Today's weather report.

Because I am my father's daughter, I am going to talk about the weather. Again.

For all my whining about the many layers of clothing I've had to add to my frame each night, the way my feet don't quite warm up all day, or how my scarf is forever strewn across my shoulders, the weather in the past three days has been hen hao (very good)!! I am excited each day to jump on my bike and seek out escapades. OK. I'm not that graceful on my bike. I am not yet skilled in the way of the forward motion glide and then the quick hop onto the bike, like all the old ladies in the neighborhood have mastered. I've got down the dismount. I've been using those hand breaks. Still, as thoroughly awkward as I am as I start up my engine, I am upright, forward moving and happy to be peddling along, at any rate. 

So, back to the weather. Since I last wrote, the days have been full of sunshine and cool breezes and changing leaves. Picture it - there I am, peddling along Gongti Xilu (our street, across from Worker's Stadium - a sports arena that houses the city's soccer team), waiving to friends, handing out "hellos" on my way to Mandarin class, smiling all the way. My neighbor, already outside entertaining his infant grandson who is balanced on his hip, asks me how I'm doing. I give little teng teng (that's the baby's name) a pinch on his chubby pink cheeks, and tell grandpa, "wo hen hao!" I stop at the corner of my building and bend over to embrace a golden retriever puppy that runs into my arms. The street is lined with soccer fans for the afternoon game, donning their favorite team's colors, echos of chants in unison reverberate from inside the stadium. The man on the corner sells baked yams; their sweet smell wafting from the hot steel drum that cooks them to perfection. I get back on my bike and cheerfully peddle away, dodging the crowd...Back it up. In my imagination the leaves are changing into the deep ambers, cozy reds and warm yellows of the fall. Oh, yeah. And all that other stuff, too, with the exception of me on my bike smiling, where we live, the soccer fans, baked yams, meeting teng teng and the stopping to pet a dog. I'm still a stranger in my neighborhood, so when I say "ni hao," it's usually just directed to the doormen lulling around. I don't waive to anyone on my bike; I'm just beginning to work up the nerve to take one hand off the handlebars. teng teng has not let me pinch his cheeks, and grandpa does not ask me how I am doing. 

It must be the faint hint of a New Jersey autumn traveling 7,000 miles over the currents to Beijing that lets my imagination run off course. Forgive me; it must be all the pumpkin picking, hot apple cider drinking and hay ride riding with my nephew I am missing that lets me wander into half truths about my autumnal Beijing days.

I have heard Beijingers joke that this city has two season: winter and summer. For a fleeting moment I wanted to share with you what Beijing can feel like in autumn. It can feel familiar. It can feel like a warm oven heating the house with the smells of baking cookies. It can feel like a little black soft puppy curled up on your lap. It can feel like winning baseball games. It can feel like crunching dried leaves. It can feel like hugs from babies. It can feel like the sweet, sticky, toothy bite of a caramel apple. It can feel like burning embers in the fireplace. It can feel like the mixed angst and reward of a new school year. It can feel like socks straight from the dryer and onto your feet. It can feel like seeing old friends. It can feel like home.

Now, back to the weather...

2010-2011 reported to be coldest winter in Beijing in 100 years

How to purchase utilities in Beijing. Today's lesson is Heat.

1) Wait until November 15 for the government to flip the collective heat switch to the "on" position.

That's right. Only one step to today's lesson because there will be no heat in this apartment until November 15. No heat in this building. No heat in my classroom. No heat in my favorite restaurant around the corner. No heat in public buildings. No. Heat. The last day it was really warm here was the day we visited the Mutianyu section of the Great Wall. Since then, it's been thick socks, gloves, hats and me whimpering under lots of layers of clothing. According to Z's Brookstone travel clock, the temperature inside is bearable. My froze nose and I beg to differ.

But it's not all bad, right? The unofficial population of Beijing has climbed to somewhere between 20 to 22 million people. That means that until the heat is turned on November 15, the city is not burning tens of thousands of tons of coal each day to heat every man, woman, child, and new pet. If outfitting myself in extra layers each day means less pollution and more sunshine to cut through the clouds, then I will do my part to wait out these cooler than cool autumnal days.

There is a lovely electronic board outside our lobby that posts the day's weather forecast. The Celsius scale reports to me in single digits that today it's going to be another refreshingly cold day. Almost as refreshingly cold as my shower this morning. Hey, at least this time I was more prepared.  Z and I actually noticed the signs taped inside the elevators and lobby warning us about no hot water until tomorrow morning. If we didn't see those signs I could have been mis-posting now about how I thought our pipes had frozen because of the cold weather.

