Traveling "alone" is a relative statement. One always seems to find mates to travel with on the road. My purchase of a 20 cent "black book" for contact information was perhaps the wisest pre-trip investment thus far. Well, that and the Cipro. The list of countries I now have a bed to sleep in now includes Canada, England, Australia, France, Holland, Viet Nam and Sweden, not to mention the few Americans I've also met (they tend to be few and far between). Most of these travel relationships last only a day or even just a few hours. That is why my time spent in the last three days with 7 Brits and have been a marked and much appreciated change of pace.
The group of seven is tightly knit. Andy and Hollie, whom I met in Hanoi two weeks ago, tell me that they're all from the same "village" about 30 miles north of London and that they've all known each other from the time they were small lads (how quaint!).
Andrew Dicker, or just Dicker, is a barrel chested young man. He stands 6'1" and probably weighs 230. If he grew up in the States he would've for sure been a dominant lineman playing high school football. We shared a motorbike on the way to the sand dunes of Mui Ne, and he is the first to give me a little background on this tightly knit group of friends. "You ever heard of that TV show Jackass? Or CKY (the original Jackass)? Andy, Chalk, Lewie, Dan and I did the same sort of stunts and filmed it all. You can check'em out on www.vimeo.com", Dicker shouts over the noise of the wind as we go 35mph on the two lane streets. He then proceeds to tell me about his work. "I work for the waste management department in the city of London. Basically, I drive a van with poo in it for a living. Shit job, but great pay!", Dicker proudly states. "I'm also a bouncer at a bar." His body had countless scars from the shit he's done, the lastest being on this trip where he flipped his motorbike and landed headfirst in a ditch with the motorbike landing on his head. The unbreakable man that he is, he came out of that with large scratches on his leg. By all accounts he should've been seriously injured, but his mates said that it's pretty typical that he would come out of it with only some scratches. The 11 cars he's totalled (going through the windshield twice) is testament to his nine+ lives. It is obvious that Dicker is a gentle giant, and I like him immediately. http://www.vimeo.com/clip:49316
I highly recommend checking out this clip and others at www.vimeo.com. search andrew dicker, andy ash, dan simpson.
Chalk, who introduces himself by his real name James, can only be described as special. The quotation marks kind of special. His enthusiasm and unabashedly oblivious do/say first, think second mentality gets him into trouble, but it is also impossibly endearing. One of the first things I hear from Chalk's mouth was, "If I learn Vietnamese, would I have an English accent like they have a Vietnamese accent when speaking English?" Chalk is in the British Army Reserves and volunteered to go to Afghanistan. He likes shooting guns. God save the Queen...
Andy, whom I met in Hanoi is an aspiring photographer who still shuns the use of digital. Surprisingly, Andy, not Chalk, is the target of the groups benign bullying. Andy's mom, apparently, has slept with all the boys in the group, and even one the girls. One time when Andy went away on vacation, he came home to a large lamp post in the middle of his front lawn as well as the house being on sale for the past two weeks.
Heidi, one of two girls in the group, emphatically breaks the stereotype that English girls are not cute. She has dark brown wavy hair and a figure that just doesn't quit. I guess that time in dance school does a body good. Heidi's also a screamer, shrieking all the way down the sand dunes on her board. Heidi's been traveling Asia with Louie, her boyfriend of the past year. When the game of "what animal would you be" came up, Louie's animal was a walking stick. I thought more of a praying mantis.
Dan is something of a local celebrity back in their small village. "Everyone knows Dan," Andy tells me over happy hour Saigon Beer at Crazy Kim's bar in Nha Trang. "It's usually, 'Hey! Dan from the wineshop'!". At 28 Dan is the old man in the group. He's into all sorts of music and tells me that I should check out the South by Southwest music festival in Austin. He likes white russians, and is fantastic company after six or seven of them.
Hollie is the total package. A laid back, gorgeous, natural brunette, Hollie can party with the boys, but also has maternal instincts that naturally manifest themselves when the need arises. She took care of Dicker after the accident. And when Chalk got wasted beyond repair our night in Nha Trang, it was Hollie who carried him on her back home to the hotel about a kilometer away. Dicker offered, but Hollie had it under control. She says it was easy because Chalk could "rest his legs on my big hips." I laugh at the comment, because they are actually very nice hips. "What? It's true!" she protests. In a group of "characters", Hollie's relative reservedness betrays her many dimensions. That she is studying Drama and English at university suits her quite well.
This is the group that I've been with for the past few days. We sandboarded, swam in the South China Sea, haggled with our hotel owner over the price of a destroyed motorbike (good work Louie at getting it to only $280!), and partied like rockstars at Crazy Kim's and the Sailing Club in Nha Trang. Until we meet in England...cheers!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Saigon Part 1
Spontaneity comes in different forms. One manifestation is to tell someone you will be in Saigon in two weeks and then have that person immediately purchase a ticket to Saigon for a weekend excursion. Diana Lee (www.asparagese.blogspot.com) joined me for my first three days in Saigon from Singapore. Although we we both had hacking coughs, we managed to get in a day in the Mekong as well as checking out Reunification Palace. On the Mekong we paddled in little riverboats that were totally reminiscent of scenes in old movies about the war where some VCs are hiding in the rivers sucking air through a reed and then ambush your boat. Our straw hats added to the ambiance. For 6 bucks we got transportation (bus and boat), visited four islands, tested local coconut candy (divine!), had lunch, sampled local fruits, and saw a brief musical performance. Even by Vietnamese standards Diana and I thought this was quite the deal. Because we were both feeling so crappy, we party in Saigon as one should. You know the kind of sick where you are just totally don't want to speak with anyone, everyone annoys you and you want to just sleep? That's how I felt on Saturday night and Sunday morning. Sunday evening, however, was a different story.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Sapa
The northwest of Viet Nam is covered by lush hills and mountains and is home to many hill tribes. The town which most tourists use as the "gateway" to the many villages of the Northwest is Sapa. After a few days in Hanoi and the comedically unorganized tour of Halong Bay, Sapa was the perfect place to relax for a few days. The weather was much cooler and the incesant noise of motorbike traffic is reduced to a bearable buzz. Terraced rice fields like those on the cover of my Environmental Science textbook span all directions.
Sapa, Vietnam
The "villagers" in Sapa are a curious bunch, especially the children. The H'mong girls by far have the biggest presence in the town, and the little ones all speak two or three languages. "Where you from?...You from America!", is the general greeting one gets when walking down the street. They are pretty aggressive, often slapping you on the shoulder if they don't get a response they like. The gentleman that I am, I often return the slap. Dressed in their traditional clothes dyed with natural indigo (which stains their arms and hands), these H'mong girls can often be seen in a bar playing pool or in a cybercafe playing CounterStrike when not selling their friendship bracelets or other miscelleanous traditional crap. I consider myself a decent pool player, and these girls would definitely hold their own in any New York City bar. I went 1-1 with an 15 yr old. The exclamation point to this odd juxtaposition of cultures had to be the moment when one girl was doing her embroidery while her friend was sinking the 8 ball.
Many people do two or three day treks to various villages around Sapa, but I was content with the two I visisted in one day, using the rest of my time to motorbike around the area (what a thrill!). Usually one has to pay an entrance ticket at the trailhead of these villages, but because I was with the Dzao women who invited me to their village, we sped past the post. Thankfully, the rail was up so we didn't get closelined.
