What A Woman

(Or, How Many Shoes Do I Need?!)

Last week, my good friend and frequent shopping accomplice asked me one of life's vital questions.

How many pairs of shoes do you have?

Tricky question, right? That's like asking a Shanghai "massage girl" how many tricks she's turned in the past year or how many hairs I have on my lustrously wavy head. Nearly impossible... The daunting task at hand caused a momentary tinge of panic. From sandals to flip flops, loafers to wing-tips, sneakers to trainers, how could I keep track of all these? Not to mention all the pairs of heels and flats I own.

After racking my brain for longer than any straight (trust me!) man should, I was able to compile a list that only grew with every boost in recollective memory power. And now I feel like a complete douchebag for having so many pairs that, in all seriousness, I probably don't need. Peep the full list, in all its glory:

Sandals (not including flip flops):
2 pairs of Birks

Professional/non-sneaker shoes:
7 (3 pairs brown leather, 2 pairs black leather, 1 pair green suede, 1 pair of boots)

Sneakers:
7 pairs of Converse (3 hightops - limited edition Finland Santa series, regular red/white/blue, khaki/green/brown leather. 4 lowtops - blue/white double tongue, regular sky blue, classic black, double-layer green/red/blue plaid)
3 pairs of athletic trainers (2 pairs of Nike running, 1 pair of Adidas crosstrainers)
1 pair of lowtop checkered Vans
2 pairs of casual Adidas (both red/white/blue combos)
2 pairs of Pumas (original silver Mostros and classic burgundy/khaki)
1 pair of blue Saucony
1 pair of Asics Onitsuke Tigers (silver/white/blue)
2 pairs of Nike casuals (maroon/sky blue Dunk Lows and my new babies, the Neopolitan Nike IDs)

I think that's it... All 27 pairs (54 lovely babies) are happily living with me here in Shanghai, except for the pair of blue Sauconys that I've had since high school, which are floating around my garage back home in the US.

Looking at this list and coming to terms with myself, the truth hits. I really don't wear all of them as much as I should. How can anyone manage? I don't know how the average woman or rapper does it. On average, the most foot-time goes to the black Converse, whose classic and easy-to-match neutrality is a no brainer. Same for the standard white Chucks, which have seen the worst of what Boston, Manhattan and Shanghai streets have to offer.

Ironically, the shoes that cost the most (one pair of Adidas, the Asics, all the leather shoes) see the least amount of daylight, compared to their sale-rack and fake-market brethren.

This continues an ignominious trend that I started way back in 1992 (or thereabouts...), when my pair of first edition Shaquille O'Neal Reeboks saw approximately 3 or 4 months of open air before I ditched them for a pair of shockingly sexy black and turquoise Filas, which were all the ghetto rage. The Shaq Attaqs (truly the hot shit) were gigantically thick monstrosities. Check these puppies out:

Whoa Nelly! The Big Dawgs

This picture does not do their pure girth justice. On the day of schoolyard unveiling (so.extremely.important.), it *happened* to be Field Day, a lovely schoolyard event filled with plenty of adolescent humiliation for your's truly. It may come as a shock to you, but I was not very athletic as a boy (or man, natch). So, executing my perfect plan, I plotted to use my awesome new sneakers to distract potential bullies from noticing how hard I sucked at each event, thus saving me some taunts and punches. But my Shaq Attaqs could not help me. In fact, they made matters worse.

Weighing approximately 10 pounds each - not counting the extra particle weight sucked into the shoe's cavity by that goddamn Pump - the bastards only served to slow me down. The gangliness of my frame was only exacerbated by the massive clown boots attached to my chicken legs. Running the short distance dash, the clunky chunks made me look like Forrest Gump in his leg clamps, awkward and so not fresh. Even an $85 pair of shoes couldn't mask my inadequacies. Let's not even mention what they did to my free-throw basketball shootout score...

