Letters to Nigel

[Last Wednesday] we went to hear some traditional Chinese music. It was actually part of a much larger tour that included the Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, and Qianmen, but something told me that a tour from 8am until 9pm was much too long. Although, after B. yelled at the tour guide who took us to the Great Wall and the Summer Palace (the school has been arranging some trips given the delayed start to the school year), I guess there was a new tour guide who was much less annoying. (I can tell a story with no point... but this woman made every single one of my drunken tales appear coherent and concise.) 

I asked D. if it was cool to just go to the concert, and she (amazing woman she is) made it happen.

D., Smashing, and I left from school to take the subway over, and Smashing was already haranguing D. about his working conditions and such like. D. looked rather uncomfortable. The un-air-conditioned ride on the subway calmed him down a bit.

We arrived and Smashing immediately started looking for beer. Fortunately, in your absence, I was able to direct him to the concession stand. We ordered 5 glasses of white wine (which in this venue turned out to be a bottle) and chugged them in the 15 minutes we had before the show (he had 3, I had 2), and then I stepped nervously into the theater.

It was NOT a repeat of the 12 Girls. I was confronted by a proper orchestra (smaller than a symphony, but good sized) and a proper conductor. They played actual music. It was really quite lovely. There were a few Western instruments (cello, bass, tympani), but it was mostly Chinese instruments (which I will name by their Western counterparts since I don't their Chinese names). There were the two-stringed violins, the mandolins, the banjos, some vibraphones, flutes, and some clarinet/trumpet looking things (I think they had reeds, making them woodwinds). There were also these crazy-looking horns that looked like portable pipe organs and I think sounded very French horn-like, so I'm calling them soprano, alto, tenor, and bass French horns.

We chugged a couple more glasses of wine during intermission (which was only 15 minutes long which is not long enough) and then had a very short second act. We all took the tour bus back to school. Fini.

I did wear a very nice hat and dress that I purchased over the summer. The girls who had spent all day on the tour (and thus had no ability to change) were rather jealous of my garb. What can I say? One must dress for the NCPA.

Letters to Nigel

Upon returning to school this year, we learned that a colleague had gotten rather sick over the summer and needed to take some time away to get healthy. Not wanting him to miss out on all the fun we have over here, I've been writing him some random updates of our shenanigans. For your reading enjoyment, I am reposting them here as a new series: Letters to Nigel*.

Hello from the Yuquan Lu.

Our Handler found a Groupon for the water park for 58 kuai, so he organized a trip. The only thing is that the tickets had to be used by the 15th. Since next weekend is a holiday (Moon Cake Day), we had to go this weekend.

We met at 9:30. By the time everyone showed up, it was 10, and we headed over to the park.

It was madness. Groupon is big, and we were not the only ones with the coupon.

Two hours later, we had our tickets and headed inside. (Smashing wandered off at one point and came back with 10 cans of beer, so at least we had some refreshment.)

We took a quick dip in the wave pool (along with 200 other Chinese swimmers), and then headed over to the slides. E., K. and L, and I went to the one with the 8 slides. Two hours later, we got to the slide. Along the way, we stopped a travesty. This gaggle of girls cut in ahead of us, claiming that they had left one person in line. We called bullshit (having been standing behind the guy with the plastic bag and the girl with the towel hanging out her butt — to protect her legs from the sun — for the previous hour and 45 minutes). The two ahead of us agreed, and waved us forward. We then waved forward the guys who had been behind us. The next thing we knew, a couple of employees of the park were there yelling at the girls and kicked them out of line! Score 1 for Western queuing. Not that it will do any good in the grand scheme of things...

At the top of the slide, I noticed that two of the slides were blocked off. Two months and already the place is falling apart. The smaller of the the vortex slides (the one Smashing got sent back down because he was by himself) was also closed.

We got some (crappy) food, and checked out the line for the big vortex slide... E. and I agreed we weren't waiting another two hours (plus) no matter how good the slide is.

We took another quick dip in the wave pool (A. and K. were definitely in with the crowd getting knocked over by the wave) and after almost thinking someone had stolen my flippy-floppies, E. and I took off.

I got home at 3:30, having gone down all of one slide.

It was still fun. The sun was shining and the air was relatively clear. It was definitely Chinese wacky. After 7 weeks in the States, there is no easy way to transition back to this madness. I spend a lot of time giggling to myself. 

*All names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty).

