China and catching up - July 31
I didn't realize I haven't written since the kids left Tuesday, July 19. They got home safely, settled back into the routines. Our dog Spike came home with Jono from the young gal watching him, who couldn't make him mind.
"High maintenance," said Jono, after a day or two. "Wants to be around people." When Jono headed out on a trip, Melissa and Timo took him. M's a dog-person. Timo prefers cats. Oh dear.
Starting with July 20... things I like about Singapore:
- honest taxi drivers and regular busses and doubledeckers, who drive on the left side like England
- no eating on the train or bus so they stay clean
- jackets worn backwards on motorcycles to ward off wind or rain
- wide swaths of jungle forest between suburbs and highrises
- singaporean flags come out for National Day; blocks unite to have big displays
- most people speak and laugh softly
- orderly queues for everything
- "have a safe and pleasant drive," "give way," etc. = polite signs that encourage courtesy
- the grandpa who pedals through a busy intersection with 2 preschool grandkids hanging on.
W is waiting at another McDonalds, but finally we get together, find a bus (3/4 hour wait), and wait for the 650 across the border. The two customs are quick - exit Singapore; enter Malaysia, which is building an impressive modern customs port. Meanwhile traffic winds through a mess of construction.
The City Square Mall is a short walk away. W waits an hour and a half while I "do" Chamelon Jewelry, my regular stop for gifts. 9 necklaces, 5 bracelets, 5 rings, and 4 earrings come to $100. I've promised one former coworkers a necklace, and can think of some occasions coming up where a gift would be appropriate. No longer working in an office, I don't have gifts for coworkers, which makes the selection easier. If our girls don't like what I bring back, I like it enough to wear it myself :-).
Two separate taxis take us to Holiday Plaza and Plaza Palangi. W picks up a mug holder and checks prices so he has comparisons for shopping in China next week. Last trip to Asia together, we ate at an Australian-based place in the Malaysia mall called "On the Rocks." They bring us a 750o heated slab of basalt and raw lamb, chicken, and steak. We also order pepper mashed potatoes, but it's too much! W eats twice the amount of meat I do, but my stomach is heavy until we head home at 7pm for an easy stroll through the two borders. The bus disappears as we are coming down the Singapore stairs to the bus stop, and the next 950 takes 35 minutes, then we wait over 20 minutes for 168 at Woodlands INterchange. Past the army bace, W decides to get off at IKEA. W fights me on where to walk, but I know my directions. We find a shortcut on a pleasant lit path running beside the expressway.
My feet are burning with the friction underneath, so we get home just in time... at 9pm. I've just settled into bed when Taylors walk in - they finish travel arrangments to China with W.
Thursday, July 22
We're sharing the bath with Taylors - April's still in the room across the hall until the weekend. The shower starts at 6.45am, so we get up, read, and are of to work at 8. I finish two or three evaluations, then fiddle around waiting for breakfast at 10.30. Jay drops us off at the MRT after W finishes work.
In a Japanese store, I find the cutest Korean/Chinese lunchbox set. "Where do you go for lunch?" W quizzes. That's hardly the point.
The train is full, but we pack into more people like into a sardine tin within a few stops of downtown. Commuters, shoppers, school kids... and it's 7pm.
"This way to Clementi," W points. The sun is setting as we exit on the southwest side of the island (of course, we live on the NE side!) W reads from his Iphone - the GPS shows to "take this left to the bus," which winds through the neighborhood to Sumathi and Augustine's complex. Through the security gate, up 15 storeys, and we're there.
S and A are Indian friends from Cambridge, 2004. Augustine is a scholar - Sumathi is a brilliant woman who became my friend. We were delighted to get reacquainted when they moved to Singapore so A could teach theology and Bible. They may be relocating in the coming year, and we hope they land near us somewhere!
