Youngs Around the World

After our cruise on the Yangzi, we had a long, uncomfortable day of travel to Wuhan. Our cruise ship docked in Maoping where no English-speaking person could tell the group of confused- and frustrated-looking foreigners which public bus went to Yichang. By some miracle, we did make it onto the right bus and were delivered to the bus station in Yichang, where someone was supposed to be waiting with a sign. No such person was there so we dropped our bags on the front steps of the station and waited.

It was at this juncture that I experienced a squat toilet situation which exceeded all others in utter ridiculousness. I entered the ladies room to find a row of four squat toilets on each of two opposing walls – no doors, no walls separating them – and naked, squatting Chinese butts everywhere. To clarify, the space between the butts and the receptacles was clearly visible to anyone in the room. I flinched at the sight of it but quickly regained my composure when I realized that everyone was looking at me. My instinct was to turn around and walk out but I knew that the bus ride to Wuhan was four hours long. In the end, I pulled out my white bum and squatted with the rest of them while inwardly churning spiteful thoughts about China.

Back out on the steps, we spent the next half hour surrounded by Chinese chimneys before a young man finally appeared with a small rectangle of paper with our names phonetically spelled out in pencil. We gathered our bags and followed him several blocks to an empty minibus parked on a quiet sidestreet. We all piled in – two of the Brits and a Polish-Canadian couple from our cruise. The bus moved only a few blocks and then stopped on another street where, after a half-hour of twiddling our thumbs and wondering what in the hell was going on, we were joined by a large group of boisterous, rural Chinese; the dynamic of weary, quiet foreigners quickly changed to noisy chaos. After they filled the bus to capacity, the steward walked down the aisle, passing out “barf bags”. Apparently, Chinese people throw up a lot on public transport. We had heard firsthand accounts from other travelers but had not personally experienced it. The mere thought of a Chinese “barf-o-rama” in confined quarters gave my own gag reflex a tickle.

Thankfully, we didn’t witness any vomiting, although the constant hocking of mucus and saliva and subsequent spitting on the bus floor was equally foul. At one point, a passenger at the rear of the enclosed, air-conditioned bus attempted to sneak a smoke but, miraculously, the steward raced to the back and ordered him to extinguish it. About 50 kilometers short of our Wuhan, the bus ran out of gas just in front of a toll booth, causing a bottleneck and excessive honking from the annoyed drivers behind us. Several men got off the bus to push it through the toll booth and off to the side of the road. During the melee of refueling, the same perpetrator lit a second cigarette in the back of the bus! With the steward attending to the refueling, there was no person of authority to deal with the offender. The cancer fumes wafted through the bus and I quickly fished out my double-layer of hospital masks. Before I could get them on, my chivalrous husband, in a gallant attempt to protect the integrity of my shrine, began yelling and pointing at the smoker until he put the cigarette out. My hero! We have noticed that Chinese people do not hold each other accountable to rules. That’s why everyone cuts in lines, why people spit on bus floors and why motorbikes ride on sidewalks…because no one says a thing!

From the gravel parking lot where the bus made its final stop, we took a taxi to a hostel in Wuhan, at which we had a reservation for one night. We had an early flight to Shanghai the next morning, which was actually cheaper than the train. After a long day of rough travel and squat toilets, I was dreaming of a normal hostel room in which I could finally relax. The check-in process took so long that I was exhausted when we reached our room on the second floor. We dropped our bags on the floor and began to settle in. When I opened the bathroom door to find a squat toilet – the first time EVER in a hostel room – I wanted to scream but all that I could do was stare stoically at Aaron with one hand on the bathroom door. He laughed because he thought I was joking. We have often joked about this very situation, though it had never really happened before. This time, it was no joke. It was the final nightmare of the Yangzi.

The icing on the cake was that the shower head was almost directly above the squatter; you had to stare at it throughout your shower to keep from accidentally stepping into it and if you dropped the soap…well, that soap was history!

