Asia by Bicycle

We took the bus back to Guangzhou. Called Owen. He and Leeyann met us at their favorite little noodle shop, just down the street from their place. We ate noodles and went back to the apartment, where there was an intense yet lackadaisical conversation about the possibility of starting a short-term band. Finally we all agreed to try a real practice the next day.
We spent the morning and some of the afternoon of that next day listening to tons of songs and trying to decide what we could pull out of our asses. Jay and Leeyann made a wonderful Cantonese hot-pot lunch for us. I had trouble with my chopsticks. After lunch we headed off to the nearest practice space (something like 40 yuan an hour) to see what we had. Surprisingly, we had something. The owner of the music store/ practice space came in and wanted to take a video of us. (I feebly protested from behind the kit, "but it's our first practice...") That night we spent HOURS trying to come up with a band name. We asked his housemates. We looked online. We got really silly and laughed and laughed. Eventually, not that night but maybe a day or so later, we settled on "Until Asteroid", which was then changed to "Until the Asteroid". 12-21-2012, people! We gonna put the word in the streets!

Side Note: Here's how they do it in China (as far as I can tell): Bands don't go out and get their own gigs, most of the time. They are contacted by "agents", who are these supremely strange creatures who act as, well, agents. They talk to the venue, and then call up whatever band is on their roster that seems like the best fit for the show. Even if your agent gets you a confirmed gig, it can still get canceled at the last minute if another agent underbids yours. There are a lot of these agent types. And quite often, they want you to rearrange your lineup or completely change your style, at the last minute, because the client wants it that way. There's no real understanding of what a band is, or how it works. When we were there, the agents were constantly pestering us to "have the girl sing". They also were constantly asking if we were "all white". I guess having a band of white foreign devils is better than a band of locals, prestige-wise. Owen calls them Monkey-Shows, and he's right. But if you can keep your head straight and not get your soul crushed too much, you can make money as a White Monkey.

Shit, that's what we should have called the band!

So after that first hopeful day, we had a solid week of heavy practice. Owen was constantly taking band photos of us, wherever we happened to be, to put online. We fussed a lot the first few days trying to get a video made - all the agents wanted to see a video of us playing live. We finally got some footage at the 0765 club in Shunde, where after a long day of practice we just waltzed into this bar and asked if we could play for a while. Members of another group that Owen plays with were also there, and after a while we started playing as a Supergroup, which was a lot of fun. There wasn't a soul in the bar except for us and the soundguy, and the bartender. We didn't give a shit. We got our video.
There were a few gigs being tossed around, but we couldn't seem to get them confirmed - in the meantime we were practicing ourselves stupid. At the end of the first week we had 20 songs. We played another bar in Guangzhou by just walking in and asking if we could. The owner liked us and asked us back. Whee!
We had our first real corporate show on Christmas Day. We played 6 songs, I think. It was an outdoor party for a condo place - with the model home and all. We were given the basement level of the model home to use as dressing rooms, actually, which turned nerve-racking when we discovered that none of the three beautiful bathrooms had DOORS. The show was absolute bullshit - there were, aside from us, some Russian dancing girls in Vegas outfits, and several lottery drawings. We had to play a song, and then get off the stage. Wait. Play a song, get off the stage...wait some more. I was playing an absolutely terrible electronic drumset that the agent (although he had told us repeatedly that there would be drums there) almost didn't get in time. The kick and hi-hat misfired constantly. After about the first 30 seconds, I realized that it was funny and ceased to be upset. We made about 200 bucks apiece on that one. It doesn't sound like much, but it's a hell of a help for us right now.
We eased up the second week - we were all tired and getting snippy. Owen's housemates were definitely not super-psyched that we were STILL sleeping on their living-room floor. We had another impromptu show at a different bar, after a long practice - the best one yet. That was the one we got a ride home in a Mercedes after.
We had a New Year's gig booked in Shunde. We ended up borrowing a real kit for this one - which was much nicer than the e-kit - and it was a pretty good show. It was at this swanky little wine bar on a river, very yuppie. I think we played - or were supposed to play - eight songs. Owen's friend Brandy, a singer from his other band, was singing with us that night. (She saved my ass - I was going to have to sing and it was going to be a shitshow.) We were doing all right, feeling like old timers, playing pretty well. We were just up to the guitar solo in Miss You when - the power went out, on the whole street. After some whispering and shuffling, we did an acoustic drum/ a-capella version of We Will Rock You, which they fucking LOVED, then abandoned the stage. At this point we may have had a few too many botgles of wine. The power came back on a little before midnight, and they did the countdown, and we actually played again, rather poorly as I recall, and I felt bad for Owen, who does not drink. We had all the drunken businessmen dancing on the catwalk by the time we finished, however. It was great fun. Afterwards, Brandy and Leeyann dragged me out on the town dancing. Which was also fun.
So two days later, we were on a plane to Chengdu, and Owen was on a plane to Australia. After some discussion, Jon and I decided to return to Guangzhou after Owen's holiday and try and make some more money, PLAYING MUSIC. We're going to rent a shitty apartment and give it our best shot.

