Sunday, January 31, 2010
It feels strange to get up on Sunday morning and not get ready to go to church.
This morning we’re taking a walk. A few days ago I walked along the road across from the beach. It’s just two and a half blocks away, and Bernie wants to see it.
He wants to cross the highway and actually walk along the beach. It’s a popular place in summer-there are restaurants and concessions all along here, most closed now for winter.
As we step onto the beach, we can hardly believe our eyes. A few feet away a young man is stuffing his clothes in a duffle and is now wearing only bathing trunks. He dons a bathing cap and flippers, walks to the water and dives in (not before Bernie gets a few shots with his camera). He’s swimming. We can’t imagine forcing your body to do that.
I checked the temperature before we left the apartment so I’d know how many layers to put on – 36 degrees. We and the people all around us are wearing coats.
Our bather gets out of the water, but instead of promptly donning his clothes (you know how much colder you feel when you get out of the water and the wind hits you), he walks briskly up the beach and back, then just stands there in the cold.
We walk on up the beach, turning around several times to see if he’s still there; he is.
There is plenty of sunshine today and for those of us who are appropriately dressed for the weather it’s a pleasant walk up the beach along the sidewalk below the cliffs.
Along the way are sculptures that depict stories from mythology, mostly Greek mythology: a mermaid and merman, and Odysseus. But there’s also a statue of The Old Man and The Sea, Hemingway’s modern story set in Cuba.
Signs along the way encourage good treatment of the plants that grow in the park:
“Please show your compassion to lovely plants.”
“Whoever bully green life merciless.”
Since I’m trying to get some real exercise today, we walk until the walkway ends at a hill and rocks below, then turn around and walk back to where we came on the beach.
Back at the apartment, we decide we’d better start traveling. We’ve been warned that all travel will be very crowded during the New Year celebration, which begins the night of February 13.
We want to go to Dandong first, since it’s closest, a four-hour drive. Dandong is on the border with North Korea, and we understand we’ll be able to look over into North Korea there.
If Autumn can drive us, we’ll go in the morning.
I call Autumn. She suggests starting out a five o’clock in the morning. Too early, I say. It’s a long way, Autumn tells me-can we go at 7:00? Compared to five, this sounds like a reasonable hour, so we agree to it.
Now, it’s early to bed, with visions of the Evil Empire in our heads.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Lushun
Saturday, January 30, 2010
At 9:00 a.m., Sheri’s mother and her driver pick us up for a morning of sightseeing followed by lunch. We’ll drive into the main part of Dalian and then continue on to Lushun, about 30 minutes from the center of Dalian.
Gail wants us to see the hospital where she works. It’s a modern hospital with 800 beds. On the floor where she works there are private and two-bed wards, unlike most of the other areas of the hospital where the wards are larger. Here, former top Chinese government officials receive treatment, she tells us. We peek into a couple of rooms. They are nicely furnished, comfortable looking with windows and plenty of light. It’s a short visit, but we’ve seen something we’d never have seen without Gail.
The drive to Lushun is pleasant, along the ocean road. Our first stop is White Jade Mountain, topped by Baiyu Tower. Erected by the Japanese who ruled this area in 1904, it was built as a memorial to the Japanese who died in the battle here. Today it’s a reminder of the thousands of Chinese who lost their lives during the cruel Japanese occupation.
The tower is built so that it looks like a candle on one side, in memoriam. On the other side, it looks like a bullet, symbol of Japan’s military might. For its building, 20,000 Chinese coolies were rounded up and used as forced labor. During the two-and-one-half years it took to build the tower, many of them died.
We’re looking out over Port Arthur. It’s easy to see why this was such a strategic military site. From here the view to the entrance of the harbor is clear, and even to the sea beyond.
The Chinese do not look favorably upon the Japanese. Given the history of the two nations, it’s understandable. As in Korea, the native people suffered greatly under Japanese occupation.
We drive back down the mountain toward central Lushun. We’re going to the old Russia-Japanese Prison. Built by the Russians in 1902 (we are reminded that Russia was then Tsarist Imperialist Russia), it was expanded later by the Japanese.
This must be the perfect day to get a feeling for the place. It’s cold. The prison is unheated, just as it was when Chinese and Korean prisoners were housed here. The cell walls are concrete, about 8 x 10 feet, with a container for water and a toilet bucket. Six to eight prisoners occupied each cell. We saw the thin, ragged clothing the prisoners wore when we entered the prison. There were no blankets. I’m wearing long underwear and a winter coat and I’m cold. I don’t think I’d last a day in this place.
Workshops on the prison grounds included a glove factory and a print shop.
The prisoners were beaten and often their wounds sent them to the hospital. They were given no medicine, and prisoners usually died within a day or two of infection.
Political prisoners were housed here, a leader of the movement to free Korea of Japanese rule, and a Chinese political activist whose goal was freedom of assembly. Both were executed.
The hanging room is behind the prison. Apparently it was a secret during the time the prison was in active use. There is a hole in the upper floor below the gallows through which the hanged person drops into a barrel waiting on the floor below. A lid was placed on the barrel and the corpse was rolled out for burial.
Misery hangs over the old prison like a dirty fog.
We’re glad to be back out in the sunshine. Our driver is waiting. We’ll return to Dalian for lunch.
On the drive back, Gail and I talk quietly in the back seat. As a doctor, especially one working with older people, she is familiar with death. She does not believe that life ends with death, but that it continues beyond.
“I am a member of the Communist Party,” she says, “but I believe in God. I want Sheri to know God.”
Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. If I had written this scene in a piece of fiction, I know I’d have been asked to edit it out because it’s just not believable.
Lunch is again in a private dining room at a restaurant. This time the menu is live. We enter a room lined on three sides with dishes of food that we can select. Gail helps us and we agree on a couple of things we would not have tried on our own: sea cucumber and a type of seafood unappetizingly named sea intestine. Actually when we first meet it, it’s gawping at us with its mouth, which is just the end of its tube-like body.
In a few minutes the food starts coming and keeps coming. We have mushroom soup, three kinds of vegetables including broccoli, a mixture of mushrooms, peppers, what looks like bamboo shoots but larger, and some greens which Bernie thinks is spinach.
It’s impossible to eat everything. Bernie asks what is polite-should we try to eat everything or what? Gail answers, “There is no polite. Eat what you want. Act like I am your little sister.” She’s a very warm and likeable person.
Since Gail is going to her mother’s for dinner-she visits her every weekend, partly just to visit but also to check her mother’s health, including her blood pressure-she insists that we take home the leftover food. We’ll be able to eat this for at least two days.
The driver takes us back to our apartment and we say goodbye to Gail.