Fifteen years later, Shaq Diesel and his magic kicks still haunt me. Despite the fleeting pang of guilt that I feel whenever I score a sweet pair of slightly expensive shoes, the shame always passes when I think of how good I'll look in them. Vanity and fashion statements aside, there is something to be said for a nice pair of shoes: how they represent your personality, the way they can make you feel, and their ability to make an entire outfit shine. It's a highly personal affair that really applies to any mode with which we choose to express ourselves. Personally, due to either sentimental attachments or sheer conceit, my day can be ruined if I am not wearing the right pair. Thus, the unreasonable amount that I own. On second thought, the same obsessive compulsion goes for my shirt and trouser selection. Thank God my friend didn't ask me how many t-shirts I own...

A Good Day's Work

(Or, Getting Our Charity On)

When the earthquake hit Sichuan last Monday at 2:28 PM, I received some emails from friends with the breaking news. The general air surrounding the event seemed more like gossipy shock-news to me. A big earthquake in the middle of nowhere, separated from Shanghai by a swath of land equidistant to the one that keeps Boston at safe distance from Los Angeles. Big deal. I quickly dismissed those paranoid friends who claimed they felt tremors, having felt no such thing myself. And we were in the same building. I was happy to hear from family and long-lost friends, concerned about my safety and well-being, but overall, it felt like people were overreacting.

So when the numbers started trickling in that afternoon, and the following day, the full scope of the event began to sink in. A week later, the death toll is over 30,000 and expected to reach 50,000, with thousands more missing or injured for the rest of their lives.

To help give you a better idea of just how big that fatality figure is, think about it this way.

1. Pick one of these more recognizable small US towns:
Chapel Hill, NC. Ithaca, NY. Palm Springs, CA. Fairbanks and Juneau, AK. Beverly Hills, CA. Bozeman, Helena, MT. Concord, NH. Hackensack, Atlantic City and Hoboken, NJ. Roswell, NM. Burlington, VT. Revere, Methuen, Woburn, Northampton, MA. (More here)
2. Add a terrible natural disaster.
3. Poof, the entire population, all gone.

I mean no disrespect to compare and make light of other tragedies, but Katrina claimed less than 2,000. Maybe because we're so inundated with news headlines and attention-grabbing statistics, or perhaps because of the distance from the event (much like Burma last month or SE Asia, post-tsunami), but it's hard to actually grasp those numbers without some perspective.

In the aftermath of the quake and in the face of the unanswered questions from angry, newly-childless parents that will no doubt come to light when the rubble is cleared, the country has banded together in a display that is refreshingly more positive than the pre-Olympic bullshit that we've been swamped with in the past months. In an ironic twist, this tragedy might actually garner China more sympathy (man, does it need it...) and help balance all the inane pro-China/anti-West stupidity that's been festering. For now, everyone is focused on doing as much good as possible.

Over the weekend, our company's annual Spring Fair was turned into an impromptu charity event, with many participating vendors offering some or all of their proceeds directly to the Shanghai Red Cross relief effort. Our company, to its credit, organized an easy system that deducts donations directly from our paychecks, making charitable contribution even easier (and tax deductible, natch).

Most encouraging of all was the outpouring from the children. Throughout the day, a steady line of kids brought their piggy banks (seriously, all pigs!) to the Red Cross booth, giving as little as 10 RMB in hard-earned coinage and upwards of 200 RMB for the little rich ones. Some kids, just casually walking by, emptied whatever was in their pockets onto the table, doing their small part. It was heartening to see how excited they were to contribute however much they could.

Little Guy Doing His Part

The annual clothing drive that I organize saw a huge bump in contributions, blowing up almost three-fold from previous years. In some ways, it was a little daunting to move it all to the donation drop-off, but how can I complain about such a good turnout?

Working Hard or Hardly Working?

Lots Of Donations

Over the course of a day, bag after bag of clothing and bedding was donated, resulting in two fully jam-packed moving trucks that required two hours and four people to shift. The poor donation drop-off volunteer lady was happy to see it all, but admitted it was a little "psychologically overwhelming." We ended up filling about 1/3 of the space in her garage. It's going to be a bitch for her to get her bicycles out of there now. Ha.

