In Search of the Perfect Bloody Mary

The concept of a Bloody Mary varies greatly from place to place. According to Wikipedia a Bloody Mary is a popular cocktail containing vodka, tomato juice, and usually other spices or flavorings such as Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, piri piri sauce, beef consomme or bouillon, horseradish, celery, olive, salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, lemon juice, and celery salt. It has been called "the world's most complex cocktail."

There are many spins on the original cocktail like adding tequila instead of vodka for a Bloody Maria or using Clamato instead of tomato juice for a Bloody Caesar. A stick of celery, pickled asparagus or okra, olives, even a shrimp all serve as garnishes. Despite these changes, the basic recipe produces a tasty beverage often used to cure hangovers, act as an excuse to drink at brunch before 10 am, and can substitute a meal if the right garnishes are included.

Despite specific recipes being available online and in bar tending recipe cheat books around the world, the Bloody Mary can be a culinary masterpiece or a libation that could awaken Bloody Mary herself in the mirrors of urban legend.

One of my favorite Bloody Marys was made at the Blue Frog in Shanghai. The majority of times I ordered a Bloody Mary in China, I never knew what I might get. The tomato juice was usually sweet or it came out without ice. The Blue Frog did it right though. It was a do-it-yourself sort of affair. The tomato juice and three shots of vodka came out in a pint glass with the lime, lemon, horseradish, tobacco, salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce on the side. I guess being able to make it myself is what made it good. Refreshing and strong! Even better during happy hour.

The worst of the worst was prepared at the New Mathaiga Mall in Nairobi. After an interminably long wait, the waitress carries out my drink which can only be described as a disaster. The color is an unhealthy coagulated blood red with unknown chunks floating in it. Upon further inspection, I realized as I lifted my straw out of the drink, that something was very wrong with the consistency. Gelatinous goo does not a good Bloody Mary make. In an effort to be polite to the expectant waitress watching on, I take a sip and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I cannot bear to choke this down. My friend Derrick tells me he knows the people at the restaurant and he takes the reddish colored poison away. About 15 minutes layer he returns and informs me that the bartender has no idea how to make a Bloody Mary even though it is on the menu, and that the restaurant ran out of tomato juice. In place of tomato juice, they used a Kenyan version of spicy tomato sauce ladled out of a can. I am speechless and to be honest, quite grossed out. A glass of ketchup with some spices and vodka cannot be passed off as a Bloody Mary.

Almost every Bloody Mary I have had in Mexico has been incredible. Usually they serve it with half Clamato and half tomato juice, ice cold with salt on the rim, and lots of lime. A good spin on the drink is to make it with beer instead of vodka called a Michelada which is by far my most favorite drink in the world.

Light, simple, and made from scratch are usually the the requirements for a good Bloody Mary. Pre made mixes like Mr. and Mr. T's, Zing Zang or Pat O'Briens will work if you are in a rush but nothing compares to tailoring the drink to suit your tastes. I have traveled the world, a connoisseur of Bloody Marys, but even I know the ultimate drink is made at home.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The World

Mother-Daughter Duo vs. Evil Horizon Empire and the Shady Ladies

"I am moving to Nairobi!" I squealed excitedly to my mom. "And I get money for a shipment so I can finally get my stuff out of storage. Yahoo!"

"Mandy Rae, you might not remember this but the last time we lived in Africa our shipment never came. It was lost for a whole year, and was returned to our home in Tucson when we came back from Abidjan. The shippers claimed it was stuck in Amsterdam."

"Maybe it stopped at a coffee shop and couldn't get out." My mom's ability to spread anxiety is parallel to none. But I was excited to finally have my stuff with me so I could set up a real home. I was going to ship. This is the 21st century, not the early unpredictable 1990's. Shipping has to be more reliable.

Little did I know what was in store for my mother and I when we contacted Horizon Movers for what became a shipping nightmare. Beware...

I was planning a wedding, getting married in Mexico, unpacking my storage unit, and moving from Shanghai to Kenya all in one summer so I called a "professional" company to come give me a quote for my shipment. My new school gave us $5000 to spend on moving so I gave away a lot of furniture but kept my favorite couch, clothing, knickknacks, etc which were piled nicely in the middle of my mom's living room when Kristine, or should I say, Shady Lady #1, arrived. She quickly glanced at my items and pressed a few buttons on some fancy machine, asked me where I was moving and said they would get back to me soon with a quote. We had already packed it but Kristine said they needed to unpack it, do inventory, and repack it. Ok fine.

A few days later, the quote arrives. $4200 which was fortunately under our $5000 allowance so we say yes, of course, foolishly believing we have alleviated one of our responsibilities for the summer. Enter Shady Lady #2, Olivia, most well known for never being at her desk, always at lunch, and for taking several days to reply to an email, if she does at all. We had to fill out all sort of forms, insurance, and a power of attorney so my mom could sign off on the move since the packers were coming a day after we got on the plane. Red Flag!

I think waiting until the client has left the country is a great way to pull a fast one because you know they can't do anything about it. Most people just say yes, I know the price went up, but ship anyway, we need our stuff.

Well, not this mother-daughter duo! The packers came with two small crates and managed to fit everything inside both of them and take them away. I received an email stating the actual price. Now, I know the quote was a quote and that the real price would be a little different. I assumed that being a professional moving company, Horizon might have hit the nail a little closer to the head, but no. The original quote was $4200 and the actual cost was NOW going to be $7200. WTF?! That's almost double! Going ballistic does not even begin to describe my emotions as I sit in a five-bedroom house without any furnishings....in Nairobi.

The face-off had begun. I immediately email Shady Lady #2 stating that they need to cancel the shipment. The price is way too high. No response....for two days. She writes back saying ok where would we like it sent? I ask her what will happen if we take out the couch and she says that might help. We find out from Shady Lady #1 that the quote was for only one container. Then why did you bring two?

My mom was on and off the phone with Horizon representatives for weeks. She went down to their warehouse to try to repack and get as much as possible into one crate but the person who was supposed to meet her forgot about it. Then that same person tried to offer her $100 for gas and wasted time. My mom adamantly refused this "bribe" all the while politely filing a report with the Better Business Bureau. The BBB starts investigating our little shipment fiasco and at the same time my mom somehow reaches marvelous Michael who works for another moving company contracted with Horizon who takes the shipment through the next step from Arizona. He is also appalled at the way we have been treated by the swarthy Horizon associates. The Shady Ladies also tried to accuse us of adding extra items like chairs and extra boxes. The chairs were folding beach chairs and we didn't add them, they were in the pile. The extra boxes came from the packers when they packed up some of the items in the pile that weren't already in boxes. It was one thing after another.

After all of this back and forth, almost a month has gone by. We wait in an empty house and our shipment hasn't left Tucson. At this rate, we will open our shipment at Christmas. With the pressure from Michael and the BBB, Horizon finally reveals itself as the money-grubbing scum that they are. They drop the price to $5600 but that is still over the $5000 i wanted to spend. Finally they came down. The actual cost to us will now be $5000. Obviously Horizon and the shady ladies were making a huge cut somewhere. I didn't realize I had to bargain in the USA.