We are stuffed. No dinner for us. A few household chores and we settle down to some more episodes of Lost.
At 9:00 a.m., Sheri’s mother and her driver pick us up for a morning of sightseeing followed by lunch. We’ll drive into the main part of Dalian and then continue on to Lushun, about 30 minutes from the center of Dalian.
Gail wants us to see the hospital where she works. It’s a modern hospital with 800 beds. On the floor where she works there are private and two-bed wards, unlike most of the other areas of the hospital where the wards are larger. Here, former top Chinese government officials receive treatment, she tells us. We peek into a couple of rooms. They are nicely furnished, comfortable looking with windows and plenty of light. It’s a short visit, but we’ve seen something we’d never have seen without Gail.
The drive to Lushun is pleasant, along the ocean road. Our first stop is White Jade Mountain, topped by Baiyu Tower. Erected by the Japanese who ruled this area in 1904, it was built as a memorial to the Japanese who died in the battle here. Today it’s a reminder of the thousands of Chinese who lost their lives during the cruel Japanese occupation.
The tower is built so that it looks like a candle on one side, in memoriam. On the other side, it looks like a bullet, symbol of Japan’s military might. For its building, 20,000 Chinese coolies were rounded up and used as forced labor. During the two-and-one-half years it took to build the tower, many of them died.
We’re looking out over Port Arthur. It’s easy to see why this was such a strategic military site. From here the view to the entrance of the harbor is clear, and even to the sea beyond.
The Chinese do not look favorably upon the Japanese. Given the history of the two nations, it’s understandable. As in Korea, the native people suffered greatly under Japanese occupation.
We drive back down the mountain toward central Lushun. We’re going to the old Russia-Japanese Prison. Built by the Russians in 1902 (we are reminded that Russia was then Tsarist Imperialist Russia), it was expanded later by the Japanese.
This must be the perfect day to get a feeling for the place. It’s cold. The prison is unheated, just as it was when Chinese and Korean prisoners were housed here. The cell walls are concrete, about 8 x 10 feet, with a container for water and a toilet bucket. Six to eight prisoners occupied each cell. We saw the thin, ragged clothing the prisoners wore when we entered the prison. There were no blankets. I’m wearing long underwear and a winter coat and I’m cold. I don’t think I’d last a day in this place.
Workshops on the prison grounds included a glove factory and a print shop.
The prisoners were beaten and often their wounds sent them to the hospital. They were given no medicine, and prisoners usually died within a day or two of infection.
Political prisoners were housed here, a leader of the movement to free Korea of Japanese rule, and a Chinese political activist whose goal was freedom of assembly. Both were executed.
The hanging room is behind the prison. Apparently it was a secret during the time the prison was in active use. There is a hole in the upper floor below the gallows through which the hanged person drops into a barrel waiting on the floor below. A lid was placed on the barrel and the corpse was rolled out for burial.
Misery hangs over the old prison like a dirty fog.
We’re glad to be back out in the sunshine. Our driver is waiting. We’ll return to Dalian for lunch.
On the drive back, Gail and I talk quietly in the back seat. As a doctor, especially one working with older people, she is familiar with death. She does not believe that life ends with death, but that it continues beyond.
“I am a member of the Communist Party,” she says, “but I believe in God. I want Sheri to know God.”
Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. If I had written this scene in a piece of fiction, I know I’d have been asked to edit it out because it’s just not believable.
Lunch is again in a private dining room at a restaurant. This time the menu is live. We enter a room lined on three sides with dishes of food that we can select. Gail helps us and we agree on a couple of things we would not have tried on our own: sea cucumber and a type of seafood unappetizingly named sea intestine. Actually when we first meet it, it’s gawping at us with its mouth, which is just the end of its tube-like body.
In a few minutes the food starts coming and keeps coming. We have mushroom soup, three kinds of vegetables including broccoli, a mixture of mushrooms, peppers, what looks like bamboo shoots but larger, and some greens which Bernie thinks is spinach.
It’s impossible to eat everything. Bernie asks what is polite-should we try to eat everything or what? Gail answers, “There is no polite. Eat what you want. Act like I am your little sister.” She’s a very warm and likeable person.
Since Gail is going to her mother’s for dinner-she visits her every weekend, partly just to visit but also to check her mother’s health, including her blood pressure-she insists that we take home the leftover food. We’ll be able to eat this for at least two days.
The driver takes us back to our apartment and we say goodbye to Gail.
We are stuffed. No dinner for us. A few household chores and we settle down to some more episodes of Lost.
Blogthoughts
Friday, January 29, 2010
After writing several lengthy e-mails describing our experiences so far in China, journaling every day, and having three people ask me if I’m going to blog this trip, I’ve decided to do it.
The first day we spent here, a Thursday, we were alone in the apartment until Shannon came home from school. She and Damon teach at the Canadian Maple Leaf School.
I was in the kitchen that morning when I heard a loudspeaker. Apparently someone was driving through the streets making an announcement.
Shannon had not said anything about this, though she did tell us that we might here fireworks at any time. Businesses set off fireworks to celebrate openings and other events. They are common everyday occurrences, she said, and no reason to be alarmed.
But what of the announcements on the loudspeaker? I suddenly realized that it could be an evacuation call. Maybe a SWAT Team had a criminal cornered in our complex. What if a cloud of deadly gas was coming this way? Maybe China had been attacked and war had been declared. I’d just be sitting here drinking tea as the end of world came.
Nothing happened, of course.
When I asked Shannon about the loudspeaker announcements, she said it was probably someone selling cabbages.
It’s one of the things you get accustomed to, though, like the fireworks, music blaring from storefronts, car horns constantly honking, loud argumentative-sounding conversations that aren’t angry at all but just the choppy staccato rhythms of spoken Chinese.
After writing several lengthy e-mails describing our experiences so far in China, journaling every day, and having three people ask me if I’m going to blog this trip, I’ve decided to do it.
The first day we spent here, a Thursday, we were alone in the apartment until Shannon came home from school. She and Damon teach at the Canadian Maple Leaf School.
I was in the kitchen that morning when I heard a loudspeaker. Apparently someone was driving through the streets making an announcement.
Shannon had not said anything about this, though she did tell us that we might here fireworks at any time. Businesses set off fireworks to celebrate openings and other events. They are common everyday occurrences, she said, and no reason to be alarmed.
But what of the announcements on the loudspeaker? I suddenly realized that it could be an evacuation call. Maybe a SWAT Team had a criminal cornered in our complex. What if a cloud of deadly gas was coming this way? Maybe China had been attacked and war had been declared. I’d just be sitting here drinking tea as the end of world came.