Sumathi's cooked a wonderful meal, including a spicy veg dish that has W sweating. I'm just salivating... the mix of fragrance and taste is astonishing, and the conversation uplifting. Each time I meet Sumathi, I like her more... it's too long between visits. W and A have their work in common, including a passion to see the Church grow, mature, and multiply through a sound study of scripture. We don't leave until late, and tumble through the door of the flat after a few long bus rides, about 11pm.
Friday, July 23, we're "on the road again." W spends over an hour looking for a power cord he thought was in the flat, but had left at church. They don't leave for the office until 10, too late for me to enjoy a swim: I have to grade papers once they're gone.
Around 4, Jay takes us to beautiful Changi Airport, where we walk around the Orchid Gardens and koi streams. It's only an hour's flight to KL (Malaysia's capital), which took 5 hours by bus two weeks ago. Groves of palms line the winding canals and rivers as we approach the airports. A few thupssideways, and we taxi to a stop.
"A four-hour layover here," says W, chosing the Malaysian newspaper as we brake to a stop at the gate. Jolly music plays untl the announcements come n.
"Tch Tch!" an Australian businessman taps a shiek-dressed Arab (red-checkered head scarf draping over a white robe) "Sign says, no smoke!"
The Arab shrugs angrily. "Why? Why one smoke no?" He's standing directly under a "No Smoking" sign on the pillar beside the train to the next airport terminal.
"Smoking out. Downstairs," says the Australian, but the smoker twists his shoulders angrily and stalks away in the opposite direction, waving his unlit cigarette in frustration while putting away his lighter. Probably not used to obeying instructions.
We walk through the three arms of the immacultate modern airport. Downstairs, separate TV lounges feature sports, movies, or news. Only men are slumped in the chairs at the sports screens. "You don't wish you had married someone just interested in sports?" W laughs.
After 33 years, we're fulfilling his dream of going to China. I'd rather do that than be sitting in a sports arena.
"Oh... feels good - warm and humid!" we leave the granite floors to walk through the Jungle Boardwalk exhibit at the nucleus of the C Terminal. Trees stretch into a 30+ foot canopy over our heads.
On the flight to Beijing, I can't sleep a wink. My feet jerk and twitch, the seat is uncomfortable, the lights stay on for two hours, go off for 2, then come back on for 'breakfast' at 5am. The loud laughter and conversation of two Chinese men behind me interrupts the beginning of rest, and I never fall asleep after that. My mind churns, wondering what would have happened if I'd said "no," or "let's wait to grow up a bit!" when W asked, "Will you go to Red China with me?" (his marriage proposal.) My eyes are burning from lack of sleep - I can't wait to send W off to explore the city by himself while I sleep in the hotel. I'm hungry and tired, and not looking forward to China one bit, even when our friendly driver shows up to take us to central Beijing.
Saturday, July 24
There's no check-in to our hotel room until 10am, and then there will be single beds. We leave our luggage and wander off. A block away, we stop at a Christian Protestant Church, but no one dares approach us. "Looks like there's a service at 8," we think, watching people file into the sanctuary.
"We have communion at 8 tomorrow, please come," the young woman speaks English so she is shoved our way. We promise to return the next morning.
"Grandpa, grandpa, we want photo with you!" A rush of Japanese tourist girls gaggle around W while several snap their photos. I laugh and move as far away as I can.
The heat and moisture given me blisters on the soles and around the straps of my shoes. We use the bandages we bought in a few weeks ago. Back at 10, the hotel gives us a room with two single beds, no internet, no pool, and no hotel promo. There's supposed to be free wi-fi (is that the single monitor in the lobby? yes... until W sets up his portable router.
We cross the street to eat (4pm.) A gal meets us, hands us a menu, and walks us through our fist meal in China, cold vinegar soba noodles, rice, diced chicken (incl. bone) and mushrooms, cauliflower/brocc. Total of Y44 (under $7), including drinks.
