Netherlands - Dedicated to my lil friend in Groningen

(I have been wanting to write about my trip through Europe, but so far all I have is some random scattered essays that are not joined in any logical fashion. As some of you have requested a new story, I am posting bits and pieces of what I have and will try to give a more thorough update later. )

One could make a point for not undertaking major architectural endeavors while stoned, but that point would almost certainly be lost in Amsterdam, a city where smoking pot is legal but owning a level is apparently not. Take a turn down any narrow alley and you are sure to find examples of Holland’s fine architecture, tilting forward on their foundations, like sprinters trying to edge out the competition in a photo finish. While not all the structures are poorly built, some in fact are magnificent examples of ingenuity and talent; almost certainly they will be beside a home which has simply grown tired of being. I don’t know if buildings are capable of thought, but if they are, “Please Kill Me!” would be the unifying voice of these decrepit structures.

I was at first tempted to think that the buildings were simply suffering from week foundations, which could easily be explained by the fact the Amsterdam, and in fact much of the Netherlands, have, until the last few hundred years, been under the sea. However, in many cases, the badly skewed structures seem to straighten themselves at the waist, suggesting to me that the brick mason recovered from his euphoric haze long enough to make the necessary adjustments. When I asked my Dutch friend about this phenomenon, he replied, “We make shoes, not houses.” (Referring to the Wooden shoes the Dutch are famous for… another tradition that unfortunately has gone by the way. I was so looking forward to hearing the thunderous clap of the morning commuters as they clomped down the cobblestone streets in the latest Oak and Maple fashions)

If wooden shoes, Coffee Shops (places which sell legal marijuana and surprisingly little coffee), and hilariously under-engineered buildings are not your thing, Amsterdam has yet another vise for which it has become famous, namely legalized prostitution and a thriving sex-toy industry. A quick stroll through the red-light district will give the average non-consumer an adequate appreciation, although I wouldn’t advise doing it before noon, as it’s a bit like watching Cher open for a Shakira concert. (although I prefer the music of the former, the music videos are quite another story)

In this district are normal looking houses with picture windows in the front. The windows are framed with red neon lights and behind them you can expect an assortment of freakish individuals, ranging from portly to the petite and all points between (although a pre-noon stroll is certain to provide much more of the former than latter).

In between these houses are sex toy shops, with their goods proudly displayed in the windows. Hundreds of over-sized, over-animated, over-illuminated plastic phalluses taunt me from the smug security of their double paned windows. I’m pretty sure they were not made in America, as we would have certainly added cup-holders as a standard option.

That being said, Amsterdam is an amazing city and one would be quite mistaken to assume that drugs sex and unhappy buildings are her only offerings. They are unfortunately the most entertaining subjects to write and talk about, sorry Aurthur! I'll try to give credit to the wonderful parks, places and people in a future essay :-)

The Bangkok Fore

To those looking for substance I apologize and forewarn, you won’t find it in this journal entry. It contains little to no information about Thailand. But it was a fun getaway and something I’ve wanted to write about for a while:
….

I’m on a ship in the middle of a city. It somehow seems rational to me that the water and buildings coexist, I must be in Venice. What is certain is that the weather is turning ugly. Tornado-like water spouts are approaching our boat, threatening to tear it apart. These tornadoes sweep through building after building, destroying everything they contact. Is it my imagination or is that tornado wielding a sword… it is, I think.. it’s also not a tornado at all, rather a Tazmanian like female warrior. All the tornados are women.. angry, angry women… looking for me… good Lord I need to wake up!

A cool hand on my sweat-soaked shoulder shakes me awake (try saying that 5 times), a soft angelic voice tells me it’s time. As my disintegrating boat slowly transforms itself into a sleeper sofa, the tornado fades into the smiling face of our host, Mrs. Renee Dragon, quite possibly God's most perfect creation.. (lucky Marek)

A rustling in the bed room tells me my friends have been stirred from slumber as well. We arrived at 1:00 this morning, it’s now 4:30, and as the overhead light flickers on, I know my rest is over.

I stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water, and run into Dr. Guschel, otherwise known as Pete. By all appearances he is still asleep, but he has managed to locate the bagels and cream cheese..

