A Vegan Epic

Tonight on the way home I bought a couple pounds of mushrooms, a head of broccoli, a red onion, almost a kilo of pea shoots, and two green peppers, all for less than $2. The supply of vegetables seems inexhaustible, and for this I feel really fortunate. Protein sources are a different matter. I sometimes eat fish or eggs when I'm with company, but by myself I'm essentially vegan. The only good vegan source of protein available at most shops is tofu, which comes either wet or dry (smoked). These are great, but I think I remember hearing somewhere that it's good to vary your protein intake and in any case not to rely too much on soy. One time I bought some black beans at the grocery store, but the black beans here must be strange mutant beans; after at least five hours of boiling they were still crunchy.

And so it was that one day a few weeks ago I decided it was time to try making seitan, the legendary wheat meat. The first thing I did was head to the grocery store for some vital wheat gluten (wheat flour purified so only the protein/gluten remains). Supposedly, seitan was invented by vegetarian Buddhists in China thousands of years ago. So vital wheat gluten has to be a staple on every grocery store's shelves, right? I went to at least three different places, and no one knew what I was talking about. I looked up the translation for vital wheat gluten on every site I could find, and still got nothing that anyone recognized. Then I got a tip from another expat that I should try the vegetarian restaurant in one of the Buddhist monasteries. I had been there once before, and at the front of the store there was a vegetarian-oriented grocery section that I'd forgotten about. I biked there for dinner one night, and indeed, they were selling seitan and other fake meats in vacuum-sealed plastic bags and in a freezer. But these were already made. What about wheat gluten flour? I asked. Blank stares. Dejected, I sat down in a comfy chair to order my delicious vegan dinner.



Fake fish with mushrooms and spicy peppers, Sichuan style.

I was about ready to give up when I remembered that there was an alternative. When I looked up seitan recipes before, they sometimes mentioned an alternative recipe that involved more work to make the seitan from regular wheat flour. I had always ignored that part, but now I returned to it. Surprisingly, the recipe was easy and the first batch turned out reasonably well. But although wheat flour is not impossible to find like vital wheat gluten, it is also not a staple item in Chinese grocery stores, which meant I had to buy it from the much more expensive imported goods shop. Luckily, the second time, I tried the same recipe on white flour, and it worked!

An advantage of making seitan from regular flour is that it's cheap. One challenge with making seitan this way, however, is adding flavor. Using vital wheat gluten, you just mix soy sauce, garlic, nutritional yeast, or whatever else into the dough, and the seitan is automatically delicious. Making it from normal flour, however, requires washing the dough until all the starch comes out, which leaves a ball of raw gluten. It's hard to integrate new things into this ball, so the flavor has to come from cooking. This recipe is my first attempt to address that.

Simple DIY Seitan Soup - No Oil!

1. Make Seitan from regular or wheat flour.
2. Chop copious amounts of garlic and ginger, in a 2:1 ratio.
3. Boil some water--not too much.
4. Add the garlic and ginger, an onion, a tomato, a lot of soy sauce, and the seitan.
5. Simmer for at least an hour.

For all of the amounts, use your best judgment! When I made this I wasn't sure if it was going to end up being soup, or just flavoring stock for the seitan. I didn't chop the onion and tomato, but just cut them in half. As a result the broth stayed clear, and the onion and tomato pieces were more substantial.

While I was washing the seitan, I saved a couple bowls of the starchy water, which was so cloudy I would have thought it was milk. And I used it for another recipe:

Extremely Simple Vegan Cream of Mushroom Soup

0. Make seitan from flour and save some of the milky starch water.
1. Dice a lot of garlic and onions, and a lot a lot of mushrooms.
2. Sauté the garlic and onions in a pot with some vegetable oil for a minute or two.
3. Add the mushrooms, turn down the heat, and cover. Wait until the mushrooms cook down and the contents of the pot are substantially liquid.
4. Add the starch water and salt to taste. Cook for another couple minutes while the starch thickens.

Lately I've been pining for the fare at the Wayward Cafe, so I made a tofu scramble for lunch today.

Tofu Scramble v.1





(as usual, amounts are just approximate)
- one block of tofu, chopped into 32 cubes
- two tomatoes, chopped
- four large cloves of garlic, diced
- 2 teaspoons Herbes de Provence
- 2 teaspoons turmeric
- 1 teaspoon hot pepper
- 2 tablespoons soy sauce
- 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
- toast

1. Sauté the garlic in the vegetable oil for only about 30 seconds.
2. Add the tofu, hot pepper, and turmeric, stirring quickly at first so it doesn't stick.
3. Stop stirring and turn down the heat. Cook for several minutes, or until some of the moisture from the tofu has evaporated.
4. Add the soy sauce and stir again. The tofu cubes should start to break into chunks of various sizes, so that it looks slightly like scrambled eggs. Cook for another minute or so.
5. Add the tomatoes and Herbes de Provence, stir regularly and cook for another few minutes.
6. Eat with toast, or, if you're in Chengdu, put on top of one of those naan/pizza dough things from the Uighur restaurant down the street.

have not yet learned Sichuan cooking

Japanese-esque Eggplant:

- 1 eggplant, cut into cubes or your favorite other shape
- 1 green onion, finely chopped
- 2 cloves of garlic, coarsely chopped
- soy sauce, several tablespoons
- vegetable oil
- water, several tablespoons

One great thing about living in Sichuan is that it's cheaper than ever to experiment with cooking vegetables.

The flavor of this dish surprised me (you can tell because I'm posting the recipe on my blog). I can't put my finger on it exactly, but it reminds me of the sauce that usually comes with tempura, or maybe miso soup a little bit. I think it might be the combination of green onion and soy, and the sweetness which I'm guessing is the result of the way the soy sauce and eggplant are fried. Something like that. I almost never measure things, so I can only give rough amounts and times. If anybody wants to actually try making this, just use your best judgment. I hope you do not regret it!

Directions:

Mix the soy sauce and water and set aside. Heat a frying pan on high. Add a liberal amount of vegetable oil once the pan is hot. Add the garlic and stir immediately to make sure it doesn't stick. Add the eggplant and do the same thing. Keep stirring the eggplant around the pan until it soaks up all the oil, and then wait until it starts to brown on one or two sides. The pan should now be dry (because the oil is all soaked up) and extremely hot. Before the eggplant actually starts to burn too much, pour in the soy-water. There should be enough of this that it fills the whole pan to the depth of a millimeter or so, although a lot of the water will quickly evaporate. Wait for about a minute. Sprinkle the green onions on top. Wait for another minute or whatever amount of time feels like a minute. The eggplant should have cooked down a lot by now. Stir everything for another minute or so, or until you think everything is done.





And below is a picture of the outside of my apartment building (my door is the second on the left). It's a nice place to live because even though it's close to the main streets, you go through a gate into this sprawling courtyard space (this photo shows one corner of it) where it's much quieter. As you can see, people like to hang up their laundry outside, and there's a little "park" in another part where old people often play cards at a little table. Speaking of which, today on the yellow ginkgo-lined side street just outside of this apartment complex (opposite the busy street), there were at least seven green felt tables set up in a little open-front tea house (which is really just three walls and a ceiling), on the sidewalk, and even in the street, where old people were playing Mahjong (má jiàng). I've seen this setup before, but I think the number of tables today was a record. My goal is to one day sit down at one of those tables and play with them. But so far I have been unsuccessful in finding a Mahjong teacher, and I do not have enough confidence in my Chinese--not to mention my Sichuanhua--to try to learn the rules from them.

