Travel

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Decided not to submerge my ankle in the hot bath water, in case that’s why my skin felt like it could peel off last night.

Nonetheless, it’s deeper red, verging on purplish. And it’s bigger. Lots bigger. As in “no way my Timberlands are going to fit on my feet tomorrow” bigger.

I have two options. Go to the International Hospital where there are English speaking doctors, trust in whatever pharmaceuticals are available in China, and probably be told to stay off my feet the remainder of the trip.

Like that’s gonna happen.

Or go with Door Number Two. Ride this out.

Admittedly, the second option isn’t smart, but my head and heart are in a tug of war between being cautious and fulfilling my dream of seeing the Great Wall tomorrow.

My heart won. Let’s hope my ankle won’t lose.

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Tonight’s bath ritual: India

Bergamot, nutmeg, cedar wood, black pepper

I am really getting used to this.

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Everyone told me to have custom clothes made while in China—even my grandmother, who brought home beautiful suits from her trip to Hong Kong and Japan.

Found a guy’s name in a travel guide. Found a taxi near the Pearl Market. Found the right biulding in the right district.

Found a miracle worker.

Here’s how you find him:

1. Take a taxi to the Yashow Market at 58 Gongti Bei Lu in the Chaoyang District.
2. From the front entrance, walk straight ahead; take the escalator up to the third floor.
3. Turn right at the top of the escalator; walk to the end of the aisle to stall 3066 (they’re well marked).
4. Ask for Sunny. He’s a young guy with near fluent English (amazing, since he’s self taught, using reruns of American television shows like “Friends” for fine tuning).
5. Describe what you want made. Look at his fabrics. He’ll measure you, negotiate the price, then let you know when to return for a fitting.

I really wanted matte finished silk for the blouses Sunny would sew, but his silks had the traditional sheen to them. Based on my description of preferred style, he told me how much silk to ask for, then let me go source that out elsewhere:

1. From Sunny’s stall, head back toward the escalator.
2. At the top of the escalator is a large silk shop. That’s your place.

Negotiate hard on this one. They’ll dig their heels in, but that’s part of the dance. They’ll offer a number on a calculator, which you refuse, you type in your counter offer, then they do, then you do, and so on.

You should negotiate with Sunny too, but not as hard if you buy your silk elsewhere.

Can’t wait until my fitting tomorrow morning…..

(Photo credit: farm1)

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Bejing

After getting back to the hotel last night, I did more reading about where I’d head to today. In doing so, I ran across another entry about the Pearl Market that explained where the reeeeally good vendors were in the building—fourth floor, above the floor Holly and I stayed on. So, of course, I need to go back to be sure the strands I picked up for my Goddaughters are the quality they should be.

From the Underground City, it’s not a tough walk—a mile or two, maybe. Easy. No turns. Major roadway. Simple stuff.

After saying hello to the vendors where I picked up Mom’s Mother’s Day gift yesterday, I head up the escalator to what immediately looks like the big time. These aren’t stalls—they’re small stores, and they’re packed, predominantly with Americans. After selecting a store, then sorting through several strands, I found a few, which are being strung and knotted in front of me.

While they continue working on the necklaces, I wander around, find a couple of other necklaces for me, and meet a lovely woman (from Wisconsin?) who’s also waiting for her pearls to be strung. We chat about where we’ve each been thus far, what we’re going to see tomorrow, and how amazing this city is.

For those of you headed into the Pearl Market, skip the lower floors, and head straight to four. At the top of the escalator, look for Ling Ling Pearls. Their selection of pre-made necklaces from semi-precious stones and all sorts of pearls—in addition to the traditional strands—is terrific.

Next time I do this, I’m going to bring a lot more cash along, understanding just how lopsided the pricing is compared to US retail. If you‘re willing to part with a couple of hundred dollars US, you can walk out with a strand of pearls worth thousands back home.

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Mao was scared of the Russians. As a result, he ordered 70,000 laborers to build an underground city that could hold 40% of Beijing’s population. During the Cultural Revolution, political leaders used it to secretly move around the city. During the Tiananmen Square riots, the army used it to move in on crowds of protesting students.

Today, only one of the three entry ways is open to the public. If you can find it.

After my little stroll through the hutongs, I circled around about a square mile’s worth of charted and uncharted streets, finally coming to what I just knew was the nong tang with the secret wooden doorway. Ran into a group of five British college girls doing the same, so they followed me in. Another five minutes of searching and—gasp—there it was. Right in front of us.

And it was closed.

For renovation. Due to water damage. Seriously.

According to the very, very kind guard (for some reason, only female guards are given this post), a nearby tear down of hutongs resulted in serious water damage to the tunnels. They were closed for clean up, and in anticipation of tourists this summer.

The past hour and a half has been quite a journey, but it ain’t gonna end where I’d hoped. Oh well. All in all, it was kind of fun.

Now that it’s over.

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

My mother would pass out if she saw me now.

The trike driver couldn’t find the Underground City, even with the map (admittedly, that’s the way Mao intended things—it’s a secret city, after all). Had yet another meeting of the minds over the Chinese map. He offered to get me there…for another 20 yuan. Decided to bid him farewell and wing it. Something told me we had to be close.

He takes off. I look around. It occurs to me that the reason we couldn’t find this place is because it’s not on a map.

Which means I’m not on a map.

Which means I am on my own. Not on a map. No boat. No paddle. No GPS.

A 5’11” Caucasian wandering through their hutong (a collection of alley dwellings) gets the attention of the locals. They stare at me warily as I pretend to know where I’m going. With confidence. And great acting. I mean hey, doesn’t every American tourist plan a fifteen minute trek down an unmapped nong tang (alley)?

My internal compass tells me to head west, then north, until I hit traffic.

Which I do. And it works. Fifteen minutes into this little side trip, I hit traffic.

Which means I’m back on the map.

Which means deep breath time.

Truth be told, I was probably quite safe the entire time (crime is pretty severely treated in China), but still. Not the smartest move I’ve made. But definitely a memorable one.

(Photo credit: mhobbs)

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Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Taxi drivers in Beijing are notorious for not knowing where things are located. In their defense, street names and numbers are almost meaningless, with little or no logic applied. Drivers pull over and ask directions from random folks on the sidewalk as routinely as they turn street corners.

Same plan applies to the trikes. We pulled over to a little “shop” the driver knew, he purchased a Chinese map, and had me show him where I was headed (this is, of course, about ten minutes into the ride that began with his insistence he recognized my destination, the Underground City).

Oh well, I’m riding in a vehicle with a side mirror held together with packing tape, so what the heck. It’s an adventure.

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