5.22.2005
Living conditions.
I love living in Seattle: the weather's rarely too hot or too cold; the eight month drizzle that is fall, winter, and spring doesn't bother me; and, on a sunny day in the summer, I don't think anywhere in the US is prettier. Although I've heard Denver's nice, but it's in Colorado so Seattle wins. I mean seriously--Colorado? Has anything ever happened in or even come from Colorado? I mean, besides Coors, which isn't bad as far as cheap, watery, bland, mass-produced American lagers go. But when that's your claim to fame, well, you know ...
Anyway, that doesn't mean I don't sometimes reconsider my living situation. Like the other night, for example, as I sat in a bar two-hundred feet away from a white sand beach, listening to the waves break onto the shore with a crashing sound that always seems louder than it should be based on the size of the wave (I don't think waves ever really "lap," except maybe in lakes, which don't count because then you have "waves" not waves), drinking the sort of fruity, tropical drink you can only safely order when you are two-hundred feet away from a beach, and watching the sun hit the Andaman Sea, turning the sky into a pink and purple bruise, I thought to myself: "Why do I live in Seattle again?" (I'm not sure that sentence makes any sense, but I'm too lazy to go back and reread it--I'm on holiday, remember.)
Then, to remind myself, I simply looked down the front of my shirt--not a titillating experience, thankfully (ding!)--at my stomach, which is a shocking shade of scarlet, and think, "Oh yeah, that's why." Yes, it turns out that going from a Beijing winter, where for days and even weeks on end the high temperature doesn't crack freezing, to a Phuket spring, where 70 degrees Fahrenheit is likely considered freezing, is not so easy on the skin. Especially when the only "sunblock" you have is crappy Nivea stuff--Nivea, for some reason, seems to have a monopoly on sun products around here--which is about as useful as slathering yourself up with Crisco or butter or something, although at least with those last two you know you'll end up sunburned from the start. Plus, you'll probably taste good as well--especially if you add some garlic--so that's something, at least.
(Side note: You can't buy much in the way of sunscreen in Beijing, since they aren't big on the sun there. Not just because there's no beaches, but also because--Warning: factual information ahead!--in the olden days being dark or suntanned meant you spent your days working in the fields, which in turn meant you were a peasant, so people try to stay as light as possible. Which you'd think would mean lots of sunblock, but for some reason it doesn't. Weird. However, it does mean there are plenty of "whitening products"--Micheal Jackson would be thrilled, no doubt--available at every local drugstore, which is also sort of weird. Even weirder is the fact that the whitening process apparently involves a plain, scary looking white mask--think Mike Myers in Halloween--that you are supposed to wear around the house or something, which can also be picked up at local drugstores.)
Um, what was I saying? Oh, Phuket. And thinking. And sunburns. So yes, the sunburn sucks, but then again, sitting under a nice, wide umbrella all day long while reading whatever book you happen to pick up, drinking the occasional aforementioned fruity drink and taking periodic dips in the pool is not so bad, either ...
Anyway, that doesn't mean I don't sometimes reconsider my living situation. Like the other night, for example, as I sat in a bar two-hundred feet away from a white sand beach, listening to the waves break onto the shore with a crashing sound that always seems louder than it should be based on the size of the wave (I don't think waves ever really "lap," except maybe in lakes, which don't count because then you have "waves" not waves), drinking the sort of fruity, tropical drink you can only safely order when you are two-hundred feet away from a beach, and watching the sun hit the Andaman Sea, turning the sky into a pink and purple bruise, I thought to myself: "Why do I live in Seattle again?" (I'm not sure that sentence makes any sense, but I'm too lazy to go back and reread it--I'm on holiday, remember.)
Then, to remind myself, I simply looked down the front of my shirt--not a titillating experience, thankfully (ding!)--at my stomach, which is a shocking shade of scarlet, and think, "Oh yeah, that's why." Yes, it turns out that going from a Beijing winter, where for days and even weeks on end the high temperature doesn't crack freezing, to a Phuket spring, where 70 degrees Fahrenheit is likely considered freezing, is not so easy on the skin. Especially when the only "sunblock" you have is crappy Nivea stuff--Nivea, for some reason, seems to have a monopoly on sun products around here--which is about as useful as slathering yourself up with Crisco or butter or something, although at least with those last two you know you'll end up sunburned from the start. Plus, you'll probably taste good as well--especially if you add some garlic--so that's something, at least.
(Side note: You can't buy much in the way of sunscreen in Beijing, since they aren't big on the sun there. Not just because there's no beaches, but also because--Warning: factual information ahead!--in the olden days being dark or suntanned meant you spent your days working in the fields, which in turn meant you were a peasant, so people try to stay as light as possible. Which you'd think would mean lots of sunblock, but for some reason it doesn't. Weird. However, it does mean there are plenty of "whitening products"--Micheal Jackson would be thrilled, no doubt--available at every local drugstore, which is also sort of weird. Even weirder is the fact that the whitening process apparently involves a plain, scary looking white mask--think Mike Myers in Halloween--that you are supposed to wear around the house or something, which can also be picked up at local drugstores.)
Um, what was I saying? Oh, Phuket. And thinking. And sunburns. So yes, the sunburn sucks, but then again, sitting under a nice, wide umbrella all day long while reading whatever book you happen to pick up, drinking the occasional aforementioned fruity drink and taking periodic dips in the pool is not so bad, either ...
5.18.2005
Angkor, away!
We have just left Siem Reap, Cambodia--I was going to call this post "Don't Fear the REAPer," but went with the equally bad title above--and are even know sitting in the domestic terminal at Bangkok Airport waiting to catch our flight to Phuket. And yes, I say that only to make as many of you as possible jealous because I am just that petty.
Moving on ....
Siem Reap was great: a town where the Old World meets the Third Word in a way I think only happens in Southeast Asia. (Well, except Thailand, which was never colonized by European powers, which will not be the first interesting fact I throw your way in this post.) Anyway, only in places like Siem Reap can you sit in a French colonial building that was built in the early 1900s--where everything is open to the weather and rugged black electric fans that will happily slice a finger off purr over every table--drinking cold beer and watching naked children play in the dirty puddles that form where the crumbling sidewalks tumble into broken streets. Yes, Southeast Asia: where every animal you see looks half-starved; where every mosquito bite makes you wonder if malaria or dengue fever is worse (the latter, I think); where geckos gather around lights at night like moths, which themselves are nowhere to be seen, possibly having been eaten by said geckos; and where the food is cheap and spicy and the beer is cheap and cold. What could be better?
Really, it's better than it sounds. Trust me.
At any rate, here are some interesting things I bet you didn't know about Cambodia:
Moving on ....
Siem Reap was great: a town where the Old World meets the Third Word in a way I think only happens in Southeast Asia. (Well, except Thailand, which was never colonized by European powers, which will not be the first interesting fact I throw your way in this post.) Anyway, only in places like Siem Reap can you sit in a French colonial building that was built in the early 1900s--where everything is open to the weather and rugged black electric fans that will happily slice a finger off purr over every table--drinking cold beer and watching naked children play in the dirty puddles that form where the crumbling sidewalks tumble into broken streets. Yes, Southeast Asia: where every animal you see looks half-starved; where every mosquito bite makes you wonder if malaria or dengue fever is worse (the latter, I think); where geckos gather around lights at night like moths, which themselves are nowhere to be seen, possibly having been eaten by said geckos; and where the food is cheap and spicy and the beer is cheap and cold. What could be better?
Really, it's better than it sounds. Trust me.