So after the horrific train trip that left us with elephant legs and no sleep, we stumbled out of the Metro stop exit and collapsed on a still-closed storefront step. It was just about seven in the morning. For some reason we were unable to get a call through to Jon's friend Owen, who we were supposed to be staying with. I stared blankly at the face of the Blackberry while Jon ran off to find a public toilet. Across the street there was a largeish open-air market, just warming up for the day. I sat and watched as a small van pulled up to the curb, and some guy hurried out of the market with huge bins of...raw meat, which he proceeded to sling carelessly into the back of the van using a large and filthy meat hook. I was too tired to properly appreciate this. Jon returned from the toilet and wanted to fiddle with the phone again. Not a minute later, Owen himself showed up, drawn by the distress-vibes of fellow English-speakers, I can only presume (since we never got a call through). "Hello, Jon," he said cheerily, as if they had just seen one another a day or so before.
He took us to a "dim sum" breakfast place, where he and Jon ate strange steamed food with chopsticks (which I fucking hate) and I drank several teeny-tiny cups of tea and tried to stay awake. After this, we toddled back to his apartment, where his GF and housemate were still sleeping, and sat around sortof uncomfortably for a while. I think I took a shower, which was when I discovered that my calves had swollen to the size of Sonotubes.
The next couple days were a bit stressful for me - after the forced intimacy with strangers on the train, all I wanted was to be alone for a while. Which didn't happen. Couldn't happen. Also, I was down with a fairly fierce cold, which made me even less sociable. Owen's girlfriend Leeyann (a Shunde native) was more than hospitable and friendly. His housemate Jay cooked us meals. They even found me a fork. Owen was sick too, so the whole time was kindof a drag, I think, for everyone. Jon and I left for Hong Kong on a bus the following Monday, because we had to get new visas for China.
The bus trip was all right. An interesting thing we've noted (and cross-referenced with Owen) about the Chinese people is the way they INSTANTLY fall asleep the moment the (train, airplane, bus, taxi) starts moving. On this bus trip in particular I noticed that when we were travelling at a high rate of speed, they slept peacefully. The instant we slowed down, they all bobbed upright and started clucking and gobbling away. I honestly envy this ability. The Chinese border was a bit nerve-racking at first. I think a lot of the reason I get so nervous in China is because (as I later described in a moment of travel honesty to Owen's friend Liam) I don't know where I am, I can't read anything, and I can't talk to anyone. But we got through customs all right. We had to put our luggage on an x-ray machine, and apparently I was a hair too slow getting it out of the way of this bitchy old man, because he TSKed at me. I nearly went ballistic. (I'm a little hair-trigger these days.)
