Travel is Fatal

Great Art

"Art is never finished, only abandoned." -Leonardo DaVinci

When I hear this quote from one of the world's most famous artists, I can't help but think of this sculpture...

...which was (understandably) abandoned outside the Catholic Church in Jilin City. 

"What on earth is it?" you may ask in horror. "One of Dante's lower rings? A psychopath's cartoon featuring the demented spawn of Gumby and Smurfette?" No, my friends. It is something more tragic, yet. It is the official mascot of the 2010 Shanghai World Business Expo.

Its name is Haibao (海宝), or "Treasure of the Sea," and it's popping up in cities all over the world. I assume it's meant to refer to the city of Shanghai, and bring in a bit of nautical history and mercantilism into the mix. Maybe it's a stylized wave? A walking, talking, creepily staring, stylized wave. Yeah. I don't care what it is, I wouldn't want to see it in a dark alley late at night. I'll do more research on this issue, and maybe write a bit more later.

In other news, my apartment just celebrated its first legitimate social gathering. (All of those firefighters and carpenters and electricians don't count.) Today April got back from her week in Hong Kong, and we had hot pot to celebrate.

(From the left: Sister Theresa, April, Sister Theresa's brother, and Lisa)

All in all, it was much more successful than our first official dinner, which consisted of ramen noodles and boiled water. I even made spiced pecans for dessert. (Luckily, Lisa was present to tell me that the "tinfoil" I was about to put in the oven was actually decorative paper made to look like metal. I think God's getting sick of watching me burn things.)

And, yes, our table is a cardboard box with the shattered remains of our counter layered on top. Just call it art.

Convalescence

“I enjoy convalescence. It is the part that makes the illness worth while.” -George Bernard Shaw

Fall is on its way out here in Jilin. It's getting colder outside, and the leaves (those that haven't been rendered unresponsive by pollution) have changed to reds and golds and oranges. It's quite beautiful, but it does make me miss the endless valleys of autumn leaves of the Cuyahoga Valley. I never appreciated the novelty of free access to nature until I came to China. I opted out of the 100 rmb visit to Red Leaf Valley this year, in spite of its beautiful scenery. Instead,I chose to visit the campus of Jilin Medical College, where my dear friends Father Brian and Wang Wei (and their free coffee) reside. (Disclaimer: Wang Wei does not actually reside at the Medical College, but with the amount of time she spends there, she really might as well.)

(Jilin Medical College- a small selection of the 2008 trees planted to commemorate the 2008 Olympic games)

Although you wouldn't know it from the colors of the leaves, we've already had our first snow in Jilin- a couple of days ago, in fact. It didn't stick, but the chill lingers in the cold breeze and the clammy interiors of apartments whose heating units won't be turned on for another two weeks. I think my apartment building is planning to freeze the swine flu out. It likes warm climes, right? Really, it's quite a logical approach. I'm sure that the fireworks that are still going off outside my window everyday are an equally logical attempt to scare the swine spirits away.

Maybe Beihua should give the old frozen firework approach a try- it seems like most of the people on campus are sick with something: the American guys all got either stomach viruses, bad colds, or the flu; a bunch of Pakistanis came down with laryngitis; and the Koreans have had a monopoly on digestive issues. The Russians claimed to have some sort of something, but I suspect they were just hungover. I, myself- being the global citizen that I am- have tried my best to catch all of the above, but have managed to escape with minor stomach weirdness and four days without a voice. I'm hoping that the latter is the result of a cold, rather than early-onset throat cancer from my exposure to Chinese air. The voice seems to be coming back more or less normally, though, so I think I'll be okay. Maybe I'll write an inspirational book about it someday... Where Miracles Happen: The Shocking True Story of How 1.6 Billion People Breathe Chinese Air Every Day... And Live to Tell the Tale!

Okay, so it's a working title.

In spite of all the illness and coldness, the Beihua students were adamant about getting English Corner up and running. Dedicated kids, my former students. That's why yesterday, despite sounding like an 80 year old smoker with an artificial larynx, I found myself on the 32 bus headed to Beihua. 