Nothing happened, of course.
When I asked Shannon about the loudspeaker announcements, she said it was probably someone selling cabbages.
It’s one of the things you get accustomed to, though, like the fireworks, music blaring from storefronts, car horns constantly honking, loud argumentative-sounding conversations that aren’t angry at all but just the choppy staccato rhythms of spoken Chinese.
Cab 355, Where Are You?
Thursday, January 28, 2010
I’ve told Bernie he really has to see the view from the UFO observation tower, so this morning we are taking a taxi to the top of the hill. Bernie’s hip wouldn’t like the steep climb. After that, we’ll shop for a down coat for me and something to make for dinner.
When we arrive at the parking lot below the UFO tower, Bernie asks the driver if he can wait for us. That doesn’t seem to be a good idea, so he asks if he’ll come back and pick us up in 45 minutes. This works-he’ll come back at 1:00 p.m. Bernie and the driver point at watches. The driver shows us his license plate-it ends in 355-so we’ll know we have the right cab. More pointing at watches, the pavement of the parking lot, the license plate, and then shaking heads in agreement.
The walk to the tower is up many flights of stairs. But it’s worth it. At the top the view is a 360 degree panorama of the harbor, more apartment buildings than we could count, and cranes everywhere building more offices and apartments.
Below us, too, is the sculpture I noticed on Monday. We can see now that it is not a winged victory-perhaps a winged horse. Pegasus has a very special meaning for me. In the next few days I’ll get a closer look.
We’re back at the parking lot by 12:55. Here there’s a large bell (think 8 feet high) where, at special celebrations, families come here to ring the bell for good luck. I think you have to make an appointment to do it.
We watch cars pull into the lot: a group of businessmen, several couples, a taxi. Not ours, though. It’s now a little after 1:00. We look at each other but neither of us says anything as the taxi pulls away. We were both thinking we should have taken the bird in the hand taxi.
A few more minutes pass. The group of businessmen return from the tower, nod to us, and get in their car. I walk to the other end of the lot near the path I came up on Monday. Bernie sits down on a bench. We try to make out the sign behind us. Still no sign of our taxi.
There’s a park attendant in one of the ubiquitous little buildings we see lots of places (mostly gate houses). Bernie goes over, knocks on the door and asks the man if it’s possible for him to call a taxi for us. Nope, not possible. He motions down the hill and holds up five fingers. Apparently it’s a five-minute walk.
We have no choice and Bernie thinks going downhill won’t be a problem for him. We think the driver had good intentions when he left us. Who knows what happened? A really good fare? Tied up in traffic? (Unlikely, since we’ve seen what Chinese cab drivers do-swerve into the oncoming lane to get around a car they think isn’t moving fast enough, squeeze-make that nudge-into a space that’s impossible – but this is a tale for another day.)
The walk down is really nice, not long, and Bernie’s hip isn’t hurting. This is a lovely park and you can tell that in summer it would be wonderful. Lots of people are walking here today.
Back on our street, we hail another cab. I’m not taking it if its license plate ends in 355, though.
It doesn’t, and we go downtown. For lunch, it’s Dairy Queen hot dogs with chili. Bernie orders while I find a toilet.
Believe the guidebooks when they tell you 1) all toilets in China are at floor level and you will need to squat and 2) there is no toilet paper in Chinese toilets. This is not an exaggeration. No matter how modern the stores, no matter how elegant the clientele, the potties are holes in the floor and you’d better have that little pack of tissues in your pocket. Oh, and you toss the tissue into a wastebasket. Too much information? Oh, come on, you were curious.
Hands washed, but with no towels or dryer, just rubbed on my jeans, I join Bernie at one of the tables. This is such a fun people-watching place. There are five floors, all arranged in a ¾ circle around us, and it’s busy.
The chili on these hot dogs is bright red. Bernie discovers it doesn’t wipe off your hands easily, either. He’s already started his. I take a bite. This chili is hot! I think it’s the Chinese red pepper that gives it the bright red color. But it’s good, and soon gone.
Now for the hunt for a down coat. Bernie will wait for me on the ground floor.
This place has more coats for sale than you have ever seen in your life – hundreds and hundreds of them. They’re beautiful, too. Such a variety of styles and colors. Cold weather fashion at its best. But how to spot a down-filled one?
Up and down the aisles. Unlike at home, there are plenty of salespeople to help you (it’s like shopping in the mid-20th century in the U.S., only with more cool stuff). Some of them approach, and I try to tell them what I want. That’s the difficult part. I know two phrases in Chinese now that I’ve been here for ten days: hello and thank you. But I know that if I use Shannon’s phone dictionary to ask for a down coat it’s going to tell the salesgirl that I want a coat that goes in the direction that’s opposite of up. That will only land me in a bigger muddle, so I soldier on.
My tactic now is to walk up to coats and squeeze the sleeve if I even think the coat may have down filling. This must be a funny sight, a woman walking through a department store squeezing coats.
After pinching about two dozen coats one feels different and I look for a tag that might be printed in English as well as Chinese. I see something even better. Attached to the label is a small plastic see-through locket-like box filled with down!
This one fits. I point to the coat and say “Harbin.” The salesgirl grabs a piece of paper and writes -30. Yes, I say nodding my head, and ask if this coat is warm enough for Harbin.
“Harbin. This. Yes.” More than her words, her manner tells me she understands me.
In China the salesperson does not take your money. She writes up a ticket, in triplicate and you take it to the cashier. Although China is a cash society, I’m hoping they will take my MasterCard here. The coat is less expensive than it would have been at home, but I’m trying to keep as much money in my checking account as possible, and suck it out slowly through the ATMs.
MasterCard is ok. Once I’ve paid, I return to the department where the salesgirl is holding my coat. She tucks two washcloths with colorful designs inside the bag. “Happy New Year,” she says, and I thank her. Nice touch.
Now it’s time to find the very heavy long underwear lined with fur-like fleece that I passed while searching for the coat. I find a pair that even has extra padding at the knees.
This time my purchase – 128 RB-is too small for a credit card. I know I have only 70 RMB in my wallet. I go back to Bernie on the first floor for more money.
He’s talking to a young lady (why am I not surprised?) who mans a tourist booth touting all the new development in Kaifaqu (Ky-fawk-choo).
Back up the escalator for my pants.
I’m pleased with my purchases, but I’m also very pleased that I was able to negotiate the transactions.
In department stores prices are set, items have price tags, and there is no bargaining. In many other stores in the shopping are of Kaifaqu, however, bargaining is expected, so I’m looking forward to honing my skills in those places another day. You don’t need to speak Chinese; just write down your offer.