Hong Kong customs was easy - English signs - and we were through and onto the second bus in no time. I was just starting to relax and enjoy the seaside scenery when Jon suddenly hissed "Where's my camera? Do you know where my camera is?" Awww, SHHIIITTT!!!! Now, I am normally pretty good about idiot-checking areas when we leave them. I've learned to be. I have rescued Jon's camera, among other things, from abaddonment before. But this time...I didn't. The rest of the ride was tense. When we arrived, he began to make phone calls. Against all odds, he found an understanding English speaker, manning the phones for the bus company, who was willing to help him. After some deliberation, some argument, perhaps, we ended up back on a bus. Heading back to the border. We arrived. Back at the border. We discovered, after some time, that the camera was indeed at the border. It was at the CHINESE border. On the OTHER side of no-man's land. And we no longer had Chinese visas to go get it with.
Someone took pity on us. We were led through staff channels into what appeared to be an interrogation room, where a member of the Hong Kong Police was procured. (They asked Jon, "Do you want us to call the police?" He said yes, I guess so. "Are you SURE you want to get the police involved?" Ummm...) It turned out to be a good call. We were led back through official channels to the police station there on the border, where we were politely entertained by a young cop named Jack who had very good English, and his unbelievably cute female cop cohort. We had to spend a good bit of time there, but in the end, the CAMERA CAME BACK, and Jack and Jon are now Facebook friends.
We took the bus back to HK. It was now nearly midnight. We ended up taking a long walk downtown to the most famous flophouse in HK, the "Chungking Mansions". It's actually just an enormous 16 floor building that is packed full of different cheap and shitty guesthouses, and I guess it's kindof legendary. (When we mentioned it to Jack at the police station, he was like, "You know about that place!?" Then he got pensive and said, "But it's not safe there." He then went on to offer a reason for its unsafeness that I am loath to repeat.) We were accosted at the main doors by Delhi-style touts, and I am ashamed to say that we fell in with one of them and were subsequently led to a small but cleanish room, where we collapsed. (This room was both the smallest and the most expensive room we have stayed in.)
We spent the next few days in HK waiting for our visas to come through. I am glad we didn't opt for the next-day visa, because I really liked HK and would have been happy to spend more time there. We visited the Art museum and the Space museum - we visited the Botanical and Zoological Gardens - we took a cable tram to the top of the "Peak" and saw all HK from above - we walked down the Avenue of Stars - we watched old men fishing in the harbor - we took a really cool ferry several times - we saw the Hong Kong light show (Wiki it - it's amazing)- we ate at McDonalds - we watched some TV (whoa) - and finally, we got our visas. And we had to leave. It was an expensive place, but I liked it a lot. It was a very lively city. Just sitting down on the harbor in the evening and watching all the fancy boats go back and forth, and looking at all the fancy lights on the buildings, was entertainment enough.
So we took a bus back to Guangzhou. Jon wanted to visit Owen again, since the first visit had been marred somewhat by mutual illnesses and we hadn't gotten a chance to play any music, although it had been discussed. I felt dubious about it, but agreed that it would be nice to play some. We'd both been kindof itching to play for a while.

