Wry, NY

At 2am we learned our sleepy little street played host to quite the nightlife scene with clubs and bars spilling over a hundred people into its sidewalks. Some time later that morning we learned the hotel management lets drunken locals use the common restroom when someone mistakenly jiggled the handle of our room door.

We still managed to get our acts together by midmorning to catch a train from Grand Central Station up to Rye, NY on the New Haven line to meet up with Alex and Stephanie and finally be introduced to their children, Zachary and Sophia.

The town resembles a posh Mayberry with a population of only 10,000, 30% of the land devoted to parks and recreation, and no big box stores allowed in the city limits. It rained all day making the beachfront within walking distance of their house look more like the Oregon coast while cloaking Long Island in a mist across the bay. The beach also contains quite an activity center with a junior league hockey rink, arcade, and pool. Most impressive to me was the amusement park complete with roller-coasters and featured in the movie "Big." Jeanne also became elated when I told her this meant I wouldn't drag her all the way to Coney Island.

Though the train ride home remained uneventful, our transfer in a subway station near the Brooklyn bridge won Jeanne's award for "most like that scene from 'Jacob's Ladder.'" Peeling paint hung from the two story ceiling in foot long strips while water dripped all around us and unseen birds flew back and forth.

Punchline

A false fire alarm started our day followed by the closure of our preferred F train. This led us to Brooklyn for the first time, and though we never surfaced we managed to have what I call our first New York moment. 

A young man with two black eyes screamed detour options to a group of Spanish speaking women until another local offered her advise. Arguing commenced with the young man finally agreeing with her detour option then proceeding to shout it to the women, not because of their limited English but just because that was the only volume his voice had. 

We shopped at a flee market in Hell's Kitchen, wondered lost through Chelsea, then relaxed for awhile in Washington Park on the NYU main campus. Many musicians accompanied the warm sunny day, but the one who stood out the most did so by bringing out his upright piano on movers' dollies. 

We grabbed lunch at a taqueria near our hotel on the Lower Ease Side then shopped between Chinatown and Little Italy before finalizing plans with our friend Laura to meet up for some dinner and comedy. We followed Indian food with The Political Subversives (a musical satire improv troop - think "The Daily Show" meets "Glee") then finished catching up over hot chocolate and cake at a subway station serving both of our needed lines. This marked the first time we had to wait for a train really at all, but expecting more at 1am might be greedy. 

Past the Pasta

The PKE readings we observed at the New York Public Library measured off the charts, but since the card catalog from "Ghostbusters" had long ago been digitized we found no reason to flee down its steps upon our exit. Now new specters haunt its halls leeching WiFi from laptops within minutes of its daily opening. 

A short walk led us to Times Square where we smiled for the webcam for Jeanne's father, explored a few touristy shops, then met our neighbor Dan who moved to Albany last year. We checked out the city from the observation deck atop Rockefeller Center then headed to midtown for some Italian food. 

Portions once again became our adversary as my lobster risotto came topped with half a lobster. Jeanne's porcini ravioli arrived smothered in a mushroomy cream sauce, and I'll have to remember to make a lentil salad by adding just olive oil and olives. 

We stumbled out and walked through FAO Schwartz and narrowly avoided dancing on the "Big" piano then wondered about in Central Park before hitting up the MOMA.  Jeanne's excitement over seeing Wyeth's "Christina's World" and learning of her affliction with polio made my day. 

We took Dan on the subway back to our part of town near Little Italy for appetizers finished off with his cravings for cannoli and grappa and felt almost like locals as we easily led him to the subway he needed to transfer to his train at Penn Station. 

Other than Jeanne still pining for a folded slice of pizza we may have OD'ed on Italian for this trip.  

Deathrace 2011

For the budget price of just $28 a madman drove us from Newark to the Lower East Side in his stunt van. Along with a carload of French people we sped along at full acceleration stopping only for cross traffic and to back up on the highway in order to escape lines of other vehicles.  Pedestrians looked upon his menacing headlights and fled for the sidewalk as we brushed by them within inches.  We arrived deathly afraid of jaywalking. 

