These are a few of my favourite things

Awakening

Have finally returned to the land of living, after wandering about for the last week or so in a sleep-deprived haze, exhausted but unable to rest. “This must be what it’s like to be an insomniac,” I told myself one night during a particularly stubborn spate of sleeplessness, and shuddered. My jet-lagged state made it remarkably difficult to master any task requiring mental acuity (such as brushing my teeth), and I can only wonder what the clients I visited on my second day back to work thought of my presentation skills. Not to mention my cough and hoarse voice (both of which disappeared today just as mysteriously as they came) that together made me sound as though I had been smoking Players unfiltered for thirty years, or had what Reese Witherspoon—playing June Carter Cash in Walk the Line—sweetly called “the laryngitis” (insert appropriate West Virginian accent here). At any rate, I was not my shining best. But I am back. 

I had all sorts of energy tonight, and so Abby and I decided to make a recipe that I found in a parenting magazine. A parenting magazine.

Here’s the thing: I’m not a fan of parenting magazines. I feel they set the bar awfully high for those of us who are just doing our darned-est to get through a day. I also feel (and this is the budding psychotherapist in me speaking now) that they reduce important issues to fit into a double-page-spread-two-column-grid-with-stylish-full-bleed-photography-and-lovingly-kerned-pull-quotes magazine format. But I received a freebie with a subscription for Abby and flipped through it absently as I tried to keep it together one night around 8:00pm.* 

Well, it was fairly standard going for the most part. You know the drill: celebrity Mom profile, what to do with a clingy child, how to know if your child is gifted, etc. The best bits were the recipes, of course, which actually sounded interesting. “Lunch box” ideas. Hmm. (Aside: you should know that I have a strange obsession with making my daughter’s lunch everyday. I take pride in sending her on her way with a well-crafted, good-and good-for-you midday meal. I was totally chuffed recently when one of the daycare teachers commented on her healthy lunches. What could this mild obsession of mine possibly mean? Perhaps the answer lies in the pages of a parenting magazine.)  

At any rate (as I do rather like to chronicle my culinary successes) I followed one of the recipes tonight (kid-tested and all) and made a soup with ground chicken, baby spinach, carrots, chicken broth and lots of basil and thyme. Oh and pasta. It was delish. The meatballs (poultry balls?) were loosely based on Jamie Oliver’s recipe (substituting ground chicken for ground beef) and made with rosemary, dijon, breadcrumbs and egg so I guess I improvised a little.

Off goes the leftover soup in the lunch thermos tomorrow.

It’s good to be back.

*see opening paragraph.

Zai Jian

Yesterday was a glorious day. An hour long bus ride delivered us mid-way up the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall. It was well worth the trip. It’s a gorgeous section of the wall, high into the mountains with breaktaking vistas. It was a cloudless day, and the air felt fresh, the 30 degree temperatures comfortable after the 46 – 49 degree heat of Changsha and Chenzhou. The kids loved the cable car ride; I loved the climb and the walk along the uneven stones.

On the way back into Beijing, we stopped at a lakeside restaurant, a friend’s suggestion. It was our first experience dining al fresco in China. We selected our catch of the day (poor fishy) and it was expertly scooped from the water and roasted to perfection on the outdoor barbeque, unquestionably the best fish I’ve ever eaten anywhere. We dined waterside at the foot of a craggy hill. The Tsingtao was in good supply and we delighted in the extraordinary food, the sights and the company. The kids wandered waterside and played with the ducks. What a fabulous end to our trip.

Today is the last day of our adventure and my last post from China. Suitcases are packed, treasures safely stowed in our bags.  A whirlwind visit to the Beijing’s 798 Art Zone and then off to the airport.

It has been the trip of a lifetime.

Enroute

Today is a travel day. We’re saying good-bye to Chenzhou, and heading back to Beijing, via Changsha. This means a 4-hour bus ride, followed by a 2-hour flight, so a bit of a haul. As I am typing this, the girls are quiet, plugged into my ipod and listening to a play list I created for the trip.

The countryside is so beautiful: mountainous and green. As we head north, the mountains will gradually give way to rolling hills, dotted with rice fields and low red-brick farm houses. I like our bus driver. We can’t communicate with him in words but he seems an affable guy.  David accidentally ate a hot pepper at lunch the other day (not a lover of spicey food is he) and it brought a broad smile to our driver’s face, and made him laugh heartily.

Yesterday we went to a Buddhist temple, poised high on a mountain top overlooking Chenzhou. The vista was simply breathtaking, mountainous forest all around, blue sky. It was unbelievably hot as we trekked up the last few steps, but pleasant enough in the temple, cool even, and the breeze refreshing on our damp skin as we gazed around, drinking in the sights. The boys took hundreds of photos, and I leaned on the stone wall, listening to the intermittent sound of the gong, wondering if I could fly. I think the incense was getting to me.

