Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing
The first thing I learned about the Dirt Market is that no one in Beijing calls it that. In fact, if not for the emails we’d swapped in advance of my trip, Holly would have wondered what the heck I was talking about.
Lesson #427: Don’t always trust your guide books.
The Panjiayuan Market, on the outskirts of southeast Beijing, is a massive, open air collection of antiques, curios, and kitch—the vast majority of them knock offs. Sunday afternoon brought good sized crowds, combing the stalls for everything from Mao alarm clocks to jade Buddhas.
Several artisans were hand carving stamps made from semi-precious stone, using Mandarin characters to phonetically spell out people’s names. Of course, I had one made for myself—a red stone piece topped by a lion-like creature (starts with a “p,” the actual name eludes me now) that symbolizes wealth and success. You look through a book of Western names, find yours, then the artisan carves the characters cross referenced in the book. Holly inspected it closely, and verified that, yes, it translates to “Baxter.”
Of course, now I need to find the red paste ink used with them, pretty sure that trying to pack some from here would end in catastrophe.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing
Holly and I began our journey with a subway ride, which was interesting. Beijing is in the midst of updating its transportation system ahead of the Olympic Games, so some of the stations and trains have been renovated or replaced, while others are set to be soon.
Our trip originated in one of the older stations on the To Do List. We were transported from the modern streets of the steel and glass Financial District to the dark corners of WWII China in the dozen or so steps to took to move from the sidewalk to the ticket booth inside the dimly lit entryway. Even the uniformed woman behind the glass had the stern look of the Cold War days.
Next, it was down the dim stairways and halls to the platform, then onto an older train…and we were off on our adventure. It might not be as flashy as the Atlanta system, but at 20 yuan—29¢ US per ride—it’s tough to beat.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Beijing
First order of business: Meet Holly, the guide I found through PersonalChinaHelper.com. She’s delightful…and tall, which completely surprised me. Her English is fabulous, but better yet, she’s fun to hang out with. Since shopping is not my favorite thing to do, we’re going to conquer the markets today. Figured getting that done first was the best plan of attack, not to mention it would be a good way to get a handle on local policies, customs, etc.
Off we go….
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Beijing
Things in the ankle department aren’t looking good.
The previous “blowfish” reference attributed to my left ankle has since grown into Moby Dick. Both the foot and ankle are now expansive (sounds more lady like than “friggin’ humongous”).
This, of course, makes my now-blowfish-ish right ankle seem diminutive by comparison.
Good thing I brought the slip on Merrells. No way I’m getting into the Timberlands now.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Beijing
Okay. I’m just gonna do it. I’m going to gloat.
Part of what made the Beijing leg of this trip possible was the mountain of Starwood points amassed the past several years—about a quarter of which were traded in for a room at the Westin including an upgrade to a Renewal Room (think: spa suite).
This may have been one of the smartest decisions in my entire life.
Above is a photo of my bedroom, taken from the office area (yes, you read that right). The bathroom is through the open door to the left of the flat panel television; further left of that (beyond the edge of the photo) is the door to my dressing room.
I could have landed aircraft in this room, then used the bath suite for a jet hanger. The views were wide open, since in that part of the city, we were one of the tallest buildings around.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Beijing
Managed to find my way through immigration, to a taxi, and flashed my little Mandarin map of the Westin location to the driver. Next stop: Heaven on earth.
No hotel ever looked so good.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Beijing
Trust me. Nothing causes one’s heart to stop more abruptly than coming out of the public restroom in a Chinese airport (after the place has essentially closed) to find yourself virtually alone in the terminal, the plane load of passengers you came in with having disappeared from view, and not a letter of English in sight.
One does begin to question the wisdom of traveling alone at this juncture.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
