Tag Archives: China

Old McDonald Had a(n Organic) Farm

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For many of my friends when I was growing up, Saturday mornings meant hours of cartoons and lazing around the house as the way to kick off the weekend. With gigantic bowls full of Smurf Berry Crunch and Count Chocula settled in their laps while Pound Puppies and My Little Pony played on the screen in front of them, the other kids in my class at school followed the adventures of animated characters, Saturday after Saturday while their parents tried to catch a few extra minutes of coveted sleep. Not in my family. Saturday mornings meant weekly chores, as weeknights were filled with sports practices (my more coordinated siblings had volleyball, track, baseball, etc,. while I hung out and read my book in the bleachers), piano lessons (a time which I wished I could curl up with a book, rather than plunk away, literally deaf to painful cacophony of wrong notes) and club events. That left Saturday for cleaning the house and taking care of the animals. And animals we had! Over the years we had a variety of outside critters including (but probably not limited to) cows, llama, chickens, pheasants, rabbits, dogs and cats. The llamas, as amusing as they are, created one of my least favorite Saturday morning chores- stall mucking! There is just nothing nice about hanging out in a shed with a pile of poo, a wheelbarrow and a pitchfork. Nothing at all.

But, the point isn’t that I hated hauling llama dung from one pile to another, but that I grew up not in a city, but in what most Americans would consider rural America. (I must admit there are *way* more rural areas of the US, but for the majority of people in the States, they’d consider my house as being in the countryside.) With cornfields across the road, canals both along the side and behind our place and sugar beet trucks rumbling by in August, farm life was always close at hand. So, when I got word of a local organic farm outside of Chengdu, I must admit to having a less than ecstatic reaction to the possibility of a community trip out there on a Saturday. I had enough early mornings in the cold to not need another one, just for the fun of it. I was the only one feeling less than enthusiastic though, so plan it I did!

And, I must admit that despite the damp, cold air, I had a great time! The farm we went to is a certified organic farm, about an hour outside of downtown Chengdu.  Converting the Chinese measurements to American, I think the farm was about 100 acres, which is a lot of space to be farmed by hand. They grow all sorts of organic produce, as well as raise chickens, ducks, goats and dairy cows. The young ones along for the outing especially liked the two-week old baby goats, which were climbing all over the barn! (Okay, not just the littlest members of our entourage. I also loved them! But, keep in mind that I am a sucker for nearly all animals. I want to touch them all, whether it be the biting monkeys of Thailand, the goofy elephants of Malaysia or pig-like capybaras of Argentina. The goats were adorably fuzzy and wrestled around like puppies. I was tempted to tuck one into one of my many layers to bring back to Chengdu! I’m sure my ayi wouldn’t mind cleaning up after his cute little messes, right?)

The one thing that I was absolutely not impressed with at the farm was the ridiculously sized spiders! At first, I didn’t notice them at all, but once I focused my eyes between the trees, instead of beyond them, I suddenly became aware of a disturbingly thick web strung from tree to tree to tree. Had I wandered off the main path at all, I would have become ensconced in that thick white webbing made by spiders the size of my hand. Training my eyes to look at the web, rather than through it, I quickly realized that between each set of trees were a dozen (or more) large spiders, hanging out in the crisp autumn air, enjoying the spoils of their large nets.  When I asked one of the farm workers about them, he told me not to worry; they were small right now since it was nearly winter. In the summer, they apparently grow much larger and fall from the trees. He again assured me that I had nothing to worry about. The bites hurt really bad at first, but quickly go numb. (Um, I think that is death setting in and one *should* worry about post-spider bite numbness!)

The fall chill in the air made our outdoor lunch of hotpot all the more fabulous, as we warmed ourselves with the broth steam as we waited for the locally produced veggies to cook in the milk-based broth. By early afternoon though, we were all cold through and though and there were no complaints when I started to usher everyone back to the vans about half an hour early. Cold noses, fingers and toes were ready to head back to Chengdu, where at least for me, I hopped right into a steaming hot bath to thaw my bones after a frosty morning in the countryside.

Rewarmed, I finished the day off with a nice big bowl of Corn Pops (from Thad, via Singapore) and an episode or two of Bones. It isn’t quite the wished for Saturday morning show of my childhood, but definitely better than time spent with llama poo!

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I Feel it in My Fingers, I Feel it in My Toes

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There’s a chill in the air. (Not an Idaho-chill, but still, it is cooling off enough to kill all but the hardiest of mosquitoes.)  Last week my flight back from Shanghai had English Christmas carols blaring during boarding. (Not that Christmas carols are indicative of anything more than the desire to play foreign music, as I do hear them all year long in the supermarkets, but I particularly enjoyed the evening’s rousing rendition of “Frosty the Snowman.”) And the fruit stands are overflowing with mandarin oranges. (These things are the nectar of the gods and my favorite part of late fall in Chengdu!) All of this adds up to just one thing- the holiday season is upon us!