I rejoin Bernie and talk for a few minutes with the young woman. Young people in China like to speak English. They study it from the time they start school.
We buy a piece of chocolate cake to take home for dessert later, and then I take the escalator down to the lower floor where the Trust Mart is located. It’s owned by Wal-Mart. There are also several Wal-Mart stores around Dalian.
Bernie’s hip is bothering him from the walk down the hill this morning, so he’s going to take a table near the Dairy Queen booth and wait for me.
I’m so looking forward to this. I’d advise everyone to go to the grocery store wherever you travel. It’s hard to turn a grocery store into a tourist trap, unless you’re Jungle Jim. You’ll get a real taste of the lives of real people in any area by going to the place where they buy food.
Even in places like this I’m more likely to look and linger than Bernie. He’s all “what do we need?” and zipping around the store.
Today I’m on a mission, though. I need meat and vegetables for dinner. A stroll through the meat section of a Chinese grocery-even the more westernized ones-is an experience. There are some familiar cuts-pork chops, steaks-but there are also cases of pig’s feet, chicken feet, chicken cut in ways you’ve not seen unless you grew up on a farm in the 1950s. Dozens of varieties of fish and shellfish (many of them see to stare at you with cold eyes) are stacked in bins of crushed ice.
Every fish we’ve eaten in China has been delicious, but I’m at a loss as to what I’m looking at.
The display of salmon catches my eye. Here’s something I know how to cook. I select a couple of pieces. Snow peas and two things that look like crispy potato pancakes (here’s where I get a bit adventurous) and I’m ready for the checkout.
Dinner is delicious. We baked the salmon with some olive oil and herbs. The potato cakes really were –potatoes cut to hash brown size, onions and carrots-browned to perfection and crisp on the outside.
Our favorite evening entertainment is watching episodes of Lost, and after washing the dishes we settle in for a couple of hours on the island.
I’ve told Bernie he really has to see the view from the UFO observation tower, so this morning we are taking a taxi to the top of the hill. Bernie’s hip wouldn’t like the steep climb. After that, we’ll shop for a down coat for me and something to make for dinner.
When we arrive at the parking lot below the UFO tower, Bernie asks the driver if he can wait for us. That doesn’t seem to be a good idea, so he asks if he’ll come back and pick us up in 45 minutes. This works-he’ll come back at 1:00 p.m. Bernie and the driver point at watches. The driver shows us his license plate-it ends in 355-so we’ll know we have the right cab. More pointing at watches, the pavement of the parking lot, the license plate, and then shaking heads in agreement.
The walk to the tower is up many flights of stairs. But it’s worth it. At the top the view is a 360 degree panorama of the harbor, more apartment buildings than we could count, and cranes everywhere building more offices and apartments.
Below us, too, is the sculpture I noticed on Monday. We can see now that it is not a winged victory-perhaps a winged horse. Pegasus has a very special meaning for me. In the next few days I’ll get a closer look.
We’re back at the parking lot by 12:55. Here there’s a large bell (think 8 feet high) where, at special celebrations, families come here to ring the bell for good luck. I think you have to make an appointment to do it.
We watch cars pull into the lot: a group of businessmen, several couples, a taxi. Not ours, though. It’s now a little after 1:00. We look at each other but neither of us says anything as the taxi pulls away. We were both thinking we should have taken the bird in the hand taxi.
A few more minutes pass. The group of businessmen return from the tower, nod to us, and get in their car. I walk to the other end of the lot near the path I came up on Monday. Bernie sits down on a bench. We try to make out the sign behind us. Still no sign of our taxi.
There’s a park attendant in one of the ubiquitous little buildings we see lots of places (mostly gate houses). Bernie goes over, knocks on the door and asks the man if it’s possible for him to call a taxi for us. Nope, not possible. He motions down the hill and holds up five fingers. Apparently it’s a five-minute walk.
We have no choice and Bernie thinks going downhill won’t be a problem for him. We think the driver had good intentions when he left us. Who knows what happened? A really good fare? Tied up in traffic? (Unlikely, since we’ve seen what Chinese cab drivers do-swerve into the oncoming lane to get around a car they think isn’t moving fast enough, squeeze-make that nudge-into a space that’s impossible – but this is a tale for another day.)
The walk down is really nice, not long, and Bernie’s hip isn’t hurting. This is a lovely park and you can tell that in summer it would be wonderful. Lots of people are walking here today.
Back on our street, we hail another cab. I’m not taking it if its license plate ends in 355, though.
It doesn’t, and we go downtown. For lunch, it’s Dairy Queen hot dogs with chili. Bernie orders while I find a toilet.
Believe the guidebooks when they tell you 1) all toilets in China are at floor level and you will need to squat and 2) there is no toilet paper in Chinese toilets. This is not an exaggeration. No matter how modern the stores, no matter how elegant the clientele, the potties are holes in the floor and you’d better have that little pack of tissues in your pocket. Oh, and you toss the tissue into a wastebasket. Too much information? Oh, come on, you were curious.
Hands washed, but with no towels or dryer, just rubbed on my jeans, I join Bernie at one of the tables. This is such a fun people-watching place. There are five floors, all arranged in a ¾ circle around us, and it’s busy.
The chili on these hot dogs is bright red. Bernie discovers it doesn’t wipe off your hands easily, either. He’s already started his. I take a bite. This chili is hot! I think it’s the Chinese red pepper that gives it the bright red color. But it’s good, and soon gone.
Now for the hunt for a down coat. Bernie will wait for me on the ground floor.
This place has more coats for sale than you have ever seen in your life – hundreds and hundreds of them. They’re beautiful, too. Such a variety of styles and colors. Cold weather fashion at its best. But how to spot a down-filled one?
Up and down the aisles. Unlike at home, there are plenty of salespeople to help you (it’s like shopping in the mid-20th century in the U.S., only with more cool stuff). Some of them approach, and I try to tell them what I want. That’s the difficult part. I know two phrases in Chinese now that I’ve been here for ten days: hello and thank you. But I know that if I use Shannon’s phone dictionary to ask for a down coat it’s going to tell the salesgirl that I want a coat that goes in the direction that’s opposite of up. That will only land me in a bigger muddle, so I soldier on.
My tactic now is to walk up to coats and squeeze the sleeve if I even think the coat may have down filling. This must be a funny sight, a woman walking through a department store squeezing coats.
After pinching about two dozen coats one feels different and I look for a tag that might be printed in English as well as Chinese. I see something even better. Attached to the label is a small plastic see-through locket-like box filled with down!