Red Dzao Women
Sapa, Vietnam
The "villagers" in Sapa are a curious bunch, especially the children. The H'mong girls by far have the biggest presence in the town, and the little ones all speak two or three languages. "Where you from?...You from America!", is the general greeting one gets when walking down the street. They are pretty aggressive, often slapping you on the shoulder if they don't get a response they like. The gentleman that I am, I often return the slap. Dressed in their traditional clothes dyed with natural indigo (which stains their arms and hands), these H'mong girls can often be seen in a bar playing pool or in a cybercafe playing CounterStrike when not selling their friendship bracelets or other miscelleanous traditional crap. I consider myself a decent pool player, and these girls would definitely hold their own in any New York City bar. I went 1-1 with an 15 yr old. The exclamation point to this odd juxtaposition of cultures had to be the moment when one girl was doing her embroidery while her friend was sinking the 8 ball.Many people do two or three day treks to various villages around Sapa, but I was content with the two I visisted in one day, using the rest of my time to motorbike around the area (what a thrill!). Usually one has to pay an entrance ticket at the trailhead of these villages, but because I was with the Dzao women who invited me to their village, we sped past the post. Thankfully, the rail was up so we didn't get closelined.
Red Dzao Women
Thursday, July 06, 2006
ITINERARY
Although rather bland, this intinerary is an easy way to keep track of what I'm up to. Unfortunately, I am not uploading pictures while traveling so you get to enjoy links to great photos of some of the places I'm visiting.
July 3- Hanoi
- Arrive very late in Hanoi (every shop is closed and there are only a few street lights)
- Find a hostel by bumping into three drunk travelers stumbling home and following them to their place
July 4- Hanoi http://www.terragalleria.com/vietnam/vietnam.hanoi.html
- Meet up with Linh
- Dodge motorbikes and explore the city
- Evening at the waterpuppet show
July 5- Hanoi
- Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum, Residence, and Ho Chi Minh Museum
- Lunch with Linh's family
- Museum of Ethnology
July 6-8 Halong Bay http://www.terragalleria.com/vietnam/vietnam.halong.html
- Various caves and grottoes, Cat Ba Island, hiking in the national park (an extremely difficult hike)
- Sea kayaking and swimming in the bays
July 9-12 Sapa http://www.terragalleria.com/vietnam/vietnam.sapa.html
- Chillin out and enjoying the view from my hotel room
- Trekking to various villages
- Talking to local girls dressed in traditional garb who speak English really well and play nasty games of pool
- Watching Zidane get medieval on Materazzi
July 13 Hanoi
- Staying at Linh's house before heading to Saigon
- Having Linh's mama cook us a phat meal of crab stuffed spring rolls..mmm.
July 14-16 Saigon
- Meeting Diana (Georgetown friend who decided on a whim to come from Singapore to meet me in Saigon!)
- Day tour of the Mekong Delta for a ridiculously low (even by Vietnam standards) 6 dollars, including lunch!
July 17 Mui Ne http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Asia/Vietnam/Northeast_South/Binh_Thuan/mui_ne/
- Sandboarding
- Beaching it
July 18,19 Nha Trang http://www.terragalleria.com/vietnam/vietnam.nha-trang.html
- Going out
- Snorkeling? Diving?
July 20-22 Hoi An http://www.terragalleria.com/vietnam/vietnam.hoi-an.html
- Getting a new wardrobe (lots of tailors in Hoi An)
July 23-24 Hue (Ancient capital, Viet Nam's first UNESCO World Heritage site)
July 25 DMZ and the Vin Moch tunnels
July 26 Hanoi
July 27 Beijing
August 4 Los Angeles
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
My Vietnamese Sister
Linh Phan is a 17 yr old rising senior here in Hanoi. She stands about 5' 4" and has dark black hair that down well past her butt. Her face is round and reminds me of that of southern Chinese girl. That is, she is very pretty. She has a distinctive style already (she wore a beret the first day we hung out), and so when she walks down the street with me she gets beckoned by the street vendors and motorscooter taxis with everything from "Bonjour!" to "Hello!" to "Korea?". Everything except "Sin Chow":Hello in Vietnamese. We made quite the pair: a young Chinese manwho is always mistaken for Japanese and Korean, and a Vietnamese girl who is mistaken for everything but Vietnamese.
Linh traveled outside of the country for the first time last year to Singapore and wants very to study in university there. When I asked her why not the U.S., she says because she doesn't want to be so far away from her mom and dad. She's not quite sure what she wants to study, but when I told her I majored in International Relations she became quite excited.
Linh and I met through couchsurfing.com. She told me to call her when I arrived in her city, which I was more than happy to do this since I don't know a soul in this country. After dodging the 2 million* mopeds and moterbikes infesting the city while running some errands my first morning in Hanoi, I called Linh.
I know that my voice was overflowing with enthusiasm on the phone which I tried to taper a little. Fortunately I heard that excitement reciprocated on the other end. "I am so happy you called me today!", Linh said in her polished English. We decided to meet at Huc Bridge, which connects the Old Quarter of Hanoi to a small island in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake. I told Linh to expect me to be dressed in a light blue longsleeve shirt carrying my red bag. Oh, and also that I'm a 6' 3"with long hair. Despite each of us knowing what the other looked like through our respective couchsurfing profiles, I felt obliged to not change my clothes even though I was dripping with sweat by 12:30pm from wearing that long sleeved dress shirt.
The first thing we did was eat. When in Viet Nam, what else but pho (noodles in soup)? I wasn't full after my first bowl, but Linh firmly, yet politely said that we should go somewhere else to try something different. If I wasn't sure before, I was sure then that I really liked this girl! Shaved iced with tapioca, fruit and condensed milk: a staple of the Asian dessert menu. Helping me bargain for some small things, sitting by the lake and enjoying some drinks and having great conversation about Vietnamese culture and youth rounded out our first day together.
We spent the second day visiting Uncle Ho's mausoleum and the Museum of Ethnology. Like China, Viet Nam has over 50 ethnic minorities. Since I am planning on going to Sapa (in the Northwest) to trek in the villages of the Hmong, Dzao and various other minorities, this museum was a great precursor to my trip. The models of the hill tribes' houses were impressive. One towered over 40 ft! Imagine the shape of a hatchet with its blade pointing up and you have the shape of this house. The museum also had a moving exhibit of the time of the Subsidized Economy in Viet Nam. This was a time of extreme hardship where food, cloth and soap (among various other things) were rationed at portions no middle class person today could imagine doing with. I was impressed by the openness and candor of the exhibit.
The Old Quarter of Hanoi is teeming with backpackers. Everywhere you go you hear an Australian accent. Brits run amok, and I've even met a few Israelis. Everyone has a Lonely Planet upon arrival, and if they don't pirated versions are sold here for $2-$5 (any country you want), which means that virtually every traveler is using the same information. While you can accomplish almost anything you would normally want with a Lonely Planet at your disposal, the assistance and friendship of a local has been just wonderful. Cam on (thank you), Linh.
* actual statistic
Linh traveled outside of the country for the first time last year to Singapore and wants very to study in university there. When I asked her why not the U.S., she says because she doesn't want to be so far away from her mom and dad. She's not quite sure what she wants to study, but when I told her I majored in International Relations she became quite excited.
Linh and I met through couchsurfing.com. She told me to call her when I arrived in her city, which I was more than happy to do this since I don't know a soul in this country. After dodging the 2 million* mopeds and moterbikes infesting the city while running some errands my first morning in Hanoi, I called Linh.
I know that my voice was overflowing with enthusiasm on the phone which I tried to taper a little. Fortunately I heard that excitement reciprocated on the other end. "I am so happy you called me today!", Linh said in her polished English. We decided to meet at Huc Bridge, which connects the Old Quarter of Hanoi to a small island in the middle of Hoan Kiem Lake. I told Linh to expect me to be dressed in a light blue longsleeve shirt carrying my red bag. Oh, and also that I'm a 6' 3"with long hair. Despite each of us knowing what the other looked like through our respective couchsurfing profiles, I felt obliged to not change my clothes even though I was dripping with sweat by 12:30pm from wearing that long sleeved dress shirt.