Poor Garage...

Thank God For Happy Helpers

Since I started the annual clothing collection, I've seen the attitude towards charity shift in a positive direction. The first year, I got a lot of "Donation? Henh! Why don't you just sell the clothes instead!?" As if I was insane for suggesting a contribution of old clothing to the needy in poor Chinese villages was a good thing. Charity? What's charity when there's a buck to be made? Ahhhh, China~

By the following year, the idea of charity and donations was slowly catching on around here. Even though some people still didn't get it ("Why give away clothes!?!", "Can I sell them to you instead of giving?" etc.), the younger people were learning that there's more to life than consumption and me me me.

So, reflecting on the response from this year's drive, it is inspiring to see people giving so much in a time of crisis. I admit a strong sense of pride in what we accomplished, however small it turned out to be. There's still a lot to do. If you'd like more information on donating to the Sichuan earthquake relief, check the information here. If you'd like more information on River of Hearts, the local Shanghai charity organization that accepts these clothing donations, click here.

Best Driver Ever

And finally, if you're looking for a good moving service, call Mr. Meng. The man was an immense help for us on Saturday, even giving a sweet charitable discount for his services. He can be reached at 13817207577 (24 hours a day, services going as far as Anhui).

You knew there'd be a jumping picture involved...

I'm Gonna Be A Father!

(Or, The Beauty of Creation)

Whip out the champagne, cigars and gummy bears, for it is a momentous occasion. I'm finally going to be a dad. And twins! After days of planning and hours of deliberation, I made the decision. My parents wouldn't be too happy if they knew how big a hit my wallet took, but they'll eventually come to accept my choice. I never thought this would happen so soon, but I'm ecstatic to make this announcement. I'm going to be the proud father...of a new pair of Nikes. My babies are due in 4-6 weeks.

NIKEiD, the most badass idea that Adidas failed to get to us first (why Adidas, WHY!?!), opened its flagship studio on the mainland in April 2008. The concept has been around for a while, with shops already buzzing in London and New York City. However, unlike the snobby SoHo locale, the Shanghai studio is open to anyone with enough cash. Appointment only, please.

Gaze Upon Her And Be Humbled!

So what is the big deal? Making your own damn shoes. For those with a shoe fetish or sneaker addiction, this is on par with a mainline hit of pure, uncut dope, with less residual pain and none of that pesky anal leakage. But rather than incorporate another convoluted metaphor to this blog party, I'll return to the whole baby idea. Basically, designing your own sneakers at NIKEiD is like genetically manipulating your own superhuman, bionic, test tube baby in some secret laboratory. Depending on how picky and indecisive you are, the process can take minutes, hours, or days. Come take a quick jog with me:

1. Pick your sneaker model.

Whether you like the bulbous chunk of the Dunk line, the classic smoothness of the Cortez, or the sexy sleek of the Zoom, there is a model for every fashion preference. You can play around with these online at nikeid.nike.com, but the real treats of in-studio conception are exclusive models, colors and fabrics that are not available online.

2. Design your sneaker.

This is where the real fun (or stress, depending on who you are) begins. Each section of the shoe, from the shell to the lining to the laces, is clearly marked on the menu, with each available color/fabric/texture listed below it. Go nuts with the mixing and matching until you find your desired superbaby.

Color: Depending on your chosen canvas (i.e. sneaker model), you are allotted a certain set of colors to play with. And they are all over the place. Ranging from boring, conservative pastels for the classic Tennis model to an orgy of rainbow-on-crack color explosions for the more expensive Jasari running shoe. Neon pink, electric red, taxi yellow, solar orange, lucky green, metallic gold, grey granite... Crayola gone mad in an 80s disco.

Fabric: Much like the color choices, these also vary by model. The casual lines have more selection, as the running shoes and basketball hightops tend to stick with set fabrics for ultimate athletic performance. Choose from patent leather, suede, plain cloth, hard shell, or the exclusive Paul Smith (check) inspired stripe patterns.