I realize that there are lots of people in this country that do not have the privilege of living on the 17th floor of a fabulous building, overlooking the skyline, and complaining to the world about how cold they feel. With a little perspective, and an extra scarf, I'm going to cozy up to the sunniest spot in front of my windows and think warm thoughts.

Good Gracious

It has been nine days since we last enjoyed a little vitamin D and warmth from the big glowing orb in the sky. But yesterday it rained, which made way for a glorious sun shiny Monday morning filled with chilly winds, blue skies and a new blog post.

Despite the onset of the changing weather and shorter days, I was not hibernating last week. I was experiencing Beijing (said loud and proud, with arms wide open, pointed up toward the skies, dramatic music playing in the background!)!

OK. OK. I'll turn down Elton singing "Circle of Life" so you can hear me. You know already that I have begun my language journey and my yoga journey. Not only is my brain all a-jumble, my body is now as well. Both exercises leave me feeling humbled about my adult self and my abilities. While I am trying to be all zen and in the moment, stretching my non-flexible muscles and joints both toward and away from the earth, new Mandarin phrases are bouncing around my mind disrupting my qi. After I practice downward gou, I yao qu ying hang. I place wo de you shou on wo de zuo thigh, ran hou wo qu jiu ba. I zhi dao how to breath with each movement, and how to ask for yi bei cha.  (*you'll have to write me or call me for translation of my Chinglish!) It's exhausting, zhen de!


Last week was not all about new physical and mental anguish (which I am sure, with diligence, will eventually pay great dividends). The week was also about meeting new people, and enjoying the company of other laowai and Beijingers. Our few social ventures began on Tuesday when Z and I, along with Z's U.S. advisor and her husband, were invited to dinner by Z's Chinese advisor. Did you get that? Z's U.S. advisor and her husband were in town for a week, both of whom are friends with Z's Chinese advisor. There we were, at one big round table in a private room: four China experts plus me, enjoying the gastronomic splendors of Zhejiang cuisine. We chatted over small glasses of yellow wine, my eyes grew bigger and bigger each time another plate or bowl or heated vessel jostled for space at the table. In the end, we were served more than a dozen unique dishes, but we never finished one completely. So much food! So little room in our full bellies!


Most of the discussion was, of course, China related and about Z's studies. However, some of the dinner conversation led to questions about my activities in Beijing, and what I do to occupy my time. My answer to these types of queries always leaves me feeling a bit like a fresh faced college graduate. Exploring my options. Taking it easy. Reading for pleasure. Applying to grad school. Watching more YouTube and Hulu than ever before. Living off the fat of the land...etc. etc. No worries, Ma, I'm not going back to school again. Yet.


Thursday evening, the Beijinger, an ever resourceful online and print magazine serving the expat community, held its 9th anniversary party at a rooftop restaurant and lounge. For RMB99 it was all you could drink, so we did. Without sounding desperate, it was great to talk and laugh with other native English speakers other than my husband. With "free" drinks in hand and huddled under space heaters, good times were had by all! *If you look verrrry closely at the picture in the beijinger link, there's Z toward the back,  on the right hand side at the bar in the plaid shirt! It's like looking for Where's Waldo!


Besides the great conversation, company and meals, I experienced an important lesson from last week's  evenings out: Living in Beijing, it's all about the guanxi. Can't remember how to say "Where's the bathroom?" or "I lost my husband!" or "Did I miss the train?" Forget about it, and concentrate your energies on guanxi: the art of developing and maintaining personal networks and relationships in Chinese society. Yikes. PR 101 meets Beijing 101! There is even a wiki page about it. If there was a Chinese version of Will Smith, he'd have a hit pop rap record about guanxi, with DJ Jazzy Jeff spinning records by his side. The Donald Trump of Beijing would ooze guanxi, while the illusory Holden Caulfield would detest the very idea of guanxi. If ever there was a Chinese version of LinkedIn, you could connect through Guanxi Online. Am I driving home my point? 


Later this week, I'll tell you all about where my first guanxi connections have led to, and the school for migrant children I was fortunate to visit. It had nothing to do with the new boots Z bought me. Until next  time. 

...should you choose to accept it

I'll start with the question:
Is it better to walk 20 minutes to class in the rain and cold with an umbrella to protect you from the elements falling from the overcast sky?
OR 
Is is better to manage a five-minute bike ride to class at top speed in the rain and cold, with no umbrella and the winds coming at you at an accelerated rate, while your hands freeze to the handlebars? 
I expect at least my Virginian-Rhode Islander by way of Austin, Princeton, Philly cohorts to ponder me this one.
Either way, I got to class just fine.

