The road from Xi'an to Yangzhou is fraught with bandits and dragons. The route is dreary, rainy and otherwise unpleasant. Alright, only some of that is true. It went like this: we left our lovely hotel room in Xi'an with our packs strapped on and walked fifteen minutes to the airport bus. The bus trip was over an hour long and the seats were cramped being that Chinese people are generally shorter than Ken. We sat at our gate for two hours then on the plane for another hour as we were forty minutes late for our scheduled take-off time, par for the course in China. We touched down in Guilin after a harrowing two hour flight during which the plane was nearly struck by lightning. Another bus awaited us at the Guilin airport to take us to the train station because naturally there is no train to the train station. There we were meant to catch the bus to Yangzhuo, a ninety minute ride. However, when we discovered that the Yangzhou bus bus would not depart until eight o'clock the following morning, we were crestfallen... and wet since it had been raining all evening.
We stood in front of a hotel in downtown Guilin and weighed our options. A cab would be three hundred yuan, around forty seven USD. A hotel room would be around the same amount and we were already booked in Yangzhou for the night. Not wanting to deal with more road time in the morning, we bit the bullet and grabbed a taxi. It was worth it. Darkness and wet roads lay before us. We had no idea where we were going and no orientation as to where we were. Over an hour later we pulled up to the Riverview hotel, a quaint residence on the banks of the Li river. Our room was spartan but spacious, and the balcony overlooking the river was worth the cheap upgrade.
It was late by this point, but the rain had abated. We thought about wandering the streets of Yangzhou to get a feel for our new town, but the ten or so hours it took to go door to door, the closed shop fronts and the chill mountain air made us take refuge under the three large comforters in the room. We called it a night and hoped the beauty of the Karst mountains would reveal itself in the morning.
-Ken and Davida
Friday, December 28, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Xmas in Xi'an
We awoke early Christmas morning to sunlight streaming into our warm four star hotel room. As it had been quite some time since we'd seen the old boy, we laid abed for a spell soaking up his ultraviolet goodness. Our gift to ourselves this year was a trip to the see the Terracotta Army of Xi'an, a spectacular collection of life sized soldiers buried as funerary art for the emperor Qin over two thousand years ago. The idea was that he would need an army to protect and fight for him in the afterlife.
We layered up to combat the subzero temperature outside and walked fifteen minutes to the railway station to catch the 306 bus to the museum. It took an hour, cost just over a dollar each and was warm and comfortable enough. As we had been quoted a 150USD car service at the airport for the same excursion, we high-fived as the bus meandered its way to our destination.
The walk from the bus depot to the museum is a somewhat lengthy affair, lined with touristy restaurants as well as all manner of stands selling all manner of crap, from miniature figures of the clay soldiers to ceramic German shepherds to small battery powered seals that bark and balance balls on their noses. Ladies cajoled us with broken English to purchase their wares or eat their noodles as we hurried past, eager to get out of the cold.
The museum itself is essentially an enormous airplane hanger built over the excavation sight. It sits a few meters down from present day street level and is comprised of now roofless corridors full of ranks of the terracotta soldiers eerily poised as though ready to defend at any moment. Officers and infantry, horses and the remains of chariots stand guard facing east, the direction from which Qin's enemies would likely attack. Each statue's face is unique, each a very distinct personality. Among the legions are the remains of the fallen, fragments of once beautiful figures broken by the passage of millennia and the collapse of rotted wooden roof beams.
Our heads were spinning as we left. The work and care it must have taken to create such an amazing collection only to bury it forever was astounding to us. In fact, we were so blown away that we wandered into a restaurant for lunch that served us the most disappointing and one of the priciest meals we've eaten in China. Small plates of over cooked noodles, not the dishes we ordered, were presented to us and our attempts to contest the exorbitant bill were met with little more than indifference. You can't win 'em all.
We took the bus back to the city, warmed up at the hotel, found a small soup stand on a cold street and ate our Christmas dinner sitting at a low table on the sidewalk. It may not have been a Dickensian goose, but I couldn't have imagined a more satisfying and warming moment. Happy holidays, dear friends.
