tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75918388966594249682024-03-06T03:16:02.881+09:00Lost in TransitionOnce, they called me a reporter. Now, they call me... Gail-sensei.Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comBlogger180125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-87950748497064274612010-08-17T23:42:00.002+09:002010-08-17T23:47:26.235+09:00The sun sets on 3 years in Japan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskbQY881syHwGMy_E2HNFz-WW0sEOXp5YO3PUM0yMgMUucQeUDnUuWitFC7-kfLmrlRh7DN5AC6exXCZV7UEzLsEbBf7DE_SvQAlOapYPhkP3qWetumUCrnQh5pG4IVgjhZZ4UqOX-Bvs/s1600/miyajima5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiskbQY881syHwGMy_E2HNFz-WW0sEOXp5YO3PUM0yMgMUucQeUDnUuWitFC7-kfLmrlRh7DN5AC6exXCZV7UEzLsEbBf7DE_SvQAlOapYPhkP3qWetumUCrnQh5pG4IVgjhZZ4UqOX-Bvs/s400/miyajima5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506372907324221762" /></a>Well, this is it! Joe and I are flying out of Japan tomorrow morning, so this will be my final blog post. A lot of mixed feelings right now — sadness that this journey is coming to an end, excitement about moving back, being near family and resuming a life where certain everyday things are less of a challenge.<div><br /></div><div>We've had an incredible three years living and teaching in Japan. During this time I've done so many things I never dreamed I'd do. Standing in front of my first class of Japanese teenagers, I wasn't sure this would turn out so well, but I adapted to teaching and came to appreciate its many challenges. I've studied Japanese and learned it well enough to express what I want to say, albeit simply. I've been to the top of the world — watching the sun rise from the top of Mt. Fuji — to the bottom of the sea — swimming with sea turtles in Okinawa. It still blows my mind to even think about it. And besides traveling throughout Japan, we also spread our wings and went abroad, to Thailand, South Korea, China, Hong Kong and Macau. It's been an exhilarating and mind opening three years, a true adventure. When I came to Japan, I had a precious opportunity to be immersed in Japanese culture. But I also had the chance to see my own country and culture in an entirely new light, and now I'm coming away from this experience with a whole new perspective on America — its wonders as well as its weaknesses. Now, just as I once wished I could combine the best aspects of my ex-boyfriends into the perfect prince charming, I find myself wishing I could somehow combine the best of both these lands into a sort of paradise.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Japanese have a saying, "<i>Sumeba miyako</i>," which literally translates to "If you live there, it's the capital" — the capital being the best place to be. So wherever you decide to settle, that place becomes home. After three years calling Hiroshima my home, I think this certainly applies. There is much I'll miss about Hiroshima and Japan. Tomorrow morning I'll be leaving a piece of my heart in Hiroshima.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to all of you who followed me on this journey. I've enjoyed sharing it with you.</div><div><br /></div><div>さようなら日本、また会う日まで —> <i>Sayounara</i> Japan, until we meet again.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-38432871441167678392010-08-16T11:59:00.001+09:002010-08-17T02:13:35.350+09:00Kato-chan, where everybody knew our names<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSSIas5-42memH15YQOmEpy88IMEvXki6grCeOxfoi-QsQ-NDJoD_hsgSwOGj6hmBMwbWW9qcg1t9Mvts36GwnlgiuqkXlKQIicNiKWLeMOM4GKY8Vjt6CXwbh5OPd5HRAI9KAemjteF-/s1600/katochan.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSSIas5-42memH15YQOmEpy88IMEvXki6grCeOxfoi-QsQ-NDJoD_hsgSwOGj6hmBMwbWW9qcg1t9Mvts36GwnlgiuqkXlKQIicNiKWLeMOM4GKY8Vjt6CXwbh5OPd5HRAI9KAemjteF-/s400/katochan.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506047131586237042" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Kuni-kun and Shin-chan, our favorite okonomiyaki cooks</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>The past couple weeks have been filled with goodbyes for us. On Friday, after returning our apartment key to our landlord, we headed to our favorite Japanese restaurant, Kato-chan, for one final order of <i>okonomiyaki</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Okonomiyaki</i> is Hiroshima's biggest specialty, and it's also my favorite Japanese food. How have I managed not to write about this yet? <i>Okonomiyaki</i> translates to something like "As-you-like-it-cooking" and basically consists of a paper thin flour pancake topped with a heap of shredded cabbage, noodles, meat, a layer of egg, some seasonings and a liberal dose of a barbecue-like sauce. There are a number of other ingredients you can add in as well; my usual included green onions, cheese and <i>mochi</i> (glutinous pounded rice cakes — they get warm and gooey on the stove). Top it all off with plenty of mayonnaise and you've got a very satisfying meal:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHcEpmts9NkIlfl3m1N05jsRX1kLOs-pKCaXFMifZ2TEbralsKRT9xwb5LFUvfcI-4BlzOnZE2_x6RfroE570TY-RB6QS5LxsgfSWjBvPjgtYc7892F90oUHMBnZrXRASmbsofLe3F-xH/s1600/okonomiyaki.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHcEpmts9NkIlfl3m1N05jsRX1kLOs-pKCaXFMifZ2TEbralsKRT9xwb5LFUvfcI-4BlzOnZE2_x6RfroE570TY-RB6QS5LxsgfSWjBvPjgtYc7892F90oUHMBnZrXRASmbsofLe3F-xH/s400/okonomiyaki.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506051252606267842" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/osakajon/221920686/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/osakajon/221920686/"><i>Photo by panduh / Flickr Creative Commons</i></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Joe and I were to Kato-chan what Norm was to Cheers. It was our neighborhood haunt, just a family-owned hole in the wall but a place where everyone knew our names and greeted us with a smile when we walked in the door. The <i>okonomiyaki</i> there was always delicious, and kept us coming back every week or two for three years. We had our own seats at the bar, right in front of the stove — in fact we ate right off the stove (can't do that in America!). That way we could chat up our <i>okonomiyaki</i> cooks, Kuni-kun and Shin-chan. Since they don't speak any English, it was always a good chance for us to practice our Japanese, and over time we became friends. Once, they even took us out to dinner in Iwakuni. Nice guys. Gonna miss them. A lot. And their <i>okonomiyaki</i>.