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A cruise on the Yangzi River had been touted as a must-do in China and, although we had so recently cruised in Halong Bay in Vietnam, our curiosity got the best of us. If you don’t speak Chinese, there is disappointingly scarce information available regarding the cruises, the highlight of which is the opportunity to view the famed Three Gorges. From our hostel in Xi’an, we were able to book cruises but the staff had little knowledge of the details. The two options: an international cruise ship – very expensive; or a Chinese cruise ship for less than a third of the price. The international cruise had provided a snazzy color brochure; the Chinese ship was a total mystery. Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I would like the record to reflect that I lobbied against the Yangzi River cruise altogether.

Despite the lukewarmth of my expressions, Aaron was quite determined and, since most of our boat experiences have been generally enjoyable, I acquiesced. With the international ship being understatedly cost prohibitive, we agreed on a second class cabin on the Chinese ship, the fare for which excluded all meals, drinks and excursions. We paid a thirty percent deposit at the hostel in Xi’an with the balance due the next day in Chongqing.

The sleeper train from Xi’an to Chongqing was like a ghost train. Not only did we have our entire four-bed cabin to ourselves but there was only one other passenger in the whole car and we didn’t even realize he was there until it was time to get off the train. The eleven-hour journey left us rested and we met our local booking agent, John, at the train station in Chongqing. He drove us, along with two young British girls, to his mini-hostel – John’s Cozy Nest – to spend the day. The eighth floor “nest” overlooking the Yangzi lived up to its name with a comfortable sitting area, cheap refreshments, free Wi-Fi, a shower, and John himself who was a generous wealth of knowledge. He spoke decent English and explained the details of the cruise, the prices and significance of the optional land excursions, and the transportation options at the tail end of the cruise. We would later discover that the English ended with John and he wasn’t coming with us.

We were happy to find that four British travelers – Eloise, Kayleigh, Michael and Katie – would be cruising with us. A wave of relief washed over us upon hearing this news as we half-expected to be the only foreigners on the Chinese cruise. Eloise and Kayleigh would share a second class cabin with us while Michael and Katie planned to endure a third class cabin. We made a trip to the supermarket in Chongqing to stock up on snacks, unsure about the canteen aboard the ship.

When 6:30 rolled around, John instructed the six of us to follow his brother to the ship. With our heavy packs and grocery bags in tow, we headed toward the parking lot but, rather than loading us into the mini-bus, John’s brother led us on a twenty-minute hike through the rain-soaked streets of Chongqing to the loading dock. There we were handed off to another Chinese man who handed us off to a Chinese woman who led us onto our ship amid a traffic jam of Chinese passengers, all with arms full of grocery bags.

The first things I noticed, as we boarded our Chinese cruise ship were the rippled, rusty painted metal deck and the foul stench of rotting fish and dirty water. The corridors were dim and the surfaces dingy. The experience recalled that same sense of innate hesitation that I felt upon boarding Captain Barracuda’s ship on the island of Lamu – my gut told me that something was fishy; that we should take the financial loss and get off the ship immediately. I voiced this to my husband who reacted with a chuckle.

The woman unlocked our cabin door and Aaron and I walked inside along with Eloise and Kaleigh. The cabin was small and cramped for four people with large backpacks, but we were all happy just to drop our bags. By some miracle, our claustrophobic cell of a washroom had a western toilet. The shower nozzle, which was almost directly above the toilet, initially spewed brown water. It was not a promising start but we were determined to make the best of it. The cabin was stuffy because the air conditioner was just sputtering to life so we congregated outside our door, looking out over the murky brown water into a dense fog.

