The End

The Wifi faded during my shower, Lars is away at class, and I’m alone in the B-unit haunt of his Eugene quarters. It’s an appreciably chill space, Lars and a housemate share a semi-basement addition between them. They have a bathroom (with shower), a kitchen area (albeit stove-less), a good hang out area, and a bedroom apiece. The walls have a touch of institution-pallor, but the trappings of student life harmonize well with it.

All told, eight boisterous, sports-lovin’, dudes split the property. Lars and Robby live down here, with the other six holding down the main house. It is incommunicable how much they all love sports,— especially football. As I would be, the B-unit two are glad to avoid the hurly-burly upstairs, though the noise of stomping, as well as air hockey, are not entirely avoidable.

Soon the tides of time wash me back to Juneau. This is my fifth morning here, having arrived from Amsterdam (in Seattle) the evening of the twenty-second. It’s great seeing my brother again after so long, and I’m having a good time, but the academic year is revving up. It’s a temporal slap (if I’m going to pick one “image”) not to be a part of it. Not that I necessarily want to be a student again, not right this moment, not all of me. Never mind that, though, I’ve spent long enough on this little opening, and I haven’t put down a word on Istanbul, Paris, or Amsterdam, which I do plan on doing.

Istanbul—

Istanbul was positively intriguing. Bold, red, flags bearing the star and crescent of Turkey rippled in the fore of golden Minarets and their stately domes. Tea-laden couriers quickstepped through crowds in the streets, alleys, and markets,— sped to hosts of hyper-zealous carpet salesmen. Lounging, sauntering, Turkish cats, smugly entitled despite street life as only felines can manage, blinked from the small darkness’s— sills, plants, construction rubbish, shaded cemetery crannies— while luckier kittens played among tassel-y, shop side, throw rugs, or solicited Kebab morsels from diners. Istanbul steeped daily in wailing prayer calls. Speaker emplacements on the ancient mosques cast worship out over the sea, there to join kindred of a thousand years.

We spent the days, wandering, shopping, eating, and visiting historic elements of Ottoman times. Glorious weather charmed the whole stay, and a good thing too since we walked everywhere. Noon got hot, but often there came a breeze, and it didn’t rain once. Our mornings began with breakfast at home base (the Sultan’s Inn Hotel), often after a bout of sleep forbidding wails (from the mosques), and typically unfolded with a walk to some site— to be followed by lunch, copious straying, meandering, and inspection of minutia. Afterwards came restorative siestas, further wandering, further dinning, and whatever transitory sights night slid past.

I’d be seriously remiss if I left you with no impression of the great mosques. Certain design elements were present across the board, yet each mosque was distinct. The Blue Mosque, near the hotel and first in our exploration, is a cavernous domed building. Arches support the principle dome at the edges, and the structure, like most, widens near ground level to encompass further chambers and minaret foundations. To be frank, the main prayer area absorbed most of my own focus, to the point that I nearly omitted any reference to the overall architecture. But I should mention also the stone courtyard, its central fountain, the knee- height faucets (for washing before services), and the enclosing grounds— a nice swatch of flora within more stone walls. As I mentioned, though, the exterior was not my focus.

Islam does not abide religious images, but it’s adherents, and please excuse any misunderstanding, have contrived to bend the rules with their calligraphy. In shops one finds depictions of boats, lamps, and I’m not altogether sure what else— writ in creative Arabic brushstrokes and bound in geometric patterns. The exact identity of these images often eluded me, but their structure and character left no doubt that they were something. The mosques were covered, inside, with majestic ancestors of these calligraphic designs, often gold on green, but varying in hue. Some were arrayed in bands and lengths about the walls, and these were the numeric majority, but up above, on the dome, were immense circular designs. The largest occupied the center while smaller works (typically four, equidistant from the middle) quartered a circle and held fiefdom over the expanse. It was spellbinding. Hypnotic might be more appropriate. The effect of so much clever, beautiful, intricate, and inscrutable inscription was like the most relaxed, the most languid of subconscious determinations— as if I were compelling the walls around to release their secrets— assured in some ridiculous way that, if I looked on for long enough, the writing would shake loose and rearrange into a compatible format. These tiles, together with the Mosques themselves, conveyed a sense of skill, power, effort, time, and Order approximate to the shadow of a starry sky. However, the Aya-sofia, was too hodgepodge to be wholly included in those praises. It had arches, it had columns, it had tile. What it lacked was harmony.

The Süleymaniye Mosque I liked most of all. In terms of template it shared much with the Blue, but the stone set it apart. The supporting structural arches of the mosques are in plain sight, and whoever built the Süleymaniye was not unconscious of this. The blocks of the arches alternate between what is probably marble, and a soft orange stone whose exact color eludes me, though I can almost see it as I write. Whatever the name, it was that color that set the Süleymaniye apart. And maybe the place had more windows than the others, and perhaps the paint job was new, but it felt open, relaxed, and not as serious as the Blue.

I ought also to mention the windows and the woodwork. The windows of these mosques were honeycomb arrays of small, circular, and somewhat opaque glass panes. These qualities, I learned from Dad, are holdovers from times before practical sheet glass. The disc-pane is the consequence of spinning molten glass and allowing centripetal force to shape a (somewhat) uniform plane. This technique also accounts for the size of the individual pieces, which are limited by the tensile resistance of the glass (against gravity).

People look up in those mosques, hardly ever across, and almost never down. As such, the woodwork was never far from hand, but often further from mind that it perhaps deserved. It consisted mainly of doors, shutters, cabinets, and Koran stands. Tessellated stars were the most common motif, though it’s possible they weren’t truly tessellated, and were frequently, in part or whole, inlaid with mother of pearl. If the desire for further detail should overcome you, consult my father or a book.

We certainly took in the sights. So far I’ve touched on the mosques, with no mention of the subterranean Basilica Cistern— its upended Medusa’s and cruising catfish,— no mention of Top Koppi, the palace of the Sultans, the Mecca of tile. I’ve neglected the Grand Bazaar too: a total labyrinth (58 covered streets, 4,000 shops) of carpet, candy, lamps, jewelry, pottery, and cloth,— a place in business since the late fourteen hundreds. It draws between 250,000 and half a million visitors daily.

Of course there was more. I finally learned what a Whirling Dervish is, and finally locked down an image for Turkish Delight (every American child speculates on the stuff if they read C.S. Lewis). We drank authentic Turkish coffee, made a few local connections (or Dad did) . . . it goes on and on. In retrospect I shouldn’t have left this so late, should have updated continuously. The more I think, the more I remember, ah well.

P.S. – Why isn’t “resode” a word? Reside, past tense.