I Owe You, Big Time

Ah, Gentle Readers. I'm sure you thought I had forgotten about you. Perhaps you worried that I had turned my back on my blog and would be gallivanting around the world without filling you in on the day-to-day details of all the places I poo. Well, fear not. I have not turned my back on you, I was just enjoying the wonders of the United States during the summer months.

I meant to write to tell you what being home was like, but I didn't. I will rectify that now with a list of What I Learned During My Summer Vacation.

1. American bathrooms are really awesome. Flushing toilet paper is a wonderful idea. Deodorizing air fresheners are better than sliced bread. Bleach and soap are your friends. Hand dryers that actually dry your hands in less than 15 minutes are super cool.

My first night back in town, I went out to a local brew pup, the HUB (go there, it's totally awesome.) I had a few pints and then (not surprisingly) went to the bathroom. Seated on the commode, I looked to the right: no trash can there. I looked to the left: no trash can there, either. Oh, wait! In the U.S., you can flush your paper! I almost did a happy dance right there in the stall.

2. Water, water everywhere, and every drop I drank. Drinking tap water is great! I drank the tap water everywhere, even if filtered water was available. Oh sure, sometimes I'd reach for the Brita, but oftentimes, I didn't. Why? Because I didn't have to. Tap water on demand. Now that is a concept.

3. When you spend 10 months not understanding the language and you suddenly find yourself surrounded by people who speak the same language, you start to hear voices. In China, if I hear someone speaking English, I probably know them. The same is not true in the U.S., although I kept on hearing my friends' and colleagues' voices in places like the airport.

4. You never forget how to drive. It's like riding a bike.

5. American stores have the best toiletries. The travel-size section is particularly alluring. I bought so much sunblock (in travel and non-travel sizes), soap, and lotions it's really not funny. But it was oh, so fun!

6. Clothes that fit are awesome.

7. I love my sewing machine.

8. My family and friends are great, too.

9. Allergies really suck and I really need Flonase to survive summer in the ol' U.S. of A.

10. Mexican food is delicious. It's impossible to have too much Mexican food. Or bacon. Or IPA. Or lobster. Or any food that tastes like what you think it will taste like.

Last Move (I Hope)

Welcome back to Blogger, Loyal Readers.

After my dalliance with other blog sites, I'm back to the old stand-by. Why? You wonder.

Well, I've used Blogger for years, so I'm familiar with it. Also, it lets me link to blogs from any blog site (unlike evil Type Pad), so I can keep tabs on all of you. And, it's part of the emerging Evil Empire that is Google. Since I've also got a Picasaweb account and a Google+ account, why not go for the integrated approach? If it works, yay! If not, we'll be porting this blog somewhere else that does. "Vote with your feet," my dad always said.

NB: I've had to change the Web address. Some of you desperately need to update your links from the old Live Journal account (!) to this. I'm still Traveling Jones, but without any of the vowels. trvlngjns.blogspot.com

It's good to be home.

Knock Knock

I was in the kitchen rolling some holiday nougets in powdered sugar, when I thought I heard a knock at the door. I wasn't expecting anyone, so I didn't immediately rush to the door. But there is was again. And again.

Note: my hands were covered in dough and melted powdered sugar, I was still in my pj's (hey! it's a vacation day), and my apartment looks like a tornado hit it.

My Partner-in-Crime has been having a problem with his downstairs neighbor. She has been complaining about his "tap-dancing" and his "skipping". Mind, she can only hear my Partner-in-Crime, not his girlfriend. Obviously, it's because he's foreign. 

So, I was worried that maybe I've been pissing people off between the TV and the bass.

But not at all. They asked to be invited in. They were carrying a large book. The little girl (the same one I met on the elevator before Christmas) gave me a paper crane with some New Year's sentiments on it. Here it comes, I thought. They are going to ask me about Jesus.

Silly me. No. It was a Chinese-English dictionary. They wanted to talk. The little girl wanted to meet me and practice her English. It is very good, although a little formal and formulaic. Not that I expect much out of and 8-year old. For 8, her English is superb. I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up in my school in five more years. 

I think they will come back to visit.

At least my cleaning lady comes tomorrow so I won't have to be so embarrassed about the mess. 

Dear L. L. Bean,

I know we've had our differences. I know we got into a tiff over the cycling shoes. I took a break from you; got some space and some clarity. And I know I shop at your competitors all the time -- Eastern Mountain Sports and REI and even Columbia. 

But when I need you, I mean really need you, you're there for me. 

Finding quality sporting goods in Beijing isn't easy. There are plenty of faux sporting goods and pseudo sporting goods. There are even sporting goods lite. Finding a good pair of Gortex boots is next to impossible.