Lessons learned:
1. Make sure your shipment leaves the country before you do.
2. Always have someone on your side back at home like a fierce Mother!
3. Just because it's America doesn't mean "professional" companies won't try to rip you off. But because we live in the good ol' USA, we can complain to a higher power like the BBB and then be treated fairly.
4. Everything is negotiable. (I learned that from my mom who will bargain anytime and everywhere, and who always gets a better deal.)

We have been charged $5000 and our shipment leaves LA on September 9 to travel the big blue sea hopefully bypassing any Somali pirates, arriving in Nairobi around November 9. Just in time for Thanksgiving!

I would like to take a moment to thank my Mom. Without her forcefulness and resourcefulness, the evil Horizon Empire and the Shady Ladies would have won, resulting in their taking advantage of countless others.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Tucson

Hundreds of Shots, Thousands of Shots, Millions and Billions and Trillions of Shots

Yellow fever, Hepatitis A and B, Meningococcal, Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Polio, Tetanus, and Typhoid, oh my!

No, I am not trying to get a job with the Center for Disease Control or trying to list every communicable disease known to man. These were the immunizations I had to get before moving to Nairobi. There is nothing I hate more in the world than being stuck by a needle. And lucky me, I was going to get all these lovely shots in one day.

I vaguely remember having to do this before we moved to Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire when I was in fifth grade. Obviously I had repressed the memory in order to move on with my life. We also had to take malaria pills once a week. Not so easy for me either. The generic cheaper pills my mom bought were the size of a gobstopper and had the consistency of chalk so they stuck to your throat. I hacked up several of these before my mom gave me the more expensive candy coated version. I barely survived. Fortunately Nairobi is above the elevation for malaria carrying mosquitos and my ability to swallow pills has increased somewhat over the years.

In order to save some money, I made an appointment for Djorf and me at the county health department in the ghetto of South Tucson. We arrived on time and took our seats in the waiting room. There were several other people waiting so it wasn't too bad. An old tv blared local commercials in the background as I anxiously waited to be called.

After a very long time we were called back into the room to be "counseled" about traveling to Africa and the dangers involved with getting certain immunizations. Two ladies who looked like they had never even ventured out of the state of Arizona were assigned to us. We handed them the forms we had filled out which stated that we would be traveling to Nairobi, Kenya. I knew we were in trouble when one lady asked us if we would be going to any other countries besides Nairobi and Kenya. I can't believe this lady was counseling us when she didn't know that Nairobi was a city in Kenya. I almost told her "Yes, we will also be visiting the country of Africa."

I wish I had said something that might have spared us from the grueling hour that followed where we were handed a printout describing each and every vaccination, the dangers, the side effects, which we had to read and initial. Then they proceeded to regale us with tales of rabies, cases or bubonic plague, and countless other gifts we could receive from journeying to the Third World.

I don't know who hired these people but they were obviously not professionals. They kept looking in this huge book to tell us about all the diseases. I like to call it the Lonely Planet's guide to a painful death abroad. They pointed out Kenya on a map (I am surprised they could find Kenya on a map) which was color coded to match the different diseases. One snippet of advice they gave for the prevention of contraction of rabies was to leave the area if you were being bit by fleas. Wow, how many years of research and hours of training went into coming to that conclusion?

Just when we thought it couldn't get worse, they gave us the bill. $1000 for both of us to get all the shots we needed. That's not cheap! You'd think that preventing these diseases from spreading would be more important and the costs should be affordable. I am sure the shot costs less than hospitalizing someone with yellow fever. Proactive medical treatment is for some reason deemed unimportant. Let's just wait until someone is dying from a disease because the government would prefer to spend thousands in hospitalization pills.

Finally we were ready to get the actual shots. My thoughts and fears screamed inside my head and I felt myself melt down the wall as I slowly slid into the torture chair. The nurse started unwrapping syringes. Lots of them. Were those all for me? The nurse was the most adept adult at the clinic. Bam bam bam...three shots in one arm. Bam bam bam...three shots in the other arm. I was done in 45 seconds or less. Some of them were quite painful and stung. The worst part is the mental image of the long pointy hollow needle entering my arm. I feel nauseous just thinking about it piercing my innocent skin and introducing toxins into my poor healthy body. Djorf was next and he didn't even blink. I don't don't why I get so upset about it. I even cry when my dog has to get a shot because I can't explain to him that it's for his own good and that his mommy really isn't trying to hurt him. His little cry of pain tears my heart to pieces.

Finally we were able to leave the clinic. We would have had one more shot but there was an oral version for typhoid which kept you safe longer than the shot anyway. This noxious disease was dispensed in pill form that had to be refrigerated at all times, even on the way home from the pharmacy in order to keep the nasty cultures of semi-vital typhoid fever alive inside.

Frightening to think of willingly ingesting a disease that killed children and adults with abandon on the Oregon Trail computer game. We have not really eradicated any of these diseases. Some Dr. Jekyll type is now lurking in a secret underground lab manufacturing tons of these diseases and planning his takeover of the world after releasing them into the atmosphere. Oh, wait, is that the CDC emblem I see patched on his lab-coat? I always feel safer knowing my country is at the forefront of chemical warfare. Now I can sleep soundly at night.

I am now a host of viruses and diseases: tuberculosis, hepatitis A and B, yellow fever, typhoid fever, meningitis, measles, mumps, rubella, polio, and tetanus, and I've had chicken pox. Watch out world, I have escaped and can kill on contact. I might even glow with nuclear waste. I was finally ready to go to Africa.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Tucson and Nairobi

Zumba Across Continents

The jingle of a belly dancing skirt, pounding base from an array of Latin, hip hop, and dance/electronica music fill the studio, laughter from multiple women and a few gay men, you have just joined a Zumba class. This upbeat dance inspired aerobics class has swept the entire world. You can party your way into great shape. Watch out! It's an addictive, easy to follow, calorie burning "fitness party" offered in over 110,000 locations across more that 150 countries.

One fortuitous day in the mid-90's the creator, Alberto "Beto" Perez, accidentally forgot his music one day for an aerobics class and had to use his own collection of salsa and merengue tapes. The class loved his moves. In 2001, Beto brought his dance moves to Miami, Florida and began Zumba Fitness: The Company where he has been training and licensing Zumba instructors ever since. Seven types of classes are offered worldwide to meet the needs of different age groups, body types, and workout regimens.

My first experience and ultimate addiction to Zumba began in Shanghai. One of the teachers at Shanghai Community International School where I was working, organized a class for us on Monday and Wednesday afternoons after school. This is where I first fell in love with my instructor. James was an adorable Chinese guy who just radiated energy. No matter how tired I was or how awful my day had been, I looked forward to Zumba. He made everyone feel good about themselves and their ability to pull off some of the difficult dance combinations.

James flitted around the room, getting freaky with the walls, and always telling us to be sexy. He sang along with all the songs and wore fluorescent clothing accented with one glove or one sock pulled up. No way could anyone ever be bored.

For a promotional video, we even did Zumba on the Bund! People were walking by taking photos and joining in. On older gentleman practiced tai chi while balancing a fishbowl and several other items atop his head while we boogied in the background.

