Crossing Boarders

Finally…the plane lands. Now before I go on, I must let you know that the night before I left, I had only had about four hours sleep. Further, I’ve never done well at sleeping in moving vehicles. So in total, I had only had at most five hours of shut eye in about 48 hours. All this to say that I was probably a bit of a mess. It was in this state that I made my way through customs. I handed the young man at the booth my passport, opened to the picture. He took it. He looked at the picture, then at me, then back down at the picture. Still looking at my passport, he inquires, “so, where are you off to next?” Without thinking, I reply, “I’m kind of tired, I think I am just going to make my way downtown and then look for a hotel.” He and his colleague next to him immediately burst out into peels of laughter. They don’t even try to contain their giggles. He gives me a wide grin and then with smirk still on his face says, “So how long will you be staying in the country?” To which I reply, “Oh,” slight pause, “now I get it…this isn’t friendly chitchat to pass the time while you’re determining whether or not I really look like my passport photo. This is actually part of your job.” Then the second round of loud guffaws ensues. At this point, I am sure that he thinks that this is utterly hopeless. With a flick of the wrist and a smile, he waves me through and tells me to have a good time. And I could have sworn that I heard him say that the men in white jackets would be waiting for me down at the end of the hall.

Any guess where these photos were taken? If you’re not quite sure, don’t worry. More photos and proper hints are on their way.

The First Leg

The first part of my trip went off without a hitch. I took the airport shuttle out to catch my flight. The driver, Robin, a vivacious Australian, chatted up a storm. Turns out we have some similar interests in alternative health. I now know where and when all the best Chi gong classes take place and have the name of the best doctor of Chinese medicine in town. I intend to check it all out when I get back.

The first leg of my journey I had a suit from Vancouver sitting beside me. And no, I did not dare ask what he was wearing. Turns out this city slicker had just been up for a mountain trek “boot camp.” I am so amazed that these city folk pay big bucks to have someone take them up mountain trails that I’ve done for free my whole life. And then have someone fix them healthy meals that we make for ourselves at a fraction of the cost. He went on about his trepidation at possibly seeing a bear or other wildlife and talked about the struggles of steep mountain peaks and low oxygen levels. They were taught about “detoxification,” and encouraged to drink these health tisanes in the morning which made him rather nervous. He chattered on happily until the loud whirl of the dash 8’s propellers droned out all other sounds.

If you’ve never flown in and out of the Kootenay’s, Nelson’s nearest airport is quite an experience. The mountains are nestled so tightly together that it’s been rated one of the worst airports in North America. As the plane takes off, it heads straight for the mountain in front of it as it’s gaining altitude, making a tight turn at the last minute and then another and then another before it is eventually high enough to fly off to it’s destination. The pilots in recent years seem much more adept at maneuvering these tight angles than in the past. Only the most experienced pilots come in and out of this airport.

(Okay, now it's your turn, and I admit that some of you will have an unfair advantage. Tell me where I took that first photo. Hint...it's not so far from home.)

Going, going....

Gone...
As you see, I am off. I will try to post pics with snippets when I have time and can find an internet cafe or wireless. Your job is to figure out where I am...anywhere along the way. Let me know, and if you guess right, there just might be a special prize in it for you.

They've Got My Number

Gone are the quiet days where the phone refuses to intrude on my peace and serenity. That's right, they've got my number. The calls are queued up and continue non-stop. "Would you like to donate to this?," "Can we interest you in that?" Well, they've found me. This is the latest.

Me: (Phone ringing, me picking up) Hello.
Them: (silence then ever so light click) Hello, is Mr or Mrs Jones there?
Me: Sorry, you have the wrong number.
Them: (Deep sigh and then with sassy American twang) Ma'am, we might have the wrong name, but we don't have the wrong number.

Uhm...trust me...ya, you do.

Now, if I thought I could hold it together...this is really how I would like the conversation to go:
http://howtoprankatelemarketer.ytmnd.com/

Coming Soon...

...to a Blog Near You:

Where in the World is Carla?

Stay tuned - Details to be announced.

House Keeping

Dear fellow bloggers, I can't believe how incredibly patient you are with me and that I haven't received more scolding. It's now been almost three weeks since "Lie Detector," and somehow I still haven't confessed. It's not that I didn't have intentions of telling you before now, but somehow life just kind of got away on me and here we are now, three weeks later.

