Listening: Patience and grace, all of these moments I'll never replace. No fear of my heart. Absence of faith.
What's my problem? Isn't it clear?
It's seven in the morning, eastern daylight time, on Friday, January seventh. I just walked in the door and all I want is to be gone. Well, all I want is a nap and then to be gone. Back to the drawing board. Time to plan my next jailbreak. Hopefully, I'll be out of the clink for a good long while this next time. For now, I'm back on the chain gang. You bet your sweet ass, every night I'll be hiding behind that poster of Bridget Bardot with my rock hammer scraping away...
Friday, January 7, 2011
Friday, December 24, 2010
Half a World Away: Part I
Listening: Excuse me please, one more drink. Could you make it strong, 'cause I don't need to think? She broke my heart. My grace is gone. One more drink and I'll move on.
What's my problem? I already miss Asia.
It's the evil holiday's eve and I'm back in the United States. I'm at the comfortable home of two good friends in San Jose, California, which is warmer than Shanghai and cooler than Hong Kong. Since I've been back, I have had In 'n' Out burger and some barbecue. I've had salads and vegetables, two things that I had been missing during my time in Asia.
Jet lag has hit me pretty bad this time around. I wake up at weird times and am sleepy at weird times. Sometimes I just can't seem to keep my eyes open. I have tried coffee. But the thing that seems to be lagging the most is my mind. My mind is stuck in Asia. I still want to be there with its lack of good veg or not.
In a few hours, I'll be heading to the airport to catch a flight to Canada. Honestly, I wish I had a flight back to China instead.
What is it about Asia that has a hold on me? Europe doesn't have the hold on me like Asia does. Asia fills me with more of a feeling of belonging than most places that I have ever been.
Shanghai, in particular, made me feel most at home. As I walked through the streets, I looked like everyone else for the first time in my life. When I talked to locals, they were surprisingly western. There were expats and domestic transplants. There were Americans, Canadians, Taiwanese, Shanghai ren(people), Sichuan ren, Filipinos. But unlike New York City, I looked like the majority instead of yet another minority who couldn't possibly be a real "American."
In Shanghai, I couldn't possibly be an American. Where was I really from? All I could tell people then was that I come from Guandong ren. But walking down the street, I was just one of them. It was amazing.
So, for right now, I'm in America. I have plots, designs and plans to move to Shanghai in the works. I have been networking with chefs and restaurant owners in Shanghai, and they're waiting for my CV(resume) to arrive in their e-mail. The current plan is to build up some start up cash in Boston over the next six or eight months so I can land in Shanghai and be out of work for a few months as I search for a job.
The next year will be a kind of limbo. I hope to save up at least six or eight thousand dollars to land with, or else it will be a quick trip.
Well, it's time for me to go. If you're waiting for details on my China trip, I will be blogging retroactively once I get back to Boston. For now, I'll continue to post in the present tense, and as I am about to go hang out with family, I am presently tense.
What's my problem? I already miss Asia.
It's the evil holiday's eve and I'm back in the United States. I'm at the comfortable home of two good friends in San Jose, California, which is warmer than Shanghai and cooler than Hong Kong. Since I've been back, I have had In 'n' Out burger and some barbecue. I've had salads and vegetables, two things that I had been missing during my time in Asia.
Jet lag has hit me pretty bad this time around. I wake up at weird times and am sleepy at weird times. Sometimes I just can't seem to keep my eyes open. I have tried coffee. But the thing that seems to be lagging the most is my mind. My mind is stuck in Asia. I still want to be there with its lack of good veg or not.
In a few hours, I'll be heading to the airport to catch a flight to Canada. Honestly, I wish I had a flight back to China instead.
What is it about Asia that has a hold on me? Europe doesn't have the hold on me like Asia does. Asia fills me with more of a feeling of belonging than most places that I have ever been.
Shanghai, in particular, made me feel most at home. As I walked through the streets, I looked like everyone else for the first time in my life. When I talked to locals, they were surprisingly western. There were expats and domestic transplants. There were Americans, Canadians, Taiwanese, Shanghai ren(people), Sichuan ren, Filipinos. But unlike New York City, I looked like the majority instead of yet another minority who couldn't possibly be a real "American."
In Shanghai, I couldn't possibly be an American. Where was I really from? All I could tell people then was that I come from Guandong ren. But walking down the street, I was just one of them. It was amazing.
So, for right now, I'm in America. I have plots, designs and plans to move to Shanghai in the works. I have been networking with chefs and restaurant owners in Shanghai, and they're waiting for my CV(resume) to arrive in their e-mail. The current plan is to build up some start up cash in Boston over the next six or eight months so I can land in Shanghai and be out of work for a few months as I search for a job.
The next year will be a kind of limbo. I hope to save up at least six or eight thousand dollars to land with, or else it will be a quick trip.
Well, it's time for me to go. If you're waiting for details on my China trip, I will be blogging retroactively once I get back to Boston. For now, I'll continue to post in the present tense, and as I am about to go hang out with family, I am presently tense.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Day 2: Scene Stealers
Listening:
What's my problem?
I woke up at seven in the morning, an hour improvement from the day before, still a little bit disappointed that Isa wasn't in town. I was really hoping that I wouldn't have to use my guidebook at all. Since I had gotten in on a Thursday, and my first full day was a Friday, I was hoping, at least to spend the weekend with her. I mean, come on. I'm visiting from half a world away. Exactly a twelve hour time difference. I make time for my friends when they come into town.
Anyhow, by the time I had cleaned up, checked e-mail and looked for a hostel to move to for the next night, it was nine and the streets were bustling. Even when I woke up, I knew what I wanted to have for breakfast. I had to have another one of those scallion pancakes. This time, I wanted to get one with an egg on it, as I had seen some other people get the day before. Unfortunately, when I got there, they were nowhere to be found. Their cart was there, chained up to where it was the day before, but no one was cooking. So, instead , I went to the place on the corner.
Vendor: "Ni yao shem me?" (What would you like?)
Me: "Err... Bao zi?" (Err... buns?)
Vendor: "Ni yao jiu rou bao? Cai bao?" (You want pork buns? Veg buns?)
Me: "Umm... Liang ge jiu rou, yi ge cai." (Umm... two pork, one veg)
The vendor then picked up the steamer that contained the sticky rice shumai.
Me: "Wo ye yao liang ge zhe ge dong xi." (I also want two of these things.)
It cost me around twelve Yuan (just under two dollars) for all of my bounty.
Jiu rou bao
Sticky rice shumai
-up at 7 out by 9
-dumplings & rice wonton
-Nanjing Rd
-Checked out Phoenix Hostel
-Renmin Park
-Marriage Market
-Museum of Contemporary Art
-Walk to Jing An
-Potstickers on the way on Nanjing Rd
-Jing An
-Walk to Tian Zi Fang
-Swing dancing empty
-Hip hop dancing competition
-Shopping at Tian Zi Fang (Popigist)
-Swing Dancing (Orchid, Sabrina, Ken, Eriko, Iris)
-Dinner at Chopsticks (Sichuan)
-House of Blues & Jazz
-Asleep at 3AM
What's my problem?
I woke up at seven in the morning, an hour improvement from the day before, still a little bit disappointed that Isa wasn't in town. I was really hoping that I wouldn't have to use my guidebook at all. Since I had gotten in on a Thursday, and my first full day was a Friday, I was hoping, at least to spend the weekend with her. I mean, come on. I'm visiting from half a world away. Exactly a twelve hour time difference. I make time for my friends when they come into town.
Anyhow, by the time I had cleaned up, checked e-mail and looked for a hostel to move to for the next night, it was nine and the streets were bustling. Even when I woke up, I knew what I wanted to have for breakfast. I had to have another one of those scallion pancakes. This time, I wanted to get one with an egg on it, as I had seen some other people get the day before. Unfortunately, when I got there, they were nowhere to be found. Their cart was there, chained up to where it was the day before, but no one was cooking. So, instead , I went to the place on the corner.
Vendor: "Ni yao shem me?" (What would you like?)
Me: "Err... Bao zi?" (Err... buns?)
Vendor: "Ni yao jiu rou bao? Cai bao?" (You want pork buns? Veg buns?)
Me: "Umm... Liang ge jiu rou, yi ge cai." (Umm... two pork, one veg)
The vendor then picked up the steamer that contained the sticky rice shumai.
Me: "Wo ye yao liang ge zhe ge dong xi." (I also want two of these things.)
It cost me around twelve Yuan (just under two dollars) for all of my bounty.
Jiu rou bao
Sticky rice shumai
-up at 7 out by 9
-dumplings & rice wonton
-Nanjing Rd
-Checked out Phoenix Hostel
-Renmin Park
-Marriage Market
-Museum of Contemporary Art
-Walk to Jing An
-Potstickers on the way on Nanjing Rd
-Jing An
-Walk to Tian Zi Fang
-Swing dancing empty
-Hip hop dancing competition
-Shopping at Tian Zi Fang (Popigist)
-Swing Dancing (Orchid, Sabrina, Ken, Eriko, Iris)
-Dinner at Chopsticks (Sichuan)
-House of Blues & Jazz
-Asleep at 3AM
Friday, November 5, 2010
Day 1: Where Are You?
Listening: When I look at my china girl, I could pretend that nothing really meant too much.
What's my problem? China's convenient stores don't work like SE Asia's.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was already starting to rise. It was six in the morning. I was in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar country. I wrapped the heavy duvet around me and buried my head in the pillow.
"Mrrrrraaaaawwwwwwhhhhhhhh," I emoted, muffled by the pillow, as I stretched my limbs.