Now there are some very nice bus lines in Jilin. There are bus lines with big, spacious aisles and modern steering apparatuses. There are bus lines with new brakes and working doors. There are even bus lines that may be accidentally fuel efficient. The number 32 bus line, however, is not associated with any of the aforementioned characteristics.

The bus I was on seemed to have only two gears- go and neutral. For the most part this was fine, and I didn't even notice anything amiss until halfway through the journey... that was when we tried to stop on a hill. The driver gunned past the bus stop, then put the bus in neutral and opened the doors. Fascinated, I watched as the passengers lept off the bus, which was slowly sliding back toward the stop. When we reached the bus stop, the waiting crowd casually hooked arms around the sagging door and pulled themselves up the stairs. I was most impressed by an elderly woman who came just as the bus driver started to rev the engine- she took a running leap and managed to simultaneously squeeze past three people waiting in line and avoid being crushed by the closing bus door. I wonder sometimes if public transportation in China is merely one giant training scenario for future Chinese gymnasts; it would certainly explain why gymnastics is the Olympic flag sport of China.

I exited the bus and walked toward the building where English Corner was being held. The road outside Beihua looked like a scene from The Great Escape- kids climbing over fences and slipping between holes in the fence, skulking in the shadows outside the lights as they waited for the guards' attention to wane. Campus quarantine is kind of a joke. Some of the Chinese students just walk right past the guards, jabbering in a made-up language; they say the guards think they're Korean, and let them walk right out.

 

Scenes from Beihua: (left) the field students sneak across to get to the fence, (right) the street outside campus

English Corner itself was short and crowded. I passed the time by surreptitiously beckoning George's students over to my group, while he tried to retaliate by mocking my taste in clothing. I think we should do an English Corner focusing on trash talk, so the students will be able to keep up next time.

(George attempting to lure students to his side by virtue of his abnormal height)

After English Corner was finished, I opted to take a taxi home, rather than risk dismemberment on the 32. I climbed up the stairs to my apartment, let myself in, and thought about how much more enjoyable convalescing would be if only I had heat.

Even This

"Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit."
"One day it will please us to remember even this."-Virgil

I woke up yesterday thinking that the world was exploding around me.

...Okay, if not the world, then at least my apartment building. Yeah yeah, I know- dramatic much? Initially I thought the noise was part of my dream, and the most frightening thing was waking up and realizing that the explosions from said dream had followed me into the waking world. After the initial panicked jolt, it didn't take me too long to figure out that the explosions were actually fireworks (rather than my initial guess- a bad day at the chemical factory down the street). The realization didn't really do much for my blood pressure, though. An explosion's an explosion- and it was so LOUD. I could feel the vibrations shaking the walls of my room and thrumming through my bed. In a Chinese-constructed apartment building, there's no such thing as good vibrations.

I hauled myself out of bed and went to my window, thinking that the revelers must have set up in the courtyard outside my window. No such luck. Nosiree- these fireworks were set up right below my window. They were so close I had to heft myself up and practically crawl out onto the ledge in order to look down at them. I vaguely suspected that the building manager might have lodged the fireworks in the walls themselves- used the opportunity to scare the rats away. 一举两得.  I wanted to lean out and scream "fire code" in Chinese, but I'm not sure the concept translates. Probably would've just gotten shot in the face with a rocket, anyway.

Afterward, in the comparative quiet of the afternoon, I couldn't help but reflect on the difference between this year's Mid-Autumn Festival and last year's... or at least the difference in my experience of the two. Last year, I was holed up in the Animosity Hotel, or doing that radio thing, or traveling to Harbin. (Feel free to check out the previous blog for a comparison.) This year the entire weekend was spent listening to the rumble of firecrackers, choking down rose-flavored moon cakes, and trying to figure out how to cook cucumbers and red peppers without using a stove (more on that later).

I guess the whole experience taught me just how little I know about China, and how far all my previous experiences have been from any sort of cultural immersion. "Old China hand," indeed. I feel like there must be some Chinese version of Kokopelli, out to shred the overinflated college grad ego.