So, the moment you've all been waiting for....drum roll please. Yes, that's right...Lie Detector revealed. Well, the truth is, that it was indeed the last statement that is not true. You know, the one about chocolate being my biggest vice. Yes, I love chocolate, but my biggest vice? Come on, how does one even measure that? A chocolate snob I would have conceded, yes. But vice? I don't even eat chocolate every day. I once had a roommate in university who needed chocolate every day, at least one bar. Ironically she was with me when I was flashed in front of that convent. Chocolate might be one of her vices, but certainly not mine. I rarely if ever touch the American stuff, too waxy and often sickly sweet. I do like the Swiss chocolate, the dark stuff preferably and it's even better if they are truffles. I did find a bar embedded with dried cherries and I quite enjoyed that. Yum. But biggest vice? I don't know. I'm going to have to ponder my vices for a bit. Perhaps that will make for another post if I get on the "confessions" train.

As for the rest, yes, indeed, I did get those Arab men to dance for me, scarves and all. I know, hard to believe, but when I was younger, I was able to convince many a people to do many a thing. The train, yep, happened right here in Nelson. How could I not get on? How often does an opportunity like that come around? The tornado? That was simply one sampling of a bizarre string of events that plagued me that entire trip. Workshops, planes, those places are fertile grounds for interesting events and misinterpretations. Life is an adventure. sometimes you just have to run with it. Chocolate, it's kind of like wine. I only take it if it's the really good stuff.

Black Forest Cake

Okay, you asked for it, or rather JBelle did. So I'll share the recipe. The only problem is that it was scooped up before I could hardly get the whipped cream on...as a result, I am picture less on this one. So you will just have to trust me...this one is worth it...old family recipe. It's never failed us. I will, however, share a picture of this morning's breakfast. A dear friend came to visit yesterday and she had been BERRY PICKING!!! I was the recipient of a fabulous pail of wild huckleberries. Yum!

Black Forest Cake

1 21 ounce can cherry pie filling - or make your own. Throw fresh pitted cherries in a medium sized sauce pan (estimate). Add a little water and sugar to taste...stew them up. Add Kirsch, Brandy, Rum or whatever tickles your fancy or nothing at all. Thicken with cornstarch. Make sure you thicken enough, we're not making cobbler here. Yes, I know, I could be a little more precise, but this is truly how I cook. Who says you can't make art out of science?

2 1/4 C flour
1 1/2 C sugar
3/4 C unsweetened Cocoa powder
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 C water
1/2 C oil
1/4 C vinegar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla

Spread pie filling evenly over the bottom of a greased 9X13 baking pan (or two circular pans if you want to stack). In large bowl stir together all dry ingredients. In another bowl combine water, oil, vinegar and vanilla. Add liquid to the flour mixture all at once. Stir just to moisten. Pour batter evenly over cherry pie filling. Bake at 350 for 30 to 35 minutes or until cake tests done. Cool 10 minutes in pan; invert and cool. Cover with whipped cream before serving. Sprinkle with chocolate shavings if desired.

Uff Da!

Please excuse my tardiness in all things blog related these days. I have been organizing, almost single handedly, a reunion which started today. We have about 65 people in attendance, which is by no means unwieldy, but…still, there are things to do, questions to answer, activities to organize, entertainment to dream up. And I am exhausted. Will be back in a few days. Cheers.

Confessions

Here I have been touting the benefits of apricots when the reality is that in private, I’ve been glutting myself on another. Yes, that’s right, step aside apricot there is another superstar on the block who has wooed me…whose succulent sweetness is even more delicious and coveted; whose decadent charm cannot be denied; a fruit who has captivated our imaginations for centuries; and who has enriched the English language by lending itself to numerous expressions. You guessed it; I’m talking about the cherry. Isn’t life just a “bowl of cherries?” When we really want something, don’t we say, “pretty please with a cherry on top?” And haven’t we all at one point or another been guilty of “cherry picking?’

Well, the cherry and I have a long history. Cherries bring back a myriad of childhood memories. What little girl hasn’t hung a pair of cherries over her ears, creating beautifully round crimson earrings and being instantly transformed into a princess? And show me someone who doesn’t glean great delight from grabbing a handful of cherries from a bowl, sucking out all of their sweet goodness and then spitting out the pit.