I finally relented and got a QQ account...

As you might have noticed, I haven't been posting very much recently. I think that as my schedule starts to become more "regular" and I stop going on spontaneous adventures all the time, there's less that I feel compelled to share. It might have something to do with being in the same place for a long enough time (three weeks today). Actually, I haven't spent very much time just exploring; my travels around the city have tended mainly to have specific destinations that I can't sacrifice on a whim.

On Monday I met up with Diana and David again at the campus of their school, the Southwest Minority Nationalities University (or something similar). The university actually has two campuses--one near the city center and one about a half-hour drive south--and there's a shuttle bus that goes between them. I missed the last shuttle bus before dinner time, so I took a taxi. The campus seems a little bit isolated, but on one side there are a few commercial streets, so that's where we had dinner. The restaurant's chairs and tables were small and unremarkable, the walls were bathroom tiles, and the entrance was a garage door. None of this was out of the ordinary. By contrast, the food was tasty and interesting. The two dishes I remember the best are spicy mushrooms with peppers, and something that might have been called "beehive corn", which was a giant knot of sweet, crunchy, porous, yellow material with a nucleus of corn kernels, all doused in vegetable oil. Speaking of hive insects, I was looking at the jars of variously colored baijiu on the counter near our table and saw one with a picture of ants on it. Diana and David tried to explain it to me, and if I understood right, this particular type of alcohol is flavored with fermented ant mush.





After dinner we went back to campus and they taught me how to play snooker.





Another thing that happened this week is that I started an internship at Chengdoo magazine, the first English language magazine in Chengdu. So far I have been given the task of compiling a weekly news review for the magazine's blog (which I am more than happy to do, because it forces me to stay well-informed about local news), I've helped distribute magazines a little bit (which is great for getting more familiar with the geography), and I've done a few other miscellaneous things. I think I have already learned a lot.

I've also found a few odd jobs, but I'm still searching for a part-time teaching opportunity. Wish me luck.

Happy Hanukkah!

in and around Chuan Da.

火锅，谢谢你！还是，是我的免疫系统？

I think that hot pot did me in. By yesterday morning I felt the same way I felt the morning after arriving in Chengdu, right before I got sick for a week. However, yesterday was too important to worry about such trifles as personal health.

Around noon I rode my bike in the general direction of the free market that Bob took me to. Instead of finding it, though, I bought the vegetables I needed at a little vegetable shop on a quiet street somewhere. It was the only shop I passed that didn't have dead animals hanging in the doorway. For six tomatoes, three onions, four peppers, and a bunch of cilantro, I paid about $1.50.

In the evening I had an apartment-warming party of sorts. I finally made the burritos, but they were only a moderate success. The avocados weren't ripe yet, and after soaking overnight and cooking for five hours the black beans were still hard in the middle. I don't know what's wrong with them (or with me). But the Spanish rice was fine, and the grilled peppers and onions were good. And one of my friends, Sharon, brought some sweet potatoes. I don't really have enough furniture yet, but by pulling together my three chairs, my footstool, and the couch, we had enough seats for everybody. It was great to finally have guests, and it made my apartment feel more like a living place.

It was only after everybody left that the virus really hit me. But I went to bed with the heater on full blast, and, amazingly, this morning I felt fine. This was a miracle, because today I had meetings with two English students (one for the first time). The cold has started to come back a little bit tonight, but it's not nearly as bad as it was last night.

I biked across campus several times today. Most of the leaves don't change colors here, but there are some streets lined with beautiful yellow ginkgo trees. There is actually one street like that right behind my apartment, and throughout the day it's crowded with little groups of people taking pictures of each other in front of the changing leaves.

The campus of Sichuan University is big. Due to some strange feature of the street plan, the cardinal directions seem to rearrange themselves at will. More than once I have had my sense of direction completely fooled. Because campus is too large to walk in a reasonable amount of time, and because bike theft is so common, pedicab drivers congregate at the main gates. They can bring you anywhere on campus for about 25 cents.

There is a degree of contrast at SU that isn't found on any of the campuses I have seen in the U.S. One street has a large, modern stadium towering over a well-groomed lawn. The next street over consists of old brick dormitories, and laundry lines stretched between the trees in the little park on the corner. On another street, one of these buildings has been partially demolished, and four chickens are picking over one of the rubble heaps. Nearby there is a bank and a photography studio. Two streets farther there is a field covered in trash. Finally you come to the eastern gate, where the sidewalk is broken in front of a sparkling new high-rise community, and literally right next door is another lot filled with rubble and burning trash. Some people are sitting in the lot behind a table selling vegetables.

All systems go for operation Chengdu Burrito

I finally got all the paperwork in order and submitted my application to Sichuan University! I had forgotten that Dawn at the OSO had told me that the physical was only necessary if I wanted to be able to stay on a student visa for more than 6 months. But since I'm currently only planning to stay for one semester, the physical is unnecessary! I had decided to get it so that I wouldn't have to pay the 300 RMB to get a new physical later. But since I was going to have to get a new one anyway, I might as well wait until I'm sure I'll need one at all. Pleasant surprises: making forgetfulness more fun since 1997.

And I visited a place near my apartment called Sabrina's Country Store, a store dedicated to imported Western food. For the first time in a month, I saw avocados, tortillas, spices other than chili peppers and huā jiāo (cumin!? paprika!?), Western-style soymilk, a couple American microbrews (they carry Dead Guy! the catch: it's $3 a bottle over here), and all of the junk-food brands I've never eaten and never thought I'd miss seeing (OK, well, maybe I don't). It was almost like being home again...and being unable to leave the grocery store.

I also accidentally tried hot pot. I was looking for a place to have a simple lunch and through a series of misunderstandings fueled by my poor Chinese, I ended up going on a tour through the dingy kitchen (don't fall into that gutter running haphazardly along the middle of the cement floor! make sure not to slip on the gristle next to your foot!). After selecting four vegetables (bean sprouts, potatoes, lotus root, and something green and unnameable), I sat down at a table with a burner set into the middle. The next step involved a bowl of sesame-flavored oil, a bowl of garlic, a bowl of cilantro, and a cauldron of boiling red oil teeming with peppers and huā jiāo. The waiter did me the honor of carefully dropping all of the vegetables into the oil, where they cooked. Eating required fishing pieces of vegetables out of the boiling pot with chopsticks and dipping them into a mixture of the sesame oil, garlic, and cilantro. I think I consumed enough oil in this meal to make a batch of french fries in my stomach. But it was seriously delicious (and spicy). I did feel a little bit sad to have had this whole production put on for just one person. Hot pot is definitely a meal best eaten with friends.

Western Food Day

Today I spent a long time registering my residence at both the U.S. Consulate (which, fortunately, is across the street from my apartment), and the local police. They had me fill out a form with my address, dates of arrival and departure, and passport information, and then they entered this into a computer, stamped the form, and gave it back to me. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do now, if anything. Do I keep the form when I leave China? Do I show it to the immigration officials? Do I return it to the police station?

After multiple hours of filling out forms, I biked to a nearby Italian cafe and had a very respectable espresso and a drab version of pasta puttanesca (but I ordered it without the anchovies, so maybe I was asking for it). Then I went to a slide show lecture on campus. A Chuan Da teacher from the UK named Jacob was showing slides from his extensive travels around China. The lecture was mainly intended for Chinese students (as opposed to students of Chinese) who wanted to practice their English comprehension. Every word was very clearly enunciated, and there was a vocabulary handout. I attended because it was also billed as being of potential interest to people wanting to learn more about China. Halfway through the lecture, the girl next to me turned and whispered "Jacob is a real gentleman."