-----------------------------------------------

I had a different sort of cultural experience about a week and half ago. This experience centered around my struggle with the contemporary Chinese method of cooking- a gas stove.

See, I've kind of been living off of protein bars since I arrived in Jilin. I always carry some with me- traveling, emergencies, general laziness- you never know when they'll come in handy. But I was getting sick of protein bars and wanted to try my hand at this stir-fried garlic broccoli that Kevin used to make. Plus, my room mate was out of town and I thought it'd be nice to surprise her the following day with a homecooked dish, you know? So I cut the broccoli, chopped the garlic, poured a little oil in the wok and set it on the stove. The I turned on the gas tank under the sink and clicked the stove on. Cake.

I noticed, as I pushed the broccoli around, that there was a light glowing under the stove as well as on top of it, and, panicked, I quickly turned the dial off. The light under the stove flickered off as well. "Okay," I thought. "You're being paranoid. Maybe it's supposed to do that." So I turned it back on.

The glow still made me nervous, though. I've always been a bit paranoid about gas. I even sent my friend Wang Wei a text message before I started cooking, something along the lines of how I'd probably blow up the kitchen if I started to cook. Well. 

When I saw smoke coming out from under the countertop, it was probably the biggest holy hell moment of my life. Or at least in the top five. I turned off the dial, but this time the glow didn't go out, and the smoke just kept coming. That probably bumped the experience up to at least Holy Hell Moment #3.

What happened next was rather mortifying. I bolted out of the apartment and knocked on every door I could see, screaming about a fire, but only one person answered the door. Have I mentioned that the doors here are two layers think- metal and wood- and virtually sound-proof? I reiterate- "fire code."

A call to Father Brian and Wang Wei was immediately followed by a call to 119 (and wouldn't it just figure that it's the opposite of the number in the States). While we were waiting for the firemen, one of the girls who lives down the hall yelled that we had to shut off the electricity in the room, so I ran back into the smokey apartment to unplug all the appliances and grab my electrical stuff. Not my brightest moment. Especially since what she actually meant was "switch off the easy-to-reach master electrical box that is conveniently located just inside the front door." I have got to improve my Chinese.

As I stood outside with my neighbors and a few thousand of their closest friends, wondering dazedly if the gas tank was going to explode and should I get under cover, I overheard snippets of conversations: "What building?" "Owned or rented?" "It's the foreigner's rental..." "Where is..." "She is so white..." "Gas or electric..."  Even at the time, freaking out though I was, I was amused by the inevitable skin color comments that are apparently germane to any sort of conversation or inquiry.

To make an already long story a bit less lengthy, Father Brian and Wang Wei showed up around the same time as the firefighters. They helped me soak and scoop up the water from the fire hoses as random people stood in my living room and stared. They helped me talk to the police (who wanted to know why I wasn't registered as living there) and to the apartment's owner (who wanted a new set of cabinets and a marble countertop, to start) and generally helped me survive an extremely disoriented evening.

I remember thinking as I went to bed that evening, that someday this would all be terribly amusing. "Remember that time I set the kitchen on fire? Yeah, my first apartment. First time cooking anything beyond instant noodles, too. Yep, it was in China. Me- the unregistered foreigner studying on a tourist visa and wrecking mayhem wherever I go."

Hey, God- I can take a sign. Last year I melted plastic all over an oven... a year or two before that I tried to cook a pizza while it was still attached to some cardboard... Maybe it's time for me to just lay down the ladle, before I accidentally concoct some horrible biological pathogen while trying to make grilled cheese.

Yeah, someday it'll make a great story. One day it will please me to remember even this.

They Take You In

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." -Robert Frost

...and then you have to do all the housework. I've been home for about a week, and so far I've cleaned the dining room (which was stacked with Christmas presents and sewing tools a mile high), cleaned out the pantry (which my mom saves specifically for my sister every time she comes home), cleaned out the upstairs bathroom (much easier after my sister took her 85 lbs of beauty products pack to Dallas), and cleaned out my room (where the busily procreating dust bunnies were nearly the end of me). Living in a refrigerator box suddenly sounds so much more attractive.

