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.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
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.
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