-Ken
We layered up to combat the subzero temperature outside and walked fifteen minutes to the railway station to catch the 306 bus to the museum. It took an hour, cost just over a dollar each and was warm and comfortable enough. As we had been quoted a 150USD car service at the airport for the same excursion, we high-fived as the bus meandered its way to our destination.
The walk from the bus depot to the museum is a somewhat lengthy affair, lined with touristy restaurants as well as all manner of stands selling all manner of crap, from miniature figures of the clay soldiers to ceramic German shepherds to small battery powered seals that bark and balance balls on their noses. Ladies cajoled us with broken English to purchase their wares or eat their noodles as we hurried past, eager to get out of the cold.
The museum itself is essentially an enormous airplane hanger built over the excavation sight. It sits a few meters down from present day street level and is comprised of now roofless corridors full of ranks of the terracotta soldiers eerily poised as though ready to defend at any moment. Officers and infantry, horses and the remains of chariots stand guard facing east, the direction from which Qin's enemies would likely attack. Each statue's face is unique, each a very distinct personality. Among the legions are the remains of the fallen, fragments of once beautiful figures broken by the passage of millennia and the collapse of rotted wooden roof beams.
Our heads were spinning as we left. The work and care it must have taken to create such an amazing collection only to bury it forever was astounding to us. In fact, we were so blown away that we wandered into a restaurant for lunch that served us the most disappointing and one of the priciest meals we've eaten in China. Small plates of over cooked noodles, not the dishes we ordered, were presented to us and our attempts to contest the exorbitant bill were met with little more than indifference. You can't win 'em all.
We took the bus back to the city, warmed up at the hotel, found a small soup stand on a cold street and ate our Christmas dinner sitting at a low table on the sidewalk. It may not have been a Dickensian goose, but I couldn't have imagined a more satisfying and warming moment. Happy holidays, dear friends.
-Ken
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Suzhou, The Venice of China
Take a thirty minute bullet train west from Sanghai for under 6USD and you will find yourself in a small, historic canal town called Suzhou... The cab ride was short and the driver friendly. Possibly the only personable cabbie in the country. However, when he wanted to drop us off in the middle of a six lane highway bridge, I thought we might be getting screwed. I asked him "are we here?" but he of course could not understand me. It must have been my Philly accent. He started rambling and pointing, first left, then right, then straight ahead, his gestures even more confusing than his dialect. Davida said, "Forget it. We'll find it." We alighted and scurried to the side of the highway where we discovered a stone stairwell leading down to the banks of the canal over which the bridge crossed and were instantaneously teleported to the China of three hundred years ago...
The stone streets were lines with red orb lanterns and quaint shop fronts. The canal was adorned with wooden barges which carried dozens of Chinese tourists along the waterways. Walking the narrow throughway, we heard the sonorous melodies of an oriental orchestra, and before long, came upon the source of the haunting tones. A lofted opera stage sheltered by a pagoda rooftop housed a three piece chamber ensemble opposite a pavilion from which we have since taken to spending the twilight hours.
After a painless check-in at our hotel, fortunately a stone's throw across the canal from that very pavilion, we entered our room and found it a darling first floor sanctuary whose windows opened right onto the sidewalk on the waterway, revealing this exquisite place from the most intimate of vantage points. Passersby gaped at us through our window as though we were the attraction, amused by the white people hanging out of it. Skippers stared as their barely seaworthy vessels chugged by.
Our first order of business was to find lunch. It was cold and rainy, as it seems to be every travel day for us, and it was this that prompted a minor lapse in judgement. Intent on finding a warm place to take refuge, our options slimmed as we passed one open-air restaurant after another, each with nothing but Chinese characters on the menu, until we finally came to a place with pictures and an actual door. But upon entering, we immediately realized that its differences were greater than just these. We managed to find what is probably the only Muslim Pakistani restaurant in town. And they weren't too keen on us, either. We ordered greens, some meat on a stick, and a chicken dish that turned out to be mostly tendon. And not the tasty, well seasoned sheep tendon we enjoyed in Beijing, but a chewy, crunchy affair that had the texture of nostril cartilage. It took 30 minutes for our food to arrive. And for the price we paid, we could have eaten street food from any of the dozens of stalls we passed five times over, in a quarter of the time. Oh well.