I’m a sucker for Christmas! I know all the complaints about it being overly commercialized and I understand those sentiments, but I also get frustrated when I hear them uttered by the same people who are plowing through the Black Friday crowds to get the last Play Station 4. (Although, I hear Black Friday is losing a bit of its appeal, as so many retailers are opening on Thanksgiving. That is sheer madness!! Go home, eat some turkey, read the ads in preparation for Friday and watch the Lions lose to Green Bay.)  Christmas is what you and yours choose to make of it. If you want to go whole hog on the retail side of things, go for it. Have a prettily decorated tree with a pile of gifts underneath and stocking overflowing with sweets.  If you want to focus on the service and selfless giving side of the holiday, make shoebox kits for the homeless, teach your children to love unconditionally and put an extra effort into making others happy. But, I don’t think one has to choose between these two distinct versions of the holiday.

For me, it takes great amounts of will power to hold off on the Christmas music and decorating until the day after Thanksgiving.

I totally didn’t make it this year!

It started with the Chengdu International Women’s Club holiday bazaar on Saturday and then quickly devolved into full-on holiday-ness on Sunday.  The start of the weekend saw me manning the US Consulate booth at the bazaar, selling the Chinese silk stockings that the ladies of the consulate community had sewed over the course of the last three weeks. (It was a veritable sweatshop for charity!) After a bright, warm day that felt nothing like the white Christmases of my childhood (this is Chengdu, no sunshine, just brightness), but was filled with Santa and stockings and middle school band performances,  the holiday was coursing through my blood.  Still, I thought I could hold off for just ten more days. But no. One of my favorite Christmas movies is Love Actually, which I had been telling myself I’d watch the weekend after the turkey feast, but then we had a friend in town who had never seen it, so I just couldn’t put it off two more weeks. Into the DVD player it went!

Over the weekend, the holiday seal was broken and now I’m dying to jump in with both feet!

I’ve got boxes of decorations stashed away in my apartment’s one closet. My tree (fake, of course) is tucked away in a cardboard box on top of an armoire in the spare bedroom, just waiting for the acrobatic athleticism it is going to take to haul that thing down from eight feet up. And, my Christmas gifts are all in the mail. (I his “send” on the last Amazon order, headed to friends in DC, this morning.)

Now, all I need are the Christmas music CDs and candy canes from America that are set to arrive in Chengdu on Saturday night and a tad bit of patience to make it through two more weeks until I decorate both home and the office and let the festivities ensue!

Thumpity, thump, thump

Thumpity, thump, thump

Look at Christmas come!

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We Be Ballin’

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As a teenager (at least until I got a part time job hawking not-quite-Tiffany-quality jewelry at Shopko) each Wednesday night was dedicated to youth activities at church. Some weeks we met to work on personally set goals and other weeks we did group activities, outings and service projects. But, one Wednesday a month was dedicated to dance lessons, with a bit of etiquette thrown in. As the most un-athletic, rhythmically challenged person who walks the face of this earth (possibly ever), I must admit to more than a little dread when the first Wednesday of the month rolled around. It wasn’t that I was necessarily opposed to the idea of dance lessons, but not only was I terrible at it, it is a bit hard to make the case for the need to know how to foxtrot and waltz to a fourteen year old who lives in rural Idaho. But, for several years, I learned to square dance and do the two-step, in preparation for a world that wasn’t really a part of the vision I had for my life. (Little did I know…)

As an annual Marine Ball has now been penciled onto my calendar until the end of time, sometimes I think I should have paid more attention to those lessons and made a few less trips to the water fountain in the hallway.  Luckily, YouTube exists and is able to fill in my dance knowledge gaps. For instance, never in the Wednesday night sessions did we cover Korean pop music, but I was able to gallop along with the best (and highest ranking!) of them when “Gangnam Style” made it’s necessarily evil presence known last Saturday night.

While I can’t profess to actually know how to dance, at least the etiquette portion of those evenings have come in handy! Granted, in China there isn’t a separate set of chopsticks for each course of the meal, but events like the annual Marine Ball have forks lined up as if the villagers plan to pillage and plunder all night long. Add to that multiple glasses and an array of plates and it is nice to know I don’t look entirely like I was raised on a llama farm!

With three dates in tow (the husband, plus two of his best friends from high school who are in town for a visit), it turned out to be a great evening. I mingled. I MCed. I graced the head table with my presence. I danced (a little). And I left on a high note, singing none other than Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer.” I would give the mingling and MCing a thumbs up, while the dancing and singing most decidedly earned a thumbs down, but in the end the thumbs of all directions equaled out to a huge LIKE. (Forgive the painfully overrated pop culture reference to Facebook. Just be glad there was no discussion of poking or tagging.)

Now my dress is hung back up in the closet, my shiny silver shoes are tucked away on the window sill (don’t ask, just know storage is tight in China), the gallon of hairspray used to hold my braided bun in place is washed out and the post-ball brunch is behind me, there is nothing left to do but set my MP3 player to push out ample amounts of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” and “Vogue” and dream of next year’s event in Kuala Lumpur.