Afterward I had dinner at Peter's Grill, the local Tex-Mex chain. I ordered a vegan burrito, but the tortillas were disgracefully small, and there wasn't much inside them except for peppers and onions. But this dinner was part of my field research. This weekend I am planning to have a few friends over and I am making burritos. None of them has ever had a burrito.

On the way home I bought a couple of pirated Chinese movies, thinking they might be good practice. Their titles are Cow and Wheat.

One more anecdote. When I first moved into my apartment, the washing machine was broken (I discovered this when I tried to wash all my clothes and after the cycle found that the soap was still where I had poured it and my clothes were all wet). After this I really needed to wash them, so I took them to a laundry nearby. Apparently there is no such thing as a laundromat in China, so I had to leave my waterlogged clothes (transported in plastic shopping bags) in the care of real laundrymen. The next day I got them back:

Life Considerations

The last few days were a little bit stressful. I finally made time to visit the Overseas Student Office (OSO) on campus, where I learned more about the process of applying for classes next semester (from Dawn, who I spoke to on the phone back in the summer). The semester doesn't start until the beginning of March (I'd thought it started in February), and until then I will be without a student visa. Renting, furnishing, and various other associated expenses have taken their toll on my savings account, but with just a tourist visa I am officially not allowed to work. One option would be to apply for a full-time job, but I'm pretty reluctant to devote 40 hours a week to teaching right now. Another, more promising option is private tutoring, which isn't officially considered "work". Yesterday I made a flier that I'm going to start putting up around the neighborhood as soon as the Chinese section has completed the obligatory revision stage.

Another thing I finally accomplished yesterday was buying a bike! I took the bus down to an area that was supposed to have many bike shops, allowing the shrewd consumer to play the different shops against each other in order to arrive at the lowest possible price (from various sources I deduced that this is somewhere between 150 and 200 RMB). If I learned one thing from this trip, it is that I am not the shrewd consumer. After getting off the bus, it took me a full hour to find the road with the bike shops. At that point I was too hungry to contemplate buying anything, but luckily there was a friendly-looking noodle shop only a few doors down. At the front of the shop, a slim man in a white, circular cap stood at a counter, kneading two long pieces of dough. I sat down and had the usual exchange ("Do you have vegetarian food?" "Yes." "I don't eat meat, and I also don't eat chicken meat." "This dish doesn't have chicken meat." "OK.""). While I waited, I watched the man as he picked up one of the pieces of dough, and stretched it to the length of his arm span. Then he brought the two ends back together in a twirling motion that made the two lengths spin around each other. Finally he kneaded this twisted dough back into a cylinder. After repeating this several times, he picked up the dough yet again, but this time--using his fingers so quickly that I couldn't see exactly what he was doing--he sliced the dough lengthwise into two parallel strips before bringing the two ends together again (and this time not twisting the strands as he did so). He did this again and again, and each time the number of strands multiplied and became thinner, until, almost magically, he held a handful of noodles. He stopped different batches at different widths, but some of them were almost as thin as spaghetti. Whenever a batch was finished, he would hand it to his assistant (who may have been his son) who would drop them into a vat of hot water. A few minutes later, the noodles would be taken out and delivered to the kitchen, where I could see a woman in a head-scarf (who may have been the man's wife), handling several frying pans.

The noodles were hearty and filling. I think I almost would have preferred them without the overly salty vegetables, which consisted of bell peppers and some kind of white, shredded vegetable that might have been lotus root (ôu). From the man's hat and the woman's headscarf, I guessed these people were Huí--a mostly muslim ethnic group from northwest China--and the man confirmed my guess. It was nice to finally eat at a non-vegetarian place where I could be sure the food wasn't surreptitiously cooked with pork oil.

I visited about five bike shops, but the cheapest bike I could find was still 300 RMB, and the man selling it assured me it would break within a year. Even if I'm not planning on staying more than a year, this didn't exactly make me jump to buy it. Given that it was such a piece of junk, could he make it any lower? I asked. But he wouldn't budge. In fact, I wasn't successful in talking anyone down from their original prices. Seeing that I wasn't going to win in the battle over price, I decided to reconsolidate my forces on the quality front. I bought a bike from a Giant outlet (Giant seems to be the top brand for bikes in Chengdu) for 368 RMB. The bike came with a lock, a basket, and a guarantee to refill either tire and tighten any screws that came loose.

One reason I was so eager to get a bicycle is that the other modes of transportation in Chengdu are dismal. Buses--the only other remotely viable option--are crowded, bumpy, and slow. Worst of all, the schedules are written only in Chinese. Traffic is also terrible. Traffic laws are only loosely followed, if at all; more than once I have seen people driving the wrong way on one-way arterials. The prevailing strategy on the road seems to be something like "drive as fast as you can unless there is actually an object in your path." The result is that every intersection is like a game of chicken played en masse: Cars will speed toward each other from perpendicular directions, until the driver on one side finally loses his nerve and lets the other go by first. Meanwhile, exactly the same thing is happening in the bike lane (at least there are bike lanes!).

But biking has its own problems. Chengdu is notorious for bike theft; today I met someone who said they had their bike stolen seven times during their four years as a student. From other conversations, this doesn't seem like an uncommon figure. Consequently, most people here buy (some prefer to say "rent") used bikes instead of new ones--implicitly acknowledging that by doing so they may be supporting the same people who stole their previous bike(s). The bicycle thieves here (another DVD I bought in Hong Kong was The Bicycle Thief) get the average bicyclist coming and going. As a result, most large stores have bicycle lots where you can pay a few cents to have someone watch your bike for you. Today I also learned that there's a similar setup in the community where my apartment is. For 75 cents a month I can store my bike in a tent where it will ostensibly be safe. People have also stressed to me that leaving my bike on campus is almost a sure way of having it disappear. Yet another reason to be glad I live only a few blocks away.

Another thing I learned from Dawn at the OSO is all of the paperwork that I still have to complete before I can enroll as a student here. This included taking my health examination form to the local hospital and registering it with the Sichuan Entry-Exit Inspection and Quarantine Bureau. I biked there this morning, leaving my bike next to the guard house (making sure to nod to the guard). Among other things, the Chinese health exam form that I brought to my doctor last June called for blood tests for HIV and syphilis, an EKG, and a chest X-ray. She gave me the blood tests, but my doctor let me know that, given my age and health, there was no good reason to take the other two tests. When I showed my form to the nurse in the hospital lobby, she curtly informed me that the form was invalid, because it didn't have my picture on the front with my doctor's official seal (the seal was located on the last page instead, next to her signature). I would have to retake the physical here.
"Can you at least waive the EKG and X-ray?" I asked, explaining that my doctor thought they were unnecessary.
"For foreigners in China, these tests are necessary."
"I see..."
"Have you had breakfast yet?"
"What? Uh...no."
She suggested that I could take the physical now, if I could come back with two passport photos before they closed at 11:30. It was 11:15. I told her I would try another time. I biked away, dejected. I'm still not sure why she asked me if I'd had breakfast.