Paris—

In Paris events would not allow us to stay together, so I spent a few nights nearer the edge of the city in a hostel. I bought a five-day metro pass and rode back in forth in the mornings and evenings. Of course, it was a slight bother rumbling back and forth, but nevertheless an opportunity for people watching. There were performers, surreptitious gate jumpers, kids dodging and yelling, young business people, uncomfortable in ill fitting suits, bands of friends switching venues, entrenched bookworms, flushed, post-workout sports bro’s, and shuffling oldsters. Subways are commonplace to millions of people, but they’re still novel to me; not at all the trains, just the people coursing to and fro. People watching is easy in Paris, some 80% of the world’s beautiful people seem to have relocated to the city since my last visit.

We stayed out of museums except for one smaller exhibit in the Louvre. What we did do was walk, evaluate pastry (emphasis here), and see the everyday sights. Paris being Paris, this was in many ways as good as being in a museum. Actually, I’m remembering now, we did almost visit another museum Mom wanted to see, but it was sadly closed.

Amsterdam—

The scene arriving in Amsterdam was crowded to Chinese densities. A marathon was interrupting normal operations in another (the other, if memory serves) rail station, redirecting all traffic to just the one. No negative consequences, however, were endured and we reached the hotel easily. If anything, the bustle offset the dreary weather. We stayed in the city two days before Mom and Dad returned to Paris. I stayed on for two more nights (MUCH CHEAPER AIRFARE).

Most of the hours went to, wait for it, walking around! There really isn’t a better way to absorb ambiance though, save for moving to a place, so that was ok with me. Curiosities we discovered in the city included: canals and bridges everywhere, everybody on bicycles, homes without curtains, the notorious coffee shops, the Red Light District, and houses with funny roofs and hooks for drawing parcels to the upper floors. The canals were a pleasant surprise for me at least, though I got the feeling most people already knew about them. I must emphasize the amount of bicycle traffic. Bicycle traffic level: high. As my Mom noted, the whole country is flat, which makes cycling super convenient.

On the second day we visited the Van Gogh museum, and I honestly enjoyed myself. It was the baby-bear-porridge-bowl of museums. Prolonged expeditions in typical museums are like stuffing one’s spirit in a plastic bag and hoping it doesn’t asphyxiate before one gets out. But, as I say, this place was just the right size. The art wasn’t half bad either.

I kid, I kid. I often find paintings inaccessible, pointless, or both, but these were wonderful. Vivid is the word, too many paintings are milk toast. However, I didn’t enjoy the still lifes, never been a fan of fruit or flower vases.

Mom and Dad returned to Paris, I stayed on. The remaining time I spent chilling with other travelers from my hostel: The Flying Pig. Hostels are great. Sure, the accommodation is dubious on occasion, but you meet people so easily. It’s like a temporary little network if you land in a compatible scene. Such was the case this time: the room was lacking, but I didn’t spend any time in it except to sleep, so that aspect was minimized. The Flying Pig slept people like sardines, but their basement has some good couches and a nice flat screen. They’ve also got some other common spaces, breakfast is included, they offer free walking tours, and the price is hard to beat. Truth be told, there were many other economical options (several on houseboats) . . . but only for groups of two or three people. The same was true of Paris. Visit Europe with friends!

The End—

I’m back in Juneau and the blog is most likely at an end, for a time. It’s slightly possible I might add a post here now and again, but who knows, who knows. Let me know. If people want to hear what I’m up to (an assumption I will not make) I can find the time to write about it. For those who may have waited on this last post, sorry about that. It just kept getting more anachronistic . . . chuh!

Sayonara Asia

Soon I bid adieu to Asia and fly to Europe, there to take in sights with my parents before, at last, returning to the States. It's been fun, but I'm ready to get out of here. I think I picked the wrong area of Thailand to visit, or as wrong as can be achieved while basically on vacation-- the reason being that this is a vacation place, and where China was full enough of travelers, both solo and in groups, and sights to entertain me, this island is sparse on things to do, and populated with four person family units.

I've occupied myself with books, mostly, for the last several days, and haven't got much to pass along in terms of experiences. I can, though, recommend "Blindsight," a really top notch science fiction novel (which I don't believe has much press), and "Great Expectations" (which is hilarious).

I also have two minor peculiarities to relate. First, every drink I've purchased in Thailand, regardless of size or variety, has come with a straw. Second, gas is sold on the roadside here, in relatively small glass bottles. I infer these bottles are volumetrically appropriate for the ubiquitous island motorbikes.

I expect to enjoy Europe, especially alongside my parents (without whom I wouldn't bother going), but I sure look forward to being stationary again. It's too difficult to eat healthy on the road, and to get regular exercise at that.

Peculiarities

Asia sure has odd notions about western food. I haven’t forgotten the peculiar references to toast I encountered in China— rooted, from all appearances, in some bizarre toast mythos completely unknown in America. All Thai dishes at SR Bungalow have been perfectly satisfactory, if not better, yet this morning confronted me with porridge: porridge in boiling-hot condensed milk. Then, in the evening, the misguided cook ruined his “local seafood spaghetti” with spaghetti-O sauce. It must be said that our “Asian” food is just as far off the mark, but seriously, spagetti-O sauce? From now on it’s Thai food till I hit the west.'

Those spaghetti-O’s left me more queasy than satisfied. So, off I went, looming thunderheads notwithstanding, to secure some milk (milk is pleasantly commonplace in Thailand) snacks, and soap. I also purchased a flimsy umbrella, for the skies burst during the shopping, and a little adapter for my computer. Smaller shops in Thailand, as in China, carry a most convenient array of merchandise. This one sported candy, junk food, cigarettes, all manners of alcohol, a full spectrum of hygiene products (diapers included), power-bars (not the food), other electrical odds and ends, microwave burgers, some deli meats, ponchos, and umbrellas, not to mention items I failed to notice or remember. The lower-48 may stock similar stuff, I haven’t spent much time in their gas stations, so I can’t say, but I’d be mildly surprised.

In China we were on the lookout, if buying sunscreen, to avoid buying the skin-whitening varieties inadvertently. It was never a problem, but there are so, so many whitening products on sale here in Thailand— not just sunscreen. I spent longer than I should have watching Thai television, in un-subbed Thai, a few nights back and the ad segments were dominated by whitening deoderant, whitening body-wash, whitening sunscreen, and just plain old whitening cream. I’d venture they’re as common as weight loss ads in America (which are non-agents in this country).

The downpour slackened as I sloshed back to the beach, though lightning still flashed in the distance, and I saw my first firefly ever! That alone was worth the storm: a most entertaining insect.

Maenam

The coffee here is the worst, even Nescafe puts it to shame, and the only thing on T.V. is Aljazeera. But besides those two (minor) negatives, Maenam is just lovely.
The beach is a tad narrow by tourism standards, but that doesn't bother me, what's important is that it's empty, absolutely vacant.

China to Thailand

Hong Kong------

After Kunming, Hong Kong Internatial Airport feels like a space station, I'm a huge fan. The rooms are cavernous, the surfaces immaculate white, save for bright signage and adverstisments, but the ceiling-- a seemingly endless sea of wave form white and shadow-- is what stands out the most (besides the size).