This Drug Store Life

So we're at Walgreens where I normally amuse myself giggling at the many "as seen on TV" products in a vain effort to subdue my own desire to make impulse purchases. From hearing aids shaped like bluetooth headsets to make you look like "one of those people" rather than admitting you're getting older or spent your youth too near the front of the concert stage all the way to that oscillating dumbbell as featured too many times on "The Daily Show" I feel my need for humor met splendidly. Then we go to check out.

After receiving both her receipt and one of those pre-printed coupon lists, the customer in front of us decides to return the coupons and asks the clerk to "recycle" them for her. We've reached a whole new level of environmental distancing. From "it's OK to buy all of those water bottles because they can be recycled, right?" all the way to "why don't you do it for me" we see the remnants of responsibility disregarded in a phantom "paper only" bin the clerk must be hiding beneath the strange candy he's forced to offer each customer.

She leaves with her two overflowing single use plastic bags, and the clerk fearing a movement has begun decides not to offer us any said coupons.

5:45 on Day Five

5:45am on day five our alarm sounded and I went to work boiling water in the provided electric kettle for a breakfast of instant noodles and instant coffee. The smallest container of noodles I found seemed only just shy of a quart once prepared, and both Jeanne's and my coffee and hot chocolate, respectively, included packages of jelly to go with the bubble tea straws. 

Larry arrived a few minutes early, and we found him standing on one of the market buildings admiring Moon Hill. On the way back into town he continued trying to sell us anything we still might need from other tours to transportation leaving China. We politely declined at peace with the knowledge that an actual plane waited for us in Guilin. Deciding on spending an extra day at our Yangshuo Village Inn while losing a day on Hong Kong's hustle seemed our wisest so far. 

Again an unmarked bus arrived in front of his hostel, but this one contained no one else and without further instruction it whisked us away to an unknown destination. We found the drive quite relaxing as we coasted through an endless farmland. Whether or not this is the "real China" or just some relic leftover to preserve a simpler way of life remains unknown to us, but we appreciate this being the China we saw. 

Women waited along the roadside with bundles of footlong beans going to market, others burned stacks of rice stalks, and my favorite farmer herded a few hundred ducks down a road keeping them all in a line filling the width of the road with the lead ducks at least ten feet from her position at the rear using nothing but a pair of bamboo poles as gentle reminders to stay on the path.

In less than an hour the bus dropped us off in Xingping at what seemed only a random intersection at this early hour. The driver pantemimed that we should stay then sped off. A few minutes later a woman approached us, apologized for being late in excellent English, and led us past her restaurant to a pebble beach covered with traditional rafts. She left us with her son who either spoke no English or just played the part of a dispondent teenager too well. Carrying a jug of gasoline he led us to his boat that we now saw was made of 6" PVC pipe bent up at the bow and fastened together just like the bamboo ones. We walked over many boats before reaching his and seemed confused that our river journey would be a private one since almost no other tourists waited around the area. 

We sat on wooden benches beneath a plastic canopy while he started the tiny lawnmower of an engine that put out just enough power to propel us upstream. We found so much peace along the Li River that I actually found time to catch up on my blog entries. Due to the cell phone towers hidden atop random karsps we even caught others actually texting. Ducks swam in groups while early risers did laundry and yaks grazed from grass growing beneath the swallow waters. Every single view begged to be photogrsphed since rather than being surrounded by the karsps from afar we drifted between them. On the few boats we did pass passengers photographed the many barren faces since each rock's exposed parts boast some resemblance to every day objects from horses to grandfathers staring at apples should you have the right guidebook. 

By the time we turned around the river just began to get crowded with a later run of tourists almost all of them Chinese, almost all of them featuring similar family groups we'd seen this whole trip, and almost all of them said "hello" or at least waved.  