We had other teachers but no one could inspire me like James. He was just so much fun! When I found out I was moving to Kenya I immediately went to Zumba.com to see which classes were available. Of course there were tons but I would have to wait until I got there to know where the locations were and if I would like the instructor.

Upon arriving in Kenya, I was so busy getting settled in that I didn't start Zumba for several weeks. Then while wandering through a mall I saw a poster advertising Zumba classes with Magic Mike. (My jaw hit the floor. Yes, Magic Mike, like the movie with Channing Tatum.) Except this Magic Mike is black and not quite as sexy but still has a great body and tons of energy. I was hooked after one class. Now I go two to three times per week.

Another great thing is that it only costs 500 ksh which is the equivalent to $6 compared to Shanghai where I was paying 100 yuan which is $15 per class. One not so great thing about the classes in Kenya is the lack of air conditioning and use of deodorant. The most recent class I attended smelled so badly of BO, I thought I might pass out. Every time this lady lifted her arms in front of me, I stumbled and had to stop breathing until the tidal wave of stench had passed. This of course is a small price to pay for the best, most exhilarating workout I have ever done. I highly recommend Zumba to anyone anywhere. Maybe some day I can be an instructor. Until then....

Z-U-M-B-A What's that spell. ZUMBA!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Shanghai and Nairobi

The Road Less Traveled (Part 2 of Visit Arizona)

Arizona shares about 378 miles of border with Mexico. This has resulted in a love-hate relationship that has spurred considerable controversy receiving national and international attention recently in the form of Arizona SB 1070. In case your head has been in a hole for the last few years, AZ 1070 is the "Immigration Law" which allowed officers to check the citizenship of people who were already being questioned for some other infraction. Many people were up in arms because they felt that this would result in discriminatory practices against people who "looked" like they were from another country, or to put it plainly, they had brown skin. Yes, there are probably a few jerk-head cops out there who take advantage of their position as an authority figure. How can we solve this problem? Make the citizenship question mandatory like the Miranda Rights for everyone...then we are all on the same level again and equally annoyed.

A related issue is the conditions "undocumented people" are subjected to in order to come to the US? Enter the human trafficker or "coyote" whose assistance is in high demand and whose fees easily run into the thousands per person. Oftentimes in order to evade capture and arrest by border patrol agents, these coyotes abandon their charges to wander the desert where they die of dehydration. The remains of 200 immigrants were found in the desert in 2011. The border patrol sets up water stations throughout the desert to help these people from dying of thirst. Of course, they are then captured and returned to their home country.

Drug smuggling plagues the state and has become almost unmanageable. Higher crime rate as well as more violent crimes have increased dramatically. Thousands of pounds of marijuana, hundreds of kilos of cocaine, and loads of the more recently manufactured methamphetamine flood the border cities where they are then driven to states across the US. Millions of dollars are spent patrolling the borders and incarcerating dealers and users alike. Many people blame Mexico for the influx of drugs but in all reality, if the demand for drugs didn't exist, neither would the supply.

Americas's drug problems seem minor compared to the terrors innocent citizens of Mexico witness on a day-to-day basis in larger border towns. Massive gang wars have broken out making historically promising places to work and conduct business, abandoned ghost towns. The news regularly reports shootings, mutilations, kidnappings, and assassinations in what used to be bustling border towns. Mexican citizens have deserted their businesses and homes in order to escape the violence. (Rest assured, Puerto Peñasco is no where near a major border town and although you may see soldiers in trucks with guns, they are there to keep us safe. My mom and I felt perfectly at ease the entire time we were in Mexico. So did the other hundreds of Americans strolling the streets in the old port area and frequenting the multitude of delicious restaurants and relaxing resorts.)

On the other hand, immigration has made us the powerful country we are today and I hope we will continue to be. Illegal aliens cross our borders every day and work jobs that no other Americans want. We have become to hoighty toighty to do menial labor. Many prefer to never work again and live off welfare for the rest of their lives. School is too hard for some and to those who want to learn it is too dangerous.

The largest school district in Tucson, TUSD (Tucson Unified School District) is a disgrace whose top heavy administration sucks the life from its teachers, students, and funds, redirecting any cash directly into their pockets in the forms of $90K salaries to a head of a department that no longer exists and the hiring of a specialist who can bypass the Board whenever he pleases. More than 30 students are stuffed into classrooms with disrespected, mistreated and underpaid teachers. Why do you think I escaped public education and decided to teach abroad?! The community is in an uproar demanding a complete overhaul of the district or begging to be annexed by Maricopa county in hopes the state or federal government will take notice that we are 50th in the state rankings with the lowest test scores.

I digress...I love politics but I find the issues so frustrating and people so selfish that I angrily cry out as a child would, "Why can't we all just get along?" But I know that humans are by nature greedy and lazy way to often. Instead of prattling on about topics which might cause my future in-laws to question Djorf's sanity for marrying me, I will move on to our trip.

Why, Why, Why, WHY!!!
Why do you ask?
Why is this place here?
Why did people ever come here?
Why are we in Why, Arizona?
Yes, the town is called Why. A befitting name with a convenience store: Why Not Travel Store offering free why-fi.
So you might ask yourself, why are we in Why. Well, Why is where you turn left towards Lukeville to get to Mexico. Do not accidentally turn right towards Ajo. Also, for the return trip there are no signs in Why telling you which direction to go to get back to Tucson. So when you drive back through Why to get home, you must turn right. Do not go to Ajo if you want to go to Tucson.
Why?

My mom and I stopped along the roadside to go to the bathroom. As soon as we exited the vehicle we aged 10 years as all moisture was sucked from our skin. We immediately slathered on oil free lotion, knowing that anything with oil might cause us to fry. People have been known to fry an egg on the sidewalk in Arizona.

We longingly searched for clouds in the sky which might promise rain. Monsoons should be coming soon. Along with the much needed moisture come an assortment of creatures like rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and gila monsters. Just after a thundering storm, you can hear the rattles of a million snakes out to enjoy the water. Tarantulas, gargantuan hairy black spiders, cruise across the roads en masse. Gila (pronounced like heela) monsters, 18-inch long black-spotted orange lizards, lounge about on large stones daring every passerby to mess with them. People and animals in-the-know would never touch these prehistoric looking monsters because they bite! Gilas latch on and never let go. Anyone arriving to the wedding with a gila monster clamped to his or her leg will no be permitted to enter. Desert animals can be gorgeous to look at but only from a safe distance or from inside the car.

An interesting fact about Arizona: the majority of deaths at the Grand Canyon are white males who feel it is necessary to teeter dangerously close to the edge of the canyon in order to pee off the side. Oddly enough, they fall in on a regular basis. Men beware.

You now enter Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. An organ pipe cactus resembles the pipes of an organ. They also look like skinny versions of saguaro cacti all growing up from the same base area with no arms. Most of the organ pipe cacti can be found along dirt roads which require visitors to leave the main highway. In the past this was a popular tourist attraction for botanists and bird watchers. Sadly, not long ago, the park ranger was murdered by "coyotes," the human trafficking type, and now visitors travel here with an armed guard.