After a few moments of staring at the ceiling, I stepped out of bed and looked out the window. I was lucky. My room faced the river, so I could see all of the crazy architecture on the Pudong side of the river. At six in the morning, though, all of the shops on the street below were still all shuttered up.
It's amazing how light can change a place. The previous night, the streets seemed sketchy, dark and ominous. During the daytime, the streets just seemed like streets, like it was anywhere. People were walking to get to and from work. There was no litter. Cars drove by.
After cleaning up and checking my e-mail, I was out the door by eight o'clock.
Throughout all of my travels, I have always been able to locate foreign, pay as you go SIM chips for my cell phones in convenience stores. Whether it be at 7-Eleven, Lawson's, Circle K, AM/PM, FamilyMart or Kwik Stop, I've always been able to find them there. I must have walked into eight or ten convenience stores and I couldn't for the life of me get a prepaid SIM card.
Now it was important that I get this SIM. Flashback to a year and a half ago. I was in Hoi An, Vietnam, where, after my German roomie moved on, I decided to split a room with a gorgeous girl from Shanghai. Over the past year and a half, we had kept in sporadically; a message here, a message there. As I tell most of the people that I meet on the trail, I told her that if I were ever in the area, I would make a concerted effort to go and see her.
This has worked many times before. One time, I had a two night layover in London on my way to Amsterdam to see my pal Ed. I used that layover to see my friend Lianne, who I had met in Cinque Terre a few years earlier. Two summers ago, I took my one day off from work and flew to New York City to meet up with my friend Jade from Australia who was passing through. So, for me, a big part of coming to Shanghai was to reconnect with the friend that I made in Vietnam.
As I searched frantically for a SIM card, I went in and out of shops until I got to East Nanjing Road. Nanjing Road is one of the biggest high end (with mid and low end too) shopping roads in all of China. They have everything from Cartier and Tag Heuer to Louis Vuitton and Gucci. The eastern most six or so blocks are all pedestrian, so there are crowds of people, little trollies to take pedestrians from one end of the pedestrian arcade to the other.
It was there that I ducked into a China Mobile store. I thought that, of course, I would be able to get a pre-paid SIM card there. No dice. Apparently, in order to get a SIM card there, you need to sign up for a plan. In order to sign up for a plan, you need to have a resident identification card. I didn't want a plan and I didn't have a resident identification card, so I was shit out of luck.
As I walked down East Nanjing Road, I was still on the lookout for SIM card, but all I saw were Giordano's, Adidas and Starbucks.
The day that I was in San Jose, before coming to China, I was at a Japanese dollar store with Linh. In Boston, and in San Jose, I had been looking for travel chopsticks to take with me, because I knew that I would be eating a lot of street food. I would be eating at a lot of places where I would be using those crappy, wood, break-apart chopsticks. I just wanted a better pair to help me save the environment. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a good pair in the States.
However, as I walked down Nanjing Road, I spotted a Yunhong Chopsticks shop. Now, I knew nothing about this company. I knew nothing of the fact that I would see this shop name in almost every city that I visited. I also knew nothing of how to bargain in China. I also didn't realize how much more things cost on Nanjing Road than they do in other places.
So, I go into the Yunhong Chopstick shop and I see them. I see exactly what I had been looking for. These travel chopsticks were ebony and stainless steel. They came apart and the tips packed into the handles, so they were half the length when put away, and came with a ripstop nylon case on a carabiner. I knew that I had to have it.
In southeast Asia, I was used to bargaining out in the night markets or even in some of the malls where people were hawking black market goods. I never really shopped at any name brand stores, so I had no clue that I could have bargained. There was a price on the chopsticks, so I assumed that since there was a price written, that's the price it sold at. I later found out, not only was I wrong about having to pay a written price in a shop, but I found out that I probably paid way too much. I ended up paying a hundred and something renminbi (aka RMB or Yuan). It was the equivalent of around thirteen dollars. I justify buying the chopsticks at that price several ways.
1) They were EXACTLY what I was looking for.
2) I'll NEVER have to buy another pair of travel chopsticks.
3) I was ignorant.
4) The chopsticks WERE made of ivory and stainless steel.
5) There was a pretty girl selling them to me.
That's right. I said it. There was a pretty girl in a business suit selling them to me. All of her fellow shop girls didn't want to talk to the lao wai (foreigner), because either my Mandarin was just so bar or they were ashamed of their English. But, the cute girl muddled along in broken English and I muddled along in broken Mandarin. I think if I could have tipped her (literally and figuratively), I would have.
It was also good that I bought the chopsticks from that girl, because after I paid, I was able to ask her where I could find a SIM card for my phone. She pointed me down a street off of Nanjing Road, doing her best to motion with her hands on where and how far to go.
Still on my way, I stopped into two convenience stores just to be given the same answer that they didn't carry SIM cards. After a few blocks, I came across an intersection that had a number of street food vendors. There were people selling food out of carts and some that had corner store fronts. I asked one of the vendors where I could find a SIM card and she pointed me down the street parallel with Nanjing Road, at a tiny little storefront.
Inside the storefront were all sorts of telephone parts, from old dusty rotary phones to old Nokia's. It looked like a phone graveyard the size of a shoebox. Inside the shop, there was a skinny old man along with an old woman who was fast asleep on a chair. As I walked up, the old man greeted me with a toothy smile that was black around the edges. He wore a thin light blue, almost white, button down shirt, a pair of dirty chinos, and plastic sandals. He seemed affable.
Note: My Mandarin is awful. I do not speak standard Mandarin. My grammar and syntax is all fucked up. So, what I was saying to this guy was followed by strange looks from him and effort on his part to figure out what I was saying.
Me: "Ni you mei you... uhh... SIM card?" (Do you have... uhhh... SIM card?)
Him: (something I didn't understand in Mandarin.)
I pull out my phone, rip off the back plate and battery, and show him.
Him: "Ahhhh... You. You." (Ahhhh... I have it. I have it.)
He ducks under his counter display case of grossly outdated phones and pulls out a stack of square envelopes the size of CDs or DVDs. He looks through the stack and pulls one out. It says China Mobile on it.
Me: "Ji kuai?" (How much?)
Him: "Yi bai kuai." (One hundred Yuan)
Me: "Wo ke bu ke ye kan kan?" (Can I see it?)
Him: "Ke ye." (You can.)
I opened the enveloped, inspecting it carefully. It was printed with a price of a hundred RMB on it and didn't seem to be tampered with. I pulled out the card and popped out the chip and put it into my phone.
Me: "Wo yao kan kan zhe ke ye gong zuo." (I want to see if this will work.)
The phone works! So I immediately pull out Isa's phone number and call her.
Her: "Wei?" (Hello?)
Me: "Isa, It's Jason! I'm in Shanghai! What's going on?
Her: "Jason! I'm not in Shanghai right now. I had to leave town for work. I'll be back in a few day."
Me: "Aww, man! That sucks. So when do you think you'll be back?
Her: "Wednesday or Thursday."
Me: "Okay... Well, this is my number. Give me a call when you get back into town and we'll get together for dinner or something."
Her: "Okay. I talk to you in a few days."
Me: "Bye!"
Needless to say, I was a bit down about the fact that I wouldn't get a chance to see Isa. I had only planned on staying in Shanghai for four days, but I'll be damned if I get to Shanghai and I don't see her.
It's still morning, and I had my primary goal for the day out of the way, so my mind shifted to my constant goal: to sate my hunger. Being the guy who delves straight into the culture, I knew where I had to go. So, I paid the man with the mossy smile and the affable way about him and headed back to the crossroads where I saw the street vendors.
On one corner was a fruit vendor, another corner had someone with a cart selling, something I don't remember, but the money corner had a woman selling buns filled with pork or veg and shumai that was filled with sticky rice. If I walked just past the bun lady, there was a couple who were making fresh scallion pancakes.
At EXNE, we had scallion pancakes on the menu. The sous made the dough, put it through a pasta roller to roll it out as thin as humanly possible, brush it with oil, sprinkle on the scallions, roll it the short way so it looks like a long, long snake, then coil that to make a ball, and squish it to make a pancake.
The couple in Shanghai had a different method. The wife would have the dough in a snake the size of my arm, girth and length. She would then cut off pieces the size of my fist. With each of these fist size dough pieces, she would use the heel of her hand to smear the dough into pieces that were three inches wide by five or six inches long and flat. She would brush with oil and sprinkle with scallions, roll it up so it looked like a cinnamon bun and would hand it to her man. He would then take the scallion cinnamon bun, put it on the griddle and smush it with a weight that looked like a giant boardgame piece. It seemed so much easier and quicker than what was happening at EXNE.
The scallion pancake stand
The strips and scallion cinnamon buns
Pressing the pancakes
First breakfast in China? Fuck yeah!
That scallion pancake cost me one and a half Yuan. Let's break that down, shall we? There are six and a half yuan to a dollar. That pretty much makes that scallion pancake cost less than a quarter. It was probably the best quarter that I have ever spent.
From there, I walked back to Nanjing Road and walked the promenade all of the way down to its end where it meets People's Square and People's Park. On the way there, though, I saw all sorts of crazy things. There was one store that had a huge saltwater aquarium with sea turtles and sharks. There were people dancing with fans for exercise, and everyone was taking pictures.
The view down Nanjing Road
Strange people dancing
Turtle in the aquarium
A lot of the time, the way I approach cities is that I will just wander aimlessly. Maybe not completely aimlessly, but I won't really say to myself, that I have to go somewhere. I spent a good few hours wandering around People's Park. The park itself is huge. It has green areas, museums, restaurants, an amusement park and sitting areas. It even has metro stop entrances all around it. At one part of the park there were at least a hundred children and accompanying parents feeding pigeons. It was pretty cute.