Waiting room at night
Peasants watch us eat strange food
Incorrectly.

Fight through crowd to piss
Bathroom stalls have no doors
I cannot let go.

Mounting stairs to train
The other people running
We lag, uncaring.

Our seats are hard and blue
Legs tangled up with strangers
We must face.

Retard across aisle
Can never shut his mouth up
He speaks ten hours straight.

We eat packaged noodles
Some raisins and apples
Many cups of green tea.

All the live-long day
Hawkers with cheap megaphones
Shouting in every aisle.

The second night
There is no sleep possible
We are in hell.

The train is late
The toilets are plugged
I stand alone between cars.

Our knees like stones
We stagger out
Into the chill Guangzhou morning.

We finally received our tickets from the (probably inebriated) Tibetan guide the day before we were scheduled to leave. They were small, pink, and unassuming. That night I slept well for the first time in days. Then next morning we went down to the restaurant for breakfast to find a MEWING KITTEN in the seat of our regular table. We sat. We ordered breakfast. Only-Boiled Girl was almost friendly. JON ATE BREAKFAST WITH A KITTEN IN HIS LAP. I have photographic proof. We asked how much breakfast was and were duly informed. I asked how much for the kitten. "Cat is free!" Only-Boiled Girl stated in her stentorian voice.

We gathered our things and set out for the train station, trundling the two enormous bike boxes along on a craptastically cheap little dolly (complete with jury-rigged extensions). Two nice girls from the hotel (NOT Only-Boiled Girl) came along to the cab-hailing area to help us hail a cab. A standard car-cab stopped almost instantly. Jon and the driver manhandled one of the bike boxes into the back seat, only to find SURPRISE! (not to MY surprise) that the doors wouldn't close. The bike box was subsequently extracted and the cab driver shrugged. Disappeared back into the traffic stream. My stress level, so recently ameliorated, shot right back up to the top of the little glass stress-tube.

"Now what the fuck do we do?" I snarled. The girls were scanning the traffic stream. There was something else. Another possibility. In fearful ignorance, we waited. Aha! With subtle gestures invisible to us crude Westerners, the lady hailed a TRUCK. Into the back the bikes and all our stupid luggage was piled. Into the cab of the truck we climbed. Into the hand of the driver, money was laid. Off we went to the train station.

Watching Lhasa disappear behind me, I felt sad to be leaving somewhere for the first time on this entire trip. The strange, empty beauty of Tibet. The kittens and puppies. The unbelievably friendly and handsome Tibetan people. Ignoring the glassy Chinese overlay, my favorite place so far. The only place I would revisit, given the chance.

At the train station, all of my half-formed and wild fears were allayed as our entry into the waiting area was Completely Uneventful. We waited. It was Cold. More and more Chinese piled into the station (which, incidentally, was Huge.) Suddenly there was music! Loud, martial music! An honor guard! Doctors escorting a (presumably honorably) wounded soldier! And then hundreds of Chinese Army soldiers marched past in their dress uniforms! They were getting on the trains! They were going home! (This was the reason we couldn't get the cheapest seats on the train - our agent back in Kathmandu had told us that the Army had bought up all the cheap seats.) Not very long after this, we were finally allowed to board. The train stewardess coolly motioned us to put our bikes in the back of the traincar, by the bathroom. No cargo, no checked baggage bullshit. Just stick your enormous and mysterious boxes wherever they will fit. I was in a state of disbelief. Surely it was too easy! Surely something must go wrong!

The train glided serenely from the station and I retired to my narrow bunk to decompress. The class we were travelling in was called "hard sleeper", and featured six bunks to a room. The top one required some major climbing to attain. I got a middle one, which was fine, since the bottom ones tended to be used as public benches during waking hours. Jon and I were in separate rooms, which we decided not to fuss about. I was in a poor-ish frame of mind after stressing myself out so badly for so many days, and spent large parts of the two-day trip in my bunk, withdrawn and doing crosswords. Jon took over the digi camera and took many pictures out the train windows. The terrain was very beautiful and we saw herds of YAKS. The first afternoon we ate lunch in the dining car, a splurge but we were curious. It was altogether pleasant in there - uncrowded and bright, with enormous windows.

The train turned off the lights at ten o'clock. We sat in the dark hallway for a few minutes, then gave up and went to bed. Jon and I both slept well - despite the narrow hard bed, sleeping on trains is very soothing. I have vague memories of similar experiences on Amtrak sleeper trains as a child.

As we descended from the plateau into China proper, all our plastic bottles (water and otherwise) were crushed repeatedly by the increasing air pressure. Mildly scientifically interesting to observe.

We arrived in Chengdu around 9 am on the second day of December (I think). There was some wrestling with the bike boxes, some swearing. I became discouraged, as usual. There was a massive crush exiting the station, with vigilant and aggressive guards extracting the used tickets from the Chinese who were leaving. Apparently, there is a problem with people sneaking onto the train, and then upon egress having someone who has just exited slip their ticket back in to the unticketed one, for re-use. There was some shouting, there were some megaphones, there was some mild violence. When it was my turn, the used-ticket-extracter-person looked into my pale and tense face, gently handed me back my ticket, and let me go.