Few people speak English, so I'm thinking diagrams may help. W's take so far, "Mixed." Mine, a grumpy "As expected." I draw a chicken, fish, pig (big X through that, don't want to eat pork), dim sum tray, get the symbol for toilet, etc.
"Punished severely all sorts of crime" warns a sign at the restaurant. We head back via a department store we also visited in JB (BH), stopping at the subway ticket office to ask about passes.
Male persons pee all over. Toddler boys have their trousers cut out to pee on the spot. A mom jumps out of a taxi, holds her son over the curb, and slams the door to continue the trip when she's done. Old men and young piddle against the walls. We have to watch and avoid every puddle near a wall or post. Spit or urine. Take your pick.
"Only one day ticket, no big." We can't get a week's pass for transit, apparently. For those in the know, there's a swipe card.
By 6.30pm, we're in the room with snacks, caught up on email, and asleep by 10.
Sunday, July 26
The sun shines in early, so we head down to the lobby to buy a breakfast ticket. On the second floor, a handful of guests eat toast, a few bites of salad... and the cooks haven't brought out the rest yet. There's no hot water for tea, though the tea bags sit in a plate. We have to go - church starts at 8. Only it's not communion, but "communication."
The church has greeters lining the main road all the way to the bench inside church. We feel welcome, "Today is a baptism service," an English-speaking hostess tells us. The choir director's piercing voice teaches the choir their notes. Then she instructs the congregation in do re mi of The Church's One Foundation. The hymn books have symbols (words), barlines, and 1, 2, 3, for do re me. No notes.
The sound system and flat screen monitors on the blocking pillars contrast with moldings nad bronzed chandeliers. Soon the room is filled to capacity. Greeters in light blue golf shirts send attendees to their seats. A lady's purse is pushed askide for us - there is no saving or hoarding of seats. My ears ring as the piercing voice of the music teacher goes on and on.
"Maybe there's a service later?" W wonders. 8-8.45am according to the posting, then a sermon at 9 - 10.20, I seem to remember from the notice board outside. There would be nowhere to sit, had we waited.
The congregation pitches in to the hymns. When learning a new Western tune, the congregation sings it first in "do re mi" then with words, following their leader after, EEE ERRRR SEN (does this mean 1, 2, 3?) Little pegs jut out from the wodden bench supports for purses.
By 8.20, there's no seat left, but people keep coming. At 8.50, 40 foreigners are ushed to the empty rows behind the baptismal candidates. Six elders in white robes march to the front. Just before 9, the song leader leaves and an elderly pastor comes up, leads in Holy, Holy, Holy (Chinese), and prays.
At the end of every sentence, the congregation chimes in, "Amen." "Amen," indeed, including when he reads from Romans 6 (best we can figure out). Then another person comes up and addresses over 100 people dressed in white in the front rows. They chant "amen" to the statements of the old pastor, and the congregation chimes in. 8 elders come up to the front and kneel around a red circle and pray ("Amen"s all around again.)
29 men are baptized, with the chorus in Chinese of Trust and Obey between each. As they begin to filter back to their pews after dressing, the congregation sings a hymn. The blue usherettes file out to take their places, women to be baptised lining up. There are 84 women.
"Do you wonder that they sang Trust and Obey for the guys and Whiter than Snow for the women?" asks W? Nah, they also sing another two choruses we don't know.
There's an immediate mop-up of the spills around the baptismal tank by women with rags when it's over. The rows of foreigners stand, one of their leaders leading with a guitar, The Splendor of the King (Hillsong?) and jazzing down Amazing Grace to some weird 3/4 rhythm of their own. The congregation sort-of chimes in, willing but puzzled. "Come sing Amazing Grace with us, congregation," invites the song leader after a really long version that has people wriggling in their pews. Apparently they're a team that's completed a summer camp with the church.
The pastor thanks them through an interpreter for coming to help with the young people: "So one day they will be saved, our young people. So his grace will spread over the world."