That evening we took a walkabout, and as the red lanterns were lit, the charm of Suzhou was further revealed to us. This is the Venice of China.
Today, we hit the streets like Bourdain, on a mission to eat everything strange. We were rewarded with unknown fishes, pork products, dumplings and fruits. Basted, fried, candied, and otherwise prepared, our awe and enthusiasm for it soon became quite a spectacle, and again we somehow felt that we were the attraction as tourists and vendors gathered to watch us eat. It is worth mentioning that we washed our meal down with baijiu, a unique Chinese liquor that tastes like moonshine, costs 1 dollar American, and is consumed exclusively by men over the age of 60. What a sight this white guy is with his thick beard and his baijiu eating fish on a stick in the middle of the sidewalk on a cold Suzhou evening.
Now we are back in our room listening to the catlike voice of a crooning karaoke singer drifting down the canal from a nearby bar. We might just put our names on the list.
Ken and Davida
The stone streets were lines with red orb lanterns and quaint shop fronts. The canal was adorned with wooden barges which carried dozens of Chinese tourists along the waterways. Walking the narrow throughway, we heard the sonorous melodies of an oriental orchestra, and before long, came upon the source of the haunting tones. A lofted opera stage sheltered by a pagoda rooftop housed a three piece chamber ensemble opposite a pavilion from which we have since taken to spending the twilight hours.
After a painless check-in at our hotel, fortunately a stone's throw across the canal from that very pavilion, we entered our room and found it a darling first floor sanctuary whose windows opened right onto the sidewalk on the waterway, revealing this exquisite place from the most intimate of vantage points. Passersby gaped at us through our window as though we were the attraction, amused by the white people hanging out of it. Skippers stared as their barely seaworthy vessels chugged by.
Our first order of business was to find lunch. It was cold and rainy, as it seems to be every travel day for us, and it was this that prompted a minor lapse in judgement. Intent on finding a warm place to take refuge, our options slimmed as we passed one open-air restaurant after another, each with nothing but Chinese characters on the menu, until we finally came to a place with pictures and an actual door. But upon entering, we immediately realized that its differences were greater than just these. We managed to find what is probably the only Muslim Pakistani restaurant in town. And they weren't too keen on us, either. We ordered greens, some meat on a stick, and a chicken dish that turned out to be mostly tendon. And not the tasty, well seasoned sheep tendon we enjoyed in Beijing, but a chewy, crunchy affair that had the texture of nostril cartilage. It took 30 minutes for our food to arrive. And for the price we paid, we could have eaten street food from any of the dozens of stalls we passed five times over, in a quarter of the time. Oh well.
That evening we took a walkabout, and as the red lanterns were lit, the charm of Suzhou was further revealed to us. This is the Venice of China.
Today, we hit the streets like Bourdain, on a mission to eat everything strange. We were rewarded with unknown fishes, pork products, dumplings and fruits. Basted, fried, candied, and otherwise prepared, our awe and enthusiasm for it soon became quite a spectacle, and again we somehow felt that we were the attraction as tourists and vendors gathered to watch us eat. It is worth mentioning that we washed our meal down with baijiu, a unique Chinese liquor that tastes like moonshine, costs 1 dollar American, and is consumed exclusively by men over the age of 60. What a sight this white guy is with his thick beard and his baijiu eating fish on a stick in the middle of the sidewalk on a cold Suzhou evening.
Now we are back in our room listening to the catlike voice of a crooning karaoke singer drifting down the canal from a nearby bar. We might just put our names on the list.
Ken and Davida
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Thus Far
It's been a month and a half on the road and I'm feeling pretty damned good about things. I'm navigating subway lines, remembering street names and orientations and communicating well in Chinese and Japanese which, of course, means I can say 'please', 'thank you' and 'beer'. It's not bad. I can walk into any Chinese establishment and say in Mandarin, "Hello, beer please." When the beverage arrives and I politely say, "Thank you", you'd think I've been speaking Chinese my whole life.