After looking more closely it seems that what's really doing the trick is natural light. Expansive windows let it in at the sides, and the ceiling above the decorative waves is all slim, white lattice with emptiness abounding. Above it I see a solid roof, but it slants up and away from the center, letting in light at the eaves. With the reflective surfaces (most of them), the space feels even bigger than it is.

I'm wishing for more time in Hong Kong, and I haven't been outside the airport. Nor will I go, since my flight departs this evening. Several hours remain till then, but my exploring will be hampered by the big pack, which I can't check in. Royal Jordinian doesn't come into counter space until 7:00. Such is life.

I can't imagine enjoying Hong Kong overmuch, it is a city after all, but it looked intriguing from the plane-- so many little islands, shipyards, and ships of all manners on the waters. The city seems all near the shore, comprised of neat skyscrapers, yet behind, and even amidst it, are forested mountains. I may be back someday.

The currency here is downright fun to boot: brilliant green, purple, pink, and orange, plus odd, wave-edged coins. Sadly I'm not rich enough to keep money as a decorative item, and I just spend all my HK cash on "A Dance with Dragons."

Bangkok---

Bangkok is humid, more so even than the aftermath of a hot, hot shower. You could cut the air with a butter knife. Inside my hostel, however, it was ever cool as could be asked for.

Saphaipae Hotel was the name of the place, and I was quite pleased with the best bed I've known since the states, showers that actually showered, helpful staff, and a tasty restaurant. I checked in after midnight and had the whole dorm to myself, but was joined on the morrow by a fellow American (though a six year EU resident).

Having accidentally donated my towel to Dali I was obliged to buy a new one. So, Jeff (I'm fairly certain that was his name) and I set out to do some exploring. The first thing, besides the heavy air, that struck me were the smells. I'm somewhat accustomed to the fragrance of a Chinese city, but Bangkok is different. There's a palpable touch of peanut in the air, a fair bit of spice, a tolerable level of left-out-too-long fruit, and, of course, exhaust. The city is populous, but insanely quieter than anywhere I went in China.

We wandered to a larger department store, secured my towel, and had a bit of lunch at the food court. It was nothing special, but faster, healthier, and about six times cheaper than most American fast food. Afterwards we grabbed some ice cream, and that was slightly odd.

The ice cream was normal enough (coconut), but the toppings included dainties I wouldn't fathom on dessert. We had a choice of chocolate sprinkles, toasted peanuts, red beans, corn, two varieties of julliened, mystery fruits/vegetables (mystery because some process had been performed on them), and some weird things most like pomegranate seeds, though they were three or four times larger, and bright, artificial purple.

I saved adventure for another time and took some sprinkles.

Bangkok to Koh Samui------

Bus is not the way to travel in Thailand, not if one can avoid it. I took a sleeper from Bangkok to Suratthani for a mere 1000 Baht (ferry to Koh Samui included). I got there alright, but it took a good fifteen or so hours. A flight, on the other hand, would have done the job in about one. Our cabin, which I shared with an Italian family, was too cold for sleep, and build for midgets.

From Suratthani we took a ferry to Samui. There I left the Italians and hopped into the back of a truck to join some French girls for a ride over to Lamai beach. One of them sported a massive scab, incurred, I learned, at the famed Full Moon Party (an event I've thought of attending, but the internet tells me it isn't what it once was, and is nowadays an over-commercialized, police-infested, hive of luddites). The two of them were rather enamored of it nonetheless.

But, sadly, the internet is not infallible. It informed me I'd find Lamai to be a relatively quiet Samui beach. "Relative to what?" I wonder now. The streets are a pattern of tailors, massage parlors, bars, and hotels. At night the air trembles with the bass of inumerable dance clubs. Lamai is most clearly a vacation destination, and I don't expect to stay overlong. There must be a truly quiet beach on these islands, and I mean to find it.

The Jade Emu

Dave, who owns the Jade Emu, is ridiculously good at pool. There's a little notice on the wall here-- anyone to best him wins a free night's accommodation. Games go on all day, but he never loses. Dave takes two, or three turns in a average game to sink every ball. It's probably no coincidence that his table is the best I've seen in China.

There's a fair sized group here at the Emu. Roni, Phillipe, Jon, Idnn't Mitch, myself, and of course Dave, have spent the day or two playing pool with little interruption. As such, I haven't much news, but it passes the time admirably. Incidentally, "Idn't" is not that persons name, but his nickname. I've totally forgotten the true one if I ever knew it.

The other day I had the most awkward couple of hours. Two fellows I'd been chilling with all day invited me to dinner with their friends. I accepted, but as we collected more and more companions from the city it became apparent that they all knew each other, indeed they were all traveling together, and that they were all German. The only issue was that they spoke in German nearly all night, leaving me with less of a clue than I'd have had with Chinese.

There are so, so many Israeli people in China, and I've figured out why. It's because after the mandatory military stint they're granted a sizable lump sum and encouraged to see the world a bit. They have a huge representation among travelers, at least here. I've met one Frenchman, one Spaniard, one Italian, two Brazilians, five Canadians, only one or two Americans, several Germans, plenty of English people, and a very few northern Europeans, but at least thirty Israelis all told.

Well, bother, I felt I had a lot more to say when I sat down, but it doesn't come to much after all. Relaxing days lie ahead, till the thirteenth, then I fly to Hong Kong.

Dali, text to come soon

I managed to get ripped off again today. A weathered older man scuttled up to me on the street. He wanted to polish my shoes, for a price of course. Initially I refused, and we argued a bit, but eventually I had to admit my Birk’s were looking pretty shabby. The man would shine them for two yuan, and I figured he could use whatever little money shoe shining got him.



He led me over to an alley where he and a friend maintained their heap of business items— three tiny stools, assorted rubber bits, rags, knives, numerous tins and jars, and thread. The polishing commenced. I was pleased the shoes were sprucing up a fair bit, but I ended up paying way more than I wanted to. It began when the fellow brought to my attention a parting, in certain areas, between the leather and cork. He shook his head, sighing, as if it were a great shame. Then quickly he applied glue, and passed it to his partner who began sewing the two bits together, the full length down. This alarmed me a bit, as I hadn't request the shoes be poked full of holes. However, after the initial surprise I could see he knew what he was about, and that this probably was an improving measure. Lastly they bolstered my worn heels, and charged me 102 yuan. I was visibily annoyed. I had planned on paying more than 2 yuan, since they were clearly putting in work and deserved more than .30 cents, but having the price raised on you is a different matter from raising it yourself. Registering my expression, the man explained the cost of the several shoe-operations, all the while glossing over the fact that he’d performed them without telling me first, or asking if I would like them. Sneaky little goblin, I ended up paying what he asked so as not to cause a scene, and also because he had my shoes.