We sing The Church's One Foundation after the pianist plays the whole verse as an intro. The baptised stand for a charge from the pastor.
"Some of these young women are committing to a life of not marrying," I remark quietly to W. "It's a 4-1 ration of young women to young men being baptized." All but about 25 of those baptized were young adults. The white-robed elders distribute Communion to the new members, who are "amen"ed and applauded by the congregation. Flash bulbs go off in bursts throughout, recording the baptism, the filing to the side of a slip of paper by one pastor before the immersion, the four huge floral bouquets and the hedge of flowers at the front of the stage.
A woman gives a message wtih "Amen" responses. There's a final Lord's prayer and benediction, then dismissisal. W finds an English speaker. "Two Sunday," she replies to how often they have baptism. "Once a year, same time next year."
We head to town for Peking Duck at the longest traditional restaurant, Quanjude. Then it's back to the wholesale male (Yuxiao) a few miles from our hotel. We spend a few hours browsing, then head to the top floor, where I get a pedicure. Both of us get back and neck massages as well.
After sundown, we walk to the nearby lake (1/2 - 1 mile?), get a 20 minute rickshaw ride, and eat lamb kabobs from a street vendor. I find a few sundresses - my shape is old lady, but they save my life the rest of the week with their thin cotton flutter.
Monday, July 27
The driver comes for us at 6.30. An hour down the road there's some kind of police action near the Great Wall. Three cars have rear-ended in the tunnel. "Cable car or walk?" asks the driver.
"Cable car," says W. We enter a sea of cement, a huge parking lot. The Wall: we avoid a swarm of bodies to take the section less traveled. The cable car is being repaired, so we have to walk. We've chosen the steep section - the other side where most people turn off is about 1/3 as long or high.
W is two stations away, nearly at the guard house. He's game, so we head back up. The beautiful view and unrepaired wall are blocked off. It's not as steep as I thought... taking it slow with an UV blocking umbrella from our driver cutting the haze and heat, it's probably 95oF.
Hey, it's incredibly steep on the descent! I don't remember the climb being this steep. Maybe the umbrella blocked my view going up.
"If there were no stairs, I'd go up to the restaurant for a coffee," W groans. He's carrying his camera, a backpack, and assorted gear as we head back to the driver. Oh well, we climb about 20 wet steps to sit down for a jasmine tea anyway.
"Why is she pouring water on the stairs?" I wonder.
"Probably keeping tourists from sitting on them?" W speculates. After a 20 minute rest, we've finished snacking on the JB wafers and are ready for the one-hour drive back to the city.
The driver can't speak English, and he drops us at the McDonalds across from the Summer Palace. He shakes his head, "No English," but arranges to meet us in 2 hours.
We're not THAT hungry, so we go into the Chinese place next door. The cheapest meal is about Y30 ($4). I have greasy noodles decorated with pellets of lamb that would make a Singaporean hiss in dismay. W orders Mongolian beef, which is cold rolled sausage. We're given a side dip bowl of garlic and salt. The dim sum hasn't arrived after we wait over a half hour, so W strokes it off our bill, hands the correct amount (sans dim sum) to the waiter, and we leave.
The North Palace Gate to the emporer's summer palace is beautiful. Anglo-French soldiers burned most of the complex in the 1860s, according to signs in Chinese and English. "Severely provoked, I'd guess," says W. Most of it was rebuilt by subsequent emperors from the original plans.
"No lady, only eating permitted to see," says one hostess standing firmly behind her welcome table.
We seem most of the Palace from the outside, including the lake with paddle-, motor - and launch boats in an ever changing flotilla.
"I've been about as cultured as I care to get," W suddenly says, happily picking up his pace toward the gate. We end at the wrong one and go back into the Palace grounds to find ours... up and down a few more hills, drooping from the heat, throats burning in the dirty air. We're at the car by 2.45, the lateness of the restaurant matching our timetable.
