Tokyo was wildly expensive--and a place that severely contrasted the cities we'd visited. 24 hours there cost us the price of one week in south-east Asia.
But, we gladly paid for the experience.
We had no guide book, because we'd heard there was good English in airports and trains stations, along with free maps of everything. We took a train from the airport to central Tokyo which lasted 1.5 hours one way and cost 80 USD round trip. Imagine what a taxi would have run us!
We heard that a room would cost atleast 70 dollars per night. But the cheapest option around was a sleeping capsule--a coffin-like compartment that's rented by the hour and costs 30 dollars for 8 hours. We both wanted to try it, but figured we'd pay the same amount to get a bonafide room. And was it ever!
We'd heard about Love Hotels as a cheap option because they could also be rented for hourly rates and would cost much less than a regular room if checked into after 9pm. We heard these Love Hotels were clean and safe, so when we saw what inevitably must have been one, we checked in.
Everything in the lobby was clean and classy, compartmentalized and flashy. But the room, the room, the room. Mirrors on the ceiling, velvet red and gold walls, karaoke machine with microphone, lotions, gels and toys, packaged robes and towels, a computer toilet, a jaccuzi tub, and a radio with 10 stations and a glowing heart that throbbed with every beat. We had two doors and thick walls, a microwave, two refrigerators and a tea pot.
Who would've thought Tokyo was a honeymooner's paradise?
The next day, we walked 4 or 5 miles through central Tokyo before we took the unbelievably fast train back to the airport.
Tokyo was a beautiful clean city with pristine air in the sky and clunky Amsterdam bikes in the streets.
It was very different from any of our other Asian experiences.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
More Photographs
I've posted a new batch of images from Tokyo and Missouri.
You can view the images here.
I had to create yet another flickr account because my images are too large and I don't want to process them right now. So, now I have three accounts of honeymoon images.
They are:
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider2
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider3
There it is. Thanks for viewing.
You can view the images here.
I had to create yet another flickr account because my images are too large and I don't want to process them right now. So, now I have three accounts of honeymoon images.
They are:
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider2
www.flickr.com/oldoutsider3
There it is. Thanks for viewing.
Back in the States
Well, we're back in the States and trying to get our schedules straightened out.
But, we'd like to write a few more posts about Angkor Wat, Bangkok, Tokyo and our re-entry.
So, if our three readers are still out there, keep checking; we've a few more stories to tell.
But, we'd like to write a few more posts about Angkor Wat, Bangkok, Tokyo and our re-entry.
So, if our three readers are still out there, keep checking; we've a few more stories to tell.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Angkor Contrast
We stayed in Siam Reap, a town lower to the ground than any I've seen. Outside our hotel door, we could see water buffalo grazing, farmers feeding pigs, and construction workers playing with a dead rat. Everyone rose early (I mean 4:30am) and didn't mind making a ruckus at that hour.
The chaos we've described about South-East Asia was heightened in Cambodia, but so was the kindness, simplicity, beauty and coarseness of the people.
Angkor Wat was devoid of this chaos, which made a sharp contrast with everything we experienced in Cambodia. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so it's maintained in a much different way than the world in which it exists. It was clean, vast, quiet and empty--covering nearly 50 miles of jungle and farmland. Roads were paved and at every stop there were clean toilets and snacks.
So, we got to wander around at our own will, as if we were at a national park at home. We had a lovely time there and enjoyed the respite from noise, chaotic traffic, and the like.
The chaos we've described about South-East Asia was heightened in Cambodia, but so was the kindness, simplicity, beauty and coarseness of the people.
Angkor Wat was devoid of this chaos, which made a sharp contrast with everything we experienced in Cambodia. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so it's maintained in a much different way than the world in which it exists. It was clean, vast, quiet and empty--covering nearly 50 miles of jungle and farmland. Roads were paved and at every stop there were clean toilets and snacks.
So, we got to wander around at our own will, as if we were at a national park at home. We had a lovely time there and enjoyed the respite from noise, chaotic traffic, and the like.
Cambodian Jungle
The jungle surrounding Siam Reap was enough to keep us busy for days.
The silk cottonwood trees were as big as our Redwoods, with roots that grabbed hold of everything around them and got ready to take it down. They were huge, towering over everything else in the jungle and glimmering with a reddish/silver glare in overcast light. Some of them grew sideways, ready to fall over in a loud crash only the lucky will see and hear.
The ants were as big as our roaches. We saw several packs of them transporting worms or leaves across roads.
Bugs like our cicadas whined at a high pitches in the trees and when they wound down to start up another round, they sounded like a space-ship landing nearby.
Birds cackled in packs.
Monkeys laughed at sunrise.
Although the sun never blared, a heavy heat weighed on us the whole time we were in Cambodia. It was a humid, wet heat. We soaked scarves and handkerchiefs.
The jungle is an aggressive strong thing. We're glad we could ride bikes around in it with plenty of water and clean bathrooms.
The silk cottonwood trees were as big as our Redwoods, with roots that grabbed hold of everything around them and got ready to take it down. They were huge, towering over everything else in the jungle and glimmering with a reddish/silver glare in overcast light. Some of them grew sideways, ready to fall over in a loud crash only the lucky will see and hear.
The ants were as big as our roaches. We saw several packs of them transporting worms or leaves across roads.
Bugs like our cicadas whined at a high pitches in the trees and when they wound down to start up another round, they sounded like a space-ship landing nearby.
Birds cackled in packs.
Monkeys laughed at sunrise.
Although the sun never blared, a heavy heat weighed on us the whole time we were in Cambodia. It was a humid, wet heat. We soaked scarves and handkerchiefs.
The jungle is an aggressive strong thing. We're glad we could ride bikes around in it with plenty of water and clean bathrooms.
Cambodia
We're back in Bangkok, readying ourselves for the flight to Tokyo, then Chicago. We just got back from our last adventure.
Cambodia was a riot.
A lawless rampage of mud, contraband, smiles, colors and hospitality. We'd heard it was just "Cambodia". We didn't know what that meant. Maybe we still don't.
This is all I can say:
A Poem for Cambodia
Multicolored neon lug nuts,
Military green men and Hello Kitty,
hand cranked bicycles,
Indiana Jones, casinos, cattle girls from Europe,
Glass box vending bicycles, Styrofoam on unicycles,
Corruption,
Two monks and a driver.
'93 Camry, spirit house,
Straw lady fans,
Electricity comes from Thailand,
Palm trees, open tour, rooster detour,
Head-on road improvement project,
Barber in the mud, water buffalo, two Dutch doctors
Young men playing with dead rats,
Ancient elixir of immortality,
Mud nausea road session,
Stolen head dress,
French acquisition,
Goodnight,
Cambodia.
Cambodia was a riot.
A lawless rampage of mud, contraband, smiles, colors and hospitality. We'd heard it was just "Cambodia". We didn't know what that meant. Maybe we still don't.
This is all I can say:
A Poem for Cambodia
Multicolored neon lug nuts,
Military green men and Hello Kitty,
hand cranked bicycles,
Indiana Jones, casinos, cattle girls from Europe,
Glass box vending bicycles, Styrofoam on unicycles,
Corruption,
Two monks and a driver.
'93 Camry, spirit house,
Straw lady fans,
Electricity comes from Thailand,
Palm trees, open tour, rooster detour,
Head-on road improvement project,
Barber in the mud, water buffalo, two Dutch doctors
Young men playing with dead rats,
Ancient elixir of immortality,
Mud nausea road session,
Stolen head dress,
French acquisition,
Goodnight,
Cambodia.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Friday Night in Bangkok
Last night was a strange Bangkok night.
We took the bus to Khao San, a road famous throughout south-east Asia for its Vegas-esque, neo-hippie-backpacker-hobo vibe. It's full of bars, hostels, markets, ping-pong shows, dreadlocks, pirated software (Adobe CS3 for less than $20!), fake I.D.s and southern rock music. The prostitutes don't run openly but they're not hard to find.
Needless to say, it's an interesting street.
We drank some beers in the evening while it rained, then walked into the street again. I had just finished negotiating to buy a tazer when two clear-eyed young travelers approached us.
"Are you going to Cambodia?" they asked.
It seemed like a scam, but why would two clean, young, western kids rip us off?
"Yes, we are, actually," we responded.
They had just returned from Cambodia and had leftover currency they couldn't exchange. They wanted to give it to us. We offered to trade for Thai Baht but they insisted on giving it to us. They weren't sure exactly how much money it was; they just wanted to give it away. We took the money and chatted a bit. They're from Sweden and they liked Angkor Wat.
We counted the money this morning--it's more than $90 USD!
After our Swedish encounter we visited the Internets and walked back to the street. There, in the rain, we saw two familiar faces. Lo and behold, we nearly bumped into Paul and Caterina, an Irish couple we met at a ticket office in Beijing then again on a sidewalk in Hanoi.
We have happened across this couple randomly three times now in three different countries. Third time's the charm, right? This time, we decided to get to know them, so all four of us sat down for more beer and travel stories.
We had a lovely time with them and said our goodbyes.
We wanted to take a public bus back to our hostel in Siam Square. I asked several people which bus to take--it was definitely bus 2, 511, 47 or 29. Hmmm. We eventually started bargaining with two tuk-tuk drivers and a taxi driver. The discussion was not about money but about how much the driver had been drinking. He wouldn't let me smell his breath (or at least I couldn't properly communicate with Thai and miming that I wanted to smell his breath. Try it--it's not easy.) We eventually conceded and went with him.
We drove a few blocks when he pulled to the curb. We thought he might be scamming us. No, he was just looking for his eyeglasses--they were on the floorboard beneath Bonnie's feet.
No big deal, right? Prescription glasses or sobriety--both equally irrelevant for driving at night. Luckily, everything turned out fine with him and we headed back to our hotel.
As we approached the door to our place, a taxi driver rose up from a nap in his driver's seat. He was wearing a plastic bag over his head and gingerly tapped his fingers against the window for our attention. He gave us a sleepy smile and settled back into position as we politely refused. Guess that's his tactic for getting foreigners in his cab late at night?
What connects these unusual events? Nothin but being in Bangkok on a Friday night.
We took the bus to Khao San, a road famous throughout south-east Asia for its Vegas-esque, neo-hippie-backpacker-hobo vibe. It's full of bars, hostels, markets, ping-pong shows, dreadlocks, pirated software (Adobe CS3 for less than $20!), fake I.D.s and southern rock music. The prostitutes don't run openly but they're not hard to find.
Needless to say, it's an interesting street.
We drank some beers in the evening while it rained, then walked into the street again. I had just finished negotiating to buy a tazer when two clear-eyed young travelers approached us.
"Are you going to Cambodia?" they asked.
It seemed like a scam, but why would two clean, young, western kids rip us off?
"Yes, we are, actually," we responded.
They had just returned from Cambodia and had leftover currency they couldn't exchange. They wanted to give it to us. We offered to trade for Thai Baht but they insisted on giving it to us. They weren't sure exactly how much money it was; they just wanted to give it away. We took the money and chatted a bit. They're from Sweden and they liked Angkor Wat.
We counted the money this morning--it's more than $90 USD!
After our Swedish encounter we visited the Internets and walked back to the street. There, in the rain, we saw two familiar faces. Lo and behold, we nearly bumped into Paul and Caterina, an Irish couple we met at a ticket office in Beijing then again on a sidewalk in Hanoi.
We have happened across this couple randomly three times now in three different countries. Third time's the charm, right? This time, we decided to get to know them, so all four of us sat down for more beer and travel stories.
We had a lovely time with them and said our goodbyes.
We wanted to take a public bus back to our hostel in Siam Square. I asked several people which bus to take--it was definitely bus 2, 511, 47 or 29. Hmmm. We eventually started bargaining with two tuk-tuk drivers and a taxi driver. The discussion was not about money but about how much the driver had been drinking. He wouldn't let me smell his breath (or at least I couldn't properly communicate with Thai and miming that I wanted to smell his breath. Try it--it's not easy.) We eventually conceded and went with him.
We drove a few blocks when he pulled to the curb. We thought he might be scamming us. No, he was just looking for his eyeglasses--they were on the floorboard beneath Bonnie's feet.
No big deal, right? Prescription glasses or sobriety--both equally irrelevant for driving at night. Luckily, everything turned out fine with him and we headed back to our hotel.
As we approached the door to our place, a taxi driver rose up from a nap in his driver's seat. He was wearing a plastic bag over his head and gingerly tapped his fingers against the window for our attention. He gave us a sleepy smile and settled back into position as we politely refused. Guess that's his tactic for getting foreigners in his cab late at night?
What connects these unusual events? Nothin but being in Bangkok on a Friday night.
Adventures in Chinglish, Part III
We're in the market for a tailor here in Bangkok. I asked the desk lady at our hostel for a recommendation and she gave me a map with an advertisement for her favorite shop: C.T Chinese Tailor.
It states:
SAWASDEE KRAAB LADY AND GENTLEMAN
ON BEHALF OF C.T. CHINESE TAILOR MANAGEMENT WE WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO WELCOME YOU TO THAILAND. THE LAND OF GOLDEN SMILES: AND WISHING YOU A PLEASANT VISITING. THIS MAP IS IMPLEMENTED FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE EXPECTATIONS NEEDED. THE MAJOR SUBSTANCES IN BANGKOK ARE DESCRIBED E.G. AREAS, TELEPHONES AND STREETS ETC.