Soon, a woman approached our group and beckoned us to follow her. She led us to the bow of the ship, into a small glassed-in lounge with a far door leading to an outer deck with blue plastic patio furniture. There were two middle-aged Chinese men chain-smoking in the lounge, working it into a hot box of cancer. This was the VIP area of the ship and the price of admission was 70 Yuan ($10), which included chairs, lung disease and all-you-can-drink Chinese tea. We all declined and returned to our rail, laughing all the way at the idea of paying for a VIP lounge when surely there was a furnished upper deck.

We decided to take a lap around the ship to explore its amenities. We spotted an indoor bar at the stern that would soon be packed with middle-aged Chinese chimneys, attended by a lone barman with black teeth. As we circled the ship, looking for the stairs to the upper deck, we soon came to the conclusion that there was no upper deck. We quickly deduced that, short of paying the VIP admission, there was literally no place for us to sit outside of our cramped, humid cabin. Since the others in our little group seemed adamant against the VIP idea, we all spent the remainder of the evening sitting on the rusted floor of the three-foot-wide walkway that spanned the perimeter of our deck. I nodded off to sleep that night knowing that I would not last the next three days without a chair.

Aaron and I woke early the next morning, sweating buckets because our air conditioner mysteriously stopped working around 2am. Also, the cleaning staff pounded on our cabin door at 6:45am to empty our trash. Both of these petty annoyances would occur on each morning of our cruise. We bought admission into the VIP lounge, encouraging the rest of our group to do the same. It was not the price of admission that we all struggled with but rather the principle of the matter. It is bad enough to pay a lot of money for a cruise that includes nothing but dingy, substandard accommodation but to have to pay more just for a place to sit is ludicrous. Eventually, everyone gave in and joined us. The first full day of our cruise was rainy and foggy and we passed the bulk of it by playing cards and attempting to visit over the single VIP television which blasted Chinese soap operas all day.

Having sustained ourselves on instant noodle cups, fruit and packaged snacks all day, we decided to try the canteen for dinner. The menu was entirely in Chinese, with no pictures, but we managed to order several dishes to share. We had kept our expectations very low and were shocked to find the food to be excellent. We all agreed that dinner was the highlight (the only light) of our Chinese cruise so far and were already looking forward to dinner the next night. By the way, many Brits refer to dinner as tea, which was initially confusing until we worked out the distinction. Breakfast is breakfast. Lunch is dinner. And dinner is tea. Also, we have found all of the Brits that we’ve met along the way to be exceedingly proper and possessing exquisite manners, which is decidedly endearing. We’ve not yet met a Brit that we didn’t like.

On the second morning, we cruised through Qutang Gorge, the first of the Three Gorges. The day was foggy and it was raining again – the visibility left much to be desired – but the Chinese passengers flooded the outer VIP deck nonetheless to pose for endless photos. All of our group donned their rain gear and wandered outside to join the melee…all except for me. I simply didn’t find the view interesting enough to stand in the rain before my first cup of coffee. The gorge was a range of green contoured rock formations, very similar to Milford Sound in New Zealand. The formations were impressive but shrouded in such thick mist that they were almost completely obscured. I remained inside the glassed-in area of the VIP lounge, enjoying the views from my insulated vantage point. Then suddenly I saw it…the saddest, most forlorn little Bear face peering at me through the glass; he was holding his camera and umbrella and getting soaked from the blowing rain. My heart broke for that little frown and I raced to the cabin to get my rain poncho. God help me if my children have faces like that.

The ship docked around noon at the site of the one additional excursion for which we had ponied up in advance – a separate five-hour cruise through the Lesser Three Gorges. We transferred to a smaller boat and found seats on the upper deck, along with all of the chain-smokers. Amazingly, after about twenty minutes, the rain subsided and the fog magically lifted for the remainder of our excursion. The Lesser Three Gorges were picturesque and stunning. The almost constant rain keeps the hillsides perpetually green and fertile – they were covered with plots of corn and other crops and small farming villages. Still, the most fascinating part of the Lesser Three Gorges cruise had nothing whatsoever to do with the gorges themselves.