Our driver, hands planted at 11 and 2 o'clock, wades from lane to lane through pre-rush hour traffic. The occasional too of his horn fends off other drivers. We see a few accidents and close calls as cars move from lane to lane. Double orange hoods hang off poles where pay phones stand.
We're home and into the shower by 3.30. Out again for supper at 5, our noses are constantly dry and clogged from the air that hangs over the city. KFC and McD are seemingly at every major intersection and mall.
Little clothing shops, eateries, and other goods lien every street and alley. The Chinese seem industrious, but the heat prevents quick movement. Red, blue, green, dotted with gold, the colors of China. There's a little hot-pot restaurant near our hotel that looks interesting.
The server hands us an embroidered menu and apron each. She brings an earthen pot with a bowl inside, and turns on the table-centered gas burner under it. We must look helpless. She dips lamb, chicken, mushrooms, greens - in that order - then puts tehm on our plates. There's a delicious sour broth. W liked the Peking duck yesterday, but I think this was our best meal for afr.
We're back to the room after a walk around the area... by 8. We write, read, watch Chinese TV. "Beijing is gripped by a heat wave," the announcer says solemnly. No kidding. No wonder it's so hot! I thought Beijing was just a warm place. It's been 35oC (94oF?) today and it's getting hotter tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 27
We'e going to the flea market and tech mall today. We snag two great-tasting sponge cakes and coconut/ lychee popsicles on the way out of the subway. We take Bus 107 to the Zoo, but decide most of the animals will be indoors because of the heat... and the stench will be unbearable. Somewhere is the wholesale mall - finally we get directions, and sure enought1
Six floors of little vendors, three departments stores, side-by-side up the floors. Clothing, shoes, junk, jewelry, ahandbags, luggage... my eyes are weary by the time we're there a half hour. Most of the clothing doesn't fit, but the dresses I bought from near the hotel are Y29 or &39 each (we paid Y150 for three a few days ago, in a haggle that had the husband overruling his wife as we were leaving the shop.) Women seem shrewder and less willing to negotiate for a sale than men.
bathroom notes: every cultues does ndividuality in their toilets. Here are mostly squatters, tear-drop shaped holes in the floor with a hose to flush. No paper - you have to bring your own.
I am usually pointed to the "handicapped" stall, where a Western toilet waits. One toilet is explicit: "No poop. Paper in waste." It tells the story of an overextended sewage syste in the older neighborhoods. In the market, about 40 women are crammed into the bathroom. They're in various stages of using the facilities and undress - trying on clothes or using the toilets without closing the doors. The noise and smell reminds me of a chicken coop, and I back away. Extraordinary. But not in a good way.
Ads pipe good in high singsong or squeaky voices. McDonalds vendors have a particularly annoying 2-line children's song, like an ice cream street vendor's cart on steroids. We shy away from the speakers to avoid the high piercing tones, but Chinese seem deaf to these voices and horns, barely flinching at a loud song or "toot toot!"
A young man steers us to Floor 8 of a computer sales building, but it's not the tech mart. We escape finally and W finds a few fun wrist-rests and compares prices. There's not a thing to interest me on the 6 floors of technology.
We break mid-afternoon to go to the bank, where an assistant takes W to the "elite" counter to change US money for Yuen (approx 1 to 7). W's looking for a tea container like we found this morning at Carrefours department store. We head to another Carrefours where we find Garnier cream I like (@ $7.50 rather than $25 US).
We buy a couple of pastries, but when we get to the checkout, W has to go back to the bakery for barcodes. He is suddeny "done" and wants to go to the hotel.
we've decided not to risk a no-return Thursday from Xian, so we go back to the hotel to uload, eating a chicken doner (like kababa with lamb) on the way.