At any rate, here are some interesting things I bet you didn't know about Cambodia:
- Anytime the mercury dips below 80 degrees Fahrenheit or so, the locals think it's cold. And we were there at the beginning of the summer! I know, lucky us. Nothing like having sweat literally rolling down your face at 8.30 AM.
- While Cambodia has its own currency, the Riel (maybe Rial, I never really figured out which), everyone uses the US dollar. Since the Riel/Rial is currently trading at about 4,000 to 1 to the dollar, this means that almost everything you want to buy--be it water, postcards, fans, t-shirts, whatever--costs one buck. Yes, Cambodia is, in fact, the world's largest "Everything is a Dollar!" store.
- The king is 52 years old. And single. And a dancer. You figure it out. I mean, I'm not suggesting anything, but our tour guide laughed when Holly suggested that lots of women would probably like to marry the king.
- Cars in Cambodia might have the steering wheel on either side. Technically, they drive on the right side of the road, like in the US. However, many people get their cars from Thailand because they are cheaper, despite the fact that in Thailand they drive on the left side of the road, like the British. Yes, it's weird.
So why go to Cambodia at all? For the Angkor Temples, of course, which were as spectacular as advertised. Even Holly--who yawned through the Louvre and grumbled through Westminster Abbey (note that she will now deny these things ever happened)--was impressed. Angkor Wat--the most famous one, with its five round spires--was spectacular; Angkor Thom, which has 52 different pillars, all of which have smiling stone faces looking out in all four directions, was incredible; and Ta Prohm, AKA the "Tomb Raider" temple since it was featured in the movie, was amazing, thanks mostly to the roots of massive Silk Cotton trees that have wound through the stone to such an extent that removing them at this point would cause large portions of the temple to collapse.
Naturally, I have pictures--oh so many pictures. In two days, I took about 300, and that was despite the fact that I was trying to not take too many. Even more incredibly, I think I did pretty good, given how cool all the temples were. I would love to put some up on the blog right now, but they're all on my camera and I didn't want to carry my laptop around with me--it's heavy!--so it's not really possible. Hopefully you aren't too disappointed, although I will tell myself you are, thereby justifying the amount of time I spend writing this. No, being delusional is not all bad--trust me.
Anyway, at some point on my return to the US--probably after June 1, so my bandwidth has a chance to reset--I will, as promised, post the GREATEST PHOG EVER. But until then, it's off to Phuket for eight days on the beach!
And yes, you have my permission to be jealous. I encourage it ...
5.13.2005
Me and Chairman Mao.
Yesterday, I went to see Chairman Mao. (Or possibly a wax double of Chairman Mao, no one's really sure which one you'll get on any given day.) Yes, in true Communist style (I guess Castro's next?), they have him embalmed and on display in a suitably imposing, socialist-style building--which I like to call the Mao-soleum--that looms over the south end of Tiananmen Square. The Mao-soleum is the big building in this picture, right behind the Chinese flag and "The Monument to the People's Heroes," some of whom--if you believe everything you read in the English-language China Daily--apparently fought off the Japanese without any other country's help during WWII:
So what was it like? Weird would be the very non-descriptive word I would use. First of all, you could buy bunches of flowers on the way in. That in itself is not weird, but then instead of putting them on, around, or even near his grave, you have to put them in these two big, wooden, wheeled carts in front of a statue of the Chairman in the entrance. I'm guessing that once a cart is full, they wheel it out, replace it with an empty cart, and then resell the flowers the next day. But maybe that's just me. (Probably not, though.) The other strange thing--well, besides lining up to see a guy who's been dead for thirty-odd years--was how quiet it was. Not only was no one talking in a too-loud-for-inside voice, which happens with disturbing regularity here, but no one was even text messaging. That, my friends, is respect.
As for Mao himself, well, he looked waxy. Possibly because he was wax, or possibly because that's just what people who have been dead for a few decades look like--really, I don't have much basis for comparison. He was in a coffin, which was inside a protective glass case, which itself was in a protective glass room; he was wearing the standard gray Mao suit, which is what you would expect, although I guess to him it would just be a "suit"; and almost his entire body below the shoulders was covered by a bright red Chinese flag.
I remember thinking his face looked more reflective than it should be, by which I mean that it literally reflected too much light, not that he looked deep in thought. As far as that goes, he mostly just looked asleep, or maybe dead. Go figure. And really, that was it--you don't get a lot of time to dawdle in the Chairman's presence: you file by the coffin, you never get closer than twenty feet or so, and if you dare to stop you get yelled at by one of the many, many Mao-soluem guards. I would say that, all in all, that after waiting in line for thirty minutes, I spent less than thirty seconds in Mao's presence. Quite the deal, I know. I keep thinking there has to be a metaphor for Communism somewhere in that, but I can't seem to think of it. I'm sure it will come to me eventually, probably on the beach in Phuket, at which point it will promptly be forgotten forever. But don't worry, I'm sure that it will have been funny! Oh well ...
At any rate, I didn't mind waiting--visiting Mao seemed like a fitting thing to do on my last day in Beijing, since it is his town. Sort of like Las Vegas was Sinatra's town, if Sinatra had spent more time consolidating power in his iron fist and destroying his enemies, real or imagined, instead of simply chasing after girls. Or maybe having girls chasing after him? Whatever.
Anyway, I guess that's it. I might post something during vacation--completely dependant on how my tan is coming, of course--but if not, I'll be back with a bang in early June with a phabulous Angkor phog, which I'm sure you'll all be looking forward to. Because really, there's nothing better than being forced to look at other people's vacation pictures, right? That's what I thought.
And that, as they say, is a wrap. See you in Shanghai!
So what was it like? Weird would be the very non-descriptive word I would use. First of all, you could buy bunches of flowers on the way in. That in itself is not weird, but then instead of putting them on, around, or even near his grave, you have to put them in these two big, wooden, wheeled carts in front of a statue of the Chairman in the entrance. I'm guessing that once a cart is full, they wheel it out, replace it with an empty cart, and then resell the flowers the next day. But maybe that's just me. (Probably not, though.) The other strange thing--well, besides lining up to see a guy who's been dead for thirty-odd years--was how quiet it was. Not only was no one talking in a too-loud-for-inside voice, which happens with disturbing regularity here, but no one was even text messaging. That, my friends, is respect.
As for Mao himself, well, he looked waxy. Possibly because he was wax, or possibly because that's just what people who have been dead for a few decades look like--really, I don't have much basis for comparison. He was in a coffin, which was inside a protective glass case, which itself was in a protective glass room; he was wearing the standard gray Mao suit, which is what you would expect, although I guess to him it would just be a "suit"; and almost his entire body below the shoulders was covered by a bright red Chinese flag.
I remember thinking his face looked more reflective than it should be, by which I mean that it literally reflected too much light, not that he looked deep in thought. As far as that goes, he mostly just looked asleep, or maybe dead. Go figure. And really, that was it--you don't get a lot of time to dawdle in the Chairman's presence: you file by the coffin, you never get closer than twenty feet or so, and if you dare to stop you get yelled at by one of the many, many Mao-soluem guards. I would say that, all in all, that after waiting in line for thirty minutes, I spent less than thirty seconds in Mao's presence. Quite the deal, I know. I keep thinking there has to be a metaphor for Communism somewhere in that, but I can't seem to think of it. I'm sure it will come to me eventually, probably on the beach in Phuket, at which point it will promptly be forgotten forever. But don't worry, I'm sure that it will have been funny! Oh well ...
At any rate, I didn't mind waiting--visiting Mao seemed like a fitting thing to do on my last day in Beijing, since it is his town. Sort of like Las Vegas was Sinatra's town, if Sinatra had spent more time consolidating power in his iron fist and destroying his enemies, real or imagined, instead of simply chasing after girls. Or maybe having girls chasing after him? Whatever.