The first thing we did was eat. When in Viet Nam, what else but pho (noodles in soup)? I wasn't full after my first bowl, but Linh firmly, yet politely said that we should go somewhere else to try something different. If I wasn't sure before, I was sure then that I really liked this girl! Shaved iced with tapioca, fruit and condensed milk: a staple of the Asian dessert menu. Helping me bargain for some small things, sitting by the lake and enjoying some drinks and having great conversation about Vietnamese culture and youth rounded out our first day together.
We spent the second day visiting Uncle Ho's mausoleum and the Museum of Ethnology. Like China, Viet Nam has over 50 ethnic minorities. Since I am planning on going to Sapa (in the Northwest) to trek in the villages of the Hmong, Dzao and various other minorities, this museum was a great precursor to my trip. The models of the hill tribes' houses were impressive. One towered over 40 ft! Imagine the shape of a hatchet with its blade pointing up and you have the shape of this house. The museum also had a moving exhibit of the time of the Subsidized Economy in Viet Nam. This was a time of extreme hardship where food, cloth and soap (among various other things) were rationed at portions no middle class person today could imagine doing with. I was impressed by the openness and candor of the exhibit.
The Old Quarter of Hanoi is teeming with backpackers. Everywhere you go you hear an Australian accent. Brits run amok, and I've even met a few Israelis. Everyone has a Lonely Planet upon arrival, and if they don't pirated versions are sold here for $2-$5 (any country you want), which means that virtually every traveler is using the same information. While you can accomplish almost anything you would normally want with a Lonely Planet at your disposal, the assistance and friendship of a local has been just wonderful. Cam on (thank you), Linh.
* actual statistic
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Why I’m Going to Viet Nam
My Chinese and American friends and family have all been asking me why I want to go to Viet Nam. Why Panpan, why? I think they deserve an answer.
It may be easier to first tell you why I DIDN’T choose some other locales for my three and half week solo romp. On the list of exotic/extreme travel locales I know that Viet Nam doesn’t even crack the Top 10. But when deciding where to visit I carefully considered each country’s draws and drawbacks. They are listed in no particular order.
The Kingdom of Bhutan
Draws- Arguably the most isolated country on Earth. Spectacular Himalayan mountains as
your backdrop. Friendly Tibetan people.
Drawbacks- It’s not even that isolated anymore. Some even have satellite TV now! Can’t an indigenous people faithfully maintain their impoverished way of life for the sake of western tourists for once this century?
The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (HA!)
Draw- Another one of those hermetically sealed countries. Chicks dig guys who have been to Pyongyang. The Dear Leader’s lavish parties.
Drawback- Unfortunately, a visit has to be with an official tour group. Tour groups are so passé.
Thailand
Draw- Beautiful beaches, a thriving sex industry, and an incredibly well developed tourism infrastructure.
Drawbacks- You know what they say, “When in Thailand, don’t be fooled by a hot prostitute that is really really hot, but in reality is a small Thai man who has had a sex change.”
Iraq
Draws- The thrill of being in a war-zone. An absolute MUST if one is to be taken as a serious photojournalist.
Drawbacks- Too many Americans are already there. It’s soo, like, 2003’s destination of choice.
I’ve wanted to go Viet Nam for a while now. When I think about why I want to go the first thing that comes to mind is, “Because it would be tight and because I can afford it.” If forced to give real reasons though, I guess I would say that because of my personal background, Viet Nam holds special interest. As an American, the war and its effects on the country both disturbs and intrigues me. In addition, the Chinese dominated Viet Nam for a thousand years before being expelled. (Unless I ate baguettes and wore a beret I couldn’t be more Viet Nam’s oppressor!)
I leave July 3rd and return to Beijing on July 27th. I’ve contacted some people through couchsurfing already (www.couchsurfing.com) so I’m pretty much all set for my accommodationsJ Bon voyage. I’ll try to write again soon.
It may be easier to first tell you why I DIDN’T choose some other locales for my three and half week solo romp. On the list of exotic/extreme travel locales I know that Viet Nam doesn’t even crack the Top 10. But when deciding where to visit I carefully considered each country’s draws and drawbacks. They are listed in no particular order.
The Kingdom of Bhutan
Draws- Arguably the most isolated country on Earth. Spectacular Himalayan mountains as
your backdrop. Friendly Tibetan people.Drawbacks- It’s not even that isolated anymore. Some even have satellite TV now! Can’t an indigenous people faithfully maintain their impoverished way of life for the sake of western tourists for once this century?
The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (HA!)
Draw- Another one of those hermetically sealed countries. Chicks dig guys who have been to Pyongyang. The Dear Leader’s lavish parties.
Drawback- Unfortunately, a visit has to be with an official tour group. Tour groups are so passé.
Thailand
Draw- Beautiful beaches, a thriving sex industry, and an incredibly well developed tourism infrastructure.
Drawbacks- You know what they say, “When in Thailand, don’t be fooled by a hot prostitute that is really really hot, but in reality is a small Thai man who has had a sex change.”
Iraq
Draws- The thrill of being in a war-zone. An absolute MUST if one is to be taken as a serious photojournalist.
Drawbacks- Too many Americans are already there. It’s soo, like, 2003’s destination of choice.
I’ve wanted to go Viet Nam for a while now. When I think about why I want to go the first thing that comes to mind is, “Because it would be tight and because I can afford it.” If forced to give real reasons though, I guess I would say that because of my personal background, Viet Nam holds special interest. As an American, the war and its effects on the country both disturbs and intrigues me. In addition, the Chinese dominated Viet Nam for a thousand years before being expelled. (Unless I ate baguettes and wore a beret I couldn’t be more Viet Nam’s oppressor!)
I leave July 3rd and return to Beijing on July 27th. I’ve contacted some people through couchsurfing already (www.couchsurfing.com) so I’m pretty much all set for my accommodationsJ Bon voyage. I’ll try to write again soon.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
White Chicks
I am forced by Tom for the third time in as many days to watch Damon and Marlon Wayans’ classic, “White Chicks.” The part where lactose intolerant Marlon (or Damon, I don’t really know who is who) gets explosive diarrhea from eating too much quiche and doesn’t know that quiche is made from cheese: SIDE SPLITTING. The part where Damon and Marlon dressed as the Wilson sisters get into a dance off and proceed to use their fresh urban street skillz to summarily destroy their utterly pathetic Caucasian competition: GENIUS. Unfortunately my 15 yr cousin doesn’t get the full benefit of Wayan hilarity. For example, when the shemales go shopping and their friend says to the personal shopping assistant, “I need something for my friend, something that says, ‘I’m not a slut, but I’m not a virgin either’, the Chinese subtitles simply say ‘I’m sorry to trouble you miss, but I need something for my friend’. UGH! Unacceptable that these pilferers of American intellectual property can’t take the time to do a proper translation. Sadly, I find myself laughing out loud with sincerity when my cousin laughs, which is pretty often.
One GREAT thing that came from Tom watching this movie is that he has acquired a taste for Arturo Sandoval. In the beginning of this movie the brothers (dressed as Cuban shopkeepers) sing “Guantanamera” to distract their would-be attackers. I told Tom I had that song and he proceeded to listen to it over and over, eventually requesting that I put it on his mp3 player. I also gave him “Hollaback Girl”. He commented, “The shit is bananas? Does that girl have a mental handicap? Why would a banana be shit?”
Crikey. Cabin fever is setting in. It’s about time to leave Henan.
One GREAT thing that came from Tom watching this movie is that he has acquired a taste for Arturo Sandoval. In the beginning of this movie the brothers (dressed as Cuban shopkeepers) sing “Guantanamera” to distract their would-be attackers. I told Tom I had that song and he proceeded to listen to it over and over, eventually requesting that I put it on his mp3 player. I also gave him “Hollaback Girl”. He commented, “The shit is bananas? Does that girl have a mental handicap? Why would a banana be shit?”Crikey. Cabin fever is setting in. It’s about time to leave Henan.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
My Family
When my Mom and Dad emigrated in 1988 it was my aunt (my mom’s sister) and my aunt’s then fiancé that took care of me for the four months before my dad came to bring me to the U.S.. I was five and Aunt was only 24 or so. Undoubtedly, that is the reason for the close bond that exists between Aunt and I. People would say that I had my father’s eyes and my mom’s face, but I would profess to them, often to my parents’ annoyance, that I had Aunt’s everything.