This one fits. I point to the coat and say “Harbin.” The salesgirl grabs a piece of paper and writes -30. Yes, I say nodding my head, and ask if this coat is warm enough for Harbin.
“Harbin. This. Yes.” More than her words, her manner tells me she understands me.
In China the salesperson does not take your money. She writes up a ticket, in triplicate and you take it to the cashier. Although China is a cash society, I’m hoping they will take my MasterCard here. The coat is less expensive than it would have been at home, but I’m trying to keep as much money in my checking account as possible, and suck it out slowly through the ATMs.
MasterCard is ok. Once I’ve paid, I return to the department where the salesgirl is holding my coat. She tucks two washcloths with colorful designs inside the bag. “Happy New Year,” she says, and I thank her. Nice touch.
Now it’s time to find the very heavy long underwear lined with fur-like fleece that I passed while searching for the coat. I find a pair that even has extra padding at the knees.
This time my purchase – 128 RB-is too small for a credit card. I know I have only 70 RMB in my wallet. I go back to Bernie on the first floor for more money.
He’s talking to a young lady (why am I not surprised?) who mans a tourist booth touting all the new development in Kaifaqu (Ky-fawk-choo).
Back up the escalator for my pants.
I’m pleased with my purchases, but I’m also very pleased that I was able to negotiate the transactions.
In department stores prices are set, items have price tags, and there is no bargaining. In many other stores in the shopping are of Kaifaqu, however, bargaining is expected, so I’m looking forward to honing my skills in those places another day. You don’t need to speak Chinese; just write down your offer.
I rejoin Bernie and talk for a few minutes with the young woman. Young people in China like to speak English. They study it from the time they start school.
We buy a piece of chocolate cake to take home for dessert later, and then I take the escalator down to the lower floor where the Trust Mart is located. It’s owned by Wal-Mart. There are also several Wal-Mart stores around Dalian.
Bernie’s hip is bothering him from the walk down the hill this morning, so he’s going to take a table near the Dairy Queen booth and wait for me.
I’m so looking forward to this. I’d advise everyone to go to the grocery store wherever you travel. It’s hard to turn a grocery store into a tourist trap, unless you’re Jungle Jim. You’ll get a real taste of the lives of real people in any area by going to the place where they buy food.
Even in places like this I’m more likely to look and linger than Bernie. He’s all “what do we need?” and zipping around the store.
Today I’m on a mission, though. I need meat and vegetables for dinner. A stroll through the meat section of a Chinese grocery-even the more westernized ones-is an experience. There are some familiar cuts-pork chops, steaks-but there are also cases of pig’s feet, chicken feet, chicken cut in ways you’ve not seen unless you grew up on a farm in the 1950s. Dozens of varieties of fish and shellfish (many of them see to stare at you with cold eyes) are stacked in bins of crushed ice.
Every fish we’ve eaten in China has been delicious, but I’m at a loss as to what I’m looking at.
The display of salmon catches my eye. Here’s something I know how to cook. I select a couple of pieces. Snow peas and two things that look like crispy potato pancakes (here’s where I get a bit adventurous) and I’m ready for the checkout.
Dinner is delicious. We baked the salmon with some olive oil and herbs. The potato cakes really were –potatoes cut to hash brown size, onions and carrots-browned to perfection and crisp on the outside.
Our favorite evening entertainment is watching episodes of Lost, and after washing the dishes we settle in for a couple of hours on the island.
Was That Real?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Looking back on last night this morning, we can hardly believe what happened to us. Four days before we leave on a trip we’ve planned for months, and that will take us halfway around the world, we decide to offer a ride to a young woman struggling with groceries on University Boulevard, in Middletown, Ohio.
That young woman named Sheri is from the very place we’re going. She gives us her parents’ telephone numbers.
Once we’re here in China, we call Sheri’s parents, just to them know that she is ok and that we are available to help her in Middletown.
We get together, and find we have much in common.
A man who works with Mary figured the odds as best he could: there are 1.5 billion people in China and 500 million people in the United States. Mathematically, the chance is less than zero that we would meet someone from Dalian in Middletown.
And then to be made so welcome, to find them so companionable – it’s almost too much to take in.
But we know God’s math is different. Because as Gail said last night, she feels God brought us together. And I know Jakie is getting a big kick out of seeing us so amazed.
So today, we’re just trying to absorb everything.
We putter around the apartment, straightening things up. We watch some more episodes of Lost.
In the afternoon, I go for a walk. This time I walk to the shopping center. It takes exactly 30 minutes for me to reach the intersection where Mykal Department Store, Tesco and TrustMart are located.
It’s a nice day, nearly 40 degrees.
Back at the apartment, I thoroughly enjoy a hot shower.
We take a taxi to McDonald’s, almost exactly where I walked this afternoon. I order a Big Mac, Bernie a plain double cheeseburger. It’s a risk-were we able to communicate that he didn’t want anything on that? We get our order, and it’s perfect. I inhale the Big Mac and suggest we order again.
Our luck is not so good the second time around. Bernie’s burger has the works - catsup and mustard and pickles. He won’t let me take it back, though. Chalk it up to the language barrier.
More Lost episodes, then early to bed.
Looking back on last night this morning, we can hardly believe what happened to us. Four days before we leave on a trip we’ve planned for months, and that will take us halfway around the world, we decide to offer a ride to a young woman struggling with groceries on University Boulevard, in Middletown, Ohio.
That young woman named Sheri is from the very place we’re going. She gives us her parents’ telephone numbers.
Once we’re here in China, we call Sheri’s parents, just to them know that she is ok and that we are available to help her in Middletown.
We get together, and find we have much in common.
A man who works with Mary figured the odds as best he could: there are 1.5 billion people in China and 500 million people in the United States. Mathematically, the chance is less than zero that we would meet someone from Dalian in Middletown.
And then to be made so welcome, to find them so companionable – it’s almost too much to take in.
But we know God’s math is different. Because as Gail said last night, she feels God brought us together. And I know Jakie is getting a big kick out of seeing us so amazed.
So today, we’re just trying to absorb everything.
We putter around the apartment, straightening things up. We watch some more episodes of Lost.
In the afternoon, I go for a walk. This time I walk to the shopping center. It takes exactly 30 minutes for me to reach the intersection where Mykal Department Store, Tesco and TrustMart are located.
It’s a nice day, nearly 40 degrees.
Back at the apartment, I thoroughly enjoy a hot shower.
We take a taxi to McDonald’s, almost exactly where I walked this afternoon. I order a Big Mac, Bernie a plain double cheeseburger. It’s a risk-were we able to communicate that he didn’t want anything on that? We get our order, and it’s perfect. I inhale the Big Mac and suggest we order again.