We exited onto a massive open square. I became useless and stood like a statue with the luggage while Jon cleverly found a large van-like taxi to take us to the place we were supposed to meet our host at. We took this taxi to "Wanda Plaza". We had a time finding the McDonalds we were supposed to meet at. Just after we finally saw it, the craptastic little dolly we were hauling the bikes on finally groaned and bent itself nearly double, in the wrong direction. I managed to be cheerful about the timing of its failure. Better than at the train station. Jon was less cheerful, since he was the one who had to carry the friggers the rest of the way.

We opened our bike boxes and began to build the bikes again. Naturally, an interested crowd gathered. The rebuild/repack went well. In fact, an old couple approached us towards the end of it and smilingly requested the boxes. This was a lucky break for us, since the Chinese seem to frown on littering, and we weren't sure how we were going to dispose of the giant things. The old couple smilingly trundled them out of our sight forever.

After a bit we met up with Dhane, who was driving a crazy 3-wheeled recumbent cycle contraption. We ate at McDonalds. (Best. Double. Cheeseburger. Ever.) We set off for his apartment, some way to the south. We have been there ever since. It's a lovely palatial apartment, 3 bedrooms and 2 baths, perfect for hosting filthy international travellers. Dhane is very hospitable. He lets me cook and mess up the kitchen, and politely eats the messes I make. He is a kindergarten teacher here, and talked us into visiting the school yesterday morning and showing some of our travel pictures to the children. It went slightly better than I expected it to. Afterwards, Jon and I renewed our vows of child-hatred, together. It was very romantic.

We have done some cursory exploration of Chengdu. I like the immediate neighborhood around the apartment - there is a nice little farmer's market at the end of the block. I've become a regular customer. Fresh vegetables! You don't understand my craving. In general, this city is far cleaner and better organized than any other place we have been so far. There are trashcans, public toilets, working (and closed) sewers, and on the whole the traffic is orderly and follows the rules. They have large and well-marked bike lanes. They also have a brand spanking new subway, which is a genuine pleasure to use. Extremely high tech and fast. It makes the T in Boston look pretty cruddy. They have clean, well-lit markets where one can purchase toilet paper and milk.

The dark side: the other night while we were walking not too far from here, we saw a man squatting on the sidewalk SKINNING LIVE SNAKES AND PUTTING THEIR STILL-LIVING SKINNED BODIES INTO A BOWL. I only caught a glimpse before I had to look away, but the zippery sound of him tearing their skins off will ring in my ears forever. Also, last night around 8:30 pm, the police paid a surprise visit to this apartment, ostensibly just to check that Dhane was legal and the proper inhabitant. They checked his documents, and seeing that everything was in order, made polite noises and left. Jon and I were petrified upon the couch. Dhane was blase and even seemed to like this intrusion, stating that he felt safer here than ever he did in the States. We...didn't care for it.

We have purchased train tickets to Guangzhou, which is far to the east and near Hong Kong, where we hope to obtain new China visas. Jon has an acquaintance in Guangzhou whom we hope to visit with on the way. We will be leaving on the train tomorrow night (8th).

(This is a special guest blog by Jon. I'm not even going to try to write as entertainingly as Linda.)