The second border checkpoint is shortly after leaving Why. Watch out for sheriffs hiding behind AZ flora to catch speeders.

Camp sites are advertised...Space Available! Surprise surprise! Hold tight to your steering wheel: dust devils and rogue tumbleweeds abound. Which brings to mind a childhood experience I have repressed but now rears its ugly head. Returning from a trip to Puerto Penasco with my family when I was a wee girl, our mom made my sister an I collect tumbleweeds and stack them in the back seat of the car. Dreaming of a desert Christmas, she planned to spray paint them white, sprinkle them with glitter, and hang ornaments on them. But already dangling near the center of one weed, was a black widow! With a screech of terror from the back seat, the car squealed to a stop and the widow nest was kicked out. Never a dull moment in the desert.

Up ahead the town of Lukeville waits on this side of the border and its Mexican counterpart Sonoyta. We were stopped on the US side and questioned about where we were going and where we were from. Then we continued to the Frontera (border in Spanish) where a green light means keep driving and a red light means stop to the left so the Mexican border patrol can ask you questions and maybe search your car. They are mostly just checking if you have firearms or ammunition, neither of which can be brought into Mexico.

The speed limit is in kilometers per hour not miles per hour. Hopefully your car's speedometer has both. Otherwise 40 km is about 28 mph and 20 km is about 15 mph. There was construction when we were there last so you might need to follow detour signs. Follow the major flow of traffic because most people are also just traveling through. Many blue signs with Puerto Penasco or Rocky Point in white letters direct you to our beach destination.

This very desolate part of Mexico, sand dunes and rocks with maybe a shrub or two used to be a volcanic zone. There are lava fields and cave you can visit in the Biosfera de Pinocate recommended during a cooler time of the year.

Some road signs you might see along the way translate as follows:
No rebase - no passing
Area de descanso - rest area
Zona volcanica - volcanic zone
No arroje basura - no littering
Cinturon obligatorio - must wear seatbelts
Curva peligrosa - dangerous curve
(picture of a goat) - goat crossing
(octagonal sign at varying levels and shades of red to grey, might say alto) - stop sign

If you are caught speeding or running one of the many elusive stop signs, do not try to bribe or pay off the police. Mexico is attempting to cut back on corruption. Politely request to go to a police station to pay the fine. Americans are targeted for breaking laws in Mexico because they can afford to pay the fines.

Finally we are nearing the end of our journey. Puerto Penasco at last. A busy beach town, popular with spring breakers and families alike, welcomes visitors with open arms. The people are friendly, many speak English, and the American dollar is accepted along with the peso. Countless signs will direct you to Las Conchas where my wedding will take place. Remember to have fun, eat, drink, and smile. You are in Mexico and it is beautiful.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Visit Arizona (the part where no one else goes)

While traveling the four-hour, 260 mile long desolate road from Tucson to Puerto Peñasco (otherwise known as Rocky Point), my mother and I decided to write a short tourism guide for family that would be taking this adventurous route. Thus the road to bliss and relaxation can be rocky at times.

We were on our way to Puerto Peñasco to finalize arrangements for my wedding in July, so we packed up the car with tons of water, a small suitcase each, and Loki, the Pomeranian ring-bearer. With a full tank of gas, passports and wedding paperwork in hand, we set off.

The epic journey begins on Interstate Highway 10 traveling east and then turning onto the Interstate 19 towards Nogales. Shortly thereafter, you exit west on the Old Ajo Highway 86.

The unique beauty of the Sonoran Desert surrounds you. The Catalina mountains rise up towering and blue to the east as you pass by the Tucson Mountains which surround the city to the west. Native plants abound, immediately eliminating the common belief that deserts are only sand dunes.

And with one swift glance to the left, the spell is broken by the town of Three Points where Neo-Nazis and meth labs lurk, threatening arsenals of militaristic grandeur and apocalyptic explosions. Three Points also boasts the Arizona Minutemen or vigilantes who take it upon themselves to patrol our borders, keeping us safe from exhausted, dehydrated immigrant men, women, and children who have just traveled hundreds of miles in search of a better life. How manly the Minutemen must feel hunting down these ferocious "enemies" of the state.

In the distance you see the first of two border patrol checkpoints around mile marker 145 before you get to the AZ/Mexico Border. Make sure you slow down exactly to the posted speed limit, because sheriffs can be hiding on either side patiently waiting to pull over any speed racers. Normally the officers will just wave you through while venturing south but be prepared to stop and answer questions about your travels and citizenship on the return trip.

Without any notice except an old sign we entered the nation of the Tohono O'Odam native Americans. The reservation is not considered part of the regular United States so unless you are a member of the tribe, you cannot get off the highway and drive down side streets or meander too far without permission. The land may look barren and the houses ramshackle but make no mistake, the tribe distributes large sums of money from the revenues of four massive casinos near Tucson to anyone who can prove they have one quarter native blood through the female line. Aspiring students receive full scholarships to college. Even when the economy suffers throughout the state, people are still drawn to the casinos for that almost Las Vegas style destination vacation.

If you notice a large white dome at the top of the Quinlan Mountains off to your left, rest assured, it is not an alien spaceship or government test site. You are looking at Kitt Peak Observatory which houses 22 optical telescopes and two radio telescopes, is internationally recognized, and has made several famous galactic discoveries like how spiral galaxy rotation curves provided the first indications of dark matter. Kitt Peak is open for visits by tourists and school groups (try to plan your trip when field trips are certain not to be there) and for the star gazing enthusiasts out there, special overnight stays can be arranged.

The first town large enough to place on the map is Sells. There is not much to say about Sells except that there is a Circle K in case you need gas or a drink. Moving on...

The first thing that stands out to most visitors to the state is the lush green landscape complete with trickling streams and abundant wildlife. Just kidding. Realistically they experience unbearable, searing, suffocating, open-the-oven-door, devoid of any moisture heat. Temperatures in the summer months soar over 110 degrees Fahrenheit only simmering down to the 90's at night. But the air is clean, the skies are always blue, and we have 360 days of sun. The other nine months of the year are warm and wonderful making Tucson and Phoenix top spots for "snowbirds" which are our winter residents and personas mayores (retired folks).

Arizona's iconic Saguaro cactus speckles the land on both sides of the road measuring between 40-60 feet tall, weighing between 3200-4800 pounds. They are a very slow growing cactus. A 10 year old plant might only be 1.5 inches tall. Another desert plant is the jumping cholla which appears like some sort of fuzzy, gentle plant having a number of small fuzzy branches resembling the arms of a teddy bear. But don't cuddle this prickly bear which seems to leap off and attach itself to you with silvery spines. These thorns must be combed off your skin and never seem to go away. The Arizona state tree is the mesquite, described as lime greenish brown and thorny, that sheds bean pods and grows in groves along the roadside. In the past, and now for the tourism industry, Native Americans grind the seeds into flour.

Items not native to the Sonoran Desert are the excessive amount of beer bottles strewn on both sides of the road. Unfortunately, you will also see the crosses and flowers memorializing someone who died in a car accident most likely caused by drinking and driving. Arizona has some of the strictest drunk driving laws but countless people have still lost their lives.