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-7622446139812724472010-08-15T11:59:00.005+09:002010-08-16T01:09:24.153+09:00"Nuanced" English<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqghY8ePYzJSLxMAsq3TQH70yQAoRc6CwmDivAAkiDXHaWqd-fwrx5K2Yk48fDoLWn1ePF8R4EVZ15KSsY87GezLJTpKR86EZ2g3PF5L1M7xX5R7HQdJlmWz7CkSlCLx1DVtZnzh3VTzM2/s1600/slangbook1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqghY8ePYzJSLxMAsq3TQH70yQAoRc6CwmDivAAkiDXHaWqd-fwrx5K2Yk48fDoLWn1ePF8R4EVZ15KSsY87GezLJTpKR86EZ2g3PF5L1M7xX5R7HQdJlmWz7CkSlCLx1DVtZnzh3VTzM2/s400/slangbook1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656756322738098" /></a><div>I was looking back through old photos tonight and found some hilarious pictures I took two years ago and meant to blog about but never did. They're from a book meant to teach English slang and colloquial language to Japanese speakers. My Japanese teacher picked this up and loaned it to me to see what I thought of it. Once I started thumbing through the pages I knew I had a gem on my hands. Not only was some of the slang flat-out wrong or inappropriate, but the thought of a Japanese person trying to whip out one of these phrases in the company of foreign friends seemed totally absurd. Exhibit A: (Click any of the following pictures to see larger versions.)<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4D0Mnka_X4tdRuaEs11INECoAdtA3rmspixCQj6LGgMOD6T4NdiGTDIuY1Rkc7VCw1B9vGsYXHtJ0V2LVUrsY4CjyXWsE0fpCy2AWtOzHpvb3nzbVXlNXx0fhUWXMzwCiRJDDLOwJjTC/s1600/slangbook2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI4D0Mnka_X4tdRuaEs11INECoAdtA3rmspixCQj6LGgMOD6T4NdiGTDIuY1Rkc7VCw1B9vGsYXHtJ0V2LVUrsY4CjyXWsE0fpCy2AWtOzHpvb3nzbVXlNXx0fhUWXMzwCiRJDDLOwJjTC/s400/slangbook2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656599294490914" /></a>To teach the word "Awesome!":</div><div><ul><li>Boy: I'm stiff. I got something for you.</li><li>Girl: Wow. Awesome!</li></ul></div><div>Below that, to teach the phrase "be a hero":</div><div><ul><li>Boy: Even I could give a gift.</li><li>Girl: Don't be a hero. Show it to me. Quick.</li></ul></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5KG3WrZHvKkXQuHlLdkX-m4reo6ev1fILf69mrI9PfkajXof14XWSafAiMBq-eCqMUMd6rAQllHLPsxsSTn9jQex0w_7jm0UPKY3Do9h2Kgp1O4RZBjZ67QMpWA3jxQmJYqDjaq9M3NQ/s1600/slangbook3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5KG3WrZHvKkXQuHlLdkX-m4reo6ev1fILf69mrI9PfkajXof14XWSafAiMBq-eCqMUMd6rAQllHLPsxsSTn9jQex0w_7jm0UPKY3Do9h2Kgp1O4RZBjZ67QMpWA3jxQmJYqDjaq9M3NQ/s400/slangbook3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656588950044962" /></a>To teach the phrase "Way-out!" (I guess they probably meant "Far out"?):</div><div><br /></div><div>Guy 1: By the way, my dad will get hitched for the seventh time.</div><div>Guy 2 (wearing dog ears and mask for unknown reasons): Way-out! Awesome!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvKa2afTqadzLSCbIKkuq3D_N_4aOMSUsvRw0JqTz0f4v8ecf_iWRVbL4s0pREWlrxLSyXoF35pVTKWoeLHwE-Qmc_uyVjjhgxCj8psh6ECs9P2WA_GN40iCp25Tz8rhmp4vkibiNfSb7/s1600/slangbook4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwvKa2afTqadzLSCbIKkuq3D_N_4aOMSUsvRw0JqTz0f4v8ecf_iWRVbL4s0pREWlrxLSyXoF35pVTKWoeLHwE-Qmc_uyVjjhgxCj8psh6ECs9P2WA_GN40iCp25Tz8rhmp4vkibiNfSb7/s400/slangbook4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656581855419698" /></a>To teach use of the phrase "or something":</div><div><ul><li>"I'm starving. Let's munch pizza or something."</li></ul></div><div>Below that, to teach usage of "send...over":</div><div><ul><li>Boy 1: If you drop by my crib, I'll send my bro over.</li><li>Boy 2: Don't worry. We're coming by the store.</li></ul></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjm079leTpLYzmrspl03sPvSuXgo41IJNyngLafKo9nW4EnREhV0o8EvZDkQIC6wLc8iN7IV6_hGLzWV-KK-mCDMWMUnRygC8_AY4-pz0x_SAiPVqgfAq0JCSmppyqqmwN6nMGcjtoRdT/s1600/slangbook5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjm079leTpLYzmrspl03sPvSuXgo41IJNyngLafKo9nW4EnREhV0o8EvZDkQIC6wLc8iN7IV6_hGLzWV-KK-mCDMWMUnRygC8_AY4-pz0x_SAiPVqgfAq0JCSmppyqqmwN6nMGcjtoRdT/s400/slangbook5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656572938402098" /></a>To teach the supposed use of the slang "dented":</div><div><ul><li>"I don't want to hear the story. It gets me dented."</li></ul></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEciFkZ6y1O9v3JgUOv7Cf91gUAsL_UCgE58v_eiY6B_bAbAcdmEh2C28E7EZxkdWPucWzQYKLCspuFhhCKyVvST5TSeFOOimrDnOKdClsPDLZFxdBSmw6Uvj_8c65LLJIiQEeiZR8cwk/s1600/slangbook6.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkEciFkZ6y1O9v3JgUOv7Cf91gUAsL_UCgE58v_eiY6B_bAbAcdmEh2C28E7EZxkdWPucWzQYKLCspuFhhCKyVvST5TSeFOOimrDnOKdClsPDLZFxdBSmw6Uvj_8c65LLJIiQEeiZR8cwk/s400/slangbook6.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656563094181922" /></a>To teach the exclamation "You bold-faced.":</div><div><ul><li>"Don't play it so snotty. You bold-faced."</li></ul></div><div>Below that, to teach the insult "jerk":</div><div><ul><li>"You're a same old jerk."</li></ul></div><div>Same old jerk?? OUCH!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMGeq1zaJzjvj43I0-2I6_e0hI9uiK9fdx94-ikFqKs6ii2eCnbrbubIhUCbw1pBQEbefEkbIHeFAHPgreXgc2RWqGtjZH8DUkgsMiaQhLF6wZ0N5J05JNEhJyuLtBKcv_B460JQlId_F/s1600/slangbook7.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjMGeq1zaJzjvj43I0-2I6_e0hI9uiK9fdx94-ikFqKs6ii2eCnbrbubIhUCbw1pBQEbefEkbIHeFAHPgreXgc2RWqGtjZH8DUkgsMiaQhLF6wZ0N5J05JNEhJyuLtBKcv_B460JQlId_F/s400/slangbook7.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656334595562882" /></a>To teach the word "lippy":</div><div><ul><li>"Yell as much as you like. You lippy asshole."