monks. But we see people leaving who look as if they are visitors, so we open the door.
My first thought was right. This is the mess hall.
Ok, so have you ever been thrown out of a Confucian monastery mess hall? Thought not.
Back to the gatehouse. We ask the gatekeeper, a middle-aged woman, if we can come in and wait while we try to get our taxi.
I let Bernie talk to him since the two of them have previously conversed. No use confusing him with a woman’s voice.
At the end of the conversation Bernie thinks the driver has said no. We agree to wait a few minutes just in case.
Now that we’re inside we’re treated as insiders. The woman motions for both of us to take chairs while we wait. We smile. She smiles.
Soon a young woman comes in, puts something in a refrigerator (I think) and after a short conversation with the lady in charge, leaves.
After a few minutes another woman of approximately the same age as our hostess enters. She takes off her coat and settles in.
They look at us. The new lady smiles at me and gives me a thumbs up while she makes a remark about me to her companion. They look at me and talk about me for a few more minutes and then, having exhausted the subject, drop into gossip.
Gossip is recognizable in any language. You can tell by the little laughs, the nods of the head, the lowered voices. It happens all over the world, from women gathered around a well in Africa to men warming themselves at a stove as they guard the China/North Korean border.
After fifteen minutes we think we’ve worn out our welcome here and get up to leave. We’ll go out and hail a taxi. The visiting woman decides this is not a job for us; she’ll go out and get it. She and Bernie have a gentle go-round about this as he doesn’t want her to stand in the cold for us. The upshot is, she’ll go out with us.
And she tries, she really does. We are touched by how considerate and helping the Chinese people are. So many of them have gone the extra mile and beyond for us, a couple of total ignoramuses in their midst.
The cabs coming out of the military base are full, though. And those going in have been called to pick up passengers there, so we walk up to the main street.
The taxi ride is the usual terror trip. We’re about to break out into a couple of verses of “Nearer My God to Thee.”
We don’t have a much time left in Harbin after checking out of the hotel and storing our bags with the concierge. It’s 2:30 and we need to leave for the airport a little before 5 p.m. We don’t want to take a taxi anywhere because we might get tied up in traffic.
But we’re in the most architecturally interesting part of Harbin and on a great shopping street, so we’ll explore our surroundings.
I love the bakeries here. The cakes are works of art. So are many of those in bakeries at home. There’s just a little different twist to the decorating done in Chinese bakeries and it fascinates me. I resist going in since I ate so many cookies last night in the hotel room.
Farther down our street is occupied predominantly by optometrists and athletic shoe shops – Adidas, Converse, Nike.
Just as we’re about to turn around, we’re stopped by a young man who introduces himself as Peter. He tells us he is a freelance translator and likes to practice his English by speaking with native speakers. Philip is very friendly, very nice and he is loaded with information about Harbin. He tells us that there is a Jewish synagogue nearby, just a couple of blocks away, that he would like to show us.
We decline and tell him we really don’t want to leave Central Street because we have to prepare to leave for the airport soon. He gives us his business card. Turns out he’s a guide as well as a translator.
We believe Peter was just what he said he was. But we have also read about the schemes in which someone approaches you saying they want to practice their English and then they take you to a tea shop or art gallery and you end up paying a lot of money.
We’ve stood in the cold talking to Peter, who wore no gloves and all the time he was talking I thought he must be freezing. Now we are cold, so we’re going to duck into the inside mall.
The mall has four floors of shops and restaurants. We’re going all the way up and window shop our way back down. At least that was our intent.
But here on the third floor is something I don’t think we have in the U.S. It’s something like a Chuck E. Cheese play area, but without the pizza. It’s like an indoor rent-a-playground for little kids. The parents pay at the desk and the kids come in and take off their shoes. Most of the kids strip down to their long underwear. (As a grandmother, I’m pleased to see that parents here dress their kids warmly for the terrible cold.)
Then they bounce, slide, climb and run around doing the usual kid stuff.
We sit outside on a bench and watch them for awhile. It’s always nice to see little girls in China and there are several of them here. Children are very precious to parents here.
We cross to the other side of the mall and see a Korean restaurant, a Korean barbecue. There are hibachis in the center of the table. We’ll cook our own meat, the waitress tells us. Rather, we hear that from another restaurant employee who translates.
We order beef and scallops and soon a man brings hot coals and places them in the fire pit in the center of our table. The beef comes next, along with a pair of scissors to cut the strip into pieces. Then come the scallops, on the half-shell.
The beef is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted, slightly sweet and very flavorful.
The scallops, one of my favorite sea foods, are great, but the beef is superb.
It’s time to leave now. The hotel is just a short walk up the street. The concierge calls a taxi for us and soon we’re on our way.
Autumn is waiting for us in the Dalian airport with hugs.
We’re glad to be back “home” in Dalian. No wonder the people from Harbin flock here for the warmer climate.
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