Me , Aunt , and Uncle eating late night grub (bbq squid and crawfish) .
An example of the closeness between Aunt and I: I get out of the Zhengzhou train station at 7:30 am to my Aunt and Uncle waiting for me in the parking lot. Uncle wants to treat me to a nice breakfast, but Aunt refuses and says, “Who do you think Panpan is? Some sort of celebrity? No, we’re going to eat what we normally would eat!” Twenty cent bowls of porridge and hard-boiled eggs it is! Damn it’s good to be with family.
As an 11, 13 and 15 year old, my summers would be spent entirely living with Aunt, Uncle-in-Law and cousin Mei Zijie (English name: Tom). When Tom was three he had to use the potty, and neither of his parents were home so I had to wipe his butt. Even today, with Tom at 15 years of age I still hold that over his head the way a parent would say, “Do you know how many of your diapers I had to change when you were a baby!”
On my Dad’s side I have two sets of families in Henan. Qian Wang, my 21 yr old cousin just finished her 3rd year of college. She gave herself the English name “Angel”. I guess it could have been worse. It could have been “Candy”. My other cousin, Di Wang, recently finished his junior year of high school. He plays basketball religiously, and recently dyed his hair brownish. During dinner yesterday we were chiding him over the girly stickers he had on his mp3 player. Finally it came out that he has a girlfriend. I tell ya…Chinese kids these days.
Dad's side. Angel front and center.
All of my cousins address me as, ge (guh) or “older brother” while I address them by their names. Growing up an only child, this is one of the idiosyncrasies of Chinese culture that I love the most.
Me , Aunt , and Uncle eating late night grub (bbq squid and crawfish) .
An example of the closeness between Aunt and I: I get out of the Zhengzhou train station at 7:30 am to my Aunt and Uncle waiting for me in the parking lot. Uncle wants to treat me to a nice breakfast, but Aunt refuses and says, “Who do you think Panpan is? Some sort of celebrity? No, we’re going to eat what we normally would eat!” Twenty cent bowls of porridge and hard-boiled eggs it is! Damn it’s good to be with family.As an 11, 13 and 15 year old, my summers would be spent entirely living with Aunt, Uncle-in-Law and cousin Mei Zijie (English name: Tom). When Tom was three he had to use the potty, and neither of his parents were home so I had to wipe his butt. Even today, with Tom at 15 years of age I still hold that over his head the way a parent would say, “Do you know how many of your diapers I had to change when you were a baby!”
On my Dad’s side I have two sets of families in Henan. Qian Wang, my 21 yr old cousin just finished her 3rd year of college. She gave herself the English name “Angel”. I guess it could have been worse. It could have been “Candy”. My other cousin, Di Wang, recently finished his junior year of high school. He plays basketball religiously, and recently dyed his hair brownish. During dinner yesterday we were chiding him over the girly stickers he had on his mp3 player. Finally it came out that he has a girlfriend. I tell ya…Chinese kids these days.
Dad's side. Angel front and center.
All of my cousins address me as, ge (guh) or “older brother” while I address them by their names. Growing up an only child, this is one of the idiosyncrasies of Chinese culture that I love the most.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Roots
Henan (huh naan) with its 100 million people, is the most populous province in a country stacked with populous provinces. Henan is home to Kaifeng and Luoyang (ancient capitals of China) as well as the Shaolin Temple. Due to black market blood and plasma collections in the countryside during the 90s*, Henan is also home to one of the largest population of HIV/AIDS infected individuals in the country. Infection rates in some villages are over 70%.
The Henanese are the butt of many jokes in China. I’ve told plenty of people I am from Henan to which they generally respond, “Really?! But you don’t seem like you’re Henanese!” It’s akin to the judgments a person from the East or West coast might make about a person upon knowing they are from Mississippi. There was even a book by a Henan author written entitled, “How Did Henanese Wrong You?” It goes without saying, of course, that I'll represent Henan, and so will my children's children's children.
For a week I am in Henan visiting family, which generally means doing a lot of nothing. Ojala! that my aunt has internet at home. This is how I have so much freaking time to write these blog entries.
*These “bloodheads” as they are known, would collect blood from farmers who would use this as a means to supplement their measly earnings. The collectivized blood is spun in a centrifuge in order to separate blood’s many parts. Unfortunately the separated plasma is reinjected into the farmers so that they can donate more often. One person thus literally infects an entire village. Repeat this story a hundred times and you have the story of the AIDS epidemic in Henan. See http://www.usembassy-china.org.cn/sandt/henan-jiangnan-ribao.html
The Henanese are the butt of many jokes in China. I’ve told plenty of people I am from Henan to which they generally respond, “Really?! But you don’t seem like you’re Henanese!” It’s akin to the judgments a person from the East or West coast might make about a person upon knowing they are from Mississippi. There was even a book by a Henan author written entitled, “How Did Henanese Wrong You?” It goes without saying, of course, that I'll represent Henan, and so will my children's children's children.
For a week I am in Henan visiting family, which generally means doing a lot of nothing. Ojala! that my aunt has internet at home. This is how I have so much freaking time to write these blog entries.
*These “bloodheads” as they are known, would collect blood from farmers who would use this as a means to supplement their measly earnings. The collectivized blood is spun in a centrifuge in order to separate blood’s many parts. Unfortunately the separated plasma is reinjected into the farmers so that they can donate more often. One person thus literally infects an entire village. Repeat this story a hundred times and you have the story of the AIDS epidemic in Henan. See http://www.usembassy-china.org.cn/sandt/henan-jiangnan-ribao.html
Friday, June 23, 2006
How To Be A Baller
While the majority of my summer travels was, is, and will be on a shoestring budget, being in Shanghai with my homies made me want to be live life fast and loose. Just call me P. Diddy. If you're ever in Shanghai, here's a few tips as to how to be a baller AND a shot-caller.
1. Go to a club/meat market called Windows where the expats hang out seven days a week. Request “Golddigger” and crip walk. Have a Chinese female thug battle you on the dance floor. Lose. Respectfully give mad props all around.
2. Lunch at T8 in Xintiandi, the posh shopping district in Shanghai where the head chef is famous enough where your friends know the gossip regarding his compensation package.
1. Go to a club/meat market called Windows where the expats hang out seven days a week. Request “Golddigger” and crip walk. Have a Chinese female thug battle you on the dance floor. Lose. Respectfully give mad props all around.
2. Lunch at T8 in Xintiandi, the posh shopping district in Shanghai where the head chef is famous enough where your friends know the gossip regarding his compensation package.
Chris, Josh, Josh's cousin, Vince
To really seem like you are a baller, I'd recommend not taking pictures of your food. 
3. Watch the US fail to take destiny into their own hands by losing to Ghana. Be upset for two and a half minutes then realize you were just on the bandwagon anyway. Buy a round, pour a one for the homies restin in peace, and continue being a baller for the rest of the night.
4. Refuse to go to all you can eat Brazilian BBQ because too much meat makes you a gluttonous person, but DO agree to dine at $20 all you can eat sashimi/tepanyaki and all you can drink beer and sake. For sashimi and sake, regardless of quantity, is refined dining and balleresque. Tip your chef generously. Wink at the waitresses if you're blessed with that talent. I am not.
5. Buy a Longines timepiece (from Xiang Yang Market. Duh)
6. Forgo Friday night at the disco for a late night 90 minute full body massage at Da Ban for $15. No scoffing guys and gals, I'm talking about the real deal. No happy endings here. 