On the shore and in the town countless women wearing fanny packs offered us passage on the boats from which we just came. Here we learned more than just Larry but everyone not employed as a farmer sought a cut from the tourist industry. We politely declined almost continuously until we reached a point deep enough in town to have only the shop owners try to lure us inside. Even every restaurant both here and in Yangshuo staffed a hostess outside to greet passersby and offer a glance at their menus.   

A cab waited to retieve us from the madness that the shoreline had become and took us back to the restaurant in Xingping. When asked whether we prefered to catch the bus now or later we chose to explore the city and its market, so the proprietaress handed us cash to use to pay for a later bus on our own.  More tourist fare lined the streets and filled the shops but on our way to the market we found many interesting fish mongers using large tubs with aquarium aerators because in China fresh means still beathing. In the main market people hawked their wares using headset mics and speakers, women knitted shoes to soles, and we caught our first glimpse of a litter of dogs among live chickens, ducks, and rabbits.

We snacked at a pastry shop that had benches all hung from the ceiling like swings with artificial flowers covering the ropes then took the bus back to Yangshuo. Much more crowded than our ride from Yangshuo even a live chicken fresh from the market poked its head out of a shopping bag from time to time. 

After more wondering around West Street we dined at a French cuisine themed restaurant that served mostly Chinese and local dishes. We finally ordered the town's famous "beer fish" but chose the cheaper, bonier carp rather than opting for the catfish. Jeanne really enjoyed it but I had problems with the infinite amount of tiny bones.       

Day Four for Real This Time

Day four for real this time. 

A wonderful queen sized bed waited for us upstairs at the Yangshuo Village Inn. The bathroom almost occupied as much space as our entire room in Hong Kong, and a private balcony overlooked the karsp from which this outer village of Yangshuo took its name: Moon Hill, with a half moon semicircle eroded out of its peak like the eye of a giant needle.  

With the heavy curtains drawn we slept well into the afternoon then arose to explore the village. The empty gray concrete streets and buildings burst with color as both housed countless shops selling what we'd discover to be the local wares: combs carved from yak horns, rocks from nearby caves resembling slabs of bacon, pomelo fruit, and bunches of oranges the size of chestnut meat (smaller than mandarins) that Jeanne couldn't say no to since the hawker was a single-eyed and single-toothed hunchback of an old woman. The one 
shop we both agreed upon sold us tapioca pearl milkshakes before we headed toward the highway to catch a minibus into town. 

Here again eager natives offered assistance and with a combined effort and saw to it we boarded the right bus. Yangshuo proper had changed just as much as the village after our slumber. The Chinese KFC sign under which the overnight bus spit us now shined with countless other neon lights, and upon dust filled roads now sped mopeds and buses seating four to forty. Shops even more densely packed lured us into the famous West Street where we dined on an incredible supper at Cloud 9.  

An empty restaurant when we arrived but by the time we ordered large families filled half its tables. Yangshuo serves as a tourist mecca for Chinese nationals who mostly come earlier in the year to catch a glimpse of the rice terraces before harvest. By missing out on that we avoided crowds we couldn't imagine being greater than what we found here in the off season. By the time I ordered my crispy duck with plum sauce, Jeanne her Sichuan style shrimp, and a thousand year old egg (a fermented shelled egg whose white stays clear while its yolk turns black) for the both of us among other necessities like rice, cabbage and tea, the place overflowed with multigenerational families usually with at least one set of parents and one infant.  We finished this feast and found ourselves shocked by the $15 bill we amassed. Yangshuo despite its tourism based economy promised a much cheaper experience than Hong Kong. 

After shopping a bit more we found our way back to Larry's hostel to find him deep in heated negotiations with a less drousy set of westerners. His much more laid back brother aided us in acquiring the promised ground transportation to the lightshow. Eventually a larger sized minibus arrived and we squeezed into the back already filled with Chinese tourists. 

We later found our suspicions correct that every single bus, minibus, and taxi disappear after 7pm each night to shuttle the thousands who attend the two showings of the lightshow. Finally a part of one of the many Chinese tour groups we saw being herded across the city we bravely followed the bus driver's yellow pendant having received no instructions nor tickets from Larry before being thrust into an unlabeled bus. 