Yes, today was another big day big morning in the newly discovered adult life of yours truly. I was a bit confused after the first 50 minutes of class when still, it was just little old me in the hot seat, and no other students to be found in what is supposed to be a "small group" class. Perhaps I missed the memo for bring your own students to class day? I have been told that my fellow classmate, singular, will be ready to learn alongside me for the full 110 minutes on Wednesday morning. Woo! hoo! I'm a student again! And I promise this is legit. It's not a "Speak Mandarin in less than 24 Hours if you Act Now!! You'll go from Dud to Dim Sum," kind of schooling. My laoshi is great (remember, "great" is a highly regarded adjective). Thus far, she is patient and kind and friendly. 

Since I undertook one of my "to do" items from my China list, its time to add on another. It's going to be:
While dining out with Z, invite a perfect stranger or couple to dine with us. There are lots of expats in this city, and it's possible that most of them want to be left alone. But that is not going to stop me from trying harder to be more welcoming and friendly to them. 

Because I challenged myself today, I am throwing one simple mission your way, should you choose blah blah blah:
Eat your breakfast/lunch/dinner with chopsticks today! I'm raising the stakes: the meal cannot be Chinese food or sushi or Asian food of any kind. And it can't be finger food, either. Go ahead. Feel silly about it. Set the table with those bamboo wonders instead of the familiar trio of flatware you love. Dig into your favorite t-bone or chicken fricassee without a knife and fork; slurp up that chicken noodle soup or cap'n crunch sans spoon. No cheating, now. (I savored the moment and used chopsticks today to eat salt and vinegar chips. Those imported crisps are too expensive to wolf down in a few senseless chomps.)

This message will self-destruct in 5, 4, 3... 

"Show 'em you're a tiger..."

Think of a place that overwhelms you with a profound sense of your own existence and being. Yes, it's that dramatic, today. Think of a place that is monumental, breathtaking, powerful, historically rich and rare. 

Now, describe that same place in one word. 

That's it?! Great. That's the word you have chosen to represent thousands of years of history, of legendary fortification, of vast man-made military grandeur with no equal?! 

How is it that "great" has come to describe a nation's most famous symbol of unbroken will and strength AND Tony the Tiger's breakfast cereal? 

I will choose to say instead, that yesterday, I climbed the Amazing-Vibrant-National Treasure-Revelation Inducing-Wonder of the World-Eternal-Healthier Awareness of Myself-Wall of China. "And how was it?" you ask...

It was unbelievable, beautiful, boundless and astounding. To be touching and climbing a structure of such historical significance was for me to realize a moment I have always dreamed of experiencing. To be there the first time amid the fall foliage was perfection. With a Chinese historian husband, no less! Oh, the perks of marrying a nerd. 

So, friends, family, complete strangers who happen upon this blog because I label my entries to direct more google traffic my way:

I hope you experience something Great today. I really mean it.

Please read all directions carefully before proceeding

Remember that quiz that teachers handed out in middle school? The one page worksheet that started out with Before beginning this quiz, please read all questions and directions carefully...then at the end of the quiz, you are directed to skip all questions, write your name in the upper right hand corner of the paper, put down your pencil and look up.

So, I did not read all directions carefully this time. OK. So I can't read Mandarin at all, but someone in this household can and does. At the very least, we should have noticed the existence of the large print signs taped to the inside of the elevator wall and to the bulletin board in the lobby. We have 17 flights up and down each day to realize management wants us to know something very important. For example, they may want to inform us that the water is going to be shut off for several hours over the weekend and as a resident of this building we may want to kindly take any necessary precautions.

Now I can't use "no cleaning" or even "not more than one load of laundry in a day" as an excuse to preserving our water supply.

Just a Drop in the Bucket

How to purchase utilities in Beijing. Today's lesson is Water.

Sounds vaguely familiar, right? Good. That means you've been following along, and you already know how to go about purchasing electricity for your Beijing apartment. So, let's get to it.

1) First, spend your entire Friday cleaning the entire apartment from top to bottom. I mean, really give it a good scrub. Make it shine. Let's divide this step into sub-categories, shall we?

a) Wash three loads of laundry in one day. You've been avoiding laundry altogether for a week and it's about time your neighbors got another glimpse at your skivvies hanging out to dry in the windows.

b) Wash the sinks, the bathroom mirrors, the shower, behind the toilets in that spot you can't see but know it's collecting dust and worse. Do this using a combination of what's left of your cleaning supplies mixed with the faucet water and elbow grease.

c) Wash alllll the dishes. They have been collecting dust, not because you don't use them daily, but because Beijing apartments get exceedingly dusty every minute of the day. You have realized that ignoring the dust does not make it go away on its own. Because the water never gets hot, you let the kitchen faucet run longer than you normally would like to admit in a country with a water crisis.

d) Clean, clean clean. Behind the kitchen sink. The top of the fridge. The floors. Underneath the fridge. Under the cabinet. On top of the cabinet. The light fixtures. Under the couch. Under the bed. On top of the table. The windows. The flat screen TV that's never on because you get only one English speaking channel that plays the same program every two hours. Anything you see or touch. Clean it.