Tonight I attended a creative writing workshop at the local expat bookstore. The small group of mostly English teachers meets weekly to discuss and critique each other's writing, rotating whose work is under discussion on any given week. This was the first time I have had the chance to talk to any experienced expatriates in Chengdu. Some of them have been living here for many years, and it was encouraging to hear them speak positively about the city, which I admit I had been starting to suspect was primarily a location for getting headaches. I haven't written anything yet (other than the blog, of course), but I plan to keep attending the workshop, which means that within the next few weeks--whenever my turn comes--I will have to write something!

For some pictures:











When I first arrived in Chengdu, Mimi's dad Bob picked me up from the train station. In addition to spending several entire days helping me to find an apartment, giving me a tour of the city, and giving me more advice than I had ever counted on receiving, he (Mimi's mom was out of town) let me stay at their house for the better part of a week while I recuperated from my cold. I don't know what I would have done otherwise. Thank you Bob! Above are pictures of the walkway in front of the house, a delicious meal that Bob cooked, and Bob himself, looking across the wreckage of an elaborate restaurant meal. And, for good measure, here is a picture of the pedestrian-only shopping street in Chengdu, crowded enough to rival the westernmost of doors:

Brian, you're not going to believe this

Today I met up with Diana, the niece of my mom's friend. After lunch near Sichuan University, we took the bus downtown, where I bought a few things, such as a sweater and a dictionary. Then we went into a new shopping mall. On the outside of the mall was a directory board, and it indicated that on the fifth floor there was a place called "Loving Hut". I realized that it was next to impossible that another branch of the Hong Kong vegan restaurant would be in Chengdu.

While I was in Hong Kong, I ate dinner at Loving Hut twice, and both times it was delicious fare. Here's a picture of my second dinner, soya steak with black pepper sauce, and a soup majestically but enigmatically titled "Boiled Momordicae Grosvenori Swingla with fresh & dry cabbage in soup".





The place was laid out sort of like a cafeteria. First you ordered and paid, and then you took your receipt to the deli counter, where you traded it for a numbered token. Then you sat down, and waited for them to call your number. Then when your number was called you got up to retrieve your tray, and met the waiter who had started carrying it to your table awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant. The white walls, off-white furniture, and yellow color scheme also added to the cafeteria effect. Still, it was clean, relatively quiet, and as I said the food was good.

A TV attached to the ceiling in the corner of the room was showing news of some kind. In the corner was the logo: SupremeMasterTV.com. I thought that was sort of a strange name for a news network. While I was eating, the waiter gave me a big magazine filled with vegetarian recipes, vegetarian-related stories, quotes by famous vegetarians, and a directory of vegetarian restaurants in Hong Kong (I was surprised to see there were hundreds!). Inside the cover of the magazine was an ad for Supreme Master TV. After dinner I started talking with one of the waiters, trying to find out who published the magazine, and how it was related to the TV network.
"Do you meditate?" the waiter asked me.
"Sometimes?" I ventured. The waiter laughed and gave me a thin book, with a picture of a slightly androgynous woman of indeterminate age, looking serene and resolute. The cover said the woman's name was Ching Hai. Ching Hai, the waiter told me, was their Supreme Master. From talking to him and reading some of the book, I learned that she was the founder of a religion--influenced by both Buddhism and Catholicism--that prescribed vegetarianism and two and a half hours of daily meditation, had its own TV station, and whose members supposedly numbered in the tens of thousands. Loving Hut was actually an international chain of restaurants, all of whose employees were apparently devotees of Ching Hai. I asked if he knew of any vegetarian restaurants in China, but he said he didn't think there were many. I figured some kind of censorship would have kept Ching Hai from publicly organizing in China--I even left the book the waiter gave me in Hong Kong for fear that if I was searched I would be found with illegal propaganda!

Anyway, trying not to get my hopes up, I followed Diana into the shopping mall, which was oriented as a rectangle with the ground floor as a kind of atrium and the floors above it circling around (kind of like Pacific Place in Seattle). As we walked toward the escalator, I noticed that the walkway was on a slight uphill incline. Looking across the void to the other side, I saw the the parallel walkway was inclined downhill--yet somehow they met at the ends--and I had what I am going to call an "Escher moment". Then I realized that the parallel walkways didn't meet at both ends and the whole thing was a giant spiral.

At the top of the mall, sure enough, was a Loving Hut. I went in and told the waitress how much I appreciated her restaurant being where it was. Then Diana and I went downstairs for some fruit drinks. This is Diana with the alcohol menu:





After that we met up with Diana's boyfriend, David, and the three of us went back to the Loving Hut for dinner. This branch was much more like a restaurant than a cafeteria. And while the one in Hong Kong had served what I guess was Hong Kong-style food (fried rice?), the restaurant here was definitely Sichuan-style. We had Mapo Tofu (soft tofu cooked in spicy red oil with plenty of "ma?"--the tingling, numbing flavor that comes only from a special Sichuanese peppercorn), spicy pickled vegetables, spicy fake sausage, a giant bowl of spicy fake fish bathing in hot peppers and red oil, and--the one exception to the Sichuanese theme--a vegetarian version of Peking Duck.

It's getting late, so I'll have to continue the Border Crossing Saga later. For now, here are some pictures from Hong Kong:





























And here are a few from my trip to Lamma Island:











And here is a shop we saw today while looking for a bus map:





Goodnight!

And We're Back...

Hello from Chengdu! I arrived last Saturday afternoon, and since then I've been pretty occupied with finding a new apartment (with Uncle Bob's invaluable, generous help), and recovering from a cold (which may have been related to the events described subsequently).

I am currently eating the first meal I've made since moving into my new apartment yesterday: tomato and (shiitake?) mushroom soup with noodles. The only part of it I didn't make were the mushrooms, which were a leftover from last night's dinner. They were previously dried and then stir-fried, and last night they were kind of stringy--I thought using them in a soup might help fix that. But so far no change. Still, the soup is good.

I bought the tomatoes and everything else at Trust-Mart, whose Chinese name literally means "Good and A Lot". It's basically one of the many Chinese analogs to Fred Meyer. Trust-Mart is special though: for whatever reason, most of the other Fred Meyers seem to be from France. When I was perusing the vegetable section, I noticed a bunch of people gathered around a bin of whole peanuts. People were sifting through them, looking for the ones that still contained peanuts; this was difficult because most of the peanut shells seemed to be broken and empty.

In U.S. grocery stores, the meat section (if I remember right) is usually a display of evenly sliced and carefully dressed dead muscle. In Trust-Mart, the rows of hollow-eyed ducks are hanging by their necks in the open air, next to the apples. A place called the Free Market--an open-air shelter where farmers can sell their produce--exhibits bloody pigs' legs hanging from meat hooks. And fish aren't even killed until they are about to be eaten. Trust-Mart has dozens of fish and crustacean tanks, plus one for frogs and another for turtles. Last night I was eating in the restaurant where I had the mushrooms when I heard a violent splash right behind me. The giant ceramic vase that I had assumed was for decorative purposes actually contained about 10 large grey fish. A waitress had just opened the lid and was scooping one out with a big net.

Border Crossing Saga: Part 1

Last Thursday night around 11:30PM I crossed the border between Hong Kong and Shenzhen. Unlike the dress rehearsal on Tuesday afternoon, this time the border was practically empty. At the other side, a crowd of men waited. As I walked past them, down the deserted corridor of closed shops leading to the train station, several of them started following me, shouting "Hello! Hotel? Nice room!", "Hello! Where you go? Guangzhou? Nice hotel!", etc. At first I ignored them, and most of them went back to their posts.