The Chinese have very different ideas about snacks. We have often seen displays of dried fish and grotesque-looking cooked animal parts that sit out on tables all day. One of our most interesting finds at the supermarket was a pile of dried pig faces preserved in the same petrified manner as the pig ears sold for dogs in the States. Refreshments were available for purchase on the ship and a woman walked around the deck, peddling whole juvenile roasted chickens from a bucket. The whole skewered birds couldn’t have had more meat on them than an average drumstick but I was dying to see someone eat one. There were no takers in our group despite my repeated double dares.

Finally, to all of the Westerners’ shock and delight, a group of four Chinese chain-smokers emerged from the lower deck with a bottle of spirits and a huge plate of the “chicks-on-a-stick”. We all stared, completely captivated, as the men tore into the little birds, biting their heads off, devouring them hungrily, working their way through the bodies and spitting the bones anywhere and everywhere. The Westerners on board rather insensitively surrounded their table with cameras but, despite the potential for offense, we couldn’t help ourselves. How often do you see someone bite the head off a baby chicken?

Back on the big boat, we endured the rest of our Yangzi River cruise amid more rain and dense fog. While we would NEVER endeavor to repeat the experience and would strongly discourage anyone else from doing so, we must confess the fascinating insight that we have gained into Chinese culture. After “vacationing” among a ship full of Chinese passengers, we have amassed a collection of observations. They love to play cards and the men smoke like chimneys. Yelling is a part of normal conversation. They hock up mucus and spit incessantly (probably from the pollution and smoking) and often on the floor. They laugh a lot and seem generally cheerful. They largely ignored our presence on the ship and when they did watch us, it was with curiosity rather than disdain. They generally woke early and slept away the afternoons. They smoke incessantly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are plaguing those around them with contaminated air. I tried to get the message across by strapping on a double-layer of hospital masks whenever they lit up in my presence but it had no effect. Hopefully, the masks limited the cancer-causing filth that infiltrated my shrine.

Thankfully, we had a group of good-humored comrades with whom we could share and laugh our way through this bizarre cruise experience.

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Giant, cuddly, loveable pandas, or panders as the Chinese call them, were on the itinerary for our third day in Xi’an. We hired a driver from our hostel to make the two hour drive to a WWF (World Wildlife Federation)-sponsored wildlife sanctuary.

The sprawling grounds of the sanctuary were empty except for a handful of animal keepers busily attending to their daily responsibilities. No one seemed to pay us any mind. With inadequate signage, no map, and no English-speaking staff on the premises, we wandered aimlessly through the grounds for the first half hour, searching for pandas. Miraculously, we stumbled upon a boisterous Australian woman who explained that she was spending her two-week holiday as a volunteer at the sanctuary. She led us to a spacious green walled-in yard where two giant panda pups, a three-year-old male and a four-year-old female, were enjoying a reprieve from their cells. The male panda was happily gnawing on a piece of bamboo (the main staple of a panda’s diet) while the female napped near the entrance to their man-made cave. The three of us watched as the male panda, now taking notice of his audience, began to playfully engage the female. As the female sat peacefully nibbling bamboo, the young male accosted her time and again, flirtatiously trying to engage her in impromptu wrestling matches. With a running start, he would deliberately fall into her, toppling both of them in a heap of black and white fur. She was clearly annoyed and kept running away from him but he was relentless in his antagonistic pursuits. We watched the two bears chase and wrestle and roll around for nearly an hour. At one point, both of the bears came so close that we could have reached out and touched them. As they met our eyes with the submissive sweetness of teddy bears, we were reminded of our own furry angel waiting back in Arizona.