Having left Kathmandu long before dawn with our overloaded bike boxes lashed atop a minibus (unfortunately and insensibly, the tour agency demanded that we box the bikes, making everything about 10 times more difficult for everyone), we reached the Tibetan border around midmorning. There was a mile or two of walking between the Nepali checkpoint and the Chinese one, and we had to reluctantly accept the offer of porters for our bikes. To my horror, two tiny, wizened old ladies appeared, threw ropes around them, strapped them to their foreheads, and began trudging up the hill. The sarcastic Australian in our group accurately read the expression that must have been all over my face and asked me "Feel like a man?"
After a long wait outside the new Chinese customs building, we were allowed inside and queued up to have our bags searched. What kind of contraband, you may wonder, would they be concerned with at the Chinese controlled border of Tibet? Only two things, as it turned out: fruit and books. I couldn't decide if it was more like California or "Fahrenheit 451". Specifically, any books that dealt with Tibet in any way (such as guidebooks), or anything that mentioned the Dalai Lama or any other lamas were forbidden. Pictures of any monk were also proscribed. Luckily, they didn't tear open our bike boxes - knowing this, we had hidden our China guidebook (with a large section on Tibet) in a pannier at the bottom of one of the boxes. This was very fortunate...if they'd removed the myriad items crammed into those boxes, we would have been hours repacking them, which would have made us very unpopular, at the very least.
At the border we encountered for the first time what has by now become a familiar sight in Lhasa: Chinese soldiers standing rigidly at attention inside of sealed glass cubes. I can't even pretend to understand it, I can't even conceive of how they get in and out of there. These are, to all appearances, fully sealed glass cubes, about 4 feet wide by 7 feet tall. The soldiers don't move and appear to be entirely decorative. And yes, they are real and alive - as an experiment, I grinned and waved enthusiastically at one, and got a tiny nod and a surprised smile in return. my only theory is that they're there to remind the Tibetans who's in charge. They're all over Lhasa, along with soldiers doing more normal things, like walking and talking and running in groups in the street in perfect march-step. No singing, though, I guess the Chinese military doesn't sing bawdy songs while they drill, the way movies have informed me American soldiers do (In Nepal, the soldiers sing while they run, and we even saw some of the incompetent ones being beaten by a drill sergeant for field-stripping their rifles too slowly).
In addition to the soldiers, there seems to be a police station on every major street corner, or more like a police kiosk, really - small glass buildings with a few officers inside looking indolent, along with a variety of neatly stacked riot equipment.
As we were passing through the line having passports and visas checked and approved, we encountered our first instance of anti-American discrimination (other than people assuming that we're going to be ignorant, loudmouthed jerks). Our passports were not immediately returned to us as everyone else's were, and we were motioned off to the side where we had to wait until another, special official came over and approved us. No big deal, but a little taste of what we're sure to experience more of in China proper.
A little about our tour group: Knowing Linda and I, you can imagine how severely it irritated us to have to join a guided tour group. But it hasn't been that bad. We've been free to skip the activities we have no interest in (you see one monastery, you've seen them all), and the people we were stuck with were pretty OK. In fact, if it had lasted longer, I think we may have actually made some (gasp) real friends. Here's the breakdown by country: 2 Australians, 2 Swiss, 2 French, 4 Danes, 2 Dutch, 1 Canadian, 1 German, 1 Spaniard, and us, the beastly Americans. Plus the Tibetan guide (who was either shitfaced or hungover most of the time, and, beneath his friendly smile, I think secretly loathed us and his job), the Nepali tour agent we dealt with who came along for the ride (a madman with either a severe case of ADD or a coke habit) and the bus driver (unremarkable aside from his terrifying driving). Everyone in the (paying) group was younger than us, with the exception of the sarcastic Australian and the Swiss couple, who were in their sixties and whom we really liked a lot.
Tibet is wonderful. It's cold, dry, brown, airless and wonderful. Coming through the Himalayas was indescribably spectacular. Much of the terrain is thousands of rugged brown mountains, but they have a stark beauty as well, and serve as a setting for the immense white peaks or huge turquoise lakes that suddenly appear. I'm not even going to attempt any further description - you'll just have to look at the photos when we get back and maybe get a small sense of it.