I walked alone for a little while, until I got to the station. Dispersed around the entrance, however, were more people. Most of them were just standing, holding brochures. I passed one, and again he asked if I wanted a hotel. His slightly crumpled brochure was pine green and had four yellow pictures inside of beds from various angles. I tried telling him in Chinese that I didn't want a hotel because I already had a train ticket. This seemed to discourage him. The next moment a woman approached me. I looked at her brochure--it was the same one. I told her the same thing and she left. When I said the same thing to the third person, however (and his brochure was also the same--how could one hotel have sent so many people to advertise at the Shenzhen train station at midnight?), he started following me. I think that from that point until I left the train station about half an hour later, I had at least one person following me, trying to get me to stay at the most aggressively marketed hotel in Shenzhen.

I had planned to spend the night in the train station, and board my 6:35AM train as soon as it opened. I had not anticipated the indoor departure section of the station being closed. A Berliner I met who had just arrived from Guangzhou convinced me to look for another place to stay for the next six hours, telling me that spending the night outside would be too cold. I shrugged--it was already chilly, but for some reason I had the idea fixed in my head that southern China is always hot, so I didn't feel it yet--but I took his advice. He pointed me in the direction of a McDonald's, and I set out.

Since I had no intention of spending 6 hours of the night at McDonald's, I started asking restaurants that I passed where I might find a coffee shop or some place that was open all night. This line of inquiry eventually led me to the family-run diner Man Yi Tea Dining Room (despite the name, the tea was weak and lukewarm). They gave me an English menu, with which I ordered Sweet Sago with Taro and Grapefruit Tea. Having a little bit of time to kill, I found some diversion in reading the rest of the menu, which had dishes like Boiled Papaya with White Fungus, Braised Pig Feet with Peanut Butter, and Wash Leather with Hot Pepper. One of the pages was titled "Finely Dishes", and reading this filled me with sorrow. I'm not sure why.

Around 3:30AM I was the only diner left, and I noticed that I was hugging my sides and shivering. This was my introduction to a feature of the buildings in at least some regions of China (and it has followed me to Chengdu): no central heating. Lesson learned: next time I travel in China in November, I will remember to bring a sweater. Finally, at 6:00 I walked back to the station and got on the train.

...and that's all for now! Tune in tomorrow for the next episode of "Naive Travel by Train and Foot"

But wait, there's more...!

I just took the ferry back from Lamma Island to Hong Kong Island, and I have a little bit of time to kill before meeting Annie. The boat ride back was spectacular. I sat out on the back deck, with the wind and spray in my face, drinking an organic English beer and watching the orange circle disappear behind the fishing boats and long, wispy clouds. Spectacular: "beautiful in a dramatic and eye-catching way." - OED. QED.

I think from my previous posts it might seem like all I've been doing in Hong Kong is getting caught in annoying hassles. I want to clear that up by making two points. First, in a way, the difference between a hassle and an adventure is just perspective. Second, I think I write more about my difficulties and mistakes because it's fun to write about them.

I did a lot more yesterday than just solve the Hong Kong Transportation Issue. I bought some Hong Kong DVDs (including A Streetcar Named Desire and Wuthering Heights), which the seller assured me were in English. I had a delicious Hong Kong-style vegetarian lunch of fried noodles with mushrooms (you were right, Brian, the mushrooms are good here). I bought some top-grade tea that was really more expensive than I can afford (but I read they have hot water on the trains, so now I can make my own tea). I picked up a copy of the South China Morning Post and got a free packet of tissues. I guess I bought a lot of things. But I also talked to people. And I ran up and down the same street ten times looking for a vegetarian Shanghai-style restaurant that didn't exist anymore. At the east end of the street, everybody was sure it was to the west. On the west end of the street, everybody was sure it was to the east. Finally somebody in the middle actually knew the place I was looking for and told me the sad news. Wait...I guess that was another hassle. I took the Star Ferry back to Kowloon and watched the changing light patterns and designs on the buildings back on the island.

When I got back to Mirador Mansions, the normal elevators were out of service, so I walked to a different elevator a little farther away. A chubby, gaudily dressed woman with dyed blond hair walked in, as did a middle-aged security guard. They seemed to be discussing something quietly. When the elevator door closed, they looked at me. Then they continued their conversation, and I realized what kind of negotiations they were engaged in. On the 6th floor I was surprised to see the security guard walk out alone. The woman pressed another button.
"Where are you from?" she said.
"America. You?"
"Malaysia. Want to come to my room?"
"No thanks."
She smiled and shrugged, and I stepped off the elevator on my floor. For the last two days, most of the rooms in the Cosmic Guest House have been taken up by a hockey team from India. I first saw them walking outside the Mansions with hockey sticks tied to their backs. I walked through the lobby just in time to see the Indian hockey team leaving with their bags and black-and-white jerseys. The Mirador Mansions attract many different kinds of people.

I want to describe one more thing before I go. Yesterday, when I was riding the trolley, I noticed two men dismantling some of the bamboo scaffolding that seems to be everywhere. One of them had climbed to the top, and was untying the bamboo poles and dropping them down to his partner. The entire structure, which was easily 50 feet or more off the ground, was made completely out of bamboo and what looked like thick black twine. Most of the structure had already been taken apart, so the man was at the top of what amounted to an extremely flimsy ladder. He wore no helmet and no other safety precautions were evident. He had both his legs wrapped around one of the poles, and was untying the twine with his hands.

Transport!

Tuesday was taken up with buying tickets. Today is partially devoted to preparing for my train trip. Yesterday, I decided, was my day to explore Hong Kong. Until then I had only been getting around by MTR. The main benefit of the MTR is that it is fast (and cheaper than a taxi). On the other hand, it is crowded, and--unlike in Taiwan--the stations can be truly labyrinthine. Signs appear pointing the way to your destination, and a hundred meters later they disappear without a trace. You think you are coming back the same way as you went, but then a tunnel spits you out somewhere on the other side of town and you have to find your way back via street level. At least, that was my perception on the first day.

On Wednesday/yesterday, after a little bit of much-needed research, I realized that alternate modes of transportation made it possible--in theory--to do away with the MTR completely. Instead of simply walking the half block to the station, I strolled in the opposite direction, toward the waterfront. In about ten minutes, I reached the terminal of the Star Ferry, and the harbor and the incredible skyline of Hong Kong Island suddenly materialized.

The ferry is great. For about 25 cents, you can cross the harbor on a simple but comfortable little boat. The view is amazing and the ride is peaceful. The only downside is that it takes eight minutes to cross on the surface of the water instead of the five it takes to cross below. The little double-decker trolleys and buses on the streets seem to follow the same principle. You can go anywhere for a negligible fee--and comfortably, or at the very least with novelty--as long as you aren't in a hurry. Unless, of course, the trolley happens to be crowded. Yesterday evening I was using the trolley to get to a particular bus stop, but I accidentally overshot it on the first pass. I didn't feel like walking back to the previous stop, so I got on the next trolley going in the reverse direction.

Brian said the trolleys look like tin cans. He's right; extremely narrow and with two floors, they look like sardine tins turned on their sides. Getting on that second trolley, this comparison turned out to be even more apt than I'd thought. To solve the congestion caused by their narrowness, the trolleys have turnstiles that only allow people on through the back. When you want to get off, you have to work your way to the front, pay the driver, and exit through the front doors. When the car is packed with people who have no intention of getting off at your stop, however, this becomes slightly impossible. So, on the second pass, I overshot my stop again.