Josh is really excited about his massage.
Being A Baller in Shanghai, #1342 on life's to-do list: Check! Oh Shanghai, you truly are the pearl of the Orient.
I've given you Shanghai from a baller's perspective. For an interesting report on another side of Shanghai, check out the recent NY Times front page article on the city's aging population:http://www.nytimes.com/2006/06/30/world/asia/30aging.html
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Shanghai'd!
There are three Georgetown and one Chinese friend I went to see in Shanghai: Vince Cheng ('04), Chris Murphy ('07), Fu Maojie ('05, and Josh Wei ('05). Vince, Chris and I sang together in Superfood (www.freewebs.com/superfood Holla!). I wish I had one pinky's worth of the musical talent as either or those guys. Josh and I met this year through a mutual friend. We are alike in many ways, except height. He calls me big brother. Fu Maojie, whose English name is Sam, was my roommate and best friend while studying in Beijing. During finals week Sam and I, in one 36-hour period watched the entire season three of 24. Throughout the semester Sam taught me some Hainan dialect, while I taught Sam how to drink hard alcohol. Sam was in Shanghai on business for the weekend, which was why I visited Shanghai when I did. Oddly, there was a certain normalcy in having a reunion among friends in Shanghai. Why wouldn't I see people that I sang and hung out with in college in China? You gotta love living in the 21st century.
I've been to Shanghai a few times before and have seen many of the sights: catholic cathedrals, Confucius gardens, the French Quarter, and the Bund. I've indulged myself by shopping for myself and others in the multi-football field sized market filled with fake EVERYTHING. From Hermes wallets to TaylorMade 3 woods, you can find it at Xiang Yang Market. But did I venture out to these again? Besides to get my cousins a few presents at the market, Hell No. Shanghai's heat, humidity and pollution makes one LONG for a D.C. summer day. Stepping outside of your own freewill between the hours of 10am-4pm makes you a masochist by default. Some of the original gangstas (locals), O.G.s we shall call them, amble casually around on the streets in their underwear and a wife-beater, fan in hand. Oh to be so gangsta!
During the days I spent most of my time with Chris in his totally laid-back office. An air-conditioned and wireless Internet oasis. The name of his company is BUD AR. Actually it's BUDZAR, but the sign people got the Z backwards so for the first day I was there they were Z-less. Despite my lazy and unadventerous attitude during the days, we tried to make up for it with our evenings.
1. Shanghai restaurant workers playing badminton while on break. Sure beats smokin a butt. Well, they did that too.
2. Ted Novak (another Georgetowntown grad I randomly bumped into while having lunch in Shanghai), Me, Josh, Chris and Vince.
I've been to Shanghai a few times before and have seen many of the sights: catholic cathedrals, Confucius gardens, the French Quarter, and the Bund. I've indulged myself by shopping for myself and others in the multi-football field sized market filled with fake EVERYTHING. From Hermes wallets to TaylorMade 3 woods, you can find it at Xiang Yang Market. But did I venture out to these again? Besides to get my cousins a few presents at the market, Hell No. Shanghai's heat, humidity and pollution makes one LONG for a D.C. summer day. Stepping outside of your own freewill between the hours of 10am-4pm makes you a masochist by default. Some of the original gangstas (locals), O.G.s we shall call them, amble casually around on the streets in their underwear and a wife-beater, fan in hand. Oh to be so gangsta!
During the days I spent most of my time with Chris in his totally laid-back office. An air-conditioned and wireless Internet oasis. The name of his company is BUD AR. Actually it's BUDZAR, but the sign people got the Z backwards so for the first day I was there they were Z-less. Despite my lazy and unadventerous attitude during the days, we tried to make up for it with our evenings.
1. Shanghai restaurant workers playing badminton while on break. Sure beats smokin a butt. Well, they did that too.
2. Ted Novak (another Georgetowntown grad I randomly bumped into while having lunch in Shanghai), Me, Josh, Chris and Vince.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Beijing Flying Man
My father plays table tennis, swims regularly, and does push-ups. I think of him as a fit man. He is fifty-two years old. His new hobby, which he's told me about many times but I've only seen firsthand since coming to China, is paragliding. That's the one where you run off the side of a mountain and hope to catch thermals, not the one where you are sitting down while being dragged by a boat. It's relatively easy to imagine someone doing this activity, but one's father?
I get to my father's apartment from the airport around 6:30am, and we rest for much of the morning. By 1pm we are on Great Wall Expressway heading towards the training grounds (a small mountain 75km outside of Beijing) where Dad has been practicing and flying his ‘chute for the past few months. Their club is called Beijing Flying Man (www.flying-man.com), and the instructors include a national champion paraglider. Contrary to popular opinion about alternative sports in developing countries (something the populous regularly gives an opinion on, I'm sure...), they can in fact, be pretty legit. By serendipity my arrival coincides with plans the club had to go to Inner Mongolia* for a weekend paragliding trip. I chat with an instructor for a few minutes, trying to get some gossip about my father. “Your father is a really diligent student, really hard working,” one says. My skepticism of this whole thing is tempered a bit by these words. After a quick lunch of steamed buns and preserved vegetables, our caravan of enthusiasts departs. I notice everyone has a Beijing Flying Man decal on their bumpers. My Dad has not put his on.
I awaken from my half comatose state to the vast expanse of grassland that was once characteristic of much of Inner Mongolia. These grasslands are quickly disappearing due to desertification caused by overgrazing, generally poor agricultural techniques and changes in climate patterns. The sun has just set and there is no light pollution for miles. I can 1) breathe pollution-free air and 2) see the amorphous swath of the Milky Way; both rare and much appreciated occurrences in China (or the US for that matter). Our lodging for the weekend are Mongolian style circular huts. They are about 25 ft in diameter with low ceilings with about 1/5 of the space partitioned into the bathroom. A western style toilet, sink and running water are all included. From the outside it looks rather traditional, but on the inside all the amenities (besides shower) one would want. I go straight to bed after dinner because sunrise is at 4:45am.**
Since we're at about 2000meters, the weather is much cooler than the stifling heat of Beijing. When I get up to take pictures around 5am it's actually cold outside. Dad gets up around 6 and says in a rather convincingly professional tone, “The winds are the perfect for doing some ground handling.” Ground handling, as I would see, is essentially trying to keep your parachute up while you are standing on the ground. Not unlike keeping up a big kite. For beginners, ground handling is essential. Dad says he has logged about 30 hours of ground handling time compared with less than half an hour of time in the air.
I'm surprised at how impressed I am by his beautiful red, white and blue “Arccus 4” parachute. When the wind fills the 'chute and it lifts 15 feet into the air straight above his head, all my skepticism about my Dad's new hobby is dispelled. This is cool as hell. Unfortunately, the winds would pick up after our morning session, and it would be too dangerous to try and fly for much of that first day. We spent much of it riding the horses that were kept behind the compound. By the afternoon, the winds would die down and we would hike up a small mountain nearby to go paragliding. What a thrill to see Dad get airborne! The following day I got to go in a powered hangglider. One word: Tiiiight. What an unexpected and exhilarating way to start of my summer tour...
*Inner Mongolia is a province in China that borders Mongolia.
**All of China is set to Beijing time so you get whacked out times for sunrise and sunrise.
1. Sunrise and our tents
2. Ground handling
3. Shearing a sheep that would almost immediately later be slaughtered. Really gruesome process...I'll spare the details
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Home
Home
The A/C is only coming out of the defroster, and we are slowly roasting in our truck. Rolling down the windows is like putting an industrial sized hairdryer to your face and hands as the heat around Phoenix is relentless. Thankfully, this lasts only 45 minutes until the a/c begins to work properly. 330 miles to L.A.