To give a short introduction: Pete and Greg are good friends and former colleagues of mine from Singapore. Pete is a polymer scientist and Greg is the business development manager. The original odd couple, Pete is a sweet guy who tries to make everyone laugh, and Greg is an self proclaimed elitist jerk and the ultimate “guy’s guy.” Combined, they form an entity that is never boring, hence the reason they are two of my closest friends.
20 minutes later, Pete, Greg and I emerge into the still dark alley, the sun having had the good judgment to stay in bed for another hour. Pete tries to say something funny, as he is prone to do, Greg and I swear under our breaths and continue trudging into the blackness. A Tuk Tuk passes, it’s driver seems startled for a moment to find three western guys walking around with golf clubs at this time in the morning.

We meet our driver for the day and an hour and a half later we arrive at the course; the sun has grudgingly decided to join us. We meet our caddies and as only Thailand can offer, they are all female, and, to my relief, are wielding golf clubs, rather than swords, and are doing very little spinning. The entertainment value of this outing has just increased dramatically.
Still fighting the sandman, we groggily step up to the first tee. A few moments later, it is painfully evident that this is going to be a very long day. Greg, a former golfer for George Washington University, has managed to find the center of the fairway, I’ve sliced my ball into another country and Pete only needs to walk a few feet before having an opportunity to hit again. Our cadies have already started rolling their eyes.
Pete seems to be deteriorating with each swing, I don’t know if it’s the rapidly increasing heat or the 2.5 hrs sleep, but it’s not long before we notice that he has disappeared all together. He emerges from the woods a few minutes later, where he has just finished tossing his cookies.. or more accurately, cream-cheese bagels. Gradually Pete recovers and as the game wears on I begin to feel much better. A few snacks at the turn and we tackle the back nine. We come to a water hazard and discover Thailand’s version of a ball retriever.
When the game ends, and we are tipping our caddies, the caddie asks for Greg's number. Being a happily involved man, he did not give his number, so how she managed to find his number written on a piece of paper slipped in amongst the generous gratuity is a matter of speculation. (I certainly would be above such chicanery)
We enjoy a great lunch at the club house, summon our driver and head back to Bankok. Greg and Pete are asleep before we leave the parking lot.
After a quick shower, we decide that a good massage is in order so we walk down the street to the day spa. When we walk in, we are served a relaxing cock-tail and then usured to the private massage rooms where we shower again and wait for the masseurs. The manager comes in and asks if we want “pretty or professional”, I don’t have to tell you which one I choose, but as my face is buried in a pillow, it ultimately wouldn’t have made a difference. (save the fact I may have settled for an inferior rub down)

Later that night we went to dinner with Marek and his wife to celebrate Marek’s birthday. After dinner and drinks Marek and Renee returned home and the three of us pile into a Tuk Tuk to explore Bangkok. Our driver is a bit too happy to have our combined weight shifting his center of gravity and is doing wheelies when leaving every red light.
Later, I see the familiar faces of some of my fellow exchange student friends from Hong Kong. Talk about a small world. We take them to a local club, and Greg, being the generous benefactor that he is, hands me his wallet and says, “Take care of your friends.” This is just one of many times that Greg has shown extreme generosity to my friends and I, including flying me to Singapore last summer. I hope that one day I’ll be able to repay his kindness, but for now, as he loves to point out, I bring absolutely nothing to the table.

We make it home around 2:30 in the morning completely exhausted. It’s a good thing we don’t have to get up in 4 hours to play another round of golf.

It’s 6:30 in the morning when we pull out of the garage in Mareks suv with three golfers, two sets of clubs and one brutal hangover. It’s after 9:00 when we arrive at the Presidents Country Club. We were lost for half of the drive trying to find the place. Marek stops the suv along the curb so Greg and I can unload the clubs. My day gets off to a bad start as I step out of the suv and directly into the narrow edge of a street sign. My momentum caries my collapsing body onto the course lawn to the great amusement of Greg, Marek and the morning congress of giggling caddies…. I've said it before, this is going to be a very long day.

Because of our late start, the heat is much more intense than the day before, and by the 15th hole, the sun, exhaustion and malted barley have claimed their first victim.
Much like a drowning man coming up for a last gasp of air, Greg wakes up one hole later and wins the closest to pin contest with a birdie par three, gives the winnings to his caddie and “sleeps” through the last two holes.