By climbing up the spiral staircase, forcing my way through the slightly less crowded upper deck, and lowering myself down the staircase in front, I managed to detrain about three stops too late. Needless to say, when I got on the next trolley going the other way, I made sure it wasn't crowded.

Brian, I followed your advice and avoided the Victoria Peak tram. Instead I took a bus, which was cheaper by about half. The bus ride, including waiting, took about an hour. Still, I was not bored. Sitting on the upper deck of a bus as it winds up a narrow road in darkness on the edge of a steep cliff with cars zooming past in the opposite direction does not make you bored. The bus ride had another silver lining, however--I met a nice couple visiting from China, and we stuck together for the rest of the time we were on the Peak. So, yes, I saw the famous view of Hong Kong from the top of Victoria Peak. The sky has the particular reddish glow common to all big cities at night, but this was the brightest nighttime sky I've ever seen. Unfortunately, someone decided to place a huge shopping mall right at the best spot for viewing, and to charge $3 for a ticket to the building's rooftop, which, cleverly, is the only place in the building where you can get a good look. On the way down, I opted for the tram, which cost a little bit more but took about five minutes. And the tram, which at times turns more vertical than horizontal (I was glad to see that the front window looked thick), is thrilling in its own way. But I'm happy I experienced both methods of transportation.

From what I've heard about Hong Kong-style food, I was a little worried. But my fears were misplaced; I have managed to have great food here while eating solely at vegetarian restaurants. After getting back from the Peak, I walked to a restaurant called Life, where I had the first veggie burger I've had since Seattle, and spirulina and carrot juice. Life is located in SoHo, on the "vertical" Shelley Street. The street is actually a steep walkway made up completely of escalators and old stone staircases. Trying to find this area was somewhat difficult, and I had to ask for directions several times. On the way back, after dinner, I took the covered walkway down Shelley Street. I expected it to end at the bottom of the hill, where I would walk in a generally north direction until I got to the water, and hopefully find myself near the Star Ferry pier. But the walkway didn't end. It branched, and kept going, and by following the signs I actually walked all the way from SoHo to the pier without ever going down to street level. I don't know how I didn't realize it before, but apparently there's an entire network of interconnected walkways above the street. Now I see why Hong Kong is known for being friendly to pedestrians.

In Taiwan, most people don't speak English. Naturally, I expected communication to be easier in Hong Kong, where English is widely spoken. But that fact that it is British English--and not always perfect--led to its own interesting problems. On Monday night I went looking for the vegan restaurant that Brian had told me about, called Loving Hut, which is located on Hennessy Street. I took the MTR to the nearest station, but I didn't have a map yet, so when I came out I had a hard time getting my bearings. I went into a 7-11 to ask for directions. The two old ladies were busy counting the money in the cash registers. I waited until one of them looked up.
"Hello, can you help me? I'm looking for Hennessy Street."
The lady on the left frowned, shook her head, and went back to counting the money. Did they not know where it was? It was supposed to be right near the station. I asked again.
"Hennessy Street. Hennessy?"
"No, nothing." She shook her head again. From the way she said it, it was like I was asking for something completely unreasonable. They must be pretty jaded to be so unwilling to offer simple directions to tourists like me, I thought.
The one on the right looked up for the first time. The other lady said something to her in what must have been Cantonese, and the lady on the right started scowling too. That's when it occurred to me that "Hennessy" sounds a lot like a Chinese pronunciation of "anything." They thought I was begging for money. I almost shouted at them "Wo zai zhao Hennessy lu!" Whether it was my pronunciation, or that they didn't speak Mandarin, that just made them perplexed.
"Nevermind," I said, and left.

Anyway, I found Loving Hut without too much trouble after that. Loving Hut is an extraordinary place, for several reasons, but I'll have to write about it another time.

Today I took the ferry ride to Lamma Island. Lamma Island is an idyllic, green island, completely devoid of cars. Near the wharf there is a little street lined with seafood restaurants, a cheese shop, an organic grocery store, a used bookstore with a vegetarian cafe called "Bookworm", and another vegetarian cafe called "Green Cottage", which sits right on the little bay where the ferry pulls in--that's where I'm writing this. For lunch I had spelt rotini with mushrooms, an almond smoothie, and an espresso. This area of the island is a little touristy, but compared to Hong Kong it's absolutely serene. And something about the lack of roads and the relaxed atmosphere remind me of Cortes Island.

There's a lot more I could write about, but it will have to wait, because I have a ferry to catch. Tonight I'm meeting my friend and old DXARTS teacher, Annie. Then I'm packing my stuff and heading to the border. If all goes well, my next communication will be from Chengdu!

Today I went to Shenzhen

This morning as soon as I got up I set out in search of cheaper accommodations. I was heading to Chungking Mansions, where several guest houses received good reviews in the Lonely Planet guide, and rooms supposedly started at 100 HKD. Both Chungking Mansions and its smaller cousin, Mirador Mansions, are on Nathan Road, a busy arterial in Kowloon. Walking down the road, I passed the Tsim Sha Tsui MTR station, and, noticing that I was right in front of Mirador Mansions, decided that convenience favored looking there first.

Mirador Mansions, with its 15 or so floors, takes up an entire block. The upper floors are mostly apartments and guesthouses, but the ground floor is lined both outside and through a maze of hallways inside with shops selling electronics, cigarettes, perfume, souvenirs, and counterfeits. On the south side of the 12th floor is the Cosmic Guest House. It's considerably more dilapidated than the almost new-looking Lee Garden Guest House, and the long hallways stretching into darkness make it a little spooky. I let it be known at the front desk--a cramped little room with a fish tank, papers all over the walls, and a missing ceiling panel--that I wanted a room. The lady at the desk told me she had one for 160 HKD and another for 180 HKD; I asked to see them. I was led down a crumbling hallway with exposed wires in the corners and walls with a regular, rectangular pattern of holes. Through the holes I could see the thick bamboo scaffolding that currently covers the building outside and in the courtyard (which is huge, but I can't seem to reach it from the ground floor). On the other side of a locked gate, which opens with an RFID tag attached to the key, were the rooms. The only difference between the two rooms was that the more expensive one had enough space to put my backpack on the floor and still stand up. I chose the cheaper one. The room has tile walls, a TV, a phone, internet access, and a bathroom. The bathroom is even smaller than the previous one; somehow a sink, a toilet, and a shower have been packed into less than a square meter. But I prefer to look on the positive side. In how many other bathrooms is it possible to take a shower while you're sitting on the john? Actually, the sink is in the way, so I have to sit on the toilet sideways.

Today I set myself the goal of buying my train ticket to Chengdu. Thinking of the summer before last, when I was traveling in Europe and all the trains were booked weeks ahead, I wanted to find out just how long I would have to wait in Hong Kong. But first I had lunch. The Lonely Planet guide lists quite a few vegetarian restaurants, including one called "Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food". Supposedly the place has been around for a long time and offers very cheap South Indian snacks. I was happy to see that it was only a block away from the Mirador. I went to the street where Branto was supposed to be, but I saw no visible signs of an Indian restaurant. I checked the address again. 9 Lock Road. I found the building, but it seemed to be completely taken up by a mediocre-looking Chinese cafe and a few other shops. I looked up: no sign for an Indian restaurant. I figured it must have closed. Then I noticed a door in the middle between two shops, which looked like the entrance to an apartment building. Next to the door was a directory; a little sign on the directory said simply "Branto - 6" I pressed the buzzer, and was let in.