The driving is quieter than in previous days. I suspect we are both recounting in our minds the shared but I’m sure very different experiences we shared along what would finally be a 3700 mile journey. It still hasn’t fully hit me that I am moving back home. The hectic nature of a roadtrip such as ours allows little time for introspection and reflection, but this silent drive, which literally into the sunset, allows for just that. I think of the friends I’m both leaving and coming home to, the familiarity of D.C. quadrants and metro stops replaced by a sprawling freeway system I definitely wouldn’t mind holding off on using for a while. I think of BBQs at 1250 Columbia Rd with Eddie, Davin and friends, and I think of dancing like Felice’s grandfather…whenever and wherever.
Suddenly, I realize that I no longer need our atlas. I simply know which exit I’m going to take next. My mom lives on the first floor of a stucco apartment building that is on the corner of Benito and Valley, and as I pass by I yell out my halfway rolled down window, “Ma! Wo hui lai le! (Mom, I’m back!).”
I park the Penske, and Brian and I go inside to devour fried dumplings Mom has just prepared. As usual Mom put a little too much sesame oil in the dipping sauce, but I don’t mind so much this time. I just smile and eat.
The A/C is only coming out of the defroster, and we are slowly roasting in our truck. Rolling down the windows is like putting an industrial sized hairdryer to your face and hands as the heat around Phoenix is relentless. Thankfully, this lasts only 45 minutes until the a/c begins to work properly. 330 miles to L.A.
The driving is quieter than in previous days. I suspect we are both recounting in our minds the shared but I’m sure very different experiences we shared along what would finally be a 3700 mile journey. It still hasn’t fully hit me that I am moving back home. The hectic nature of a roadtrip such as ours allows little time for introspection and reflection, but this silent drive, which literally into the sunset, allows for just that. I think of the friends I’m both leaving and coming home to, the familiarity of D.C. quadrants and metro stops replaced by a sprawling freeway system I definitely wouldn’t mind holding off on using for a while. I think of BBQs at 1250 Columbia Rd with Eddie, Davin and friends, and I think of dancing like Felice’s grandfather…whenever and wherever.
Suddenly, I realize that I no longer need our atlas. I simply know which exit I’m going to take next. My mom lives on the first floor of a stucco apartment building that is on the corner of Benito and Valley, and as I pass by I yell out my halfway rolled down window, “Ma! Wo hui lai le! (Mom, I’m back!).”
I park the Penske, and Brian and I go inside to devour fried dumplings Mom has just prepared. As usual Mom put a little too much sesame oil in the dipping sauce, but I don’t mind so much this time. I just smile and eat.
Dinner with Giants
Our dinner guest at Grandpa’s clubhouse is Jack Parker, Jack Welch’s predecessor at General Electric. Although the scale of business success doesn’t really get much better than heading up a Fortune 10 company, it wasn’t Mr. Parkers business accomplishments that we wanted to hear about. The conversation turned to hunting, as it seemed to do pretty naturally with Grandpa, who almost exclusively hunts fowl. Jack, however, is a big game hunter. You name it, he’s bagged it. The Big 5, as he called it: rhinocerous, water buffalo, lion, elephant and leopard. Pretty much standard trophies, from the way Jack told it. (Sheesh!) I know what some of you may be thinking; I love bloodsports! Well, to be honest, I’m not big on hunting and couldn’t really imagine killing anything either. However, when a guy tells you that in 1958 he was accompanied by one Eskimo and a team of six dogs out on the frozen water above the Arctic circle in Alaska to hunt polar bear, you can only think, “This man is ONE- BADASS-MUTHAFUCKA”. I mean, he probably didn’t even have an iPod to listen to when he had to sit inside that tent for four straight days to weather that blizzard he was in.
We get home from dinner around 9. By the same time the following day, Brian and I will be back home in Alhambra, California.
We get home from dinner around 9. By the same time the following day, Brian and I will be back home in Alhambra, California.
Down The Canyon and Flagstaff
It’s 106 degrees in the shade. OK, so it’s not quite 106 when we hiked, but later in the day it would be. Equipped with fruit, water and “pop” from Grandpa’s fridge we descend 1,300 ft from the canyon rim down the South Kaibab Trail. It’s a short 1.4 miles, but with so much elevation change, the climb back up gets your heart going. The views are spectacular and well worth it. I’ll yield to the pictures and save you from more reading.
We’re back in Flagstaff by the mid afternoon well before the 6:30 dinnertime Grandpa set for us, and so we decide to explore this city a little. San Francisco St. is the hip and trendy area. I mean, it does have a Coldstone Creamery. Two nice surprises: The first was stumbling upon a photography exhibition featuring Sue Bennett and Dave Edwards. (I guess First Friday gallery walks aren’t just in Dupont!) Edwards shot one of the “Top 100 Photographs” as determined by The National Geographic Society (http://www.daveedwards.com/editorial.html) Edwards’ day job is being a river guide on the Colorado, and he makes his home in Flagstaff. The exhibition was in his studio/gallery. I buy three photos of Mongolians which I intend to frame. The second surprise is a fundraising drive called Empty Bowls put on by local high school kids for a nearby food shelter. Their source of revenue was selling homemade ceramics (bowls, naturally). The highlight, however, was a performance by several girls and someone I assumed to be their hippie teacher, that upon first glance seemed to be someone’s acid trip being enacted out. Brian and I were intrigued, perplexed, and a little concerned for the sanity of these children. However, we couldn’t look away and were in fact really enjoying the sh
ow. After a minute it dawns on us that this was, in fact, a choreographed, silent rendition of the story of Peter Pan set to Jack Johnson’s “Better Together”. Totally original and delightful! But good gracious the hallucinogens these youngsters must be doing these days…
We’re back in Flagstaff by the mid afternoon well before the 6:30 dinnertime Grandpa set for us, and so we decide to explore this city a little. San Francisco St. is the hip and trendy area. I mean, it does have a Coldstone Creamery. Two nice surprises: The first was stumbling upon a photography exhibition featuring Sue Bennett and Dave Edwards. (I guess First Friday gallery walks aren’t just in Dupont!) Edwards shot one of the “Top 100 Photographs” as determined by The National Geographic Society (http://www.daveedwards.com/editorial.html) Edwards’ day job is being a river guide on the Colorado, and he makes his home in Flagstaff. The exhibition was in his studio/gallery. I buy three photos of Mongolians which I intend to frame. The second surprise is a fundraising drive called Empty Bowls put on by local high school kids for a nearby food shelter. Their source of revenue was selling homemade ceramics (bowls, naturally). The highlight, however, was a performance by several girls and someone I assumed to be their hippie teacher, that upon first glance seemed to be someone’s acid trip being enacted out. Brian and I were intrigued, perplexed, and a little concerned for the sanity of these children. However, we couldn’t look away and were in fact really enjoying the sh
ow. After a minute it dawns on us that this was, in fact, a choreographed, silent rendition of the story of Peter Pan set to Jack Johnson’s “Better Together”. Totally original and delightful! But good gracious the hallucinogens these youngsters must be doing these days…
Utah
Utah
The Loneliest Road
Previously when I thought of Utah the first images that came to mind were the Church of Latter Day Saints, a big salt lake, and Karl Malone. Now, Utah will be associated with landscape that is desolate and barren so as to evoke images of Dune or some other Sci-Fi novel. Yet, there is undeniable serenity in the desert. I appreciate the beauty, of course, so long as my A/C is working properly. Thousand foot tall mesas span the horizon. The erosion from water runoff makes for interesting and symmetric ridges on the mesas’ sides. Much of drive on I-70 could be described as (beautiful) wasteland, but it does not compare to the 43 miles on US-128 one needs to take to get from I-70 into Moab. There are no power lines or exits. Billboards? Probably wouldn’t be capturing the broadest of markets. For the first twenty miles we saw absolutely no other cars. Naturally, we took the opportunity to take some vanity shots in the middle of the road. The second 20 miles was along found us along the Colorado River and in between high canyon walls.
