...from my travels :p I got to bed at midnight Wednesday and slept until noon Thursday. I needed that. On the docket are: 1) Bank of China to cash a traveler's check, one of the few banks that do, 2) find a good internet bar to upload pictures, 3) maybe stop by the teahouse to purchase the small Buddha statue that caught my eye.
The branch of Bank of China nearest my hostel doesn't cash checks. I saw another branch on my way to the Xinnanmen bus station (from whence I went to Qingcheng Shan). So I hop on the bus again. I don't remember exactly where it is, so I'm looking out the windows assiduously. I see a different branch (on the west side of the main thoroughfare), hop off at the next stop, and walk the 10 minutes back to it. It has a sign and the security gates are half down. It looks like they're closed. I saw this in passing from the bus, but figured they were closed for lunch. They're closed for more than that, as several locals read the sign and carry on. So I walk back 10 minutes to the bus stop, pause, look-up and see the newly opened branch of the Bank of China like 10 feet beyond the bus stop. How did I miss that getting off? I wasn't looking for it, so I didn't see it. These continual lessons in mind-affecting-perception would sink in if I'd only pay attention ; )
Newly laden with cash, I hop back on the bus and ride to the rest of the way to Xinnanmen station. The guidebook says there is a good internet bar on the 2nd floor. Now if I could just find the entrance to the second floor... In looking, I near the corner, but then decide to head back to the tourist office and ask them. They tell me to go around the corner, and sure enough, there is a 30-feet tall sign saying "Wang3ba1." I am reminded of the night before, stopping a few hundred yards from the area I knew.
So an hour or so blogging and uploading photos - damn, this is a nice internet bar - with a helpful college student stopping by every so often to chat. Based on the all drama in my head surrounding the purchase of this antique statue, the veracity and value of which I have no idea of, I decide to forgo it. As the saying goes, "If you have to ask, the answer is no."
I'm running out of time before my calligraphy lesson, so I take a cab back, have a bowl of miso soup as a snack at the hostel (the owner is Singaporean and his wife Japanese, and everyone is trilingual), and then go out front to meet Mike (his Western name) for calligraphy lessons. We head across the street to a teahouse he knows.
Ahhh, now I'm the know. Mike says his job is to make me feel Chinese. I already do, for we have entered a coveted "second floor"-establishment. In Hangzhou and Shanghai, I would see nice restaurants on the second floors of buildings. The only one I tried entering, I did so on Valentine's Day, and they were booked (no really, a Chinese couple in front of me was asked, "You3 mei2you3 *****?" "Mei2you3," they responded, and then an apologetic look on the hostess' face. I was "meiyou" too.). Now these second-floor establishments are to be distinguished from the bi-level restaurants that have first and second floor seating. I don't know why. I'm working by feel here. But this is the Chinese "Starbucks" (figuratively speaking, as opposed to the actual Chinese Starbucks), that is, the cultural equivalent, where you can while away an afternoon with a hot drink in a pleasant ambiance. Ours: small tables surrounded by cane chairs with deep cushions spread throughout a warmly carpetered space with plants and aquariums. And blessedly, no fluorescent lights. Mike informs me that there are cheaper teahouses, but they are less nice. As a result, the tea here costs 8 yuan instead of 6 yuan. I'm almost embarrassed by the incremental cost.
We get down to business. He has bought me a brush, ink, and training booklet. Looking at the booklet, he decides it's a little advanced for me (it is, as I am shortly to discover, but it is for my future training). The hostess brings us a blank booklet and some newspaper so we don't spill ink on the table. In the blank booklet we begin easy. His writing is effortless and beautiful, mine effortful and appearing to be the product of a severly drunk three-year-old with a concussion. In my defense, writing with a brush is a four-dimensional juggling act: you have to balance the horizontal velocity with pressure and the angle you hold the brush at
(yes, you need two angles to specify the brush orientation, but they're kind of coupled). No, make it five-dimensional, because the horizontal velocity is time-varying even within a single stroke, sometimes slow, then pausing, then a flick as you release pressure. I get a few "hao de" but a lot more "like this" and try again. It's fun. I can see myself getting addicted. (BTW, if you look close you will see my 30 second rendition of LA with the characters for ocean, mountain, and land, and the land is hot - these were some characters I was learning - the beautiful character in the lower left is his: bing1, which is ice.)
My brain eventually gets full (new knowledge starts skipping off the surface), and we call it quits. Now quite hungry, I head back to the hostel for dinner and see an item I hadn't noticed before (it has no picture): smoked tofu with green peppers. [Singing] I'm in heaven. I get that, rice, and a black lager (it tastes like a porter, but is light like a lager, they roast the malts before brewing - it's my favorite beer). I'm warm and happy, and smoked anything is my favorite, especially with a dark beer on a cold night. One of my best meals in China. I'll have to add this to my (very small) repertoire of dishes I can cook.