I neglected to mention I’ve left Lijaing, and am now staying just outside the old town in Dali. Some people swear to the superiority of one city over the other, but from what I’ve seen so far they’re not much different. I do prefer Dali though, mostly because there’s a lot more foliage around, but also due to ease in navigation. I suppose Dali feels more alive than Lijiang. People are going about their lives— washing dishes (in the street), making deliveries, chatting with neighbors, and cooking for their families within view. What’s more, unless they’re all paid actors, is that everyone seems to be happy. It’s more vibrant than miles of repetitive storefront.




Honestly I’m astounded at the practically miniature old town. I came here expecting it to entertain me several days at least, but I’ll probably have to look beyond the city limits. Tonight, though, I just feel like resting. Maybe the guesthouse has some books I can borrow.

I'm in a pretty good mood recently, I feel like the body's finally on the mend, albeit slowly. Joy and I have switched off, so I stay up late and she gets up early, which is just peachY. Plus Lao Luao and James have gone on vacation to Tibet, so the days are much quieter.

I've been putting a lot of thought into future (work/education) plans, but results are less than forthcoming. Teaching continues to be an option, but I don't know that I could stomach all the regulations. I do love explaining, and I get along well with young people, but is that enough? Summers would be free, and that's nice, but I have to consider that, even though younger people can be entertaining, I'd spend much of the day without any adult interaction. Talking with people certainly makes the days faster, and usually better, so I'd be loathe to miss that. And again with the regulations, if there's anything I hate doing it's following pathetic rules.

It's also occurred to me that environmental work could be engaging, yet I have little idea of what people in that field actually do, or how to get into it. I have been researching a bit, but information is strangely scattered concerning what I assumed to be a well documented field. Ah well, at least I have this time to think.

More Fragments

It's been awhile since I wrote anything, and there's a reason for that: there's not much super exciting action going down. Not to say that I'm having a bad time, but the day to day events are as routine as can be imagined. I wake up at about seven, sometimes a little later, but nobody knows the difference except me, move out into the main hang-out space, and chill around online until everyone gets up (which is often very, very late). James usually keeps me company during these morning hours, he's supposed to be doing schoolwork, but he's about as into it as any self-supervised twelve year old on vacation. Evenings I spend here, or out at this Irish Inn/bar on the other side of Old Town.

James has a lot of unspent energy. He's bored. His parents are divorced, and he doesn't consider Lao Lua a father figure. He's twelve, and English isn't his native, but I can see he's extremely upset that his parents split up. Couple that with the reality that he has no-one his age to hang out with, and spends the first five or six hours of the day doing homework (or, rather, not, and so gets scolded) alone save for myself. Today, though, we went on a hike together and played some pool. Happy doesn't describe his mood.



^^^^^^^ This is James atop the wall surrounding a t.v. tower at the top of the mountain. Getting up it, with my help, and jumping off it (especially the jumping) made his day, I'd bet a hundred dollars it made his summer. I don't think he thought he had it in him, he had about six false starts. At the end of the day, though, he made the jump.

I very much disapprove of the parenting style, not to mention animal-care style here, and in China at large. It's absolutely draconian-- involving much yelling, strict demands, and little reward. I'm not sure anybody here's ever heard of setting an example and, were you here with me, I'd probably be couching that statement in curses.

People here tie their animals up. And when I say that, I don't mean they have them on a leash, I'm talking like a two foot piece of rope. Fairly often I'll see a dog in an honest to goodness cage, with inch-round metal bars, and barely enough room to lie down. Today, during the beginning of our walk, the family threw rocks for La La (yellow lab) until I went and got a stick. Rocks . . . I don't think they even knew what was wrong with it. Yesterday I passed by a cat, crying, stuck on top of some doors that were leaned up against a business. It was stuck because the fuckwits had it tied by a very short string to the top of the doors. I had half a mind to come back, in the night, and cut it away in the event of its continued presence. As it was I settled for withering disgust broadcast, by my face, to the people nearby. Realistically, there's nothing I can to do change this nation, or even this city, or even this neighborhood. It sure is depressing.

On a brighter note, at last I'm beginning to know my way around. The old town is a maze of alleys, but restlessly coursing them over three hours (the ginger excursion) left me with a solid grasp on the layout. To my utmost frustration that day, I knew I was very close to home, but it took me foooreeeeeveeerrrr to find the right turnoff.

A gripping shot of a hot water heater. This sort of device is found on 99.9% of Chinese buildings.



Lijiang from the mountain. The old town where I live and roam is in the lower left portion:



My back is showing slow signs of improvement. I almost fear to dream of the time when it's mended. This condition is such a drain on daily life that I can't begin explaining it. Every moment of the day is impacted. Hopefully things will shape up. I'm missing Juneau terribly this summer, but I think I've got a little more travel in me at least. I may quit China and see the rest of SE Asia for a bit before heading home.

To my family, I hear things are even more difficult than they should be in this terrible time (for you non family, know that my Grandmother very recently, and unexpectedly, passed away). I know, however, that you must all certainly being doing the best possible for one another.

Miscommunication

"I'm going to store to buy some ginger"

"ginger?"

"yeah, for doughnuts"

"I think you should go to the market, it's cheaper"

"is it close?"

"oh very close!"

"I need powdered ginger though, would they have that at the market?"

"of course"

"really? powdered?

"yes, yes . . . I think you should go there, it's cheaper!"

After receiving a map (hand drawn) I set out for the market. The map was totally broken, the market was quite far away, and I got lost on the way back. There wasn't any powdered ginger that I could find. Before returning I dropped by the very, very, nearby store and bought some ginger like I'd wanted.

Upon my return:

"ugh, I got so lost, but I got the ginger anyway"

"oh! powdered ginger?!"

Settling In

I've yet to rest well since arriving in Lijiang. Laughter, light, conversation-- these normally pleasant things are my unwelcome, yet so far unavoidable, roommates come the small hours of night. I can only hope to adapt, or buy some earplugs.

My encounter with Lao Loa (which is a bit odd to say, I suppose, since I see him every day) is driving me to improve my Go game. The existence of superior players has never escaped me, but I hadn't met one in the flesh before. He's instructing me, after a fashion, at odd hours in the day. His style is peculiar. In matters of life and death, sheer reading moves ahead, I'm actually and clearly, the more capable player. However, Lao has such an advanced grasp of exactly which area of the board needs attention that he crushes me routinely.

Life here is indeed relaxed, but I haven't ventured much into the city. Honestly I've been too tired to think of going out. The sleep dilemma had better resolve before long. Getting up early is fine with me, going to bed early is fine with me, but when people talk and laugh not ten feet from my window till one or two in the morning . . . well that's not fine.