But seriously, cherries are today’s hottest “super fruit.” Science is now revealing that cherries have among the highest levels of disease fighting antioxidants of all fruits. They have a rich supply of anthocyanins. Anthocyanins are more effective than vitamin C and four times more potent as an antioxidant than vitamin E. It has been compared to ibuprofen, aspirin, and naproxen for their anti-inflammatory action. Have gout, arthritis or even a headache? Perhaps you should be eating cherries.

A new study conducted by researchers from the University of Michigan Integrative Medicine Program found that a cherry-enriched diet helped reduce risk factors for heart disease and metabolic syndrome, also known as insulin resistance syndrome or pre-diabetes. And…cherries are one of the few food sources of melatonin. According to Dr Russel Reiter, a nutrition researcher and one of the world’s authorities on melatonin, eating cherries might possibly be a way to boost the body’s melatonin levels to hasten sleep and fight jet lag

Back to my story: initially, I had a whole box of cherries. I had great plans of drying some and making brandied cherries with the rest (a great winter treat). But those plans were quickly left by the wayside as I started in on the box content to eat until my tongue turned purple. At the tail end, I remembered an intriguing recipe posted over at La Tartine Gourmande: Chocolate Clafoutis! Now how could one go wrong with what amounts to cherries cooked in chocolate pudding? Delicious! Now if I get another box, perhaps I'll share my easy, easy recipe for no fail Black Forest Cake.

Summer's Bounty: the Apricot

I love this time of year if for nothing else than mother nature's sweet treasures. Today's tasty treats hail from the Okanagan: the elegant apricot, one of the first signs that summer truly has arrived...not that I would be one to doubt with the little heat wave we've been having.

Several fact to confirm the apricot's status as a noble fruit: these beautifully orange coloured fruits are chalked full of beta carotene, lycopene, vitamin C and fibre. They've been known to protect against cataracts and prostate cancer. They were revered as aphrodisiacs in some cultures, and in the Hunza region (longest living and healthiest people in the world), a person's wealth was measured by how many apricot trees he owned. As early as 502, apricot seeds were used to treat tumors...they have a remarkably high amygdalin content and are a source of vitamin B17. The kernels are also often substituted in place of almonds to flavour Amaretto and the pressed oil is used for cooking or in cosmetics. (Quick side note: if you're going to try to do anything with the pits, please bake them first as the kernels can be poisonous if ingested raw in large quantities).

So what have I done with my apricots aside from eating? Give you one quick guess.

Adventure in Learning English

Conversation with an 11 year old Korean boy...

Me: How are you today?
KB: Good
Me: Well, what did you get up to?
KB: I was raking the bitch.
Me: Pardon me? You were raking the WHAT?!
KB: I was raking the bitch.
Me: Oh....okay, put you teeth together and make your lips really wide like you're going to give me a nice big smile. Now try.
KB: Eee...eee...eee.

Lie Detector

I was recently tagged by Pandave over at Odi Et Amo. The rules are as follows:

• Post the rules before beginning
• List eight random facts/habits about yourself and post to your blog
• At the end of the post, choose eight people to tag and list their names
• Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged and to read your blog

Now, because I am sooooo good at following rules, I’ve decided to throw in a little twist to make this a little more interactive. One of the things I list is going to be false. Your job is to detect the lie. These are more stories / experiences rather than facts / habits. Oh, well. Feel free to ask me any questions about any of the stories. Good luck.