Anyway, I guess that's it. I might post something during vacation--completely dependant on how my tan is coming, of course--but if not, I'll be back with a bang in early June with a phabulous Angkor phog, which I'm sure you'll all be looking forward to. Because really, there's nothing better than being forced to look at other people's vacation pictures, right? That's what I thought.
And that, as they say, is a wrap. See you in Shanghai!
Bye-bye, Beijing.
For those of you who don't know, tomorrow is our last day in the 'Jing. That's actually the reason for the plethora of posting recently (you are aware that I adore alliteration by now, right?): there was all sorts of stuff I figured I'd get around to putting up at some point, and in the last few days I realized that "some point" had arrived, so it was now or never. Obviously, I went with "now." Anyway, if nothing else, it will give you a lot to read while I'm on a blogging break.
Yes, a break--but not the end. Continuing the "for those of you who don't know" theme, we are actually moving to Shanghai for an entire year next, so I'll have a completely new Chinese city to laugh at--um, laugh with--which will be nice. Nothing like fresh material, after all. Although we actually aren't going to straight to Shanghai: we're going on holiday first! (Hopefully a tour group free holiday. Or at least, relatively free.) Our first stop is Siem Reap, Cambodia to see the Angkor temples, a trip that I am not only very excited about, but which I fully anticipate will produce the GREATEST PHOG EVER. Well, at least on my website; in my infinite humility, I will allow for the fact that greater phogs (photo blogs) may exist on some less cool, far suckier site. (I know, I know--I'm such a nice guy. I'm sort of like Jesus in that way. Except with less hair. And, let's face it, better teeth most likely.). But at any rate, after that, it's off to Phuket for a week or so on the beach, then it's back to the States for two weeks, and finally we're off to Shanghai in mid-June.
(Side note: Due to flight times, we'll be staying in Bangkok. For one night. I'm not sure how many times I'll start singing, "One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble ...," but the early over/under is about 75. And that number is only likely to go up, sadly. Well, mostly sadly for Holly ...)
So now that we are leaving, people are starting to ask me if I'll miss Beijing. I think the answer is yes. Sure, there are plenty of things I won't mind leaving behind: the bone-chilling winters; the snot-blackening, T-shirt destroying pollution (my white t-shirts are uniformly a dingy gray); the spitting, nose picking, and snot blowing you see on every street corner; and the way no Chinese cab driver will ever understand what any foreigner says in Chinese until he or she has repeated it at least five or six times, at which point the cab driver gives an "Oh!" and then repeats back exactly what you just said.
However, there are certainly some things I'll miss: the way you can cross the street anytime, anywhere, regardless of lights, bikes, traffic, or anything else; the way that everything worth going to is down an alley somewhere, preferably off a side-street so no one, not even the cab drivers, have any idea where it is; the way you can round the rattiest corner imaginable and find yourself staring at a stark, ultramodern art gallery or one of the city's best restaurants; the way that Chinese food tastes here, which is so much better than the US--yes, this applies to your favorite Chinese restaurant, wherever it is--that the two can't even be compared; the way that no one thinks it's strange when you order a twenty-two ounce beer for each person at the table with dinner; the way that you can get away with almost anything simply by virtue of being a foreigner and pretending you can't speak Chinese, including getting on an airplane without a passport (note that simply not speaking Chinese works well, too); the way we can buy the latest Hollywood blockbusters for a buck at the shop down the street, usually less than a week after they've come out in the States; and so on and so forth, dot dot dot.
But that's all over now. It's said, done; been there, done that--you get the picture. Well, at least until we show up in Shanghai a month from now, which has pretty much all the same stuff, except the "ratty corner" will be a "shiny shopping mall." Otherwise, however, it's basically identical. I guess that means I'll have to buy some more T-shirts, huh?
Yes, a break--but not the end. Continuing the "for those of you who don't know" theme, we are actually moving to Shanghai for an entire year next, so I'll have a completely new Chinese city to laugh at--um, laugh with--which will be nice. Nothing like fresh material, after all. Although we actually aren't going to straight to Shanghai: we're going on holiday first! (Hopefully a tour group free holiday. Or at least, relatively free.) Our first stop is Siem Reap, Cambodia to see the Angkor temples, a trip that I am not only very excited about, but which I fully anticipate will produce the GREATEST PHOG EVER. Well, at least on my website; in my infinite humility, I will allow for the fact that greater phogs (photo blogs) may exist on some less cool, far suckier site. (I know, I know--I'm such a nice guy. I'm sort of like Jesus in that way. Except with less hair. And, let's face it, better teeth most likely.). But at any rate, after that, it's off to Phuket for a week or so on the beach, then it's back to the States for two weeks, and finally we're off to Shanghai in mid-June.
(Side note: Due to flight times, we'll be staying in Bangkok. For one night. I'm not sure how many times I'll start singing, "One night in Bangkok makes a hard man humble ...," but the early over/under is about 75. And that number is only likely to go up, sadly. Well, mostly sadly for Holly ...)
So now that we are leaving, people are starting to ask me if I'll miss Beijing. I think the answer is yes. Sure, there are plenty of things I won't mind leaving behind: the bone-chilling winters; the snot-blackening, T-shirt destroying pollution (my white t-shirts are uniformly a dingy gray); the spitting, nose picking, and snot blowing you see on every street corner; and the way no Chinese cab driver will ever understand what any foreigner says in Chinese until he or she has repeated it at least five or six times, at which point the cab driver gives an "Oh!" and then repeats back exactly what you just said.
However, there are certainly some things I'll miss: the way you can cross the street anytime, anywhere, regardless of lights, bikes, traffic, or anything else; the way that everything worth going to is down an alley somewhere, preferably off a side-street so no one, not even the cab drivers, have any idea where it is; the way you can round the rattiest corner imaginable and find yourself staring at a stark, ultramodern art gallery or one of the city's best restaurants; the way that Chinese food tastes here, which is so much better than the US--yes, this applies to your favorite Chinese restaurant, wherever it is--that the two can't even be compared; the way that no one thinks it's strange when you order a twenty-two ounce beer for each person at the table with dinner; the way that you can get away with almost anything simply by virtue of being a foreigner and pretending you can't speak Chinese, including getting on an airplane without a passport (note that simply not speaking Chinese works well, too); the way we can buy the latest Hollywood blockbusters for a buck at the shop down the street, usually less than a week after they've come out in the States; and so on and so forth, dot dot dot.
But that's all over now. It's said, done; been there, done that--you get the picture. Well, at least until we show up in Shanghai a month from now, which has pretty much all the same stuff, except the "ratty corner" will be a "shiny shopping mall." Otherwise, however, it's basically identical. I guess that means I'll have to buy some more T-shirts, huh?
5.12.2005
Like to play a game?
Quick! Since I have been discussing tour groups so often recently, how many different tour groups are in the picture below?
No, I'm sorry: the correct answer is five. Five, ladies and gentlemen, five. And to those of you who got it right--no, "I was going to say five!" doesn't count, sorry--your knowledge of Chinese tour groups is impressive ... most impressive.
Anyway, let's count. There are three groups across the back: yellow flag group number one on the left; blue flag group in the center; and yellow flag group number two on the right. For the other two, you have to go to the hats. "Ah, the hats!" Yes, the hats--where the are tour flags, you are sure to find tour hats. In the foreground you can see the last two tour groups: the blue and yellow, Cub Scout-like hats group in the center of the picture; and--this is the trickiest one--the last few members of a white hat group in the bottom right, walking in front of the stylish blue/yellow group on their way to see the first of about ten different throne rooms in the Forbidden City. (I know, why hurry?)