Highway 86 stretches out in front of you as far as the eye can see. Every now and then, a yellow sign appears warning you of Dips. Dips are brief downward slopes followed by upward ones. Not something normally needing a sign. Arizonan dips are special because during the monsoon season, these brief downward slopes become homes to the notorious flash floods, gushing walls of water that spring up without a moment's notice. Despite signs proclaiming Do Not Enter When Flooded, people and cars are swept away each year. Rescue workers can be seen on the news bravely saving a man marooned on the roof of his car amidst the white water rapids he foolishly thought his monster truck could handle. Arizona has in fact implemented the Stupid Motorist Law that states, "Any motorist who becomes stranded after driving around barricades to enter a flooded stretch of roadway may be charged for his or her rescue. The costs can be billed up to a maximum of $2000 for purposefully and foolishly placing others in danger.

You will also cross what appears to be bridges over dry rivers. Eons ago, these rivers may have had water in them, but now they only fill when it rains. Our friends from Minnesota couldn't believe their eyes and took photos of the dry river bridges to laugh about when they showed their friends back home. Monsoon rains are nothing to scoff at. In 1982, in what is referred to as the 100 year flood, an entire building was sucked into the Rillito River and the power line poles were dragged down into the Santa Cruz River while the raging waters swept over the tops of bridges. When we have them, we take our rivers very seriously.

After a long time on the straight road you will pass the town of Quijotoa and at mile marker 110....A CURVE! In your comatose state from driving in a perfectly straight line for so long don't forget to slow down so you don't go careening off the edge of the road. Do not stop or seek assistance from the nearby Deliverance-style houses; there is a cemetery for those who do. Don't despair, the speed limit increases after a while, assuming you have become accustomed to the curves and small hills.




Right about this time, many adventurers become bored and begin counting border patrol vehicles. These are white with a green stripe going down the side and come usually in the form of trucks or vans. We counted 19 total vehicles NOT including the ones at the check points.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

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Business vs. Steerage (economy) Class

Business class ramp

"But I don't want to get off the plane!" I squealed. This is not something I ever dreamed of saying but after experiencing the luxurious accommodations of Asiana business class, my next flight in economy might make me cry.

Djorf wanted to surprise me by using his vast accumulation of flight miles (a mere 110,000 miles) to purchase two oneway tickets for Asiana business class for our final return flight from Shanghai. I have never flown business class so like a giddy child I have taken photos of everything, pressed every button I could find, ate everything I could, and drank enough champagne to drown in.

Almost completely flat reclining seat.

Let me just say, there is a reason a curtain is pulled to separate the haves and the have nots. If the commoners in the back of the plane knew what was going on up here on the "second floor," there might be a mutiny. The whole experience makes flying actually pleasant. I was in no rush, my bottom never fell asleep, I don't feel cramped, claustrophobic, my head didn't drop over onto the person next to me thereby saving them from a puddle of drool I surely would have deposited on their shoulder, I never got a crick in my neck, and I not once questioned the origin or expiration date of the delicious food placed before me. It was like being on a flying cruise ship except the alcohol is included.

Real Bloody Mary

Before we even got on the plane, we lounged in the Asiana Club munching on snacks and drinking wine. Then we leisurely walked over to the business class ticket collection area to the plane where there was no line, then strolled down our own ramp to the first/business class entrance. Unfortunately we did have to exert a little energy climbing the stairs to get up to the "second floor" of our plane before dropping gracefully into the reclining space pod looking seats. I chose the window seat which also boasts extra storage compartments we found out later and Djorf chose the aisle. There are only 12 total seats on the second floor, in comparison to the 12 seats in each row of economy class. When I stick out my legs straight, I can't even touch the seat in front of me.

Me at the top of the stairs on the plane.

This is where the button pushing began. There are 14 buttons alone that control my seat. It goes up, down, in, out, lumbar support, leg rest and support, and it reclines. The seat in front of me never moves and there wasn't a child in sight to even attempt to kick my seat or puncture the harmonious silence. The tv had tons of movies, games, shows, movies, and the flight show (my favorite because you can watch the airplane travel across the screen). I also have my trusty iPad in case I get bored with the inflight entertainment.

Just one of the many courses of our meal.

Moving on from the seat, we were given hot towels at every interval, slippers, lotions, lip gloss, and endless glasses of Mumm Napa Rose. Our menu for dinner consisted of seven courses and warm bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar throughout. To start we had fried eggplant stuffed purée with tomato confit, followed by an appetizer of grilled king prawn with couscous and baby leaves asparagus. A mushroom cream soup was served piping hot and the main course was Toscana-style beef cutlet with marinated radicchio for me and grilled halibut with fettuccine-style vegetables for Djorf. Then came a cheese platter with Munster, Taleggio, and Compte, fruit, crackers, etc. But wait, there's more. A tasty apple tart and coffee/tea service was provided for dessert. Everything was served separately in real little white dishes, real silverware, and real glasses.

Perusing the menu.

After gorging myself like a gluttonous Roman on all this decadent food, I slept like a baby for about five hours until Loki barked and woke me up. Mean little doggie. He must have wanted me to wake up for breakfast.

Breakfast was almost as delightful as dinner. The feasting began with fresh rolls and croissants, followed by fruit and blueberry yogurt. The main course was a mushroom and egg omelette, potatoes, and grilled zucchini for me. Djorf had a seafood crepe with béchamel sauce and green beans. Coffee and tea? Yes please.

Jet-setting Pomeranian

I am now writing this post as we descend to Los Angeles where I will sadly deplane knowing this may be the last time I experience such luxurious surroundings. Even the toilets in business class stayed clean, spotless, and never smell bad. The flight attendants are perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed. Finally, no one leaps unceremoniously from their seats knocking over the elderly and children to tear their luggage from the overhead compartments before the captain turns off the seatbelt sign. We all sit patiently awaiting arrival at the gate where we will exit on our own ramp. We wouldn't want the economy class seeing how well we have slept and ate indesguisable because of the bounce in our step. A truly lovely journey. Had I written from my usual seat amongst the have nots, this blog would have taken an entirely different tone and I would have been chanting, "Let me off, let me off, get me out of this godforsaken metal tube death trap." I adore flying...in business class.

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Location:Asiana Airlines Shanghai via Seoul to LA

Gym of Eternal Stench

I have tried to stay positive and wait a few days or weeks before writing a rather scathing review of the gyms but I cannot resist any longer. Like a festering wound, one might have contracted at said gym, I must warn the world of the potential harm and horror of the two gyms I encountered while trying to stay fit in Shanghai.

Upon arriving at the mega mall center of Xujiahui, which crawls with a million people frantically shopping or milling about wanting to be seen "shopping," you must travel up five escalators to the fifth floor in order to get to Physical, the gym. The first smell that reaches you is popcorn from the next door theater. Not something you want to smell when you are trying to lose weight. The next smell that assaults you is after you hand over your membership card, receive your locker key, and enter the gym. Mildew, stinky feet, BO, and boiled eggs permeate the air. Followed by what can only be described as the "bog of eternal stench" in the locker room.