2) Spend the rest of your afternoon busying yourself by making lunch, wasting time online, and watching the third Twilight series movie. It's true. Beijing has broken you and you are now watching DVDs you bought from the corner shop for a dollar. You just wanted to see what the big deal is about this Twilight business. It's a dollar!

3) Somehow, it's already 8:00 PM, and you've exerted your cooking energy for the day at lunchtime. Go out for Peking roast duck.

4) Come home from dinner and plop yourself on the couch. Glance over at that plant you purchased three weeks ago; it needs watering.

5) Turn on the tap in the kitchen. There is a faint gurgling sound, but not a drop of water. Go to the half-bath to test that sink, too. psssssssstttttttttttthhhhhh. Check the other bathroom sink, the shower, flush the toilet. On second thought, don't flush the toilet. Save that water.

6) Check your bottled water situation.

7) You can check the faucets again in an hour or so, but don't get your hopes up.

8) Distract yourself by watching Don Draper destroy his life.

9) Before you go to bed, don't forget to brush your teeth and wash your face.

10) Damnit! girgle, girgle, hissss, phhhhhtttt.

11) Repeat step #9 using bottled water. In fact, repeat step #8, too.

12) The next day, if you can't shower in the morning because you lack water, don't worry. You planned to hike the Great Wall.  And, anyhow, you're going to hide your unwashed self under a cool baseball cap embroidered with the Chinese character "tiger" that your friends gave you before you left for Beijing.

13) You return from your amazing day at the Great Wall. You're still on a high from having touched one of the Seven Wonders of the World. You forget that your water stopped flowing freely from its spouts 18 hours ago. You could really use a hot shower right about now.

Don't try this at home without adult supervision

I am not a baker. But plop me down in a country, in a city, in an apartment, in a kitchen where I am without an oven, and I will find a way to be Betty Crocker, if only for a few thrilling, almost 350-degree, warming moments.

It all started with a visit to the Hotel Equipment Corporation last rainy Sunday afternoon.  The giant four-floor warehouse 30 minutes from our apartment is home to professional grade cooks' tools and equipment, including three-foot whisks, more bakeware than Chuck Williams could shake a wooden spoon at, butane torches for the perfect crust on your creme brulee, the dozens of custard dishes to go with them, and of course not-your-mama's industrial sized rice cookers. So what do people without an oven or even a microwave do when they visit the HEC on a rainy, foggy day? They buy baking equipment, of course!

Well, we bought what equipment we thought we could turn into bakeware: the Chinese steamer. Instead of the bamboo variety, of which the HEC had hundreds, we purchased a metal steamer and matching lid (good idea, Z). We also purchased tinfoil cups two inches in diameter, a whisk, a silicone spatula, parchment paper and other items that have no immediate use for this baking experiment (i.e. citrus grater, two chartreuse bowls, signs that read in Mandarin cooked and uncooked because they'll be cute for the kitchen back home when we return, a tiny pitcher for soy sauce, a martini shaker and a nut cracker). So...Can you smell what I created just moments ago? I made with my two hands (with a little help from brownie mix I found at April Gourmet) delicious, chewy, chocolatey, satisfying brownies. Sans oven. Take that! Here's how I did it, and so can you:

First, preheat the metal steamer over the electric burner. While the retro-fitted oven device is warming on the highest setting - "9" -  grease tinfoil cups and stir together brownie mix with the appropriate accoutrement.

Fill greased tinfoil cups with brownie mix. You can lick the spoon because doing that reminds you
of being home and forgetting about any potential salmonella poisoning.
Also, there's only two of you to eat these brownies, so Germs, Shmerms.

After some trial and error, lower the heat to "7" and remove the center brownies altogether.
Even though you burned the center brownies the first go-around, you're still beaming with pride. It's really working!
Now, put the lid back on! You're losing heat!

After about 12-14 minutes you've got actual brownies.
This is more satisfying than when you were baking cookies with a light bulb a la Easy Bake Oven style.

You forget to add the M&Ms your mom and dad sent, so you sprinkle a few on top at the last minute.
The brownies are still warm, so the candies melt to perfection.

The milk can wait. 