</li></ul></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1ugiHROeqJwZ4oYqGtPhip6gFO8yHHpX37LBbYxHP4UWv3M_b_7AFtuuskmFSDWg97ZNZIWTFtuZsIHJDf3ZGYOMZh9-NsXpYDgi0jZrV8HDjhLdVd543V723ql69DRzfFRZIfr_tJaA/s1600/slangbook8.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1ugiHROeqJwZ4oYqGtPhip6gFO8yHHpX37LBbYxHP4UWv3M_b_7AFtuuskmFSDWg97ZNZIWTFtuZsIHJDf3ZGYOMZh9-NsXpYDgi0jZrV8HDjhLdVd543V723ql69DRzfFRZIfr_tJaA/s400/slangbook8.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656325759660066" /></a>To teach the word "crap":</div><div><ul><li>One guy golfing tells the other guy, "Don't rap the crap and strike it now."</li></ul></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinbOcNTiwugSWaumY3MIf28IFbA9E7B1QMcp_L264JauDdrVr-FY9nMsW0m7Y6OClspZqDTRFIGiDkPaUo-yy5IKVxgXPAahDaCrROcqXh5PX5aKRWZEqvDG-2fsIoNJsyhe3iO69PGmE/s1600/slangbook9.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjinbOcNTiwugSWaumY3MIf28IFbA9E7B1QMcp_L264JauDdrVr-FY9nMsW0m7Y6OClspZqDTRFIGiDkPaUo-yy5IKVxgXPAahDaCrROcqXh5PX5aKRWZEqvDG-2fsIoNJsyhe3iO69PGmE/s400/slangbook9.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656318734392050" /></a>To teach the exclamation "How loud-mouthed you are!":</div><div><ul><li>"How loud-mouthed you are! You can say one thing but you can't say the other."</li></ul></div><div>Awfully polite way to confront the offending party, don't you think? </div><div><br /></div><div>Below that, to teach the word "sassy":</div><div><ul><li>"Don't talk sassy. You greenie, you."</li></ul></div><div>What does that even mean?! Haha!</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2C-7PjZSDaOgBtiOsWCj5u6Ox1R8aMI6mVDRy_Dfw7vav5pfVpSlas1zrCw7WuYlc4DOrL1WKv7mozp2ZfDZjNXs3WPc8vOEHdO4a0uE7K52hd-nxsrkPdOhv8BIxwG4UdTjYK-wFPtW/s1600/slangbook10.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2C-7PjZSDaOgBtiOsWCj5u6Ox1R8aMI6mVDRy_Dfw7vav5pfVpSlas1zrCw7WuYlc4DOrL1WKv7mozp2ZfDZjNXs3WPc8vOEHdO4a0uE7K52hd-nxsrkPdOhv8BIxwG4UdTjYK-wFPtW/s400/slangbook10.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656308450989474" /></a>To teach the expression "go wild":</div><div><ul><li>Smoking toddler warns, "If you talk strict, I will go wild."</li></ul><div>Below that, to teach the word "glued":</div><div><ul><li>"Chocolates are glued to your shirt again."</li></ul></div><div>And last, the precious illustration at the back of the book:</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-LH_U6doo4aCPmhLkBN7stQHLixnbqKtc35s0lK8B9I_0cxfyJtxQlFPJ9cc-K20FiyJKihhc0vD_5r-I0yO8bUYLDCRUQkFsn1g_AivsBXweJ2W9OQOOhBOmn3IX6G5tnr8dGN01TP/s1600/slangbook11.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-LH_U6doo4aCPmhLkBN7stQHLixnbqKtc35s0lK8B9I_0cxfyJtxQlFPJ9cc-K20FiyJKihhc0vD_5r-I0yO8bUYLDCRUQkFsn1g_AivsBXweJ2W9OQOOhBOmn3IX6G5tnr8dGN01TP/s400/slangbook11.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505656303054060290" /></a>My favorite is the panda that says "Alley-oop!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps some of this is British or Australian slang I'm not familiar with. Or more likely it's just a really crappily translated book. The funny thing is that Joe has a similar type of book for learning Japanese slang, but when he showed it to a Japanese person he learned that a lot of the slang was really old or had fallen out of use. Lesson learned: Beware of learning slang in a second language. It's a mine field.</div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-10547550335141847242010-08-13T23:53:00.005+09:002010-08-13T23:59:28.426+09:00The dude in the frilly dress<div>Over the past three years we've become acquainted with lots of Hiroshima's little quirks. One of them being this guy:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHsgNiJHWweurRB1gcm8VbU_6oR8WjxO77023VfUyp6rSUOoNLMC9MH_Etqold-UohwehWrnaFOeLyVmdR9XmURAfEllgwTE9qmvuHNx06FtfxgO9SPl6Lkr-SPLY9WQAPwQ67OfMaSxP/s1600/crossdresser1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHsgNiJHWweurRB1gcm8VbU_6oR8WjxO77023VfUyp6rSUOoNLMC9MH_Etqold-UohwehWrnaFOeLyVmdR9XmURAfEllgwTE9qmvuHNx06FtfxgO9SPl6Lkr-SPLY9WQAPwQ67OfMaSxP/s400/crossdresser1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504907823909489682" /></a><br /><div>Occasionally we see him walking down the Hondori shopping arcade downtown, always in a very frilly little girl type dress. A few days ago I snapped him wearing this number, which had the lyrics to "Mary Had a Little Lamb" sewn onto one part.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uWquDrWeZajnaa0Ea6J8bQlM0JCj5ExzXe4gmvkNpbgA1R80sYnw79QqQBVWl0WZ6v29ceLO0cP9w-OwYew__xRJYh_OLvPVN_LY0W6g9az_kFskzfdHYGR22ukWzaaOVj3n-Cpp7YLX/s1600/crossdresser2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uWquDrWeZajnaa0Ea6J8bQlM0JCj5ExzXe4gmvkNpbgA1R80sYnw79QqQBVWl0WZ6v29ceLO0cP9w-OwYew__xRJYh_OLvPVN_LY0W6g9az_kFskzfdHYGR22ukWzaaOVj3n-Cpp7YLX/s400/crossdresser2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504907814159719634" /></a><br /></div><div>Gonna miss Hiroshima and all its quirky charm.</div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-69902745041888466192010-08-09T19:14:00.001+09:002010-08-09T19:17:52.807+09:0065 years after the Bomb<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcIemdNSkocDzAWRKWvH9VgsArCPCwIuQax-I6qkdB0OR4DW-MoZTJDssdJ-cmJwQAWjw5AD5zrx5LjdNtgNDxj8Q9Xjf97zk51NbiNa6UvN-ws_HcLQIzrEnbu6WT9BEKSqaQk_Ntpzy/s1600/cranes.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcIemdNSkocDzAWRKWvH9VgsArCPCwIuQax-I6qkdB0OR4DW-MoZTJDssdJ-cmJwQAWjw5AD5zrx5LjdNtgNDxj8Q9Xjf97zk51NbiNa6UvN-ws_HcLQIzrEnbu6WT9BEKSqaQk_Ntpzy/s400/cranes.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502670280423858818" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Peace cranes hanging around the Children's Peace Monument in Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Park.</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>Friday, August 6, was the 65th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Yanked from slumber by a 5 a.m. alarm, Joe and I rose and got ready to catch the first train downtown to attend the ceremony. Thousands were already milling about the park when we arrived, but luckily we were early enough to grab a seat below the tents so that we could watch the ceremony shielded from the sun's brutal rays.