As for the dapper gentleman all in black--including beret--I have no clue what is deal is, but he is definitely not tour group affiliated. Who knows? Maybe he's French or something. They do all wear berets, right?
No, I'm sorry: the correct answer is five. Five, ladies and gentlemen, five. And to those of you who got it right--no, "I was going to say five!" doesn't count, sorry--your knowledge of Chinese tour groups is impressive ... most impressive.
Anyway, let's count. There are three groups across the back: yellow flag group number one on the left; blue flag group in the center; and yellow flag group number two on the right. For the other two, you have to go to the hats. "Ah, the hats!" Yes, the hats--where the are tour flags, you are sure to find tour hats. In the foreground you can see the last two tour groups: the blue and yellow, Cub Scout-like hats group in the center of the picture; and--this is the trickiest one--the last few members of a white hat group in the bottom right, walking in front of the stylish blue/yellow group on their way to see the first of about ten different throne rooms in the Forbidden City. (I know, why hurry?)
As for the dapper gentleman all in black--including beret--I have no clue what is deal is, but he is definitely not tour group affiliated. Who knows? Maybe he's French or something. They do all wear berets, right?
Nice glasses.
Yes, sunglasses are for suckers. Or at least they are in China, where the real movers and shakers go for the FFV: Full Face Visor.
I mean, it just makes sense. Why bother with two tiny lenses when you can have a full-on facial shield? Of course, the woman above is only using it like a (somewhat) standard visor, albeit one constructed primarily around a tinted piece of black plastic. But when the FFV really come into its own is when it's flipped into the "down" position, offering complete protection from the sun, the wind, and all the crap that said wind picks up off the Beijing streets. Sure, you look some sort of strange, sci-fi stormtrooper--note the small S, big S Stormtroopers are something completely different--but that's a small price to pay for the defensive abilities of the FFV, as this next woman knows:
Believe it or not--and have I lied to you before?--these things are all over. Most of the people who wear them are riding bikes, but as you can see from the above picture, they can be busted out at any time. Unfortunately, this is the only decent picture I have of the FFV in action. Whenever I see someone using them on a bike I can never get my camera ready fast enough, since they are speeding toward me at the same time I am trying to get the shot; whenever I go stand on a corner with the camera in hand, ready for action, no one with a FFV ever rides by. I know, I know, my life is so hard ...
I mean, it just makes sense. Why bother with two tiny lenses when you can have a full-on facial shield? Of course, the woman above is only using it like a (somewhat) standard visor, albeit one constructed primarily around a tinted piece of black plastic. But when the FFV really come into its own is when it's flipped into the "down" position, offering complete protection from the sun, the wind, and all the crap that said wind picks up off the Beijing streets. Sure, you look some sort of strange, sci-fi stormtrooper--note the small S, big S Stormtroopers are something completely different--but that's a small price to pay for the defensive abilities of the FFV, as this next woman knows:
Believe it or not--and have I lied to you before?--these things are all over. Most of the people who wear them are riding bikes, but as you can see from the above picture, they can be busted out at any time. Unfortunately, this is the only decent picture I have of the FFV in action. Whenever I see someone using them on a bike I can never get my camera ready fast enough, since they are speeding toward me at the same time I am trying to get the shot; whenever I go stand on a corner with the camera in hand, ready for action, no one with a FFV ever rides by. I know, I know, my life is so hard ...
Picture This 3.
Just to prove to you that I'm not the callous, cold-hearted bastard who will make fun of anything that I appear to be, I offer the following picture. (The thing on her head is supposed to simulate a traditional Chinese hairstyle--like Mickey Mouse ears, except for an empress.)
And for those of you who are worried I'm going soft, rest assured that the only reason I put up this picture is because the shot of the little kid with the omnipresent split pants using said pants to piss in the corner of one of the Forbidden City's many courtyards--yes, the famous, World Heritage Site Forbidden City, which has more than an adequate number of bathrooms--ended up being really blurry because I didn't have time to focus properly. Oh well--maybe next time, because, when it comes to split-pants, there is always a next time.
See Picture This 1 and 2 for more.
And for those of you who are worried I'm going soft, rest assured that the only reason I put up this picture is because the shot of the little kid with the omnipresent split pants using said pants to piss in the corner of one of the Forbidden City's many courtyards--yes, the famous, World Heritage Site Forbidden City, which has more than an adequate number of bathrooms--ended up being really blurry because I didn't have time to focus properly. Oh well--maybe next time, because, when it comes to split-pants, there is always a next time.
See Picture This 1 and 2 for more.
Hmmm 5.
Scary Chinese mannequins!
Does this make you want to buy those clothes? That's what I thought. The mall attached to the Grand Hyatt has of lot of these bizarre, anime-looking mannequins, believe it or not. (And after everything else I've told you, why wouldn't you believe it?) They actually come in all sorts of poses, including kissing, smiling, and just plain standing around looking "normal," which--as far as I can tell--is what they guy in these pictures is doing. In terms of sheer numbers, there are more of what I will now have to start calling "Western standard" mannequins, but this model tends to stand out a little more. I mean, it's not every day you walk by a store window and find a vaguely disturbing mannequin with blue stripes in his hair winking at you ...
Then again, maybe he's just got something in his eye. I can't tell.
See Hmmm 1, 2, 3, and 4 for more.
Does this make you want to buy those clothes? That's what I thought. The mall attached to the Grand Hyatt has of lot of these bizarre, anime-looking mannequins, believe it or not. (And after everything else I've told you, why wouldn't you believe it?) They actually come in all sorts of poses, including kissing, smiling, and just plain standing around looking "normal," which--as far as I can tell--is what they guy in these pictures is doing. In terms of sheer numbers, there are more of what I will now have to start calling "Western standard" mannequins, but this model tends to stand out a little more. I mean, it's not every day you walk by a store window and find a vaguely disturbing mannequin with blue stripes in his hair winking at you ...
Then again, maybe he's just got something in his eye. I can't tell.
See Hmmm 1, 2, 3, and 4 for more.
It's always better on holiday ...
Unless, of course, you happen to be on holiday at the same time as 1.3 billion Chinese people, in which case things--and by things, I mean every and all things--are a little on the crowded side. And if you somehow can't already tell, when I say "little" I'm being sarcastic: things are really, really freaking crowded.
(Side note: not everyone actually gets the May Holiday off, so let's just say there were only 350 million people or so on vacation. You know, as if every single person in the US took the same week off.)
Anyway, as I mentioned the other day, this tends to lead to massive numbers of people--in tour group form--at anything that might remotely be considered a tourist attraction: The house next to the house where Chairman Mao once stopped to use the bathroom! The largest reclining Buddha carved entirely out of a single piece of driftwood in the western half of the northern section of Asia! The birthplace of a guy who's friend's cousin's nephew's daughter once made out with the Emperor! You get the idea. It would be like if every time you drove by one of those stupid brown "Historical Marker" signs in the US, you found rows of tour buses and hundreds of people milling around snapping pictures of the site, the sign, each other, and everything else.
We found this out the hard way when we went to see Prince Gong's Mansion over the holiday. (Confusingly, not actually built by Prince Gong.) Granted, it's a semi well-known site, but its location--buried in the maze of hutongs (AKA alleys) that surround the Beijing "back lakes" area--makes it fairly isolated. Or at least, that was our theory. After taking a somewhat pleasant stroll along the lakes, we made our way through the narrow, crooked back alleys in the direction of Prince Gong's pad, only to be confronted by solid rows of tour buses on both sides of the street when we got there. On the plus side, we knew we were in the right place; on the negative side, a few thousand Chinese tourists--if not more--had beat us there.