C.T. CHINESE TAILOR IS AN OUTSTANDING TAILOR AND DRESSMAKER SERVER. OUR PROFESSIONAL EXPEREIENCE IS OVERE 20 YEARS. OUR PHILOSOPHY PASS-WORD IS TO EMPHASIZE OUR COUSTOMERS'SATISFACTION. RELIABLE AND VALUATIONS. WE ARE LOCATED RIGHT IN THE CENTER OF TOWN WHERE YOU CAN FIND US ON THIS MAP, IN OUR PROPERTY ITSELF IS AVAILABLED OF THE MOST PROVIDED FACLITIES E.G. MATTERIALS, MODELS; AND OUR HOSPITALITY TEAM.
MOREOVER WE ARE AVAILABLED FOR COMPLEMENTARY TRANSPORTATIONS FROM YOUR PLACE TO US ON ROUND TRIP BASIS. PLEASE GIVE US YOUR CALL FOR PICK UP OR DISCUSSION ABOUT YOUR NEW SUITE REQUIREMENT PLEASE FIND OUR TELEPHONE NUMBER HEREIN THE MAP.
SINCERELY YOURS,
THE MANAGEMENT.
Well, now that I know their "philosphy pass-word" includes "reliable and valuations" I might give them my call.
(Editor's note: Adventures in Chinglish aims for light-hearted amusement over language. It does not mean to disparage Chinese English-speakers. We respect their effort to communicate in a second language and we recognize that we sound ridiculous whenever we try to communicate outside of English. We're all just having a laugh together.)
It states:
SAWASDEE KRAAB LADY AND GENTLEMAN
ON BEHALF OF C.T. CHINESE TAILOR MANAGEMENT WE WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO WELCOME YOU TO THAILAND. THE LAND OF GOLDEN SMILES: AND WISHING YOU A PLEASANT VISITING. THIS MAP IS IMPLEMENTED FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE EXPECTATIONS NEEDED. THE MAJOR SUBSTANCES IN BANGKOK ARE DESCRIBED E.G. AREAS, TELEPHONES AND STREETS ETC.
C.T. CHINESE TAILOR IS AN OUTSTANDING TAILOR AND DRESSMAKER SERVER. OUR PROFESSIONAL EXPEREIENCE IS OVERE 20 YEARS. OUR PHILOSOPHY PASS-WORD IS TO EMPHASIZE OUR COUSTOMERS'SATISFACTION. RELIABLE AND VALUATIONS. WE ARE LOCATED RIGHT IN THE CENTER OF TOWN WHERE YOU CAN FIND US ON THIS MAP, IN OUR PROPERTY ITSELF IS AVAILABLED OF THE MOST PROVIDED FACLITIES E.G. MATTERIALS, MODELS; AND OUR HOSPITALITY TEAM.
MOREOVER WE ARE AVAILABLED FOR COMPLEMENTARY TRANSPORTATIONS FROM YOUR PLACE TO US ON ROUND TRIP BASIS. PLEASE GIVE US YOUR CALL FOR PICK UP OR DISCUSSION ABOUT YOUR NEW SUITE REQUIREMENT PLEASE FIND OUR TELEPHONE NUMBER HEREIN THE MAP.
SINCERELY YOURS,
THE MANAGEMENT.
Well, now that I know their "philosphy pass-word" includes "reliable and valuations" I might give them my call.
(Editor's note: Adventures in Chinglish aims for light-hearted amusement over language. It does not mean to disparage Chinese English-speakers. We respect their effort to communicate in a second language and we recognize that we sound ridiculous whenever we try to communicate outside of English. We're all just having a laugh together.)
Photographs
All three of our ardent readers have asked where our photos are. The few I've made have been sitting quietly on a hard drive. Honestly, I haven't been much of a photographer on this trip.
Our friend David told me before we left, "You can live it or you can shoot it. You can't do both." Very true. I've been living this honeymoon and enjoying travels with Bonnie, not working for photographs.
Forgive me, then, for taking so long to post images. Forgive me also for the mediocre quality of the images. I've basically made a few travel-snaps, nothing more.
I've posted two separate galleries on flikr.com. The images haven't been cropped, color-corrected or toned at all. Neither are they in any order.
Enjoy:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldoutsider/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldoutsider2/
Our friend David told me before we left, "You can live it or you can shoot it. You can't do both." Very true. I've been living this honeymoon and enjoying travels with Bonnie, not working for photographs.
Forgive me, then, for taking so long to post images. Forgive me also for the mediocre quality of the images. I've basically made a few travel-snaps, nothing more.
I've posted two separate galleries on flikr.com. The images haven't been cropped, color-corrected or toned at all. Neither are they in any order.
Enjoy:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldoutsider/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/oldoutsider2/
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Night Trains
We made it to Bangkok just fine this morning. There's loads to say about this bustling city, we're only outlining some thoughts on the night train for now.
We took buses everywhere but Thailand and China, but we got healthy doses of train travel in both places.
Night Train Contrasts:
1. In Thailand, cold bottled water is available for sale in the train. Boiling water is available in Chinese trains, but not if you don't have a container suitable for it!
2. As soon as we boarded, dinner and breakfast were offered to us at our seats in the Thai train. We'd stocked up on food for the ride because in China, that's how it's done. No meals at the seats there unless you're awake when a lady happens by with fried vegetables and rice.
3. Boisterous French neighbors were a brand new addition to our Asian train travels. The most riotous (and rotund) couple kept half the car up trying to fit into the their pull-out beds. They were delightful.
4. Last night, everyone had curtains around their beds! What a difference this would have made in China, where the stares never wane.
5. The Thai train was devoid of pop junk music or tv!
6. There was no set bedtime on the Thai train and each compartment was equipped with a reading light. On the Chinese train, everyone dutifully goes to bed at the designated time.
So, again, we experienced luxurious Thailand! Not to say China's devoid of luxury, you've just got to work harder for it. And when you find it there, by God, you know you've earned it!
We took buses everywhere but Thailand and China, but we got healthy doses of train travel in both places.
Night Train Contrasts:
1. In Thailand, cold bottled water is available for sale in the train. Boiling water is available in Chinese trains, but not if you don't have a container suitable for it!
2. As soon as we boarded, dinner and breakfast were offered to us at our seats in the Thai train. We'd stocked up on food for the ride because in China, that's how it's done. No meals at the seats there unless you're awake when a lady happens by with fried vegetables and rice.
3. Boisterous French neighbors were a brand new addition to our Asian train travels. The most riotous (and rotund) couple kept half the car up trying to fit into the their pull-out beds. They were delightful.
4. Last night, everyone had curtains around their beds! What a difference this would have made in China, where the stares never wane.
5. The Thai train was devoid of pop junk music or tv!
6. There was no set bedtime on the Thai train and each compartment was equipped with a reading light. On the Chinese train, everyone dutifully goes to bed at the designated time.
So, again, we experienced luxurious Thailand! Not to say China's devoid of luxury, you've just got to work harder for it. And when you find it there, by God, you know you've earned it!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Good-Bye Chiang Mai
Our Chiang Mai stint is ending. We leave on a night train for Bangkok in two hours. Both of us are eager to see the difference between the Chinese and Thai train experience. I'm sure we'll fill tell you the endless details.
We've made a comfortable routine here: yoga classes, lots of papaya salad (kind of like cole slaw at home, but spicier), dental work, eyeglass appointments, moped rides, massages, mountain hikes and even kickboxing fights.
Yoga classes abound in this city. We found an instructer that worked for both of us. He's a British fellow with crazy eyes and huge teeth that almost impair his speech. But the guy's a great teacher-- encouraging and brutal enough for both of us. And eccentric as hell. For instance, he rolls his r's in English and Hindi and lectures us on his yogic beliefs as we're in a backbend with sweat soaking our mats. Jim hates for me to use the term "power yoga" for the practice we've studied, but isn't that what fast-forward yoga in a sauna is? The class was hard even for Jim, which lets me know it's on the edge. We dreaded going every session. They lasted 2.5 hours with no breaks and he prodded and bossed the whole time. If he thought you could stretch further, he'd climb on you and press you into position. Students would moan and wimper but he kept pushing. He described his style as somewhat stern and military.
It was great fun, I suppose, but I'm glad that crazy Britt's not pushing me into down-dog no more.
Also, I've needed a dental procedure done for nearly five years, so I figured Thailand would be the place to do it. In case you haven't heard, health care here is top-notch and less than half the cost of home. So, if you've only got catastrophe insurance like me, this is the place to get your teeth cleaned. Although it was kind of awful to get an injection in the gums with people speaking a foriegn language over your dentist chair, the experience was good overall. They gave me a brand new smile at a third of the cost.
Another Chiang Mai event for us was the arrival of our friend, Ben. He's a classmate of Jim's who's finishing up his master's project with a photo of a Thai pimp. His subject matter is the seven deadly sins. Great fun, huh? He came to Chiang Mai over the weekend and it was great fun to explore "amazing Thailand" with him. We took him to a Muay Thai (kickboxing) fight with us on Friday night. Talk about county fairs, man, this was it. Great ringside food, music, and fun. Some of those fighters couldn't have been over fifteen. The style of fighting was kick boxing. Not too bloody or dirty. Really, the most interesting event of the fight was the dance beforehand, which was completely dependent on the musicians in the corner. The music consisted of two drums and a strange oboe-like reed instrument that only played in harmonic/melodic scales. The music orchestrated the fight. They'd speed up the rhythm and the fighters would get more aggresive. And the spicy cole slaw there was the best in Chiang Mai.
We also went hiking on Jim's favorite mountain in the world with Ben. It's called Doi Suthep and lies west of Chiang Mai and has a golden temple on top. We hiked to two waterfalls and a beautifully huge fig tree. The insects and foliage in the jungle are quite different from anything I've ever seen. Some seed pods on the ground were as big as my arm. We had great fun doing that, too. Yeah, the hike was great, but since Ben was with us, we got to rent an extra motorbike and I got to drive. Talk about fun. A moped on the left side of the road all the way up a curvy mountain road built by a monk. Amazing Thailand!!
You can check out Ben's photography of our time together and many other things at:
www.portlandmonk.blogspot.com
You can visit our wacky Britt yogi at:
www.cmyogasala.com
So, we leave on a night train to Bangkok in two hours. We extended our trip until the beginning of October, so we're hoping to have enough time to visit Cambodia before we leave. Goodbye, lovely languid Chiang Mai!
We've made a comfortable routine here: yoga classes, lots of papaya salad (kind of like cole slaw at home, but spicier), dental work, eyeglass appointments, moped rides, massages, mountain hikes and even kickboxing fights.
Yoga classes abound in this city. We found an instructer that worked for both of us. He's a British fellow with crazy eyes and huge teeth that almost impair his speech. But the guy's a great teacher-- encouraging and brutal enough for both of us. And eccentric as hell. For instance, he rolls his r's in English and Hindi and lectures us on his yogic beliefs as we're in a backbend with sweat soaking our mats. Jim hates for me to use the term "power yoga" for the practice we've studied, but isn't that what fast-forward yoga in a sauna is? The class was hard even for Jim, which lets me know it's on the edge. We dreaded going every session. They lasted 2.5 hours with no breaks and he prodded and bossed the whole time. If he thought you could stretch further, he'd climb on you and press you into position. Students would moan and wimper but he kept pushing. He described his style as somewhat stern and military.
It was great fun, I suppose, but I'm glad that crazy Britt's not pushing me into down-dog no more.
Also, I've needed a dental procedure done for nearly five years, so I figured Thailand would be the place to do it. In case you haven't heard, health care here is top-notch and less than half the cost of home. So, if you've only got catastrophe insurance like me, this is the place to get your teeth cleaned. Although it was kind of awful to get an injection in the gums with people speaking a foriegn language over your dentist chair, the experience was good overall. They gave me a brand new smile at a third of the cost.
Another Chiang Mai event for us was the arrival of our friend, Ben. He's a classmate of Jim's who's finishing up his master's project with a photo of a Thai pimp. His subject matter is the seven deadly sins. Great fun, huh? He came to Chiang Mai over the weekend and it was great fun to explore "amazing Thailand" with him. We took him to a Muay Thai (kickboxing) fight with us on Friday night. Talk about county fairs, man, this was it. Great ringside food, music, and fun. Some of those fighters couldn't have been over fifteen. The style of fighting was kick boxing. Not too bloody or dirty. Really, the most interesting event of the fight was the dance beforehand, which was completely dependent on the musicians in the corner. The music consisted of two drums and a strange oboe-like reed instrument that only played in harmonic/melodic scales. The music orchestrated the fight. They'd speed up the rhythm and the fighters would get more aggresive. And the spicy cole slaw there was the best in Chiang Mai.
We also went hiking on Jim's favorite mountain in the world with Ben. It's called Doi Suthep and lies west of Chiang Mai and has a golden temple on top. We hiked to two waterfalls and a beautifully huge fig tree. The insects and foliage in the jungle are quite different from anything I've ever seen. Some seed pods on the ground were as big as my arm. We had great fun doing that, too. Yeah, the hike was great, but since Ben was with us, we got to rent an extra motorbike and I got to drive. Talk about fun. A moped on the left side of the road all the way up a curvy mountain road built by a monk. Amazing Thailand!!