1. I once convinced a few Arab men to put on some traditional Lebanese music, pull out some scarves, and show me how the women in their country danced. At first they were a little apprehensive, but eventually they all got really into it and I think actually enjoyed themselves. I, of course, was highly entertained.
2. Once while taking a shortcut along train tracks, a train came by. I moved to the side and waved at the conductors and then pretended to hitchhike. Much to my surprise, the train stopped and the drivers asked me where I was going. I hopped aboard and was taken to my destination. The traffic waiting on either side of the tracks was somewhat stunned when the train stopped (not a stop) and I climbed out. (As a side note, there are very few passenger trains in Canada and not a lot of stops)
3. A number of years ago at a conference down in Vancouver, I was facilitating a workshop called “Survival Activities to Add to Your Bag of Tricks.” When I arrived at where I was to present, I noticed that there was a typo in the workshop title. It now read: “Cervical Activities to Add to Your Bag of Tricks.” Of course it provided for a great opener. The room was packed and I had to question why there were so many men in the audience. I figure that either they thought they were at a medical conference or they simply stopped in to see the demo.
4. When I lived in Quebec City, I used to take a short cut beside a convent to get to the university. One day, right in front of the convent, I was flashed (I always found that juxtaposition quite ironic). I laughed at the guy and continued on.
5. I used to travel a fair amount for work. One day I was on one of those aqua velvet flights to Toronto. You know, those first flights out in the morning filled with men in suits and the permeating smell of after shave. Well, a nice suit sat down beside me and he smelled goooooood. I was thinking that the fellow I was with at the time could use a new cologne. So I turned to this guy and innocently asked him what he was wearing. He gave me a cheeky smile and said, “Actually, I’m going commando.” Me, never having seen that Seinfeld episode quipped back, “That’s great, cause I sure would like to get me some of that.” I’ll leave it to you to imagine the expression on his face. (And he thought he was shocking me!)
6. In Banff, there is a great restaurant that does a wicked fondue. While there, there was a couple at the table next to us, obviously foreigners. The person who I was with and I were having a friendly debate trying to guess what language this other couple was speaking. I said Swedish, my friend thought perhaps some Slavic language. Eventually we asked them (it was Swedish) and after a bit of discussion back and forth, we invited them to join us for a drink. After a fabulous dinner and much merry making, we asked for the bill only to be told that another customer had asked to pick up our tab and had paid our entire bill. This person was no longer there so I couldn’t even thank him and to this day I have no idea who it was.
7. While traveling in the mid-west, I was either chasing a tornado or it was chasing me. The air became very calm and all bird chirping etc, eerily ceased. Then there was a huge siren. I had just hopped into my rental car and put the key in the ignition seconds before the alarm. Having never been exposed to such things, I initially thought that I must have triggered an alarm on the car. After pressing all the buttons and searching high and low to no avail, I pulled the key out but the alarm continued. So I hopped out of my car and walked around it wondering why the alarm was much louder outside the car. Eventually it dawned on me that “oh, this is a tornado warning.” The siren stopped soon thereafter and I started on my merry way. By this time evening was starting to fall. The rains started, cars were pulling under overpasses and stopping. I continued on, but decided it would be prudent to turn on radio. I was heading straight for the tornado. I eventually got turned around and went back until I found a decent hotel…almost at my starting point. That was enough of an adrenaline fix for me for quite awhile.
8. My biggest vice is dark chocolate. Not the cheap stuff…good quality, usually Swiss, German or Belgium. But I recently discovered another company that does an amazing bar with dark organic chocolate and dried cherries. Mmmm….

Now, if the following would be so kind to play along, consider yourself tagged:
The Fool over at Relationalisms
Fede over at Strayed, Uncorrelated Thoughts
Jillie at Nurse Scratched
Dawn over at Colours of Dawn
Sirdar over at Sirdar Inc
Chani at Thailand Gal
Tracy at Mom the Minx
JBelle at Notes from the 'Kan Ewa

If you've already done this meme, that's fine. Anyone else who wants to play along, let me know, the more the merrier.

Behind The Walls

I make my escape into the Forbidden City leaving behind the noise and relative chaos that surrounded me in Tienanmen Square. The Imperial Palace has been the home of 24 Chinese emperors since 1420 during the Ming and Qing dynasties. Most of these emperors rarely if ever left the palace grounds. The City is 720 000 square metres (nearly 2.6 million square feet) and the walls surrounding the complex are more than 30 feet high.

I continue along the “Imperial Road” until I step forth into a huge courtyard. The stillness is deafening. Ramps lead up in four directions towards different pavilions within the city. I hear the rustle of a broom as a simply dressed woman in a charcoal grey dress rhythmically sweeps the cobblestone in the far corner. I imagine this scene wouldn’t have been much different than when China’s imperial rulers walked these grounds. The tension from Beijing’s busy streets slowly begins to roll off my shoulders as I breathe in the tranquility. I turn the corner and find a shady spot to sit and rest.

I am there for not more than a couple minutes when a teenage girl approaches me. She politely asks me if I would pose for a picture with her family. I look over to see her parents and beside them, two sweetly smiling grandmothers sitting upon a ledge. I don’t have to look hard to notice their tiny, tiny feet. Their feet have most obviously been bound. I ask the girl how old her grandmothers are. Through a series of hand gestures, (the Chinese have the most fascinating system of hand gestures for indicating numbers which comes in very handy when bartering), I surmise that the grannies are 92. Through some further gestures, I ask the girl if I could take a picture of the grannies. They are delighted.

Square Peg in a Round Hole

(Or is it round peg in a square hole?)