The odor is not the only thing to accost your senses. Your eyes are in for a treat. Ladies wandering around eating and gossiping in the buff, who haven't seen a razor...ever. Hair dryers are used to dry more than just the hair on your head. Legs are lifted onto stools and every follicle is dried to perfection. Hannibal Lector style masks are worn while relaxing on lawn chairs in the spa area which also boasts some of the fiercest grout mold I have ever seen. Despite the attentive ayis sweeping the floor, body hair curly and straight carpets the floor.

Frantically I leap across unknown refuse and scurry around the chaos of screaming women on their cells phones in hopes of making it to my locker alive. As I pass by the open trash cans I see what looks like a feminine hygiene autopsy, thankful I didn't arrive in the locker room when it was happening in plain view. My locker had something wet inside so I hung everything on the bent metal coat hanger holding on for dear life to a hook threatening to give way at any moment. I made a swift escape to the door and out to the main cardio section of the gym.

The gym was a toasty 85 degrees Fahrenheit as I ascended the step to a rather rickety looking treadmill. The machine squealed in pain as I pressed the quick start button and belt began to move. I ran listening to the pounding music and Chinese instructor screeching out the steps for a nearby aerobics class.

Five minutes later and to say I was pouring sweat would be an understatement. I was drenched, I couldn't breathe, and the gyrating bodies of the belly-dancing class next to me we're starting to make me ill. The treadmill on my other side held a lady with plastic wrap strategically bound around her upper arms, legs, and midsection in hopes of making them thinner. Much to my despair, she proceeded to peel off the plastic wrap flinging sweat in all directions. And I thought my own sweat was gross.

Thankfully after 20 months my membership at Physical ended and I signed up at Will's Gym, which is also closer to my apartment futilely believing things might be better. I was terribly wrong.

Because the gym was closer, I never had a bag with me so I did not venture into the locker room. Despite being much smaller than Physical, Will's still did not attempt to use the air conditioner at all. Each time I went to the gym, I would have to ask them to turn on the air. The final and last straw occurred when they refused to turn it on because a chubby man behind me on the elliptical machine claimed to be cold. I was at my wits end and cried out in distress, "But I am extremely hot and the air used to be on when I started running. If he is cold he can put on a sweatshirt. I can't take off any more clothes or I will be naked." My pleas fell on deaf ears. I whined a little bit more and they feigned to care and turned on the fan. That was my final day at Will's.

What have I learned? Even though the gyms are just as expensive as in other countries, you do not get what you pay for. In the future I will purchase a treadmill for my home and crank the a/c. If you like the heat and can handle less then hygienic conditions, gyms in Shanghai are the place for you.




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Location:Shanghai

Scooter Barbie

There is nothing like feeling the wind rush through your hair as you speed past the clusters of cars in a traffic jam. I often pretend I am in a video game. Other scooters, bikes, buses, taxis, pedestrians, and small dogs, come barreling across my path from every direction. Complete chaos ensues. I dart in and out of the these obstacles, blonde ponytail streaming. Scooter Barbie breaks for no one!

Unlike a video game, I only have one life. One collision and it could be game over. But driving slow and following the rules confuses the other drivers on the street, making it more dangerous. When you drive in Shanghai, it is full speed ahead. Pausing, letting someone in, being polite, stopping at a red light, is more likely to cause an accident then prevent one. Signs and traffic lights are merely suggestions. Why study, practice and pass a test to earn a driver's license if one can be bought? You don't even need a license for a scooter. Needless to say, it is a concrete jungle out there.

I adore my scooter, purple Vespa knock-off that it is. Luckily I purchased this beauty near the beginning of my first year. After school one day, a group of us went to a hole-in-the-wall scooter store with our friend Jeff who introduced us to PunYo (I will check on his exact name). He eagerly greeted us and proudly hustled us over to the scooter display. Because we were buying multiple scooters, they would be at a better price. Shiny and new, a variety of styles, how were we to choose? I originally wanted a baby blue color but that would have required waiting until the next day so it could be delivered from PunYo's other shop. Compulsive buying and instant gratification are two of my many vices. I had to have a scooter now!

After test-driving a few and deciding on a color: Vanessa silver-grey, Krystle canary yellow, Zach grey and black, and Easter egg purple for me, Jeff discussed the prices with PunYo. Each of us had cup holders and side mirrors attached while we walked to the ATM to extract our cash. 3200 RMB was my bargain price. Compared to the USA, this was cheap! I was thrilled!

Then it started to pour! This was a bit of an issue because I had never ridden a scooter before, rain or shine. PunYo provided us with special raincoats that draped over the front of our handlebars strategically allowing us to steer, turn on our headlights (it was now dark as well), and most importantly they kept us fairly dry. I strapped on my massive white helmet, complete with red communist star on the front and wobbled along in the scooter/bike lane squealing and screaming every time a car zoomed by. Officially we were known as a rough-rider Scooter Gang.

From then on I was scooter-bound. I mapped out routes and only went to restaurants and shops that were close enough for my scooter radius. I quickly learned the tricks of the trade. You can ride down the wrong way on the street or the sidewalk for that matter. Speeding by the police or driving down no-scooter-allowed streets really is ok as long as you wave and smile at the officers trying to tell you to go another way. You can cross traffic, talk on your cell phone, and cut everyone off without once considering switching on your turn signal. What are those extra buttons for anyway? And the most effective technique is constant honking. Honk if someone gets in your way, honk, because you're ticked off, honk, because someone might get in your way, honk, because you're running a red light, honk, to say hello, honk if you see a cute dog (or a dog in hideous clothes) and honk just because you're in China and honking is what they do best.

Now the only problem was my dog, Loki. How could he enjoy the benefits of scooter travel. He is already a jet-set pet, so why not scooter-dog too. First I attempted to have Loki ride between my feet like I had seen some locals doing with their dogs, grocery bags, and horrifyingly enough, toddlers. This worked once, then Loki fell off and rolled, quite gracefully I might add, to a stop. I wasn't going very fast, thank goodness, but Loki's perilous journeys would come to a standstill until I could find a safer mode of transport.

Fortunately I discovered a pooch pouch at Taikang Lu market, which resembles a back pack but goes in the front. All the shop had was bright orange which totally clashes with pastel purple, but Loki was finally deemed fit for safe scooter travel. Scooter Barbie and Pom Pom Loki warped to the next level adding a new obstacle of terror - the driver swivel head - people would stop dead in their tracks to stare as we flew past.

The final stage of scooter ownership is Scootershop stardom. PunYo has a poster-sized photo of him with a cheesy grin, his arms wrapped around my friend Shannon and me sitting on two of his scooters plastered on the wall of his store for all to see. I will truly miss the feelings of immortality you can only experience driving a scooter in Shanghai.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Shanghai

New Balance 8K Run for Fun

My first outdoor race! The 8K Jinqiao run is the beginning of my love of running with a group of people. The race took place this past Sunday. Djorf and I shared a taxi with our friend Shannon because Jinqiao is out in the "suburbs" of Shanghai. We met Team Taco at Cantina Agave and prepared to race to the finish line.