You can check out Ben's photography of our time together and many other things at:
www.portlandmonk.blogspot.com
You can visit our wacky Britt yogi at:
www.cmyogasala.com
So, we leave on a night train to Bangkok in two hours. We extended our trip until the beginning of October, so we're hoping to have enough time to visit Cambodia before we leave. Goodbye, lovely languid Chiang Mai!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Arkansas
I am very thankful for my Arkansas upbringing when I travel.
First off, people I meet on international travels usually know Arkansas because of Bill Clinton. His name always brings a smile to the conversation, no matter what the reason. He seems to be well-liked overseas. I'm always glad for a positive connection with local folks and little ole Arkansas.
Also, wicked Asian bathrooms would be intolerable if I hadn't periodically dealt with truck stops in West Memphis as a girl. Or septic tanks at my Daddy's log cabin. Or a pile or rotting cow carcasses at my Papa's farm. (Let's let bygones be bygones on that one.)
If I step in animal shit on the road while turning down a tuk tuk driver and dodging a tractor, I think, "What in hell would I do if I hadn't grown up in Arkansas?".
Here's a nod to city folk who lack rural sensibility and venture out here to Asia anyway.
I salute you.
First off, people I meet on international travels usually know Arkansas because of Bill Clinton. His name always brings a smile to the conversation, no matter what the reason. He seems to be well-liked overseas. I'm always glad for a positive connection with local folks and little ole Arkansas.
Also, wicked Asian bathrooms would be intolerable if I hadn't periodically dealt with truck stops in West Memphis as a girl. Or septic tanks at my Daddy's log cabin. Or a pile or rotting cow carcasses at my Papa's farm. (Let's let bygones be bygones on that one.)
If I step in animal shit on the road while turning down a tuk tuk driver and dodging a tractor, I think, "What in hell would I do if I hadn't grown up in Arkansas?".
Here's a nod to city folk who lack rural sensibility and venture out here to Asia anyway.
I salute you.
Sweet Ivan
At night, food stalls line a lot of streets in Chiang Mai and they're lit up just like a county fair. All kinds of things are sold at those stalls--gelatinous green desserts, roasted chicken, shish kebabs, sweet soy milk, french fries, beer, and a million other treats. All this mixed with diesel fumes and moped whines and dirt takes me straight back to the White County Fair.
It's fair time back home, isn't it?
The White County Fair is an event of mythical proportions in my memory. My dear grandfather (Sweet Ivan) was president of the fair board in our county, so the fair was a family event for me. What could top the rodeos, horse shows, funnel cakes, merchant exhibits, exotic carnies, nauseating rides and demolition derbies of a county fair?
If you know of something, I challenge you: leave me a comment.
(It can't include a Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton performance at a county fair.)
It's fair time back home, isn't it?
The White County Fair is an event of mythical proportions in my memory. My dear grandfather (Sweet Ivan) was president of the fair board in our county, so the fair was a family event for me. What could top the rodeos, horse shows, funnel cakes, merchant exhibits, exotic carnies, nauseating rides and demolition derbies of a county fair?
If you know of something, I challenge you: leave me a comment.
(It can't include a Johnny Cash or Dolly Parton performance at a county fair.)
Chiang Mai till I Die
I haven't written about Chiang Mai since we arrived. The city's so nice, I have trouble organizing my thoughts on it. My three readers might notice this.
It's very easy to be a foreigner in this town. Most everybody is happy to do business or try to converse with me. Thailand naturally offers a lot to the tourist.
Good food and great massage have long histories here. Massage parlors are on nearly every block. Now, this is the real deal here--no surprise "happy ending" massages in Chiang Mai. (I've heard the deliberate ones are pretty easy to find.) That being said, the variety of massages offered is astounding. I've seen some advertised as four-hour ordeals with hot oil and flowers and little Thai women walking on top of people. Nearly every parlor offers hot herb compresses and facials, hand and shoulder massages, feet massages, full body massage, aromatherapy body treatments and a million other luxuries. They're cheap, too! We're talking 3 dollars for an hour.
And the food's just fabulous. It's delicious to begin with, but always served with a cacophony of spices: sugar, salt, pepper, red pepper sauce, green pepper sauce, and dry red pepper. Some of the spice containers take up the entire table. We've been able to eat cheap and well every day and there's still several hundred restaurants we want to try.
Little laundry places, hair and nail shops, alteration places, coffee shops, book stores and Seven Elevens are all over the place.
The Thai people are kind and laid back. They remind me a lot of people from the South. The streets are full of tableaus that remind me of summer birthday parties or fish fries back in Arkansas. The women gab at every passer-by while teenage boys fly past on motorcycles and men work together on engines. And the people are quick to smile or share a laugh. Mangy dogs weave in and out and between everything and everybody all the while.
You know, one drawback is the pedestrian situation in Chiang Mai. Much like the States, many streets just don't have sidewalks. You're either walking in the front of somebody's shop or in the street with a million mopeds and couple thousand diesel trucks and three wheelers too. But, Jim's former co-workers let us borrow a scooter he used to ride. He's the driver; I'm on the back watching the city swirl by. It's great fun.
Don't worry; we wear helmets.
By the way, Jim and I usually work together on posts, but I'm solo on this. Feels a little odd. Everybody needs an editor, right?
It's very easy to be a foreigner in this town. Most everybody is happy to do business or try to converse with me. Thailand naturally offers a lot to the tourist.
Good food and great massage have long histories here. Massage parlors are on nearly every block. Now, this is the real deal here--no surprise "happy ending" massages in Chiang Mai. (I've heard the deliberate ones are pretty easy to find.) That being said, the variety of massages offered is astounding. I've seen some advertised as four-hour ordeals with hot oil and flowers and little Thai women walking on top of people. Nearly every parlor offers hot herb compresses and facials, hand and shoulder massages, feet massages, full body massage, aromatherapy body treatments and a million other luxuries. They're cheap, too! We're talking 3 dollars for an hour.
And the food's just fabulous. It's delicious to begin with, but always served with a cacophony of spices: sugar, salt, pepper, red pepper sauce, green pepper sauce, and dry red pepper. Some of the spice containers take up the entire table. We've been able to eat cheap and well every day and there's still several hundred restaurants we want to try.
Little laundry places, hair and nail shops, alteration places, coffee shops, book stores and Seven Elevens are all over the place.
The Thai people are kind and laid back. They remind me a lot of people from the South. The streets are full of tableaus that remind me of summer birthday parties or fish fries back in Arkansas. The women gab at every passer-by while teenage boys fly past on motorcycles and men work together on engines. And the people are quick to smile or share a laugh. Mangy dogs weave in and out and between everything and everybody all the while.
You know, one drawback is the pedestrian situation in Chiang Mai. Much like the States, many streets just don't have sidewalks. You're either walking in the front of somebody's shop or in the street with a million mopeds and couple thousand diesel trucks and three wheelers too. But, Jim's former co-workers let us borrow a scooter he used to ride. He's the driver; I'm on the back watching the city swirl by. It's great fun.
Don't worry; we wear helmets.
By the way, Jim and I usually work together on posts, but I'm solo on this. Feels a little odd. Everybody needs an editor, right?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Limbo
We got stuck at the border between Vietnam and Laos. We were anxious from the get-go: we didn't have onward bus tickets once we crossed, we'd heard of trouble here from other foriegners, and we had to get our Laos visas at the crossing.
We started early, with enough money in U.S. dollars to pay for both our visas. We walked to the border, exited Vietnam effortlessly, and crossed into the no-man's-land (around half a mile) between Vietnam and Laos. The visa official on the Lao side was still at home so we waited for him to arrive. When he showed, he filled a page of our passport with stamps and scribblings and asked for the fee--$80 U.S. dollars. This was a bit higher than we expected but no big deal. We had two $100 bills and about $50 in smaller bills.
This is where the trouble starts.
The official wouldn't take our money because it wasn't new. Ben Franklin's face was smudged on both bills. He said Lao banks wouldn't accept the bills so he wouldn't either.
So, we were stamped out of Vietnam and Laos wouldn't let us in.
The official was an ass. He seemed to enjoy our misfortune, chuckling condescendingly to himself and saying officially, "We only take cash." We had cash--cold, hard American cash that would stand up in any establishment most anywhere in the world! He smugly suggested we go back to Vietnam and try to exchange for Vietnamese Dong. How would we do that, however, when our visas were already stamped? And where would we change money in a small town on Sunday?
We decided that Bonnie should stay at the Laos border while I fanagled back into Vietnam. I eventually explained my situation to the Vietnamese several border officials--we have money trouble, my wife at Laos border, I go back to Bao San hotel. They took my passport and told me to return in less than an hour.
I had no local currencies, only the U.S. Dollars, so I walked the 1.5 mile to the hotel and explained the situation to Lynn, the English-speaking employee we met the night before. She was great and had helped us several times. Lynn said the bill was, indeed, old. And the banks were closed since it was Sunday. But she knew some "gold sellers" who might help us.
She returned thirty minutes later. A "gold seller" took the bill at 14,100 Dong-$1.00 USD rather than the standard 16,000-1. We lost more than $12 in the exchange but it saved our ass. I paid Lynn nearly $5.00 (in Vietnamese Dong) for rescuing us, so $17.00 of our $100 was gone. I spent another dollar on a motorbike to the border. That left us about $83.00 USD (in Dong) to pay the $80.00 visa fee.
When I returned to Laos the official said we needed to pay an $8.50 USD fee for paying in Dong and not USD. Bonnie had a $5.00 USD bill and we paid the rest in Vietnamese Dong (and maybe a bit of Laotian Kip). He stamped our passports and we walked through.
While I was trapsing between countries, Bonnie stayed at the same border post with the same smug officials for nearly two hours. The locals with broad hats and face-masks milling about for Dong-Kip money exchanges and contraband commerce stared shamelessly. But a spunky old Vietnemese woman took Bonnie under her wing and gave her some food and companionship.
We then found a bus across Laos to Savanakhet, on the Loa-Thai border. That evening, we ate dinner with two quirky British girls and watched the lights of Thailand glimmer across the Mekong River.
We started early, with enough money in U.S. dollars to pay for both our visas. We walked to the border, exited Vietnam effortlessly, and crossed into the no-man's-land (around half a mile) between Vietnam and Laos. The visa official on the Lao side was still at home so we waited for him to arrive. When he showed, he filled a page of our passport with stamps and scribblings and asked for the fee--$80 U.S. dollars. This was a bit higher than we expected but no big deal. We had two $100 bills and about $50 in smaller bills.
This is where the trouble starts.
The official wouldn't take our money because it wasn't new. Ben Franklin's face was smudged on both bills. He said Lao banks wouldn't accept the bills so he wouldn't either.
So, we were stamped out of Vietnam and Laos wouldn't let us in.
The official was an ass. He seemed to enjoy our misfortune, chuckling condescendingly to himself and saying officially, "We only take cash." We had cash--cold, hard American cash that would stand up in any establishment most anywhere in the world! He smugly suggested we go back to Vietnam and try to exchange for Vietnamese Dong. How would we do that, however, when our visas were already stamped? And where would we change money in a small town on Sunday?
We decided that Bonnie should stay at the Laos border while I fanagled back into Vietnam. I eventually explained my situation to the Vietnamese several border officials--we have money trouble, my wife at Laos border, I go back to Bao San hotel. They took my passport and told me to return in less than an hour.
I had no local currencies, only the U.S. Dollars, so I walked the 1.5 mile to the hotel and explained the situation to Lynn, the English-speaking employee we met the night before. She was great and had helped us several times. Lynn said the bill was, indeed, old. And the banks were closed since it was Sunday. But she knew some "gold sellers" who might help us.
She returned thirty minutes later. A "gold seller" took the bill at 14,100 Dong-$1.00 USD rather than the standard 16,000-1. We lost more than $12 in the exchange but it saved our ass. I paid Lynn nearly $5.00 (in Vietnamese Dong) for rescuing us, so $17.00 of our $100 was gone. I spent another dollar on a motorbike to the border. That left us about $83.00 USD (in Dong) to pay the $80.00 visa fee.
When I returned to Laos the official said we needed to pay an $8.50 USD fee for paying in Dong and not USD. Bonnie had a $5.00 USD bill and we paid the rest in Vietnamese Dong (and maybe a bit of Laotian Kip). He stamped our passports and we walked through.
While I was trapsing between countries, Bonnie stayed at the same border post with the same smug officials for nearly two hours. The locals with broad hats and face-masks milling about for Dong-Kip money exchanges and contraband commerce stared shamelessly. But a spunky old Vietnemese woman took Bonnie under her wing and gave her some food and companionship.
We then found a bus across Laos to Savanakhet, on the Loa-Thai border. That evening, we ate dinner with two quirky British girls and watched the lights of Thailand glimmer across the Mekong River.
Hue to Chang Mai in 5 Days Flat
We've covered some ground since last we wrote. Although all three of our ardent readers have wondered if we got locked in an Asian prison since that last post, we simply arrived in Chiang Mai and got lazy. This town is a little like that.