These days it's Shanghai, a modern metropolis teeming with westernized city folk enjoying the rising standard of living in Chinese cities. It's clean, efficient and freakin' boring. It's like Vancouver... though I've never been there. Vancouver could be a blast, I don't know. In truth, we haven't yet made our way to the riverfront. That's tonight. It's supposed to be geared toward Chinese tourists from the more rural parts of the country, so that sounds kind of fun. Then there's Pudong on the east side of the river. That's the skyscraper part of town you saw in one of the new Bond movies or Batmans or whatever. It looks cool. There's like a 120 story observation deck in one of the buildings. Crazy, no? We're also thinking maybe a river cruise. Apparently, that's one of the best ways to view of the city. I like boats, so...
We did find a beautiful old working class neighborhood the other day consisting of dirty, narrow streets and nonexistent sidewalks. It's a short walk southeast from the North Sichwan Street stop on the 10 line. It was around dinner time and there were loads of pop up tents sheltering grill after grill of smoking meat on a stick type deals. That and the many small restaurants made the area my favorite so far. We wandered into a place and ate sweet and sour bear. It was tasty.
Later...
Ok, the riverfront was awesome. It was a dizzying mix of old alleys and blinking lights on a modern promenade. The view of the cityscape from the boardwalk was like living in 'Blade Runner'. The damnable cold compelled us to curtail our outing sooner than I would have hoped, however, but I can't be terribly upset about that as we will living in a beach hut on a Malaysian island in two weeks. Aloha, suckers!
-Ken
These days it's Shanghai, a modern metropolis teeming with westernized city folk enjoying the rising standard of living in Chinese cities. It's clean, efficient and freakin' boring. It's like Vancouver... though I've never been there. Vancouver could be a blast, I don't know. In truth, we haven't yet made our way to the riverfront. That's tonight. It's supposed to be geared toward Chinese tourists from the more rural parts of the country, so that sounds kind of fun. Then there's Pudong on the east side of the river. That's the skyscraper part of town you saw in one of the new Bond movies or Batmans or whatever. It looks cool. There's like a 120 story observation deck in one of the buildings. Crazy, no? We're also thinking maybe a river cruise. Apparently, that's one of the best ways to view of the city. I like boats, so...
We did find a beautiful old working class neighborhood the other day consisting of dirty, narrow streets and nonexistent sidewalks. It's a short walk southeast from the North Sichwan Street stop on the 10 line. It was around dinner time and there were loads of pop up tents sheltering grill after grill of smoking meat on a stick type deals. That and the many small restaurants made the area my favorite so far. We wandered into a place and ate sweet and sour bear. It was tasty.
Later...
Ok, the riverfront was awesome. It was a dizzying mix of old alleys and blinking lights on a modern promenade. The view of the cityscape from the boardwalk was like living in 'Blade Runner'. The damnable cold compelled us to curtail our outing sooner than I would have hoped, however, but I can't be terribly upset about that as we will living in a beach hut on a Malaysian island in two weeks. Aloha, suckers!
-Ken
Saturday, December 15, 2012
An Introduction to Beijing
***IMPORTANT NOTE*** For those of you seeking visual aids, our photos can be found on Instagram under the names kenhfinn and exittotheleft. Both are public, so you do not need an Instagram account to view them. We welcome your feedback on this decision.
Beijing. Where to begin. We are a mere six hours from flying out, and still tongue tied and speechless as to how to convey the weight and significance of our experience here. What a beautiful city. It is so many things at once, complex strands of ancient culture, modernity, poverty and wealth, all woven together and fraying at the ends. Cheesy as it sounds, being in Beijing has felt like the coming of spring on account of the warmth of its community even in spite of the frigid air. On our second night here we wandered into a restaurant at the mouth of a hutong (see below) and met two guys that have deeply shaped our impression of this place- the Chinese call it yuanfen, we call it destiny. Kris and Zack, from Chicago and Colorado, joined us at our table, ordered their favorite things on the menu in perfect Mandarin, and showed their genuine delight at having met two travelers at the start of what can be a lonely winter in Beijing.