</div><div><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1sA7nZRlfH7_O-n8g-i7THlmPv39TX5xbvOkqPMAEdy4LePutW8OzFEaADjy-0_RdmG2TEYVBe6das8kP86YAPCGwZv4fcnQFbYA8WfWlpu7hqdFbjpzwpBzZSx-mP9zkuxNfs4nX6Kbf/s1600/view+from+tent.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1sA7nZRlfH7_O-n8g-i7THlmPv39TX5xbvOkqPMAEdy4LePutW8OzFEaADjy-0_RdmG2TEYVBe6das8kP86YAPCGwZv4fcnQFbYA8WfWlpu7hqdFbjpzwpBzZSx-mP9zkuxNfs4nX6Kbf/s400/view+from+tent.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502670299387230066" /></a><br /></div><div>Friday's ceremony was attended for the first time ever by the U.S. ambassador and officials from the UK and France. Clearly, the mayor of Hiroshima said, the urgency of nuclear weapons abolition is permeating the global consciousness. He pledged to work toward a world free of nuclear weapons by 2020, issuing an impassioned plea at the end of his speech that brought a tear to my eye:</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>We hereby declare that we cannot force the most patiently enduring people in the world, the <i>hibakusha</i>, to be patient any longer. Now is the time to devote ourselves unreservedly to the most crucial duty facing the human family, to give the <i>hibakusha</i>, within their lifetimes, the nuclear-weapon-free world that will make them blissfully exclaim, "I'm so happy I lived to see this day."</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>I was glad I went to the ceremony one last time. I feel privileged to have been able to attend and be a part of an event that brings together the citizens of Hiroshima and the international community.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZF7ROky6J-UrPkrINBeepnq2xxIXs-4HVcFbyPYD3eVzEOIlEKiYykoK58LUpam2DPjuQ5RWJkPGpiV6xCLnfdL8fk9erfse6IjWMIu48o77GpKbymBd6MNjCR9oqD5muatUrF7Ka4PF/s1600/dome+cranes.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZF7ROky6J-UrPkrINBeepnq2xxIXs-4HVcFbyPYD3eVzEOIlEKiYykoK58LUpam2DPjuQ5RWJkPGpiV6xCLnfdL8fk9erfse6IjWMIu48o77GpKbymBd6MNjCR9oqD5muatUrF7Ka4PF/s400/dome+cranes.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502670290084092066" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Peace cranes in front of the Atomic Bomb Dome</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Friends and relatives sometimes ask me what it's like being an American living in Hiroshima — is there lingering resentment against America for the atomic bombing? The answer, for the most part, is no. To me personally, the Japanese have always been very welcoming. Their sentiments seem to be that the bombing was a long time ago; now, we should look forward with a common purpose to build a more peaceful world. Some of my Japanese students and colleagues have discussed the bombing with me. They are eager to share their feelings about how terrible the bomb was, but they aren't angry — just adamant in their belief that the bombing was wrong and should never be repeated.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Nd5rwQpxGPmA69EgfFSaBntcQGnxwfMIBcgKqr0k2XsqMjnlgSXwbI6lRn_dNuJx2LL2Z40k3VMjLLzS8-YvF7YcDs9Ssi95zaktgtdCCv4rihvm0By8_dAqyS9iyf9NaqweexZyHnEB/s1600/dome8.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Nd5rwQpxGPmA69EgfFSaBntcQGnxwfMIBcgKqr0k2XsqMjnlgSXwbI6lRn_dNuJx2LL2Z40k3VMjLLzS8-YvF7YcDs9Ssi95zaktgtdCCv4rihvm0By8_dAqyS9iyf9NaqweexZyHnEB/s400/dome8.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502671400426303938" /></a><br /></div><div>Occasionally we do encounter anti-American sentiment, though it's not common. There are some right wing nationalists in Japan that spread their message using vans that drive around neighborhoods spouting right wing propaganda through megaphones at high decibels. Unfortunately some of these guys came to the bomb ceremony this year to spread their hate and bile. As Joe and I walked over the bridge into the park, some Japanese people handed us fliers with a smile. Only later, as we sat waiting for the ceremony to begin, did I read the fliers and discover it was anti-American propaganda with segments like the following:</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>How do those people sleeping beneath the ground think of Japan today? How do they speak about the present situation that the U.S. has not only refused to apologize for but is also using Japan as a shield to defend their mainland from potential nuclear attacks and thereby draws Japan into another nuclear war? What do they say about the present condition of Japan in which the agriculture, fishery and industries throughout have been devastated, downtowns have declined, Japanese education, scholarship and culture have collapsed under subordination to the U.S.? How do they talk about the actual situation that the history of Japanese people has been broken off and has taken the same course as that of an American Indian? Atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and innocent women, children, old people, workers and students were killed as mere worms. The dropping of the atomic bombs by the U.S. was completely unnecessary in order to end the war. It was a brutal act for the purpose of occupying Japan exclusively. Though the defeat of Japan was already obvious, Japanese rulers prolonged the war to maintain their positions against people's resistance, victimizing more than three million, welcoming the atomic bombings and occupation by the U.S. and practically selling the whole nation to the U.S. Such anti-national reactionaries have caused devastation of Japanese society today.</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>I was angry when I read this. Here thousands were gathered in a display of unity and peace to express the sincere hope for a world free of nuclear weapons, and at the entrance to the park were people still promoting division and hate, and assigning blame.