And truth be told, we started having fun instead of kicking against the goads of low-budget South-East Asian travel.
But there's lots to tell!
Hue was where we left off. We spent a night there and planned to get out quickly the next day. Although it was smaller and quieter than Hanoi, it was littered with pushy touts at every corner! We couldn't walk two blocks without getting hassled for a motorbike ride, a shampoo or a tour of the DMZ (De-Militarized Zone). So, last Saturday, we took a five-hour local minibus to Lao Bao, the border town on the Vietnam side of the Laos-Vietnam border. We arrived in the afternoon and were told we'd need to wait till morning to cross.
Just as the locals in Hue warned, Lao Bao was a "sad", "small" town where the youth had nothing fun to do but cause trouble. It was a strange little place where we couldn't get straight answers and had to surrender our passports for the police to look over.
The next morning, we got stuck at the border (Check out the "Limbo" post) and eventually chanced to catch a five-hour bus to Savannaket, a town on the Laos-Thai border. We decided to stay there for a night, see a bit of Laos, and head for amazing Thailand in the morning. That night, we could see the lights of Thailand glimmering across the Mekong River. Almost there.
In the morning, we got a bus through the Laos exit border (no troubles!) and into Mukhadan, Thailand. Then we took a four-hour bus to Kahn Kaen. This was a very pleasant school bus ride with mostly Thai school girls. They loaded at the most interesting towns and houses. Upon arrival in the evening at Kahn Kaen, we bought tickets for a night bus to Chiang Mai!
Chiang Mai by morning!
And that's how we arrived in this beautiful green town. Early in the morning after a night bus after a school bus after two borders and a lot of Asian countryside.
And truth be told, we started having fun instead of kicking against the goads of low-budget South-East Asian travel.
But there's lots to tell!
Hue was where we left off. We spent a night there and planned to get out quickly the next day. Although it was smaller and quieter than Hanoi, it was littered with pushy touts at every corner! We couldn't walk two blocks without getting hassled for a motorbike ride, a shampoo or a tour of the DMZ (De-Militarized Zone). So, last Saturday, we took a five-hour local minibus to Lao Bao, the border town on the Vietnam side of the Laos-Vietnam border. We arrived in the afternoon and were told we'd need to wait till morning to cross.
Just as the locals in Hue warned, Lao Bao was a "sad", "small" town where the youth had nothing fun to do but cause trouble. It was a strange little place where we couldn't get straight answers and had to surrender our passports for the police to look over.
The next morning, we got stuck at the border (Check out the "Limbo" post) and eventually chanced to catch a five-hour bus to Savannaket, a town on the Laos-Thai border. We decided to stay there for a night, see a bit of Laos, and head for amazing Thailand in the morning. That night, we could see the lights of Thailand glimmering across the Mekong River. Almost there.
In the morning, we got a bus through the Laos exit border (no troubles!) and into Mukhadan, Thailand. Then we took a four-hour bus to Kahn Kaen. This was a very pleasant school bus ride with mostly Thai school girls. They loaded at the most interesting towns and houses. Upon arrival in the evening at Kahn Kaen, we bought tickets for a night bus to Chiang Mai!
Chiang Mai by morning!
And that's how we arrived in this beautiful green town. Early in the morning after a night bus after a school bus after two borders and a lot of Asian countryside.
Friday, September 14, 2007
China vs. Vietnam
Vietnam was a welcoming country that sharply contrasted our Chinese travels. In fact, we started a list of the differences we experienced in our short Vietnam visit:
Difference 1:
Ease of travel. Our challenge in China was navigating the system alone. In Vietnam, the challenge was escaping everyone who wanted to help us. We found tourist agencies everywhere. They have package deals on every bus, train and plane everyplace you'd want to go.
The agencies seemed legit and honest but we decided early to do things on our own. But nobody would give us information outside their own tour packages. "Where's the bus station?", we ask. "You don't need it, we'll book the bus for you," they respond. What a world away from the train stations of Beijing, no?
Difference 2:
Food. In China, there's a restaurant full of bored waitresses every couple blocks. Inside, we found good food, evenwith a Mandarin menu. We knew how to say "spicy tofu", "spinach or tomato and egg", "dumplings", "rice", or "soup". Now, who in the world could go wrong with that in China? Suffice to say, we ate well there. And the Chinese loved watching us do so.
Vietnam was a different story. The best things we found to eat were mock western foods--mostly of the breakfast type. Yes, the coffee was good and easy to find. But the food was not so. The local street food looked and smelled just plain bad. Very different from the Middle Kingdom.
Difference 3:
The businessmen in Vietnam weren't out-right assholes! Anybody who's spent time in China has heard the hollers and seen the drunken, red-faced, Chinese businessmen at their Bijou lunches. In Vietnam, we were floored to see a group of businessmen acting quite pleasant with one another and their waitresses. One night at a hotel in Lao Bao, Vietnamese businessmen packed the main restaurant to watch a football match between Vietnam and Qatar. We watched the game alongside them, making toasts and friends.
Difference 4:
Vietnam is more open and worldly than China. The TVs in Vietnam broadcast networks from America, France, Germany, China, Australia, etc. The Chinese mostly show a dozen versions of CCTV (the state-run television network), some Peking Opera, and soap operas set in the Ming Dynasty.
Many Vietnamese speak a bit of English and French and they don't gawk at outsiders. We got by on our English the whole way through Vietnam after limping through China on limited Mandarin and the occasional English phrase. (Then again, America's nearly as bad as China on this one--both kingdoms share a broad monolingual weakness, although America's gaining a Spanish understanding [But that's Un-American, I hear.])
We were also warmly greeted everywhere, even as Americans. Barely a generation ago, America bombed the bejesus out of Hanoi and much of North Vietnam. Nobody gave us any trouble over it. (This may be different in rural Vietnam and in the South, we didn't visit there)China, it seems, holds a grudge longer--or at least more vocally. Many Chinese still openly hate Japan over the aggressions of the 1930s. At the Summer Palace in Beijing, which was sacked by French and British troops in the 1800s, two students asked me my home country. They were glad I wasn't from the offending countries, they said, because then they would "beat me with limbs" from a nearby tree.
-----------
It seems we're just bitching about China. Not so. We've met great people and fine institutions there. And our most memorable travels still begin in the Middle Kingdom.
Difference 1:
Ease of travel. Our challenge in China was navigating the system alone. In Vietnam, the challenge was escaping everyone who wanted to help us. We found tourist agencies everywhere. They have package deals on every bus, train and plane everyplace you'd want to go.
The agencies seemed legit and honest but we decided early to do things on our own. But nobody would give us information outside their own tour packages. "Where's the bus station?", we ask. "You don't need it, we'll book the bus for you," they respond. What a world away from the train stations of Beijing, no?
Difference 2:
Food. In China, there's a restaurant full of bored waitresses every couple blocks. Inside, we found good food, evenwith a Mandarin menu. We knew how to say "spicy tofu", "spinach or tomato and egg", "dumplings", "rice", or "soup". Now, who in the world could go wrong with that in China? Suffice to say, we ate well there. And the Chinese loved watching us do so.
Vietnam was a different story. The best things we found to eat were mock western foods--mostly of the breakfast type. Yes, the coffee was good and easy to find. But the food was not so. The local street food looked and smelled just plain bad. Very different from the Middle Kingdom.
Difference 3:
The businessmen in Vietnam weren't out-right assholes! Anybody who's spent time in China has heard the hollers and seen the drunken, red-faced, Chinese businessmen at their Bijou lunches. In Vietnam, we were floored to see a group of businessmen acting quite pleasant with one another and their waitresses. One night at a hotel in Lao Bao, Vietnamese businessmen packed the main restaurant to watch a football match between Vietnam and Qatar. We watched the game alongside them, making toasts and friends.
Difference 4:
Vietnam is more open and worldly than China. The TVs in Vietnam broadcast networks from America, France, Germany, China, Australia, etc. The Chinese mostly show a dozen versions of CCTV (the state-run television network), some Peking Opera, and soap operas set in the Ming Dynasty.
Many Vietnamese speak a bit of English and French and they don't gawk at outsiders. We got by on our English the whole way through Vietnam after limping through China on limited Mandarin and the occasional English phrase. (Then again, America's nearly as bad as China on this one--both kingdoms share a broad monolingual weakness, although America's gaining a Spanish understanding [But that's Un-American, I hear.])
We were also warmly greeted everywhere, even as Americans. Barely a generation ago, America bombed the bejesus out of Hanoi and much of North Vietnam. Nobody gave us any trouble over it. (This may be different in rural Vietnam and in the South, we didn't visit there)China, it seems, holds a grudge longer--or at least more vocally. Many Chinese still openly hate Japan over the aggressions of the 1930s. At the Summer Palace in Beijing, which was sacked by French and British troops in the 1800s, two students asked me my home country. They were glad I wasn't from the offending countries, they said, because then they would "beat me with limbs" from a nearby tree.
-----------
It seems we're just bitching about China. Not so. We've met great people and fine institutions there. And our most memorable travels still begin in the Middle Kingdom.
Friday, September 7, 2007
So, Why's the Bus Cheaper, Again?
We traveled 14 hours from Hanoi to Hue last night in a clean, new sleeper bus. Three travel agents suggested the bus--cheaper and faster than the train. We visited the train station and confirmed that it was about 40% more expensive and two hours longer. It was the bus for us.
We asked the hostel guy why the bus was cheaper. He speculated on government inefficiency in the train system. We learned otherwise.
For starters, the shuttle from the hotel to the bus wasted an annoying hour--we could have walked or rode motorcycles easier. The big bus, when we finally arrived there, was new and fresh with three rows of double-decker bunks. They slanted so your feet slipped under someone else's head. Not a bad arrangement unless you're in the back row like Jim. Those beds were slanted more severely, shorter, and Jim was canned from the mid-thighs down.
They said the bus stopped once . It actually stopped five or six times to pick up passengers and cargo or visit truck stops. Around 3:00 a.m., it picked up five fellows who slept in the aisles.
The roads themselves added an element of adventure. Highway travel here is one continuous game of chicken. The road is marked for two lanes but a de facto third lane lies between where traffic passes head-to-head with opposing passing traffic. Several times, our driver lost the chicken game, resulting in quick brakes and dislodged luggage. Also, many miles of the roads are pocked, so the ride is like hours in a turbulent airplane.
Worse for Bonnie was the noise. Asians seem to have a penchant for loud music videos when they travel, mostly pop junk. Our bus played the same DVD repeatedly--a handful of songs in a show called "Paris by Night in Korea" which featured Vietnamese pop crooners performing for a Korean crowd. (I'm not sure where Paris fits in.) Bonnie's head lay not two feet from a speaker, so she got the brunt of it. And it was loud. She plugged her ears and tried to sleep but couldn't stop herself from mentally notating the music, as if she were transcribing in her sleep.
The music stopped at 11:00 p.m. but the dutiful driver started it again at 6:30 a.m. During short lulls, a neighbor kindly filled the gap with French tunes from his cell phone.
The journey was fun, however. There were three other foreign couples--blonde, quiet, germanic folk; bothered Brits; and a sexy, young French couple who periodically climbed into one another's bunks. Those French do have a way about them.
We asked the hostel guy why the bus was cheaper. He speculated on government inefficiency in the train system. We learned otherwise.
For starters, the shuttle from the hotel to the bus wasted an annoying hour--we could have walked or rode motorcycles easier. The big bus, when we finally arrived there, was new and fresh with three rows of double-decker bunks. They slanted so your feet slipped under someone else's head. Not a bad arrangement unless you're in the back row like Jim. Those beds were slanted more severely, shorter, and Jim was canned from the mid-thighs down.
They said the bus stopped once . It actually stopped five or six times to pick up passengers and cargo or visit truck stops. Around 3:00 a.m., it picked up five fellows who slept in the aisles.
The roads themselves added an element of adventure. Highway travel here is one continuous game of chicken. The road is marked for two lanes but a de facto third lane lies between where traffic passes head-to-head with opposing passing traffic. Several times, our driver lost the chicken game, resulting in quick brakes and dislodged luggage. Also, many miles of the roads are pocked, so the ride is like hours in a turbulent airplane.
Worse for Bonnie was the noise. Asians seem to have a penchant for loud music videos when they travel, mostly pop junk. Our bus played the same DVD repeatedly--a handful of songs in a show called "Paris by Night in Korea" which featured Vietnamese pop crooners performing for a Korean crowd. (I'm not sure where Paris fits in.) Bonnie's head lay not two feet from a speaker, so she got the brunt of it. And it was loud. She plugged her ears and tried to sleep but couldn't stop herself from mentally notating the music, as if she were transcribing in her sleep.
The music stopped at 11:00 p.m. but the dutiful driver started it again at 6:30 a.m. During short lulls, a neighbor kindly filled the gap with French tunes from his cell phone.
The journey was fun, however. There were three other foreign couples--blonde, quiet, germanic folk; bothered Brits; and a sexy, young French couple who periodically climbed into one another's bunks. Those French do have a way about them.
Like Schools of Fish
I had trouble finding a good excuse to leave Hanoi, but we departed last night for Hue. Chang Mai's where it's at for us, so we gotta press on. Hanoi was an interesting contrast to China and a good place to relax. We were worried about changing money and our ability to communicate, but most establishments take U.S. dollars and speak English. What a world away from Beijing!