Disappointment
We try to make it to Arches by “magic hour”, the time around dusk and dawn where the lighting makes for dramatic photographs. The sun sets before we can get into the campsite, and we do not make it. What’s worse, the campsite is full, and we must turn around and drive the 18 winding miles out of the park to find either a campground along the highway, or possibly find logding in Moab which thankfully is only 3 miles outside the park’s entrance. It’s already 10pm and we’re hungry, so first thing’s first. We choose to eat at none other than the very definition of Fare Americana: Denny’s. The nametag on our waitress reads “Tammra”. When the plate of pathetically small portioned chicken fingers and lukewarm unbrowned potato slivers disguised as hash browns arrive, they are not accompanied by the forks, knives, and plates that are “traditionally” given to customers alongside the “food” served in a “restaurant”. When we ask Tammra if we may have all of the above, Tammra responds not apologetically but with a rather surprised, “Oh, yeah…sure.” Oh Tammra…how I miss you. Unsatisfied and delirious we decide to make camp at Motel 6.
We Make Magic Hour
After 5 hours of sleep we park in Devil’s Garden campgrounds, which is the trailhead for the park’s most scenic hike. It’s 5:50 am and the sun is just rising. The good news is we make Magic Hour. The bad news is that we have a 7.2 mile hike ahead of us (if we want to see all arches along this particular trail, which we do), and the only food we have is half a box of Honey Bunches of Oats I brought from D.C. In our haste we did not think of such trifles as “necessities”. Clearly, there is no other decision to be made other than to do the full hike, Honey Bunches of Oats in hand.
It’s about eleven o’clock when we make it out of the trail. The parking lot that had one other car in it when we arrived now has over 80, including school buses and campers, with more still coming in. The sun is ablaze now, and I do not envy the people just starting their hikes. After a brief stop in the visitor’s center at the park entrance where I buy a refrigerator magnet for Mom and make a sad attempt to flirt with a couple of women from Taiwan, we are on the road again. Grandpa Paul and Grandma Mary, and Grand Canyon National Park are waiting for us in Arizona.
Grandpa Paul
My father met Paul and Mary Schilling in 1979 while he was a freshmen at Henan University. Grandma Mary and Grandpa Paul were among the first foreign tourists to visit my home province of Henan, and definitely one of the first to visit the University. Not wishing to lose the opportunity to talk with flesh and blood Yankees, my Dad approached Paul and Mary to practice his English. That initial relationship developed into a pen-pal friendship lasting nearly a decade. And when my family came to Kansas in the late 80s, Paul and Mary would always make it a point to go out of their way to visit us along their twice-yearly St. Paul, MN (their summer home)- Scottsdale, AZ (their winter home) drive. For my first Christmas in the states, Grandpa Paul was my Santa Clause. I was glad to finally be able to start returning the gestures, even if I’m still falling four or five visits, numerous presents, and incalculable effort short.
When I was younger it wasn’t Grandpa’s many accomplishments in business (e.g. CEO of Plastics, Inc.), various personal relationships (e.g. friendships with every Republican President since Ford), or even his military honors (e.g. Purple Heart in WWII) that I appreciated. Those things are not lost on me now that I’m older. However, my favorite anecdote about Grandpa and still the one I’m most impressed with is that Grandpa invented the egg carton. To confirm this, because children tend to exaggerate memories their minds, I ask at the dinner table in front of Brian, “Grandpa, did you invent the egg carton?” “You mean the one you use today? Oh yeah sure. I got two bucks for it, too!” …The one we use today? As opposed to what?! Lots of measurements of diameters and circumferences clearly took place and Grandpa tells another story about how the carton came to be, and while I will butcher the joke if I attempt to recall it, the punchline that came out of Grandpa’s mouth in a sly whisper: “What’s the moral of the story boys? The moral of the story is that you can only stretch a chicken’s asshole so far.” Brian and I roll in hysterics.
When I was younger it wasn’t Grandpa’s many accomplishments in business (e.g. CEO of Plastics, Inc.), various personal relationships (e.g. friendships with every Republican President since Ford), or even his military honors (e.g. Purple Heart in WWII) that I appreciated. Those things are not lost on me now that I’m older. However, my favorite anecdote about Grandpa and still the one I’m most impressed with is that Grandpa invented the egg carton. To confirm this, because children tend to exaggerate memories their minds, I ask at the dinner table in front of Brian, “Grandpa, did you invent the egg carton?” “You mean the one you use today? Oh yeah sure. I got two bucks for it, too!” …The one we use today? As opposed to what?! Lots of measurements of diameters and circumferences clearly took place and Grandpa tells another story about how the carton came to be, and while I will butcher the joke if I attempt to recall it, the punchline that came out of Grandpa’s mouth in a sly whisper: “What’s the moral of the story boys? The moral of the story is that you can only stretch a chicken’s asshole so far.” Brian and I roll in hysterics.
Dividing a Continent
About 50 miles northwest of Denver is Rocky Mountain National Park. As we enter the town of Estes Park, CO on US-34 we let out a collective “Daaaaaamn Gina…” Four 11,000+ peaks jut out from the horizon with their rugged bowl shaped faces. Since it’s early in the season there is still ample snow on the mountains. Our clock reads 6:45pm, and the sun’s rays are playing with the clouds, rock and snow before us. For Brian, who is from Hawaii, this scenery is jaw dropping. For me…it’s no different: I am also inspired. Within two minutes of driving into the park we need to stop for a herd of elk that crosses in front of us. Captivated, we asked ourselves as we asked many times on the trip, “…Where are we?…” Dense pine forests and winding rivers from the snowmelt accompany us all the way to Glacier Basin, which is to be our home for the night. With it’s well-maintained campsites, clean bathrooms (with Purell in the soap dispensers!), and the ridiculously photogenic field adjacent to where we would sleep, it was the Ritz Carlton of campgrounds. I heard from a friend’s uncle’s step sister’s cousin’s baby’s mama that Paris Hilton stayed there.
After the Midwest Tour d’Gluttony we went on in Chicago, Milwaukee and Lawrence, it was time to get off our lazy bums. An early morning hike to two pristine mountain lakes? Sounds pretty average to me, but we gave it a try. The reflection off the lakes was so clear we could look at the photos we took upside down and not be able to tell the difference between earth and water.
In order to get out of the park we decide to drive through it on the 47 mile Trail Ridge Road rather than double-backing out of it despite warnings that our 12’ Penske would not be the most ideal vehicle to go climbing through the tundra. The road has been cleared of snow so the drive proved to be a breeze. In fact, we saw many Winnebagos doing the drive. Our decision was rewarded with spectacular views of the valleys, peaks and forests we were just in. It took all our will power to stop only three times on the drive to take pictures! We make it out of RNP. Only eight more hours to Arches National Park…
After the Midwest Tour d’Gluttony we went on in Chicago, Milwaukee and Lawrence, it was time to get off our lazy bums. An early morning hike to two pristine mountain lakes? Sounds pretty average to me, but we gave it a try. The reflection off the lakes was so clear we could look at the photos we took upside down and not be able to tell the difference between earth and water.
In order to get out of the park we decide to drive through it on the 47 mile Trail Ridge Road rather than double-backing out of it despite warnings that our 12’ Penske would not be the most ideal vehicle to go climbing through the tundra. The road has been cleared of snow so the drive proved to be a breeze. In fact, we saw many Winnebagos doing the drive. Our decision was rewarded with spectacular views of the valleys, peaks and forests we were just in. It took all our will power to stop only three times on the drive to take pictures! We make it out of RNP. Only eight more hours to Arches National Park…
Leaving Kansas
We leave Randy’s (Lawrence, KS) with a few more items than we came: a tent, ground pad, national park guidebooks, and an idea of where we are headed next. Among my friends Randy’s knowledge of national parks is unparalled, and thus the itinerary of our trip post-Kansas would largely be dependent on his recommendations. We end up deciding to camp Tuesday night in Rocky Mountain National Park, spend a half day in the park, making to Arches National Park in southern Utah by Wed night, spend a half day in Arches, and finally getting to Flagstaff, AZ by Thursday night.