We learned on the walk home that they live in the same compound where we were staying, and so the following night they took us out for hot pot in the neighborhood with their landlord, girlfriends and friends. Dinner was a raucous affair. By the time the check arrived, the entire table was covered in sauce, food scraps, and an impressive collection of empty bottles. Man, the Chinese can drink. Luckily, their beers run a very sessionable 3% ABV.
This is Hot Pot. Built into the table is a one burner stovetop onto which a server places a giant pot, with a divider in the middle separating two distinct broths: one spicy and one mild. Then an endless parade of raw meats and vegetables is brought to the table and the diners cook the food themselves. Think the singing plate scene from Beauty and the Beast. Even with an entourage of guests coming and going throughout the meal several plates went unfinished.
After dinner we wandered the hutong, an endangered infrastructure of labyrinthine streets where people live with a true and honest understanding of hardship. These neighborhoods are gritty, loud and fast becoming extinct. There is a Chinese saying that a man will leave his shop, go for a walkabout, and upon turning toward home will get lost because the city has changed so quickly.
We awoke in the morning to a thin blanket of snow on the ground, a rarity for Beijing. It was Kris' birthday, and again, as yuanfen goes, he wanted to spend it hiking a remote and completely unrestored portion of the Great Wall on the same day that we had designated for our trip there. The catch is that were it not for meeting him two days before, we would have ended up at Badaling, a touristy section completely restored in the last 30 years. As it was, we were in Gubeikou, a ghostly beautiful expanse of snow covered hills and virgin hiking trails. We passed through a tiny village of people truly living off the land. Chickens, goats and huge stacks of firewood flanked the dirt road. Halfway up the trail, a frozen silence hovered around us, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a distant train whistle. From the top we had an unbelievable foreshortened view of three decrepit guard towers between large crumbling sections of the wall. It was stunning.
After a quiet drive back to the city, we went to a restaurant famed for its eggplant. Those of you who know Ken are aware that it's one of his least favorite foods, however, all were in agreement that it was the best dish on the table. After more food than we should have eaten including vinegar dressed greens and sheep tendon kebabs, it was time to bring to a close our happiest day in China thus far.
Beijing. Where to begin. We are a mere six hours from flying out, and still tongue tied and speechless as to how to convey the weight and significance of our experience here. What a beautiful city. It is so many things at once, complex strands of ancient culture, modernity, poverty and wealth, all woven together and fraying at the ends. Cheesy as it sounds, being in Beijing has felt like the coming of spring on account of the warmth of its community even in spite of the frigid air. On our second night here we wandered into a restaurant at the mouth of a hutong (see below) and met two guys that have deeply shaped our impression of this place- the Chinese call it yuanfen, we call it destiny. Kris and Zack, from Chicago and Colorado, joined us at our table, ordered their favorite things on the menu in perfect Mandarin, and showed their genuine delight at having met two travelers at the start of what can be a lonely winter in Beijing.
We learned on the walk home that they live in the same compound where we were staying, and so the following night they took us out for hot pot in the neighborhood with their landlord, girlfriends and friends. Dinner was a raucous affair. By the time the check arrived, the entire table was covered in sauce, food scraps, and an impressive collection of empty bottles. Man, the Chinese can drink. Luckily, their beers run a very sessionable 3% ABV.
This is Hot Pot. Built into the table is a one burner stovetop onto which a server places a giant pot, with a divider in the middle separating two distinct broths: one spicy and one mild. Then an endless parade of raw meats and vegetables is brought to the table and the diners cook the food themselves. Think the singing plate scene from Beauty and the Beast. Even with an entourage of guests coming and going throughout the meal several plates went unfinished.
After dinner we wandered the hutong, an endangered infrastructure of labyrinthine streets where people live with a true and honest understanding of hardship. These neighborhoods are gritty, loud and fast becoming extinct. There is a Chinese saying that a man will leave his shop, go for a walkabout, and upon turning toward home will get lost because the city has changed so quickly.