Our luck is not so good the second time around. Bernie’s burger has the works - catsup and mustard and pickles. He won’t let me take it back, though. Chalk it up to the language barrier.
More Lost episodes, then early to bed.
Full Circle
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
We’re up around 7 a.m. No e-mail from John yet. No water, either.
I call GaoFei, the property manager and all-round translator, bureaucracy-sorter, and all-things Dalian savvy person who took us to register with the police. No answer.
Perhaps we’re stymied.
Within the hour, though, John calls. Our address is still undecipherable to him, or to Mr. and Mrs. Zhou. Sheri’s mother would like to know if we can go to the Kerren Hotel’s lobby at 2:00, where Sheri’s mom and a driver will pick us up. Works like magic. The Kerren is five minutes away by taxi.
Taxis here are like taxis in old movies. All you have to do is stand at the curb and one comes along every few minutes-usually less than two.
Now, back to the water problem. Bernie goes down to the gate. The young men there indicate, by hand motions, that the problem is “over there” and that everyone in the surrounding area is without water. Bernie pulls out his phone and pulls up the handy-dandy speaking translator. One hour? The men shake their head no. Today? They look doubtful. Tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow.
None of this is very reassuring. I’m thinking they have no idea and tomorrow (it’s always a day away, remember) is a response that will make Bernie go away.
Aiye comes to clean house. Last week it was no electricity. This week no water. That means no laundry, no mopping. Her stay is short; she’ll see us Friday.
I’m going for a walk. Bernie decides to stay home. I make a left turn at the gate and walk several blocks until the street ends, then I see the harbor just half a block away, so I continue, turning north when I get to the street that follows the harbor. Some very nice restaurants here, with waterfront views. I imagine they’re very popular with tourists during the summer.
Just as I run out of sidewalk, I see the cut in the hill I’ve seen described. Dinosaur sculptures are built into the hill, as if they are fossils. A T-rex rears its head. Trilobite reproductions dot the hill and the concrete below.
Walking back, I daydream about hot water. Without it, I’m going to have a heck of time getting cleaned up enough to meet the only two people in China I really hope to make a favorable impression on. I mean, who would like to find out that their daughter had been picked up by two disheveled, scruffy-looking people in a town halfway around the globe?
No such luck. Back at the uncleaned apartment, the taps are dry. Ok, let’s boil water. When I was a little kid, we did not have hot running water-just cold. Mom used to heat water every night, stand each of us three kids on a kitchen chair beside the sink, and wash us. I think about this as I fill the washbasin with the heated water and scrub down. I really feel pretty clean when I’m done.
We have no dressy clothes, and I brought two pair of well-worn and comfortable shoes, but off we go to the Kerran Hotel. We recognize the Mercedes because John told us it would be black with a license plate ending in 99.
Sheri’s mom is taller than I expected, attractive and vivacious, and very warm. She later asks me to relax and act as if I were her older sister. And really, it’s way easier to do this than anyone would think.
We drive into Dalian proper (we’re staying in Kaifaqu, or the Development Zone, a little north of town), and take the harbor road which offers a view of the sea on our right and mountains and forests on our left. The views are spectacular and Bernie and I are amazed at the amount of land set aside for parks and just because it’s beautiful.
We drive to the Ocean Park and aquarium, where we see seals, otters, sharks, penguins and polar bears. At 4:00 p.m. we take in the dolphin show, where a little girl from the audience is chosen to participate and gets to ride around on an inflatable boat in the pool with the dolphins. Quite a thrill for her.
Then we head to the commercial area of Dalian. We arrive around rush hour and the whole scene is astounding. There’s a huge traffic crush, what seems like hundreds of banks, office buildings, and crowds on the street.
Our driver picks his way through the traffic and takes us to the restaurant. Inside, we take an elevator and are escorted to a private dining room. Three servers are assigned to us. The table is beautifully set.
While we wait for Mr. Zhou, Gail goes to order us some “real Chinese food.” When she returns, she asks Bernie about whiskey. Apparently there are certain drinking rituals that men go through. Bernie is somewhat familiar with them from his days in Korea.
Sheri’s dad comes in after just a few minutes, and the introductions begin. He pronounces us healthy and strong. Gail explains that grandparents in China are frail and hunched over. I show Gail pictures of our grandchildren.
Sheri is an only child; China has a one-child policy. Gail comes from a large family, however, born before the one-child rule went into effect. Sheri’s grandfather, her dad’s dad, was a peasant. That his son has risen to be a successful businessman (he’s in real estate) is something to be very proud of, just as it is at home.
Gail is the best kind of translator for her husband, who knows very few English words. We don’t feel as if either he or we are losing anything in the conversation, though she has to translate everything. It all seems very natural.
The whiskey arrives just before the food. We toast, Gail and I with green tea, Bernie and Zhou with whatever that pale yellow liquid is in the bottle between them. As the meal progresses, the two men continue to toast one another.
First there is pork, crisply fried, broccoli, and “vegetables from the sea.” Bernie says this is seaweed. I try it. I like it. It’s deep green, with vinegar and some hot pepper, and I can only compare it to pico de gallo. Bernie, who does not like vinegar at all, passes.
Next comes a fish baked in a delicious sauce – it’s great; I wish I knew how to do this at home-the sauce, I mean. I’d have baked fish more often.
Then, a seafood delicacy which we think must be an oyster, and beef, both in another fantastic sauce, and rice. Gail shows us that we can just empty our rice bowl into the sauce. Lovely- cause that’s what I would want to do if I were alone. My comparison on this one is beef bourguignon, without the pearl onions. Caveat: my comparisons are very rough approximations.
Dessert is familiar yet not familiar. Could this be squares of squash or pumpkin in a honey-like sauce? But what are those translucent petals the color of white onions on top? No relation to pumpkin pie, though.
Fruit follows – melon, perfectly ripe and crisply chilled.
Our driver is waiting and before we go home we go to the top of a hill overlooking Dalian. It’s quite a skyline-this city has grown so fast in the last few years. We’re looking down on a huge red-and-white soccer ball in Labor Park. I plan to get a picture of it in the daytime to show Brookie.
On the drive back to Kaifaqu they tell us that twenty years ago there were no more than fifty houses in all of the area between Dalian and Kaifaqu. We’re driving past hundreds of high-rise apartments as Gail tells us this. It’s hard to imagine such a large influx of people.
Back at our apartment complex, the Zhous walk us to the door of our building, then say goodnight.
We’ve learned a lot in our conversation tonight. It’s apparent, for instance, that China’s people have worked very hard for the progress they’ve made, and that they have made sacrifices along the way.