After running behind the driver through a sea of other similar groups we arrived at a corner where he gave a long speech. Thankfully one stranger in our group spoke enough English to translate the important parts, mainly to meet him back at this same point after the show. He then separated Jeanne and me and two other women from our group. We soon realized his reason as he procured assigned seats for our cheapest ticketing tier.  The two other women checked our tickets and realizing the adjacency of our assigned seats took on their self imposed duty to make sure we found our seats and afterwards lead us back to the bus despite neither of them speaking any English.  To our amazement with even the cheapest tickets having assigned seats the crowd of thousands pushed madly to enter the arena.   

Billed as a smaller production of the opening ceremonies of the Beijing Olympic Games and directed by same individual (who we learned also did "Raise the Red Lantern" and "Hero") we still didn't know what to expect beyond the cheesy multicolor lit karsps behind a lake on the tourist brochures.

Much like the Olympics four local ethnic minorities greeted everyone. After the lights went out on this small stage a large projector screen arose out of the water dwarfed by the size of this outdoor arena. The film showed local fishermen passing on their bamboo rafts and soon silouettes of live fishermen on real boats passed before the screen on this manmade lake stage carved out of the natural river behind it.             


The screen disappeared into the water and a faint spotlight revealed more than a hundred fishermen each on their own bamboo raft traversing back and forth across the lake. The lights dimmed again while hundreds of elaborately dressed villagers singing and carrying torches lined up on both sides of the lake while still more took the center stage. From a production stand point all of this served as a distraction while the fishermen secretly secured about a dozen six feet tall red ribbons across the lake, and as the scene changed the spotlights revealed the fishermen evenly spaced across the lake pulling the entire ribbons in and out of the water in a random sequence both to hide and show themselves and to create wave like optical effects. 

The show only became more incredible as a dancer ran back and forth across an illuminated cresent moon while boats and barges surrounded her, and by the end an army wearing suits of white lights marched across a pier through the center of the lake. Many of the costumes and props likely came directly from the Beijing openning ceremonies. 

Leaving the venue turned out to be much easier than entering it, and our two friends made sure we found the bus with them. On the way back into the city our English speaking friend tried to explain what she could of a very complicated and deep story by simplifying it into the tale of love that we made out on our own, but we believed her that much more happened that night since people seemed to start clapping at times for reasons we didn't understand. 

We met Larry at his hostel and he reminded us how he'd met us in a few hours the next morning for our ride up the Li River. 

And on Through the Night

And on through the night. 

As the train pulled into Lu Wo station, the border crossing from the New Territories into China via Shenzhen, we had clearly entered the real China. Visitors from the safety of Hong Kong donned their facemasks preemptively as opposed to only the curtious and sick wearing them elsewhere. English all but disappeared from any unofficial signage, and we found ourselves herded into much more milliant corrals in which to be inspected. Finally one of the checkpoint officials used an infared thermometer on our foreheads to verify our body temperature before being allowed entry into the country. 

Once through a very serious seeming immigration we entered a world completely different than the land of Prada we'd just left. Entering a new city at night always gives room for intimidation much like many of our trips through Mexico. Friendly police offered aid but miscommunication took us in circles until we finally arrived at the bus depot and not the ticketing center. 

An ode to Western toilets, how we miss porcelin seats and are left with porcelin holes in the floor, and you better have brought your own tissue paper. The women's room retained just enough standing water to really traumatize Jeanne. 

When the bus arrived Jeanne thought all of our troubles would be left behind though I had my doubts about a ten hour ride without a toilet. Imagining the duration of our flight to Japan minus a bathroom unsettled me. Boarding our "sleeper" bus filled me with new dread as three rows of berths lined our bus. After just barely being able to squeeze through either aisle we climbed into our upperlevel bunk after specifically requesting lower arrangements only to discover my arms didn't fit inside the bed never mind than both my head and feet pressed against the rest of this MASH esque gurney. A seatbelt placed me in single point restraints as it would any other demented hospital patient. 