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And, a little bonus for my faithful readers…  🙂

Mesozoic Musings

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Q: What do you get when you cross ancient four-legged creatures and a Scooby-Doo-style haunted park?

A: The ZiGong Dinosaur Museum!

Last weekend, as a part of my ongoing CLO outing series, I spent Saturday about three hours outside of Chengdu in a city known for its spicy food, its salt production and its dinosaurs. (What a combination!)  I’d like to report that all three meshed together well, but although we did have spicy bullfrog for lunch, there was no dino meat to be had and spice made much more of an appearance at our table than did the salt.

For a year now, I’ve been hearing about how great the ZiGong Dinosaur Museum is and that I definitely needed to take a trek out there before leaving Sichuan. So, with such strong recommendations to back it up, I planned a Saturday event to go see what all the fuss was about. Our travel group included lots of kids, some of whom were dressed in head to toe dinosaur swag, ready to visit the heart of their obsessions.

As with everything in China, I should have known to take the glowing recommendations with a grain of (ZiGong) salt.  The museum is definitely worth the bus ride out and I’m thrilled to have seen all it has to offer, but I will not need to make a return trip before I exit China in the spring. I’ve never been somewhere that so perfectly meshes fascinating knowledge with a creepy park vibe. (Wait. I’ll revise that sentiment. If you’ve been to Haw Par Villa in Singapore, you’ve got an idea of the level of weirdness I’m talking about. While Haw Par Villa centers on Chinese mythology and the tenants of Confucianism, through acres of macabre statues, ZiGong sticks  with violent Mesozoic-era dioramas, but they share strong ties in their particularly peculiar takes on these subjects.)

The ZiGong museum is actually a highly rated center, as it holds the distinction of being one of only three dinosaur museums in the world to include a dig site. (The other two are Vernal, Utah and Alberta, Canada.) CNN rated the ZiGong Museum as one of the top ten dinosaur museums in the world, but I think whoever wrote the article did their research from a distance. The thing is, there are some amazing fossils at the site, which sits atop the Dashanpu dig area, including eighteen complete skeletons in a burial site and a huge number of partially intact remains. Plus, having the actual dig site as a part of the museum, where patrons can walk through the area and see the bones still in the ground is awesome.

But, the greatness can be easily overlooked by the other randomness around the fossils. For example, in the fossil hall where the dinosaurs have been recreated in diorama-type exhibits, an inordinate number of them showcase the carnivorous meals of the various creatures. (Yes, I know the killing and eating of other animals is a part of Simba’s Disney-taught “circle of life,” but I’m not sure it needs to be the focal point of so many exhibits! We get it! Dinosaurs ate one another!! At some point, I began to debate the possible merits of dinosaur meat vs. the bullfrog that showed up at lunch…) I had to laugh when I first walked into the hall because I was standing in the doorway, excitedly taking in the huge displays, when I looked straight up to see a dinosaur skeleton dangling from the mouth of another dinosaur, directly above my head. Eww! I also particularly liked the display that had a tiny (in comparison), quick-looking dinosaur speeding away from the one behind it that was baring giant teeth. The sign in front gave information about the time period that these creatures lived in, as well as details about their habits. It then ended with the words, “Speed is life.”  Yes! For that little guy, speed is definitely life!

After enjoying the rather grisly displays in the main hall, and wandering through the dig site itself, I spent some time taking in the posters about the discovery of the fossils and the history of the site. The photographs of the paleontologist from the 1980s were interesting, but my favorite part can be chalked up to a translation error. While most of the signs talked about the study of dinosaurs as paleontology, a few instead substituted “dinosaurology” as a synonym. This is my new “when I grow up” goal- to be a dinosauroligist!  And really, I have to give them credit, as it does make sense. I actually had to stop and think to make sure it really wasn’t a real word. But no, it’s not. Sadly, dinosaurology is not a real thing. Too bad…

Wandering on from the various displays and digs, I was about ready to call it a day for my inaugural visit, but before I could make my way out of the building, I spotted the highlight of the trip- a dinosaur you could ride!  That’s right! It was a rubberish-feeling, horse-sized dinosaur with a metal saddle mounted on its back. With a rickety wooden stepladder as leverage, I quickly clambered to the top for a photo-op to commemorate my fantastic journey through the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous periods. Because really, what historical museum outing doesn’t end with a ride on a long-extinct giant reptile?

I now have a new museum to add to my “favorites” list:

1)      Chengdu Panda Reserve Museum- it includes a diorama display of animals that look like they are made out of my grandmother’s couch, giant vats of panda sperm and an amazing piece of artwork displaying the prowess of the battle panda

2)      Royal Regalia Museum in Brunei- Filled with the narrative of how wonderful the sultan has been since birth and a massive amount of gifts given to him by the VIPs of the world

3)      ZiGong Dinosaur Museum- See above!