</div><div><br /></div><div>So to those who ask if we ever encounter resentment in Hiroshima — yes, but rarely. Those who feel this way are a tiny minority. The Hiroshima I know is a vibrant and loving city, looking forward with hope and optimism. While some may disagree about whether the atomic bombing was justified, they all seem to share the feeling that that's not what's important now; now, we just need to come together and work for a more peaceful future.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6WDRQ71LHPN51EtQQRLvRRgdQwsGDuWd4Vp_DCkxblqWJpMwG1eS4N33PH3TlD3sGvrCGbKNmJIo1RRshGmtSb9ZMk0q8QI3hD4ftGxRS1pXrCKdCnYqCQ0dXJQk8fnDqDlWf4oeRVEw/s1600/peace+bell.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho6WDRQ71LHPN51EtQQRLvRRgdQwsGDuWd4Vp_DCkxblqWJpMwG1eS4N33PH3TlD3sGvrCGbKNmJIo1RRshGmtSb9ZMk0q8QI3hD4ftGxRS1pXrCKdCnYqCQ0dXJQk8fnDqDlWf4oeRVEw/s400/peace+bell.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5502670312466102370" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A woman prays at the Peace Bell in Peace Memorial Park. This is the bell rung at 8:15 a.m. each August 6 to mark the moment the bomb went off.</i></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-84652621377000988132010-08-07T14:26:00.004+09:002010-08-07T14:39:41.458+09:00Hiroshima Carp center fielder...or Spiderman?<div style="text-align: left;">Check out this incredible video I saw on <a href="http://jetwit.com/wordpress/">JetWit.com</a>. The Hiroshima Carp were playing the Yokohama Bay Stars on August 3 when outfielder Masato Akamatsu robbed the Bay Stars of a home run with this unbelievable catch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" width="437" height="347" id="viddler"><param name="movie" value="http://www.viddler.com/simple_on_site/29b207d8"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="flashvars" value="fake=1"><embed src="http://www.viddler.com/simple_on_site/29b207d8" width="437" height="347" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" flashvars="fake=1" name="viddler"></embed></object></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-70495573038517320092010-08-05T22:31:00.007+09:002010-08-05T23:53:58.359+09:00Hello Goodbye Enkai<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxup1KCFBvaHUrH5Lki9g846FiNWGiyMzidNYYZzBkAszQIR-dvBA6G8FVjY6hgOfoxVt6m3hi6L9jFLh9iQycg-CnoJhjQ2nGp6oJHJpKmwUum2iF-XS1D3tXIzXgKmE1kzbWa4-Eqyy/s1600/Enkai.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxup1KCFBvaHUrH5Lki9g846FiNWGiyMzidNYYZzBkAszQIR-dvBA6G8FVjY6hgOfoxVt6m3hi6L9jFLh9iQycg-CnoJhjQ2nGp6oJHJpKmwUum2iF-XS1D3tXIzXgKmE1kzbWa4-Eqyy/s400/Enkai.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5501918204904590434" /></a>Today was my last day as a JET, and my three-year anniversary in Japan. Goodbye job, goodbye health insurance! I'll miss you.<div><br /></div><div>Joe and I have been replaced by another American couple who arrived in Hiroshima around a week ago. Last Friday I went out with the new JET for my school and the other English teachers for a welcome/farewell party at an <i>izakaya</i> (Japanese bar) downtown. Much Japanese food was consumed and cold drinks imbibed, and all were merry, as you can see in the photo above. I think the students will love the new JET — blond hair and blue eyes? Oh, I can see them swooning now.</div><div><br /></div><div>My supervisor drove me home after work on my last day and we moved most of our furniture and belongings out to the new couples' apartment. All the teachers gathered at the front of the school to wave goodbye to me as I left, and it made me cry. I remember thinking it felt a bit like I was waving goodbye to family. I wish I could make them understand how good it made me feel. I'll really miss them.</div><div><br /></div><div>We fly back to America August 18. Lots to say, little time to write.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-57431284140165299452010-08-03T19:39:00.002+09:002010-08-03T19:52:18.536+09:00TragedyI've been putting off writing this post. Part of it is that Joe and I have been really busy preparing our exit from Japan later this month. But part of it's also that this is a tough thing to write about.<div><br /></div><div>We've been saying a lot of goodbyes the past couple weeks, but the biggest was the final day of school before students' summer break began July 23. The school was to hold the usual closing ceremony in the gym that morning and I was slated to give my farewell speech to everyone, around 1,000 students and teachers.</div><div><br /></div><div>But plans took a nasty turn. The night before the ceremony, as I laid down to bed, I got a text message on my phone from a fellow English teacher: A student had committed suicide at school. He'd jumped from a window.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was stunned and went to bed crying. With a heavy heart, I returned to school the following morning and learned the details about what happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>That whole week had been parent-teacher conference week, so the schedule had been modified. Classes were being held in the morning, and conferences in the afternoon and evening. Schools don't send report cards home in Japan. Instead, parents come to school to meet with their child and his/her homeroom teacher to discuss the student's performance. </div><div><br /></div><div>This particular boy, an 11th grader, was having the meeting with his father and homeroom teacher about 5:20 p.m. The meeting was just about wrapping up when the boy stood up, walked across the classroom and simply jumped out the window, falling four stories to his death in the courtyard below.</div><div><br /></div><div>Classrooms in Japan have large, single pane sliding windows with no screen. And since summer brings brutal temperatures and many classrooms don't have air conditioning, the windows sit wide open. Aside from a small ledge, there is nothing to stop someone from going out the window. For a long time I'd intended to post a photo of one of these shockingly unsafe windows on my blog with a snarky joke involving OSHA. Not funny anymore.