As much as we thrive on the confusion in China, we have enjoyed the ease of traveling Vietnam so far.
The roads are narrow and busy in Hanoi. Beautiful women in conical hats selling bananas squat on the same block as French perfume stores and cafes. I saw the French influence all over the place. Jim and I took motorbikes to get around and it was great fun--the Arkansas four-wheeler ridin' kind of fun. Motorbikes rule the road in Hanoi and traffic at big intersections looks like schools of fish moving through water. For entertainment one night, we sat on a balcony of a restaurant watching an intersection with six directions of traffic merging and no traffic signs or lights. Bicycles, pedestrians, motorbikes, cars and buses moving in a constant stream.
We also visited the corpse of Ho Chi Minh and a museum about his life. Are we becoming tourists of communism? We had to ask ourselves this after realizing we've seen the bodies of Mao and now Ho Chi Minh. The only one left is Lenin. Maybe we'll go to Russia and Cuba next.
We also stopped by the Army museum in Hanoi, which was of great interest to both of us. We saw U.S. helicopters and airplanes, as well as wreckage from several downed planes. Surprisingly, most of the information matched what I've been taught about the Vietnam War in the states, but it was still interesting to see it from this side. (For instance, of course, they call it the American War.) We also visited the famed "Hanoi Hilton"-- a prison built and used by French until the Vietnamese used it for downed American pilots. Senator John McCain spent six years there. They have his flight suit on display. (We also, incidentally, had a coffee in the actual, trademarked Hanoi Hilton.)
Now we're in Hue, a more countrified city in Central Vietnam. We're trying to get to the Loas border and on to Thailand. Tourist agencies dot the blocks here, offering tourist buses. We want to do it like locals, however, saving a few dollars and learning more. We'll see what happens tomorrow.
As much as we thrive on the confusion in China, we have enjoyed the ease of traveling Vietnam so far.
The roads are narrow and busy in Hanoi. Beautiful women in conical hats selling bananas squat on the same block as French perfume stores and cafes. I saw the French influence all over the place. Jim and I took motorbikes to get around and it was great fun--the Arkansas four-wheeler ridin' kind of fun. Motorbikes rule the road in Hanoi and traffic at big intersections looks like schools of fish moving through water. For entertainment one night, we sat on a balcony of a restaurant watching an intersection with six directions of traffic merging and no traffic signs or lights. Bicycles, pedestrians, motorbikes, cars and buses moving in a constant stream.
We also visited the corpse of Ho Chi Minh and a museum about his life. Are we becoming tourists of communism? We had to ask ourselves this after realizing we've seen the bodies of Mao and now Ho Chi Minh. The only one left is Lenin. Maybe we'll go to Russia and Cuba next.
We also stopped by the Army museum in Hanoi, which was of great interest to both of us. We saw U.S. helicopters and airplanes, as well as wreckage from several downed planes. Surprisingly, most of the information matched what I've been taught about the Vietnam War in the states, but it was still interesting to see it from this side. (For instance, of course, they call it the American War.) We also visited the famed "Hanoi Hilton"-- a prison built and used by French until the Vietnamese used it for downed American pilots. Senator John McCain spent six years there. They have his flight suit on display. (We also, incidentally, had a coffee in the actual, trademarked Hanoi Hilton.)
Now we're in Hue, a more countrified city in Central Vietnam. We're trying to get to the Loas border and on to Thailand. Tourist agencies dot the blocks here, offering tourist buses. We want to do it like locals, however, saving a few dollars and learning more. We'll see what happens tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Hanoi
For our last night in China, Bonnie and I found a great hotel in Nanning--cheap price, nice showers, friendly staff, no odd surprises, and a luxurious air. This reminded me of earlier Chinese hotel/dorm experiences.
Chinese hotel officials used to lock tenants in at night. Around 9:00 or 10:00, they would chain the doors shut and there it was. If you were in, you were stuck. If you were out, you were stuck.
In 2000, I lived in building #5 at Beijing University. Luckily, they didn't lock the front door, only the gates to the university and the gates to my building sector. So, if returned after 10:00, I just climbed a 12-foot wall and then a 10-foot wall to go to bed. Other folks weren't so lucky. I hosted a friend once who missed his curfew. I knew some foreigners who got locked into a hotel at night and raised a holy fury until they woke the whole building and got out. Bonnie knew a Japanese fellow who stayed up late drinking and then had to climb through a window to get into his building. He fell and broke a glass table, injuring his body and ruining his reputation.
Thankfully, things have changed. (Or maybe Bonnie and I are older now and go to bed before they lock us in.)
Last night, we arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam. Neither of us knows this city. We arrived by bus and the station was buzzing. We followed a tout to her hotel, which neither of us had ever done before. The place seemed legit, however, after we talked to some other foreigners. It all seemed to check out.
In Missouri, you're residence is your castle. No one enters without permission. In fact, they just passed a law that allows a person to shoot an intruder with repurcussion. If I remember correctly, this law applies to hotels also. Apparently, the rule is different in Vietnam.
Around 9:00, while I was in the bathtub, someone jiggled the lock and then started entering our room. I dashed from the tub to the door, blocked it and sounded an unhospitable warning. A young hotel clerk was on the other side. He was just bringing us the remote-control for our air-con. When he met an angry, wet, naked, cussing, white man on the other side, he shrank away in apologies.
Bonnie and I didn't know who else might visit us in the night, so we put furniture in front of the door.
All went well in the night. This morning, however, after Bonnie went downstairs for email, I started to bathe again. I heard a fumbling at the door and thought it was Bonnie. I hid behind the door for sport. When I jumped out--naked--it was an elderly cleaning lady.
Either the Vietnamese have different door etiquette or they just like to see me naked.
Besides our rough beginning, Hanoi has been a great place. Coffee abounds, as does a French sensibility. It reminder Bonnie of a mix between Mexico City and Paris-- sophisticated, cramped, a little dirty, and hectic.
We like it so far.
Chinese hotel officials used to lock tenants in at night. Around 9:00 or 10:00, they would chain the doors shut and there it was. If you were in, you were stuck. If you were out, you were stuck.
In 2000, I lived in building #5 at Beijing University. Luckily, they didn't lock the front door, only the gates to the university and the gates to my building sector. So, if returned after 10:00, I just climbed a 12-foot wall and then a 10-foot wall to go to bed. Other folks weren't so lucky. I hosted a friend once who missed his curfew. I knew some foreigners who got locked into a hotel at night and raised a holy fury until they woke the whole building and got out. Bonnie knew a Japanese fellow who stayed up late drinking and then had to climb through a window to get into his building. He fell and broke a glass table, injuring his body and ruining his reputation.
Thankfully, things have changed. (Or maybe Bonnie and I are older now and go to bed before they lock us in.)
Last night, we arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam. Neither of us knows this city. We arrived by bus and the station was buzzing. We followed a tout to her hotel, which neither of us had ever done before. The place seemed legit, however, after we talked to some other foreigners. It all seemed to check out.
In Missouri, you're residence is your castle. No one enters without permission. In fact, they just passed a law that allows a person to shoot an intruder with repurcussion. If I remember correctly, this law applies to hotels also. Apparently, the rule is different in Vietnam.
Around 9:00, while I was in the bathtub, someone jiggled the lock and then started entering our room. I dashed from the tub to the door, blocked it and sounded an unhospitable warning. A young hotel clerk was on the other side. He was just bringing us the remote-control for our air-con. When he met an angry, wet, naked, cussing, white man on the other side, he shrank away in apologies.
Bonnie and I didn't know who else might visit us in the night, so we put furniture in front of the door.
All went well in the night. This morning, however, after Bonnie went downstairs for email, I started to bathe again. I heard a fumbling at the door and thought it was Bonnie. I hid behind the door for sport. When I jumped out--naked--it was an elderly cleaning lady.
Either the Vietnamese have different door etiquette or they just like to see me naked.
Besides our rough beginning, Hanoi has been a great place. Coffee abounds, as does a French sensibility. It reminder Bonnie of a mix between Mexico City and Paris-- sophisticated, cramped, a little dirty, and hectic.
We like it so far.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Down South
After 28 hours on a hard sleepin train, we arrived in Guilin. The train wasn't bad, but our bunk mates were. Jim had no problem with them, but their incessant smacking, belching, loud talking and snoring were a bit much for me. Especially since a magical grandma and other quiet females were just next door. But, really, all that's a different story for a girls- only blogspot.
Guilin is just what we wanted: a languid southern town surrounded by karst mountains. Jim and I had only seen mountains like this in picture books. We found a lovely and cheap hostel here then went straight to the bus station, thinking we'd find delays and runarounds. Not so. Just a friendly lady and loads of buses. We booked one for tomorrow morning then walked around the easy city and wished we'd stayed awhile.
Tomorrow to Nanning, closer to Vietnam. Maybe Vietnam by midnight? Maybe not.
Guilin is just what we wanted: a languid southern town surrounded by karst mountains. Jim and I had only seen mountains like this in picture books. We found a lovely and cheap hostel here then went straight to the bus station, thinking we'd find delays and runarounds. Not so. Just a friendly lady and loads of buses. We booked one for tomorrow morning then walked around the easy city and wished we'd stayed awhile.
Tomorrow to Nanning, closer to Vietnam. Maybe Vietnam by midnight? Maybe not.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Extremely detailed Play-by-Play
Here's a very detailed itinerary of our week in Beijing. We realize nobody will read this. Please don't, it's far too detailed. For the edited story, read the earlier post, "stuck inside of mobile...".
Monday
--Check out of hotel
--Swarm the Bank of China as it opens. Wait for young men with shotguns (or grenade launchers?) to load the bank with cash. Go in and take number. Stand in line. Exchange money.
--Arrive at languid Vietnamese Embassy. Ask questions of very nice lady.
--Arrive at Laotian Embassy. Ask questions of exceedingly kind and gentle man.
--Baotzu and noodle soup with cilantro and nameless meat--17 Quai
--Back to Vietnamese Embassy. Pay for visa and hand over passport.
--Old man on street invites us to his home, offers us a room after demonstrating shower and aircon. Polite decline. Move on. Walk past enormous video screen.
--Check into new hotel
--Eat hotpot and draft beer; get minor traveller's diarrhea
--Goodnight
Tuesday
--Sleep in
--Visit market. Jim buys cheap tennis shoes and ethically questionable t-shirt
--More traveller's diarrhea
--Walk mile to subway stop. Take subway
--Visit Beijing East Train Station. Visit "24 Hour English Speaking" window. Instructed in Mandarin to go to West Train Station.
--Take subway, walk .5 mile.
--Visit Beijing West. Visit "English Speaking" window. Student in line translates and instructs us to go to nearby hotel by bus station for Hanoi ticket.
--Visit three separate hotel offices. Walk through formation of soldiers drilling kung fu. They lunge. We laugh. They laugh, commander not happy.
--Office we need closed. Neighbor writes down office hours, 9-5.
--Limp toward station. Walk. Eat. Walk. Subway. Cab. Hotel.
--Goodnight
Wednesday
--Pay too much for coffee (most likely decaf)
--Pick up visa at Vietnam Embassy!
--Revisit bank, wait in line
--Revisit West Train Station "9-5" office. Wait two hours for it to open.
Meet an Austrilo-Brit fellow who just finished an auto rally from London to China. Ozzy Osbourne's son, Jack, was in another car filming a British reality show. In Mongolia, they blew up Jack's car with a tank. Also met an Irish couple starting a one-year trip.
--The office opens and the woman tell us the train to Hanoi is booked for over a week. Only one ticket left, which goes to the crazy Austrilo-Brit fella. He's a lawyer, by the way.
--We go to West Station looking for tickets to cities in the south. Several windows, several queues. No luck. We hear of a travel service by the East station.
--Walk. Lunch. Subway. Old-school Beijing bathroom (trench behind cinder blocks).
--We arrive at travel service as the man is literally turning the sign to "closed". They assure us we can get a domestic train ticket there at 8:30AM.
Thursday
--We arrive at 8:30. They tell us they don't sell domestic train tickets. Or international train tickets. Or air tickets. What the hell do they do?
--Find coffee shop with Internet. Pay too much for coffee and then research options.
--Go to East Train Station. Search for English offices.
Stand in three short lines, redirected to other lines.
Stand in line. Man tells us wrong line. Stand in another line. Line disappears.
Stand in another line, make friends with meteorology student. Finally make it to window, very nervous. Man tells us to go to another line. We ask about other cities, he offers a ticket to Guilin. We're unsure, we bolt. Leave Chinese phrase book behind. Book stolen.
Go to another line. Unknowingly cut in line. Tickets sold out for many days.
--Leave station in frustration
--Try to find another travel service in a fancy International Hotel. Falsely polite lady contradicts everything we've learned so far. Reckon we didn't look worthy her time.
--Regroup. Screw our courage to the sticking post. Return to wacky train station and stand in previous line awhile, buy some damn tickets to Guilin, figuring we'll make it to Vietnam later.
--Feel elated at our accomplishment. Eat Jaotza, drink beer, blog. Long train ride early tomorrow.
Monday
--Check out of hotel
--Swarm the Bank of China as it opens. Wait for young men with shotguns (or grenade launchers?) to load the bank with cash. Go in and take number. Stand in line. Exchange money.