Kids feeding pigeons
I entered People's park on the north side and exited on the south side, and after consulting my book, I figured that I would go try to check out Cybermart. It was supposed to be a good spot to pick up cheap electronics. I was kind of in the market for a new phone, but I really didn't want to spend all that much on it.
I look at the map in my Rough Guide to China, and try to figure out where it is. It looks pretty self explanatory, but when I get there, it's nowhere to be found. I keep walking around and walking around thinking that I might have missed it. I walked around until I found myself at Xintiandi.
Xintiandi is a little area with high end shops and restaurants that are housed in buildings designed to emulate the shikumen style of building from the 1860s. I had been walking and looking for Cybermart for quite some time, so I decided to take a load off, enjoy some coffee, and do a little reading.
It was a beautiful day outside. There were people all over the place and I was happy that the coffee house had an outdoor seating area. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to my book or my guidebook. I spent most of my time watching people and trying to listen in to what they were saying. For every conversation in Mandarin, I heard at least one in English or French.
I found one conversation particularly interesting. It was between an older white guy and a younger Russian woman. It had seemed as if they were on their first date. It was totally sketchy and lecherous. I think that the only question in my mind about the little date was whether there was some payola involved.
After a good hour or so, I decided that it was time to get a move on. So, I headed east towards the old city. I had no real intention of going into the old city. I just kind of wanted to go into that general direction, because it was just south of where my hotel was.
On my way there, I found what I had been looking for and nothing that I had been looking for. Cybermart. That's right. Cybermart had moved, and it just so happened that I walked right by it on the way to the old city. Since I was still in the market for a new cell phone, I walked in. Immediately, I was accosted by vendors. People are trying to wave you over to their booth. People are guiding you over by hand. It's a lot like Panthip shopping plaza in Bangkok. You almost feel dirty the way they're trying to usher you over and sell you stuff. They don't even know what you want or need. They just want to bring you over in case they have something you want.
Cybermart is split up into four or so floors. So, I went up to the cell phone floor. Let me tell you something, there is a lot of crap out there. There are a lot of crappy knock offs out there. You know, things that say "Sumsang," "Nokeea," and "Marola." I knew that if I was going to buy a new cell phone, I would want it to be a smart phone with the Android operating system. That meant that I needed to buy a real thing, not a knock off. It turns out that the real ones cost even more in China than they do in the States, so I bugged out among all of the grabbing hands telling me that they would give me a special price.
When I finally got to the old city, I was thoroughly disappointed. Sure, there was a lot of cool architecture, but it had all been converted into one giant tourist trap. There were hundreds of vendors all selling the same crap. And when I say crap, I mean, craaaaaaaaaap. If this crap was measured in terms of equine crap, this was no pony crap. This was full on clydesdale monster crap. It was here that I first uttered the words that I would say regularly throughout my trip, "Who buys this crap?"
As I made my way into the center of the old town, I found myself in the City God's temple. It was a pretty impressive functioning temple in the middle of the city. What impressed me most about this temple was that it had a Buddha for every birth year. I think that there were around seventy of them, at least, and like the Chinese zodiac, it goes in cycles. I know that there are more than a dozen of them, so I don't remember exactly how long the cycle is. There were some very cool ones, and some that were rather milktoast.
City God's Temple
One of the cooler Buddhas
The Buddha of my year
From there, it was an easy jump to see Yu Yuan Garden. Yu Yuan is a classic Ming Dynasty garden. What's extraordinary to me about this garden is how big it is despite the fact that it's in the middle of the city. It's not like People's Park where it's big and open. It's more of a garden of chambers. There are gates and doorways that lead to open spaces with either water features, rock sculptures, trees, or green area. There are pavilions to sit in, fish to feed, places to feed your desire for quiet contemplation. I was constantly surprised by how big the garden was. I felt like it was the never ending chain of gardens. I heard that during the height of the summer, Yu Yuan is packed, and it's body to body (and not in a good way). When I was there, there were people there, but it wasn't by any means crowded. I think I hit it just at the right time.
A pavilion at Yu Yuan
Some of the stonework in the paths of Yu Yuan
Roof detailing
Tell me this isn't awesome.
After I got out of Yu Yuan, I was crazy hungry. I knew that there were supposed to be really good xiao chi (small eats) in the old city, but my guide book wasn't really all that helpful in getting me to them. I saw a sign for soup dumplings so I immediately went in. When I got there, there were no soup dumplings to be found. I was kind of irritated, but I was so hungry that I stuck around. I ended up ordering some other boiled dumplings there, but in reality I probably should have left.
Meh dumplings.
After the snack, I was really zonked. It was around five in the afternoon, so I retired to my hotel to take a brief nap. It was totally what I needed, but when I woke up, I was hungry again. So, I walked back down Nanjing Road, hoping to find something tasty. I walked a long time, and found myself near the West Nanjing Road metro stop. Over there, there were a bunch of restaurants that all looked affordable. It turns out that during my time in Shanghai, I would spend a great deal of time in this area, but this night, I made a bad choice.
I looked for a place that had a menu that I liked and that had a relatively busy dining room. It ended up being a noodle bar. I don't even remember what I got there. I was so meh about it.
What was excellent was the walk back to the hotel. By the time I was finished, the sun had finally set. In fact, it had taken me so long to figure out where and what I wanted to eat in addition to eating slow, that it was about nine at night before I was finished. It was dark out, but as you walk down Nanjing Road, you get the feeling that you're in Vegas. The lights coupled with the architecture is, in a word awesome, and not in a cheesy way.
The crappy thing about walking down Nanjing Road at this time of night is that you get harassed. I had read the guidebook before stepping off the plane, so I knew all of the scams. Just on the walk home, on the pedestrian promenade, a couple of girls came and begged for food, though they didn't look poor or homeless at all, two sets of other girls tried to get me to go drink coffee or tea with them to "practice English," and three guys tried to get me to go with them to see girls for a "sex massage." It was unbelievable.
By the time I got back to the hotel, it was half past ten and I was beat. I spent a lot of time walking that day and I still hadn't adjusted to the time zone. So, even though it was a Friday, I was spent.
What's my problem? China's convenient stores don't work like SE Asia's.
When I opened my eyes, the sun was already starting to rise. It was six in the morning. I was in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar city, in an unfamiliar country. I wrapped the heavy duvet around me and buried my head in the pillow.
"Mrrrrraaaaawwwwwwhhhhhhhh," I emoted, muffled by the pillow, as I stretched my limbs.
After a few moments of staring at the ceiling, I stepped out of bed and looked out the window. I was lucky. My room faced the river, so I could see all of the crazy architecture on the Pudong side of the river. At six in the morning, though, all of the shops on the street below were still all shuttered up.
It's amazing how light can change a place. The previous night, the streets seemed sketchy, dark and ominous. During the daytime, the streets just seemed like streets, like it was anywhere. People were walking to get to and from work. There was no litter. Cars drove by.
After cleaning up and checking my e-mail, I was out the door by eight o'clock.
Throughout all of my travels, I have always been able to locate foreign, pay as you go SIM chips for my cell phones in convenience stores. Whether it be at 7-Eleven, Lawson's, Circle K, AM/PM, FamilyMart or Kwik Stop, I've always been able to find them there. I must have walked into eight or ten convenience stores and I couldn't for the life of me get a prepaid SIM card.
Now it was important that I get this SIM. Flashback to a year and a half ago. I was in Hoi An, Vietnam, where, after my German roomie moved on, I decided to split a room with a gorgeous girl from Shanghai. Over the past year and a half, we had kept in sporadically; a message here, a message there. As I tell most of the people that I meet on the trail, I told her that if I were ever in the area, I would make a concerted effort to go and see her.
This has worked many times before. One time, I had a two night layover in London on my way to Amsterdam to see my pal Ed. I used that layover to see my friend Lianne, who I had met in Cinque Terre a few years earlier. Two summers ago, I took my one day off from work and flew to New York City to meet up with my friend Jade from Australia who was passing through. So, for me, a big part of coming to Shanghai was to reconnect with the friend that I made in Vietnam.
As I searched frantically for a SIM card, I went in and out of shops until I got to East Nanjing Road. Nanjing Road is one of the biggest high end (with mid and low end too) shopping roads in all of China. They have everything from Cartier and Tag Heuer to Louis Vuitton and Gucci. The eastern most six or so blocks are all pedestrian, so there are crowds of people, little trollies to take pedestrians from one end of the pedestrian arcade to the other.
It was there that I ducked into a China Mobile store. I thought that, of course, I would be able to get a pre-paid SIM card there. No dice. Apparently, in order to get a SIM card there, you need to sign up for a plan. In order to sign up for a plan, you need to have a resident identification card. I didn't want a plan and I didn't have a resident identification card, so I was shit out of luck.
As I walked down East Nanjing Road, I was still on the lookout for SIM card, but all I saw were Giordano's, Adidas and Starbucks.
The day that I was in San Jose, before coming to China, I was at a Japanese dollar store with Linh. In Boston, and in San Jose, I had been looking for travel chopsticks to take with me, because I knew that I would be eating a lot of street food. I would be eating at a lot of places where I would be using those crappy, wood, break-apart chopsticks. I just wanted a better pair to help me save the environment. Unfortunately, I couldn't find a good pair in the States.
However, as I walked down Nanjing Road, I spotted a Yunhong Chopsticks shop. Now, I knew nothing about this company. I knew nothing of the fact that I would see this shop name in almost every city that I visited. I also knew nothing of how to bargain in China. I also didn't realize how much more things cost on Nanjing Road than they do in other places.