It's been a good time to catch up with friends from home. One of my friends, especially, has had some interesting experiences while I've been away. Let me tell you her story, and then you can guess where she's gone:

*********************************

It's late night in November, and she's driving slowly, searching the dark ahead for any signs of human life. The dirt road she's on winds through forests and fields, but she can't make out any lights ahead. For a moment she's worried that she made a wrong turn, and she thinks about turning back, going home. But she's driven hours and hours to get here, and she doesn't think she can face the long road back home.

All of a sudden, she turns a corner and brakes in front of a group of darkened buildings. They're squat and oddly-shaped. There is no movement, no sign of light, no indication that anyone has ever lived there. The driveway has ended, so she assumes she's in the right place- but the area appears completely deserted.

Hesitantly, she turns off her car and climbs out, still looking around. Forest on one side, open fields on the other, and nothing but the sounds of cicadas and crickets in the air. Grabbing her duffel bag from the back seat, she slowly walks toward the nearest building.

"Hello?" she whispers, afraid that if she speaks too loudly, the sound will shatter the air around her.She searches the shadows around the buildings, but they remain still. She shifts her bag to her other shoulder and wonders what the heck she should do now.

"Heeeey!"

She whirls around, heart racing, and sees a dark form moving through the forest. She backs away toward her car. This was a bad idea. She shouldn't have come here. She's in the wrong place. She's walked into a horror film, and now some over-peppy serial killer is going to mutilate her and dump her body in the woods. Why hadn't she stayed home? Why did she ever quit missionary nun training? She closes her eyes briefly and sends up a brief prayer that she can make it out of this alive.

She opens her eyes... and stares. In front of her... it can't be. It can't, but... in front of her is... is... Jesus.

Wow, she thinks in hazy amazement. That was quick.

Jesus smiles benevolently. His hair is long and loose around his shoulders, his beard is shaggy and full, and his robes gleam in the faint light of the moon. The shine of white against dark makes him seem like a spirit drifting through the shadows.

He raises one of his hands toward her and she moves forward, entranced. He is holding something out to her, and her exhaustion-fogged brain gibbers in excitement. Receiving a gift from Jesus' hand! Can she get canonized for this? Beatified, at the very least, she assures herself woozily.

Her hand rises of its own accord to accept the tiny roll of parchment from his hand. She gazes down at it blearily, wondering what reservoirs of wisdom are contained within. The Gospel of Me! her brain giggles.

Then Jesus lifts his hands again- cups them around his mouth. Is he going to speak? she wonders excitedly. But no- a tiny flame flickers to life around his hands (magic!), illuminating features that are craggy with knowledge beyond mortal ken, and then... his mouth opens... he's going to speak...!

Jesus exhales a cloud of fragrant smoke. "Wanna light, sister?" he grins sloppily.

She looks down at the roll of parchment. Oh, crap, she thinks. Jesus is a stoner.

*********************************

And that was her introduction to a place we will call Birch Valley Commune. (I don't know about liability issues with blogs, so I'll just keep names out of it.) She had some fantastic stories from the place- conversations with students of free love, member/visitor tensions, re-naming ceremonies, orgy codes of conduct... I may be posting more about this in the future, if nothing else exciting happens. It seems a teensy bit more interesting than my ongoing war against the house gutters.

And that's all for today. Thanks for tuning in, folks.

Love Thy Enemy

"Alcohol may be man´s worst enemy, but the Bible says to love your enemy." -Frank Sinatra

I´ve been in Spain for five days, but it seems like much longer. Part of that may be because I´ve been so busy- museums, parks, historical sites, trains, sangria- but part of it is just culture shock. There are all these people here who look like waiguoren, but they don´t speak any language I understand! Add to that the fact that my Spanish is more like Spinglish, and I spend most of my time wandering about looking confused. Luckily my sister is a better linguist than me, and she keeps me from wandering down too many dark alleys.