--Arrive at languid Vietnamese Embassy. Ask questions of very nice lady.
--Arrive at Laotian Embassy. Ask questions of exceedingly kind and gentle man.
--Baotzu and noodle soup with cilantro and nameless meat--17 Quai
--Back to Vietnamese Embassy. Pay for visa and hand over passport.
--Old man on street invites us to his home, offers us a room after demonstrating shower and aircon. Polite decline. Move on. Walk past enormous video screen.
--Check into new hotel
--Eat hotpot and draft beer; get minor traveller's diarrhea
--Goodnight
Tuesday
--Sleep in
--Visit market. Jim buys cheap tennis shoes and ethically questionable t-shirt
--More traveller's diarrhea
--Walk mile to subway stop. Take subway
--Visit Beijing East Train Station. Visit "24 Hour English Speaking" window. Instructed in Mandarin to go to West Train Station.
--Take subway, walk .5 mile.
--Visit Beijing West. Visit "English Speaking" window. Student in line translates and instructs us to go to nearby hotel by bus station for Hanoi ticket.
--Visit three separate hotel offices. Walk through formation of soldiers drilling kung fu. They lunge. We laugh. They laugh, commander not happy.
--Office we need closed. Neighbor writes down office hours, 9-5.
--Limp toward station. Walk. Eat. Walk. Subway. Cab. Hotel.
--Goodnight
Wednesday
--Pay too much for coffee (most likely decaf)
--Pick up visa at Vietnam Embassy!
--Revisit bank, wait in line
--Revisit West Train Station "9-5" office. Wait two hours for it to open.
Meet an Austrilo-Brit fellow who just finished an auto rally from London to China. Ozzy Osbourne's son, Jack, was in another car filming a British reality show. In Mongolia, they blew up Jack's car with a tank. Also met an Irish couple starting a one-year trip.
--The office opens and the woman tell us the train to Hanoi is booked for over a week. Only one ticket left, which goes to the crazy Austrilo-Brit fella. He's a lawyer, by the way.
--We go to West Station looking for tickets to cities in the south. Several windows, several queues. No luck. We hear of a travel service by the East station.
--Walk. Lunch. Subway. Old-school Beijing bathroom (trench behind cinder blocks).
--We arrive at travel service as the man is literally turning the sign to "closed". They assure us we can get a domestic train ticket there at 8:30AM.
Thursday
--We arrive at 8:30. They tell us they don't sell domestic train tickets. Or international train tickets. Or air tickets. What the hell do they do?
--Find coffee shop with Internet. Pay too much for coffee and then research options.
--Go to East Train Station. Search for English offices.
Stand in three short lines, redirected to other lines.
Stand in line. Man tells us wrong line. Stand in another line. Line disappears.
Stand in another line, make friends with meteorology student. Finally make it to window, very nervous. Man tells us to go to another line. We ask about other cities, he offers a ticket to Guilin. We're unsure, we bolt. Leave Chinese phrase book behind. Book stolen.
Go to another line. Unknowingly cut in line. Tickets sold out for many days.
--Leave station in frustration
--Try to find another travel service in a fancy International Hotel. Falsely polite lady contradicts everything we've learned so far. Reckon we didn't look worthy her time.
--Regroup. Screw our courage to the sticking post. Return to wacky train station and stand in previous line awhile, buy some damn tickets to Guilin, figuring we'll make it to Vietnam later.
--Feel elated at our accomplishment. Eat Jaotza, drink beer, blog. Long train ride early tomorrow.
The Workers
On nearly any street here in Beijing, you'll find a skyscraper rising, a building being razed, a new facade attaching to an existing structure. These Chinese construction scenes are an other-worldly sight. I have been fascinated with the workers for years.
They are gaunt, sinewy men in thin street clothes. Most wear traditional cloth slippers and army-surplus pants or pleated khakis, often rolled up to the knee. A few wear hard hats. Many are old, or appear to be--creased skin and rounded shoulders. Others look barely teenaged. At night, some sleep on the sidewalk under corrugated tin and tarpaulins. Others sleep in bunkbeds on the jobsite, I assume working in shifts 24 hours a day. Sometimes they ride the subway with bedrolls and washbins, eyeing the Beijingers in slick blazers and sundresses.
The workers are often quiet and meek in public, like countyfolk in the big city. Many of these workers are probably from the interior. For all of it's growth and glory, China suffers from a serious urban/rural, coastal/interior disparity. I've talked with at least one educated Chinese who thinks this inequality will be China's undoing.
The massive construction projects in Beijing are veiled behind fences and green netting --entire city blocks of green as high as you can crane your neck. The workers move behind these veils. Sometimes a thousand pings can be heard as they pick with hammer and chisel--much of this work is done by hand. Sometimes I see men move along the tubular scaffoldings, often without plank-boards. Smaller construction projects are done on the open street. I shield my own eyes from the welders and protect my own face against splinters from the sledgehammers. Saturday, Bonnie and I ate at a restaurant where we walked around dirt piles and building materials, past the arc-welder and under the scaffolding to enter the building. While we ate at the window, sparks fell from grinder above.
Tuesday night in the train station I saw a young man alone and awkward in the station, crouching in an ATM cubicle like it was a haven. He was splattered to the knee in mud and was obviously a worker. He seemed disoriented among the Beijingers. Probably some foreman or relative told him to stay put for awhile.
If I were a smarter and more diligent man, I'd find access and photograph their world.
(posted by Jim)
They are gaunt, sinewy men in thin street clothes. Most wear traditional cloth slippers and army-surplus pants or pleated khakis, often rolled up to the knee. A few wear hard hats. Many are old, or appear to be--creased skin and rounded shoulders. Others look barely teenaged. At night, some sleep on the sidewalk under corrugated tin and tarpaulins. Others sleep in bunkbeds on the jobsite, I assume working in shifts 24 hours a day. Sometimes they ride the subway with bedrolls and washbins, eyeing the Beijingers in slick blazers and sundresses.
The workers are often quiet and meek in public, like countyfolk in the big city. Many of these workers are probably from the interior. For all of it's growth and glory, China suffers from a serious urban/rural, coastal/interior disparity. I've talked with at least one educated Chinese who thinks this inequality will be China's undoing.
The massive construction projects in Beijing are veiled behind fences and green netting --entire city blocks of green as high as you can crane your neck. The workers move behind these veils. Sometimes a thousand pings can be heard as they pick with hammer and chisel--much of this work is done by hand. Sometimes I see men move along the tubular scaffoldings, often without plank-boards. Smaller construction projects are done on the open street. I shield my own eyes from the welders and protect my own face against splinters from the sledgehammers. Saturday, Bonnie and I ate at a restaurant where we walked around dirt piles and building materials, past the arc-welder and under the scaffolding to enter the building. While we ate at the window, sparks fell from grinder above.
Tuesday night in the train station I saw a young man alone and awkward in the station, crouching in an ATM cubicle like it was a haven. He was splattered to the knee in mud and was obviously a worker. He seemed disoriented among the Beijingers. Probably some foreman or relative told him to stay put for awhile.
If I were a smarter and more diligent man, I'd find access and photograph their world.
(posted by Jim)
A Nod to Tom Greer
Of course, Jim and I wouldn't be in China if not for our dear Tom Greer.
Dr. Tom Greer, as many of you know, first came to China in the 80's and developed a relationship with a lot of people and places here. He spread his love of China like a lot of his colleagues spread the gospel. He travelled here over fourteen times before his untimely and tragic death last fall. But before that horrible incident, he introduced many students to this culture, and in turn, permanently affected all of us.
He was larger than life. I felt his presence when I touched down in Beijing.
Dr. Tom Greer, as many of you know, first came to China in the 80's and developed a relationship with a lot of people and places here. He spread his love of China like a lot of his colleagues spread the gospel. He travelled here over fourteen times before his untimely and tragic death last fall. But before that horrible incident, he introduced many students to this culture, and in turn, permanently affected all of us.
He was larger than life. I felt his presence when I touched down in Beijing.
Change and Observation II
More Changes:
1. Staring and spitting etiquitte. Both still occur, but now, most starers look away upon eye contact and spitters aim for the trash can.
2. A nascent punk rock scene among Beijing youth.
3. Pet dogs and cats. Lots of middle and upper age Chinese are out walking pets in the streets. In 2002, the only dogs I saw in the street were being led to slaughter for the Chinese to eat.
Non-changes:
1. Chinglish. (see previous posts)
2. Chinese men's pants and the way they wear them.
3. Delicious food!
4. Wild traffic/pedestrian flow. (Beijing's a place where an old lady can help YOU cross the street.)
1. Staring and spitting etiquitte. Both still occur, but now, most starers look away upon eye contact and spitters aim for the trash can.
2. A nascent punk rock scene among Beijing youth.
3. Pet dogs and cats. Lots of middle and upper age Chinese are out walking pets in the streets. In 2002, the only dogs I saw in the street were being led to slaughter for the Chinese to eat.
Non-changes:
1. Chinglish. (see previous posts)
2. Chinese men's pants and the way they wear them.
3. Delicious food!
4. Wild traffic/pedestrian flow. (Beijing's a place where an old lady can help YOU cross the street.)
Adventures in Chinglish, Part 2
This morning, after a breakfast of "Bimbo Bread", we spotted a lovely lady in a "No solid liquid?" t-shirt, not far from her pal in the "happy cute pig" top. Then, we spotted a rock n' roll fan in a "Tool" t-shirt. Upon closer examination, however, we read, "Not the band, I'm just a tool".
Later, we shopped at the "Modern Bazaar of Originality" because the banners outside promised a "large charge of capturing" and a "pleasenty surprise at groping". Inside, we found a funny geek mask that explained, "Each kit of tooth thing of the big in simpleton". Tempting sales pitch, but we passed.
We'd had enough of the "flourishing, high-sensitivity life" so we ruminated awhile on ancient Chinese wisdom displayed on the streets, such as "Sometimes it's good to put all your eggs in one basilet", "protect circumstance begins with me", and the universal "I believe, therefore I insist."
All this thinking had us tuckered so we considered staying in the hotel that promised "reckon by time having a rest" and "the incense is fumigated".
We were knocked senseless, however, when we saw a respectable, middle-aged man with a wife and three children wearing a white shirt that declared, "I am a proud student of the kama sutra".
The backside was an added bonus: "I practice with my secret lover".
Now, how do you beat that?
Later, we shopped at the "Modern Bazaar of Originality" because the banners outside promised a "large charge of capturing" and a "pleasenty surprise at groping". Inside, we found a funny geek mask that explained, "Each kit of tooth thing of the big in simpleton". Tempting sales pitch, but we passed.
We'd had enough of the "flourishing, high-sensitivity life" so we ruminated awhile on ancient Chinese wisdom displayed on the streets, such as "Sometimes it's good to put all your eggs in one basilet", "protect circumstance begins with me", and the universal "I believe, therefore I insist."
All this thinking had us tuckered so we considered staying in the hotel that promised "reckon by time having a rest" and "the incense is fumigated".
We were knocked senseless, however, when we saw a respectable, middle-aged man with a wife and three children wearing a white shirt that declared, "I am a proud student of the kama sutra".
The backside was an added bonus: "I practice with my secret lover".
Now, how do you beat that?
Stuck inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again
Boy, have we had a time gettin' out of Beijing! We're still here, but we've got tickets to ride. Two tickets to Guilin, to be exact. It's been a long time comin'.
We got here Thursday. Once we got our legs under us on Friday, everything was closed for the weekend. We needed access to banks and embassies and Beijing is one of the few places to get visas for Vietnam and Laos. So, we took the weekend off, touring around the city and visiting old haunts.
But since Monday, we've put in our 9-to-5 figuring everything out. And by everything, I mean: where to get visas and how much they cost; conversion rates (Dollar to RMB to Dong to Baht); train tickets, fares, routes, costs and times; navigation within Beijing; travel agencies and their locations; and, um, the language barrier. Shouldn't a lot of this info be in English on the internet? Not so. China's blasting its way into the 21rst century but a lot of it still works on paper and face-to-face transactions.
And the train stations! Oh, the train stations! They are notoriously chaotic, aggressive and unitelligble to foreigners. The queques are a mosh-pit, English is virtually non-existent and the halls are an echo chamber of barking amplifiers and hollering Chinese. In 2000, Jim saw a grown western man brought to tears after trying to buy a train ticket. Yesterday, we saw a western woman teary-eyed. Today, we saw a white man literally pulling his hair in frustration. What a mess.
For instance, if you just want to check on a train that doesn't leave from the main station, you've got to go to another station, wait in a very long line, shove past the people who've shoved past you, and spit out your mandarin in hopes of an answer while the people behind you get progressively pissed-off. Most likely, the answer will be: Go to another line and start over.
Enough on that. I digress.
Don't get me wrong, we don't want to leave China, we just want to escape from Beijing.
Beijing is the center of Chinese dogmatism, nationalism, and Mao iconography. The government's hand is heavy here. From my previous Chinese travels, I've learned things get more relaxed the farther you go from Beijing. Neither Jim nor I has seen Vietnam or Laos, but we've heard and read that they're both easier-going and possibly easier to get around in. We've been trying to head south for several days now.