But, the most important thing I learned on Saturday came from one of the younger members of our excursion. As we walked towards the main exhibit hall, through a series of hillsides covered in dinosaur statues, he scurried up behind his mom, exclaiming, “Mom, I need to stay in the middle of the herd, that way I won’t be eaten.”  It’s brilliant advice from one so young- if you’re little, stick with the herd, for the young and weak are the most likely to become lunch. When I’m back in the classroom, this will be my new field trip rule- stick with the herd, or be eaten! Easy enough.

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Fall is a Four-Letter Word

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Fall. It’s a four-letter word in my book.

I know masses of people love fall more than anything, but I am not one of them. Yes, I can appreciate the beautiful colors of the leaves changing (although, in Chengdu the leaves just go from gray with a green undertone to gray with a brown undertone, so there is no rainbow of earth tones to stomp through here), and I get that some folks love the cooler weather (again, I’m a fan of a cozy hoodie- for about three days and then I am ready to go back to tank tops and shorts), but overall, fall is just not my thing.

Fall means Halloween, which you don’t even want to get me started on. (Least favorite holiday-ever. Non-event “holidays” like Arbor Day and Presidents’ Day are a better use of a line on my calendar than one that includes creepy costumes, teenagers asking for candy and way too much of the hideous orange/black color combination.)

Fall also means summer is over. I love summer. Even now, when I’m not teaching and don’t get the whole thing off. I love the when it is dark and still warm enough to sit on the deck at a restaurant. (Or, more fittingly for my current situation, on a plastic stool on the sidewalk.) I love getting an ice cream cone and going for a walk after dinner. And I love cute sundresses and sandals, neither of which is practical when I can see my breath in the morning air.

But, as much as fall is not one of my favorite things, this year, I’ve decided I’m going to enjoy every minute of it, as it will be my last fall for…well, who knows how long. For at least two years, in Kuala Lumpur, there will be no need to pack away the skirts and sandals, and then 2016 could bring anything from the bitter cold of Nuuk or Ulan Bator to more time on the equator in Antananarivo or Nairobi. With KL only a few months away, I’m contentiously avoiding sweater shopping online. Old Navy and Maurice’s send me tempting emails on a nearly daily basis, but I’ve been diligent about deleting them without opening their percentage upon percentage off deals.

To that end, I’m looking at all the great things fall in Chengdu has to offer. I’ve already ordered several new pairs of fun colored tights to brighten up the hazy days that have settled on our basin and this weekend I’ll make the dresser drawer transfer, moving my long-sleeved t-shirts and sweaters into the regular rotation and putting the summer clothes to rest in the spare bedroom. I’m guessing there is hotpot in my very near future and the fruity teas have reappeared on my desk at work.

Fall is here, but it is going to be okay.  I’ll wait patiently for the fan-shaped leaves of the gingko trees to turn yellow; I’ll throw a big Halloween bash at the consulate and have my heart warmed by the adorable toddler costumes; and I’ll enjoy the coziness of snuggling up in a hoodie, fuzzy sock and a throw blanket to watch hours of Netflix in an attempt to avoid death by pollution.

This year, fall is still a four letter word, but no longer a “four letter word.”

The Newest Adventures of Flat Hailey

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This is the newest entry in a (short, but growing) series of letters from Flat Hailey to her lovely best friend, Hailey. (If you aren’t familiar with the Flat Stanley series, you are missing out on awesome geography and cultural snapshots for kids!)

You can read the first entry by clicking here.

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Dear Hailey,

Once again, you bundled me up in a manila envelope to ship me around the world. While I love getting to visit ancient ruins, beautiful shorelines and see all the amazing sites the world has to offer, I do have to say that envelope-travel isn’t that fun. For a few weeks, all I see is a haze of brown and I get jiggled all over the place. Sometimes I even feel like I am flying! Do you think the mailman throws my envelope? But, in the end, the less than stellar travel is worth it so that I can help you learn about lots of cool places.

This round of travel was centered in southern Europe. I started my travels in Rome, where I am afraid I missed the whole first day of touring, as my guide forgot me in her carry-on, so I spent the day resting up at the hotel so that I’d have lots of energy the following day.

Once I finally made it out of the hotel, I got to see some spectacular sights, including the Vatican City, where I discovered that the guards wear some awesome yellow and blue pants that look like they are made of ribbons. I wonder if we should start wearing those in American. It is a pretty fun look! (It’s a good thing they had big spears with them, otherwise I don’t think they would have made for very scary guards.)  At the Vatican, I also got to walk through the huge museum system and then visit the enormous St. Peter’s Basilica. The church is so huge that when I was inside, I felt like I was the size of an ant!