We´re in Cordoba right now, in the heart of Andalucia, the southernmost province in Spain. It is disgustingly hot, but Hong Kong prepared me well and I´m able to get by with minimal misery. You would think that the buildings here would be built for heat, and they probably were originally. However, a lot of the Moorish architecture I´ve seen has been based on the open wall design, and modern day Spaniards tend to place higher priority on keeping their stuff intact than having a nice cross-breeze. Such a loss.

For example, today Darcy and I went to the Mezquita (the Great Mosque) of Cordoba. It was unspeakably beautiful- the first piece of architecture since the Great Wall to really take my breath away. In this case, it wasn´t the scale of the place as much as the smooth transition between the Muslim arches and the medieval cupolas, the Arabic script and the Catholic frescos. I know that the transition was not a peaceful one, and that the construction of the cathedral meant the destruction of dozens of beautiful columns, but the overall effect is still visually stunning.

Tomorrow I´m heading out to the archaeological dig of Rahman III´s tomb (or something- I´ll have to check the details), while my sister goes to some Moorish baths for a medieval-type massage. We´ll meet up for sangria before hitting up the old cathedral and the synagogue. Then it´s off to Granada for the next few days. I´ll post pictures when I get the chance.

 

Here are the long-awaited pictures from the Medina Azahara, Rahman III's palace complex north of Cordoba. I only got off a few shots before my camera broke, but the distance views give you some scope of just how amazing this place will be once they've finished the excavations... and they think they've only uncovered about 10% of the city so far!  

It Takes Two

"It takes two to get one in trouble." -Mae West

I heard somewhere that trouble comes in threes.

Trouble One- My flight from Hong Kong to Doha was delayed by 30 hours. How and why is a mystery which will be unveiled at some nebulous point in the future. Suffice to say, I was not aware of the change, and spent an hour lugging my duffle down to Central Hong Kong… just in time for the service desk to smile and direct me to a chair in the waiting lounge. There I seethed and listened to a friendly public service announcement instructing me on the proper manner to blow my nose. Sometimes I think Hong Kong is taking this whole public health craze a little too far.

Trouble Two- I returned to Maryknoll, frantically trying to contact my sister so that she wouldn’t show up 12 hours early to pick me up. I thanked God for Skype. I was using God’s name in a bit of a different way after my sister told me she had only fifty euros left to her name. Fifty. For 18 days of travel. Our hostel costs 30 euro per night for the two of us. This will all be terribly funny some day, I’m sure.

Trouble Three- Has yet to occur. I’m thinking about smashing my hand in the door, just to prevent the last unfortunate situation to occur while I’m on an airplane. Luckily, I’m sure that there are things my sister has not yet confided in me, and at least one of those things is bound to be a horrible surprise. Here’s hoping for a massive gambling debt or a rampaging Spanish boyfriend…

(Note to self: avoid Basque County.)

 

(An arch built by Carlos III to celebrate something or the other.)

Spain itself is wonderful so far- sunny, temperate, and full of people speaking a language that is somewhat intelligible to me. The Cantonese thing was really getting to me in Hong Kong. There’s been no sign of real trouble thus far. I fell on my face on the Metro, and Darcy got some weird looks when she started talking to statues at an art museum… but nothing too out of the ordinary. Maybe we’ll go to the train station on Wednesday and accidentally board the wrong train or something. We’ll see.

 

(Darcy claimed she was just asking directions to the nearest Metro.)

Maybe we'll luck out, though, and I'll go peacefully on my way with only two troubles interrupting my summer break. Though three is a more commonly heard number, I seem to remember either my mom or dad asserting that trouble comes more often in twos... and then staring very hard at my sister and I. Huh.

Oh, We Got Trouble

"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace." -Thomas Paine

I started this vacation as a pacifist, going out of my way to avoid confrontation with Mother Nature’s and her adorable little beasties. Funny how the beasties get less and less adorable as they slowly infiltrate your life. It was around the time that I found ants crawling on my toothbrush that I decided that pacifism was only a viable option for the north.

Thomas Paine- I follow your example. May I kill the rotten little insects so that the Maryknollers who come after me may sleep without nightmares of crawlies. Others may call me a murderer (cough cough Colin cough), but I sleep the sleep of the self-righteous. The path of noble sacrifice is one that we must sometimes walk alone.