Reluctantly leaving the giant pandas, we continued on to visit some of the other endangered and orphaned residents of the sanctuary. Large aviaries housed golden eagles, owls, pluming peacocks, egrets and swans. Small concrete cells contained numerous mammalian species including black bears, golden takin (endangered mountain buffalo), red pandas, monkeys, and a leopard. We were heartbroken by the living conditions of some of the animals. With the exception of the showcase attraction, the coveted giant pandas, who seemed to have adequate room to exercise and play, the other animals were reclusive and depressed in cages that were clearly too small. One monkey in particular was imprisoned in a tiny cage barely twice his size. It would be like one of us living in an elevator! WWF is a respected, international relief agency so we were both surprised by the inadequate housing that we found. Many of these animals were rescued from imminent death in the wild, but we question whether this claustrophobic captivity is really a better alternative. The sad conditions of the other animals stifled our panda euphoria somewhat but it was still a great experience overall.

We returned to Xi’an with a sunny afternoon at our disposal. Xi’an is the only major city in China whose old city walls remain intact. The top of the wide, cobbled wall has been restored and is open to the public for a nominal admission fee. On top of the wall, there are several places to rent bicycles and we were elated to find a tandem, or “bicycle built for two”, as Tina affectionately calls it. The mere sight of a “bicycle built for two” invariably causes her to belt out the old song lyrics from Daisy Bell:

Daisy, Daisy
Give me your answer do
I’m half crazy
All for the love of you
It won’t be a stylish marriage
I can’t afford a carriage
But you’ll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two

We paid for the rental, picked out our trusty steed, gave her a quick once-over and we were off! Shortly thereafter, the singing began. Switching seats, clowning for photo ops, racing other duos around the wall, and dodging man-eating potholes, we rode like giddy school children as we circumnavigated the city, covering the 13.7km perimeter in just over an hour. At the end, we were happy to relinquish our bike, both of us sore from the bumpy ride.

In the mood for some cheap street food, we walked to the nearby Muslim Quarter markets to window shop and sample the Islamic fare on offer. The Muslim Quarter has been home to the Hui community (Chinese Muslims) since the 7th century. After bargaining hard for some knockoff Olympic t-shirts, we made our way to the food market. The tourist section of the quarter was a tree-lined avenue and a narrow street, both lined with family-owned restaurants, shops and food stalls. We walked both streets, perusing displays of dried fruits, candied nuts, skewered meats, and local sweets. Plastic patio furniture was set up on the sidewalks with patrons chatting over bowls of noodle soup and dumplings. We spied a tiny dumpling shop where a woman was steaming dumplings in stacks of round flat baskets just outside the entrance. We sat down for a basket of spiced lamb dumplings, which were the cheapest and easily the most delicious food that we’ve had in China. We immediately ordered another basket and savored every bite.

With visions of playful pandas in our minds, the happy exhilaration of a bike ride, and bellies bulging with dumplings, we walked leisurely back to our hostel with a mutual air of satisfaction and delight from our wonderful day.

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In Xi’an we have experienced personally the effects of gross overpopulation in China. We came to Xi’an – on the night train from Beijing – to see the famous Terracotta Warriors, proclaimed by some to be the Eighth Wonder of the World. Xi’an is what you might call a budding metropolis – another bastion of consumerism with what appears to the outsider as a healthy middle class. The city is consumed by concrete – impersonal residential towers and enormous commercial buildings. It is not a typical American downtown with rings of suburbs but rather an ever-expanding city almost perpetually cloaked in haze.

Our hostel offered a guided trip to see the Terracotta Warriors but I convinced Aaron that their premium was too high and we should take the city bus instead. A member of the hostel staff told us which buses to take: the 603 to the train station; then switch to the 306. It sounded easy enough. We walked to the bus stop and waited for the 603. We had seen many city buses, in Beijing and Xi’an, pass by with bodies stuffed in like sardines so we should not have been surprised when the double-decker 603 came to a halt at our stop disguised as a sardine tin.