In the afternoon we took the girls to a hair salon across from the hotel. Possibly the highlight of the trip for them, and unquestionably the best 10 RMB I have ever spent (which, incidentally, translates to about $1.50). The stylists washed, dried, and curled their hair, while the girls smiled and giggled and delighted in the attention. The curls dropped the instant we walked outside, but they loved the idea that they looked like ‘real’ Chinese girls.

The food here has been incredible, particularly in Hunan, and ridiculously inexpensive.

It’s late now, I am road weary and ready for bed. We’re back in Beijing and settled into our hotel. Pearl Market tomorrow along with an evening show, followed by the Great Wall on Sunday. Airport on Monday. Our adventure is slowly drawing to a close.

Changsha city

Monday 11:20PM. Today it was hot. Like crazy hot. Blast furnace hot. We were warned that the temperatures would crest 50 degrees in Changsha, but this was unfathomable. Everything requires more effort in this kind of heat, but we braved the temperature and headed to Mt Yuele University to walk about. We wilted rather quickly, although the university is a beautiful sight, lush and green , the sort of place one has profound thoughts (if only one weren’t so hot), and one of the few locations I recall from our trip in ‘02. From there, we went to Kaifu Temple, where the girls made wishes and burned incense. Here in Changsha we attract a little more attention than we did in Beijing. Someone snapped my photo at the University (which made me laugh), and here is a marvelous shot of another of our well-wishers, who wandered around behind us at the Temple for a bit, offering help and directions, all the while giving the thumbs up, a universal sign of approval.

The hotel here is a little lack-lustre. But we have been spoiled this far, fresh from an extraordinary stay at the Shangri-La where the service and attention to detail were incredible. (The floor mat in the elevator at the Shangri-La is imprinted with the day of the week and they change it every morning. I don’t know why but I went crazy over this). After the initial adjustment, however, we have settled in here quite nicely.

We had a wonderful visit to the Civil Affairs Office today. This was the office in which we signed our original paperwork in ‘02. The girls were greeted warmly, and welcomed by name. To see their Chinese names carefully written on the chalkboard brought tears to my eyes, and it was clear that the girls were proud as punch. After a brief welcome from the Director, they scurried happily around the room, eating lychees, signing each other’s travel journals, comparing gifts and Chinese names.

It means so much to be remembered.

 

Experiential dining

Sunday Noon. Saying good-bye to Xi’an today. Just finished lunch in the Muslim quarter and am typing this on the way to the airport for posting later. Have the headphones on, relaxing to Chinese music which we bought on our original trip, and probably haven’t listened to since.

Lunch was what someone called ‘experiential dining’—in other words, more for the experience than for the dining. My favourite dish was the pao soup, the basis of which is broken bits of unleavened bread (which the guest breaks himself upon arrival, kind of a relaxing ritual actually). The bowl is whisked away, then returned later, the kitchen having added a delicious broth with bits of (in my case) vegetable, tofu, glass noodles, coriander. Quite tasty. Here’s the idea:

Am looking wistfully out of the window now, trying to etch the experience into my memory. I wonder when I will be back.

More later.

Saturday, late

11:04PM Back just moments ago. Another exhausting  but exhilarating day. We fall into bed now, tired, melatonin a distant memory. We visited the Terracotta Warriors today. We started at a sort of factory where the kids had a chance to make their own warriors out of clay, a great little intro to the day’s adventure. Afterwards, picked up a miniature warrior at the gift shop (paid too much, a bit of a theme) before we realized that we were able to take our creations home with us. The clay was still damp when we left and so our warriors fared rather poorly on the bus ride, with lost heads and broken feet and flattened noses. Maybe not such a bad thing that I bought one, after all.

Our guide did a tremendous job of setting the stage for us on the way to see the Terracotta Warriors. Walking into the building that housed Pit 1 and seeing them there, lined up, tall and stately, felt altogether dramatic. And I like the idea that a farmer discovered them when building a well in 1974. There’s something marvelous about that, a sense that incredible discoveries are out there to be made everyday. There was considerable speculation among the group on which of the warriors was Hua Mulan. I love the story of Mulan, and so I was quite game to find her. But at this point—probably 30 minutes in, maybe 40—I had had my fill of our lifesize clay friends and could have happily completed my tour there. By Pit 5, the kids were running in circles, and I was more than a little ready to enjoy my first Tsingtao of the day.

Here’s a great shot of the warriors, taken by my faithful travel companion.

http://ourdoings.com/davidsky/

Tonight, after dinner, we went to the Huaqing Hot Springs for what could only be described as a spectacle. Sort of an operetta with pyrotechnics and music and water and high-wire acts. It was a love story, that of Emperor Xuanzong and his concubine Yang Guifei during the Tang Dynasty. The effects were breathtaking. Ours were the only Western faces in the audience. I was smitten with a little girl standing behind us, probably eight or so, pigtails and such a sweet face. She was simply rapt with the show. How is it that the children here look so different?  Hairstyle and clothing, I suppose. Our girls look so North American to my eyes. I wonder if the locals think so too.