The Great Ant Infestation has made me wary to approach my computer (which for some reason attracts the little sleezeballs as though I rubbed it down daily with honey-soaked aphid bits). Now that I am relatively free of ants, I can take the time to summarize some of the last week and a half in Hong Kong.

Last Wednesday was the night of the much-anticipated Midsummer Evening Maryknoll Tribute BBQ Seminarian Send-off BASH which- though it did not include a single barbequed seminarian- still managed to live up to its ostentatiously long name. Wang Wei managed to smuggle custom-made banners and t-shirts in through Shenzhen, Pat spent something like 2 days preparing vast amounts of food,  Victor arranged a hilarious slide show featuring pictures and video clips from their experiences in China, and even Colin got into the design and decoration aspects of the show.

 

(Mmmm... cheesy potato dish...)

Probably my favorite part of the whole shebang were the party t-shirts. Bright yellow and well-designed (thanks Colin), they were a huge hit with everyone. Victor was stationed near the front door, handing a t-shirt to everyone who came in. Some of the invitees were so excited, they stripped down right there and pulled their shirts on in the middle of the parlor. The whole matching t-shirt idea made the party look like an exuberant cross between a Chinese tour group and a family reunion. (Not enough sunflower seeds for the former, though, and not enough falsely jovial (un)familiarity for the second.)

 

(The Sunshine Convention.)

In the end, it was a wonderful experience that everyone enjoyed- a rare chance for the Brothers, Fathers, and workers to come together at one meal, relax, and enjoy conversations. I dare say the seminarians were the most popular guys in the room that night. If they had really wanted to, they probably could have organized a coup d’état and wrestled the power of Maryknoll from Aaron Voth’s iron fist. Bishop Tong (who was also in attendance, and dressed in the party t-shirt) probably would have blessed the new regime... if only for the sake of Pat's pineapple chicken.

The party gave the rest of the week a hard act to follow, but I still managed to have a good time. For some reason unfathomable to myself, I accompanied the seminarians, the Wangs, and our friend from Zhanjiang, Angel, back to the same Tiantan Buddha I so thoroughly lambasted in my previous entry. Does that make me a hypocrite or a pushover? At least this time I got to ride on the cable car :)

All in all, my time in Hong Kong has been one of luxury, privilege, and idleness. Er... and troubled sacrifice, of course.

Ministry

“This morning this young man does what his time in seminary was preparing him to do, and what for the rest of his life will be the primary activity of his ministry.” -Edgar Wells

Um, planning parties? Somehow I don't think that's what Edgar Wells was thinking of- more's the shame. But I'll get to that later.

First, a bit of advice for those of you out there with even less common sense than me: do not go out in the tropics without sunscreen. Doing so marks you as a kind of stupid rarely found in those that walk erect. While most of my burn has healed quite nicely (leaving my skin an attractive two-toned white and dun color), the skin on my left shoulder still looks like a lunar landscape. I get vaguely disgusted looking at it, so I've taken to wearing high-collared shirts. At least it's stopped hurting.

Of course, there is no one here to feel my pain, since the seminarians are all from easy-tanning warm weather climes, and no one else is foolish enough to prance around without sunblock. I resent them all quietly and hope that my peeling skin makes their lunch taste a little less delicious.

Luckily, what the seminarians lack in easily flammable skin, they make up for in hilarity and exuberance. When not playing Majiang with our resident big-wig, whey amuse themselves by planning preposterous send-off parties for themselves.
                        
                         (Pat, Aaron, Victor, and Colin deeply engrossed in a game of Majiang)

What started off as a thoughtful BBQ to thank Maryknoll for hosting them has morphed into a multi-course entertainment extravaganza including everyone they have ever met in Hong Kong, from the priests and workers in Maryknoll to the security guards down the street. They're even inviting the bishop and the cardinal. 

And since such a momentous event needs an equally momentous name, they have decided to give the party a title: "The Mid-Summer Evening Maryknoll Tribute BBQ Seminarian Send-Off BASH."