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a mystery why this boy decided to jump. Bad grades, too much pressure? Not sure, though I was told that at least in the past he was always a good student. I remember having him in Oral Communication class all year last year and he never had trouble.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course his death changed the plan for Friday's closing activities. The whole school poured into the gymnasium and sat on the floor in front of the stage, silent. Teachers closed every window and door, every vent, and drew the curtains. This was to keep out any members of the media who might decide to nose around the building, or perhaps hide in the woods nearby and zoom in with a telescopic lens. With no air conditioning, we quickly began to bake in the muggy gym as the principal told the students somberly about what had happened to their classmate. In the back of the room, one teacher hugged a girl who sobbed continuously into a towel.</div><div><br /></div><div>When the principal finished, it was my turn to go on stage and say my farewell speech in Japanese. I was already fighting tears when I went up on stage. In my hand I held an abbreviated version of my original speech, in which I would have encouraged the students not to be afraid to take risks, and to try doing something even if it makes them scared. That morning I'd shortened it to some generic thank yous and goodbyes. A few lines in I started to break down and then just cried through the rest of it. I'd always thought that it might be difficult for me to make it through my speech without getting emotional, but under the circumstances I just felt like falling apart.</div><div><br /></div><div>After my speech, the president of student council gave me some flowers and a parting gift, and delivered a goodbye speech to me in English, which he'd memorized. I remember being surprised and impressed when he began speaking in English to me in front of the whole school, and very proud of him.</div><div><br /></div><div>The ceremony ended after that and the students got to skip their standard school cleaning duties and go home. I think there were some counselors there to help students who were upset, and obviously the other teachers had their hands full supporting the students.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once the school had emptied out, I wandered the hallways. Nobody had told me where the student had jumped from, but I wondered where and I was reluctant to ask because I didn't want to upset anyone. Outside in the back courtyard I found an older woman alone with a bucket, mopping a spot on the sidewalk. She greeted me with a smile and began speaking to me in Japanese, talked about my speech. In a lull in the conversation she stopped and said some things I didn't understand. Then she pointed to the fourth-floor window above her head. That was enough.</div><div><br /></div><div>There was nothing there on that patch of brick sidewalk. No flowers, no candles, no notes or teddy bears. Nothing. Just an old woman mopping up any trace. I walked back inside and up the stairs to the fourth floor, peeked through the window in the door to the classroom where the woman had pointed. The room was dark. The curtain was drawn across the window in the middle of the room, and a lonely vase of lilies sat on the desk in front of it.</div><div><br /></div><div>The school was empty, and I just felt heart broken. Shouldn't more be done to acknowledge what happened, some outpouring of sadness and love for this boy? Back at my desk I spent the rest of the day tinkering and crying. Even before any of this happened, it had already been an emotionally taxing week saying goodbye to one of my weekly conversation partners and struggling to write a meaningful speech that I'd be able to deliver in Japanese. I felt completely wrung out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought about our student constantly for the next few days. In my mind I replayed what must have happened to him, and couldn't believe it was real. My heart ached for the student and for his classmates outside who witnessed his fall. And for his father and his teacher. I wondered why. I couldn't help but feel like every single person in the school held just a tiny sliver of responsibility for what happened. What if a smile and a kind word from any one of us that day might have been enough to change everything? I know that thinking that way probably isn't healthy, but still. What if?</div><div><br /></div><div>It all felt like a really bad dream. I kept feeling like on Monday I'd go back to school and the boy would be there. We'd get to find out what was wrong and why this happened, and he would be there. But then you realize that of course he won't be there, and this is final. And that's what's so upsetting.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-20078142099611603612010-07-11T22:01:00.002+09:002010-07-11T22:10:59.153+09:00The Big 3-Oh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGBfXrPNAvm3hVXRT9zWuMg3lW3L7Amd7CPelonmPi1xDnJBd5DpHk7K-8c-sHQlzqk__bztCAsBLrUNPZ8iy1DmKXJsSwzBO1IZ6YxikjXJWrsccDvOQTvOn61re5ktTsfPwZXJwjIR7/s1600/30thBday.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGBfXrPNAvm3hVXRT9zWuMg3lW3L7Amd7CPelonmPi1xDnJBd5DpHk7K-8c-sHQlzqk__bztCAsBLrUNPZ8iy1DmKXJsSwzBO1IZ6YxikjXJWrsccDvOQTvOn61re5ktTsfPwZXJwjIR7/s400/30thBday.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492633454708425698" /></a>Today was a lazy, rainy Sunday — and my 30th birthday. Woooo-eeee! We enjoyed a low-key celebration at the house, doing some writing and watching movies. Joe made a cake and put every candle left in the cupboard on it. Can't say I'm broken up about bidding my 20s adieu. My 20s were a helluva ride but now it's time to bring on the 30s!Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-82517880716250150152010-07-10T21:13:00.003+09:002010-07-11T12:05:44.793+09:00English education in Japan: If you can't say anything right...