I notice huge line ups at the southern end of Tienanmen Square. They are waiting to get a glimpse of Mao in his crystal casket to pay their respects. I hear it’s a big attraction, but soon, very soon, I learned that there is an even bigger attraction. Me.

It starts out innocently enough. One person asks me if she can have her picture taken with me. Why not, it takes but an instant. Two steps later, I am approached by another group. Then within seconds, like one who has taken one too many steps towards a hornet’s nest, I am swarmed by a scores of school children. They all seem to have cameras. Cameras are going off left right and centre as the children take turns standing beside me and smiling broadly. They surround me and there really is no way out. I smile and pose, but the reality is that I’m anxious to lose this instant celebrity status.

The noon day sun is blazing upon me and I drank my last drops of water ages ago. I can feel my skin slowly starting to burn as I survey this massive concrete complex for some shade. But there are no trees in the vicinity. Out of the corner of my eye I see the teachers in charge trying to quarantine their children getting more and more frustrated at the futility of their task. A moment later these very same teachers are standing beside me with their cameras also eager to have their picture taken before moving on.

I prepare for my break, but the crowds follow me. Now no longer just school tours but anyone who happens to be in the square. It seems that I can get no more than two steps in at a time before being stopped again.

It dawns on me that I should be charging. I have been standing under the intense sun for well over an hour and I’m sure that half of Beijing now has my picture. I wonder where these pictures will end up. Will I end up in some tourist brochure or as advertising for an English school? Or will I be displayed on someone’s mantle? Or perhaps shown to company and introduced as, “my Canadian friend.” Perhaps I will end up forgotten at the back of someone’s photo album. But for today, I am an attraction. The crowds watch me intently and follow my every move as I slowly make my way ever closer to the Forbidden City hoping to escape beyond its doors away from the masses.

Tienanmen Square

I am relieved to arrive in Tienanmen Square and to get away from most of the peddlers. However, I barely have a time to look around before a young girl approaches me. Through a series of gestures, I gather she wants her picture taken with me. I figure it must be because of my blonde hair. I acquiesce, after all, what harm could it do?

I hardly have a chance to take two more steps before I am approached yet again, this time by two university students. Initially, I mistakenly believe they simply want to try out their English. It soon, however, becomes evident that they have ulterior motives. You see, they are art students from Xian, and no surprise, there is an exhibit just around the corner. I am led blindly like a sheep to slaughter. There are NO exhibits simply to view beautiful things in China. Everything, I soon learn, is a capitalistic opportunity. Everything, of course, is for sale, and, of course, prices must all be negotiated. Some of the art work is done by, “very famous Chinese art masters.” I do, of course, wonder just how “famous” these “art masters” could be in a population of a billion plus, and if “very famous art masters” would actually be selling their prized masterpieces in a hot crowded classroom of first year art students. I politely listen and look around until I feel I can inconspicuously make my get away. Hastily I slip out of the room.

I find my way back into the square. I immediately look around wanting to take as much in before my next encounter. A surge of emotions washes over me as I realize just how large the largest square in the world actually is (880 metres from North to South and 500 metres from East to West, large enough to accommodate half a million people). The place is packed and I can almost envisage tanks storming the crowd in the midst of the square. I try to imagine what it was like: the chaos, students, tanks, barricades, banners waving. I can almost see the blood stains on the pavement and feel the crushed hopes of a nation.

Walk to the Square

Today I’m off to Tienamen Square and then the Forbidden City. It’s still early, but like every summer day in China, hot and humid. I start off walking due west and stop at a bank to change some money. This is a cash society. Almost no one wants to accept a credit card. Even in my hotel, they want cash.

About a block or two away from the square I’m spotted. A deluge of hawkers descends upon me. No one has any idea of what private enterprise and the spirit of capitalism are until they have been to communist China. The first one hails me with a hearty, “Hello!” and tries to interest me in his postcards. I quicken my pace and he matches it, dropping his price. Others join in, selling by and large the same items. It’s not that I’m not interested, except that I feel as if I’ve been dropped in a pool of piranhas. The potential feeding frenzy that would result if they actually smelt blood frightens me. But overall, I find the whole situation quite comical. I keep walking. One will pull up beside me with something to purchase. When I say no, he drops back and I wrongly assume we’re done with. Seconds later, he pulls up again. “Hello!” he enthusiastically says as if we’ve never met. He’s taken something new out of his bag and wants to know if perhaps it might interest me. This continues, me never knowing quite what will be pulled out of the magician’s hat. Now desperate to cut them loose, I quicken my pace once again. But I don’t break free until crossing the street to the square.