Texture: As important as color and fabric, the texture will also dictate the look of the shoe. Whether you pick the gleen of the hard shell, the soft mute of nubuck, the easily dirtied denim cloth, the glittering sheen of metallic silver, or the classic smooth of the patent leather, make sure to check out the actual look and feel on the examples lining the studio walls. There are some things a computer monitor can't convey.

3. Customize that shit.

Vanity is expensive. Since you're already busting out the big monetary guns (~850-1200 RMB) for the oppportunity to design your own footwear, how do you go all the way and truly make it your own? Create a design name and have it stitched to the side, forever cementing your identity and creative prowess. Anything you want, max 10 letters (some models allow 8 letters per shoe). And no profanity, please. Trust me, I checked: it's in the terms. I guess my left shoe "Mother", right shoe "Fucker" design is just not meant to be. Should have settled on "Mass" and "Debator"...

Who in God's Good Name would get "Flaming"!?!?
Although, this is not as bad as the dude who picked "Tool"...
Totally serious about this...

If you're anything like me, you'll go nuts with all of these options. Considering how personal this opportunity really is, I found myself burdened with a lot of pressure to make that one special pair. In my mind, the design had to be a perfect representation of who I am. Lofty, I know. But we all know how much I overthink things.

Aborted Pair: Too Flashy....Laces didn't match well

More Aborted Models: Like A Rainbow Took A Giant Shit On My Feet

So, in the process of playing with different creations, I made a few designs that were pretty loud. Sea green, bold red, radioactive yellow, cobalt blue, tangerine orange. I figured, if I'm making something special, why not go a little crazy? Well, because I'm not crazy or as ostentatious as I may want to be. My main concern was how well the sneakers would match my average outfit and, sorry highlighter yellow and seafoam green, but you are not found in my wardrobe. In the end, I settled on a design that was quite befitting of yours truly - clean and quietly bold, nothing too showy, with a subtle dash of spice snuck in for good measure. I think that sums me up quite nicely. So I present to you, the Nike Neopolitans:










Existentialism-via-shoeware aside, the experience is well worth it, if you care about what covers your feet. Drop by the studio, conveniently located in People's Square, at the corner of Nanjing Pedestrian Road and Xizang Road (metro exits 15, 19, or 20). If you fear commitment, there are 4 Mac stations on the first floor for you to play around with (See below). Designs can be saved in your online locker, after creating a free Nike account. The studio design staff are all very helpful (and bilingual), so consult them as you see fit.

Ground Level Entrance: Four Macs in the center console waiting to be played with

Once you decide to take the plunge, schedule an appointment in the studio located in the basement lab. During your session, you get a free drink, a designer to help you through the process, and about one hour to design the shoe of your dreams. Play with the in-store models and fabric samples, ask questions and do what you have to before plopping down your credit card. You get a personalized birth certificate, free keychain (whoopdidoo!), and an ID card with the design specs and picture of your new baby. They even have stork service: delivery of the final product to your door, free of charge. So much easier than childbirth.

Descending Into Goodness

What are you waiting for?

More studio pictures here:
http://www.kenlu.net/forum/showthread.php?t=25772

NIKEiD.Studio - Shanghai
819 Nanjing East Road (corner of Xizang Road)
Brilliance Shimao International Plaza, Basement level
021-6352-6616
NIKEiD.Shanghai@nike.com

Chiang-Kai Shek's Den Of Sin

(Or, Weekend Escape To The Coast, Part 2)

As a wannabe history buff and lover of all things old, I was anticipating a wealth of riches in the hometown and birthplace of military and political giant, Chiang Kai-shek. So after a quick dinner and facewash in our hotel, we emerged into the cool night air of Xikou, ready for an evening of curio shopping, late night snacks and bustling town life. Instead, we were sorely, sorely disappointed.