So, I go into the Yunhong Chopstick shop and I see them. I see exactly what I had been looking for. These travel chopsticks were ebony and stainless steel. They came apart and the tips packed into the handles, so they were half the length when put away, and came with a ripstop nylon case on a carabiner. I knew that I had to have it.
In southeast Asia, I was used to bargaining out in the night markets or even in some of the malls where people were hawking black market goods. I never really shopped at any name brand stores, so I had no clue that I could have bargained. There was a price on the chopsticks, so I assumed that since there was a price written, that's the price it sold at. I later found out, not only was I wrong about having to pay a written price in a shop, but I found out that I probably paid way too much. I ended up paying a hundred and something renminbi (aka RMB or Yuan). It was the equivalent of around thirteen dollars. I justify buying the chopsticks at that price several ways.
1) They were EXACTLY what I was looking for.
2) I'll NEVER have to buy another pair of travel chopsticks.
3) I was ignorant.
4) The chopsticks WERE made of ivory and stainless steel.
5) There was a pretty girl selling them to me.
That's right. I said it. There was a pretty girl in a business suit selling them to me. All of her fellow shop girls didn't want to talk to the lao wai (foreigner), because either my Mandarin was just so bar or they were ashamed of their English. But, the cute girl muddled along in broken English and I muddled along in broken Mandarin. I think if I could have tipped her (literally and figuratively), I would have.
It was also good that I bought the chopsticks from that girl, because after I paid, I was able to ask her where I could find a SIM card for my phone. She pointed me down a street off of Nanjing Road, doing her best to motion with her hands on where and how far to go.
Still on my way, I stopped into two convenience stores just to be given the same answer that they didn't carry SIM cards. After a few blocks, I came across an intersection that had a number of street food vendors. There were people selling food out of carts and some that had corner store fronts. I asked one of the vendors where I could find a SIM card and she pointed me down the street parallel with Nanjing Road, at a tiny little storefront.
Inside the storefront were all sorts of telephone parts, from old dusty rotary phones to old Nokia's. It looked like a phone graveyard the size of a shoebox. Inside the shop, there was a skinny old man along with an old woman who was fast asleep on a chair. As I walked up, the old man greeted me with a toothy smile that was black around the edges. He wore a thin light blue, almost white, button down shirt, a pair of dirty chinos, and plastic sandals. He seemed affable.
Note: My Mandarin is awful. I do not speak standard Mandarin. My grammar and syntax is all fucked up. So, what I was saying to this guy was followed by strange looks from him and effort on his part to figure out what I was saying.
Me: "Ni you mei you... uhh... SIM card?" (Do you have... uhhh... SIM card?)
Him: (something I didn't understand in Mandarin.)
I pull out my phone, rip off the back plate and battery, and show him.
Him: "Ahhhh... You. You." (Ahhhh... I have it. I have it.)
He ducks under his counter display case of grossly outdated phones and pulls out a stack of square envelopes the size of CDs or DVDs. He looks through the stack and pulls one out. It says China Mobile on it.
Me: "Ji kuai?" (How much?)
Him: "Yi bai kuai." (One hundred Yuan)
Me: "Wo ke bu ke ye kan kan?" (Can I see it?)
Him: "Ke ye." (You can.)
I opened the enveloped, inspecting it carefully. It was printed with a price of a hundred RMB on it and didn't seem to be tampered with. I pulled out the card and popped out the chip and put it into my phone.
Me: "Wo yao kan kan zhe ke ye gong zuo." (I want to see if this will work.)
The phone works! So I immediately pull out Isa's phone number and call her.
Her: "Wei?" (Hello?)
Me: "Isa, It's Jason! I'm in Shanghai! What's going on?
Her: "Jason! I'm not in Shanghai right now. I had to leave town for work. I'll be back in a few day."
Me: "Aww, man! That sucks. So when do you think you'll be back?
Her: "Wednesday or Thursday."
Me: "Okay... Well, this is my number. Give me a call when you get back into town and we'll get together for dinner or something."
Her: "Okay. I talk to you in a few days."
Me: "Bye!"
Needless to say, I was a bit down about the fact that I wouldn't get a chance to see Isa. I had only planned on staying in Shanghai for four days, but I'll be damned if I get to Shanghai and I don't see her.
It's still morning, and I had my primary goal for the day out of the way, so my mind shifted to my constant goal: to sate my hunger. Being the guy who delves straight into the culture, I knew where I had to go. So, I paid the man with the mossy smile and the affable way about him and headed back to the crossroads where I saw the street vendors.
On one corner was a fruit vendor, another corner had someone with a cart selling, something I don't remember, but the money corner had a woman selling buns filled with pork or veg and shumai that was filled with sticky rice. If I walked just past the bun lady, there was a couple who were making fresh scallion pancakes.
At EXNE, we had scallion pancakes on the menu. The sous made the dough, put it through a pasta roller to roll it out as thin as humanly possible, brush it with oil, sprinkle on the scallions, roll it the short way so it looks like a long, long snake, then coil that to make a ball, and squish it to make a pancake.
The couple in Shanghai had a different method. The wife would have the dough in a snake the size of my arm, girth and length. She would then cut off pieces the size of my fist. With each of these fist size dough pieces, she would use the heel of her hand to smear the dough into pieces that were three inches wide by five or six inches long and flat. She would brush with oil and sprinkle with scallions, roll it up so it looked like a cinnamon bun and would hand it to her man. He would then take the scallion cinnamon bun, put it on the griddle and smush it with a weight that looked like a giant boardgame piece. It seemed so much easier and quicker than what was happening at EXNE.
The scallion pancake stand
The strips and scallion cinnamon buns
Pressing the pancakes
First breakfast in China? Fuck yeah!
That scallion pancake cost me one and a half Yuan. Let's break that down, shall we? There are six and a half yuan to a dollar. That pretty much makes that scallion pancake cost less than a quarter. It was probably the best quarter that I have ever spent.
From there, I walked back to Nanjing Road and walked the promenade all of the way down to its end where it meets People's Square and People's Park. On the way there, though, I saw all sorts of crazy things. There was one store that had a huge saltwater aquarium with sea turtles and sharks. There were people dancing with fans for exercise, and everyone was taking pictures.
The view down Nanjing Road
Strange people dancing
Turtle in the aquarium
A lot of the time, the way I approach cities is that I will just wander aimlessly. Maybe not completely aimlessly, but I won't really say to myself, that I have to go somewhere. I spent a good few hours wandering around People's Park. The park itself is huge. It has green areas, museums, restaurants, an amusement park and sitting areas. It even has metro stop entrances all around it. At one part of the park there were at least a hundred children and accompanying parents feeding pigeons. It was pretty cute.
Kids feeding pigeons
I entered People's park on the north side and exited on the south side, and after consulting my book, I figured that I would go try to check out Cybermart. It was supposed to be a good spot to pick up cheap electronics. I was kind of in the market for a new phone, but I really didn't want to spend all that much on it.
I look at the map in my Rough Guide to China, and try to figure out where it is. It looks pretty self explanatory, but when I get there, it's nowhere to be found. I keep walking around and walking around thinking that I might have missed it. I walked around until I found myself at Xintiandi.
Xintiandi is a little area with high end shops and restaurants that are housed in buildings designed to emulate the shikumen style of building from the 1860s. I had been walking and looking for Cybermart for quite some time, so I decided to take a load off, enjoy some coffee, and do a little reading.
It was a beautiful day outside. There were people all over the place and I was happy that the coffee house had an outdoor seating area. To be honest, I didn't pay much attention to my book or my guidebook. I spent most of my time watching people and trying to listen in to what they were saying. For every conversation in Mandarin, I heard at least one in English or French.
I found one conversation particularly interesting. It was between an older white guy and a younger Russian woman. It had seemed as if they were on their first date. It was totally sketchy and lecherous. I think that the only question in my mind about the little date was whether there was some payola involved.
After a good hour or so, I decided that it was time to get a move on. So, I headed east towards the old city. I had no real intention of going into the old city. I just kind of wanted to go into that general direction, because it was just south of where my hotel was.
On my way there, I found what I had been looking for and nothing that I had been looking for. Cybermart. That's right. Cybermart had moved, and it just so happened that I walked right by it on the way to the old city. Since I was still in the market for a new cell phone, I walked in. Immediately, I was accosted by vendors. People are trying to wave you over to their booth. People are guiding you over by hand. It's a lot like Panthip shopping plaza in Bangkok. You almost feel dirty the way they're trying to usher you over and sell you stuff. They don't even know what you want or need. They just want to bring you over in case they have something you want.
Cybermart is split up into four or so floors. So, I went up to the cell phone floor. Let me tell you something, there is a lot of crap out there. There are a lot of crappy knock offs out there. You know, things that say "Sumsang," "Nokeea," and "Marola." I knew that if I was going to buy a new cell phone, I would want it to be a smart phone with the Android operating system. That meant that I needed to buy a real thing, not a knock off. It turns out that the real ones cost even more in China than they do in the States, so I bugged out among all of the grabbing hands telling me that they would give me a special price.
When I finally got to the old city, I was thoroughly disappointed. Sure, there was a lot of cool architecture, but it had all been converted into one giant tourist trap. There were hundreds of vendors all selling the same crap. And when I say crap, I mean, craaaaaaaaaap. If this crap was measured in terms of equine crap, this was no pony crap. This was full on clydesdale monster crap. It was here that I first uttered the words that I would say regularly throughout my trip, "Who buys this crap?"