As I’m turning in my rented golf clubs, a familiar voice crackles over the golf courses PA system.. “Ladies and Shenelmen, thank you fr letting me enjoy your beautiful golf coursh. (unintelligible garble) I’m Greg Kroll and I’m out.” I’m not sure how Greg got a hold of the microphone, but I’m fairly certain the grinning security guard standing beside him will be demoted to Ball Washer before the sun sets.

As my plane lifts off the ground the next morning, I breath a sigh of relief. I’m happy to be returning to school, I need the rest.

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Guilin - Part 1 - Little Sister

Colorless wisps of unconsumed pleasure rise in lazy vertical columns from the glowing ends of too many cigarettes. An old man coughs, a young man spits, a slender woman frets with the hem of her unraveling sweater while her child nonchalantly walks in circles and talks to someone I can not see in a language only the child and his invisible friend can understand. A shouting match erupts somewhere in room, I don’t look up. It’s China… people yell.

There are 2,300 ceiling tiles in Guilin station and 400 flickering fluorescent lights, all humming a tune, not quite pleasant, not quite harmonious, but a tune none the less. The hard bench is forcing my spine into an unpleasant therapeutic alignment, the clothes in my pack provide a makeshift pillow, the 400 member fluorescent choir continues humming somewhere above. I’m such a baby when I’m sick. “Hey China, Shut up and let me rest!” My train will be here in two more hours, 18 hrs later I’ll be back in my dorm, eating chicken soup and reflecting on the events of the past few days…

3 days earlier..

My final exams are finished, I’m bored. I pack a change of cloths, my camera and my passport. A Google search and a few clicks tell me there is an overnight train to Guilin leaving from Shenzhen at 6:00. Shenzhen.. hmm.. nice, maybe I’ll find a stall where I can buy a used Ipod and wallet. (ref: Shenzhen of Thieves)

There are generally three options for traveling by train in China; hard seats, hard sleepers and soft sleepers. Hard seats are exactly what they sound like. These cars are equipped for sitting only. The hard sleepers are actually quite comfortable rooms with 6 bunks, three on each side. The soft sleepers are more expensive. The rooms have doors and there are only four bunks.

This train should be an uneventful ride, but as luck would have it, I’m sharing the hard sleeper with 4 generations of Chinese women; Granddaughter, Mother, Grandma and, if my perceptions are accurate, Mother Time. They are very excited when I respond to them in Chinese and equally excited when 10 min later, I exhaust my vocabulary.

I’m laying on the middle bunk, Granddaughter and Grandmother are below me and the other two are on adjacent bunks. Not long after the train starts and the car grows quiet, a little hand snakes up from below and pokes my arm.. “Ge Ge…..Ge Ge.." Older brother… Older Brother, says a small little voice from below… then the hand is back again. This time, the poking finger has been replaced by a small stuffed piggy.. I take the piggy.. and granddaughter shrieks with laughter and starts clapping. (I think she was around 4 years old)

10 minutes later, I’m finding it difficult to move, as my bunk is littered with the child’s toys. I’m not sure about the proper etiquette with regards to playing with Chinese children, but across the way, Mother Time is smiling warmly (as a Jack-o-lantern might, if it did not want to scare the children) , so I continued to enjoy playing “trade the toy” with Mei Mei (little sister). Not having any toys, I give her a couple dollar coins to play with.

I’m hungry, I ask the train attendant where the dining car is, she tells me it’s car 10. A meal of rice, broccoli and chicken satiate my pallet, so I returned to my room to call it a night. Mei Mei, however, had other plans. Mom had purchased a toy stick helicopter from one of the vendors and Mei Mei is not going to sleep until I fly it with her a few thousand times.

We are flying the copter in the narrow hallway trying to set distance records when she suddenly decides it would be fun to take off running.. Mom and crew are not in sight so I give chase. A train attendant catches her before I do. I take her hand and turn around to go back down the aisle and notice that little Asian heads are poking out of every room on the narrow corridor. Apparently it’s not every day you see a lumbering American chasing a 4 year old Chinese girl through the train shouting “Bu Hao! Bu Hao!” Not Good! Not Good! I haven’t done anything wrong, so why do I suddenly feel like a kidnapper… I begin to fear for my life.. must get this child back to mom!

Mom thanks me, or scolds me, I’m not sure which. I’m winded from my chase, time to go to sleep. Just before my eyes close, the hand is back. This time it’s giving me a little piggy pillow.. Then the lil’ hand takes mine and pulls my arm over the side of the bunk. She plays with my “fat fingers” until she falls asleep.