I made doughnuts this morning, with no measurements, no cinnamon, and no butter. They were a hit with our Israeli guests, and also with James (son of the owners), I wasn't entirely satisfied. The common sugar here is such a large grain that it wouldn't adhere to the doughnuts. They tasted alright, only a bit plain. I think the solution will be melting sugar on the stove for dipping. Then, if I can get my hands on any, I can sprinkle spice over the top. Chocolate is a possibility too, but might not be economical here.

James is studying English, summer vacation though it is, and I've been helping a bit. The study materials are atrocious though, they've clearly never passed under any native Anglophone eyes. Despite this his speaking ability is rather high, but he can't seem to stop using "true" for every situation that calls for "correct," or "right." Example: James brings me some coffee, "Is it true?"

Kitchen "essentials"

Perhaps it shouldn't surprise me, but Chinese kitchens, well, homes in general, steer well clear of appliances. Washing machines are pretty normal, but as I’ve noted before, dryers are nonexistent. Crispin, a perfectly intelligent fellow, assumed yesterday that the washing machine required manual assistance to fill up, only because even washing machines are still not the norm. Back in Yantai, Andy told me that older generations in China will sometimes wash things by hand, even when they can afford not to, out of mistrust for newfangled contraptions.

Of the homes I’ve visited, none contained an oven or a refrigerator (where fridges are present freezers are often absent), to say nothing of things like mixers and blenders. Neither will one much knife diversity: a giant cleaver slivers and dices the necessary reagents. Task specific dishes, pots, and implements (for example: measuring tools, whisks, any baking related dish) are nowhere to be found. Rice is usually cooked in a separate rice cooker, not in a pot, and one or two pans suffice for the majority of dishes. The efficiency is appealing, but it’s also downright annoying if one’s trying to make western food.

The absence of a refrigerator, in particular, is vexing. I do want to cook here, but without butter, or milk, or cream, many standard western recipes are downright impossible. It is possible to obtain milk and butter, but not very practical when they can’t be kept more than a day. As for cream, I’ve never seen, or heard, of it’s sale. Bread I can still make, although perhaps a limited variety, since I won’t be finding bread flour, or even “normal” flour here. But be it the staff of life, or no, one cannot live on bread alone. Not that I need subsist on my own cooking, but you get the idea.

Butter, butter, butter, most of the “simple” things I’d make hinge on butter. Muffins, cookies, biscuits, pie-crust, donuts . . . anything like these must have butter or fail. And that’s only half the battle, cake pans, pie tins, and muffin tins are not worth purchasing myself, to say nothing of the inability to measure precisely, and the further inability to procure measuring tools!

I suppose this is turning into a rant, but I’m not really grumpy, just bemused. Lao Loa (or something like that, the owner) was saying maybe I could cook something basic for western guests, like a hamburger. Obviously I can cook hamburgers, but one doesn’t cook a hamburger without buns, ketchup, pickles, or cheese! There’s precious little staple-ingredient-overlap between our two cultures, but I suppose we’ll work around it somehow.

Air Quality!

I left Yangshuo on Monday, after a lovely weekend of food poisoning. Back I went to Guilin, where I waited for a few hours before the overnight train to Kunming. This time around I bought a “hard sleeper” ticket, but I didn’t regret it. The only significant difference between hard and soft, apparently, is that in hard there’re six bunks to a compartment, as opposed to four, and there’s no door. This time I remembered to bring some ramen noodles along too.



Once in Kunming it didn’t take long to find a bus bound for Lijiang. I suspect I was gouged on the ticket price, but I decided to pay it anyways since I didn’t know how long it would take me to find the official bus, there didn’t seem to be many English language interfaces around. At any rate, I got on the bus and assumed the catatonic bobble-head position for a few hours, until the driver motioned us to depart and transfer to another vehicle. An enthusiastic man welcomed me to the back middle seat, he was an English professor, and asked me if I’d ever been to Dali before. Oh, I rejoined, is this bus going to Dali? It was, and that’s why I’m in a hotel in Dali right now instead of the Enjoy Inn in Lijiang. I probably could’ve made it to Lijiang today, but my butt hurt and I wanted a shower— I’ll just get a bus in the morning. At least I got a good deal on the hotel, I asked the cabby to take me somewhere I could stay for eighty Kuai. This is where I ended up, and eighty is what I’m paying, but the rates on the wall say a hundred and eighty-eight per night.



I’m loving Yunnan already. It’s the first place I’ve been (in China) with acceptable air quality. The sky is actually blue, and, I don’t know why, but the clouds are amazing. Maybe it’s not like this every day, but they’re just ridiculously tall and billowy. That’s how it is in Dali at least; I hope things are similar in Lijiang.

Thursday—

The boss plays Go, and he’s good! We played two games last night and, while I sure wasn’t in my best form, I can tell he’s severely stronger than I am. Hopefully we can play more in the days to come, provided it’s not too boring for him.



I finally made it to Lijiang yesterday and, as per normal, it was a regular whirlwind. I met the family who owns the place, their dog, their cats (the non skittish one), and went out on a little walk with some guests to explore the area. The little walk was more like a hike, and a thunderstorm caught us near the top of the little mountain we were climbing. But, it was no big deal. To our mutual surprise, the guests and I share a common interest in Anime— even a shared interest in specific series, so we had no shortage of conversation topics (would you believe they also read The Song of Ice and Fire and The Foundation? Nobody reads The Foundation!).



Dear, dear, apparently I don’t feel like writing this morning, but I will soon. I foresee no shortage of morning writing in Lijiang. The family stirs itself around ten, and until then the place is empty save for myself, and the few guests who need the door opened.

Little Update

Egad! This guy should be viewed separately to really get a feel for him



This is the lovely visitor I found on the floor last night. I shooed him out, but he scuttled right back in. The dark door crack appealed to him. Finally, I got him to the hallway, where I found this frog, before meeting the giant moth in the bathroom. The insects of this place are quite exotic to my Alaskan sensibilities.

He's small, but he's there:



This bugger was big:




A miniature horror landed on the pool table the other night— probably seven inches long, including the jaws, about 1.5 inches, which creaked loudly by squeaking its wings (It’s not all horror though, the butterflies are perfectly splendid). Abel took many pictures, perhaps I can send away for one, and maybe I can capture some shots before I leave.

The tickets aren’t purchased, but I plan to leave Yangshuo this weekend. I think I’ve seen pretty much all there is to see, and most of the people I knew (even the some of the students) are gone. My next stop is Lijiang. There I have another volunteer opportunity,— interacting with foreign customers at a small guesthouse. That in itself doesn’t interest me, but the place has a small, unused, café which I can apparently bend to my will, even to point of making money if stuff actually sells. They have an oven too, the first I’ve encountered since landing in China! How I long to bake some bread, the selection in stores here is absolutely unbearable. Even bread from bakeries seems a bit off.

There’s not much of note to mention. I played Go with a Chinese man in the park the other day. He was good, very near my own level, hard to tell if slightly above or below, but he lost in the end. The game was awesome though, I tried and tried to kill his shapes, but never succeeded. Still, I used the threats to dictate the flow of play and squashed his territory, thereby minimizing his points to a fatal degree. Much fun was had, hands were shaken, he complimented me (you play like a Chinese), and we both took us off, late, to our respective dinners.