It all began one fateful evening (the same evening Loki was lost) at Cantina Agave in the French Concession after multiple margaritas and shots of tequila quickly downed to dull the pain and celebrate a post Brazilian wax. Shannon and I signed up for the 8K and I signed up Djorf, unbeknownst to him of course. Shortly thereafter the race was forgotten until the week before the event.

Mustached and ready to run

I had done no training, had not run in months, and needed to get fit fast. Normally I prefer to run indoors on a treadmill, at a specific pace, in a controlled air conditioned climate, a fan blowing on me, and my iPod on to drown out the sounds of other humans in the vicinity. If only Apple made something to eliminate the smell. I have been doing Zumba twice a week for the last few months and I am in relatively good shape even without exercise. So I got to work, and ran for half an hour after my Zumba class on Wednesday, I ran for an hour on Thursday and Friday, took Saturday off and was as ready as I'd ever be for the race on Sunday. (Poor Shannon had completely spaced the race until two days before but she still wanted to go.)

The cost was a killer deal for 300 RMB. It included payment for the race, donation to some charity, a t-shirt with Team Taco on it, and a Mexican food buffet after the race with....more margaritas...but of course!

Shannon and Me

When we arrived at Cantina Agave Sunday morning, and donned our snazzy baby blue t-shirts, fake mustaches, and posed for a few photos, we trotted over to the start line. There were 8,000 people running the race and everyone was jammed together, it was a disaster! I despise being squashed by crowds, but the electrifying excitement of the all the people getting together for fun and a good cause quelled my claustrophobic fears.

The crackle of a firework (surprise surprise, we are in China) started the race. The masses surged forward. No one was running yet, just a jerky jaunt. As we filtered out the bottle-neck and made the first right onto the blocked off road which was our racecourse, the crowd thinned slightly and the race was on!

Senor Djorf

ññAs the runners spread out, I had a better idea of what type of people run these types of races. I was originally under the impression that I might be one of the last to crawl across the finish line but I actually did quite well at 53 minutes. There were people of all sorts, ages, cultures, body types, and athletic abilities. Some people were dressed in costumes, some had dogs, one man carried a child on his shoulders the entire time.

As we rounded another bend, the first water station was in sight. If only I was so lucky. Unfortunately instead of the water I needed desperately, they were handing out bottles of sickeningly sweet and syrupy Vitamin Water. Nasty! To make matters worse, people were taking a few sips and throwing the majority of the liquid and bottle onto the grass by the side of the road. A complete waste and tons of trash. It's probably a good thing there was no water, because after the coffee and two bottles of water I drank before the race, I had to pee like a race horse, LOL.

The kilometers went by quickly and it wasn't long before the end was in sight. Thank goodness for songs like Stronger by Kelly Clarkson, Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO and Someone I Used to Know by Gotye which played over and over again kept me going.

Instead of counting off by kilometers, the signs being held up were counting down in meters, 780, 640, 530, 370, and then the finish line. I picked up my speed and made it just as the numbers on the clock switched from 52:99 to 53:00. Success!

And then, off to margaritas and Mexican Buffet!


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Location:Jinqiao, Shanghai

TJ also stands for Tianjin

Separation anxiety from the driver

Djorf's old stomping grounds were located in the clean, modern, smaller (only 10 million people) city of Tianjin. We took a fast train, 35 minutes from Beijing and a quick taxi ride to our much improved living quarters, Modena Service Apartments in the heart of Tianjin. The taxi was scary as I felt I was in jail. It was fairly late and I was exhausted after our day in Beijing so I went to bed.
The place we stayed was amazing after the run-down nasty place we stayed in Beijing. The beds had actual mattresses, springy, forgiving, soft, bouncy, fluffy, blissful, I could go on. I slept like a baby.

Patriotic beer on the Train

One of the first things I noticed about the people is that they seem even more angry when they talk then people in Shanghai. Every tone and syllable out of their mouths cuts like a knife. Every word seems to be yelled at you. Djorf assures me they aren't screaming and this is just the way of TJ's inhabitants. I don't know if I believe him because I already bungle the few Mandarin words I do know, and if the situation was reversed, I might also be frustrated with the laowai who continuously butchers every language she tries to speak, even her own. Oh how I wish I was multilingual like my wonderful fiancé.

Our day in TJ was uneventful. We slept in, ate a nice buffet breakfast which was included with our room, and wandered around. Djorf and I spent an hour at the bank trying to close his account and retrieve about $150 but a passport was not considered good enough documentation for the bureaucratic nightmare of banking in China. Djorf needed his "little red book" or his ATM card, neither of which he had and it takes seven days to get those replaced. He could only get all this done at this specific branch of ICBC in Tianjin, nowhere else. All attempts were futile, and we left dejected failures.

Earlier that day, I noticed that some fraudulent activity was taking place with my PayPal account. Payments were being made to people I didn't know without my permission. I called PayPal customer service using Skype to clear everything up. I proceeded to have one of the best conversations with someone who truly cared about my satisfaction. I used to get so frustrated with customer service when I lived in the States but after being on the receiving end of some of the worst customer service in the world, ICBC Bank in Tianjin, I have a whole new appreciation of those lovely people on the other end of the line. They speak to you nicely, they help you, they wish you well, and hope you have a wonderful evening. Many people take these do-gooders for granted. Never again, I say! If only knew how lucky they were to have a number to call.

After the bank we went to the lounge of the Tangla Hotel. It was very nice and I felt brave enough to order a Bloody Mary. This was a mistake, as it usually is in China at any bar that is not owned by an expat. The Chinese just cannot create a Bloody Mary. Mine tasted like nothing I have ever had before. It was similar to salad dressing, sweetish, sourish, slimy. I should know better but I had to try. The Singapore Sling I had next hit the spot. This was the beginning of a long evening bar hopping around TJ.

Special drink offered at Bar Pepper

Helen's is a well-known and popular bar near several universities in China. We met Djorf's friends from his previous school here for some cheap beer and snacks. Afterwards we went to AJO which is a bar owned by a group of expat men who started a fraternity not unlike the men in the movie Old School. In order to get there we followed some interesting directions: make your first left past the police station, turn right at the first intersection, then right again past the 7-11 when you see the rhino. A rhino? We saw two rhinos and almost turned at the wrong rhino. We made it safe and sound and I had a good laugh that some of Djorf's students were in the bar with other kids who could not have been more than 15 years old. Where were their parents?
The next place was a bar named Sitong where Djorf went almost every weekend. It was nicely decorated, full of Chinese people, and a Philippino cover band which serenaded us with local favorites like Waiting for You by Richard Marxx and Hero by Enrique Iglesias. I was having a grand time but the others decided the music and atmosphere were not to their liking.

Djorf asked the taxi driver to take us to another bar, his choice, so we ended up at Bar Pepper and some girlie bar named Jack's Jack's. All played a hilarious selection of music ranging from Leonard Cohen to Celine Dion. Our final stop of the night was Procope where we decided after a beer was accidentally poured on the table and then into our plate of fries, we should probably go home.