We awoke in the morning to a thin blanket of snow on the ground, a rarity for Beijing. It was Kris' birthday, and again, as yuanfen goes, he wanted to spend it hiking a remote and completely unrestored portion of the Great Wall on the same day that we had designated for our trip there. The catch is that were it not for meeting him two days before, we would have ended up at Badaling, a touristy section completely restored in the last 30 years. As it was, we were in Gubeikou, a ghostly beautiful expanse of snow covered hills and virgin hiking trails. We passed through a tiny village of people truly living off the land. Chickens, goats and huge stacks of firewood flanked the dirt road. Halfway up the trail, a frozen silence hovered around us, interrupted only by the occasional sound of a distant train whistle. From the top we had an unbelievable foreshortened view of three decrepit guard towers between large crumbling sections of the wall. It was stunning.
After a quiet drive back to the city, we went to a restaurant famed for its eggplant. Those of you who know Ken are aware that it's one of his least favorite foods, however, all were in agreement that it was the best dish on the table. After more food than we should have eaten including vinegar dressed greens and sheep tendon kebabs, it was time to bring to a close our happiest day in China thus far.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Tearing Down the Great Firewall of China
BOOOOYAAA!! Ah-Boo-Ya. I have done it. Aside from the multitude of events I have to report about our first day in China, the most recent victory is the setup of a VPN that will allow us to recount to you, dear readers, the many tales there are to tell. A VPN, as it serves our purpose, is a Virtual Private Network, allowing us to circumvent the staunch prohibition of free broadcast imposed by the People's Republic of China. In laymen's terms, China has disabled Facebook, blog sites, and even google searches mentioning the words facebook, blog, and blocked. I was determined to find an out. Thank you UK VPN.
Indeed, the abundance of blockades, scams, con artists and charlatans we have encountered since we arrived has done little but galvanize our resolve. The moment we deplaned, we were met by a bombardment of taxi drivers offering us their services for no less than six times the appropriate cost. Successfully averting these men and navigating our way to the legitimate taxi stand, we arrived safely at our host's compound, albeit in spite of a disgruntled driver who was sour at having waited at the airport for two hours only to be awarded with passengers going the distance of 5 miles, for a mere ten dollars. Today we visited the famed silk market with designs of buying thick socks and long underwear, and again had to muster uncharacteristic severity in order to escape with our bankroll and dignity intact. Ken, having a natural predilection for haggling, scored a wonderfully warm pair of fleece long underwear for less than 7USD, after being quoted $28. I, on the other hand, decided if this is the way business was conducted, I needed none of it. I was consoled by a bowl of noodles across the street, and Ken brilliantly suggested a leek cake, which looked like a pastie, and was bloated with onion and garlic. And probably MSG. And it was amazing. Plus, our lunch was less than the cost of the long underwear. Like I said, ah-boo-ya.
There's more to report about this day, but it's dinnertime, and although we were offline for such a short time that I am quite sure we were not heartily missed, I am happy to say that we will be reporting our exploits from here to Hong Kong.
For now, fight the good fight and keep reading.
Davida
Indeed, the abundance of blockades, scams, con artists and charlatans we have encountered since we arrived has done little but galvanize our resolve. The moment we deplaned, we were met by a bombardment of taxi drivers offering us their services for no less than six times the appropriate cost. Successfully averting these men and navigating our way to the legitimate taxi stand, we arrived safely at our host's compound, albeit in spite of a disgruntled driver who was sour at having waited at the airport for two hours only to be awarded with passengers going the distance of 5 miles, for a mere ten dollars. Today we visited the famed silk market with designs of buying thick socks and long underwear, and again had to muster uncharacteristic severity in order to escape with our bankroll and dignity intact. Ken, having a natural predilection for haggling, scored a wonderfully warm pair of fleece long underwear for less than 7USD, after being quoted $28. I, on the other hand, decided if this is the way business was conducted, I needed none of it. I was consoled by a bowl of noodles across the street, and Ken brilliantly suggested a leek cake, which looked like a pastie, and was bloated with onion and garlic. And probably MSG. And it was amazing. Plus, our lunch was less than the cost of the long underwear. Like I said, ah-boo-ya.
There's more to report about this day, but it's dinnertime, and although we were offline for such a short time that I am quite sure we were not heartily missed, I am happy to say that we will be reporting our exploits from here to Hong Kong.
For now, fight the good fight and keep reading.
Davida
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