W says thanks to a gal who wants to give me her subway seat (a young man jumped in and took it.) Hearing that "thank you!" two fellows get up, insist that W and I sit, and grin. It's a short walk/ bus ride form the subway to the hotel. W watches our progress on the GPS so we know when to hop on and off transit. Projectors beam ads along the subway walls, the pictures flickering across cracks, turns, and seams in the concrete walls as we race by.
Wednesday, July 28
We reach the Silk Market via bus and subway. I finally get a UV umbrella and the red restaurant lamp I want. W is an awesome bargainer. After a ruin a bracelet exchange, he forbids me to interfere again. We get a few jade earrings and my peral anniversary necklace before he is too hungry to go further.
Prices begin at 10X inflation. You offer 1/10 or a bit more. "If you can get it, it means you could have gotten it for less," W maintains. The mall does a roaring trade - it's the #1 visited by tourists, booth after booth on floor after floor.
A plump Russian couple edges past me not-so-politely and into the elevator. The wonderful food at the basement food court is full of smells and beauty? How do I ask for rice while W's off food hunting with our money? he chooses chicken rice (with sea grass jelly and broth on the side). I find a mix-as-you-go vegetarian bar, topping 3 quail eggs, with funguses (various mushrooms), fern greens, long beans (green). It's wokked with a black pepper oil that numbs the tongue and adds spice, soy sauce, garlic (all 25 cloves!), slices of ginger, and hot red peppers. No burn, just an incredible combination of flavor with every bite. My nose runs slightly, the first time at a meal since we got here. It must actually be HOT.
The Cath Kidston bag I like is 1/3 the price the vendor Sunday refused to renegotiate. Oh well, I like it and W bargains it my way. "Lady, lady, look! Lady, lady! See. (My bags/ shoes/ T-shirts...)" Sometimes a cacophony of shouts comes from both sides of the aisle.
At the final bus stop, I step down into a tree hole (1 brick lower than the irregular sidewalk beside). Later when I bend to wash my feet in the shower, my back tweaks as though it's compressing. OUCH, like a squishing in my spine. I hop into bed to flatten my back for a few hours - how it hurts when I bend forwards. W heads out to see the boat schedule for another outing, and try to find his perfect tea container while I am relieved to rest. We end the evening with a short (1 mile?) walk to get chicken kababs and a cold cold Chinese yogurt for supper. Two children play with two ropes strung between a scooter and the street barricade. The little boy tugs the front rope, while the little girl spans the ropes and swings back and forth.
Often, kids fall asleep on the backs of scooters, bikes, and cargo trikes as their parents work long house. "Imagine the fenders the USA would require for that!" A grandpa zooms through a bustling mix of cars, busses, and motorcycles, with his 4-year-old grandchild loosely clutching grandpa's belt loop and feet dangling off the bike rack behind the old man.
The flow of vehicles and people is constant. Pedestrians stroll between lanes or traffic at red signals. Bikes and scooters ride the wrong way against bike lane traffic. beeps by busses and taxis warn other vehicles threading in and out of lanes to pick up passengers and riders. It gets light about 6am, dark about 8pm.
I can feel my back, so I'm happy to lie back in bed and read, blog, and watch TV until bedtime. As long as I don't move, the ache is fine. There, but bearable.Thursday, July 29
We sleep poorly.
"Dunno, there's no telling what's in Chinese pastries!" W gingerly handles the innocent-looking bun we purchased last night. He's right. There's a plum-ish layer around a hard egg-yolk? center. We drink black lychee-flavored tea, nibble off the cookie exterior, and toss the rest. My back is sore, but not impossibly so.
W wants to cruise, but we are redirected a few times before we find the launch dock. Several dance teachers and their classes are practicing in the park, everything from traditional Chinese moves to the cha cha. Women dance with women where men are scarce.The open spaces are full of men exercising, stretching, doing tai chi. The women sit, chat, watch babies and toddlers run around. Choirs and brass bands belt out songs and passersby stop to chime in. It must be a national holiday. Everyone in uniform wears a red banner."Fewer want back from Palace, so cheaper," explains the boat ticket official about the Y98 there, Y40 return fee. We've missed the launch, so they are helping us catch up via motorboat. W arranges the fare and a couple of men hand us into a covered skiff. The younger man has just stood up from behind the wheel.