I probably owe the structure of that last sentence to “The Worm Ouroboros,” an early book of fantasy written in Jacobean prose. I finished it the other day, but the odd turns of phrase have yet to dissipate from my brain. It was an excellent book: curious, in that the names, both of places and people, were bizarrely uncreative (for the places), and weirdly inconsistent (the people), but possessed of an uncommon elegance in illustration. Normally I hardly scan, or abide, lengthy, overwrought, descriptive passages. But the author of this book, though his sentences trailed on for clause after clause, paced things so well, and chose words so carefully, that every spellbinding fragment seemed at once clear, important, and poetic. The villains were villainous; the heroes, heroic. It read like a Greek epic cast in Fairy Land.

As it happens, I just read the Wikipedia entry on the book and found this explanation for the names:

'Many people (including J.R.R. Tolkien) have wondered at and criticized Eddison's curious names for his characters (e.g. La Fireez, Fax Fay Faz), places and nations. According to Thomas, the answer appears to be that these names originated in the mind of a young boy, and Eddison could not, or would not, change them thirty years later when he wrote the stories down.'

End Times

The view from a small hill in the park:



Well, our temporary little Yangshuo crew is dissolving. By now Abel should be in Beijing. Jordan left last week, and Hamza and Veroni are leaving on Monday. I think I'll finish out next week before taking off for Lijiang. Apparently I don't have the energy to write just now, I'll have to come back later.

Group picture at the secret beach:



About to jab Amir with the bamboo (the door locks at 12:30, somebody has to let us in):



More Guangxi landscape:

Rest For the Weary

Today, I rest. A lot of people are going to Moon Hill, but I won’t be joining them. Bicycles in Yangshuo are too small to ride in comfort, plus it’s not my nature to be so busy day after day, night after night. We all went out Tuesday and I said that would be it for the week, but I got lured out again on Wednesday by my English Corner group. They were all going to a masquerade party a bar, “Mojo.” I had to stay late and talk to Kim, about co-hosting a speech contest the next day (yesterday), so I couldn’t rustle up a mask. Still, I figured it’d be a good time, and I figured right.



As the night wore on a fellow noticed my “dancing” and came up from across the bar with a proposition. About five seconds later we were doing this on the dance floor: Acro-yoga.



I handed my camera to Abel, who took these shots. Sadly the coolest position is missing from the record, but oh well.



Sai, I learned his name afterwards, did most of the work, talking me through what needed doing, and adjusting things with his feet, but it was totally exciting flipping around in the air. It's a very small world. I discovered later that he’d learned Shaolin style at Kunlun (the school I almost attended, where my master used to teach). There’s not a lot else to say about the evening, it was fun, but nothing much to write about. I just felt like sharing the pictures.



So, that was Wednesday. On Thursday I hosted the speech competition with Kim. It was a bit odd, the Chinese a have a different sense of event planning and public speaking. Everything must be planned to minutia, and everything must be applauded. Up till the last second Kim was scrounging around for an intermission performance. He had his heart set on Hamza dancing, but Hamza fled the school rather than accept. It was a necessary measure. Kim actually left in the middle to go look for him. However, the whole thing went off well enough, and I got a Zhuoyue College T-shirt for my trouble, which I may stash away until I hit the sates again (the rigors of Chinese washing are extreme).


For reference, from the left: Hunter (terrible at directions), Jordan, Abel, Hamza, Veroni, Seby (Sea-be)



Nothing, by design, happened today. I watched Iris vs Savior on youtube, ate, slept in, watched Kung Fu Panda, and not much else. Hamza and Veroni are similarly engaged. As for Abel, who knows what he’s doing— probably out with his camera. He’s an Ecology Major with a keen dedication to photography. He borrowed my computer the other day and I got to see some his shots, mostly of butterflies, birds, and snakes, they were spectacular. I half thought about asking for a copy, I may yet.

Jordan, Vitchen, Abel, and Myself

Highlights

Friday began the worst of my Yangshuo days. I’d agreed to go along on a bike expedition to nearby Shinpin. Nearby, though, is a relative term. On bikes the average transit time is two and a half to three hours, but because I had the whole day before me, I wanted some exercise, and because the company seemed promising I brushed the details aside. Our ride over was pleasant enough, but things took a sour turn.

We had no sooner arrived in Shinpin central than a flock of hawkers zeroed in trying to sell us bamboo raft rides. We repelled them earnestly and went on our way. I’m fairly accustomed by now to the pushy insistence of all Chinese vendors, but one woman just wouldn’t quit. She followed us, we on our bikes, she on her electric scooter, around town for over half an hour. When we finally stopped to rest so too did the harpy.



I was closer at this point to robbing the woman and pushing her into the river than patronizing the bamboo-raft economy, but to my dismay she managed to entangle over half the group in negotiations. These went on for an hour and a half. I voiced my opinions as strongly as possible without being a total jerk. They were as follows: we never intended to go on a ride at all, any lower price we achieved would still be much higher than zero, the small sums at hand weren’t even worth the time wasted already, we could expect with certainty that, were we to accept, the boat would deposit us in some tourist-trinket-bazaar belonging to this woman’s family, and that, first and foremost, we should refuse it all on principle rather than reward her appalling behavior. In the morning I’d assumed that with six hours total of biking, and probably two or three in Shinpin, I’d have no issue making it back for Vichen’s party at seven. However, it was already two o’clock. We’d whiled away two hours doing nothing but haggle, still needed lunch, and the boat trip was expected to consume two more hours.
Despite my best efforts we lunched at an establishment belonging to none other than Raft-crone’s sister— the food was abysmal and on this everyone agreed. Then came the raft, the unavoidable swindlers, and finally it was time to leave. Noting the time, and seeking solitude to settle my dark humor, I put on all speed, abandoning the others, as soon as I was sure of the way and arrived back around six.




Friday-six-o’clock-Taylor was hot, tired, grumpy, and didn’t much feel like a party. I knew, though, that the girls would be disappointed if I bailed, and I also knew, in the back of my mind, that I could probably cheer myself up in the right environment. I collected Abel, a newly arrived volunteer from France, met Jordan, hooked up with Vichen and her friend, and off we went together.

The party, when we got there, was far larger than I expected. It was held in a vast courtyard, filled at the time with tables, chairs, and people, with a stage (probably 15x50 feet if I had to guess) opposite the gate. Vichen dragged us whiteys to a forward table, crowded with seven or eight girls already (I don’t know why, but the students at their school, and ours too, are predominately female), and another round of introductions began. Drinks were free, snacks were free, and as usual everyone confused Alaska with Las Vegas. I’m not sure how to account for it, but something like ninety percent of Chinese people confuse the two.