Just a hot pocket

The airport was another adventure. We decided to stop for a beer and a snack before our plane ride home. I think I will miss the funny English translations on menus the most. In the photo you will see a menu item "According to Burn Bacon Bag." What in the world is that? We had to order it and find out. See other photo of what ended up just being a boring meat pie. And finally, the waitress warned us it was hot, but hot enough to melt our plastic fork?!?! Help!

Melted fork

I now sit on a plane awaiting takeoff returning to Shanghai. I look forward to seeing my little dog and going out for dinner with him to Piro. Zaijian Beijing and Tianjin.

Beijing Part 2 On Our Own

I am rather upset because my recent blog: Beijing Part 1 The Tour has vanished and I am not in the mood to rewrite it right now. Maybe it can be found somewhere in cyberspace and until I try to locate it, I will continue with the story.

As the title implies, we were on our own to explore Beijing today. I had dutifully questioned Jason, our guide from yesterday, and made copious notes on our map about which metro routes to take, which stops to exit, and in which order we should see the following landmarks: Temple of Heaven, Forbidden City, and Summer Palace. We needed to get up early, which didn't happen, and get an early start because we were literally going from northeast Beijing to central, then northwest, then northeast again to pick up our luggage, and then to the train station in the south. The plan was to take the metro as much as possible. We made two trans-Beijing trips via metro and then spent several hours in a taxi. Beijing is not at all like Shanghai, compact and vertical, it is spread out and it takes forever to get anywhere especially when there's traffic.

Temple of Heaven

First stop, Temple of Heaven. This altar and surrounding buildings is where the emperors of the past prayed to the heavens for a bountiful harvest. The Hall of Prayer is a three tiered round building beautifully painted and carved. It was probably my favorite. The Circular Mound Altar was interesting to visit as well due to the large group of "spring break" Chinese students standing in the middle singing the Party Rock Anthem, obviously a new form of harvest ceremony. Let's keep those traditions alive! Of course, in the past, even the smallest mistake made by the emperor performing the ceremony was a bad omen ensuring disaster for the entire nation in the upcoming year. I guess it wasn't all fun and games to be the Son of Heaven. I also bought a momma and a baby crocheted dragon from some ladies in the park nearby. Very cute!

Me in between the Doors

Second stop, Forbidden City. The only thing I have to say about this place is HUGE! We took a taxi to the north gate near the museum and were not sure if we were even in the city. We got on a tram excitedly hoping it would take us around inside the Imperial City but it only took us back out the gate to the road. Apparently that was the end of the trip and we were pushed off the tram by new passengers boarding. I guess we should have known 1 kuai wouldn't get us very far. So we got back on the tram and went back inside the gate where we walked around a bit. The builds were impressive and for a guided cage it wasn't too bad. I wouldn't have minded living there as long as someone carried me around in a jiao or palanquin (chair carried on the shoulders of other people).

Anna, Mao, Me

Third stop, Summer Palace. By this time we were exhausted and hungry. This royal summer vacation home was on even more extensive grounds and built on and around very steep Longevity Hill. A pristine Kunming Lake sits at the bottom of the mountain and the view of the surrounding hills is breathtaking. This was by far my most favorite place in Beijing. Winding paths snaked up the hillside to palaces, temples, pavilions, halls, bridges, and one very long corridor. We strolled around enjoying the scenery but in reality we were frantically searching for food since we hadn't eaten all day. Some rice cake things and beer made us feel a little better. We were feeling quite accomplished after our outing today and ready to go to Tianjin.

Beautiful Summer Palace

But what will forever be known as the Beijing Incident, put a dark cloud over our final experience in the prestigious capital city. Upon exiting the Summer Palace, we were accosted by people selling tourist trinkets like Mao hats, weird little glasses with noses and mustaches attached that would blow out sideways. They are difficult to describe. I instantly stepped away from the hawkers and tried befriending a stray puppy. While I was petting the pooch, Mike and Anna were bargaining for a Mao hat, army green with a red star on the front. Something shady happened during the transaction and Anna's 100 RMB note was switched for a very obvious fake. She didn't notice right away. Shortly thereafter, I wanted to buy a hotdog for my newfound four legged friend. A man popped out of nowhere to sell me the hotdog. Djorf gave him a 100 RMB note but then I found 10 RMB note to pay with instead. Quick as a flash, Djorf's bill was switched for a fake and he noticed it right away, demanding the original back. Then Djorf asked Anna to see her money, low and behold, another fake. The lady with the hats was long gone of course and the wiener man had also vanished. We tried to cause as much of a scene as possible but it was useless. The whole group of hawkers was probably in on the scam. All the people selling those weird masks just stared at us, looking very clown-like and disturbing. I despise masks. Considering this is the first time in two years anything like this has happened to me, I wasn't upset for too long. We had a good laugh, cursed the group of cheats for the scum of the earth that they were, then hoped the 100 RMB would feed their families, grabbed a cab and were off to the train station and Tianjin.

Our trip to Beijing was short but sweet. We accomplished a lot in just a few days. Now I won't feel foolish for living in China for over a year and never seeing the Great Wall. I have born witness to some of the most important sites in China and am prepared to leave without regret.




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Loki's Triumphant Return

The door slammed shut with a deafening crash. The wind howled through the streets and apartment complex, rattling windows and doors, making the whole building shudder. Lightning flashed and lit up the sky, followed by booming roars of thunder, and torrential rain. Where had the sunny day gone? The weather forecast said nothing about this freak typhoon. Imagine this as the setting for Loki's return.

The night began with an amazing homemade Indian dinner at our friends' apartment in our old complex in Gubei. Sumptuous chicken, delicious vegetables, cheese cake and berries for dessert, and drinks.

Djorf's phone rings. "Ni hao?" The conversation continues and we ascertain that someone has called about Loki. In twenty minutes we are supposed to meet this strange man near our home by the police station. We said our hurried goodbyes to Archena and Andrew, thanking them profusely for the tasty meal, promising to text them if this dog was the real Loki.

In the pouring rain we hailed a taxi and sped off to the meeting place. As Djorf and I stood in the rain, feelings of doubt raced through my mind. Is this some kind of cruel prank? Did someone steal another dog that is just a Loki-look-alike? Will he even show up?

First Contact

After a few eternal minutes in the rain, a car pulls up. A nice-looking Chinese man steps out and waves us over. In the back seat of the car is a little boy, his son, and in the front seat...Loki! I have never felt so much relief and emotion wash over me. I was elated seeing my little dog safely kept and loved by his family of three days. I learned that the man had picked Loki up after seeing him on the street Friday morning. They had kept Loki safe, loved him, and fed him (maybe a little too much food, he has gained several pounds). Then Monday, his wife saw one of the posters so he called us. The man's wife and son were devastated to see Loki go home but knew it was the right thing to do. We told the man's son he could come visit Loki whenever he wanted. I am so thankful to have my baby-dog back.

We gave him the reward money and hopefully he will get his son a dog. I can't believe how lucky I am to have Loki back. I won't ever let him out of sight or off his leash again. I need to remove all the posters and email everyone who helped me. All their hard work and mine paid off. There are some good people out there.

Loki's homecoming is one of the happiest moments of my life.