A trip to Rome wouldn’t be complete without visiting the ancient sites as well, so I next asked my guide to take me to the Roman Forum and Coliseum.  I had to fight my way into the Colisuem! As you can see, I was stopped by some gladiators who wanted a battle; they had full outfits of armor and giant swords. But, luckily, I convinced them that I was just Flat Hailey, on an adventure to see the world, so they let me pass. Thank goodness!

Next up on my travel agenda was to head south: Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast. I was fascinated with the ruins at Pompeii. It is amazing how big the volcano, Mount Vesuvius is. And, it sits so close to the city! I think I would be a little afraid to live there. But, it is a beautiful mountain and easy to see why it’s eruption caused such a problem all those centuries ago.  After walking around the ruins in the hot sun all morning, I thought lunch and some relaxing at the beach was a good way to spend the afternoon. Lots of pasta later, I strolled along the pebbly seashore, taking in the sunshine and blue skies. Beautiful!

Having enough of the Rome area, I decided it would be best to head north, so I asked my guide to buy us train tickets for Florence. I loved Florence! In the center of the city is a beautiful church, but I was too tired to climb the million and a half stairs to the top of the Duomo. One of the most exciting things in Florence though was the adorable little car we rented to drive around the countryside. We got a cute little red Fiat 500 that was made for people my size. (My guides definitely had to curl up their long legs to fit in!) As we drove around outside the city, I couldn’t believe how narrow the lanes were. Our car was tiny, but there were times I could have reached out and touched the wall next to the road. Tiny! But it was fun to tootle around, visiting churches and olive orchards and grape vineyards in the classic car.  (I even rode on the hood for a while!)

My guides spent a day out at Pisa, which I went along for, but because it was raining, I decided to stay on the bus. Because absolutely no bags are allowed inside the Leaning Tower of Pisa (including purses!), they were worried I’d get ruined in the rain. I’m sad to have missed the tower, but glad I’m in one piece to continue my travels.

Italy was great, but it wasn’t the last stop on my tour of southern Europe. With Rome, Pompeii and Florence under my belt, it was off to Athens, Greece.  I only had a couple of days in the capital city, but I loved getting to see the Temple of Zeus and the Acropolis. I even got to sit in the exact seats were Greek comedies and tragedies were acted out. Amazing! One thing I learned while in Athens was that all of those white, marble statues of the gods and goddesses that we see in photographs were actually painted in bright colors! Whenever we see them, they are a gleaming white, but hundreds of years ago they were fully colored. I loved seeing the recreations of what they would have looked like when they were created.

But alas, all good things must come to an end and that includes my little vacation. I’m now back in Chengdu, getting my envelope packed to come back to Idaho to tell you more of my travel tales. I’ll be in the mail on Wednesday, so expect me home the first week of November.  I can’t wait to see you soon, Hailey! Thank you again for sending me off to see the world. I love it, but I will always come back to you.

Love,

Flat Hailey  (World Traveler Extraordinaire)

 

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The Eruption of Mount Daniel

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To begin with, I’d like to dedicate this blog post to the woman sitting in row 09, seat C on the KLM flight from Athens to Amsterdam last week. Without her sharing her lovely germs with me, I’d be at work doing my CLO thing, rather than curled up in my pajamas, under a blanket, on my couch, coughing up a lung. I’d suggest raising a toast to her, but considering this is the same woman who waited all of five minutes after takeoff before opening her purse and hauling out multiple travel-size shampoo bottles filled with alcohol and lined them up on her lap tray, I’d say less drinking in her name would be for the best.

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I like Argentinians. My brother spent two years in Argentina, and for the most part, they treated him well. When we went to visit, we enjoyed dinner with a lovely Argentinian family in their humble abode and felt welcomed by all of his friends. (I’m serious when I say humble. This home was made of construction site quality plastic wrap. As we sat on benches eating our meal with the family, a litter of adorable puppies crawled in and out of the house, between the plastic and the dirt ground.) I hadn’t yet met an Argentinian I didn’t like…until Daniel.

From the time I was in middle school, I’ve loved tales of Pompeii and have always been fascinated by what it must have been like to see Mount Vesuvius erupt, so needless to say, I was especially excited for our daytrip out of Rome to see the mountain and visit the ruins. Nothing could dampen my giddiness at walking through history that morning. Or so I thought. Then, I met the chaos that is Daniel from Argentina.

Thad and I were part of a three-person tour group. Daniel was our third. Daniel spoke very little English, but it was no problem, as our tour guide spoke both English and Spanish, but I should have known it was going to be a long day when the van hadn’t even pulled away from the hotel before Daniel was complaining. His first (of many!) complaints for the day was about the headrest of the seat in front of him. Apparently, it was too high and he couldn’t see out the front window well, but then when Roberta, our tour guide, tried to take it off, he hollered at her to stop because she was going to break it.

But whatever…it was early. I figured this odd duck of a companion was just not an early bird.