“Where are you from?”
“Alaska, it’s in the United States.”
“Oh! You must really like to do gambling!”

We were all warming up to each other when Vichen asked me something disturbing: “Soooo what have you prepared?” I replied that I hadn’t prepared anything and wasn’t aware of a need. “Nooo,” she mock whined, “you promised to do a song or a dance!” Then I remembered. I had grudgingly agreed that I might dance at the party (but certainly never agreed to sing!) the day before. However! I assumed, as anyone would, that I was agreeing to dancing of a normal sort: that is to say with other people, on a dance floor. All the while, though, students had been coming and going from the stage to deliver their own dance/song routines. In a flash I understood, she wanted me to follow suite.



My refusal was adamant. One cannot, without some serious training, improvise a dance routine, especially to music one had never heard before! Neither can one sing a song (At all! Never mind badly!) if one doesn’t remember the entirety of any lyrics. As the entire table joined in cajoling the situation started to get out of hand. So, in order to pacify them, I assented to join a group performance of something like a Chinese incarnation of the Chicken Dance. I’d be among others, and the whole point of the thing was to be silly, so I felt fine about messing it up. Up I went. Down I came. I considered the situation resolved.

Vichen was not appeased. She still demanded a song. Emboldened by success and a few drinks I set about internal browsing for songs, but I was hard put. I’m not a singer, I don't make it a point to memorize lyrics. I'd be surprised to remember words to anything (besides, possibly, a few Disney tunes). In the midst of this process voices called me back to the moment. There was about to be a Taiji performance. “Go! Go!” I was encouraged. Everybody knew already of my interest in Kung Fu. I resisted, not wanting to make a fool of myself amidst people who actually knew the style. However, I was told that only the master really knew Taiji, and everybody else up there was simply about to try keeping up with him. That, I thought, I could handle. Up I went again.



What followed was a miserable example, on my part, of Taiji, but it was nevertheless a brilliant success. Nobody else could keep up with the master, he performed the form very rapidly to music, and they left the stage to us. Thanks to my flexibility, martial arts exposure, and to the fact that I was deep in “the Zone” I kept up with him nearly perfectly through everything from cloud hands, to spinning crescents, to a tornado kick dropping to a low, low one-foot stance (which I’d never seen before but accomplished anyway, and flowing Taiji aesthetics: feats that garnered cheers, a first among firsts for me. Of course I made mistakes, but I was, for lack of other words, on fire. I glossed over the rough parts with anything I could smoothly match a transition to for a moment, and I don’t think the audience could tell the difference. We closed the form and I left the stage in extreme exhilaration, ascending for the rest of the night to mini-celebrity status— the recipient of many a congratulation, compliment, and request for pictures. I won’t forget that night any time soon, but I have a souvenir just in case: a scroll with “Dragon” on it that the host scrawled and presented to me.

We stayed at the party until it broke up before heading out to eat with the girls, and that’s all I care to write for the moment. It was an awesome time though, truly awesome.



I've also gained the ability to do the "lotus" sitting position without warming up. I'm pretty exciting. It's the ideal seated position, because you have three points of contact with the ground and you can sit perfectly straight with no effort.

Guilin to Yangshuo

There's still a lot of settling down to be done, and I have plenty of stuff backlogged to post, but right now everybody's sleeping and I think I'd best do it later. These are some pics from yesterday though, context will follow shortly.



After setting up camp in Yangshuo I assumed things would settle down, but they continue to move as fast as ever. I’d been walking in Guilin for about thirty seconds before a woman darted out: “Help? Do you need some help?” She was on the clock, and not entirely altruistic, but she spoke English and asked my preference ; bus or boat? Boat seemed the obvious choice and off I went. The trip up the Li river took practically all day, but I had some awesome company, namely a German girl, Katrina, a New Yorker, an expat from Macao, and his girlfriend from Brazil. Thankfully, we all got along. The day was well spent admiring the unique Guangxi scenery.




After landing in town I made my way to Zhouyue English College in time to eat dinner and conduct English Conversation Corner directly afterwards. Conversation corner is blast everyday so far, everyone is curious about Alaska, and especially Kung Fu once they figure out why I’m here. The young people at school have no clue about Kung Fu at all, to them it’s basically magic, and they love to hear about it. But, conversation drifts wherever we want it. On Thursday I talked forever on carpentry tricks of Dad’s and old, European superstitions.



Man, I don’t think I can organize these thoughts into anything coherent. The days, only four of them, have been so packed it feels like a lifetime since I got here. Thursday is a great example of this. I woke up, showered, set out to familiarize myself with the town, and walked for a long time. I knew I was getting myself lost, but I didn’t mind. It’s a small town, and I knew basically the direction I needed to get back. Eventually I’d been going so long I figured I’d better start running, or else miss lunch. So I ran. Somehow I ended up in a park. Chinese attendants accosted me, demanding 50 Yuan for admittance. But, I figured I wasn’t there to enjoy anything, and certainly not on purpose, so I shouldn’t have had to pay. They were impotent young women, so I made an executive decision and ran past laughing like a villain.

I expected to wind up on a certain road; instead I wound up in the forest. Nevertheless I was confident in my course, I must have just misjudged the distance. The hunch proved correct and I emerged in the center of town, totally muddy, scratched, and exhausted in time for lunch. We ate, and I left to wander the town. Before dinner I gave an hour’s speech on western cooking, and then two more hours of conversation afterwards. Then, as I was leaving the school, two Chinese girls ran up to me. They were students from a different English school, visiting for a couple days in Yangshuo, with a homework assignment to speak to foreigners and collect their signatures as proof. Since I live in a hive of foreigners I led them around collecting signatures, before meeting up with Jordan, after which we set out for West Street in search of strangers.



West Street lasted awhile (I’ll need to write a small passage on it one of these days), we collected a lot of signatures, I bought a Go set (the stones are nice, actual stone like my ones at home, but the board is just a cloth), and we ended the night at rooftop bar. The girls pressed us to attend a party the following day, to be thrown by their school upon the conclusion of their Yangshuo visit, and we accepted happily. I got home late and went to sleep immediately.

Qingdao to Guilin

Note to everyone: these next few entries were all jotted down in my notebook while I travelled apart from electricity. None of it has been revised, and hardly any of it is well thought out. What’s more, I’m typing it out as fast as I can without looking at the screen much, so there’ll probably be a few typos. Feel free to skim, or come back to it a few days later by which time I may have come back to elaborate and improve. I may not, though, because there’s just so much. I had nothing else to do on the train but record idle thoughts.

I’ve just arrived in a flurry inside my train, carriage 10, compartment 033, departing from Qingdao. A bemused Chinese man is staring at me while he eats his strawberries; he can hadly be blamed, I’m sure the excitement and relief written all over me must be funny enough. Boarding was a breeze, if a rapid one, thanks to CS member qI lI, but a touch of panic, bled over from a parallel, Qi-less universe has yet to fade.