Bravely--possibly foolishly, although as others have pointed out that might be the same thing--we decided to press on with our visit. It went ... okay. I mean, nothing bad happened to us at any rate, so in that way it was fine. However, in the way of actually getting to look around the place we just paid 20 Yuan to get into, it went pretty damn poorly. Not as poorly as, say, the Charge of the Light Brigade, but fairly close. Probably.
For example, there was--as far as I could tell--something interesting about this rock formation. Sadly, we'll never know what it was, because there were just a few other people checking it out, whatever the mysterious "it" was:
Sadly, this was one of the least crowded moments around said rock. Unlike, say, this shot of a pavilion in the middle of a pond, which had God, Buddha, or Prince Gong himself only knows what in it, because we sure as hell were never going to be able to find out:
Besides the hats, I think it's the bunching up that gets me, like they have to be as close as possible to the tour guide or they might get lost or not hear something. And sure, there are plenty of foreigner-filled groups dutifully following guides around like lost cattle, but they tend to give each other a bit more breathing room. I'm sure it's just a cultural thing, but you watch thirty people in matching yellow hats who are packed into a dense, impenetrable ball of flesh marching across a courtyard in lockstep with a microphone-wearing, flag-holding tour guide and just try to tell me you don't think it's strange.
(Side note: The annoying thing foreign tour groups tend to do--besides cramp my style at the Forbidden City Starbucks--is wear name tags. It makes me want to say things like, "Excuse me Ruth Jennings, but would you mind getting your dumb ass out of the way so I can get by before your force me to beat you to death with that freaking Handycam?" and things of that nature.)
Um, where was I? Oh, tour guides. Speaking of tour guides, which I was at some point, here's a good shot of a typical one. She's got it all: the portable PA system; the brightly colored pennant; and the intense, ready-for-action expression. All that, plus a knock-off Coach bag--what else could you want?
Contrast her, if you will, to this next girl, who is so completely unprepared for being a tour guide that not only does she not have a flag or a fancy portable PA (megaphones are so Seventies), but if you look closely you can see that she actually has stuff written in ink on her hand:
Really, isn't that against the tour guide code of ethics or something? They're supposed to just know everything--isn't that what we're paying them for? Shouldn't they be able to answer every random question we can dream up, no matter how obscure? Yes, yes, and yes. Apparently the Republicans are right and truly nothing is sacred anymore. I know, I know, who would have thought? Next thing you know the "Domino Theory" will end up being right--for once--and I'll wake up tomorrow to find China staging a presidential election.
Well, maybe not, but you never know.
Oh wait, you do. Never mind ...
(Side note: not everyone actually gets the May Holiday off, so let's just say there were only 350 million people or so on vacation. You know, as if every single person in the US took the same week off.)
Anyway, as I mentioned the other day, this tends to lead to massive numbers of people--in tour group form--at anything that might remotely be considered a tourist attraction: The house next to the house where Chairman Mao once stopped to use the bathroom! The largest reclining Buddha carved entirely out of a single piece of driftwood in the western half of the northern section of Asia! The birthplace of a guy who's friend's cousin's nephew's daughter once made out with the Emperor! You get the idea. It would be like if every time you drove by one of those stupid brown "Historical Marker" signs in the US, you found rows of tour buses and hundreds of people milling around snapping pictures of the site, the sign, each other, and everything else.
We found this out the hard way when we went to see Prince Gong's Mansion over the holiday. (Confusingly, not actually built by Prince Gong.) Granted, it's a semi well-known site, but its location--buried in the maze of hutongs (AKA alleys) that surround the Beijing "back lakes" area--makes it fairly isolated. Or at least, that was our theory. After taking a somewhat pleasant stroll along the lakes, we made our way through the narrow, crooked back alleys in the direction of Prince Gong's pad, only to be confronted by solid rows of tour buses on both sides of the street when we got there. On the plus side, we knew we were in the right place; on the negative side, a few thousand Chinese tourists--if not more--had beat us there.
Bravely--possibly foolishly, although as others have pointed out that might be the same thing--we decided to press on with our visit. It went ... okay. I mean, nothing bad happened to us at any rate, so in that way it was fine. However, in the way of actually getting to look around the place we just paid 20 Yuan to get into, it went pretty damn poorly. Not as poorly as, say, the Charge of the Light Brigade, but fairly close. Probably.
For example, there was--as far as I could tell--something interesting about this rock formation. Sadly, we'll never know what it was, because there were just a few other people checking it out, whatever the mysterious "it" was:
Sadly, this was one of the least crowded moments around said rock. Unlike, say, this shot of a pavilion in the middle of a pond, which had God, Buddha, or Prince Gong himself only knows what in it, because we sure as hell were never going to be able to find out:
Besides the hats, I think it's the bunching up that gets me, like they have to be as close as possible to the tour guide or they might get lost or not hear something. And sure, there are plenty of foreigner-filled groups dutifully following guides around like lost cattle, but they tend to give each other a bit more breathing room. I'm sure it's just a cultural thing, but you watch thirty people in matching yellow hats who are packed into a dense, impenetrable ball of flesh marching across a courtyard in lockstep with a microphone-wearing, flag-holding tour guide and just try to tell me you don't think it's strange.
(Side note: The annoying thing foreign tour groups tend to do--besides cramp my style at the Forbidden City Starbucks--is wear name tags. It makes me want to say things like, "Excuse me Ruth Jennings, but would you mind getting your dumb ass out of the way so I can get by before your force me to beat you to death with that freaking Handycam?" and things of that nature.)
Um, where was I? Oh, tour guides. Speaking of tour guides, which I was at some point, here's a good shot of a typical one. She's got it all: the portable PA system; the brightly colored pennant; and the intense, ready-for-action expression. All that, plus a knock-off Coach bag--what else could you want?
Contrast her, if you will, to this next girl, who is so completely unprepared for being a tour guide that not only does she not have a flag or a fancy portable PA (megaphones are so Seventies), but if you look closely you can see that she actually has stuff written in ink on her hand:
Really, isn't that against the tour guide code of ethics or something? They're supposed to just know everything--isn't that what we're paying them for? Shouldn't they be able to answer every random question we can dream up, no matter how obscure? Yes, yes, and yes. Apparently the Republicans are right and truly nothing is sacred anymore. I know, I know, who would have thought? Next thing you know the "Domino Theory" will end up being right--for once--and I'll wake up tomorrow to find China staging a presidential election.
Well, maybe not, but you never know.
Oh wait, you do. Never mind ...
5.11.2005
Picture This 2.
Chinese fashion is always good for a few laughs: the ridiculous little nylon "bootie" socks favored by both men and women, regardless of whether they are wearing pants, skirts, or even shorts; the tendency to wear flesh-colored--Caucasian flesh, at that--nylons under dresses and skirts (with "booties" over them, naturally); and, of course, the random English words, generally nonsensical, printed over all sorts of clothing items. Like, say, these pants. Nice, don't you think? It's just a guess, but with a body like that I’m guessing she might be lying ..
Then again, for all I know she might be a dancer. Who knows? What I do know, however, is that the next time she wears these pants she might want to go for a different style of underwear. Just a thought ...
See Picture This 1 for more.
Then again, for all I know she might be a dancer. Who knows? What I do know, however, is that the next time she wears these pants she might want to go for a different style of underwear. Just a thought ...
See Picture This 1 for more.
5.10.2005
Size matters.