I'm not saying these are county fair, prize winning brownies. I'm not going to start a business, and I certainly can't escalate to this status. But I bet these brownies, brownies made with love and patience and ingenuity this very afternoon, are some of the few, if only, homemade brownies within a seven mile radius.

Even as I write this, the baked goodness still wafts from the tiny kitchen and fills the apartment.

What a bargain!

Today, I ventured out on my bicycle (her name is GiGi, by the way) to the Yashow Market. It's another shopping mecca where crowds of tourists and maybe some Beijingers go to do some bargaining and to perfect their skills in patience. I knew about the Yashow Market because of the best travel book I have ever owned -- the Insider's Guide to Beijing. Thanks to a friend from my former life as an employed person, she let me borrow her 2008 version of the book, which I studied and used religiously until we found The Bookworm Beijing (also listed in the guide) and then we bought the updated copy. The Insider's Guides are the best series of travel books for learning about Beijing's everyday. We use the book to point us in the right direction, and it hasn't steered us wrong. We have tried many a restaurant and rarely have been disappointed. (remember that Mexican place we should have avoided, but didn't? Big fat "told you so" from the guidebook).  We have found bicycle shops, banks, bakeries, bars, Beijing duck and so much more from the book alone. And that's just in the "B" section! So, with book in hand, I discovered where I might find a good (cheap!) manicure. As you can see, I got myself that manicure, and I met "Katy" who taught me a few new Mandarin words, like "housewife," thanks, Katy, and "no matter." I will probably go back to her because she was pleasant and she talked to me in Chinese and English.

Then I wondered around the market, letting my nails dry before I hopped back on my bike towards home. I came upon one stall that caught my attention I bargained for this beauty all by myself (sorry, I just can't help it with the alliteration today!)! I asked how much, and then after the vendor told me the price, I perused more bags, you know, acting all cool and uninterested. When I checked out the bag again, I asked for a much lower price and we haggled back and forth from there. In Mandarin! (Don't get too excited - he spoke some English with me, and I used as much Chinese as I possibly could.) I got the price down to half; this is where Z would say I could have gotten it much lower, but that's the price of bargaining. So, here it is. My first purchase: a knockoff nylon bag in bright orange with an embroidered city scene. It came in many colors, but I love the orange-ness of it all for the fall.

*Bag is pictured backwards because I used PhotoBooth to take the picture

That's Mandarin!

Here's the thing that I am beginning to understand about myself in Beijing. I need something or someone to push me along; to set me on the course; to kick my butt into gear, but with respect, please.  I know, you're thinking, I knew that about you at least five blog posts ago. But, Beijing is a major, massive city, unlike any in which I have lived or visited. Yet, there exist tiny pockets of familiarity between the hutongs and the traffic circles. My internal struggle lies between cozying up to the status quo on my couch each day and motivating myself to try the new and unexplored on my own. Ah! See! Beijing and I are alike in this way -- we are constantly balancing the old and safe and comfortable with the new, the sometimes scary and the always exciting. OK. So Beijing is doing it on a much, much grander scale. I'll try to keep some perspective as I search for motivation and confidence.

When we first arrived - I'm talking about when we stepped off the plane at 1:00 in the afternoon, struggling with our luggage all the way, finding myself in a cab all by myself to who knows where - I was a bit disappointed with the view. In fact, I was a bit disappointed the first week we were here. It might be because we had to roll up our sleeves and start searching right away for a place to live. There was no soft introduction to Beijing city living. But I wanted to know,  Where were the fragrant cherry blossoms? The ladies fan dancing on the corner with their hair all done up? When could I schedule my first, second, third spa appointment I heard so much about before we departed? Where were the early morning tai chi students? Where were the happy children playing in parks with their doting and wise grandparents? The old men enjoying the end of summer nights playing card games and drinking beers? Where were the gilded gates and historic temples? Where were the red lanterns and festival lights? I saw only smog and dirt. I saw high rise apartments all around me that looked as if they haven't had a good scrubbing in decades. Inside some of those same buildings and courtyards, and felt crushed by what I could see only as lonely, cramped, smokey darkness. I felt like I was being suffocated by too many of the wrong kinds of choices, and Z and I were trapping ourselves into those little tight decision boxes. And then we switched gears, and made some elbow room for ourselves, and we built new boxes. We talked about what we wanted, and what we didn't want, instead of just going through the motions like starved zombies. We stopped worrying about what the landlords and real estate agents must think of us and whether we were wasting anyone's time. So, of course you know, we found an apartment and the stuff to put inside that place to call it home. But as much as we are paying to live here, and as much as I like my new couch and chairs, it's not enough to say you lived in China if you only sat inside all day...after day...after day.