As I made my way into the center of the old town, I found myself in the City God's temple. It was a pretty impressive functioning temple in the middle of the city. What impressed me most about this temple was that it had a Buddha for every birth year. I think that there were around seventy of them, at least, and like the Chinese zodiac, it goes in cycles. I know that there are more than a dozen of them, so I don't remember exactly how long the cycle is. There were some very cool ones, and some that were rather milktoast.
City God's Temple
One of the cooler Buddhas
The Buddha of my year
From there, it was an easy jump to see Yu Yuan Garden. Yu Yuan is a classic Ming Dynasty garden. What's extraordinary to me about this garden is how big it is despite the fact that it's in the middle of the city. It's not like People's Park where it's big and open. It's more of a garden of chambers. There are gates and doorways that lead to open spaces with either water features, rock sculptures, trees, or green area. There are pavilions to sit in, fish to feed, places to feed your desire for quiet contemplation. I was constantly surprised by how big the garden was. I felt like it was the never ending chain of gardens. I heard that during the height of the summer, Yu Yuan is packed, and it's body to body (and not in a good way). When I was there, there were people there, but it wasn't by any means crowded. I think I hit it just at the right time.
A pavilion at Yu Yuan
Some of the stonework in the paths of Yu Yuan
Roof detailing
Tell me this isn't awesome.
After I got out of Yu Yuan, I was crazy hungry. I knew that there were supposed to be really good xiao chi (small eats) in the old city, but my guide book wasn't really all that helpful in getting me to them. I saw a sign for soup dumplings so I immediately went in. When I got there, there were no soup dumplings to be found. I was kind of irritated, but I was so hungry that I stuck around. I ended up ordering some other boiled dumplings there, but in reality I probably should have left.
Meh dumplings.
After the snack, I was really zonked. It was around five in the afternoon, so I retired to my hotel to take a brief nap. It was totally what I needed, but when I woke up, I was hungry again. So, I walked back down Nanjing Road, hoping to find something tasty. I walked a long time, and found myself near the West Nanjing Road metro stop. Over there, there were a bunch of restaurants that all looked affordable. It turns out that during my time in Shanghai, I would spend a great deal of time in this area, but this night, I made a bad choice.
I looked for a place that had a menu that I liked and that had a relatively busy dining room. It ended up being a noodle bar. I don't even remember what I got there. I was so meh about it.
What was excellent was the walk back to the hotel. By the time I was finished, the sun had finally set. In fact, it had taken me so long to figure out where and what I wanted to eat in addition to eating slow, that it was about nine at night before I was finished. It was dark out, but as you walk down Nanjing Road, you get the feeling that you're in Vegas. The lights coupled with the architecture is, in a word awesome, and not in a cheesy way.
The crappy thing about walking down Nanjing Road at this time of night is that you get harassed. I had read the guidebook before stepping off the plane, so I knew all of the scams. Just on the walk home, on the pedestrian promenade, a couple of girls came and begged for food, though they didn't look poor or homeless at all, two sets of other girls tried to get me to go drink coffee or tea with them to "practice English," and three guys tried to get me to go with them to see girls for a "sex massage." It was unbelievable.
By the time I got back to the hotel, it was half past ten and I was beat. I spent a lot of time walking that day and I still hadn't adjusted to the time zone. So, even though it was a Friday, I was spent.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Day 0: Turbulant Landing
Listening: Stay on the streets of this town and they'll be carving you up alright. They say you got to stay hungry. Hey, baby, I'm just about starving tonight.
What's my problem? I'm afraid of the dark?
It was dark when I arrived in Shanghai. Customs was kind of a joke. Not to say that they just let anyone breeze by, but for a strict communist regime, I expected to at least have my bags opened is not a body cavity search. Well, I wasn't expecting a body cavity search, but even at passport control there was at least one hottie telling people to move along.
At the baggage carousel, I encountered a middle aged white guy wearing a Red Sox cap. Apparently, he was on my same flight, and I used this opportunity to knock the rust off of my typical icebreaker of, "So, where you from?"
It turned out that he was from Southie but he worked in Michigan. Small world. It was a pretty good ease into a place where I knew I wouldn't feel at ease. Apparently, he had a woman "friend" who was a local and was going to see her. I know that I have woman friends in various countries, but when I hear that a middle aged white guy has a woman "friend" in a foreign country, it automatically throws up a red flag in my mind. It's not that he was the typical overweight, balding, poorly dressed middle aged white man in khakis and sneakers. He was a respectably good looking middle aged white man in jeans and a button-down shirt in smart shoes. Even though he had a baseball cap on, I could tell he had a full head of hair, but that was neither here nor there. The red flag went up, and once a flag goes up, I tend to let the ruling on the field stand.
When we got out of customs, we parted ways. I immediately looked for the bank that was partnered with my bank in the States. I found out that I could withdraw money from those ATMs without any service charges. I would only have to deal with the current day's foreign exchange rate.
Travel Tip: When traveling abroad, go to your bank and find out if they have any partner banks in the country that you're traveling to. It can save you tons on transaction fees. It's also a good idea to notify your bank as to your international travel plans so they don't freeze your account for potential fraud.
The problem was that I had the bank name listed on a piece of paper deep in my pack. I knew that the bank had the word "Construction" in the name, but, as I quickly found out, there is more than one bank in China that incorporates the word "Construction" in it. I didn't know that. So I go to the first ATM with the word "Construction" on it, ICBC or International Construction Bank of China. I put in my ATM card and it tells me that it can't give me any money. I'm like, "what the hell?!?" I tried it three times to no avail.
There was another ATM next to the ICBC ATM, so I sucked it up and used my other ATM card in the other ATM. The fact that my primary ATM card couldn't even pull out cash, let alone pull out cash without a transaction fee worried me, so I pulled out the maximum that I could get.
When I get out to the cab stand, I see the guy from Southie again. He says that his woman "friend" lives in Puxi (west of the Huangpu River). I thought that I was going to Pudong (east of the river). He asked me if I wanted to share a cab and that we could drop me off first and then him. However, since that red flag was still there, I opted out. I knew nothing about Shanghai other than the cursory knowledge I picked up from my Rough Guide.
I hate taking taxis in places that I'm unfamiliar with. There's so much potential to be literally and figuratively taken for a ride. I had my hotel details printed out in both Chines and in English and showed the cab stand attendant the paper. The cab driver and the attendant exchanged words, and the paper was handed back to me and I in turn handed it to the cab driver when I entered the cab. He started driving, but after twenty feet or so, he stopped, popped out of the cab and went back to the attendant to, only what I could assume, ask him a question about how to get there.
The roads between Shanghai's Pudong International Airport and The Bund are virtually empty at half past midnight. We flew long the freeway on fly overs and elevated roads, watching the bright lamp post pass me by, not only from in front of me, but from the roads beneath me.
A few times in the journey, the taxi driver asked me, I think, little questions on how to get to my hotel. I was damned if I knew, but I used one of the few phrases that has stuck in my head from my three years of Mandarin classes, "Dui bu qi. Wo ting bu dong. (I'm sorry, I don't understand.)"
When we did finally pull up to the hotel, I figured out that the straight shot that we drove was, in fact, the right way to be going. The only misgiving that I had was that the trip was about a third more expensive than I anticipated. It was late. I was hungry, and I had a large enough stack of Maos in my pocket, that I let it go. On top of that, my guidebook was two years old. As I found out, China changes very rapidly.
Now, when I got out of the cab, I immediately thought to myself, "What have I gotten myself into?" The area around my hotel, when I looked around, seemed rather desolate. There were large, four lane streets, but not a lot of lights. The lone light source that I saw from the corner that my hotel was on was my hotel and the convenient store next door, which, conveniently, there was an entrance into right from the lobby.
When I went to check in, the lobby desk was empty. There was a man in a suit sitting at the public use computer, playing cards, rockin' a cigarette that needed to be ashed five drags ago. Immediately, he snapped up off the stool, dropping his butt into the ashtray, and ran behind the desk.
He greeted me in Mandarin.
"Check in?" I said.
He looked confused.
"Umm... reservation? "
I pulled out my printout from agoda.com that had all of my check in information.
"Ah. Hao, hao. (Right, right) Check. In."
As he pulls up my reservation in the computer, a rather attractive girl in a black business suit appears out of nowhere and makes her way behind the desk. She takes my passport and processes it with the scanner and asks me for the first time, but far from the last time over my trip, where my entry point was. See, it seems that the person at passport control didn't really stamp hard enough, so the Pudong details weren't really legible. I must have had to answer that question at least twenty times when checking into hotels and hostels.
Traveler Tip: Always check your entry and exit stamps when you go through passport control. If they miss-stamp your passport with the wrong date or people can't verify your entry and exit, you're the one liable. If someone stamps you with the wrong date and your visa is "expired" because of that date, you might get booted from the country.
After I checked in, I'm brought up to my room. It's small, as promised on the internet, but it's enough for me. It's a hell of a lot more luxurious than any of the other places that I stayed during the rest of my travels. The guy from check in leaves me and I look around the room. My room was supposed to have an in-room safe, but I couldn't seem to find it. I always book my first few nights in a comfortable room with an in-room safe so that I can adjust to the new time zone without having to worry about other people in the room with me and the safe so that I can spend the first few days with most of my valuables locked up free to roam about the new environment with only cash and ID in my pocket.
When I figured out that there was no in-room safe, I went back down to reception to ask where it was. The people at reception didn't understand what I was asking for, so we turned to the computer. Luckily, I knew that Google knows all and that it has a translator. So I typed the word "safe." Then he typed back asking me if I thought that the hotel was "unsafe." I reworded my question. I told him via Google translator that agoda.com said that there would be a safe locker or safe box in the room that I could keep things in. Then there was the "A-ha!" moment in his brain. He told me that there were no in-room safes, but if I wanted to keep anything at the front desk, it would be perfectly safe there. I declined.