Things did not get better. Throughout the morning, whenever Roberta would turn to give us some information about an area we were passing or just to make a passing comment, Daniel would immediately demand that she translate everything she just said into Spanish. Which, to her credit, she was doing with the cultural and historical facts, but if I asked about a restroom, that hardly needed translated for everyone! Daniel was terrified of missing out on something, even something as mundane as asking about a road sign we passed.

Once we reached Pompeii, Roberta handed us off to Hector at the site of the ruins. Hector was this amazing older man who spoke a handful of languages and had served as a guide to Pompeii for twenty years. We quickly bought our tickets and headed up the steep stone path to the entrance of the ancient city. Before we had even made it to the top, Daniel stopped Hector to complain about the language issue. We had not been at the site for more than ten minute and Daniel was yelling (not an exaggeration!) at Hector, saying he had paid for this tour and expected it to be in Spanish. He went off about how Hector was talking to us for four minutes in English and him for only two in Spanish, so he thought he was being ripped off. I felt a bit like we were watching the eruption of the volcano that lurked just a few miles from where we stood.  It got awkward!

Finally, Thad had me tell Hector to just do the tour in Spanish and then I translated the gist for Thad. (I must admit, I learned some great new Spanish vocabulary about volcanoes and Pompeii!) Hector would still jump back and forth between languages, but with me helping to translate, it took a lot of pressure of him because Daniel was just a jerk.

The, as Hector was doing his best to make Daniel happy, Daniel spent the bulk of his morning hitting on our main guide, Roberta. He kept regaling her with stories of other places he had been and forcing her to scan through hundreds of pictures on his iPad- all while we wandered the remains of Pompeii! Several times, Hector had to holler at Daniel to get his attention, like a parent would do to a misbehaving child. Again, awkward!

The day didn’t end there though. Daniel continued to be a first rate ass the entire day. A few of his other shining moments include:

*Forcing the driver to stop multiple times along the narrow road that runs along the Amalfi Coast. Daniel insisted on getting the perfect iPad photo, regardless of the safety of the driver, guide or himself. Several astoundingly beautiful photo-ops were declared “ugly” and we would have to wind up the mountain a few more curves and try again. Ridiculous.

*Constantly hitting on Roberta, our guide, who was a good twenty years younger than him. The woman was as graceful as possible in the situation, but Daniel was just not getting a clue. At one point, he expressed interest in not returning to Rome for the night, but rather staying in Pompeii to hike Mount Vesuvius the following day. Roberta and I jumped on board with that one right away, telling him what a great idea it would be. I was doing it to get a quiet ride home. She was doing it to avoid another date proposal.

*Wanting to have a long conversation with Thad about Syria and chemical weapons, but only knowing about eight words of English, which made me the translator of this very awkward discussion, as he wanted to know why America didn’t just take care of the problem, why Britain didn’t like America anymore and what were WE going to do about it? (It was at this point in the trip that I was really wishing I had some FSI Spanish! While FSI may leave you totally unprepared to order lunch from a street vendor or ask for directions to a dry cleaner, it prepares you well for discussions on 8-party trade talks and nuclear disarmament options. Armas quimicas would definitely have come up in a xiao baogao, I’m sure!)

*And my favorite of the day: Daniel announcing that the worst part of Argentina is the Argentinians. At this point, I thought I must have totally misunderstood our conversation earlier about where we each were from, because he went off on how Dominicans are so much better than Argentinians. I finally leaned over and asked, “But, aren’t you from Argentina?” And yup, sure enough, he’s from Buenos Aires.

Our day with Daniel was more than a little annoying, as he really was a terrible human being, but it looked up when he finally decided he *would* stay in Pompeii to hike the mountain the next day. With no efforts to change his mind, Roberta quickly found him a hotel for the night and we dropped him off before he could questions the decision, making our three hour trip back to Rome much more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.

So no, Daniel, Argentinians are not the worst part of Argentina. You are. Go back there. Stay there. Your behavior is an embarrassment to your beautiful country.

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*Photo credit: Most photos are courtesy of Thad Ross

Accidentally Leaning Towards Judgement

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Over the years, I’ve learned it is best not to be too judgmental of the decisions others make, as life takes us all in unexpected directions and it is hard to anticipate one’s reaction to a given situation until the waves of change are crashing. There was a time when I would have put money on the fact that I would never have a tattoo. I now have three, and can’t promise a fourth isn’t waiting in the wings. At one point in my life, I would have rambled on about how a bad haircut isn’t that big of a deal; it’s just hair after all. It grows out. Then, I joined Peace Corps, moved to western China and had a hairstylist who swore he had worked on blonde hair before bleach my head a glowing white. I wasn’t nearly as stoic about bad hair decisions as I had thought I would be.

But, over dinner at an outdoor café in Florence, Thad and I pinky swore that on our trip to Pisa the next day, there would be absolutely no “holding the tower up” shots. It’s overdone. It’s not unique. It’s a bit ridiculous.

Apparently, we were the *only* ones who felt this way.