<div>I've been teaching in Japan for three years now, and by and large my classes are a pleasure. In addition to my classes, students have other lessons with Japanese teachers who teach them the grammar and mechanics of the English language. Those teachers are the unlucky ones, teaching the kids all the necessary boring stuff. I'm the lucky one — my classes are the ones where the kids actually get the chance to <i>use</i> what they've learned — to finally speak instead of just listen.</div><div><br /></div><div>This can be a lot of fun! And... it can also be terribly painful.</div><div><br /></div><div>Classroom management in Japan was a real adjustment for me. The expectations for student behavior in the classroom are very different from the U.S. and weren't immediately clear to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>First off, you should know that the standard Japanese class has 40 students. This I'm sure would make American teachers choke on their coffee, given how much noise they make about having even 30 students in a class. All the students are divided up into homeroom classes, and they take nearly every class with the same cohort of kids.</div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily for me, however, each class is divided in half for English lessons, so I teach only 20 kids at a time. Over the course my time here, I've been tasked with planning lessons ranging anywhere from 35 to 65 minutes.</div><div><br /></div><div>My very first lessons were kind of a trial by fire where I got a glimpse into the challenges that lay ahead for me as an English teacher. Essentially, I'd been told to give an introduction of myself, showing pictures and explaining (very slowly) where I was from, some personal details, my hobbies, whatever. Then students would have a chance to ask me some questions. Picturing how this kind of lesson would have been received by American students meeting a foreigner from a strange place for the first time, I was fully prepared to field an onslaught of questions from a bunch of bright-eyed curious youngsters.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except that when the question period came, repeatedly I was greeted with only a bunch of stares. Nobody had questions? <i>Really?!...</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Well, no, not really. The kids were full of questions, I have no doubt. But they just didn't know how to ask them. Or they were too afraid to ask them.</div><div><br /></div><div>You know that old adage "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? For the Japanese, the philosophy goes more like, "If you can't say anything right, don't say anything at all." The problem is the students know their English isn't perfect, and rather than speak up and make a mistake, they'd rather remain silent.</div><div><br /></div><div>They're also simply not used to speaking up in class at all. I remember one time I was reviewing the names of places on a map before doing an activity on giving directions. I pointed to the park on a map and asked them the English word for it. Silence. Four years of English education under their belts and no one can manage to say the word "park"? Come on! Sometimes this can be really frustrating.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can think of no better example of this phenomenon than the recitation assignment all my sophomores were given last year. They were made to memorize a passage from their textbook and recite it in front of class. These recitations took one to two minutes. This was a challenging task for the kids, as I'm sure you can understand. It probably would have been hard enough to do this kind of public speaking task in Japanese, let alone English.</div><div><br /></div><div>So a lot of kids got up in front of class, began doing their thing and inevitably hit a point where they had a hard time remembering the next line. They'd stand there nervously, eyes squeezed shut, biting their lip, desperately trying to will the words into their memory. I felt bad for them.</div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, I <i>know</i> that if American kids had to do an assignment like this, it would be only a matter of time before some clown, recognizing the futility of recalling the words, would just start making stuff up. He'd say something ridiculous, the entire class would laugh, everyone would relax a bit and remind themselves of the absurdity of the task.</div><div><br /></div><div>Three hundred and twenty Japanese students gave me their recitations. Lots of kids hit a point where they just couldn't remember it anymore, and stood there silently for the next minute and a half until their time was up. Not one attempted to ham it up. No one winged it and tried to just make something up that sort of half-resembled the actual script. I wonder if the thought even occurred to them. Honestly, after listening to days of endless droning about Charlie Brown buttering toast, I would have happily handed a high score to any kid who deviated even slightly from the script in the name of a laugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>But it went down the way it did because in the Japanese mind, it's better to say nothing than to say the wrong thing. It's better to have forgotten the script than to give the appearance of not knowing it, or of having memorized the wrong thing.</div><div><br /></div><div>In this way, I have to admire my Japanese students. They are so earnest, so dedicated. They take their studies seriously. A lot of American students could stand to take a cue from them.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the same time, it's this drive for perfection that also holds them back. I always tell my students, "Don't be afraid to make mistakes!" Nobody expects them to be perfect — except themselves! Getting them to overcome this fear is my biggest challenge as a teacher.