And then I switched gears, again. I started to see all the tiny details that form the greater parts of Beijing. That is when I started enjoying my time here -- visiting the parks and temples, the family restaurant around the corner and the shopping markets. What's more important right now, is that I am starting to do it on my own. There is a bustling, bright food market just steps away from our front door. The seafood vendor sells live shrimp jumping up by the handful; patrons ride away with fresh green cabbages and long brown earthy taro roots hanging from their bicycle baskets; mangosteen fruits and kiwis are sold by the dozens. The market's sea of stalls and vendors are set up every morning, and after only a few hours, the entire place is wiped out like it never existed.

I started to see all the tiny details that form the greater parts of this city because I stopped worrying about what and how I thought Beijing and China were supposed to look and feel. If you have never been here, forget any pre-conceived notions you may have about Beijing. Forget about the crowding, the traffic, the noise and the smog. Also, forget about the romantic notions you have about Asia in general. All those things will slip into the background when you start to recognize how the little details are more important, more exciting, more worthy of your time.

There are surprises on every block in this city. There is also construction on every block. Somewhere in the middle of the Old Beijing and the New Beijing you can find anything, I'm convinced. So now I see that cherry blossoms don't come out until April; the card games in my neighborhood start around 7:00 PM and last all through the night if you can handle the drinking; tai chi is practiced much earlier than I allow myself to rise from my slumber these days; the fan dancing takes place on cool nights, groups of adults magically appearing outside this or that random restaurant while I'm inside dining; and there's a gilded gate that leads right to my apartment.

I signed up for yoga classes and I took my first Mandarin language class today, too. Man, a little bit of self confidence goes a long way.

Man Mao

There are a few larger than life "must see" destinations across the Northern Hemisphere I have been privileged to visit as a tourist, a student, or now as the tag-a-long-spouse.  And despite all the trappings of commercialization and ubiquitous souvenirs associated with most tourist destinations -- shot glasses, postcards, t-shirts, hats, watches with face dials displaying pictures of Chairman Mao --  I think it's better to have experienced these places, and some of their trinkets, than not at all. I won't be heartbroken if in my travels I happen to miss the World's Largest Cheese-filled Floating Log; I would have been disappointed, however, if I never saw the Eiffel Tower when I was in Paris for the weekend, or if I ignored Big Ben and the Tower of London when I was a grad student, or even if I decided not to climb the 354 stairs to the top of the Statue of Liberty's crown when I was 12 years old. How could I have come home from an Arizona trip visiting a friend without having gone to the Grand Canyon? What's a honeymoon in Greece without elbowing your way through the crowd to the top of the Acropolis? 

Why the serious face?
'Cause Mao was a serious man.

And then there is Beijing's Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. I know what you're thinking..."Do I have to see yet another picture of someone standing in front of the Forbidden City with Mao in the background?" Ugh! The answer is "Definitely. Yes!" 

Which one is keeping guard?

Take a rest; show some pride OR Show some pride; take a rest

We made our way to the man, the myth, the legend, two weekends ago (and I am just telling you about it now, yes). It's the sheer size of it all that makes the location impressive. There is a four (?) lane highway that separates the Square from the City (we're on a last name basis), and there is a massive underpass that allows pedestrian traffic to cross from one side to the other. It was a blue sky kind of day when we were there, and by midday the Square was filled with buzzing activity in preparation for the current National Day week long holiday. Intricately designed flower beds and sculptures were being pruned, and two massive screens obstructing the open view of the Square displayed the proud accomplishments of culturally and artistically inclined like-minded Chinese citizens.

Two Screens; One Square; Many Red Flags

After I absorbed my history lesson from Z about the Square, we crossed under and up over to reach the Forbidden City. (We interrupt this blog for a word from our sponsors: The Please Visit Us campaign says, "Act Now! History lessons by Z come free with any visit!") There is nothing quite like the six century old complex that makes up the Forbidden City. There more rooms (8,707), more palaces, building and temples (980), more gilded objects (lots), and many, many more dragons (it's got to be in the tens of thousands) than I can imagine there being anywhere else in the world.  If you would like a quick tutorial about the Forbidden City, I suggest you click here. If you would prefer to amuse yourself with pictures instead, I suggest you continue with this posting by perusing a few of my snapshots of the iconic historical site. Perhaps if you are reading this with a friend, you can take turns educating yourself aloud about the Forbidden City while perusing my pictures simultaneously. 

Reeelhhax. It's the Hall of Supreme Harmony

Look at that view!

Inspiration for a future tattoo? (just kidding, Ma!)