Before arriving in Qingdao I posted to the resident CS group asking if anyone would be so kind as to help a poor Laowai (foreigner) through the boarding process. Feedback was diverse. More than one informed me that the train was, hostely , not such a big deal,— and that asking for help was completely unnecessary. Thankfully two earth-angels , Karen Qi and Qi Li, messaged back say ing it would be their pleasure to help me out. As it turned out, Karen had an unexpected engagement on Sunday, but she did offer to show me the station on Saturday, and to take me around the city a bit.

When we arrived a the station Karen took me as far as the station door security. To go farther, she asserted, required a ticket and, thus, was as far as she could’ve taken escorted me, even if Sunday was an option. Now, initially I’d planned not to impose on Qi, but hearing this changed my mind and I quickly messaged a request for help the next day. He consented readily and I went about the evening more at ease.

First she walked me around the seaside district. There’s a strong German influence in Qindao with over 100 years of history (eident in the architecture of the older buildings (including the trainst station) and in the native, nation renowned beer). Maybe it was sheer coincidence, but I met three Germans in the city that night.
Next we headed inland to meet a friend for dinner. The friend was late, however, so Karen showed around what I can only describe as a “Chinese Diagon Alley”— a narrow, closed in lane of stone, every foot of which played home to small, ornate restaurant fronts. Most of the stores were equipped to seat no more than 8-12 people, but apparently that’s all they require. Eventually the friend did show up, we ate, and went on to play cards with a few other surfers (including a Seattle-ite).


--------- The Next Day ------------


On Sunday, that’s today, I met Qi, packed by things and left the hotel. At the deks they tried to give me some noise about returning my deposity and charging me for my stay. I wouldn’t have minded, but I never paid any deposit and had already dealt with the rent when I checked in. My guess is the desk women on Thurdsy just let me pay my stay rather than trying to explain the whole deposit thing. The English interface at the hotel was sub-par, althougth I liked everything else about it.

Like his counterparts (from the night prior) Qi was slow to warm up, preoccupied with his low level of English despite years of study, but eventually we began talking fluidly. There were five odd hours to kill before the train arrived. E spent them talking in a McDonalds near the station. He was curious about my impression of China. What were some big differences between his country and my own? I tread carefully when this topic arises. So many of the differences are unflattering, and it’s hard to discuss them without coming off as rude. Once difference I did mention was of gait. Chinese people walk differently than Americans— the differences in motion are subtle, but I’d say the main thing that stands out is a kind of motion barrier at the waist: their upper bodies are like statues as they move about.

At the station, Qi aired a cultural difference I’d glossed over in pursuit of manners. “Chinese people,” he remarked, half in observation, half in explanation or apology, “do like to li— do not like to queue.” And that is the just case. Everywhere one might expect a line is host instead to a stampede. So many people cut, push, and disobey the joint cause of order that it’s completely baffling. Only the night before I’d been googling “lines in China” to assure myself I wasn't suffering some hallucinatory psychosis. I wasn’t: Chinese people, at least good portion of them, have no regard for waiting in line.

“Queue,” though had been the word Qi reached for. His English had tinges of Britain all through it, and his vocabulary was vast, though many of the words had never passed his words before. He confessed to an educational paucity similar to Japan’s,— students drill English hard, but never practice speaking or conversation. The effect was that we sometimes wrote back and forth to clear the confusion, as if one or the other were deaf. Eventually 17::00 rolled around and we walked over to the station where I was immediately gladder than ever to have Qi along.

Security, the first layer at least, did not require tickets. When we got to the second layer it was different, nevertheless Qi begged passed the guards all the way into the train compartment itself. I wouldn’t say more than ten minutes passed between entering the station and settling in my bunk.

I would, without any doubt, have missed the train without his help. The station was a swarm of people with at least 1000 in the waiting room (more like cavern) alone. Furthermore, the signage was 100% Chinese characters. I could’ve muddled through the memory game with time, but not quickly enough to board, that’s for sure.

------------- Later -----------

I’ve woken up now it’s the morning of the 16th. The night went by . . . how should I say . . . both slowly and quickly. I shared the cabin with three snoring Chinese men, and felt as though I slept in a running washing machine. Despise these conditions I slept well, but not without strange dreams. I dreamt I was a skeleton whose job it was to dance in a doorway and rake my hands back and forth, I felt pretty silly about the work, but was informed that to the people outside the door (who must be kept outside at all costs) it was terrifying— so I’d better not stop.

As I was saying, it’s the morning. A new passenger woke me with her banging at the door. There’s a little fold out metal tab to keep it from sliding open, and it was locking her out. So now it’s two old guys, me, and this cute Chinese girl. Thank goodness I bought this rate of passage— I think a seat, or even a hard sleeper faire would’ve been unbearable.

A new challenge is before me: while I was satisfied last night to lay in bed, basking the glory of not missing the train, today I haven’t got anything to eat. At some point I’ll need to venture forth, in search of the dining car, but I have little idea as to where it is. I can hardly get lost on a train, though, so I better just suck it up and go. But, first things first, gonna go brush my teeth.

I found the food. After walking to the end of the train and back, in the wrong direction, I discovered the dining car was only one carriage down on the other side.: there I bought some packages and retreated to my compartment. I had some sort of nutrition drink, a few little sausages, and a large, foil wrapped mystery item in shrink-wrap. I didn't know what lay contained, but I felt it might be worth eating (it was the largest of the things on sale). De-foiling it revealed the entombed the carcass of half a bird. It was very, very messy to eat, but it tasted ok, and I’m not starving anymore.

------ Later ------

The Chinese passengers prepared for the journey more adequately than myself. It would have been smart to lay in provisions in Qindao, Qi even advised of it, but it slipped our minds. Not so the Chinese, some parties of whom carry cases of beer and peanuts to supply their day long card games. Ramen noodles are also in abundance, joining the ranks of a vast host of foreign junk foods.

The girl is joined by a friend. They’re both sitting across the way, facing me, silent as stones. I’d rather they didn’t, but there isn’t anything to be done. If only they’d talk.

Well, that was intense! Suddenly the people in my carriage all decided it would be a good time to get to know me. I’ve received several phone numbers and an invitation to Li Bao Wei’s home in “An-yan.” I don’t expect I’ll ever take it up, but it was a nice gesture. He was one of my chief conversation partners (along with his friend and a woman, Huang Jiang, who is also going to Guilin— something I’m glad of, for now I’ll be less nervous about missing my stop tomorrow.)

My Mom’s Mandarin phrasebook came in extremely handy this afternoon. Without it I’d have been a good deal more lost (though hardly possible). We talked of Alaska, greater geography, Chinese language, and, to some extent, interests and hobbies. It took a long time to get anything across at all, still they were favorably impressed with my meager Chinese. I managed to get a few jokes off, and my desire for train travel has been justified.