First off, for a place aspiring to be the next big tourist spot, they are missing quite a few things. Mainly, something to do at night. Even a foreigner with 4 years of travel under his belt knows better. There were more things to do that empty Hangzhou Bay Bridge rest area than this place. Aside from a few restaurants, a foot massage place of questionable cleanliness, and some shops selling crap clothing and low-quality junk, it's pretty much a ghost town.

Walking up and down the central strip of town, wandering past dark and empty construction plots heralding the "soon-to-be-complete" tourist center, we finally found the so-called Old Street, site of all the historical tourism wonders. We were greeted by a steady flow of unsavory looking fellows, honking tuk-tuks and motorcycles, and loads of dark nooks perfect for kidnap, rape and robbery. In the distance, we saw a considerable group of people gathered around bright glowing lights and loud thumping music. Could this be a nightclub in the middle of hobunk Xikou? As we neared the crowd, it seemed to be some kind of lame performance. Our hopes were dashed. Having no interest, we passed by and continued to look for fun.

After wasting a good 15 minutes of futile searching, we decided to make a hasty retreat back to the hotel. Passing the same crowd again, we decided to take a closer look. Lo and behold, the boom-boom music and deafening announcer were trying to attract guests to a topless titty show. A titty show! Lord on high, was Xikou importing more than just tuk-tuks from Thailand?! We should have known better, considering the entire mass of onlookers were those aforementioned suspicious males. Chiang Kai-shek would be proud to know that his hometown's biggest nighttime attraction was a den of sex working pole trollops. Next thing you know, his memorial in Taipei will be disrespectfully shat on by an act of misled presidential buffonery. Oh wait...

At that point, we gave up. Stocking up on fresh fruit, local snacks (qian ceng bing - "thousand-layer biscuits" - baked goodies flavored with sesame or seaweed) and cold beer, we retired to our hotel. The clock had barely struck 9PM, but there was just nothing else to do. Even the hotel's entertainment selection was against us: our TV only had 19 channels, forcing us to sit through some very very painful CCTV programming. Gah! That titty show was looking more attractive by the minute.

Time To Roll The Biscuits - Not as fun as the titty bar...

Qian Ceng Bing: Baked On The Side Of A Piping Hot Pot

To top off the evening of fun, I had the worst night ever. EV-ER. It all started when I returned to my room, shared with another single male coworker (for obvious logistical reasons). While I was out frolicking in the exciting Xikou darkness, he opted to stay in the room and be a loser. So when I got back at the ungodly hour of 10pm (control your gasps of horror, please), one knock, two knock, three knock, four - no answer - so I called him from my friends' room. Answering the door in a wife-beater and lovely gray briefs with a playful circle-square pattern, he greeted me with a surly expression and a mumbled grunt. Whatever. As he stumbled back into his bed, I couldn't help but notice that his undies were a little ill-fitting, a slight puff of fabric billowing out from his buttcrack area, like he was smuggling a little balloon or handful of cotton balls. Disgusted, I cleaned off the day's grime, brushed the taro and bamboo stink from my mouth, and was ready for a good night's sleep.

The minute my head hit the pillow, dude had fallen asleep. And I swear to my holy Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, his snoring was the loudest, most consistent, powerful and obnoxious noise I have ever heard come out of a human in my entire 26 years. At first, I laughed it off, like "Ha ha, this certainly can't last all night." But it did. From 10:30 PM to 7 AM, he snored. And snored and snored until I was seriously entertaining thoughts of smothering him with a pillow or that fat dude from the bus. How do I know it was non-stop? Because I didn't sleep all fucking night. Eight hours. I tried putting a pillow on my head, but the noise and vibrations made it through, irking me even further because I was dead tired, nothing would work and I knew that I would not be getting much sleep.

Over the course of that painful night, I managed to doze off for a few sporadic minutes in the early pre-dawn hours, going so far as to fake-cough next to his head to wake his dumb ass up from snoring. No luck though. When the phone rang for morning call at 7AM, I looked like I had just spent an entire night at that titty club: panda eye-bags, confused expression and wild, jittery eyes darting all about. No wonder that asshole was traveling alone; no woman (or man) alive could deal with that on a nightly basis. I stumbled to an underwhelming breakfast, then into the cloudiness of an overcast sky. I could tell it would be a highly enjoyable day.