Only three passengers disembarked and, at the same time, three Chinese girls slipped in front of us to the entry door. This is common practice in China. There is no etiquette, no chivalry here. It’s every man for himself. And if you’re standing in a line, a person will cut in front of you while looking you right in the eye. Luckily, we’ve had prior experience with this uncivilized behavior and are unabashed about throwing an elbow or shoulder in front of these devious little cutters. In the case of the three Chinese girls at the bus stop, we let them go for two reasons: 1) from their usurped position directly in front of us, their removal would have required an unusual amount of manhandling, which surely would have caused a scene; and 2) with the size and disorganization of the crowd at the bus stop, we were not 100% certain that we’d arrived before them.

So the three girls climbed onto the packed bus and we followed. Not surprisingly, three more people pushed their way on behind us with one vocal and pushy woman imploring us to push further into the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd. To complicate matters, the bus was designed for Chinese people so Aaron was about eight inches too tall; he could not stand straight but had to hunch over in the claustrophobic cabin. Thankfully, after a few stops, he found a reprieve by standing in the stairwell leading to the upper deck. After about thirty long minutes, we finally reached the train station and easily found the 306, which was much more spacious and comfortable, for the remaining hour ride to the Warriors.

Discovered by accident in 1974 by peasants digging a well, the Army of Terracotta Warriors is one of most important discoveries of ancient Chinese history. Commissioned by Qin Shi Huang, the First Emperor of China, the army of thousands of life-size soldiers in battle formation stands guard at the emperor’s tomb. Some say Qin Shi Huang feared evil spirits in the afterlife while others believe that he expected his rule to continue after death. Ancient scholars seem to agree that the emperor was paranoid and fanatical, which would explain his obsession with creating a “pretend” army. Whatever the case, the army of soldiers, when viewed in its partially restored state, is undeniably impressive.

The museum is constructed over the three original excavation sites. It is recommended to view the pits in reverse order so we began with Pit 3 – the smallest – and worked our way to Pit 1 – the largest and most impressive. The soldiers were positioned in long corridors divided by walls made of rammed earth and wood beams. The most fascinating aspect of the army was the level of unique detail among the statues. Each soldier had a unique face. Even the tread on the shoes was not uniform. The soldiers’ dress and hairstyles differentiated their rank and all held bronze weapons, though the weapons had been removed.

The excavation sites each showed the broken condition in which the soldiers were discovered. A sign near one of the pits indicated that, to date, not a single statue has been unearthed intact. When we reached Pit 1, where approximately 6,000 soldiers are thought to stand (although only 2,000 have been restored to date), we met with the postcard view of the Terracotta Army. The excavation site was larger than a regulation football field and less than half of the site had been fully excavated; the two-thousand restored warriors, dating back to 210 B.C., stood stoically in battle formation with horses and all. As we stood facing the front line, it was easy to imagine the army in its full grandeur and completion with Emperor Qin Shi Huang pacing back and forth, barking orders at his earthen men.

We completed our visit with a brief stop in the museum of artifacts, which showcased some of the weaponry and tools found near the sites as well as two half-size bronze chariots with drivers, remarkable in their level of detail. As we followed the exit signs to the parking lot, we were steered through a “village” of souvenir stalls. Strangely, the single alley of stalls was surrounded by a, two-storey commercial structure, seemingly intended for tourist amenities, which lay almost completely vacant. Aaron suggested that it might be an initiative of the Chinese government to create construction jobs, even though there is no practical need for the completed projects, though we were never able to confirm it. We rode the 306 bus back to the train station in Xi’an but decided to walk back to the hostel rather than enduring the claustrophobic misery of the 603.

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On our last day in Beijing – we were booked on the night train to Xi’an – the sky was gray and drizzling. We stayed around the hostel until our noon checkout time, then stored our bags in the luggage room and went out for the day. There were several family-owned restaurants in our alley and an older man – probably the grandfather – had sat outside the door of his restaurant yelling “Ni hao!” (hello) at us in a loud, gruff voice everyday as we passed. It had always made us smile and we decided to stop in for an early lunch. No one spoke English, of course – we had forgotten our guide book and couldn’t even figure out how to order a bottle of water – but everyone was friendly and smiling and the whole family came over to help us order. We ended up ordering enough food to feed a family of five, the highlight of which was a foot-high haystack of shoestring potatoes. We left fat and happy.