Qianlong Emperor's throne inside the Hall of Supreme Harmony

At the top of the Large Stone Carving weighing more than 200 tons 

Chinese lions don't mess around

Inside the Imperial Garden

p.s. This also happened that day

Even the people in the background are shocked. She asked me to take a picture together, and I awkwardly accepted.
Z snapped this moment so I wouldn't forget my first loawai moment.

About that.

I think I was delirious the other day when I decided to share story time with you. Sorry about that. But as you already know, this past weekend was a bust. I even spent all day Monday in the recovery zone. Now that it's already Tuesday and I've showered and brushed my teeth, it's back to finding my present purpose in life.

Thanks to my experiences thus far, I have crossed off a few things from my list of potential abilities:

1) raising fish

2) dumpling taste tester

3) kung fu master - I watched the newest Karate Kid the other day, and decided I just don't have those high kicking abilities in me after all.

4) nanny - there is a day care center of sorts on the back side of our apartment building, and while I don't mind the raucous and laughter because it lets me know there's something out there, I've decided that nannying in Beijing or elsewhere really isn't for me. I love kids and I miss all the children in my life, but I have little to no interest in being responsible other peoples' children.

5) Stay at home wife - I think it's pretty clear that I'm going out of my mind, and being trapped indoors with food poisoning for three days has put me over the edge.

What I haven't scratched off the list:

1) Dog walker - there are plenty of nouveau riche clientele in Beijing with furry, four legged friends who need some love, fresh air and exercise. Despite not being furry, I could also use the love and fresh air.

2) Part-time Mandarin student - still researching classes, but getting a little closer. I need to set a deadline for finding a class.

3) Infrequent yoga student - I am re-re-introducing myself to the wonders of exercise. I even signed up for a Intro to Yoga Retreat that starts in two weeks (it was the first one available, I'm not trying to postpone this). I am inspired by my friend and former co-worker who is the most bad ass yogi (among other accolades) I've ever met. She also told me to get out there and meet some expats, so I'm taking the first actual physical step toward that goal.

4) Becoming the Chinese Martha Stewart -- I am a pretty crafty lady if I put my mind to it. Except, that I haven't been putting my mind to anything lately. And, I don't know how to sew. But, still, I see potential in this open market.

5) Craigslist stalker - This counts as a bonus, because I have never used Craigslist, so I'll be trying something new! My goal is to secure one activity, item or event I can attend, purchase or lead based on my findings.

6) Volunteer! This one might have the most potential. When was the last time I was a contributing member to society in which I gave back my time and efforts? Go forth, youth! (Hmm, almost 30 years old). Go forth, almost-30-is-the-new-early-20s!

I need a young priest and and old priest

I don't like potty humor. I hate discussions at the dinner table about my two-year old nephew's latest diaper explosions. Hate it. So, I'm giving you an out, a free pass, a fair warning that what I am about to describe is not pretty. It's really too soon for me to write about this, but I believe I'll never be able to return to this, so I am moving ahead with this entry. (Remember the story about my seven-year old self and the breakfast noodles? This is far, far worse.) But, I've decided that it's important for me to write about the bad with the good. After all, the point of this blog is to share all my new experiences I am having here. The parents out there are probably the only one's brave enough to continue reading...

After my pampering at the spa on Friday afternoon, Z and I did a little shopping at Silk Street market, and then we found a new restaurant for dinner. I was so excited once we sat down at a table and looked at the menu, because they had xia long bao! Finally, I had my camera with me at the same time I was dining on the dumplings, so I snapped a picture to share with everyone. A nice European man sitting at the table next to us asked if the dumplings were any good, and I responded emphatically in kind, "Oh, yes! Try the pork and shrimp!" After dinner, we found a little market stall selling lychee nuts. I sampled one, and we bought a bag's worth of the juicy, sweet, fleshy fruit. We stopped at a tea shop, and bought some black tea for me. We hailed a cab, and it was onward home to watch a movie.

Then, it was all a nightmarish blur. (This is your last warning before I share this embarrassing story. This also goes against everything I feel about giving out Too Much Information on social networks status updates. Do I have to hear every detail about your gassy pregnancy?)