I can't wait until July 22.

Thing That Cannot Be Hidden

“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”    -Buddha

Make that four things: the sun, the moon, truth, and the honking huge statue of the Amitabha Buddha on Lantau Island.

I went to the island thinking that the statue was some grand masterpiece of ancient Chinese engineering. Why, I wondered, was this 110 foot, 280 ton Buddha not listed among the wonders of the ancient world, alongside the Colossus of Rhodes and the Lighthouse at Alexandria? Looking at the picture to the right, you have to admit that it is a remarkable creation of human hands.

Sort of.

I actually found out later that is was not made by human hands, but rather by mechinized claws. The Tiantan Buddha(it's official name) was actually constructed from 1990-1993. Hardly an ancient wonder. I feel so disillusioned... though perhaps the environment around the statue should have clued me in...

Ah, well. It was a good time anyway. Getting to the statue is a bit of a trip, though. I started on a ferry from Central Hong Kong to Mui Wo on Lantau Island. Upon arrival at Mui Wo, I discovered that the only real modes of transportation on the island were the buses- which only ran once per hour. It took another 2-odd-hours to get from Mui Wo to Tai O, and from Tai O to the Po Lin Monastery near the statue. 

There were a surprising number of expats on the buses, most of them living on Lantau. One girl who worked at the local bookstore (succinctly named "Bookstore") said it was the perfect place for people who want to get away from the insanity of Hong Kong and just chill on a beach. Sitting around on a beach all day would probably drive me battier than any of the crackpots working in Hong Kong, but that's just me.

In addition to seeing the Tiantan Buddha, I was also looking forward to taking a cable car across the island; it's supposed to have some amazing views of the national parkland and the ocean. Of course, the day I choose to go to an island is the day Cyclone Soudelor decides to whistle through China's southeast, so I had to settle for the view at the top of the Buddha statue. Not bad, really.

   

                               

Mad Dogs

"Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun." -song by Noel Coward

Mad dogs, Englishmen, and stupid American tourists. Kevin and I went to the Macanese islands of Taipa and Coloane yesterday, and toasted ourselves quite nicely. We wandered around the whole day, marveling at how lovely and peaceful it all was, never stopping to think that maybe that was because all of the intelligent people were inside- away from the 98 degree heat, 300% humidity, and scorching tropical sun. I feel like I've microwaved my head.

Other than the weather, the trip was wonderful. We played intrepid adventurers and walked around the island, getting a good look at the beautiful tiled streets, the ubiquitous tiny temples and stately churches, and the lush vegetation that made me finally realize why people come to Asia for vacation.

We spent an embarrassing amount of time wandering Coloane in circles, trying to find a restaurant called Fernando's Ristonrante, which came highly recommended from several sources. In the end, though, the walk to find the restaurant was just as nice as the restaurant itself. We got to walk along pine-shaded paths, black sand beaches, verdant tropical gardens... gorgeous. In Coloane Village, we visited a few temples and a cafe, and mostly just strolled the streets, looking around.

Of course, there was also that time we missed the shuttle to A-Ma's statue because Kevin needed to get his picture taken by the Lube Stop sign. Instead of a 15-minute, air-conditioned ride, I was treated to an hour-long mountain trek with Mr Comedian nancing along beside me singing Disney songs and doing cartwheels. Jerk. At least the view from the statue was nice.

The whole trip gave me a new perspective on Macau. Before, I pretty much agreed with Kevin's classification of Macau as "Hong Kong Lite." A little less modern, a little less crowded, a little less crazy... that pretty much sums up a lot of the Peninsula. But the islands- man they're different! Taipa is starting to build up a bit more, especially the border of Cotai next to The Venetian, but it's still a pretty relaxed place. Just a bunch of kids getting their practice hours in with their driving instructors. And Coloane is so undeveloped, so residential. It's really peaceful.

And now I sound kind of like a tour guide, so I'll just post some pictures and be done with it.

Kevin in 天后官

Triumph at A-Ma Statue. A-Ma is the goddess of seafarers.