Upon returning to my room, I unpacked, locked up my Pacsafe to the shower door handle with the towel draped over it, re-packed and headed back downstairs to fill my incredibly empty stomach. I asked if there were any places still serving food around the hotel. He pointed me up the street, the dark sketchy street.
Reluctantly, I started walking. To be honest, I was a little creeped out. There was no traffic on the road. There really wasn't anyone walking on the streets, save for a couple of groups of drunk kids (as opposed to winos). Lamp posts flickered at times, and storefronts were closed up. Aside from the convenient store at my hotel, I found two other convenient stores (none of which had local sim cards), a 24 hour fast food noodle shop and a KFC. I was unimpressed with the selection after four blocks, so I kept walking. It just seemed to get bleaker and bleaker. So, I turned around, went back to my hotel and walked a few blocks perpendicular to the street I was walking on. Nothing. So, I resigned myself to going to the fast food noodle joint, because I'll be damned if I'm going to support KFC's takeover of the world. That, and bums LOVE to crash at KFCs, at least in China.
That first meal in China wasn't bad... but it sure wasn't good. It was a beef noodle soup that was lacking in any real flavor. Sure, it was cheap and it filled the tank, but you knew that there was no love going into this food. The girls working the register were just short of falling asleep, as was the rest of the staff if they weren't playing cards. The one guy who was in there when I walked in finished as I was waiting for my food. I was the lone man in a restaurant, something I aspire to never be.
By the time I got back to my room, it was half past two in the morning. I survived, what I thought, was the sketchiness of the street, but was still a little bit wound up. So, to the convenient store, I went. One beer down the hatch and nighty-night.
What's my problem? I'm afraid of the dark?
It was dark when I arrived in Shanghai. Customs was kind of a joke. Not to say that they just let anyone breeze by, but for a strict communist regime, I expected to at least have my bags opened is not a body cavity search. Well, I wasn't expecting a body cavity search, but even at passport control there was at least one hottie telling people to move along.
At the baggage carousel, I encountered a middle aged white guy wearing a Red Sox cap. Apparently, he was on my same flight, and I used this opportunity to knock the rust off of my typical icebreaker of, "So, where you from?"
It turned out that he was from Southie but he worked in Michigan. Small world. It was a pretty good ease into a place where I knew I wouldn't feel at ease. Apparently, he had a woman "friend" who was a local and was going to see her. I know that I have woman friends in various countries, but when I hear that a middle aged white guy has a woman "friend" in a foreign country, it automatically throws up a red flag in my mind. It's not that he was the typical overweight, balding, poorly dressed middle aged white man in khakis and sneakers. He was a respectably good looking middle aged white man in jeans and a button-down shirt in smart shoes. Even though he had a baseball cap on, I could tell he had a full head of hair, but that was neither here nor there. The red flag went up, and once a flag goes up, I tend to let the ruling on the field stand.
When we got out of customs, we parted ways. I immediately looked for the bank that was partnered with my bank in the States. I found out that I could withdraw money from those ATMs without any service charges. I would only have to deal with the current day's foreign exchange rate.
Travel Tip: When traveling abroad, go to your bank and find out if they have any partner banks in the country that you're traveling to. It can save you tons on transaction fees. It's also a good idea to notify your bank as to your international travel plans so they don't freeze your account for potential fraud.
The problem was that I had the bank name listed on a piece of paper deep in my pack. I knew that the bank had the word "Construction" in the name, but, as I quickly found out, there is more than one bank in China that incorporates the word "Construction" in it. I didn't know that. So I go to the first ATM with the word "Construction" on it, ICBC or International Construction Bank of China. I put in my ATM card and it tells me that it can't give me any money. I'm like, "what the hell?!?" I tried it three times to no avail.
There was another ATM next to the ICBC ATM, so I sucked it up and used my other ATM card in the other ATM. The fact that my primary ATM card couldn't even pull out cash, let alone pull out cash without a transaction fee worried me, so I pulled out the maximum that I could get.
When I get out to the cab stand, I see the guy from Southie again. He says that his woman "friend" lives in Puxi (west of the Huangpu River). I thought that I was going to Pudong (east of the river). He asked me if I wanted to share a cab and that we could drop me off first and then him. However, since that red flag was still there, I opted out. I knew nothing about Shanghai other than the cursory knowledge I picked up from my Rough Guide.
I hate taking taxis in places that I'm unfamiliar with. There's so much potential to be literally and figuratively taken for a ride. I had my hotel details printed out in both Chines and in English and showed the cab stand attendant the paper. The cab driver and the attendant exchanged words, and the paper was handed back to me and I in turn handed it to the cab driver when I entered the cab. He started driving, but after twenty feet or so, he stopped, popped out of the cab and went back to the attendant to, only what I could assume, ask him a question about how to get there.
The roads between Shanghai's Pudong International Airport and The Bund are virtually empty at half past midnight. We flew long the freeway on fly overs and elevated roads, watching the bright lamp post pass me by, not only from in front of me, but from the roads beneath me.
A few times in the journey, the taxi driver asked me, I think, little questions on how to get to my hotel. I was damned if I knew, but I used one of the few phrases that has stuck in my head from my three years of Mandarin classes, "Dui bu qi. Wo ting bu dong. (I'm sorry, I don't understand.)"
When we did finally pull up to the hotel, I figured out that the straight shot that we drove was, in fact, the right way to be going. The only misgiving that I had was that the trip was about a third more expensive than I anticipated. It was late. I was hungry, and I had a large enough stack of Maos in my pocket, that I let it go. On top of that, my guidebook was two years old. As I found out, China changes very rapidly.
Now, when I got out of the cab, I immediately thought to myself, "What have I gotten myself into?" The area around my hotel, when I looked around, seemed rather desolate. There were large, four lane streets, but not a lot of lights. The lone light source that I saw from the corner that my hotel was on was my hotel and the convenient store next door, which, conveniently, there was an entrance into right from the lobby.
When I went to check in, the lobby desk was empty. There was a man in a suit sitting at the public use computer, playing cards, rockin' a cigarette that needed to be ashed five drags ago. Immediately, he snapped up off the stool, dropping his butt into the ashtray, and ran behind the desk.
He greeted me in Mandarin.
"Check in?" I said.
He looked confused.
"Umm... reservation? "
I pulled out my printout from agoda.com that had all of my check in information.
"Ah. Hao, hao. (Right, right) Check. In."
As he pulls up my reservation in the computer, a rather attractive girl in a black business suit appears out of nowhere and makes her way behind the desk. She takes my passport and processes it with the scanner and asks me for the first time, but far from the last time over my trip, where my entry point was. See, it seems that the person at passport control didn't really stamp hard enough, so the Pudong details weren't really legible. I must have had to answer that question at least twenty times when checking into hotels and hostels.
Traveler Tip: Always check your entry and exit stamps when you go through passport control. If they miss-stamp your passport with the wrong date or people can't verify your entry and exit, you're the one liable. If someone stamps you with the wrong date and your visa is "expired" because of that date, you might get booted from the country.
After I checked in, I'm brought up to my room. It's small, as promised on the internet, but it's enough for me. It's a hell of a lot more luxurious than any of the other places that I stayed during the rest of my travels. The guy from check in leaves me and I look around the room. My room was supposed to have an in-room safe, but I couldn't seem to find it. I always book my first few nights in a comfortable room with an in-room safe so that I can adjust to the new time zone without having to worry about other people in the room with me and the safe so that I can spend the first few days with most of my valuables locked up free to roam about the new environment with only cash and ID in my pocket.
When I figured out that there was no in-room safe, I went back down to reception to ask where it was. The people at reception didn't understand what I was asking for, so we turned to the computer. Luckily, I knew that Google knows all and that it has a translator. So I typed the word "safe." Then he typed back asking me if I thought that the hotel was "unsafe." I reworded my question. I told him via Google translator that agoda.com said that there would be a safe locker or safe box in the room that I could keep things in. Then there was the "A-ha!" moment in his brain. He told me that there were no in-room safes, but if I wanted to keep anything at the front desk, it would be perfectly safe there. I declined.
Upon returning to my room, I unpacked, locked up my Pacsafe to the shower door handle with the towel draped over it, re-packed and headed back downstairs to fill my incredibly empty stomach. I asked if there were any places still serving food around the hotel. He pointed me up the street, the dark sketchy street.
Reluctantly, I started walking. To be honest, I was a little creeped out. There was no traffic on the road. There really wasn't anyone walking on the streets, save for a couple of groups of drunk kids (as opposed to winos). Lamp posts flickered at times, and storefronts were closed up. Aside from the convenient store at my hotel, I found two other convenient stores (none of which had local sim cards), a 24 hour fast food noodle shop and a KFC. I was unimpressed with the selection after four blocks, so I kept walking. It just seemed to get bleaker and bleaker. So, I turned around, went back to my hotel and walked a few blocks perpendicular to the street I was walking on. Nothing. So, I resigned myself to going to the fast food noodle joint, because I'll be damned if I'm going to support KFC's takeover of the world. That, and bums LOVE to crash at KFCs, at least in China.
That first meal in China wasn't bad... but it sure wasn't good. It was a beef noodle soup that was lacking in any real flavor. Sure, it was cheap and it filled the tank, but you knew that there was no love going into this food. The girls working the register were just short of falling asleep, as was the rest of the staff if they weren't playing cards. The one guy who was in there when I walked in finished as I was waiting for my food. I was the lone man in a restaurant, something I aspire to never be.