I had to walk up a flight of unmarked stairs before I came to anything stating the nature of the place called Branto. Above a windowless door was the full name: Branto Pure Vegetarian Indian Food. Inside, I found a fairly ordinary-looking diner. A grey-haired Indian man pointed me to a table between two couples. Both of the couples were Indian, and they both had very small children. The couple to my left had a daughter who must have been about two, and she would start to wail at regular intervals. I stayed there for an hour, and in that time, most of the people who came in were Indian. It was wonderful to have good Indian food after two weeks of almost nothing but Chinese (not that I'm complaining).

On the way out, I asked the waiter where I could buy a train ticket. He told me to go to the MTR station Hung Hom, which was also a major train station. I walked to the Tsim Sha Tsui station, and took the MTR to Hung Hom. It was certainly a much bigger station than the others I'd seen. I went up a random escalator and asked the man inside an information kiosk where I might buy a ticket to China. "Exit 4," he told me. After a little bit of searching, I found exit 4, but it wasn't clear where I should go from that point. I went to another information kiosk.

"Hello," I said. "Where can I buy a ticket to mainland China?"
"Where do you want to go?" one of the two men replied.
"Chengdu, Sichuan."
"Chengdu!?" Whenever I have told anyone here the name of my destination, I have gotten this same incredulous response.
"Yes, Chengdu. Do you know if I can buy a ticket here?"

He told me I had to go to Lo Wu station. Following his directions, I found the line that would take me there. The train was waiting when I went down the escalator to the platform, so I ran inside. Then I realized it was almost empty. On the wall there was a map of the stops on the route; Hung Hom was at one end of the route, and Lo Wu was at the opposite end--way north in the New Territories, next to the Chinese border. I guess I could have gotten a second opinion, but I decided to follow the advice I'd been given and head to Lo Wu.

The ride from Hung Hom to Lo Wu takes about 45 minutes. For most of the ride I read or dozed, but occasionally I saw small green mountains or high-rises going by. Lo Wu station was crowded, and everyone seemed to be walking quickly and purposefully. I went to another information kiosk and asked the woman the usual question. She didn't understand, and thought I was talking about an MTR ticket. I asked a policeman standing nearby. He told me to try the travel agency. The travel agency said they didn't sell train tickets for China, and they pointed me to the border. I paid my MTR fare (31.30 HKD) and went into a large room with a line of immigration officers. I asked one who wasn't in a booth for advice; she didn't speak English, but she retrieved one of her colleagues who did.

This immigration official told me to go back to Hong Kong. There, he said, I could buy a ticket at a China Travel Agency. Did I want him to write the name down? I told him I would appreciate it. He took out an immigration slip and on the back wrote "China travel agency". My exasperation must have been visible, because then he had another suggestion. Earlier, he had asked to see my visa; when he saw that it was multiple-entry, he had said that going back and forth across the border would be no problem. He told me I could try going across the border today, where I could buy a ticket at the train station in Shenzhen.

I joined the line in front of one of the immigration booths. The man looked at my passport, stamped just yesterday with my arrival in Hong Kong, and after looking multiple times from my passport picture (taken four years ago, when my hair was long and not on my face) to me, and back to my passport picture, he stamped it again. I didn't count of how many times I had to show my passport today, but if I had to guess I would say six or seven. Next, I had to fill out a health declaration form, where I stated that I did not show any symptoms of illness, and give my email and phone number. Passing a checkpoint, I handed it to an agent who added it to a stack without looking at it. A little farther, after I filled out an immigration form, another official pointed a temperature gun at my forehead.

After having yet another official look at my passport, deciding that I was carrying no contraband that needed to be declared, having my bag x-rayed anyway, and using a urinal of indefinite nationality, I arrived in Shenzhen, China. In Shenzhen I talked to about 10 more people--including three or four more incredulous ticket officers--walked across one Chinese street, saw one Chinese skyline, and withdrew 1,000 RMB from one Chinese ATM, before buying two train tickets for Friday. The first ticket cost 409 RMB, and it goes from Guangzhou to Chengdu in a little over 27 hours. My communication with the ticket vendor was somewhat repetitive and sparse, but I gathered that I was buying a ticket for a lower berth. From the price I've inferred that the berth is a hard sleeper, which means that the beds are stacked in threes and are arranged in open-plan carriages, though I'm not sure what that means, exactly. Anyway, this train leaves Friday morning at 9:08. The second ticket cost 75 RMB and it goes from Shenzhen to Guangzhou, leaving at 6:35am and arriving around 8:15, I think (the second vendor knew I have another train to catch).

The timing of these trains leads to an unfortunate logistical problem. I didn't know this then, but the border closes between midnight and 6:30. In other words, if I try to cross on Friday morning, I'll miss my train. The only option is to cross on Thursday night, and wait somewhere in Shenzhen for about six hours. This will probably mean dozing on a bench somewhere in the station, using my backpack for a pillow.

After buying my tickets I turned around and jumped through all the same hoops again. The MTR was a lot more crowded on the way back than it had been on the way there. But the entire trip didn't actually take much more time than I had expected. I had set out from the Indian restaurant at 3pm, and I got back to my room around 7--with two train tickets, four new stamps in my passport, and thirteen pictures of Mao in my pocket.

HK

I made it to Hong Kong! The airport is a little far away from the city center (it's connected to Lantau Island), so then I had to take a very fast train to the Kowloon station. At the station there was a bus that took me near the Lee Garden Guest House. I walked about 8 blocks to get there, and luckily there was a sign because the building is less than a fathom from one wall to the other and I might not have noticed it. At the end of the long hallway lobby, there's an elevator that looks about as old as Victoria Peak. Lee Garden Guest House is on the 8th floor. I watched the little light flickering behind the column of numbers as it slowly descended, and then finally stopped at the first floor. For a little while nothing happened; the elevator door has a handle but it was locked. Then through the translucent glass I saw the inner door start to open. When it was two thirds of the way open, the door swung out and I was almost squashed against the wall as two South Asian men left the elevator.

After some to-do with the lady behind the desk about a confirmation number, having correct change, and a few other things, she showed me the room. The room is actually a bed with four walls around it, but it's private and I have my own bathroom! She said the room doesn't normally come with a bathroom, and since I only booked one night I'll have to change rooms if I want to stay for the same price. For $30-$50 these rooms are still pretty reasonable, but I think I'm going to walk over to Chungking Mansions (nearby) and see what they have to offer. But first, I'm going to try to take the MTR (they switched the last two letters just to throw off people from Taiwan) to Hong Kong Island and have dinner at a vegan restaurant Brian told me about called the Loving Hut.

Last Days (in Taiwan)

First of all, I want everybody to see this incredible advertisement banner I found on the street:





Yes, there are two of him!

Here are some pictures from the trip to Gaoxiong yesterday:
























Today I walked up the little mountain near the apartment. From the apartment window I can see a large part of the lush green mountain, and near the top a red-pillared temple is visible. Climbing up the steep stairs at the base of the trail, I thought I would set the temple as my goal. Probably in part because it's Sunday, there were a lot of other hikers on the trail, including many families. The steep stairs continued up for several minutes, and then the path forked. A sign indicated four possible trails, and I chose the "scenic route".