When In Doubt, JUMP!

Xikou's Old Street is lined with a number of historic sights related to the Family Chiang. An ancestral hall, an old house, temples, this and that. Sad to say, but I've seen it all before. I felt a little guilty for not caring more, this being the place where young Chiang was born and raised, but this stuff is starting to bleed together like one, big, undistinguishable clot of seen-one-seen-it-all boredom. Shame on me, but I was disappointed. I had more fun watching the ladies do their laundry in the nearby river stream bisecting town.

Pass The Fabric Softener!

For those potentially interested in visiting Xikou, I will say that the family compound, ancient salt factory and temple were interesting. From what I glimpsed from the doorways and turnstiles blocking my parsimonious ass. But for the 135 RMB combined admission price? Totally not worth it at this juncture of my China travel life. I haven't lost complete interest in this stuff, but I'd much rather use 135 RMB towards a plane ticket to somewhere interesting.

Not Too Shabby: Chiang's Childhood Home

Let Sleeping Pups Lie

By the time we rolled out of town, it had started to sprinkle. Our attempts to buy locally grown mini-taro was thwarted, the supply supposedly depleted from the winter snowstorms that nailed China this past year. No matter; it was just one of many disappointments on our last day. The final stop of the trip, Dongqian Lake, was still a few hours drive through Ningbo city, thus allowing me to get reacquainted with my tubby bus buddy. I admit that the left side of my body missed that comforting crushing feeling.

To save our precious time (I have a quick BM to take care of), I will summarize the highlights of Dongqian Lake with two words: lunch and golf cart. OK, that was three words. But you get the point. If those two nouns don't drive home the point that this place is ultra boring, then I pity the unfortunate traveler who gets tricked into wasting time here.

Aside from a rather filling lunch of fresh snails, clams and other local produce, there wasn't much to see in the unfinished Dongqian "resort" area ("fantasy island" and hot springs expected to be complete by 2010, the new magic number in post-Olympiad China). The rain didn't help much either. Wandering around and passing the time with some jumping, the most excitement we had that afternoon involved a speedy golf cart ride towards the exit gate that hurtled over a steep bridge, rollercoaster style, almost hurling me onto the pavement as I bounced out of my back row seat. Yippee.

Street Fighter: Dongqian Hu Alpha Edition

The Latest Member of the X-Men: Condom Girl (With reservoir tip!)

Waiting around for our tour's eventual departure was excruciating. Like being stuck in rush hour traffic on the way to work or in the It's A Small World line at Disneyworld: the time wasted is exacerbated by the fact that there's nothing really great waiting for you at the end of the tunnel (no pun intended). Funtime had ended the day before when we left the canyon and now we were just waiting for the cold grip of Death to save us from the numbing void of boredom.

Inventing Games To Pass The Time:
This One's Called "Pretend Liu Xiang [or equally hot guy] just walked by"

As we crossed the Hangzhou Bay Bridge for a second time, I gazed across the expanse of silty, poop-brown ocean and hazy white sky. The view hadn't changed much from the day before, even though the sun had been replaced by steady drizzle. Feeling truly reflective, yet sadly without a journal to record my thoughts, I pondered long and hard. It's a sad day when such an anal retentive traveler such as myself doesn't bother taking a single note while on an excursion. It's even more troubling to imagine that I hadn't even bothered to do any research beforehand. I know, I know, the Rapture is upon us. Indeed, after 4 years of traveling through China, it has finally come to this: I'm officially bored with the small things, these little gateway trips. I need something bigger and better - apologies in advance to those recovering addicts in the audience - the hard stuff. While these escapes from Shanghai are nice, I really need to buckle down and go for the big guys: Tibet, Xinjiang, Sichuan. It's about time. Sure beats jackhammer snoring and titty clubs.

More pictures here.