6:00 am.. the train is at one of many stops, a little hand pokes me awake.. “Ci Jian, Ge Ge.. Wo eye ni!” Goodbye older brother, I love you!

I awake two hours later; my room is empty, save two dollar coins sitting on the table. I suddenly feel very lonely. I’ll miss my little sister.

Guilin - Part2 - The Tea House

It’s 10:00 and my train has just arrived in Guilin, a city many consider to be the most beautiful in China, and I am excited to begin exploring. First surprise is the temperature, it’s near freezing outside in mid December. Mild by some standards but coming from Hong Kong where we are still enjoying high 50’s it comes as a bit of a surprise.. I’m not dressed for it.

Guilin is famous for its rock formations that are seemingly pushed up in random patterns across the landscape. Some are green and tropical, others grey and cold, but all seem to hold a captive beauty that inspires and mesmerizes.

Equally contributing to Guilin’s charm are the calm, green waters of the river Li. This picturesque river flows from Guilin to Yongshuo, another popular tourist attraction, but one that I am unable to visit in my limited time.

After walking around the city for a while, I stop at a tea and tobacco shop to have a rest and ask about available hotel rooms. The gentle man and his wife give me many helpful options. I am drinking tea with him until his wife picks up the youngest of their children and then pulls a bucket out from under our table. She holds the child over it unit her business is completed, then kicks the bucket back under the table.. “More Tea?” … “I’m good, thanks.”

The rest of the day is fairly uneventful. I travel to Elephant park (so named for the large hill in the center which vaguely resembles an elephant) and walk around for a bit.


I explore a cave…

Take pictures with strangers (their request)…..

Hug the Buddha….

And when leaving, I meet this guy. I’m not sure who he is, but if I ever hear a riddle that begins "96 legs but only two feet, three rolling wheels and 25 seats…" I’ll know the answer.

When I get to my hotel, it’s no surprise the going rate is marked at over 4 times the price my friends at the tea shop arranged for me. I presented the note given to me by the shop owner and grudgingly I am given a room at a 75% discount (price 95 yuan –vs- 400 yuan advertised). It pays to make some local friends. It’s not long before I’m off to sleep… tomorrow is going to be one long day.

Guilin - Part 3 - Longji

I’m not feeling very well today… think I’m starting to get a bit of a cold.. I sit in the back of a small bus which is struggling to make its way up a narrow mountain road. The backpacker beside me tells me he’s been traveling around China for two months now and he’s from Israel, and he’s just met up with his mom, and this is his mom, and she gives me fruit.. and I just don’t care… I’m watching the edge of the narrow road, and of more particular interest is the river running some 1000 feet below. I don’t know if it’s amaxophobia, illyngophobia , judeophobia or some combination of the three… but I’m starting to feel very anxious… can’t we get there already, I want off this bus!

A few minutes later, we reach the end of the road and unload. We are high up in the mountains near the village of Long Ji. It’s meant to be a beautiful terraced rice field, but visibility is restricted to a few hundred feet. My pack resting heavily on my back, I say goodbye to my backpacker friend and thank his mom for the fruit and quietly disappear into the fog.

“hello… hello…” says the fog a few minutes into my hike. The dim silhouette of a souvenir stall looms ominously in the mist.. the voice continues… “hello… hello”. I’m in no mood to shop. My hands shoved a bit deeper into my pockets, I continue trudging through the mud.

Thump.. Thump.. Thump.. .. Is that my heart? It stops… I hope not. Ignore it and continue walking… Thump.. Thump.. Thump.. it’s back again.. this time the rhythmic pounding is more discernable and less ominous. I’ve reached the base of the village of Longji, a village undergoing much renovation, as locals try to capitalize on the recent influx of tourism into the area.

Thump.. Thump.. Thump.. now I can see the source of the noise. Not sure what this guy is doing, but he amuses me… the homemade cigarette in his mouth lets out a little puff of smoke with every swing, I’m reminded of a steam engine. My mind flashes back to my childhood days at the arcades.. I miss Whack-a-Mole.

A glance at my phone, tells me it’s 4:00. The last bus leaves from the drop location at 6:00. I’m already a good 30min walk away.. I decide that I’ll just see what happens in the village, and if nothing else, find a dry spot to sleep.