There were some plastic bathtubs lining the uphill side of the trail, helping to contain the erosion. Not much farther up, I started to hear something that sounded a lot like pop music. I wondered if there was a concert going on until I came to a covered platform where an elderly trio stood in front of an old TV, singing karaoke. Behind the karaoke shelter, on a bigger platform of concrete, there was a pretty large temple. No one was inside the main room, but I could see a few people through a window in the side room, and there was incense burning.

I kept walking, and before long the trail passed a fenced court with two guys playing badminton. We were pretty high above street level at this point, and seeing a badminton court in the middle of what otherwise could be described as a mountain jungle was even stranger than the karaoke and the temple.

After walking a little farther, I started to hear the familiar sound of reverb-y singing. Sure enough, thirty seconds later I came to another temple with some old people clustered around a TV in front. This temple was actually more of a complex of separate shrines than a single temple, and I walked past several of them across a wooden porch and looked over the railing to see how high I had come. Ten feet below me there was another badminton court, with a game in full swing.

I think I passed at least 20 temples and 10 badminton courts on my walk to the top of the mountain. There were very few sections of the trail from which you couldn't see a structure of some kind, whether it was a court, a temple, a fenced garden, a swing set, or a sheltered platform--often with a sink and a card table, and sometimes someone cooking at a stove. About half of them were occupied, but many of the unoccupied ones had the look of ruins. I came to one open area with a concrete table and stools covered with little tiles, but a big section of the table was missing, and tiles were scattered everywhere; a similarly tiled concrete bench sat next to it, but the end of the bench was also broken off. It seemed like the place hadn't seen another person for decades. On the way back down the mountain, I passed through the same area again. This time, there were three old men sitting at the table; another one sat on the bench; a final two were practicing calisthenics in the middle.

In some of these spaces, there didn't seem to be much separation between man-made and natural objects. The path to a garden was covered with a moldering red carpet. Another section of the trail was embedded with Astro Turf. At the first shelter I had come to with karaoke singers, the railing was lined with plastic bottles, each one with a bamboo shoot growing out of it. A statue of Sun Yat-Sen had cracked down the right side and part of the face had fallen off. Sandbags that had been used to support a platform were turning into soil and now ferns were growing out of them. Land was developed, structures were built, and immediately the forest started to reclaim them.


















After walking back down, I met Ivy at the Yong He Dou Jiang place for lunch and to say goodbye. This time she ordered, and we had dam bing, shao bing (eggs in a kind of crispy pancake, as opposed to the dam bing's soft pancake), tofu pudding, parsnip cake, and a bowl of hot soymilk. Drinking spoonfuls of soymilk, I asked Ivy if Taiwanese people had ever thought about adding cereal. I could see from her expression that I had just blasphemed. Before we parted, Ivy also took me to Longshan temple, a huge one in a crowded part of town. The temple was filled with people praying to the many gods who had shrines there. Then, for something completely different (but no less crowded), we went to Ximen, and I got another couple t-shirts. One of them has a picture of a roadrunner (the actual bird, not the Looney Tunes character) and a boom box and says "The Roadrunner With The Thunder Baetbox." The other, which Ivy bought me as a souvenir, has the Chinese characters lang zi ("long ts'h"). I think lang literally means "wave", but Ivy said the phrase also has the meaning of a person who wanders away from home. Edit: I just looked up lang zi, and apparently it means "loafer; wastrel; prodigal son". Great!





Tomorrow my flight leaves around two, and should arrive in Hong Kong around four. Between now and then I'm just trying to straighten up the apartment a little bit. I don't know how long it'll be before I have internet access again, but maybe the guesthouse will have it. If I can find the guesthouse, that is...wish me luck!

Saturday Times

I just got back to Taipei and it's a little late already so this is going to be a short post. With any luck I'll have time to pick it up again tomorrow.

For lunch today I went to Jack's place. There he, his wife, his friend--a large, bald taxi driver who spoke so fast it took all my focus to understand what he was saying--and I sat down at a table at the back. On the table there were 6 or 7 dishes, including eggplant and basil with garlic sauce, shredded papaya salad, a dish made from wilted spinach-like greens and tiny fish about the size of toenail clippings, fried octopus and fish, Guangdong duck, and a vegetable stir-fry with cow intestine. Jack's wife had cooked the first three; I didn't try the last two. There was also a bottle of baijiu. The clear baijiu pretty much just tasted like alcohol, which with a 56% alcohol content was mostly what it was. Anyway, it was fun to taste all the home cooking while bantering in Chinese. Jack also speaks English pretty well, and that helped when we got stuck. Once, when we raised our glasses I said "gan bei!" and was informed that this obligated me to drain my cup. Thinking of my esophageal tract, I quickly backpedaled to a "l'chaim!"

After lunch I raced to the MRT to meet Ivy at Taipei Main Station, where we caught a fast train to Gaoxiong, a major city in the south of Taiwan. By car the trip would be about five hours, but with this train it only took one and a half. Ivy's twin sister, Michelle, and Michelle's boyfriend, Evan, were waiting for us at the station. We got into the car and they immediately gave me five different Gaoxiong tourist guides and a famous regional cookie. Our first destination was Lotus Pond, which looks to be about the size of Green Lake, maybe a little smaller, and is surrounded by temples. One was a temple dedicated to Confucius. It was actually sort of a park more than a temple--I'll post pictures tomorrow. A few yards off the main path, under a tree, a group of elderly people had set up a karaoke machine and were sitting or standing around it, listening to the music. Another temple had a tiger's mouth for an entrance and a dragon's mouth for an exit; going through one and out the other was supposed to bring good luck. There was also one with a giant, colorful statue of a smiling god sitting on top of it. Under one of his feet was a snake, and a dragon with the body of a turtle. According to the story, this god had defeated these two creatures and tamed them. Next to the entrance of the temple was a little tank with a huge turtle whose head actually looked similar to the dragon's head above. Bringing my face close to the glass, I noticed that the turtle's body was covered with coins.

By the time we had finished visiting all the temples it was starting to get dark, so we drove to a seafood restaurant and had a feast. This one had some similar elements to the one in Danshui: whole prawns, whole crabs, fried oysters with black pepper, and clams in the same kind of spicy basil sauce that the mussels were in last week. There was also a dish of rice noodles with pumpkin, which I enjoyed until we noticed it contained pieces of pork. Then there was miso soup with oil fish, bitter melon with egg white, and a whole fish served on a hot plate and garnished with long thin spirals of onion. For the second time in my life I saw someone eat a fish eyeball (the first time was with Stefan's family at a restaurant on Lake City Way). I hope I didn't forget anything. We washed all this down with cold green tea and Taiwan beer.

While I was still under a massive food coma, we went down to a night market near the wharf (but not before Michelle stopped to pick up a bag of dried strips of fish roe). We sat outside at a little table with plastic stools on a major intersection (but there were many pedestrians and few cars, so this didn't matter), and had shaved ice. Unlike the delicately layered frozen milk from the Shilin night market, this type of shaved ice was actually ice, covered with condensed milked and either custard, red beans, or green beans. I don't think the green beans were the same species as the variety people often eat steamed for dinner; they actually tasted a lot like the red beans.

Now seriously inundated with food, we went for a walk on the Love River (Ai He -- pronounced kind of like "I! huh?"). Actually, we went to a tea station where I got some hot Oolong tea with tapioca balls, and then we went to the river. Ivy told me that the river used to be incredibly polluted and stank terribly, but now it had been cleaned up. We passed someone playing traditional Chinese songs on an accordion. After the walk, around 9:30, Michelle and Evan drove us back to the train station.