Everyone slept on the bus on the way back and headed quietly to our rooms, bleary-eyed after a long, hot day.

Tomorrow we move on to a different phase of the trip.

Deep breath.

Xi’an sites

Friday 9:32 PM. Today was go, go, go. Up early, down to breakfast and on the move before 9:00. We’re in Xi’an now, one of China’s oldest cities, founded during the Tang Dynasty, which Wikipedia tells me was a really long time ago. The ancient wall of the inner city is still in tact, and we rode its total distance on bikes this morning. Probably about 14 kms, temp hovering around 30 degrees plus humidity. It felt like a dream at first in a romantic sort of way, bumping along the uneven stones on a rickety old bike. I gaze about at the architecture and think (as I am drawn to do) rather more about the people who live in the homes that I can see, of the lives they lead, their hopes and dreams. I love the sloping roofs, the hazy sky. I try to picture my parents and how they could never have imagined this: their daughter astride an old bike, riding across a Chinese wall in the mid-day heat, following mere metres behind her own daughter, whose Chinese roots have brought her here to this unfamiliar and engaging land. I can scarcely believe it myself.

The afternoon is spent in Muslim quarter of Xi’an. We wander through the markets, mesmerized by live crickets in cages, and intrigued by the aroma of cooking stalls. There are more uneven stones, caged birds and colourful mobiles inspired by the Chinese Zodiac.  It’s an American Express commercial come to life.

Back at our hotel (Shangri-La indeed), we plan and conspire and connect over beers in the lounge. The girls are giggling and amusing themselves. We relax.

Early start tomorrow.

 

The night market

Thursday 7:30AM. We didn’t plan for rain. And rain it did yesterday, sheets of it, soaking us to the skin on our rickshaw ride through the Hutong. Clad in a rain slicker, our driver pedaled ferociously through the streets, warning pedestrians and cars of our presence with a shout of sorts. Our destination was an old-style Hutong home, reminiscent of something from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, if on a smaller scale, and rather less elegantly appointed. Our hosts were waiting for us, peering expectantly out the door, shouting at each other in Chinese, gesturing, and marching purposefully back and forth through the rooms. Cell phones were ringing, and someone was cooking. It’s a booming enterprise, I surmise, this showing of the Hutong home. Everything has significance and is well thought-out. Surrounding the quadrangle, the North section houses the grandparents, the south the servants, east the girls and west the boys. References to the four elements and feng shui abound. There is something peaceful and comforting, I think, in things that are thought-through in this way.

Since the weather isn’t cooperating, we head to the Pearl Market. There is nothing peaceful and comforting about the Pearl Market. market. Sellers shout at us the second we get off the escalator, assailing us with their bags, scarves, shoes and wallets. Abby is the darling of the merchants. They seem to love her tentative approach. I am the worst—the worst—at bartering. But eventually I catch on and after spending too much (probably) on a Jimmy Choo knock-off bag, I kind of get the hang of it and have some fun, arguing over an “Omega” watch which I eventually secure for about US$10. A long walk back to the hotel, another visit to the lounge (it is happy hour after all) and then out for dinner where we are sufficiently fed and watered (and beered) for about $10 a family. Not bad.

It’s night-time on the streets of Beijing but it is like daytime. The night market is alive and thriving. Here the merchants hail us, encouraging us warmly to try the fried silk worm, snake, chicken heart or roast baby pigeon on a stick.

There are some things best left undiscovered.

China notes

Wednesday AM, 10:00. Feeling refreshed. Sort of. Slept from 9:00pm until about 7:30 this morning. Sort of. Despite the melotonin, we were wide awake around 2:30 and sat on the edge of the bathtub (bathroom is massive) eating rice crisps while David slept. I told Abby it was an adventure and she seemed to like that idea and drew a big heart on my face with her finger.

The hotel is really nice; happy hour in the lounge last night on the executive floor was a welcome refuge for the weary travellers. I love the lounge…I feel so exotic in the lounge, surrounded as we are with other travellers speaking foreign languages, sipping their drinks and talking in low voices. Off to one side is this little ante-room with a low table and cushions and a sliding door with frosted glass in a muted chartreuse where we deposited the kids and closed the door. They were completely wound up after the long flight and spinning out of control. You could hear their muffled shrieks of laughter through the door and the silhouettes of their little forms as they rolled around on the cushions. Every few minutes one of us,  Tsingtao in hand,  would open the door and tell the girls to settle down, the sort of half-hearted effort that children quickly recognize as carrying little or no consequence and quietly ignore.

Can’t wait to see what lies ahead today.