Finding a comfortable sleep position didn't matter as my one size too small mummy sleeping bag of a bed had been secured atop a Range Rover hell bent on qualifying for an off road rally race. Nevermind the potholes - our driver weaved in and out and past all traffic in his way rocking us all about madly. My only relief came from random distantly placed pitstops where the pain of needing to urinatate while a seatbelt dug into my belly could be momentarily subdued.  

My spirits uplifted at last as the first karsts appeared through the windows as enormous gray spectors guarding a foggy empty countryside. Jeanne mocked my excitement, "Yes, that's why we're here." Daggers penetrating a flat landscape many still surrounded by the rivers that carved them.   

Thanks to team China at the wheel, rather than arriving at Yangshuo at the borderline unreasonable hour of 6am we found ourselves in a ghost town at 4am. Only two kinds of people meander the streets that early in the morning: lost tourists and taxi drivers - a perfect combination. Each desired to take us to his preferred hostel and with no other place to go we caved in for the one who promised his to only be a five minute walk. We knew our hotel to be a good five minutes outside of town and didn't want to be driven to who knows where.

Tea and toilets without doors seemed welcome enough given our circumstances, and then the travel packages bargaining began. We would soon learn that every local has some excursion to offer and nothing could free our sleep deprived bodies from settling on something he offered. 

The event concluded with all parties exhausted at some point after 6am after which he agreed to drive us to our hotel to sleep all day before an evening activity through his booking. 

Finally our luck turned as we found the people currently staying in our room eating an early breakfast and checking out. They served us breakfast as well despite the restaurant not supposed to be open for another hour and quickly cleaned and turned over our room shortly after we finished eating.    

Hong Kong Day Three

The third day started with fast food but not for McDonalds coffee Jeanne needed on our first day. This was Hong Kong fast food and a favorite for locals who quickly filled the restaurant wearing their assorted work uniforms. Think Dennys but with many Asian themes. I enjoyed among other things a buttered toasted bun covered in sweetened condensed milk while Jeanne's take on a British breakfast guaranteed her a serving of baked beans.  the menu advised "for health, only non-poluted eggs are used". 

With just enough time before checking out of our hotel we hopped on the subway bound for the Ten Thousand Buddhas monastery.  After donating all of our coinage to some adrant young girls for their elementary school we started our climb along a very steep path lined with life sized gold painted statues of various monks - hundreds of them sitting side by side all the way to the temple grounds.  Winded and sweaty we reached the main grounds and entered the main temple. Thousands of tiny images of the Buddha stamped in tin and painted gold lined the walls and surrounded larger statues. Every single one glowed with its own individual lamp for a very haunting experience. Outside artisans busily worked on repairs and new additions to the grounds. In the center a pagoda offered the rare experince of being open to ascend its lighthouse reminiscent stairwell to the top and look out through all the porticos housing sitting Buddhas.

Imagine every store at every mall you've ever walked past in your life. That's just the first floor of just one of the malls along the Kowloon harbor. Plus there's a few floors above and beneath you. Plus the next building is just the same.  Note that these are all high end stores and not the Gap. At one point Jeanne noticed a wool coat that caught her eye. Normally she doesn't go for these kind of fashions, but she thought to herself, "I'm a professional; I can treat myself from time to time." Converting the price on the sales tag back to US dollars was easy, but did nothing to remove the fourth digit.  needless to say, we passed on the coat. 

For a more budget shopping experience we visited the Cheungking Mansions as made famous by the film Cheungking Express. Getting there is an adventure in itself since you can hardly walk five feet without being offered "copy watches, custom tailors, and copy lady's handbags." The entire area is a knockoff paradise run mostly by Indians whose curries seem to brand all the fake brands they sell. Fifteen years ago when the film came out the Mansions sold more illicit things than fake iPhones, but I didn't see how much else had changed.   

After retrieving our luggage from the hotel we rode the subway to Shenzhen to cross the border into mainland China.