Our main problem has been the direct train to Hanoi. It only leaves on Sundays and Thursday and it's booked until next Thursday, September 6. That would be another week in Beijing! So, we have figured the fastest way out is a train to a border city in the south. It's not Vietnam, but it's closer than Beijing. And that's why we bought the ticket for Guilin today, which went over swimmingly. We leave in the morning.
We've got a hard sleeper and nothin to lose.
We got here Thursday. Once we got our legs under us on Friday, everything was closed for the weekend. We needed access to banks and embassies and Beijing is one of the few places to get visas for Vietnam and Laos. So, we took the weekend off, touring around the city and visiting old haunts.
But since Monday, we've put in our 9-to-5 figuring everything out. And by everything, I mean: where to get visas and how much they cost; conversion rates (Dollar to RMB to Dong to Baht); train tickets, fares, routes, costs and times; navigation within Beijing; travel agencies and their locations; and, um, the language barrier. Shouldn't a lot of this info be in English on the internet? Not so. China's blasting its way into the 21rst century but a lot of it still works on paper and face-to-face transactions.
And the train stations! Oh, the train stations! They are notoriously chaotic, aggressive and unitelligble to foreigners. The queques are a mosh-pit, English is virtually non-existent and the halls are an echo chamber of barking amplifiers and hollering Chinese. In 2000, Jim saw a grown western man brought to tears after trying to buy a train ticket. Yesterday, we saw a western woman teary-eyed. Today, we saw a white man literally pulling his hair in frustration. What a mess.
For instance, if you just want to check on a train that doesn't leave from the main station, you've got to go to another station, wait in a very long line, shove past the people who've shoved past you, and spit out your mandarin in hopes of an answer while the people behind you get progressively pissed-off. Most likely, the answer will be: Go to another line and start over.
Enough on that. I digress.
Don't get me wrong, we don't want to leave China, we just want to escape from Beijing.
Beijing is the center of Chinese dogmatism, nationalism, and Mao iconography. The government's hand is heavy here. From my previous Chinese travels, I've learned things get more relaxed the farther you go from Beijing. Neither Jim nor I has seen Vietnam or Laos, but we've heard and read that they're both easier-going and possibly easier to get around in. We've been trying to head south for several days now.
Our main problem has been the direct train to Hanoi. It only leaves on Sundays and Thursday and it's booked until next Thursday, September 6. That would be another week in Beijing! So, we have figured the fastest way out is a train to a border city in the south. It's not Vietnam, but it's closer than Beijing. And that's why we bought the ticket for Guilin today, which went over swimmingly. We leave in the morning.
We've got a hard sleeper and nothin to lose.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Change and Observation
We may sound like we're complaining and laughing a lot about the Chinese but, let me tell you, we are in awe of them as well. As I've said, the changes in Beijing since I first came in 2000, then revisited in 2003, are unbelievable. The progress is disorienting. Entire city blocks-previously hosting parks, hotels, retaurants-have been demolished and rebuilt. Sometimes I think my memory's playing tricks on me but even the guidebook (published this year) leads us to places that have been leveled.
It's hard to articulate the change in the landscape and culture, so I'll make a list in no particular order:
1. Taxi drivers don't cheat us anymore. Their cars are all snazzed up and clean. Some of them are driving Volkswagon Jettas.
2. There are public toilets every few blocks! And the smell of human waste is found only within designated bathrooms! The only people allowed to use streets as toilets are the babies (they wear open britches instead of diapers.)
3. More English everywhere. On signs, phone cards, in taxis, shops, hotels, restaurants, etc...
4. The new architecture is beautiful, some of it based on "green" principles. (Yesterday, we stumbled on a colossal canopy about five stories high and a block long with a cantilevered video screen as big as two basketball courts. On both sides of this structure were western boutiques and coffee shops. Jim and I felt like yokels bumbling around in a cosmopolitan landscape.)
5. Foreigners are everywhere! Used to, you'd only find them in their designated areas and seeing one on a bike was a huge deal. Now, they're in every part of town we've visited and most of them look and act like they know the ropes.
6. Women are smoking more. When I taught here in 2002, smoking was clearly a man's luxury. Women who smoked were either old or promiscuous. I know this isn't a good change, but it means something for women.
7. Women's attire is not as conservative as before. I brought clothing that amply covers my knees, bust and arms. Boy, do I look like a school marm next to the young girls in sundresses and tight pants! A lot of young women look sophisticated and intimidatingly stylish, with full makeup, hair and accessories.
Things that haven't changed:
1. Elderly people are astonishingly active, riding bikes and pushing through the streets and public transport with the rest.
2. Water, streets and air still dirty.
3. The Chinese still possess a simplicity and sweetness. Friends hold hands or put arms around one another while walking.
4. Endless and seemingly arbitrary levels of paperwork and beaurocracy in any and every given situation.
There are more, I'm sure. But I stop here.
All in all, China's a beautiful, hopeful place that's important in our modern world.
It's hard to articulate the change in the landscape and culture, so I'll make a list in no particular order:
1. Taxi drivers don't cheat us anymore. Their cars are all snazzed up and clean. Some of them are driving Volkswagon Jettas.
2. There are public toilets every few blocks! And the smell of human waste is found only within designated bathrooms! The only people allowed to use streets as toilets are the babies (they wear open britches instead of diapers.)
3. More English everywhere. On signs, phone cards, in taxis, shops, hotels, restaurants, etc...
4. The new architecture is beautiful, some of it based on "green" principles. (Yesterday, we stumbled on a colossal canopy about five stories high and a block long with a cantilevered video screen as big as two basketball courts. On both sides of this structure were western boutiques and coffee shops. Jim and I felt like yokels bumbling around in a cosmopolitan landscape.)
5. Foreigners are everywhere! Used to, you'd only find them in their designated areas and seeing one on a bike was a huge deal. Now, they're in every part of town we've visited and most of them look and act like they know the ropes.
6. Women are smoking more. When I taught here in 2002, smoking was clearly a man's luxury. Women who smoked were either old or promiscuous. I know this isn't a good change, but it means something for women.
7. Women's attire is not as conservative as before. I brought clothing that amply covers my knees, bust and arms. Boy, do I look like a school marm next to the young girls in sundresses and tight pants! A lot of young women look sophisticated and intimidatingly stylish, with full makeup, hair and accessories.
Things that haven't changed:
1. Elderly people are astonishingly active, riding bikes and pushing through the streets and public transport with the rest.
2. Water, streets and air still dirty.
3. The Chinese still possess a simplicity and sweetness. Friends hold hands or put arms around one another while walking.
4. Endless and seemingly arbitrary levels of paperwork and beaurocracy in any and every given situation.
There are more, I'm sure. But I stop here.
All in all, China's a beautiful, hopeful place that's important in our modern world.
Adventures in Chinglish
Yesterday, on the way to the "Beijing Camera General Factory Shop", we passed by the "Sweet smelling village stylish restaurant." Along the way, we saw a young man in a "nautical preppy" polo and his companion in the "queer queen junk rockers" sun dress.
I stopped at the bathroom and was sure to obey the sign to "stretch your hands" before leaving. A young lady's shirt begged for "Yo Nore War!" and a government sign encouraged, "In order of humanities, create an authority in certain field." How true.
We were considering an evening at "The Song and Dance Troupe of General Political Department" but decided instead to dine at the "amuseful happy customer easy meal" restaurant beside another eatery that assured us, "old Beijing rinses the meat".
Bonnie was relieved to know that the "Sunny Lady Gynecology Hospital of Beijing" was down the street by the "Chinese Sexology Association". (We prefer this to the "No Holiday Hospital". I imagine a night there certainly is no holiday.)
Speaking of sex, we passed several stores for "Adult Care, Sex Care, Medicine for Stimulating Sexual Appetite and Artificial Sexual Instruments". They sell medicines like "Ant King Pills for Virax Penis" and "An Artillery [pill] does all night!" We can also, if we feel so inclined, purchase an inflatable "occidental countess" for uses I don't want to share here.
(written by Jim)
I stopped at the bathroom and was sure to obey the sign to "stretch your hands" before leaving. A young lady's shirt begged for "Yo Nore War!" and a government sign encouraged, "In order of humanities, create an authority in certain field." How true.
We were considering an evening at "The Song and Dance Troupe of General Political Department" but decided instead to dine at the "amuseful happy customer easy meal" restaurant beside another eatery that assured us, "old Beijing rinses the meat".
Bonnie was relieved to know that the "Sunny Lady Gynecology Hospital of Beijing" was down the street by the "Chinese Sexology Association". (We prefer this to the "No Holiday Hospital". I imagine a night there certainly is no holiday.)
Speaking of sex, we passed several stores for "Adult Care, Sex Care, Medicine for Stimulating Sexual Appetite and Artificial Sexual Instruments". They sell medicines like "Ant King Pills for Virax Penis" and "An Artillery [pill] does all night!" We can also, if we feel so inclined, purchase an inflatable "occidental countess" for uses I don't want to share here.
(written by Jim)
Losin' Face All Over the Place
Well, we had a few bad days. Not bad as in sickness, robbery or trouble with the law. Just scams and lost face. Our bright happy hotel didn't stay that way for the three nights we were there. An 18 dollar laundry bill is what started all the trouble. Then, when we tried to change some money to pay for the laundry and "deposits" at the hotel, we were told it could only be done at one bank and couldn't be done on Saturday if we were exchanging traveler's checks. So, we had to hold out till Monday and quit living like kings for a day and a half. We had to take public transport and keep the extras (internet, beer, phone use, etc...) to a minimum.
Now, in China, this does not mean that we couldn't eat like kings. The Chinese take great pride in their food, and for good reason. It's cheap and delicious. (We had Szechuan-style tofu and garlic cabbage on Saturday night. O the spices on that tofu! And the grand total was 24 Quai, or approximately 3 dollars.)
And beyond the money troubles, we ran into bargaining blunders of all sorts. A gaunt pedicab driver tricked $2.40 out of us, in front of his buddies. We bought a small pocket-watch for $2.25 when it should have been maybe $1.25. And, of course, the laundry. We thought it was 14 Quai, less than two dollars. But that must have been per item. Or something. We never figured it out clearly. And, we dropped nearly $10.00 on a soupy, sub-par dinner, including $2.40 for water!
You may think we're making a big fuss over a few dollars but it's about more than money. It's about losing face. The Chinese like food and opera and all that but they also like squawking and haggling over pocket change--making a deal. All our errant transactions happened in front of crowds and those crowds saw us as big, dumb outsiders who don't speak Mandarin getting steamrolled and not knowing how to stop it. (It's our own fault, really. If we had practiced our Mandarin before the trip, we'd be keener travelers.)
We're getting better now. We figured out the problems were: 1) Staying in the wrong part of town. 2) Not being mean enough. 3) Not enjoying the haggles and compromise.
Yesterday, we decided to be proactive about things. We moved to a cheaper hotel in a different part of town. Ironically, this is the embassy part of town but we're getting better deals on everything. After we checked in, made jokes with a playful staff and ate a divine dinner of hotpot, things sure seemed to be changing. See, on Sunday, Jim left his favorite cap in a cab. Last night a guy on the street tried to sell us a fitting replacement. The haggler's initial offer was three hats for 50 Quai. Jim talked him down to one hat for 5 Quai. And Jim didn't hand over the cash till the guy first handed over the change.
Although small, it was a defining moment for us both. Hopefully, we're figuring things out again.
Now, in China, this does not mean that we couldn't eat like kings. The Chinese take great pride in their food, and for good reason. It's cheap and delicious. (We had Szechuan-style tofu and garlic cabbage on Saturday night. O the spices on that tofu! And the grand total was 24 Quai, or approximately 3 dollars.)
And beyond the money troubles, we ran into bargaining blunders of all sorts. A gaunt pedicab driver tricked $2.40 out of us, in front of his buddies. We bought a small pocket-watch for $2.25 when it should have been maybe $1.25. And, of course, the laundry. We thought it was 14 Quai, less than two dollars. But that must have been per item. Or something. We never figured it out clearly. And, we dropped nearly $10.00 on a soupy, sub-par dinner, including $2.40 for water!
You may think we're making a big fuss over a few dollars but it's about more than money. It's about losing face. The Chinese like food and opera and all that but they also like squawking and haggling over pocket change--making a deal. All our errant transactions happened in front of crowds and those crowds saw us as big, dumb outsiders who don't speak Mandarin getting steamrolled and not knowing how to stop it. (It's our own fault, really. If we had practiced our Mandarin before the trip, we'd be keener travelers.)
We're getting better now. We figured out the problems were: 1) Staying in the wrong part of town. 2) Not being mean enough. 3) Not enjoying the haggles and compromise.
Yesterday, we decided to be proactive about things. We moved to a cheaper hotel in a different part of town. Ironically, this is the embassy part of town but we're getting better deals on everything. After we checked in, made jokes with a playful staff and ate a divine dinner of hotpot, things sure seemed to be changing. See, on Sunday, Jim left his favorite cap in a cab. Last night a guy on the street tried to sell us a fitting replacement. The haggler's initial offer was three hats for 50 Quai. Jim talked him down to one hat for 5 Quai. And Jim didn't hand over the cash till the guy first handed over the change.