And then I found out that you were in town.

Not only do you have one store in Beijing, you have many. You have a store that's only three subway stops away from where I live. I don't even have to go across town to get to you.

And you have proper hiking boots that fit my feet. My toes don't slip and my heals don't ride up. The soles are even Vibram. You also have backpacks. Solid, well-constructed backpacks. 

And I know that you will stand behind these products. If anything happens to them, I can take them back to you and you will fix them. No one in China does that. 

I promise not to leave them outside my tent at night. 

Perhaps more importantly, it's a little piece of Maine that I can keep with me.

Thank you, L.L. Bean.

Just a Little Off the Top

My hair has been getting longer and longer -- as it does -- and I have needed a haircut for quite some time. It's gotten so bad that I've used it for example sentences in class, especially during the "offering advice" lesson. "Ms. Scott should probably get a haircut," or, "If I were you, I'd get my hair cut."

The thing is, my hair is not the easiest to cut. It is super thick and I have finally found a style that I love. It took me years of talking to hair dressers in English before I finally managed to vocalize what I wanted out of a cut. The thought of doing that in Chinese was just too daunting. A couple of months ago, my Canadian even noticed that my hair was getting shaggy. He looked at me and realized his own hair was looking scraggy. He could just got a barber and tell them which size guard to use. Me? Not so much. 

Three weeks ago, I knew I was coming to decision time. It was falling in my face and annoying the crap out of me. And, it was long enough that I could put it into pigtails. Not great pigtails -- the back hair wasn't quite long enough to really stay in the elastics, but it did get the hair out of my face. So, I was either going to wear pigtails until I get back to Portland in July or I was going to have to get a haircut.

So I started doing some research. *The* place to go in Beijing is Tony & Guy. There is even an address for it in my taxi guide. Although another one of the women has (successfully) had two haircuts from normal hair places in this town, she has a simpler cut and easier hair. So. Tony & Guy it is.

Toni & Guy is well suited to a mobile population. When you walk in, you choose a hair dresser based on price. The more expensive the cut, the more experienced the hair dresser. And here's where I made my fatal mistake: I didn't spend enough money.

I was walked over to a chair, and something looked different. The counter was missing. The chair was pushed forward towards a mirror and there were counter "wings" on each side. 

A slim young man in trendy black came over and took my bag and my jacket. Another slim man dressed in trendy black came over along with the desk clerk (a slim woman also dressed in trendy black). I began explaining to the man what I wanted out of my haircut while the woman translated.

And then I made mistake number two: I mentioned the word "bob". Now, it's true that I do wear my hair in an A-line bob, but it's an A-line bob. That means the hair is much shorter in the back and it tapers down to much longer in the front. It didn't matter how many times, with words, hand gestures, and actual pointing to my hair, the man latched onto "bob" and wouldn't let go. 

But I didn't know that yet.

The woman strutted away. The young man came back with a key on a plastic stringy bracelet thingy. Another man came and put a white coat on me and walked me to the hair washing room. And then came what is always the best part of getting a haircut -- the head massage, er, the shampoo. 

We walk back to the chair. The slim man in black brought out a small case of tools (what?!? these are his only cutting utensils?!?! they use tool boxes in Portland) and opened it up. It was definitely awkward for him to find the scissors and combs that he needed at any given time.

It was nothing like anything I'd ever experienced. He went at my hair with tiny, mincing cuts. I hand't had my hair cut in 4 months -- and I told him that. But he didn't just cut my hair. He dabbed at it with the end of his scissors.

This blog is taking me forever to write. The haircut took forever, too. I knew I was in big trouble when he dried my hair halfway through. I thought he thought he was done -- no one ever tries to cut my hair dry. It's too frizzy and curly. When I mentioned I wanted it much shorter, he said he wasn't done. And then spent another 30 minutes cutting my hair dry.

It went really bad when he got the interpreter over again and we went over what I wanted. I want the sides short! I picked up a hunk of hair and told him to cut it. He looked scared and told me he didn't want to. He didn't think it would look good.

What?!?! Excuse me, but I believe this is MY hair. I want it cut.

We suffered through another 20 minutes in the chair. And then I told him it was great and I loved it. I was faking it. I just wanted it to end. I was tired. I was hungry. And I wanted him to stop touching my hair. He didn't quite believe me, but I was very convincing. He eventually let me leave.

With the worst haircut of my life. 

Next time, I'll pay more money. And bring photos.