Intermingled Souls

The soul doesn’t thrive on smooth, uncluttered convictions or on lofty promises of deliverance, nor does it thrive on ideology and dogma, but rather imagination and the mystery which is love.

Love comes from years
Of breathing
Skin to skin
Tangled in each other’s dreams
Until each night weaves another thread
In the same web
Of blood and sleep

~Mary Mackey

The Dragon's Den

I have been caught in the jaws of hell, just out of reach of the dragon's ferocious bite, but not beyond his fiery breath. My heart has been scorched. I have fallen off the edge of the precipice, but I no longer know if I jumped or if I was pushed...

Guilty Pleasures #1

I had initially intended on writing of my indulgence in "guilty pleasures" yesterday, but alas, am pressed for time today. So instead, I thought I would share this little video that I had seen a few years back. Food is, after all, one of our first pleasures.

Waiting for the Bus

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite. Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance. Everyone is just waiting. ~Dr. Seuss

The Perfect Strangers

I sit and look dreamily out the window taking in the landscape mildly aware of the train's incessant bumpy hum along the track. It feels good to finally be out of the city. There is no air conditioning, but the window is slightly ajar blowing a warm breeze through my hair. I feel as if I must pinch myself to prove that I'm actually here. The countryside whizzes past: gentle hillsides dressed with corn fields and a few sparse trees. A river meanders lazily below the track and occasionally I see some poor soul hauling a load along the road. It is much greener here, but still very much a dust bowl.

A cute little boy with a wide toothy grin approaches and sits down opposite me. He can't be any older than 12. "Ni hao," he says nodding in my direction. "Ni hao," I reply back. he immediately launches in and asks another question. I shrug my shoulders and smile to indicate my lack of comprehension. He persists. I try to play anlong with the few phrases I've picked up in the past couple of days. Within the next 20 seconds I've exhausted the extent of my Mandarin. I have to give the boy an A for his determination, but eventually he realizes that the conversation has reached a dead end. Soon he gets up and ambles back into the neighbouring car. I return my attention back to the scenery.

Ten minutes pass and the little boy is back, this time with and adult in tow. Again he sits down opposite me and smiles. The adult explains that the boy was looking for someone who knows English so that he could have a conversation with me. He sits down as well. The boy launches in with a deluge of questions. I sit patiently and wait for the translation so that I can respond. He listens intently, hanging on my every word. I am struck by his curiosity as I doubt that children back home would be so outgoing with an unknown adult and ask such poignant questions. And thus I pass the next hour in the company of these perfect strangers.

Beijing by Taxi

So here am, sitting in another taxi. I don’t know if I’m dizzy from the traffic or the exhaust fumes. Perhaps I’m dehydrated. The heat is starting to get to me. The driver has the radio going; a lone female voice twists her way out of the speakers. At this point, it’s all background noise: the voice, the blaring horns, everything. We zigzag in and out and I search for landmarks but I recognize nothing. We should be going back in the general direction from whence I came, but even that is uncertain. I’m glad I picked up a business card of the hotel where I am staying. The address is written on the card in both English and Chinese. I make a mental note to remember to do that at all my stops. The last thing I need is to be unable to find my way back to my hotel in a city with a population of close to 16 million.

I have decided to go to Jingshan park. I don’t know much about it except that it is a man made mountain that was constructed sometime in the Ming dynasty. This 47.5 metre hill was created from the dirt extracted from around the Forbidden City to create the palace moat. It is both impressive and somewhat appalling to think that the dirt was moved by hand. Feng Shui dictates the auspiciousness of locating a residence to the south of a hill. Apparently there were no such hills in Beijing. But being the Emperor does have its advantages, and unlimited free man power is one of them. But all said, the park still sounds quite inviting. I’m longing for some green space: trees and flowers would be nice.

Where I Left You

I wandered off and left you. I am not sure how that could have happened. There was simply so much commotion. I was confused by the cacophony of Mandarin that I simply did not understand. There were so many people. And the heat…the heat and the humidity. It must have left me dazed and confused. In this midst of this confusion, your hand must have slipped from mine and before I realized it, I must have drifted into the crowd and been carried away by the current going down stream. But I have found my way back. Take my hand and we will continue on from where I last left you.