I'm talking, of course, about the Forbidden City, the 115-acre palace that sits in the center of Beijing, the beating heart of Red China. (What did you think I would be talking about?) (Oh, that.) (Pervy, aren't you?)
At any rate, here's a semi-panoramic shot of the Forbidden City. It's really big, obviously; you can get a sense of scale from the little black specs--AKA people--in front of the gate. (The back gate, for the record.) As you can see, the old palace basically fills the entire picture, although the last set of buildings on the far right--they're multistory, unlike most of the other buildings in the shot--are outside the Forbidden City's walls. Sadly, the infamous--that means "more than famous," right?--Forbidden City Starbucks can't be seen from this shot. (Yes, that is a Three Amigos reference in case you were wondering, although I can't imagine who would be.) (Also, yes, it is a bit sad that I can apparently make Three Amigos references.)
Um, I was going to say something else clever and funny--you know, the usual (maybe)--but nothing is coming to mind. Not even anything from the Three Amigos. Quel dommage, the horror times two (that's "The horror, the horror," for the record), and all that ...
At any rate, here's a semi-panoramic shot of the Forbidden City. It's really big, obviously; you can get a sense of scale from the little black specs--AKA people--in front of the gate. (The back gate, for the record.) As you can see, the old palace basically fills the entire picture, although the last set of buildings on the far right--they're multistory, unlike most of the other buildings in the shot--are outside the Forbidden City's walls. Sadly, the infamous--that means "more than famous," right?--Forbidden City Starbucks can't be seen from this shot. (Yes, that is a Three Amigos reference in case you were wondering, although I can't imagine who would be.) (Also, yes, it is a bit sad that I can apparently make Three Amigos references.)
Um, I was going to say something else clever and funny--you know, the usual (maybe)--but nothing is coming to mind. Not even anything from the Three Amigos. Quel dommage, the horror times two (that's "The horror, the horror," for the record), and all that ...
5.09.2005
Truth in advertising?
One source--well, one more source--of endless amusement for me here in Beijing AKA BJ AKA the 'Jing to foreigners, since we know what's wrong with the second term, are billboards. Why? Because for some things--particularly high-end real estate--the "good life" as shown in ads is enjoyed exclusively by white people, preferably young and good-looking ones. Like in this ad for Seasons Park, Home of Tycoons (or former tycoons), for example ...
Most of the things in this ad are found in the main "clubhouse" building of Seasons Park, along with the management office, the gym, and all that stuff: the bottom left image is the restaurant, which I've been to (it's okay, but not great); the bottom middle image is the spa, which I have walked by on numerous occasions on the way to the gym or, more likely, the mini-mart; and the bottom right image is the pool, which I have seen but never actually been in. In short, they all exist, and I know they all exist.
Of course, that leaves one picture unaccounted for. The big one, the one on top. Despite looking many, many, many times, I never saw--not even once--dancing models of any kind in what I can only assume is the restaurant, despite the fact that said restaurant has neither bar nor dance floor. In fact, in seven months of living at Seasons Park, I can state with complete confidence that I never saw any dancing models whatsoever. Yet there they are, with the word CLUB in big, gold letters right below them, as if Seasons Park had a club populated with dancing models, which--as I have made clear--it doesn't. But what the hell, if dancing white models hang out there, it must be good, right? (Then again, that might be true now that I think about, although models of any color would work.)
Anyway, just down the street from Seasons Park there's a better example on a billboard for a different (and nicer) apartment complex. Here's the biggest picture in the ad, the ad on a major street in the middle of Beijing, a city that is home to roughly thirteen million Chinese, all of whom need a place to live:
But wait, there's more! The same billboard also a few pictures of the many fine facilities available at this apartment complex, including--apparently--a basketball court:
Hmmm. See a pattern here? Me too. Although, despite what I might make it look like, there is, in point of fact, one Chinese person in the pictures on the billboard:
Yeah ...
Most of the things in this ad are found in the main "clubhouse" building of Seasons Park, along with the management office, the gym, and all that stuff: the bottom left image is the restaurant, which I've been to (it's okay, but not great); the bottom middle image is the spa, which I have walked by on numerous occasions on the way to the gym or, more likely, the mini-mart; and the bottom right image is the pool, which I have seen but never actually been in. In short, they all exist, and I know they all exist.
Of course, that leaves one picture unaccounted for. The big one, the one on top. Despite looking many, many, many times, I never saw--not even once--dancing models of any kind in what I can only assume is the restaurant, despite the fact that said restaurant has neither bar nor dance floor. In fact, in seven months of living at Seasons Park, I can state with complete confidence that I never saw any dancing models whatsoever. Yet there they are, with the word CLUB in big, gold letters right below them, as if Seasons Park had a club populated with dancing models, which--as I have made clear--it doesn't. But what the hell, if dancing white models hang out there, it must be good, right? (Then again, that might be true now that I think about, although models of any color would work.)
Anyway, just down the street from Seasons Park there's a better example on a billboard for a different (and nicer) apartment complex. Here's the biggest picture in the ad, the ad on a major street in the middle of Beijing, a city that is home to roughly thirteen million Chinese, all of whom need a place to live:
But wait, there's more! The same billboard also a few pictures of the many fine facilities available at this apartment complex, including--apparently--a basketball court:
Hmmm. See a pattern here? Me too. Although, despite what I might make it look like, there is, in point of fact, one Chinese person in the pictures on the billboard:
Yeah ...
Demoted.
Yesterday afternoon we left Seasons Park, Home of Tycoons--for good--and I can't say I'm happy about it. Sure, we immediately checked into the Grand Hyatt, a five-star facility within spitting distance of the Forbidden City that is one of the nicest hotels in Beijing, so that's something. But still, I find the sudden lack of tycoon-ness disturbing. I mean, at lunch I was eating the best jiaozi in the world, secure in my tycoon status; at dinner six hours later I was just another foreign schmuk dropping shit all over the place as he's eating. (Some things are just hard with chopsticks.) I have to say, it's not a pleasant feeling. And let's face it, as service-oriented as the Grand Hyatt staff is--insanely service-oriented, for the record--none of them are going to salute me when I leave the hotel this morning, and I can't help but think my life is going to be a little worse for it ...
At any rate, farewell, Home of Tycoons!
Side note: As I was packing up all our stuff (side side note, the amount of crap you can accumulate in seven months, even while living in a place that came completely furnished, is astounding), I came upon this little note that came in our moving in package, and thought it was pretty funny. The "dolled up" gets me every time ...
At any rate, farewell, Home of Tycoons!
Side note: As I was packing up all our stuff (side side note, the amount of crap you can accumulate in seven months, even while living in a place that came completely furnished, is astounding), I came upon this little note that came in our moving in package, and thought it was pretty funny. The "dolled up" gets me every time ...
5.08.2005
Hmmm 4.
I admit that, not needing a lame excuse to sit around doing nothing, I don't really know anything about--or even like--fishing. However, I would imagine that if you actually enjoy fishing and decide to go, the best place to cast your line is probably not into the big eddy where all the trash collects, like these kids are doing. Just a thought.
Since this was taken in the Beijing back lakes area (better known as Houhai, for those of you with a map of the 'Jing handy, AKA none of you), a place surrounded almost exclusively by boutiques, bars, and restaurants, a second thought is: "Don’t order the fish when you go out to eat in Houhai." You never know, right?
See Hmmm 1, Hmmm 2, and Hmmm 3 for more.
Since this was taken in the Beijing back lakes area (better known as Houhai, for those of you with a map of the 'Jing handy, AKA none of you), a place surrounded almost exclusively by boutiques, bars, and restaurants, a second thought is: "Don’t order the fish when you go out to eat in Houhai." You never know, right?