Contrary to everything we had heard about the Chinese lack of receptiveness to non-Chinese-speakers, after three days in Beijing, we could not help but notice the pre-Olympic excitement in the air and the genuine desire of the locals to make foreigners feel welcome. People stopped us on the streets to offer help; we were beckoned into restaurants and the signage around Beijing had clearly been updated with English titles. This is the first time in twenty years that the Olympic Games have been held in a developing nation and China is determined to show its best face. The entire city is under construction and the ubiquitous presence of the world’s largest military is keeping watch.

We started our day by walking to the newly constructed Grand National Theatre, colloquially referred to as The Egg. Located just west of Tiananmen Square, behind the Great Hall of the People, the theatre is a titanium and glass dome surrounded by a round moat. The reciprocal image of the dome on the lake moat creates the illusion of an egg. The dome entrance is a single walkway which dips under the moat, preserving the continuity of the design above. Intended to rival such signature structures as the Sydney Opera House, Beijing’s Grand National Theatre is an awe-inspiring vision of modern architecture. The cost of the project was 3.2 billion Chinese Yuan Renminbi, or about US$465 million, a figure which implies a goal of dynastic legacy rather than profitability. One cannot deny the symbolic power that this structure exudes or the feelings of inspiration and awe that overwhelm the senses on a stroll around the circumference.

We headed next to the Wangfujing district to spend some time wandering through the shopping mall and restaurant lined streets. The Saturday crowds had descended on Wangfujing and we sat at one of the outdoor soda shops to rest our feet and watch the world go by. Aaron had been talking about seeing two of the other Olympic venues – the Beijing National Stadium and the National Aquatics Center – but two hurdles stood in our way: the venues were too new to be shown on any of our tourist maps so we weren’t sure how far they were; also, we had not yet taken a taxi in China and were intimidated by the language barrier. After a recent experience with a dishonest taxi driver in Hanoi who, after agreeing to charge according to his meter, drove us in circles around town before stopping at our destination, thereby attempting to extort four times the correct fare, we were hesitant to take a taxi to a destination of unknown distance. After much deliberation, we agreed to go for it anyway.

With only a few hours before we needed to depart for the train station, we hurried to the end of Wangfujing where we had seen an abundance of taxis. It took us a while to get one to stop – our foreign faces seemingly a deterrent – and when a driver did finally stop, we soon discovered that Chinese taxi drivers were clueless about the Olympic venues, or at least did not comprehend the English names for them. This is going to be a big problem for the Olympics, I thought to myself. Finally, we found a driver who, after many repeated utterances of the word “Olympics” and grand gestures indicating large buildings, pulled out a handy little book from his glove compartment. It was a government-issued Chinese taxi driver’s guide to the Olympics and contained photos of all of the Olympic venues. Aaron pointed to the correct photos, the driver nodded, and we were off!

The Beijing National Stadium, a.k.a. the Bird’s Nest for its architecture, will be the site of the opening and closing ceremonies of the 2008 Summer Olympic Games as well as the main track and field events. The area around the Bird’s Nest was fenced off so we could not get very close to it. We had the driver stop for a few minutes along the side of the road so that we could join the other gawkers. The building was a massive display of modern architecture, in which soaring curvature has replaced the maximum functionality of space as the primary initiative of the endeavor. The gargantuan steel structure invokes shock and awe in the beholder rather than admiration of beauty in the traditional sense. It is inarguably an impressive artistic and architectural feat.