"Whaaaa..." the older man in formal trousers and crisp shirt, taking control of the wheel as he grimaces, scolding as he points to the sweaty seat the youngster leaves behind.
The young man shrugs, grunts, and laughs it off as it quickly evaporates.
We are second on the launch at the next dock, a good thing as 60 more Chinese sightseers pile around into seats around the perimeter of the boats and the central table. All the windows are shut and an air conditioner in the back corner is so ineffective we give up at the front and reopen them for a breeze. Fans are out in force. The Australian man leans affectionately into the Chinese gal who is translating for him in the one seat ahead of us. She edges away. He is hirsute, which probably means his skin is even hotter than the bare-armed Chinese. Ugh.
Old paddlewheelers, piers shaped like boats (compete with hotel rooms over the wharf), and famous landmarks line the river walk. Fishermen prop their fishing rods in the shade of bridges, trolling the green water. Periodically we pass bulrushes in pots, clumped near the water's edge near swimmers who park their bicycles under the bridges and submerge their Speedos to cool off. Our shrill horn greets passing boats and warns off the unwary.
Men roll their T-shirts up to cool their bellies, some looking attractive and fit. In spite of my spaghetti strap dress, it feels like the air is barely moving. W's Ex Officio shirt is soaked through. The two weeks of hot yoga classes have put this heat into perspective. Yes, it is bearable, and not that bad really (37oC, about 97oF) if you don't have to hurry OR work.
We walk miles. I lose count after 4-500 stairs, fairly early on. We take three busses, five subway trains. See Tienanmen Square and poke our heads into the Temple of Heaven. W's sure he's seen a Peking Duck place, so we ride there and back without spottig ot. We hop off a block short of the hotel.
"Well, if you are sure..." W is doutful as I tell him I'm turning in to the alley where I've seen people in and out all week. It doesn't look like much for about a block. Then... the red lanterns signify a restaurant. It's 3.30, but we've had that awful cookie breakfast, a little piece of peanut brittle and a popsicle, and water today. I'm starved. The jerky bus rides and trains have take their toll on my back. I am exhausted and in pain, too.
I head up the steps to the first "Country Cooking Sizuan" shop. The people inside are friendly, a Polytech prof from Hong Kong omes over to translte. He chats with good English. "My secret? I fail all English exam. But still good enough," he beams.
He's a fashion photographer, who takes W's email, pulls out the same camera W has, gets his female student (?) to take our photo, and promises to be in touch. "I'm Sunny" (first introducing himself as Gerald, so don't know what that was about.)
Oh, the food is delicious. Matches the best we've eaten in Beijing, and so close to our place! mushrooms, peppers and tender marinated beef strips for me; vinegar-soaked sweet and sour pork for W, with white rice of course. We finish it all.
W leaves me and my severely shaken back at the hotel to dash back to the tech mall in the evening. Though we are only a mile from the Forbidden City, we'll have to leave a thorough investigation and other "must-sees" for another visit. We're staying in a Holiday House that would make a fastidious traveler shudder, but at $10/night (package tour of $500 airfare and hotel), we are happy with our king-sized bed, the tiny lobby, marked up walls, relatively clean quirky bath (2 flushies minimum, hold the handle down).
We get two hand towels today, our first all week. Perhaps they are the maid's apology for the towel she can't find, tucked on hooks behind the door. The laminated floor plants, supermarket syle A4 photo hung almost at ceiling height? It suits us fine. The hard bed - is there a mattress or did they stretch a few thicknesses of canvas over a frame? - quite ok. The little vendor in the foyer who sells drinks from a fridge and has a shelf full of necessities like tissues and aspirin? Love it.
