Undying love for The Mix hostel. Anyone who charges ¥25 for a bed, maintains western toilets, and can maintain a friendly demeanor in the face of 30 loud American collegiates deserves sainthood. A few blocks from the city center, they have carved out a little piece of backpacker heaven resplendent with Tibetan tapestries and secluded by bamboo walls. I have no great stories from there, just a lot of gratitude.
Chengdu is … relaxing. Pleasantly flat and peppered with tea houses, it is a good place to kick back. While there I went to the Tibetan quarter, an oldtown Chinese tourist town, the panda reserve, a bamboo garden, an art market under a bridge, and had possibly the best burger in the world. The Tibetan quarter was blah, tourist town was a good use of an hour, the pandas were cute, the bamboo garden was peaceful, the art market productive, and the burger was … a religious experience. There. Now you know what I did in Chengdu. Mostly, I just hung out and had a good time.
I do, however, harbor great animosity towards the city’s taxis, or rather the dearth thereof. I spent a particularly unpleasant forty minutes alone on various street corners with my luggage, vainly looking for a taxi. Eventually I found what appeared to be a favorite taxi-driver bathroom and waited alongside a car as its driver was inside. When he came back I informed him that I would be riding in his taxi.
I’m really trying here, but am drawing a blank on any stories worth repeating. So, Chendgu: Great city, amazing hostels, far too few hostels. Done.
Monday, November 10, 2008
+3 Intellligence, Wussiness: -1
There are many busy days here in China, but today was not one of them. It was pleasant in its simplicity, though. The few days of sunshine had just come to an end, and we were bunkering down to weather the rain for however long it may choose to stay with us. Schedules were empty, and spirits were low.
Taking a mannequin, dressing it up in a Halloween costume, and hiding it in The Furor’s shower while she was at yoga only provided brief distraction. The results were satisfactorily amusing, but required patience, and delayed gratification has never been my thing.
The day before I had seen a glass pot that looked interesting, and so I parted with my 34 yuan (4ish dollars). Perhaps the most interesting feature of the pot was that it was filled with baijou, a corn-based liquor that is essentially the Chinese equivalent of moonshine. And so as I carried my 4 dollar, 2.3 litre pot of 60% alcohol, I had little hope for the quality of the contents, and began musing on how best to dispose of it, should it prove to be less than delicious.
Upon the taste test, it was utterly disgusting. Baijou is a bit of an artform here, and China has its share of Michelangelos as well as a few Picassos, but unfortunately all too many Kinkaids. I actually enjoy the drink, but this particular specimen was unconscionable, an affront to alcohol, and even to the entire ‘beverage’ family. Suffice to say, it was not fit for consumption.
However, on a slow day, one might remember that any alcohol over 80 proof can be lit on fire. That same person’s gaze might then alight on a certain large and unwanted quantity of 120 proof liquor. One might then say that it lit one’s imagination. Har har. Sorry. We then spent more time than I would like to mention lighting shot glasses on fire, pouring them into the sink, lighting them on fire again, pouring them into the sink again, lighting them again, pouring them into the sink again, then using a spoon to pick up the liquid flame and light another shot of baijou on fire. It was a gratifying day. There were brief experimentations with painting on the countertop with baijou and then lighting that fire, but our first attempts were unsuccessful, and we decided that success would mean too much lit alcohol in too uncontrolled of an environment (IE between the toilet paper roll and a 6-week old copy of Time. Deduct one point for lack of balls, but score three for intelligence.
Taking a mannequin, dressing it up in a Halloween costume, and hiding it in The Furor’s shower while she was at yoga only provided brief distraction. The results were satisfactorily amusing, but required patience, and delayed gratification has never been my thing.
The day before I had seen a glass pot that looked interesting, and so I parted with my 34 yuan (4ish dollars). Perhaps the most interesting feature of the pot was that it was filled with baijou, a corn-based liquor that is essentially the Chinese equivalent of moonshine. And so as I carried my 4 dollar, 2.3 litre pot of 60% alcohol, I had little hope for the quality of the contents, and began musing on how best to dispose of it, should it prove to be less than delicious.
Upon the taste test, it was utterly disgusting. Baijou is a bit of an artform here, and China has its share of Michelangelos as well as a few Picassos, but unfortunately all too many Kinkaids. I actually enjoy the drink, but this particular specimen was unconscionable, an affront to alcohol, and even to the entire ‘beverage’ family. Suffice to say, it was not fit for consumption.
However, on a slow day, one might remember that any alcohol over 80 proof can be lit on fire. That same person’s gaze might then alight on a certain large and unwanted quantity of 120 proof liquor. One might then say that it lit one’s imagination. Har har. Sorry. We then spent more time than I would like to mention lighting shot glasses on fire, pouring them into the sink, lighting them on fire again, pouring them into the sink again, lighting them again, pouring them into the sink again, then using a spoon to pick up the liquid flame and light another shot of baijou on fire. It was a gratifying day. There were brief experimentations with painting on the countertop with baijou and then lighting that fire, but our first attempts were unsuccessful, and we decided that success would mean too much lit alcohol in too uncontrolled of an environment (IE between the toilet paper roll and a 6-week old copy of Time. Deduct one point for lack of balls, but score three for intelligence.
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