Just a few decades ago, people in China were starving-within the Zhous’ lifetimes. The contrast between then and now is sharp, and no one in China wants to return to those days.
The Zhous’ main concern is for their daughter’s safety. Is she ok? Is her neighborhood safe? (We had been thinking about taking in a Chinese exchange student before any of this happened, and we think we’d like to have Sheri stay with us while she’s in school in Middletown.)
They want to know about Miami, both at Middletown and Oxford. They asked us about the weather.
They are, like us, middle-class parents who want their child to be safe, to succeed, and to have a good life. And they want her to return home when this big adventure is over.
Inside the apartment I turn on the faucet. Woo-hoo! We have water, and hot water.
We’re up around 7 a.m. No e-mail from John yet. No water, either.
I call GaoFei, the property manager and all-round translator, bureaucracy-sorter, and all-things Dalian savvy person who took us to register with the police. No answer.
Perhaps we’re stymied.
Within the hour, though, John calls. Our address is still undecipherable to him, or to Mr. and Mrs. Zhou. Sheri’s mother would like to know if we can go to the Kerren Hotel’s lobby at 2:00, where Sheri’s mom and a driver will pick us up. Works like magic. The Kerren is five minutes away by taxi.
Taxis here are like taxis in old movies. All you have to do is stand at the curb and one comes along every few minutes-usually less than two.
Now, back to the water problem. Bernie goes down to the gate. The young men there indicate, by hand motions, that the problem is “over there” and that everyone in the surrounding area is without water. Bernie pulls out his phone and pulls up the handy-dandy speaking translator. One hour? The men shake their head no. Today? They look doubtful. Tomorrow? Yes, tomorrow.
None of this is very reassuring. I’m thinking they have no idea and tomorrow (it’s always a day away, remember) is a response that will make Bernie go away.
Aiye comes to clean house. Last week it was no electricity. This week no water. That means no laundry, no mopping. Her stay is short; she’ll see us Friday.
I’m going for a walk. Bernie decides to stay home. I make a left turn at the gate and walk several blocks until the street ends, then I see the harbor just half a block away, so I continue, turning north when I get to the street that follows the harbor. Some very nice restaurants here, with waterfront views. I imagine they’re very popular with tourists during the summer.
Just as I run out of sidewalk, I see the cut in the hill I’ve seen described. Dinosaur sculptures are built into the hill, as if they are fossils. A T-rex rears its head. Trilobite reproductions dot the hill and the concrete below.
Walking back, I daydream about hot water. Without it, I’m going to have a heck of time getting cleaned up enough to meet the only two people in China I really hope to make a favorable impression on. I mean, who would like to find out that their daughter had been picked up by two disheveled, scruffy-looking people in a town halfway around the globe?
No such luck. Back at the uncleaned apartment, the taps are dry. Ok, let’s boil water. When I was a little kid, we did not have hot running water-just cold. Mom used to heat water every night, stand each of us three kids on a kitchen chair beside the sink, and wash us. I think about this as I fill the washbasin with the heated water and scrub down. I really feel pretty clean when I’m done.
We have no dressy clothes, and I brought two pair of well-worn and comfortable shoes, but off we go to the Kerran Hotel. We recognize the Mercedes because John told us it would be black with a license plate ending in 99.
Sheri’s mom is taller than I expected, attractive and vivacious, and very warm. She later asks me to relax and act as if I were her older sister. And really, it’s way easier to do this than anyone would think.
We drive into Dalian proper (we’re staying in Kaifaqu, or the Development Zone, a little north of town), and take the harbor road which offers a view of the sea on our right and mountains and forests on our left. The views are spectacular and Bernie and I are amazed at the amount of land set aside for parks and just because it’s beautiful.
We drive to the Ocean Park and aquarium, where we see seals, otters, sharks, penguins and polar bears. At 4:00 p.m. we take in the dolphin show, where a little girl from the audience is chosen to participate and gets to ride around on an inflatable boat in the pool with the dolphins. Quite a thrill for her.
Then we head to the commercial area of Dalian. We arrive around rush hour and the whole scene is astounding. There’s a huge traffic crush, what seems like hundreds of banks, office buildings, and crowds on the street.
Our driver picks his way through the traffic and takes us to the restaurant. Inside, we take an elevator and are escorted to a private dining room. Three servers are assigned to us. The table is beautifully set.
While we wait for Mr. Zhou, Gail goes to order us some “real Chinese food.” When she returns, she asks Bernie about whiskey. Apparently there are certain drinking rituals that men go through. Bernie is somewhat familiar with them from his days in Korea.
Sheri’s dad comes in after just a few minutes, and the introductions begin. He pronounces us healthy and strong. Gail explains that grandparents in China are frail and hunched over. I show Gail pictures of our grandchildren.
Sheri is an only child; China has a one-child policy. Gail comes from a large family, however, born before the one-child rule went into effect. Sheri’s grandfather, her dad’s dad, was a peasant. That his son has risen to be a successful businessman (he’s in real estate) is something to be very proud of, just as it is at home.
Gail is the best kind of translator for her husband, who knows very few English words. We don’t feel as if either he or we are losing anything in the conversation, though she has to translate everything. It all seems very natural.
The whiskey arrives just before the food. We toast, Gail and I with green tea, Bernie and Zhou with whatever that pale yellow liquid is in the bottle between them. As the meal progresses, the two men continue to toast one another.
First there is pork, crisply fried, broccoli, and “vegetables from the sea.” Bernie says this is seaweed. I try it. I like it. It’s deep green, with vinegar and some hot pepper, and I can only compare it to pico de gallo. Bernie, who does not like vinegar at all, passes.
Next comes a fish baked in a delicious sauce – it’s great; I wish I knew how to do this at home-the sauce, I mean. I’d have baked fish more often.
Then, a seafood delicacy which we think must be an oyster, and beef, both in another fantastic sauce, and rice. Gail shows us that we can just empty our rice bowl into the sauce. Lovely- cause that’s what I would want to do if I were alone. My comparison on this one is beef bourguignon, without the pearl onions. Caveat: my comparisons are very rough approximations.
Dessert is familiar yet not familiar. Could this be squares of squash or pumpkin in a honey-like sauce? But what are those translucent petals the color of white onions on top? No relation to pumpkin pie, though.
Fruit follows – melon, perfectly ripe and crisply chilled.
Our driver is waiting and before we go home we go to the top of a hill overlooking Dalian. It’s quite a skyline-this city has grown so fast in the last few years. We’re looking down on a huge red-and-white soccer ball in Labor Park. I plan to get a picture of it in the daytime to show Brookie.