I’m immediately very impressed by the village. It’s the first time I’ve seen all-wood constructions since leaving the US. It’s quiet up here, no vehicles to create noise, and very little electricity so much of the work is still done using hand tools.

After passing through the village, I continue to hike towards the top of the mountain, where the best views of the terraced fields are said to be. Near the top, I pass a small wooden shack with a balcony that hangs over the side of the mountain. It’s a precarious creation to say the least, but a great spot to snap a few pictures.

There is a girl in traditional dress that will take a picture with you for a certain amount of money. I have my own camera, but buy a picture from her as well. It was interesting to see inside her living area. She has a bed, some baby cloths, a computer, printer and laminator and that’s about it, all in a house would be considerably smaller than most of our bathrooms.

I reach the top of the mountain as the sun is beginning to set. While sitting on a ledge overlooking the mountainside, I take a few moments to appreciate the beauty of my surroundings. A bitterly cold breeze and the growing darkness bring me back to reality. I have no flashlight, the village has no lamps and I have no place to stay… hmmm time to head back down to the village.

On the way down I meet these two guys heading home after a day in the field (and pub if my nose tells me the truth) and one is kind enough to let me take a couple pictures with him. I love annoying the local people!

Coming back into the village, I hear “Hello!” again.. This time it’s a group of Asian students from Guilin excited to practice their English. They ask me questions in English and I respond in Chinese. After a while they ask me where I’m staying.. I tell them I have no idea.. The look of horror on their faces is quickly replaced with excitement when I agree to follow them back to their “hotel” and stay with them for the night. (I don’t know if they fully appreciate how happy I was to meet them… I had no idea where I was going to sleep for the night)

We arrive at the hotel.. it’s a three story wooden building very similar to all the other buildings in the village. The bottom floor has a large, open dining room.. a few jars of pickled snakes sit on shelves along the wall, a computer, dvd player,tv and karaoke machine form an impressive entertainment center, although none have been hooked up and look as if they will not be anytime soon. The second floor is the sleeping area. There are 6 rooms here, each room with 2 or three beds in it, but no other furniture. They do have a shower room, but the walls are made of sheet plastic and it’s too bloody cold anyway, I’ll just take a spray on shower, thanks.

Walking to my bed, I hear a conversation beneath me.. looking down, I am surprised (I think) to realize that I can see the conversation taking place as well. These floor boards are thin and sporadic… note to self… no sleep walking. The bed was quite comfortable; however, I noticed that all the blankets were wet.. (from the mist) and very, very cold. This should be the perfect icing for my pneumonia cake.

My friends came to get me for supper, so we adjourned to the “kitchen/dining room” to eat. We were joined by the hotels permanent guests: the owner and his wife, his mother, and his daughter and her husband. We sat in a circle surrounding a cooking pot suspended over an open fire.

The food is some of the best I’ve ever had, and I eat a lot of it. Grandma brings out some of her home-made rice wine and offers me a glass. I suppose gasoline is an acquired taste, grandma certainly seems to enjoy it, or maybe she just enjoys the look on my face as I try to mask the displeasure of consuming this high-octane brew.

After dinner we return to the first floor and sit around another open fire.. the Chinese girls sing and chat and make shoes, while we men play cards and enjoy a proper beer. My Chinese friends tell me to take the first shower and then they will shower.. I say ok and go to the shower “room”. I can’t do it… it’s freezing in here… I sneak out and into my room and crawl under my cold, wet blankets.

The sun and a knock on the door awake me at 10:00 the next morning. I try to say come in, but my voice won’t cooperate. I feel miserable.. My friends are leaving to continue the hike to another village a few hrs away and invite me to go with them. My girlfriend is visiting me in Hong Kong in a few days, so I politely refuse. I need to get back to Guilin… my train leaves tonight.

Guilin - Closing comments

Without a doubt, the trip to Longji made this visit to Guilin worth it. Guilin itself failed to impress me, but the surrounding areas are magnificent. Maybe it’s my Amish blood or my preference for the simple life, but I fell in love with Longji and will certainly be back.

I still keep in contact with the Chinese friends I made there, and hope to see them again someday soon. I often wonder what lil’ sister is up to.. I think I miss her the most, she was such a bright and talented lil’girl. I just hope that she has a long and happy life and continues to outshine those around her.

As for me.. I’m back in school, working on my second semester now. I’m going to take a break from writing for a while and focus on my classes, but I’ll be back.