Although small, it was a defining moment for us both. Hopefully, we're figuring things out again.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Pursue to be Remarkable
This city has changed drastically since I was here in 2000. The airport is a glitzy cosmopolitan place that looks newer and cleaner than a lot of airports in the states. When I was here in 2000, it was a dingy disorganized open room. The subway in 2000 was a surreal single line moving back-and-forth along a few stops. We rode it for fun. Now, it's all pack and swirl as Beijingers commute across the city. At rush hour, you can hardly move your toes.
Olympic "slogans" are ubiquitous in Beijing now. Huge television screens display Jackie Chan giving bottles of water to sweaty athletes in slow motion as Muslim olympic observers celebrate their birthdays with Chinese citizens.
Jim and I snapped into an Asian travel mode upon arriving. It's as if somewhere in our minds, survival skills were established and filed away, ready for use at the moment of squatting on a toilet with no paper or fervently refusing rides in a pedicab or pushing through massive crowds of people. It's a rush.
The Chinese seem to thrive on conflict, chaos and high volume. (Old women selling fruit use battery-powered megaphones to scream pre-recorded slogans at pedestrians . Hawkers in booths set up sound systems to holler at customers a few yards away.) Although part of me looks desperately forward to languid Thai beaches and coffees and laid-back locals, another part of me thrives on the madness of this culture.
When we arrived night before last, we found a hotel close to Wanfujing (the big tourist street that halfway resembles Times Square). It was a darkly-lit hotel whose staff exemplified the seemingly arbitrary beaurocracy that is the Chinese foreign experience. The attendant filled out several sheets of paper after placing and re-placing carbon paper in a receipt book for at least three minutes while nonchalantly fingering through our passports. Simultaneoulsy, she took phone calls and barked orders to her co-workers. The place was dingy and had cockroaches. Needless to say, we checked out of the next morning and found a bright happy little hotel in a cramped hutong south of Tienamen Square--a process in which we walked about five miles, rode two lines of crowded subway and got scammed by a thin man with a bicycle taxi. (Of course, scams are everywhere. A bottle of beer cost between $.25 and $2.00, depending on how entrepenurial the seller feels.)
We are having a ball, me and Jim. Maybe it's sick, but we thrive on the fatigues of dirty air, language barriers and endless traffic. And the food is exquisite and cheap as ever.
We can't view the blog once it's posted--it's blocked here in China-- so we can't read your comments. But please post them anyway. When we get to Vietnam, we may be able to see them there. I know we can in Thailand. Also, we probably can't post photos or audio because the web browsers are Chinese. We post text from memory of which buttons to push.
O yes, and contrary to the New York Times articles, terrible Chinglish is alive and well in Beijing! Yesterday, Jim saw a t-shirt reading, "Learn. Play. Benign.".
Olympic slogans include, "Pursue to be Remarkable" and "Impossible is Nothing".
And on the smutty side of things, I saw an innocent Chinese guy wearing a shirt that proclaimed in bold letters, "Fucking Flake".
As long as it's English, it spells cool.
Olympic "slogans" are ubiquitous in Beijing now. Huge television screens display Jackie Chan giving bottles of water to sweaty athletes in slow motion as Muslim olympic observers celebrate their birthdays with Chinese citizens.
Jim and I snapped into an Asian travel mode upon arriving. It's as if somewhere in our minds, survival skills were established and filed away, ready for use at the moment of squatting on a toilet with no paper or fervently refusing rides in a pedicab or pushing through massive crowds of people. It's a rush.
The Chinese seem to thrive on conflict, chaos and high volume. (Old women selling fruit use battery-powered megaphones to scream pre-recorded slogans at pedestrians . Hawkers in booths set up sound systems to holler at customers a few yards away.) Although part of me looks desperately forward to languid Thai beaches and coffees and laid-back locals, another part of me thrives on the madness of this culture.
When we arrived night before last, we found a hotel close to Wanfujing (the big tourist street that halfway resembles Times Square). It was a darkly-lit hotel whose staff exemplified the seemingly arbitrary beaurocracy that is the Chinese foreign experience. The attendant filled out several sheets of paper after placing and re-placing carbon paper in a receipt book for at least three minutes while nonchalantly fingering through our passports. Simultaneoulsy, she took phone calls and barked orders to her co-workers. The place was dingy and had cockroaches. Needless to say, we checked out of the next morning and found a bright happy little hotel in a cramped hutong south of Tienamen Square--a process in which we walked about five miles, rode two lines of crowded subway and got scammed by a thin man with a bicycle taxi. (Of course, scams are everywhere. A bottle of beer cost between $.25 and $2.00, depending on how entrepenurial the seller feels.)
We are having a ball, me and Jim. Maybe it's sick, but we thrive on the fatigues of dirty air, language barriers and endless traffic. And the food is exquisite and cheap as ever.
We can't view the blog once it's posted--it's blocked here in China-- so we can't read your comments. But please post them anyway. When we get to Vietnam, we may be able to see them there. I know we can in Thailand. Also, we probably can't post photos or audio because the web browsers are Chinese. We post text from memory of which buttons to push.
O yes, and contrary to the New York Times articles, terrible Chinglish is alive and well in Beijing! Yesterday, Jim saw a t-shirt reading, "Learn. Play. Benign.".
Olympic slogans include, "Pursue to be Remarkable" and "Impossible is Nothing".
And on the smutty side of things, I saw an innocent Chinese guy wearing a shirt that proclaimed in bold letters, "Fucking Flake".
As long as it's English, it spells cool.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
...Crawlin 'Round the Bend
So it begins.
We started our journey in Jefferson City, Missouri--an unlikely starting-point for a journey to Beijing. The train station was a historic hotel near a botanical garden and the tracks themselves were reminiscent of sleepy Arkansas freight-train depots. The wonder waned, however, as we waited four hours for the late train.
Our fellow passengers were a varied lot. Four were parolees with their officers in tow. Those guys had nothing but paper bags, parole papers and pressed khakis. By the way they looked at the women, I realized they'd probably been locked up for a while. There were also pale, midwestern women with designer pillows and dignified single mothers with well-behaved children. And then there was the fellow with the cell-phone earbud who simply couldn't handle the delays. I think he used the blue tooth as an excuse to gesture wildly, yell and pace incessantly on the train platform and train aisles. Honestly, I don't think he had anybody on the line half the time.
He'd say: " I ain't NEVER takin' amtrak again as long as I live--and I don't care if I live to be NINETY!" And, "This is the train ride from HELL! The only worse thang would be a wreck!"
We listened to the details of his life for 7 hours--a $2,000 water bed with a canopy and mirrors, a mentally-handicapped daughter, a girlfriend, and a wife.
We also experienced the large-chested single mother who traveled with us the whole journey. She had a tremendous speaking voice that filled the entire train car with her life story, too. Apparently, her husband is in jail, but a mysterious "Bob" was waiting for her at home that evening. We heard long phone conversations with her incarcerated husband and Bob, among other friends, relatives and acquaintances. But, I have to hand it to her: she was a woman full of piss and vinegar, holding her own and caring for a child from the beginning to the end of the journey
All in all, we only arrived 4.5 hours late. We left Jefferson City at 2:30 instead of 10:30, making our arrival time in Chicago close to 1 am. From Columbia to Chicago, door-to-door, the journey lasted about 17 hours. How come China, India, Russia and Europe have better developed passenger train systems and the U.S. doesn't? Is the cause American individualism? Our highway system? Train track ownership?...
Our stay in Chicago has been lovely. Today we visited theological libraries, ate in regionally famous restaurants and tied up loose ends before our departure tomorrow. Our friends are fabulous hosts.
If you know me, you know I hate to fly. And for very good reason. But when we touch down, all the joutzu soup, squat toilets and crowded hutongs will make the flight worthwhile.
(composed by Jim and Bonnie)
We started our journey in Jefferson City, Missouri--an unlikely starting-point for a journey to Beijing. The train station was a historic hotel near a botanical garden and the tracks themselves were reminiscent of sleepy Arkansas freight-train depots. The wonder waned, however, as we waited four hours for the late train.
Our fellow passengers were a varied lot. Four were parolees with their officers in tow. Those guys had nothing but paper bags, parole papers and pressed khakis. By the way they looked at the women, I realized they'd probably been locked up for a while. There were also pale, midwestern women with designer pillows and dignified single mothers with well-behaved children. And then there was the fellow with the cell-phone earbud who simply couldn't handle the delays. I think he used the blue tooth as an excuse to gesture wildly, yell and pace incessantly on the train platform and train aisles. Honestly, I don't think he had anybody on the line half the time.
He'd say: " I ain't NEVER takin' amtrak again as long as I live--and I don't care if I live to be NINETY!" And, "This is the train ride from HELL! The only worse thang would be a wreck!"
We listened to the details of his life for 7 hours--a $2,000 water bed with a canopy and mirrors, a mentally-handicapped daughter, a girlfriend, and a wife.
We also experienced the large-chested single mother who traveled with us the whole journey. She had a tremendous speaking voice that filled the entire train car with her life story, too. Apparently, her husband is in jail, but a mysterious "Bob" was waiting for her at home that evening. We heard long phone conversations with her incarcerated husband and Bob, among other friends, relatives and acquaintances. But, I have to hand it to her: she was a woman full of piss and vinegar, holding her own and caring for a child from the beginning to the end of the journey
All in all, we only arrived 4.5 hours late. We left Jefferson City at 2:30 instead of 10:30, making our arrival time in Chicago close to 1 am. From Columbia to Chicago, door-to-door, the journey lasted about 17 hours. How come China, India, Russia and Europe have better developed passenger train systems and the U.S. doesn't? Is the cause American individualism? Our highway system? Train track ownership?...
Our stay in Chicago has been lovely. Today we visited theological libraries, ate in regionally famous restaurants and tied up loose ends before our departure tomorrow. Our friends are fabulous hosts.
If you know me, you know I hate to fly. And for very good reason. But when we touch down, all the joutzu soup, squat toilets and crowded hutongs will make the flight worthwhile.
(composed by Jim and Bonnie)
Friday, August 17, 2007
A Bang up Year
Usually at this time of year, I do a review of the past year of my life. Tomorrow's my birthday, but this year, I haven't thought more than twice about it. This is partly due to our impending move and departure. When we get on the train Monday that takes us to Illinois for the plane on Wednesday, we'll have nothing but the bags on our backs. That seems rather far away at the moment.
And all this transitory preparation is going on in our un-airconditioned upstairs apartment. So, you'd think a mid-day writing session in the library would be justified, but folks, I should be packing.
Enough on that, though. My birthday usually gets me thinking about the past year. And that thinking usually leads to melancholy thoughts on accomplishments or lack thereof in the last year. Then thoughts on aging, and well, dying. This year, if I've had a moment to think on it, everything's fine. I mean, I wrote a handful of songs, got a good start on writing an opera, buried my Daddy without losing my mind, and got married to Jim. That's a bang up year, if you ask me.
Maybe 28 will be boring as hell, but atleast I'm starting it with an "extended honeymoon" in Asia.
Asia. China. The Middle Kingdom. The mysterious Red East.
Not so mysterious anymore, right? China's in the spotlight every day, it seems. Four years have passed since I was there. I've heard the growth and change there is staggering. I can't wait to see how it has changed. And how it's stayed the same. I'm dying to try out my Mandarin again, eat some hot pot, sweat in the street, cool down with hot tea, fight the crowds, hold my own in the market, eat tasteless porridge early in the morning with locals, and bargain for a hotel room, among many many other things.
But it ain't just Mao country for me this time. Thailand awaits. And that's to follow Vietnam and Laos. All three are new to me. And I'll be with my darling husband, a man of many wonders, languages, various knot-tying skills, and gorgeous photos.
But for now, I'm back to the sweltering apartment for packing and organizing. Maybe a cold beer this afternoon?
And all this transitory preparation is going on in our un-airconditioned upstairs apartment. So, you'd think a mid-day writing session in the library would be justified, but folks, I should be packing.
Enough on that, though. My birthday usually gets me thinking about the past year. And that thinking usually leads to melancholy thoughts on accomplishments or lack thereof in the last year. Then thoughts on aging, and well, dying. This year, if I've had a moment to think on it, everything's fine. I mean, I wrote a handful of songs, got a good start on writing an opera, buried my Daddy without losing my mind, and got married to Jim. That's a bang up year, if you ask me.
Maybe 28 will be boring as hell, but atleast I'm starting it with an "extended honeymoon" in Asia.
Asia. China. The Middle Kingdom. The mysterious Red East.
Not so mysterious anymore, right? China's in the spotlight every day, it seems. Four years have passed since I was there. I've heard the growth and change there is staggering. I can't wait to see how it has changed. And how it's stayed the same. I'm dying to try out my Mandarin again, eat some hot pot, sweat in the street, cool down with hot tea, fight the crowds, hold my own in the market, eat tasteless porridge early in the morning with locals, and bargain for a hotel room, among many many other things.
But it ain't just Mao country for me this time. Thailand awaits. And that's to follow Vietnam and Laos. All three are new to me. And I'll be with my darling husband, a man of many wonders, languages, various knot-tying skills, and gorgeous photos.
But for now, I'm back to the sweltering apartment for packing and organizing. Maybe a cold beer this afternoon?
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