On the drive back to Kaifaqu they tell us that twenty years ago there were no more than fifty houses in all of the area between Dalian and Kaifaqu. We’re driving past hundreds of high-rise apartments as Gail tells us this. It’s hard to imagine such a large influx of people.
Back at our apartment complex, the Zhous walk us to the door of our building, then say goodnight.
We’ve learned a lot in our conversation tonight. It’s apparent, for instance, that China’s people have worked very hard for the progress they’ve made, and that they have made sacrifices along the way.
Just a few decades ago, people in China were starving-within the Zhous’ lifetimes. The contrast between then and now is sharp, and no one in China wants to return to those days.
The Zhous’ main concern is for their daughter’s safety. Is she ok? Is her neighborhood safe? (We had been thinking about taking in a Chinese exchange student before any of this happened, and we think we’d like to have Sheri stay with us while she’s in school in Middletown.)
They want to know about Miami, both at Middletown and Oxford. They asked us about the weather.
They are, like us, middle-class parents who want their child to be safe, to succeed, and to have a good life. And they want her to return home when this big adventure is over.
Inside the apartment I turn on the faucet. Woo-hoo! We have water, and hot water.
Taking a Hike
Monday, January 25, 2010
It’s time to try our telephone skills in China. We dial Sheri’s mom. She’s at the hospital where she works and wants to see us tomorrow, and we agree to come there.
Now we’re off the UFO Park again. We take the low road and then climb the hill to the lake. Bernie is going to rest here and watch the men play cards. I’ll walk on for awhile. The path through the woods climbs further up the hill and keep moving eager to see what’s next.
Before long the UFO is in sight. I’m curious as to how far it might be, so I continue to hike up the hill, which is rather steep now. I come out at a parking lot just below the tower. No point stopping now, so I climb the many steps up to the last level.
It’s worth it, though. The view-360 degrees – is fabulous, with the harbor on one side, the mountains just beyond the city and skyscrapers everywhere. There are hundreds and hundreds of high-rise apartments. There are just too many people in China for folks to have single homes. Everyone lives in an apartment.
There’s also a statue below me on the hill in the park. From here it looks like a Winged Victory, but I can’t really make it out.
I’ve been gone longer than expected, so I’m sure Bernie is looking for me. He’s expecting me to come from the side of the lake opposite the shelter, so I take the left trail when I reach the bottom of the hill.
Just as I expected, he’s coming down the steps from the shelter. I call his name. Nothing. I walk on, thinking I might have been in the shade and he’ll see me as I come closer to the bridge. He looks across the water. Again I windmill my arms and shout. Nada.
Now he’s talking with two people. They are all headed for the woods. Ok, the only thing to do is to cut them off at the pass. So I run back and take the path in the other direction and catch up with them. I can tell by the looks on the faces of the two women he’s walking with that he has told them he’s looking for me.
Ok, fine. Question is, how did he manage to convey that to two people who can’t speak English just as he cannot speak Chinese? Another of the great Bernie Fisher mysteries.
Bernie’s gone for about as long as he can without pizza, so tonight it’s Pizza Hut. This is the fanciest Pizza Hut I’ve ever seen.
Just as we’re about to order Shannon’s phone rings. A man who identifies himself as John, a friend of Sheri’s father, and speaks perfect English, tells us that her parents would like for us to join them for dinner tomorrow and that they will send a car for us. They’d like to know our address, and I read it to him. He can’t decipher it. He’ll call back.
Before our meal is over we’ve had three more phone calls and several text messaging attempts. Apparently Shannon’s phone breaks up and he’s not getting everything I say. I ask for his e-mail address so I can write him when I get to the apartment. He manages to get my phone number to text me on my own phone and sends me his e-mail address.
I e-mail John, but no one seems to know where we are located.
As I start to wash my face, I discover we have no water. There’s some left in the pipes, apparently so we fill two large pans and put them on the stove in case we need them. It is ten o’clock at night. Nothing is going to get done now.
It’s time to try our telephone skills in China. We dial Sheri’s mom. She’s at the hospital where she works and wants to see us tomorrow, and we agree to come there.
Now we’re off the UFO Park again. We take the low road and then climb the hill to the lake. Bernie is going to rest here and watch the men play cards. I’ll walk on for awhile. The path through the woods climbs further up the hill and keep moving eager to see what’s next.
Before long the UFO is in sight. I’m curious as to how far it might be, so I continue to hike up the hill, which is rather steep now. I come out at a parking lot just below the tower. No point stopping now, so I climb the many steps up to the last level.
It’s worth it, though. The view-360 degrees – is fabulous, with the harbor on one side, the mountains just beyond the city and skyscrapers everywhere. There are hundreds and hundreds of high-rise apartments. There are just too many people in China for folks to have single homes. Everyone lives in an apartment.
There’s also a statue below me on the hill in the park. From here it looks like a Winged Victory, but I can’t really make it out.
I’ve been gone longer than expected, so I’m sure Bernie is looking for me. He’s expecting me to come from the side of the lake opposite the shelter, so I take the left trail when I reach the bottom of the hill.
Just as I expected, he’s coming down the steps from the shelter. I call his name. Nothing. I walk on, thinking I might have been in the shade and he’ll see me as I come closer to the bridge. He looks across the water. Again I windmill my arms and shout. Nada.
Now he’s talking with two people. They are all headed for the woods. Ok, the only thing to do is to cut them off at the pass. So I run back and take the path in the other direction and catch up with them. I can tell by the looks on the faces of the two women he’s walking with that he has told them he’s looking for me.
Ok, fine. Question is, how did he manage to convey that to two people who can’t speak English just as he cannot speak Chinese? Another of the great Bernie Fisher mysteries.
Bernie’s gone for about as long as he can without pizza, so tonight it’s Pizza Hut. This is the fanciest Pizza Hut I’ve ever seen.
Just as we’re about to order Shannon’s phone rings. A man who identifies himself as John, a friend of Sheri’s father, and speaks perfect English, tells us that her parents would like for us to join them for dinner tomorrow and that they will send a car for us. They’d like to know our address, and I read it to him. He can’t decipher it. He’ll call back.
Before our meal is over we’ve had three more phone calls and several text messaging attempts. Apparently Shannon’s phone breaks up and he’s not getting everything I say. I ask for his e-mail address so I can write him when I get to the apartment. He manages to get my phone number to text me on my own phone and sends me his e-mail address.
I e-mail John, but no one seems to know where we are located.
As I start to wash my face, I discover we have no water. There’s some left in the pipes, apparently so we fill two large pans and put them on the stove in case we need them. It is ten o’clock at night. Nothing is going to get done now.
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