See Hmmm 1, Hmmm 2, and Hmmm 3 for more.
Staying active.
Those of who you read this blog on a semi-regular basis will know that, in general, not a lot of things work well in China, or at least not a lot of things work as well as they should. (The rest of you should just trust me. I'm extremely trustworthy. Usually. As long as there's no money involved, at least. ) Yet, despite the many, many, many things here that fall short of perfection, there are some things that the Chinese do extremely well. Four, to be exact: 1) beer is cheap and generally sold in large bottles; 2) taxis are plentiful and amazingly inexpensive; 3) the Chinese food is seriously good (sort of a given, I suppose); and 4) old people have plenty of exercise toys to help them stay in shape.
I figure the first three are fairly self-explanatory, but the fourth one might require a bit more exposition. Luckily, I don't mind expositing. (I would have sworn that wasn't a word, but Microsoft Word seems to think it is. Huh.) Anyway, wherever you go in Beijing, you will find strange looking playgrounds on the side of the road, generally placed in a small park, although they can be found in other places. I say strange because once you look at them for a few seconds, you realize that, while they the collection of brightly colored, plastic gizmos might appear to be a standard playground, they don't have any of the typical playground things, no slides, no see-saws, and certainly no swings.
Why? Because they aren't playgrounds at all, they are exercise machines for old people! Which is actually kind of cool, I think; in the mornings you can walk by the machines in Seasons Park and see people's grandmas and grandpas out there starting their day out with a light workout.
Here's the Old People's Playground (my own term--you down with OPP?) at Seasons Park:
Most of the machines are a pretty self-explanatory.
Some, on the other hand, I'm not so sure about. I've never been able to figure out what the point of spinning these discs is. DJ practice? That's the only thing I can think of ...
Here's a machine in action. Well, in inaction. She was taking a break, and refused to exercise on demand for my camera. I know, the nerve.
At some point, I noticed you mostly see women on the machines. It took me a while to figure out why, but then I realized that the men get their exercise in another way: by peddling their wives all around the city in a specially adapted cartcycle, like the one below. You see this sort of thing all over the city, and it always cracks me up, although for the maximum humor effect the old lady should have a ratty little Pekinese, or possibly a Chihuahua, on her lap. No sir, it just doesn't get any better than that.
Holly and I actually discussed getting one of these--they are very, very cheap--simply because it would be incredibly funny for me to peddle her around town, but we decided not to because it would be too cold to use in the winter and we won't be here to use it in the summer. Oh well. Instead we have settled on probably buying a moped/scooter in Shanghai, which is a much better choice. Because really, there's nothing like an unlicensed driver zipping through insanely chaotic traffic on an unlicensed knock-off Vespa. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? I know, I can't think of anything either ...
I figure the first three are fairly self-explanatory, but the fourth one might require a bit more exposition. Luckily, I don't mind expositing. (I would have sworn that wasn't a word, but Microsoft Word seems to think it is. Huh.) Anyway, wherever you go in Beijing, you will find strange looking playgrounds on the side of the road, generally placed in a small park, although they can be found in other places. I say strange because once you look at them for a few seconds, you realize that, while they the collection of brightly colored, plastic gizmos might appear to be a standard playground, they don't have any of the typical playground things, no slides, no see-saws, and certainly no swings.
Why? Because they aren't playgrounds at all, they are exercise machines for old people! Which is actually kind of cool, I think; in the mornings you can walk by the machines in Seasons Park and see people's grandmas and grandpas out there starting their day out with a light workout.
Here's the Old People's Playground (my own term--you down with OPP?) at Seasons Park:
Most of the machines are a pretty self-explanatory.
Some, on the other hand, I'm not so sure about. I've never been able to figure out what the point of spinning these discs is. DJ practice? That's the only thing I can think of ...
Here's a machine in action. Well, in inaction. She was taking a break, and refused to exercise on demand for my camera. I know, the nerve.
At some point, I noticed you mostly see women on the machines. It took me a while to figure out why, but then I realized that the men get their exercise in another way: by peddling their wives all around the city in a specially adapted cartcycle, like the one below. You see this sort of thing all over the city, and it always cracks me up, although for the maximum humor effect the old lady should have a ratty little Pekinese, or possibly a Chihuahua, on her lap. No sir, it just doesn't get any better than that.
Holly and I actually discussed getting one of these--they are very, very cheap--simply because it would be incredibly funny for me to peddle her around town, but we decided not to because it would be too cold to use in the winter and we won't be here to use it in the summer. Oh well. Instead we have settled on probably buying a moped/scooter in Shanghai, which is a much better choice. Because really, there's nothing like an unlicensed driver zipping through insanely chaotic traffic on an unlicensed knock-off Vespa. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? I know, I can't think of anything either ...
5.07.2005
Sign language 3.
By the way, I'm not only the president of The Hair Club for Men ... I'm also a member!
See Sign language 1 and Sign language 2 for more.
See Sign language 1 and Sign language 2 for more.
5.06.2005
The Wild Wall.
Last Sunday we went to a "wild" section of the wall called Jian Kuo. In this case, "wild" simply means that it hasn't been restored or turned into an official tourist attraction: you just park, hike up to the wall, and then climb around pretty much anywhere you want. (I talked more about the Wild Wall a few days ago in a post where I promised to put these pictures up on the next day, by which I apparently meant sometime in the next week. But here the pictures are, so it is, as they say, all good. Well, some people say that, anyway, although one of them is usually not me. Unless, of course, I'm trying to make a joke. Which I was earlier, so it's still all good.)(Ding!)
Anyway, enough about that (AKA nothing). Here are the pictures. There's not much to say (note that this fact won't stop me from saying things): it's a part of the Great Wall; it's crumbling; it has weeds and bushes and sometimes even trees growing out of it; and it's someplace I highly recommend you visit if you ever happen to be cruising around the Beijing countryside in places foreigners don't normally go, or so I'm told.
Whatever. Here are the pictures.
You could actually climb up onto the tower in the foreground of this picture. Which I didn't do--I was busy climbing other parts--but it was an option.
Crumbly ...
Another view of the climbable tower mentioned above.
Some parts were easy to walk on, and some required a bit more caution, since the wall is along a hilltop and falling would not be a good thing. This was one of the tricksier parts.
Who is this handsome devil in a knock-off Polo (TM) shirt? This set of stairs required some serious scrambling. But it didn't require any alliteration at all--I just do that for fun.
Coming down was a bit harder.
This was the old lady who charged us 6 cents each--half of one Yuan--to use the bathroom. Apparently that also gets you a photo-op. Such a bargain, I know.
Anyway, enough about that (AKA nothing). Here are the pictures. There's not much to say (note that this fact won't stop me from saying things): it's a part of the Great Wall; it's crumbling; it has weeds and bushes and sometimes even trees growing out of it; and it's someplace I highly recommend you visit if you ever happen to be cruising around the Beijing countryside in places foreigners don't normally go, or so I'm told.
Whatever. Here are the pictures.
You could actually climb up onto the tower in the foreground of this picture. Which I didn't do--I was busy climbing other parts--but it was an option.
Crumbly ...
Another view of the climbable tower mentioned above.
Some parts were easy to walk on, and some required a bit more caution, since the wall is along a hilltop and falling would not be a good thing. This was one of the tricksier parts.
Who is this handsome devil in a knock-off Polo (TM) shirt? This set of stairs required some serious scrambling. But it didn't require any alliteration at all--I just do that for fun.
Coming down was a bit harder.