My head pounded and my bones ached. I became instantly nauseous. I had heartburn that started in my throat and went to my knees. I had the chills, but I was sweating. At one point I was lying on the cold wood floor in the fetal position because I couldn't find the strength to stand up again. It was light, it was dark. I was vomiting. My legs were sore. I was on the couch. I was on the bed. I was vomiting again, into the toilet, into the trash can, into whatever receptacle was within reach. My teeth hurt. My throat burned. I was gagging on my own thoughts. I was reciting Mandarin in my head over and over and over trying to block out visions of the last four, five, six, seven times I puked. I was on the toilet. I was off the toilet. I was sleeping on the toilet. I was trying to remember not to flush any paper down the toilet for fear of making the situation even worse. My feet were freezing. My stomach cramped, and gurgled, and twisted for 36 hours. I'd whimper and cry. I'd take a sip of Gatorade (that Z traveled the neighborhood to find), and literally two minutes later, I'd throw it right back up. I heaved. I coughed. I made noises only sound engineers for horror movies can create. Have I mentioned before that our toilet in the bedroom is surrounded by glass and a glass door? There's no screen or curtain and it's something we are working on rectifying. It's like I was involved in some sort of twisted piece of performance art about human suffering. The one water cracker, a half-inch in diameter, that took me 30 minutes to eat, took me three seconds after the last bite to expectorate. I have had hangovers that lasted three days. In elementary school, I was once punched directly in the gut by the school bully on the morning bus ride. But this. This...I've never felt so awful, weak, restless and beat up.

And then it was over.

Food poisoning.

I believe it was the dumplings, and I can only hope our European neighbor in the restaurant did not meet the same fate. Z had only one of the eight devilish dough balls (that was my whole dinner, don't judge.). It could have been the lone lychee nut. Z insisted we throw away the rest of them. I agreed without hesitation.

I don't know what kind of lesson I've learned through this experience. I was trying to avoid street food, but it seems that it's the restaurant food that did me in. Z was my hero through it all, though. The man, the sympathy vomiter himself, was brave and kind and cleaned up all of my messes in the past few days. I know it has been no easy task.

I will not be posting any pictures with this entry.

Happy National Day! I'd rather not have my ears cleaned.

Today is National Day across the People's Republic of China. It's kind of like the Fourth of July in the U.S. including the fireworks and parades, but minus the BBQs.

To celebrate today's 61st anniversary of the founding of the PRC, I enjoyed my first Chinese massage. Conveniently, there is a spa located directly below our apartment building. I have been interested in checking it out ever since we moved in, so Z and I went down to it, and he dropped me off like it was the first day of school. It's just like me to have the first day jitters, and I wondered if I'd have to change clothes like in gym class. Before he disappeared, Z helped me select the "medicine footMassage," which is exactly how it's written in the spa menu, and the manicure from the "Manicure/Scaping/Cupping" portion of the menu (typo included).

As much as I love spa treatments, I always, always feel a little awkward about the situation. Do I chat with the masseuse, should I stop myself from falling asleep, do I tell her she's pushing just a little too hard? Now, while you contemplate these same questions, add the element of a language barrier. But like any woman in search of relaxation, I pressed on.

A lovely hostess led me down a long hallway, and I was shown to my own room, where she asked me (in English) whether I preferred green tea or orange juice. I chose the green tea, but I was never to see that woman again with any beverages; this leads me to believe that maybe I was selecting the kind of scent I wanted for my foot soak. Green tea, perhaps? Then, a little woman, no taller than 4' 8" and 95 pounds, came into the room, and motioned for me to change into a pair of pepto-pink silk shorts. OK. I did as I was told. Just like in middle-school gym class, I shimmied into the shorts, keeping my skirt on until the shorts were all the way on, and then I slipped the skirt off over the shorts. You know what I'm talking about, ladies.

Then, over 70 minutes, the little masseuse worked out the knots and tension in my feet, ankles and legs that I didn't even know was there. She said a few words to me every once in a while, and I told her in Mandarin "I don't speak Chinese," but she chatted with me nonetheless. I think she asked me a few times if the pressure was alright, and of course, I told her "OK" since I could not have explained otherwise. She left the room a couple of times to get lotion or a new steaming bowl of who-knows-what in which to place my feet. Each time she left I said "xie xie," because I didn't know the massage was not finished.

After my feet were properly pummeled - in a good way - I thought it was time for my manicure. I stayed seated in my pepto-pink shorts until the next woman came to the door. I don't know what prompted me to ask, but I asked if she was to do my manicure, and she replied, "ear." Hmmm. A dilemma I did not foresee. Had I chosen to have my ears cleaned instead of a manicure? We looked over the spa menu together, I pointed to "manicure" while simultaneously pointing to my own unkempt hands. She, once again, pointed to her own ear and then mine and repeated the word, "ear" in English. I kindly declined the offer, and apologized for my mistake by saying in Chinese, "not yes" and then in English "ear." It sounded like this: "Bu shi ." She left the room and I quickly changed back into my skirt without having to be tricky about it.

The point is, my feet feel like buttah and that's a good thing.