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I was stranded in front of the Sheraton. Well, it’s perhaps not nice to say, but when you are blonde haired and blue eyed in China, you are an oddity and there is no shortage of people who want to help you out. Or at least have their picture taken with you. They are curious about you. The fact is, I could have joined a traveling freak show and drawn huge crowds. But this was not one of those moments. There were no crowds here. This was an upscale establishment away from the dense neighbourhoods of the common man. But there was a doorman who promptly felt the need to help me in the midst of my distress.

“Is there a problem here?” he inquired.

I explained what had just happened and discovered that the Sheraton does have a bus that goes to Mutiyanu at 8:30 every morning. Well, it was now 9:30 so that was out of the question.

The doorman was outraged that the taxi driver would leave me stranded and wanted to report him immediately. I hesitated. I had been warned of the punishments that some poor Chinese souls have had to endure as the result of some disgruntled Caucasian complaint. I had only been in Beijing but a couple of days, there was still much to see. The Great Wall, I was sure, would still be there tomorrow.

I made quick inquiries as to what would be appropriate to visit in the amount of time that remained in the day. The doorman called me another cab and as he opened the door for me to get in, he handed me a card and explained that on the back he had written the taxi number of this cab as well as the phone number of where to make complaints if the driver should happen to give me any difficulties. I thanked him as he closed my door and waved the taxi on. And for the second time that morning I found myself thrust into the throng of vehicles aimlessly encircling the city.

Otherwise Preoccupied

No time to post today...head in the clouds. Will be back soon. Aren't Kootenay weather systems beautiful?

First Attempt

The humidity hangs heavy in the air even at seven this morning. I step out of the shower, dry myself off and then wonder if I have actually done so. Undoubtedly it will be another day of Beijing belly, and I’m not talking about the Beijing belly one gets from eating the mystery meat. No, this is the local style amongst the men here…a T-shirt rolled up to halter status and glaring Buddha belly sort of look. Nice. At least it's not a Speedo.

I glance out the window and for a moment watch the locals hustling about their business. The men’s Mahjong boards are already set up on a makeshift table under the shade of an unstable umbrella and a few sparse trees. They study the board with brows furrowed as seriously as if they are generals of armies deciding on great strategic defense. A woman stands in the doorway of her shop, arms crossed, surveying the street for customers. Another man quickly sets up his portable shoeshine business…a rickety old stool and a few rags.

I decide that if today is the day, I best be off. I make my way out into the narrow alleyway and am surprised at the intensity of the heat so early in the morning. Propaganda blares from the speakers through the open doors of the shops wafting out into the streets along with a variety of distinctly pentatonic sounding songs and a symphony of continuously blaring horns in the background. Putrid smells ooze up from the sewers smacking me suddenly as they intermingle with the smell of the fried ducks hanging in the windows, various bodily odors of those passing by me, stale urine alongside a building. Everything is so much bolder in this heat…in this country. It screams at me. It thrusts me into sensory overload.

I stand and take it all in before I make my way over to the confusion of taxis just off the road. I address the first fellow. No English. I was prepared for this. I rummage in my knapsack until I pull out my map. I show him where we are and then point to a place way up the map…the Great Wall, Mutiyanu. He jabbers at me in Mandarin, flailing his arms about. I have no idea what he’s getting at. Another fellow walks over and asks if he can be of assistance. I explain that I would like to go to the Great Wall and was told that I could hire a taxi for the day. I ask the fellow if he would ask the taxi driver if he would take me and for how much. They engage in conversation pointing at the map. One hundred Yuan, it’s a deal.

I hop comfortably into the back seat and securely fasten my seat belt. The driver doesn’t like that. It’s an affront on his driving skills, but I’ve now been in enough Chinese taxis to not care how he feels about it. The traffic is horrendous. We zigzag in and out. At times there are no discernable lanes, just the flow of endless vehicles pulsating towards their destinations. We continue on for what seems like forever, yet we have not yet reached the city limits. Suddenly the taxi driver turns onto a side street and pulls up in front of the Sheraton. I’m confused. He stops the vehicle, turns around and in stilted English says, "get out." It must be the only English he knows. I try to glean even a small level of comprehension. I am totally lost. He points in one general direction and continues to excitedly speak. I still have no idea what he's getting at. What am I to do? It’s his taxi. I get out.

Beauty

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. Many things in life will catch our eye, but only a few will capture our hearts. Pursue those.