By the time I got back to my room, it was half past two in the morning. I survived, what I thought, was the sketchiness of the street, but was still a little bit wound up. So, to the convenient store, I went. One beer down the hatch and nighty-night.
Day 0.5 - Can't a Guy Get a Break?
Listening: Ships may never leave the dock, but it don't matter, but it don't matter. Ticks may never hear a tock, but it don't matter, but it don't matter.
What's my problem? I've got bad wing-person luck.
Well, I'm on my long haul flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong where I'll be laid over for a couple of hours before continuing on to Shanghai. The flight is almost over. I have just over two hours left to go before we land. So far, I have used my twelve hours airborne rather well. I've slept a little. I watched "Iron Man II," "The Hurt Locker," and "Cyrus." And I started reading Lost on Planet China.
The food, this time around, was a little sub-par compared with the past flight that I had with Cathay Pacific. The worst part about it was the fact that I was so hungry that I scarfed it all down with a quickness. To tell you the truth, I'm still hungry and I'm debating getting a free cup o' noodles that you can ask for.
It's amazing how parched you get on long haul flights. I've been drinking water like a madman since the fourth hour in the air. I started off with a gin bloody mary and had some South African beer with lunch, but after that it was just tea, water and some airborne. An hour or so ago, I sat back in the galley and sucked down four glasses of water.
My flight to San Jose, which was also somewhat of a long haul flight was less than what I expected. For the first time in years, I flew Jet Blue for a leg that was longer than the distance between Nantucket and JFK International Airport. I remember Jet Blue being a really good flight. And I have to say that I have definitely had worse. However, there were several things that made it kind of crappy.
The first thing that happened was that my little personal entertainment module was on the fritz. It was on the fritz for my entire row. See, that was one of the reasons that I picked the Jet Blue flight to San Jose instead of Delta. Reason number one was that it was a direct flight with no switching of planes and no layovers. Number two was that I would spend four hours traveling instead of eight. Finally, reason number three is that I thought that I might actually have the entertainment of my choice on the plane.
As you can see, reason number three didn't really happen. I just kind of crashed out, wrote a blog and re-read the section of my Rough Guide on Shanghai (and I still feel thoroughly ill-prepared). I also watched over the shoulders of the people diagonally in front of me as the San Francisco Giants, yet again, shamed the Texas Rangers. Occasionally, over my headphones, I would hear cheers whenever someone scored, but, overall, I was in a sad little cocoon next to a guy who was neither interesting nor talkative. Someone around me, though, was dropping major ass throughout the entire four hour flight.
As far as reason number two goes, well, that almost went out the window. We were supposed to take off at 4:25PM. We didn't start boarding until 4:45PM. By the time we were all in our seats, it was probably around 5:00PM. We start backing out of the gate when the lights in the cabin goes dark and all of the TVs shut off. Apparently, the auxiliary generator went kaput and we had to go back to the gate so that someone could fix it. They assured us that the generator on the fritz is never used during flight, and only on the ground or at the gate. I have to say that it did kind of worry me, but what're you going to do? You can't just unbuckle and say, "fuck dis shit, I'm outta here and I want my money back too!"
But all in all, I did get to San Jose just fine. I chilled with my pals and had some cocktails and some bibimbap.
As far as this current flight goes, it's much the same as it pertains to the people that I'm sitting near. I was actually originally ticketed to sit in a middle seat, something that I despise. Luckily, the two guys on either side of me were together, and there was a third guy who had an aisle seat behind me. So I traded my middle seat for the aisle and I have to say that I was pretty happy about the decision. I like to walk around at least every three hours and crawling over people ain't my idea of a good time. I don't like other people's asses in my face, so I don't like putting my ass in others'.
But next to me are two, seemingly nice, but quiet, older Indian women. It seems like there are a lot of people on this flight who are Indian. I think that Hong Kong may be a big hub to get to Mumbai or Dehli or something.
Across the aisle from me is a VERY attractive girl, who I noticed in the gate area. What I didn't notice was that she had a little tag on her jacket that said, "Sister Lo, The Church of Jesus Christ for Latter Day Saints." I saw that tag when she sat down and it broke my heart. To top it all off, she had a bible that was three inches, by four inches by three inches. Fucker was thick, and looking over her shoulder, it was highlighted like a motherfucker. What leads people to try to be conversionists? Why can't the just be normal attractive girls that I can ooggle without being disgusted with both her AND myself?
Something that I've noticed on these two long haul flights that I have never noticed before.... No matter how short I am, my inside knee always aches after a little while. What I mean is that if I'm sitting in a seat to the left of the aisle, my left knee hurts, and if I sit to the right of the aisle, my right knee hurts. The fucked up thing about it is that I'm short. I have about a twenty eight inch inseam, if not shorter. I can only imagine if I were one of the guys that I know who are six foot or taller. How the hell do they do this without wanting to amputate their legs at the knee? I, for the most part, can stretch out my legs, but I bet that my pal Manni has his knees up to his chin. However, for some reason my inside knee still hurts (today it's the left knee).
A lot of people have been asking me lately if I'm excited to go to China. Sure, I'm excited. But my excitement this time around is quite different from my excitement when I traveled around Europe and when I traveled southeast Asia. I feel like this time I'm much more nervous and scared of what I may encounter. I have heard rumors about a lack of personal space. I have heard rumors of rudeness, but I have no real clue what I'll be encountering and how it will all affect me. Will I be turned off by the motherland? Will I feel violated by the lack of personal space? I have no clue. Will I have trouble getting from point A to point B without being able to speak or read Chinese? All of these things scare me. They're nothing like what I had dealt with on my other travels. The backpacker route has been relatively well worn in Europe and southeast Asia. Not so much in China. It is done, but it's not as easy as it is in other parts of the world. Keep in mind that it wasn't until recently that China really opened its borders to tourism, let alone budget tourism. Will I be able to hack it?
Anyhow, that's where I am with the traveling right now. I hope to post this when I get to Hong Kong, before I head off to Shanghai and maybe encounter the Great Firewall of China. So, if this is the last you hear from me, know that I'm hungry, parched and that my left knee hurts, but chances are that I'll be stuffed to the gills with dumplings in under six hours. Boo-yah, bitches.
ADDITION! - So, I'm in Hong Kong's airport and 60% of their food court is under construction. That means the remaining 40% is swamped. And THAT means that I don't have enough time to get a snack before I board. SONUVA..... I guess that really does mean I'm going hunting the second that I check into my hotel. So. Hungry. Must. Find. Food. Too bad I can't just gnaw on an air hostess.
What's my problem? I've got bad wing-person luck.
Well, I'm on my long haul flight from San Francisco to Hong Kong where I'll be laid over for a couple of hours before continuing on to Shanghai. The flight is almost over. I have just over two hours left to go before we land. So far, I have used my twelve hours airborne rather well. I've slept a little. I watched "Iron Man II," "The Hurt Locker," and "Cyrus." And I started reading Lost on Planet China.
The food, this time around, was a little sub-par compared with the past flight that I had with Cathay Pacific. The worst part about it was the fact that I was so hungry that I scarfed it all down with a quickness. To tell you the truth, I'm still hungry and I'm debating getting a free cup o' noodles that you can ask for.
It's amazing how parched you get on long haul flights. I've been drinking water like a madman since the fourth hour in the air. I started off with a gin bloody mary and had some South African beer with lunch, but after that it was just tea, water and some airborne. An hour or so ago, I sat back in the galley and sucked down four glasses of water.
My flight to San Jose, which was also somewhat of a long haul flight was less than what I expected. For the first time in years, I flew Jet Blue for a leg that was longer than the distance between Nantucket and JFK International Airport. I remember Jet Blue being a really good flight. And I have to say that I have definitely had worse. However, there were several things that made it kind of crappy.
The first thing that happened was that my little personal entertainment module was on the fritz. It was on the fritz for my entire row. See, that was one of the reasons that I picked the Jet Blue flight to San Jose instead of Delta. Reason number one was that it was a direct flight with no switching of planes and no layovers. Number two was that I would spend four hours traveling instead of eight. Finally, reason number three is that I thought that I might actually have the entertainment of my choice on the plane.
As you can see, reason number three didn't really happen. I just kind of crashed out, wrote a blog and re-read the section of my Rough Guide on Shanghai (and I still feel thoroughly ill-prepared). I also watched over the shoulders of the people diagonally in front of me as the San Francisco Giants, yet again, shamed the Texas Rangers. Occasionally, over my headphones, I would hear cheers whenever someone scored, but, overall, I was in a sad little cocoon next to a guy who was neither interesting nor talkative. Someone around me, though, was dropping major ass throughout the entire four hour flight.
As far as reason number two goes, well, that almost went out the window. We were supposed to take off at 4:25PM. We didn't start boarding until 4:45PM. By the time we were all in our seats, it was probably around 5:00PM. We start backing out of the gate when the lights in the cabin goes dark and all of the TVs shut off. Apparently, the auxiliary generator went kaput and we had to go back to the gate so that someone could fix it. They assured us that the generator on the fritz is never used during flight, and only on the ground or at the gate. I have to say that it did kind of worry me, but what're you going to do? You can't just unbuckle and say, "fuck dis shit, I'm outta here and I want my money back too!"
But all in all, I did get to San Jose just fine. I chilled with my pals and had some cocktails and some bibimbap.
As far as this current flight goes, it's much the same as it pertains to the people that I'm sitting near. I was actually originally ticketed to sit in a middle seat, something that I despise. Luckily, the two guys on either side of me were together, and there was a third guy who had an aisle seat behind me. So I traded my middle seat for the aisle and I have to say that I was pretty happy about the decision. I like to walk around at least every three hours and crawling over people ain't my idea of a good time. I don't like other people's asses in my face, so I don't like putting my ass in others'.