From the time we stepped foot on the piazza that holds the Church of Miracles and the Leaning Tower, we were surrounding by tourists, posing in the infamous “holding the tower up” shot. They lined the walkway leading to the tower. They surrounded the tower, some holding it up and other pushing it over. They even clamored over the chains, bypassing the signs that said “stay off the grass” to get their coveted shot.  And while we weren’t after the in-demand camera angle that was so desired, Thad did have a great time documenting the tourists-turned-architectural bulwarks.

And then came the moment that I swore would never come. I did the shot.

Now, before you chuckle and think me a hypocrite for giggling at everyone else, I must say that my circumstances were very different, not in the least because I am holding the tower up from the *inside.* You see, I have this terrible fear of heights, which only seems to worsen with age. (Is it the knowledge of my own mortality that pushes me farther into the world of acrophobia or merely my own wimpiness gaining ground?)  The Leaning Tower of Pisa is tall (although not as tall as the Duomo in Florence, which I mostly scaled the day before) and once inside, the lean is felt much more prominently than I expected. As we curled up and around the inside walls of the tower, gaining height with each tilting step, my heart raced faster and faster. I quickly skittered by the cell-like windows that occasionally popped up along the wall, not needing a confirmation of my ever-growing distance from the ground below. Finally, we popped out on a platform, where I was happy to know I’d at least reached the pinnacle of my ascent, only to be told to keep moving by the guard, on what is apparently just an external landing, with the top of the tower still being several more flights of steps above.  This last stretch of stairway was tighter than before and now that I had glimpsed the outside world, I was ready to be done. But, with just a few more stairs to go, I couldn’t turn away and head back down, even though the voice in my head was screaming at me to do just that. While I wasn’t quite ready to bail on the whole operation, I was definitely feeling the fear building, so when Thad, who was behind me and yielding the camera, told me to stop and turn for a photo, there was no way I could do that without something to hold on to, but with no handrails in sight, that meant using the wall to steady myself.

Which, as it turns out, looks exactly like I am doing the “hold up the tower” pose!

I’m not! I may have a few tattoos and care about my hair more than I had previously thought, but I did not, I repeat, DID NOT do the “holding up the tower” pose!

So, once again, it appears my jump to judgment betrays me yet another time. I didn’t intend to do it. I swore I wouldn’t do it. In the end, I kinda’ did it.

*Photo credit: Most photos are courtesy of Thad Ross

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Wise Words…

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“Sky Seasoning”

by Shel Silverstein

A piece of sky
Broke off and fell
Through the crack in the ceiling
Right into my soup,
KERPLOP!
I really must state
That I usually hate
Lentil soup, but I ate
Every drop!
Delicious delicious
(A bit like plaster),
But so delicious, goodness sake–
I could have eaten a lentil-soup lake.
It’s amazing the difference
A bit of sky can make.

With the wise words of this blog’s muse in mind, I’ll be on a writing hiatus for the next two weeks. Chengdu has been gray for days (and weeks!) on end now, so it is time to escape to a bit of sunshine and Old World beauty. This blogger is off to explore the sidewalks of Italy and Greece, but will return in October with a heart (and head!) full of tales to tell.

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Where_the_Sidewalk_Ends

Seeking the Bamboo Sea

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Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a numbers girl. Give me a book report to write any day over a math worksheet and I’ll be a happy camper. But, my deficient  numerical neuron firing doesn’t mean I lack a sense of judgment when it comes to the passage of time. And yet, somehow this weekend, a three and a half hour drive turned into nearly eight hours, with me and ten others from the consulate crammed, knees to chin, on a bus, headed to the great yonder of Sichuan. I’m not entirely sure what reverse magic happened to double the travel time from Chengdu to Bamboo Sea, but I do know several factors, including a bus with a regulator that capped out at 100 kilometers per hour (and believe me, I heard the GPS-voiced woman telling the driver to slow down every time we inched up on that mark) and a nightmare of road construction that narrowed five lanes of traffic to two at a toll booth didn’t help matters. But, whatever the cause of the extended road trip, the hours on the bus were well worth the aching back and crunched knees.

Bamboo Sea was a sight to behold!

After checking into our traditional Chinese-style hotel, complete with hard beds and the requisite toothbrush kits, it was time to go explore the park. (This hotel did come with a couple of bonuses as well, including Wi-Fi, heated pads on the bed and one lonely bathroom cockroach. That was definitely 200RMB well spent!) With several paths winding through the west corner of Bamboo Sea, Thad and I followed the stream, heading up it to where we could hear waterfalls, seemingly around each bend. But, there was no quitting until we reached the much lauded (a sign at every path split!) Polyester Dust waterfall. What a glorious, rustic, natural world-provoking name cascading water- Polyester Dust. Just hearing the name made me felt like I should scurry back to the consulate to grab an N-95 pollution mask, buy extra cancer coverage on my insurance and eat a couple leafy green vegetables with my dinner. (That sentence originally contained the word “extra” before “leafy,” but then I realized that since I don’t really love the leafy stuff to begin with, rather than extra, any at all would be beneficial.)