I have an 11:45 am flight to Beijing tomorrow, and I just reserved a room at a hostel in a hutong. The last leg of my journey begins tomorrow. Amazing how 12 hours of sleep improves your outlook on life (and smoked tofu : )
Good night,
Dan
The branch of Bank of China nearest my hostel doesn't cash checks. I saw another branch on my way to the Xinnanmen bus station (from whence I went to Qingcheng Shan). So I hop on the bus again. I don't remember exactly where it is, so I'm looking out the windows assiduously. I see a different branch (on the west side of the main thoroughfare), hop off at the next stop, and walk the 10 minutes back to it. It has a sign and the security gates are half down. It looks like they're closed. I saw this in passing from the bus, but figured they were closed for lunch. They're closed for more than that, as several locals read the sign and carry on. So I walk back 10 minutes to the bus stop, pause, look-up and see the newly opened branch of the Bank of China like 10 feet beyond the bus stop. How did I miss that getting off? I wasn't looking for it, so I didn't see it. These continual lessons in mind-affecting-perception would sink in if I'd only pay attention ; )
Newly laden with cash, I hop back on the bus and ride to the rest of the way to Xinnanmen station. The guidebook says there is a good internet bar on the 2nd floor. Now if I could just find the entrance to the second floor... In looking, I near the corner, but then decide to head back to the tourist office and ask them. They tell me to go around the corner, and sure enough, there is a 30-feet tall sign saying "Wang3ba1." I am reminded of the night before, stopping a few hundred yards from the area I knew.
So an hour or so blogging and uploading photos - damn, this is a nice internet bar - with a helpful college student stopping by every so often to chat. Based on the all drama in my head surrounding the purchase of this antique statue, the veracity and value of which I have no idea of, I decide to forgo it. As the saying goes, "If you have to ask, the answer is no."
I'm running out of time before my calligraphy lesson, so I take a cab back, have a bowl of miso soup as a snack at the hostel (the owner is Singaporean and his wife Japanese, and everyone is trilingual), and then go out front to meet Mike (his Western name) for calligraphy lessons. We head across the street to a teahouse he knows.
Ahhh, now I'm the know. Mike says his job is to make me feel Chinese. I already do, for we have entered a coveted "second floor"-establishment. In Hangzhou and Shanghai, I would see nice restaurants on the second floors of buildings. The only one I tried entering, I did so on Valentine's Day, and they were booked (no really, a Chinese couple in front of me was asked, "You3 mei2you3 *****?" "Mei2you3," they responded, and then an apologetic look on the hostess' face. I was "meiyou" too.). Now these second-floor establishments are to be distinguished from the bi-level restaurants that have first and second floor seating. I don't know why. I'm working by feel here. But this is the Chinese "Starbucks" (figuratively speaking, as opposed to the actual Chinese Starbucks), that is, the cultural equivalent, where you can while away an afternoon with a hot drink in a pleasant ambiance. Ours: small tables surrounded by cane chairs with deep cushions spread throughout a warmly carpetered space with plants and aquariums. And blessedly, no fluorescent lights. Mike informs me that there are cheaper teahouses, but they are less nice. As a result, the tea here costs 8 yuan instead of 6 yuan. I'm almost embarrassed by the incremental cost.
We get down to business. He has bought me a brush, ink, and training booklet. Looking at the booklet, he decides it's a little advanced for me (it is, as I am shortly to discover, but it is for my future training). The hostess brings us a blank booklet and some newspaper so we don't spill ink on the table. In the blank booklet we begin easy. His writing is effortless and beautiful, mine effortful and appearing to be the product of a severly drunk three-year-old with a concussion. In my defense, writing with a brush is a four-dimensional juggling act: you have to balance the horizontal velocity with pressure and the angle you hold the brush at
(yes, you need two angles to specify the brush orientation, but they're kind of coupled). No, make it five-dimensional, because the horizontal velocity is time-varying even within a single stroke, sometimes slow, then pausing, then a flick as you release pressure. I get a few "hao de" but a lot more "like this" and try again. It's fun. I can see myself getting addicted. (BTW, if you look close you will see my 30 second rendition of LA with the characters for ocean, mountain, and land, and the land is hot - these were some characters I was learning - the beautiful character in the lower left is his: bing1, which is ice.)
My brain eventually gets full (new knowledge starts skipping off the surface), and we call it quits. Now quite hungry, I head back to the hostel for dinner and see an item I hadn't noticed before (it has no picture): smoked tofu with green peppers. [Singing] I'm in heaven. I get that, rice, and a black lager (it tastes like a porter, but is light like a lager, they roast the malts before brewing - it's my favorite beer). I'm warm and happy, and smoked anything is my favorite, especially with a dark beer on a cold night. One of my best meals in China. I'll have to add this to my (very small) repertoire of dishes I can cook.
I have an 11:45 am flight to Beijing tomorrow, and I just reserved a room at a hostel in a hutong. The last leg of my journey begins tomorrow. Amazing how 12 hours of sleep improves your outlook on life (and smoked tofu : )
Good night,
Dan
I am totally fascinated by their writing system!
ReplyDeleteGood for you..trying everything!!Love,Mom