We've gotten accustomed to not being understood and are pretty good at drawing picture questions. The only trouble is people who answer in a volley of Chinese instead of with drama or pointing.
By 7.15pm, W's not back but I'm dying for a cup of tea. The wireless router uses the only table height outlet, and I can't bend down to plug in the kettle at the remaining outlet near the floor.
With so many people, Chinese TV news is full of floods, fires, and other disasters. The children who die or are killed here may end a family line; most couples have only one child. Children invent many past times with simple materials, like the children swinging on the ropes last night. W returns at 8.30pm.
Friday, July 30
We dress in travel clothes and are instantly warm. Air-con is off and outside it's 37oC (96?oF) W's shirt is soaked before he pulls our luggage into the elevator and arrives at the lobby desk precisely at noon, check-out time. The attendants put our luggage into a waiting area. The driver is in the lobby, an hour early, but waves us on to get lunch. He's eaten at 11, he says.
"Let's try that same place as last night," we agree. I have the beef and mushroom again, while W orders duck and mixed peppers. The meal, Y28, my tea Y30. Strange. The total tab comes to about $15US. I write a note and leave it on the table, thanking them for two excellent meals. Our tip was returned to us yesterday, so we don't try that again.
Our driver is on a mission. He yells at someone on the phone before hanging up on them... while humming along the lanes of a freeway. Beneath the smooth pleasant demeanor of Confucianism is a rage that erupts in conversations and occasionally in fights, as we saw in the Silk Mall the other day. A man was getting pummeled by vendors, egged on by a shrieking wife.
Other than that, he is an excellent driver. "We are so lucky God removes our sins at the clross!" I exclaim quietly to W. We wonder how it would be to have every broken bit of life remain inside a soul.
We weae in an out with the occasional "tooto toot." There is no slowing for bikes or other cars with the right of way. If our drivr feels like going, he beeps and turns - even when our light is red and the other traffic has green.
"He's obviously been successful - not a scratch on the car." We relax as we whize 20 km to the airport.
"Stand. Up." At the airport, I get the most thorough pat-down ever from a security gal who seems to hate me. She lifts my shirt to expose the flesh-colored passport wallet hanging from my neck. She pokes through every pock, ucky her there's a kleenex and credit card in it - my passpost and boarding pass is in my hadn. She waves me off, so I stand near W's stash of carry-on baggage on the security table while W goes through the metal detector.
"No can take. Husband pack, doesn't want wife to put in!" I shrug off the security guard's request to move W luggage, but he laughs and nots. W shows up to claim it and stuff it back into order.
Once aboard, the Malay flight attendants offer OJ (yum) and beer (yuck). The light yeast smell permeates the cabin. "Put that seatbelt on now!" The six-year - old gets a reprimand from his dad, across the aisle.
"Why?" says the little guy, who has come under the quiet watchfulness of the flight attendant. She has done nothing to make him buckle up, but he bounces in place once it's fastened, shooting his big sister with two index fingers.
"That way, sir. There, but you have to go U turn." After landing, an attendant points across the train tracks running down the center of the wing. It's a long haul around to the hotel, and it takes me over an hour and a half to fall asleep. W twice puts on half hours of UCB radio downloads (hymns). The room is cold, plunging us to 20oC (68oF) from the 30-37oC (86-96oF) we've just lived in. The air smells... less smells, more cleaning fluids.
At 5.45, the desk sends a wake-up call, and we hand in the key at 6am. "We could have slept an extra hour!" W exclaims as we wander the halls at 6.30 am. True, but he didn't understand that when I suggested last night that we book the room until 7.
Our gate is changed a few times, which the security guards don't know about until we inquire. "On security, not airlines, sir." He, like the rest of Malay Muslim men, addresses W, not me.
Singapore looks like a garden park as we the taxi drives us to our hotel. The air, breezy and clear, tastes like nectar.
