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.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
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:
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:
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
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:
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:
Sunday, November 29, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, November 27, 2009
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"
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"
Thursday, November 19, 2009
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.
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!
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!
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