But, no outdoor trip would be complete without my lack of coordination displaying itself, this time in the form of, what else? A trip! Walking down the stairs (it’s China- stairs everywhere!)  from the peak of Polyester Dust, I got much too animated with my story about a man who dropped his trash on the trail in front of us, and with arms flapping, entirely missed the single step down along the pathway, making quite a spectacle of myself as my ankle turned under and I squawked , altering all in the vicinity that the foreigner bit the (not polyester, but more common natural-form)  dust.  At this point in my spastic life, there is little pride to be lost in such convulsive moments, so after a quick check to make sure my lower limbs were still functional, Thad hauled me back to my feet and I finished out my story about the redemption seeking Chinese litter bug.

Not content to let the rest of the weekend slide idly by with just a single moment of embarrassment,  I met Sunday morning with another great episode of Ways Michelle Is A Wimp.  You see, I’ve got a couple of phobias, but none rank higher on the freak-out list than heights. As a child, they didn’t bother me. I’d happily climb to the top of our weeping willow tree, creeping through the branches to the outer edges where the boughs made a perfect slide to the ground; I’d walk the balance beam of fence posts that surround our llama field; I’d jump from the peak of our playhouse, perfecting a nice tuck and roll as I hit the ground. None of these things were an issue. And yet, somewhere along the line, I decided I’d had enough of being off the ground. On Sunday, that (granted, involuntary) decision made my life a little rougher for about twenty minutes. Bamboo Sea is made up of rolling mountains (bigger than rolling hills, but smaller than anything we would call a mountain in the Northwest), none of which I wanted to hike. (In case it hasn’t become clear yet- I’m not an outdoorsy person. I don’t hike. I don’t camp. I get sunburnt when I even think about sunlight. The mosquito bites turned massive welts on my legs right now can attest to the fact that I should never again set foot outside a building. I’m a book girl. I read. I write. I like temperature controlled spaces. Inside is for me. Not outside. But I digress…) So, since hiking for days was out of the question, the best way to get to the top of the mountain was the cable car. For a mere 30RMB ($5!) I was able to risk my life, dangling from a metal cable in a metal tin can, begging Thad to stop turning his head or even breathing for a short while, as each of those actions rocked the car enough that my life was flashing before my eyes.  This isn’t my first pony ride on the cable car extravaganza, and every time I just pray for the end to come into sight. The problem on Sunday was that every time we inched closed to the top of a ridge and I just knew I was going to be placed back on safe ground, we’d come over the peak to see another expanse of cable pulled taut in front of us. Twenty minutes of dangling above endless acres of bamboo is pretty close to an eternity.

Eventually, after going up a ridge, down a ridge and back up another one, we reached to unloading hut, where I bailed from the cable car, possible faster than I’ve ever moved in my life. (Wait. Stop. I admit to the literary employment of hyperbole there. I’m sure I’ve actually moved faster at a fabulous shoe sale or to put a bit of distance between myself and any creepy crawly little critter. But, you get the idea.)

Before loading back up in the van to head back to Chengdu (which turned out to be a mere six hour drive!), we had one last stop on our itinerary- the setting of the famous Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon lake fight scene. (I saw famous, because apparently *everyone* has seen this movie. I am not *everyone.* As a matter of fact, I had to Google the name of the movie, as I can never get the words in the right order. I know there is a tiger and a dragon, which is awesome, and I know one crouches and one hides, which seems less awesome, but which critter is in which stance is entirely beyond me. Thank you to the primary colored search engine for its quick and efficient fact-checking prowess.)  While this connection to the popular kung-fu movie was a draw for many, I was hooked when the guides said we could rent a bamboo raft and row around the lake on it. Now, remember, I’m not outdoorsy and definitely not athletic. When someone tells me I can rent a raft and float on a lake, I kind of assumed that meant I was also renting the dude to row the boat. Nope! Apparently, I was the dude to row the boat, gently down the stream. (Well, my faithful boat buddies and I!) After a bit of a fiasco, as we didn’t know which end of our boat was the front, we got some synchronized rowing going, making a loop around the lake. As our fellow boaters sang Communist-era songs,  we just tried to keep our oars from tangling up with one another and keep our boat pointed in the right direction.

As we headed back into the city, I quickly realized what a great weekend it was to get out of town. Not only is any trip a good thing, just in general, but as it turns out, this last weekend was particularly bad on the air quality front, with the levels spiking into the 300s, which is pretty high for anytime outside of winter.  By my calculations, taking a group of consulate folks out of the terrible air this last weekend should help realign my karma. I may have lead a different group into the epicenter of an earthquake a few months ago (you can read that adventure here!), but this last weekend I saved their lungs a bit of heartache, so I’d like to balance out the CLO-karma ledger for this year! I still retain enough of my middle school math knowledge to calculate a minus one and a plus one create a nice even balance on the ethereal number line.

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