Directly adjacent to the National Stadium was the National Aquatics Center, commonly referred to as the Water Cube, which will host the swimming, diving, and synchronized swimming events. Masterfully designed to resemble the foam created by soap bubbles, the structure is made of steel and Ethylene tetrafluoroethylene (EFTE), a kind of plastic that “allows more light and heat penetration than traditional glass, resulting in a 30% decrease in energy costs” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beijing_National_Aquatics_Centre). The EFTE pillows take on a light blue, watery hue, similar to that of the glassy surface of Lake Kunming, and you cannot help envisioning grand swimming pools inside. The Water Cube was also roped off, denying us a closer look, but we will definitely be watching the Olympics this year to get a glimpse inside this and Beijing’s other spectacular venues.

We had our driver deliver us back to Wangfujing for our “last supper” in Beijing at the famous Quanjude Roast Duck Restaurant. We sat down for what would be our fanciest Chinese dining experience amid a sea of upper-middle class Chinese families. We looked around the dining room as roast ducks were being sliced and diced by hospital mask-clad chefs in tableside presentations. The menu listed every imaginable preparation of duck, with all of the questionable body parts highlighted as delicacies. Our waitress assured us that a half-duck would be sufficient for both of us and we ordered a side dish of mashed potatoes. Naturally, the mashed potatoes arrived long before the duck and, to our surprise and disappointment, they were served chilled. Life is like a box of chocolates…

Our duck arrived after about thirty minutes and the chef began carving it up. Due to my little carcass phobia, I kept my eyes on Aaron and prayed that nothing that arrived at the table would resemble a living animal or its internal organs. We were served a few slivers of flavorful skins first, which we happily doused in plum sauce. Next, the sliced meat was presented in an expertly carved pile. Thankfully, the carcass was then taken away. The waitress demonstrated the traditional assembly for Peking duck by dipping two pieces of meat into the plum sauce and placing them in the center of one of the rice pancakes. She then added a sliver of spring onion and a julienne cucumber and folded the pancake neatly around the filling, using my chopsticks. Dinner was delicious! We finished just in time to race back to the hostel, collect our bags, and head to the train station.

We found Beijing to be a fascinating city, one that has embraced many aspects of modernism while clinging to its colorful culture and traditions. The modern Chinese have completely embraced Western dress; the women adore high heels, Louis Vuitton handbags and trendy, layered hairstyles. The McDonalds, Pizza Hut and Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurants do a thriving business and Chinese children are showing the first signs of childhood obesity. Beijing has all the signs of civilization. The one thing that I (the self-appointed Potty Police) just cannot get over is the abundance of squat toilets. Here we go again. Though I am admittedly impressed by the number of public toilets in Beijing, I am outraged by the fact that they are almost all squat toilets and rarely have toilet paper or soap. If there is paper at all, it is in a single common dispenser outside of the stalls. Even McDonalds has squat toilets! It seemed like such a gross contrast to have magnificent modern buildings and impressive infrastructure everywhere…and then squat toilets.

A young woman whom we had met earlier in our travels had formerly done a work study in China. She told us that, at her office, the squat toilets were all replaced with Western toilets. Subsequently, the Western toilets were all ripped out and the squat toilets replaced because the Chinese were squatting on the toilet seats rather than sitting on them, leaving dirty footprints on the toilet seats. The moral of the story was that the Chinese simply prefer squat toilets to Western toilets! In my opinion, this is the most difficult part of China to digest because the squatters are more prevalent in China than anywhere else that we’ve traveled. The disgusting public smoking, uninhibited spitting (and I mean hocking up big, nasty loogies), pollution, mediocre food quality and rampant overcrowding that results in inhaling more people’s breath (and germs) than ever before…all of these things I can handle with relative understanding. Squat toilets are my nemesis. I find the notion of squatting like a dog to relieve oneself totally uncivilized. While some people may determine restroom visits to be a small part of their day, I believe that when the Western world, accustomed to their clean toilettes with paper and soap, descends upon Beijing for the Olympics, the Chinese squat toilets will be reviled by all.

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