But next to me are two, seemingly nice, but quiet, older Indian women. It seems like there are a lot of people on this flight who are Indian. I think that Hong Kong may be a big hub to get to Mumbai or Dehli or something.
Across the aisle from me is a VERY attractive girl, who I noticed in the gate area. What I didn't notice was that she had a little tag on her jacket that said, "Sister Lo, The Church of Jesus Christ for Latter Day Saints." I saw that tag when she sat down and it broke my heart. To top it all off, she had a bible that was three inches, by four inches by three inches. Fucker was thick, and looking over her shoulder, it was highlighted like a motherfucker. What leads people to try to be conversionists? Why can't the just be normal attractive girls that I can ooggle without being disgusted with both her AND myself?
Something that I've noticed on these two long haul flights that I have never noticed before.... No matter how short I am, my inside knee always aches after a little while. What I mean is that if I'm sitting in a seat to the left of the aisle, my left knee hurts, and if I sit to the right of the aisle, my right knee hurts. The fucked up thing about it is that I'm short. I have about a twenty eight inch inseam, if not shorter. I can only imagine if I were one of the guys that I know who are six foot or taller. How the hell do they do this without wanting to amputate their legs at the knee? I, for the most part, can stretch out my legs, but I bet that my pal Manni has his knees up to his chin. However, for some reason my inside knee still hurts (today it's the left knee).
A lot of people have been asking me lately if I'm excited to go to China. Sure, I'm excited. But my excitement this time around is quite different from my excitement when I traveled around Europe and when I traveled southeast Asia. I feel like this time I'm much more nervous and scared of what I may encounter. I have heard rumors about a lack of personal space. I have heard rumors of rudeness, but I have no real clue what I'll be encountering and how it will all affect me. Will I be turned off by the motherland? Will I feel violated by the lack of personal space? I have no clue. Will I have trouble getting from point A to point B without being able to speak or read Chinese? All of these things scare me. They're nothing like what I had dealt with on my other travels. The backpacker route has been relatively well worn in Europe and southeast Asia. Not so much in China. It is done, but it's not as easy as it is in other parts of the world. Keep in mind that it wasn't until recently that China really opened its borders to tourism, let alone budget tourism. Will I be able to hack it?
Anyhow, that's where I am with the traveling right now. I hope to post this when I get to Hong Kong, before I head off to Shanghai and maybe encounter the Great Firewall of China. So, if this is the last you hear from me, know that I'm hungry, parched and that my left knee hurts, but chances are that I'll be stuffed to the gills with dumplings in under six hours. Boo-yah, bitches.
ADDITION! - So, I'm in Hong Kong's airport and 60% of their food court is under construction. That means the remaining 40% is swamped. And THAT means that I don't have enough time to get a snack before I board. SONUVA..... I guess that really does mean I'm going hunting the second that I check into my hotel. So. Hungry. Must. Find. Food. Too bad I can't just gnaw on an air hostess.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
For God's Sake, Smedley, Bow Your Head And Have Some Respect!
Listening: A moment of silence.
What's my problem? Good teachers die.
During my time in college, I had two professors that really impacted me. Two professors that to this day, I would still take a course from, despite my lacking use for college academia and classrooms. One is the everlastingly funny Jenny (formerly Jim) Boylan who I had the luxury of having for two semesters of creative writing workshops. The other is the now late, great, Charlie Bassett.
I learned of Charles Bassett's passing a couple of days after I left the island. With all of the chaos of getting a visa, packing, and seeing people that I hadn't seen in six months, I hadn't had time to properly memorialize him.
I remember my first day of class with him. The class, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, met in the basement of the library and it was a class that I had been trying to get into for a long time. It was a large classroom with desks arranged in a square with a larger desk at the head of the square closest to the blackboard.
All of us students were there waiting for the legendary Charles Bassett to make his entrance, I found myself wondering what was so good about this professor that everyone, whether they were an English or American Studies major or not, wanted to take his class. Had the college been in a third world country, one would have had to bribe a mid-level beauracrat with a handshake on the sly to get a spot in the class.
Now, enter Charles Bassett.
A stocky man wearing khakis, a khaki sports coat with patches on the elbows, white shirt, and a maroon knit tie, carrying a leather briefcase charged into the room. With haste, he throws his briefcase onto the desk, runs his hand up and down his perrenially red face a couple of times before running it through his mop of white hair and exhaling. Little did I know that this was how every one of his classes began.
From there he launches into his engaging discussion of modern American novelists while calling some by their last names and others the endearing name of "Smedley." His teaching style not only dropped mad amounts of knowledge into the beer-laden brains doing their best to wake up, but entertained in a style that could only be described as vaudeville. Bassett was a true raconteur, spinning insights, drawing in his audience and getting them to add to the story as well.
I have taken a number of Hemingway classes over the course of my educational career, but none were as enlightening or as fun as the one with Bassett. He got excited about concepts and prose and got us all excited too. He got whipped up into such a state where spittle would collect at the corners of his mouth and could occasionally project itself onto some poor, unsuspecting co-ed.
Bassett had a zest or a zeal for life that should be aspired to by anyone, anywhere. You could tell that he had a limited attention span for bullshit and a limitless love for beer. On any given evening you could have found him, not at home, but at the pub hanging out with his beloved students and the students who loved him as well.
He had infinite patience for the earnest (and the Ernest), having all of the time in the world for a student who needed help with, not only his class, but with the classes of his colleagues.
When I think of Charlie Bassett, I think of the type of educator that every educator should strive to be, and every student should have the opportunity to learn from. If everyone was as passionate about their chosen profession as Bassett was, the world would be a better place. People would accel in their fields and would raise the level of intellect and imagination of the world as a whole. Unfortunately, not every professor is like Bassett, and not everyone chases the dragon like he does.
So, those who were lucky enough to be in his jovial presence, and who were insightful enough to look past the lessons of the class and see the lessons of the man, it's now our obligation to carry his spirit with us. It's up to us now to live with the zeal that he did. It's our job to pass on the enthusiasm. It's up to us to try to be the next Charles Bassett, although it's a tough order to live up to that, whether we do it in the classroom or out in the world.
So, to Charles Bassett, I raise a pint... or two. I can only hope and aspire to live with the passion, the compassion and the insightfulness that he did.
What's my problem? Good teachers die.
During my time in college, I had two professors that really impacted me. Two professors that to this day, I would still take a course from, despite my lacking use for college academia and classrooms. One is the everlastingly funny Jenny (formerly Jim) Boylan who I had the luxury of having for two semesters of creative writing workshops. The other is the now late, great, Charlie Bassett.
I learned of Charles Bassett's passing a couple of days after I left the island. With all of the chaos of getting a visa, packing, and seeing people that I hadn't seen in six months, I hadn't had time to properly memorialize him.
I remember my first day of class with him. The class, Hemingway and Fitzgerald, met in the basement of the library and it was a class that I had been trying to get into for a long time. It was a large classroom with desks arranged in a square with a larger desk at the head of the square closest to the blackboard.
All of us students were there waiting for the legendary Charles Bassett to make his entrance, I found myself wondering what was so good about this professor that everyone, whether they were an English or American Studies major or not, wanted to take his class. Had the college been in a third world country, one would have had to bribe a mid-level beauracrat with a handshake on the sly to get a spot in the class.
Now, enter Charles Bassett.
A stocky man wearing khakis, a khaki sports coat with patches on the elbows, white shirt, and a maroon knit tie, carrying a leather briefcase charged into the room. With haste, he throws his briefcase onto the desk, runs his hand up and down his perrenially red face a couple of times before running it through his mop of white hair and exhaling. Little did I know that this was how every one of his classes began.
From there he launches into his engaging discussion of modern American novelists while calling some by their last names and others the endearing name of "Smedley." His teaching style not only dropped mad amounts of knowledge into the beer-laden brains doing their best to wake up, but entertained in a style that could only be described as vaudeville. Bassett was a true raconteur, spinning insights, drawing in his audience and getting them to add to the story as well.
I have taken a number of Hemingway classes over the course of my educational career, but none were as enlightening or as fun as the one with Bassett. He got excited about concepts and prose and got us all excited too. He got whipped up into such a state where spittle would collect at the corners of his mouth and could occasionally project itself onto some poor, unsuspecting co-ed.
Bassett had a zest or a zeal for life that should be aspired to by anyone, anywhere. You could tell that he had a limited attention span for bullshit and a limitless love for beer. On any given evening you could have found him, not at home, but at the pub hanging out with his beloved students and the students who loved him as well.
He had infinite patience for the earnest (and the Ernest), having all of the time in the world for a student who needed help with, not only his class, but with the classes of his colleagues.
When I think of Charlie Bassett, I think of the type of educator that every educator should strive to be, and every student should have the opportunity to learn from. If everyone was as passionate about their chosen profession as Bassett was, the world would be a better place. People would accel in their fields and would raise the level of intellect and imagination of the world as a whole. Unfortunately, not every professor is like Bassett, and not everyone chases the dragon like he does.
So, those who were lucky enough to be in his jovial presence, and who were insightful enough to look past the lessons of the class and see the lessons of the man, it's now our obligation to carry his spirit with us. It's up to us now to live with the zeal that he did. It's our job to pass on the enthusiasm. It's up to us to try to be the next Charles Bassett, although it's a tough order to live up to that, whether we do it in the classroom or out in the world.
So, to Charles Bassett, I raise a pint... or two. I can only hope and aspire to live with the passion, the compassion and the insightfulness that he did.
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