We haven't had any real trouble with altitude sickness (we were taking a pill for it), but the difference is easy to feel. We spent the first night at about 15,000 feet, and my first real indication that there wasn't as much air as I was used to came as I tried to sleep - I burrowed my head down into my sleeping bag for warmth, and within seconds was gasping for breath as the small amount of oxygen in there was replaced by carbon dioxide. The highest pass we crossed was at 17,125 feet - well over half the total height of Everest (which we passed by pretty closely) above sea level...really, really high. I would have loved to have been biking through this country, but it certainly would have involved a lot of gasping and resting and dizziness at first.
We spent the first night at a somewhat dingy, dormitory style guesthouse which was nevertheless amazing because they had a wonderfully cozy common room heated by a stove fueled by - for some reason I found this super exciting - dried yak doodles! Which brings me to yaks. Yaks are awesome. They're so much more awesome than cows or water buffaloes, there's just no comparison. We want one. Unfortunately, they say that they can't survive below 12,000 feet or so. We'd have to build an 9,000 foot tower on top of Snowy Mountain to house them in. There's lots of yak art here depicting yaks doing cool things like flying and dancing and smiling with their tongues out.
After the first night we've been housed in astonishingly luxurious hotel rooms with comfortable beds, clean sheets, HOT SHOWERS, working electricity, tea kettles...I'm afraid we're getting spoiled and it's going to be hard to go back to the kind of dirty hovels we're accustomed to. Here in Lhasa we're staying in a traditional Tibetan building, apparently it's quite old and also holy, we were told that the Dalai Lama's teacher lived here before he had to go into exile.
We're also being spoiled by the city of Lhasa and the people who live here. There's hardly any traffic, it's quiet, no one is honking, the streets and sidewalks (sidewalks!) are broad, and it's easy to walk anywhere you please without being in constant mortal danger of being struck by a motorcycle, car, rickshaw, bus, bicycle, cow, buffalo...it's CLEAN and orderly and there are even traffic lights and crosswalks and rules that are incredibly BEING OBEYED! Trash cans! Garbage trucks! No burning mounds of garbage and feces to be found anywhere! Hardly anyone constantly hawking and spitting huge gobs of phlegm everywhere. I hope it's going to be like this in China proper, but I know it's not. In addition to this pleasant, orderly, and uncrowded atmosphere, the Tibetan people are the most friendly, well-mannered, smilingest, open, warm and handsome people in the world. With the exception of our close friends and relatives, of course.
OK, there's ONE Tibetan who's not very nice. She works in the kitchen at our hotel. As part of our arrangement, we get free breakfast every morning, but we don't really get to decide what it's going to be. So far here it's been hard-boiled eggs, toast and a spoonful of fried potatoes. Yesterday morning, some of us had the audacity to ask for eggs prepared in another way, and we were not prepared for the stern remonstrance we received. "No! Only boiled!!" she yelled again and again. This immediately became a catchphrase for not getting what you want...don't be surprised if you hear Linda or I yelling "No! ONLY BOILED!!" at some time in the future when we're denied our wishes.
The other nice thing about Tibet is that it's full of kittens and puppies. Even I find that hard not to like.
The group left this morning. We're staying an extra day and taking a train tomorrow to Chengdu, Sichuan, China (if we ever get our tickets). I found out yesterday, to my distress, that the special group visa they issued to us CANNOT be renewed in China, despite what the tour agent told us. So now we have two unattractive options - make haste through western China in the two weeks we have left (which will have to involve taking trains or buses part of the way), or take a train out of China to Hong Kong or Laos, buy proper visas, and re-enter China. Visas for Americans, incidentally, are apparently about 10 times more expensive and harder to obtain than they are for travellers from anywhere else in the world. Our dwindling finances don't like either of these options. This is all very irritating, and we have to constantly remind ourselves that it's not the Chinese people who are making things so difficult for us, but their shitty government. I really, really want to spend some time in China rather than being rushed through, so...we'll see.
A short list of some of the exciting things you can buy in a Chinese grocery store, shrink-wrapped: pigs noses (just the tips, where the nostrils are), some kind of bird neck, squids, raw chicken legs, chicken feet, thousand year old eggs, and a vast array or unidentifiable innards and organs, just to name a few.
That's all I can think of for now, I'm sure Linda can expand on this at some point.