The truck’s A/C is substituted for vent as the hot and sticky weather of eastern Kansas gives way to brisk 55 degree temperatures after a couple hundred miles heading west on I-70. Eastern Colorado is just as flat as Kansas (although a couple thousand feet higher. We eagerly await our first glimpse of the Rockies. Maybe it’s because of elementary school American history and stories of the Oregon Trail, or maybe it’s from old western movies, but there is definitely something about heading West that feels good to the soul…
The truck’s A/C is substituted for vent as the hot and sticky weather of eastern Kansas gives way to brisk 55 degree temperatures after a couple hundred miles heading west on I-70. Eastern Colorado is just as flat as Kansas (although a couple thousand feet higher. We eagerly await our first glimpse of the Rockies. Maybe it’s because of elementary school American history and stories of the Oregon Trail, or maybe it’s from old western movies, but there is definitely something about heading West that feels good to the soul…
On The Road
After six days and 3112 miles, we arrived early this evening at my family friend's Flagstaff, AZ home. We are planning to wake up well before sunrise, as we have become accustomed to doing the past few days, in order to see the Grand Canyon at it's viewing best...
Our journey started last Friday with a fully loaded 12' Penske rental truck. All of my belongings stuffed in the back, and all the music and my bonsai riding up front. Hoping to get out of D.C. before Memorial Day traffic, we leave the house by 7:15. Within 20 miles of leaving 1250 Columbia Rd. NW I received a $143 speeding ticket. I was going with traffic, but I was also in a large yellow moving truck. Thank you Virginia state trooper. You are the best. With the inevitable traffic violation out of the way, we're off. The first day was a straight shot to Chicago. Through massive rainstorms in Ohio and Indiana where we were driving 40mph with our emergeny blinkers on, we finally see the Sears Tower around 6:00pm. Around 8 we make it to our accomodations for the night in Elmhurst, IL. If you don't know Kaitlin Fahey, you should. You should also go out in the city of Elmhurst at midnight with Kate and her best friend Zoya. It's a guaranteed good time, especially if you start the night with 2 shots of tequila and especially if you keep saying to your friends, "These vodka sodas taste like water. They don't have any vodka in them...do they?" Recipe for fun. A special shout out to Jan, my Polish brutha from the other NW (Chi-town): Thanks for making it out to visit in the morning. We had a blast!
Up in Milwaukee, WI the next day was a reunion with my friend and teammate, Davin. Let me just say that Papa Fischer, Davin's father, makes a damn good paella (both veggie and meat-eater). However, remind me never to eat at Kopp's custard stand next time I'm up in Wisconsin as both Brian and I could feel the cream flowing through our arteries constricting as we were eating those...desserts? Saturday evening we went to the quintessential Milwaukee bar, and I learned how to play darts (cricket); my new favorite game. We closed Wolski's Tavern. Punto.
Sunday evening/Monday: Lawrence, KS
Memories flood into my head as I pull off I-70 onto the West Lawrence exit. Brian is forced to listen as I ramble on about the parks and recreation facility where I spent my summers playing basketball, the church parking lot where I learned to drive, and the street corner where my best friend jacked his car. The local grocery store where my friends worked summer jobs, my junior high... All this within 10 minutes of pulling into the city. Our host is Randy Baum, who I've known since the 6th grade and with whom I've traveled extensively in China. That night more cricket is played at a local college bar where I see other kids I went to junior high with. A trip for both them and me. The next day we go to Randy's grandma, Rosie's house. Have you ever had baked honey apples served on top of pork chops? Apparently they go really well together. And, of course, you can't forget the thick, dripping-made gravy to top it all off. All the while lightning lasting almost a full second per strike is sounding off all around. I love Kansas thunderstorms. In the evening we go to buy a road atlas, as we've been relying strictly on maps.google for the duration of the trip. Since the remainder of the trip will be spent in the national parks out west, spending $5.50 on a huge Rand McNally at the local Wal-Mart Supercenter seemed well worth it.
Monday/Tuesday/Wed
As it is getting late in AZ and we have yet another day of national parks ahead of us, I am cutting this email short. A farse, since it's already rather long-winded. Expect another one coming up about camping and hiking in majestic Rocky Mountain National Park, the vast and desolate southwest, and the miracle of erosion that is Arches National Park, not to mention the Grand Canyon.
Our journey started last Friday with a fully loaded 12' Penske rental truck. All of my belongings stuffed in the back, and all the music and my bonsai riding up front. Hoping to get out of D.C. before Memorial Day traffic, we leave the house by 7:15. Within 20 miles of leaving 1250 Columbia Rd. NW I received a $143 speeding ticket. I was going with traffic, but I was also in a large yellow moving truck. Thank you Virginia state trooper. You are the best. With the inevitable traffic violation out of the way, we're off. The first day was a straight shot to Chicago. Through massive rainstorms in Ohio and Indiana where we were driving 40mph with our emergeny blinkers on, we finally see the Sears Tower around 6:00pm. Around 8 we make it to our accomodations for the night in Elmhurst, IL. If you don't know Kaitlin Fahey, you should. You should also go out in the city of Elmhurst at midnight with Kate and her best friend Zoya. It's a guaranteed good time, especially if you start the night with 2 shots of tequila and especially if you keep saying to your friends, "These vodka sodas taste like water. They don't have any vodka in them...do they?" Recipe for fun. A special shout out to Jan, my Polish brutha from the other NW (Chi-town): Thanks for making it out to visit in the morning. We had a blast!
Up in Milwaukee, WI the next day was a reunion with my friend and teammate, Davin. Let me just say that Papa Fischer, Davin's father, makes a damn good paella (both veggie and meat-eater). However, remind me never to eat at Kopp's custard stand next time I'm up in Wisconsin as both Brian and I could feel the cream flowing through our arteries constricting as we were eating those...desserts? Saturday evening we went to the quintessential Milwaukee bar, and I learned how to play darts (cricket); my new favorite game. We closed Wolski's Tavern. Punto.
Sunday evening/Monday: Lawrence, KS
Memories flood into my head as I pull off I-70 onto the West Lawrence exit. Brian is forced to listen as I ramble on about the parks and recreation facility where I spent my summers playing basketball, the church parking lot where I learned to drive, and the street corner where my best friend jacked his car. The local grocery store where my friends worked summer jobs, my junior high... All this within 10 minutes of pulling into the city. Our host is Randy Baum, who I've known since the 6th grade and with whom I've traveled extensively in China. That night more cricket is played at a local college bar where I see other kids I went to junior high with. A trip for both them and me. The next day we go to Randy's grandma, Rosie's house. Have you ever had baked honey apples served on top of pork chops? Apparently they go really well together. And, of course, you can't forget the thick, dripping-made gravy to top it all off. All the while lightning lasting almost a full second per strike is sounding off all around. I love Kansas thunderstorms. In the evening we go to buy a road atlas, as we've been relying strictly on maps.google for the duration of the trip. Since the remainder of the trip will be spent in the national parks out west, spending $5.50 on a huge Rand McNally at the local Wal-Mart Supercenter seemed well worth it.
Monday/Tuesday/Wed
As it is getting late in AZ and we have yet another day of national parks ahead of us, I am cutting this email short. A farse, since it's already rather long-winded. Expect another one coming up about camping and hiking in majestic Rocky Mountain National Park, the vast and desolate southwest, and the miracle of erosion that is Arches National Park, not to mention the Grand Canyon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)