This was the old lady who charged us 6 cents each--half of one Yuan--to use the bathroom. Apparently that also gets you a photo-op. Such a bargain, I know.
5.03.2005
Trouble 2.
So much trouble in so little time: who would have thought? Turns out, trouble is more than a rack of 24 shots appearing at around midnight. It can also pop up on the way to a perfectly innocent picnic when, for example, you get off the highway at the Summer Palace exit and instead of proceeding relatively quickly to the palace itself, possibly weaving through a couple of tourist buses, you get off the highway and come to a complete stop. Total gridlock.
Turns out, we weren't the only people in Beijing who thought, "Hey, it's a nice day, let's go to the Summer Palace!" Not by a long shot. I figure there are thirteen million or so people in the city, and probably around half of them were at the Summer Palace this afternoon. Well, maybe not half, but it felt like it. Here's one of the less-crowded areas:
Why so many people? Two words: tour and groups. Yes, in the grand tradition of all Chinese and Japanese tourists, they come by the busload; they all wear the exact same hat (white in this case) with the bill as straight as possible; and the tour guide has a portable PA system strapped around their body and a flag (blue, top right corner) so that everyone in the tour can see where they are. (I'm not saying tour groups are restricted to various Asian nations, they just that they seem to be the only ones who go in for the hats and flags.)
While this might seem to make sense--the flags, not the straight-billed hats, which are just weird--when there's hundred of tour groups at once, it's not quite so clever. I mean, there's only so many colors, so you end up with hundreds of tour guides marching around with blue or yellow or red flags, followed by thousands of tourists milling around and trying to figure out which flag they should be following. Needless to say, chaos ensues.
Of course, with so many people, someone was bound to want a picture--foreigners are so funny looking, after all! In this case, a little kid with Holly, although you can't actually see the kid ...
There was, however, a plus side to it being so crowded. Well, two plus sides, actually. First, I got to practice my Chinese line skillz. (Yes, it should have a Z.) I think the aforementioned skillz have reached peak efficiency, thank you: we got to the ticket office; I immediately found the space between the nebulously defined "lines" and pushed right up to the front; I cut off a Chinese guy with his son; and I reached around the person buying tickets in front of me so I could shove my money into the slot and give it to the ticket seller before the girl who was next in line could. All in all, the entire operation took about 20 seconds. Well done, I say.
Second, I knew that with so many people, there would be split-pants everywhere. In that, at least, I was not disappointed ...
Thankfully, despite all this split-pants action, I didn't actually have to seem in action. Unlike a few days ago, which I won't get into here. You should be thankful for that. Trust me.
Turns out, we weren't the only people in Beijing who thought, "Hey, it's a nice day, let's go to the Summer Palace!" Not by a long shot. I figure there are thirteen million or so people in the city, and probably around half of them were at the Summer Palace this afternoon. Well, maybe not half, but it felt like it. Here's one of the less-crowded areas:
Why so many people? Two words: tour and groups. Yes, in the grand tradition of all Chinese and Japanese tourists, they come by the busload; they all wear the exact same hat (white in this case) with the bill as straight as possible; and the tour guide has a portable PA system strapped around their body and a flag (blue, top right corner) so that everyone in the tour can see where they are. (I'm not saying tour groups are restricted to various Asian nations, they just that they seem to be the only ones who go in for the hats and flags.)
While this might seem to make sense--the flags, not the straight-billed hats, which are just weird--when there's hundred of tour groups at once, it's not quite so clever. I mean, there's only so many colors, so you end up with hundreds of tour guides marching around with blue or yellow or red flags, followed by thousands of tourists milling around and trying to figure out which flag they should be following. Needless to say, chaos ensues.
Of course, with so many people, someone was bound to want a picture--foreigners are so funny looking, after all! In this case, a little kid with Holly, although you can't actually see the kid ...
There was, however, a plus side to it being so crowded. Well, two plus sides, actually. First, I got to practice my Chinese line skillz. (Yes, it should have a Z.) I think the aforementioned skillz have reached peak efficiency, thank you: we got to the ticket office; I immediately found the space between the nebulously defined "lines" and pushed right up to the front; I cut off a Chinese guy with his son; and I reached around the person buying tickets in front of me so I could shove my money into the slot and give it to the ticket seller before the girl who was next in line could. All in all, the entire operation took about 20 seconds. Well done, I say.
Second, I knew that with so many people, there would be split-pants everywhere. In that, at least, I was not disappointed ...
Thankfully, despite all this split-pants action, I didn't actually have to seem in action. Unlike a few days ago, which I won't get into here. You should be thankful for that. Trust me.
5.02.2005
Trouble.
Trouble is what you know you are in when you are at a bar, it's just past eleven at night, and this appears on your table ...
Yes, there's 24 shots in there, for those of you who are counting. And it cost just about $24 US, so that's some nice symmetry. At least, as far as mathematical-type terms apply to large quantities of alcohol. But I guess that's the kind of thing that happens on vacation? (The Chinese get a week off for May Day--starting May 1--so a lot of people here are currently on holiday, as they say. Or at least they do if you are in the UK, from the UK, or hanging out with people from the UK.)
Anyway, as part of our holiday, we went on a group outing--the end of which is pictured above--to a section of the Great Wall called Jian Kuo, which was very cool. It's a "Wild Wall" section, which means that it's not an official tourist part, which in turn means that it hasn't been restored, which again in turn means no restaurants, no souvenir stands--or people trying to pull you into souvenir stands, which is nice; no slides AKA nonirrigated farmland sleds; and no zip lines. No, Jian Kuo didn't have any of those things: just a cleared dirt area for a parking lot and a really, really gross bathroom that a short old Chinese lady made us pay six cents each to use. Then, once you parked, you made your own way up through the woods to the crumbling Wall and basically just went wherever you wanted, scrambling on all fours up disintegrating stairways and pulling yourself onto the tops of decaying towers. It was very, very fun.
Needless to say, there are pictures--too many, as usual--which I will hopefully post tomorrow. But for now, we are going to head out to the Summer Palace for a picnic, since it will be nice to see the place when things are in bloom and it's actually sunny and warm. As opposed to, say, this picture, taken when the weather was not quite so pleasant ...
Yes, there's 24 shots in there, for those of you who are counting. And it cost just about $24 US, so that's some nice symmetry. At least, as far as mathematical-type terms apply to large quantities of alcohol. But I guess that's the kind of thing that happens on vacation? (The Chinese get a week off for May Day--starting May 1--so a lot of people here are currently on holiday, as they say. Or at least they do if you are in the UK, from the UK, or hanging out with people from the UK.)
Anyway, as part of our holiday, we went on a group outing--the end of which is pictured above--to a section of the Great Wall called Jian Kuo, which was very cool. It's a "Wild Wall" section, which means that it's not an official tourist part, which in turn means that it hasn't been restored, which again in turn means no restaurants, no souvenir stands--or people trying to pull you into souvenir stands, which is nice; no slides AKA nonirrigated farmland sleds; and no zip lines. No, Jian Kuo didn't have any of those things: just a cleared dirt area for a parking lot and a really, really gross bathroom that a short old Chinese lady made us pay six cents each to use. Then, once you parked, you made your own way up through the woods to the crumbling Wall and basically just went wherever you wanted, scrambling on all fours up disintegrating stairways and pulling yourself onto the tops of decaying towers. It was very, very fun.
Needless to say, there are pictures--too many, as usual--which I will hopefully post tomorrow. But for now, we are going to head out to the Summer Palace for a picnic, since it will be nice to see the place when things are in bloom and it's actually sunny and warm. As opposed to, say, this picture, taken when the weather was not quite so pleasant ...