Thieving Buddha And His Nutsack of Tricks

The Trip To "Ningbo"

(Or, Weekend Escape To The Coast, Part 1)

After finishing all 5 seasons of The Wire, I had no reason to spend time at home with my now-useless DVD player. So when my company advertised a 2-day weekend excursion, I needed no persuading. I'd actually been waiting quite a while for the chance to see Ningbo, a bustling port along the Eastern coast of China. Excited at the prospects of visiting the city, most especially because it was the site of one of Zheng He's shipbuilding operations, which crafted the megaships used on his pre-Columbus global voyages, I had built up a sizable adventure in my imagination that was unfortunately too grand to be realized.

Once I read the fine print, I noticed that we weren't going to Ningbo city at all (we drove through it though!). Instead, we would spend a good amount of time in scenic nature spots around Ningbo that nobody had ever heard of, with a few historic sights tossed in for good measure. As the old addage goes, beggars can't be choosy. Perhaps I've gotten too accustomed to settling for less throughout these years, because I was just happy to be leaving the confines of the city for a couple days.

Departing from our Soviet-style commune bloc at an ungodly Chinese-tour-group hour, we boarded our bus, overcome with happy anticipation for a weekend of fun and excitement. This feeling lasted for about ten seconds. To my horror, the man in the seat next to me looked to be over 250 pounds, the skin on his limbs taut and smooth, like over-packed sausages about to pop if left on the grill for too long. Dude was solid. Like most large people, his breathing didn't come so easily, requiring a kind of suck-snore that was luckily drowned out by my trusty iPod. This being China, seats on transport aren't that wide, so his glorious girth overflowed to my area, squashing me into the window without even trying. To his credit, he tried to give me space, but he was so damn meaty that those moments of sweet bodily freedom were few and far between. Four hours of this claustrophobic mess was going to be quite a test.

After a couple hours of driving, interspersed with a few instances where the dozing fat man used my body as a mattress, crushing me so far into the window that I was in danger of bonding with the glass, we arrived at our first sight: the Hangzhou Bay Bridge. Opened for service on May 1, 2008, this is the world's longest trans-ocean bridge, spanning about 40 kilometers and taking 30 minutes to cross. And what a bridge it is. Aside from the unfortunately hideous color scheme used on the rails (seriously, aesthetics are about as important as manners in this country...), the cable-bridge is an engineering marvel. Costing almost 12 billion RMB (over 1 million USD) to build and 5 years to complete, it has cut the travel time between Shanghai and Ningbo from four hours to two (and travel distance from 400 km to 80km...). Take that, puny Western bridges: the Hangzhou Bay Bridge is the ultimate stroke of Chinese engineering phallic compensation.

Idiots on Parade

Crossing the bridge, the first thing you notice is just how stupid some people can be. Slowing down to a crawl in middle lane traffic is, needless to say, extremely unsafe. Stopping on the side of a bridge to snap pictures of a brown ocean and white sky is also unnecessary. Hanging out of the window (or skyroof) to take pictures of the nothingness, while your car is barreling along at 60 km/hr, is likewise ill-advised. I was having more fun marveling at the parking lot that had formed in the right-most lane, a procession of people stopping along a fully functional highway to get out of their cars to snap a few pictures of the lovely polluted expanse surrounding us.

Not A Parking Lot...

After about 5 minutes, the wonder of it all gets a little old. Unless you are an engineering nerd or have a strange bridge fetish, a half hour of driving through nothing is super boring. In a fitting twist of disappointment, the rest areas on both ends of the bridge - supposed to offer comfort and refreshment after such arduous driving - were not supplied with anything related to food or beverage. Just bathrooms, empty buildings, and anticlimax.

Our drive continued for another couple hours, during which time, my bus partner and I got to know each other a little better, his armpit sweat slowly soaking into the part of my T-shirt covering my shoulder. Romantic indeed.

We finally arrived in Zhedong, a small valley town in Haining which was surprisingly reminiscent of the Wuyi Mountain area in southern Fujian province. Nestled amongst tall mountains covered in deep green forest, cut by clear flowing rapids rushing into a wide reservoir, the Zhedong canyon was a great surprise, due in large part to the glorious weather. I don't remember the last time my eyes had the pleasure of enjoying an actual blue sky, but I can confidently say it's been months. Combined with the glaring brightness of the sandy boulders, the glimmering streams of crystal clear water, the lush vegetation and the hot springtime sun, it was precisely the scenery we were seeking.

Zhedong Reservoir: Don't know how clean the water is...

Oh Engrish! I just can't help myself

One of my favorite pleasures in life is relaxing barefoot in a mountain stream. Climbing down from the rickety pathway that was barely attached to the hillside, we stumbled along hundreds of white-hot stones burning the pads of pale-white feet, feeling the first blast of icy cold mountain water as we dipped in our toes. A simple sensation that can make you forget about the world outside the valley. On the list of memorable travel moments in my life, these usually rank high on the charts. This instance was no different. The weekend's travels were worth it for that half-hour of peace and solitude.

Precarious Outcrop

Twirling Swirls

Isn't That In America?

Refreshed and content, we dried off our feet and slowly made our way back. Having had a few hours of exercise to burn off lunch, we exited the valley and continued our quest forth to the quiet mountain town of Xikou, the birthplace of Chiang Kai-shek.

Part 2, coming soon...

More pictures below. What good would a trip be without some jumping? =)

Overwhelming Excitement

(Or, Mid-Week Day Off With Nothing To Do But DL New Music)

Rejoice. It's a sunny Thursday. The kids are outside screaming and causing a fuss, geese are mating (seriously...since 11:30pm...it's driving me nuts!), dogs are barking and I have the day off. So with all this loveliness spinning around the universe, what am I doing in my apartment?

To tell you the truth: I'm in mourning. In the mid-morning hours, I finished the final episode of The Wire (a.k.a. "the greatest show ever") and I need some time to recuperate. I'm still devastated by the abrupt and unapologetic deaths of [name removed] and [name removed]. My tears are still drying after [name removed] and [name removed] parted ways, especially now that [name removed] is on the junk now. The feel-good snapshots of some beloved characters' hopeful futures wasn't enough for me. I'll throw in my undying-affection-and-fandom vote (especially Season 4...best eva). Now I need to find my next fix. I've apparently learned nothing about the ills of addiction...

So after setting my education level back 5 years by watching First Sunday, the new Ice Cube opus (granted, worth it for whatever Tracy Morgan I can get in this 30Rock drought, but otherwise completely insipid), and Alien Vs. Predator Requiem (poof! all of high school just disappeared too), I had to take a quick catnap to really contemplate what I had just cost myself. Waking up to the soothing sounds of the new Portishead, I realized the true point of this day.

Music. What else? In recent days, I've had a few epiphanies, most important being: 2008 is actually shaping up to be a pretty fantastic year for music. 2007 has officially been filed under "memories and hindsight" and I've had time to actually consider the quality of those as-of-yet-unpublished 2007 Top 20 Lists. While still pretty good, 2007 was indeed not the year that music would save my life.

Take time to contemplate some of the fruits that will have been released by the time 2008 is done: Metallica, Oasis, Weezer, U2, Coldplay, NIN, Ours, The Vines, Franz Ferdinand, REM, Moby, Madonna, Janet Jackson, Mariah, Jewel, The Breeders, My Morning Jacket, Alanis, Sheryl Crow, Death Cab For Cutie, The Roots. So many heavy hitters, only 12 months to strike. And I'm pretty sure there's hundreds more I'm not aware of...

While the love for 07's new class is still fresh in my iPod (Bat For Lashes, Kate Nash, Paramore, The National), I'm already on the search for more. Duffy. Vampire Weekend. And my current fave, Santogold. Check out the video for "L.E.S. Artistes." I don't know why people have dubbed her as the new M.I.A. (because they're both unique and brown? I don't know either...), but she's fantastic on her own. Lest you think it's just going to be a weird Missy Elliot-inspired video, be patient for the end, when it just gets weird in general.