</div><div><br /></div><div>Part of the problem is that the Japanese school system enables this reluctance to take risks. You might think, "Oh, no problem, kids won't volunteer to answer questions in class? Then just pick someone to do it." But it's not that easy. In Japan, if a student isn't sure of an answer, there is no expectation that he'll try to answer anyway. He can simply deflect the question by saying "Pass". A lot of them don't even do that, though. I will pick certain students to answer something, and they will simply not respond at all. They will just sit there, silent. I didn't understand this was how it works when I first started teaching. A Japanese teacher would have recognized that a student didn't know the answer and simply moved on. But I just stood there, waiting for an answer. Waiting for <i>some</i> kind of recognition that I even just spoke to them. There'd be a terrible awkward silence where they'd stare down at their desk and I'd wonder if they were just trying to think of the answer or what. When they said nothing, inside I was very irritated. Their silence seemed terribly insubordinate. This wouldn't be tolerated in America.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once I understood the cultural difference, I stopped being upset by this behavior. But it does sometimes present a challenge teaching the type of interactive lessons I'm tasked with doing, where students are expected to speak, listen, understand and respond.</div><div><br /></div><div>My school doesn't allow teachers to give out candy as incentives. Instead, I followed in the footsteps of my predecessor and award the kids stamps each time they speak in class, whether they say the right thing or not. Students know that the participation stamps they accumulate during the semester factor into their final grade. Initially the problem with this was that the head English teacher wouldn't tell <i>me</i>, much less the students, exactly how the stamps would be factored into their final grade. It seemed like they didn't want to place a value on the participation stamps until the end of the semester when they could see how all the kids' grades were shaping up. Consequently, the motivating power of the stamps was severely diminished. (Well, it's that and the fact that grades just don't matter as much here. Kids know that as long as they score well on their college entrance exams, mediocre grades won't hurt them.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Since I couldn't entice my students with candy, and it didn't work so well making vague promises about the participation points boosting their grade, I turned to all-out bribery. When Joe and I visited home last year, I returned with a bag stuffed full of little souvenirs — pennies, postage stamps, English pins with edgy messages, buckeyes, miniature American flags, Obama campaign stickers, and the mother lode — Obama campaign buttons I ordered from <a href="http://www.democraticstuff.com/">Democratic Stuff</a>, a company in Greenville, Ohio, that produces campaign products. I showed the stuff to the students and told them that the five students from each class with the most participation points at the end of the semester could choose a prize. When I gave those prizes out, the kids went absolutely bonkers over the Obama buttons. Finally I'd found a successful motivator! A lot of them may not care about learning English, but they care about winning some Obama memorabilia.</div><div><br /></div><div>I suppose if I did that in the U.S. that'd make me a "Socialist!", but here it just makes me popular.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-57962360460471674492010-07-09T19:30:00.003+09:002010-07-10T21:09:17.513+09:00Hell hath no fury like a Japanese baseball coach<div>I remember when Joe and I were finally notified of the names of our schools before we moved to Japan. I excitedly typed my school's name into Google and found its website. Of course the site was all in Japanese, so I hit the Google translation button to get an idea of what it said. The translation function does a supremely lousy job of translating things, but you can still get a sense of what is said. Well, the translated version of the page described my school as a "military preparatory school" (it's not). We got a good laugh out of that when Joe remarked, "You're going to be barking at those Japanese kids to drop and give you 20!" Turns out, there was a grain of truth to that. Though it's not me ordering the push-ups — it's one of the other teachers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Discipline in Japanese schools is a lot different from the U.S. On the surface there appears to be a lot less discipline in the classroom, and teachers tolerate more misbehavior than in American schools. This really surprised me when I started teaching here.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>The thing is, the Japanese are very non-confrontational people. Often, teachers' approach is to simply ignore what little misbehavior goes on. Lucky for me, most of my students are very well behaved. Being at a relatively high academic high school, these kids are serious about their studies and feel motivated to learn. There's a famous saying in Japan: "The nail that sticks up gets hammered down." Social pressure keeps kids in line pretty well, and if they do get out of line their peers will bully them into submission. This makes for a class of kids trying very hard to conform rather than cause a disruption and call attention to themselves.</div><div><br /></div><div>Most of the time students' indiscretions amount to ignoring the teacher and talking in class — they're no different from American teenagers in that way. Pretty minor stuff. I've had to deal with students typing English obscenities into their electronic translators and hitting the button to make the device say it out loud in class, and I've had to put up with obnoxious baseball players who want to bully the class into non-participation to cover up their deficiencies. Irritating, yes, but these situations are the exception, not the rule.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's not the case in other lower academic schools, though. I have heard horror stories from other JETs about students pulling out cell phones and making calls in class, standing up and simply walking out the door in the middle of a lesson, and even one girl going so far as to plug in a curling iron to fix her hair during class (apparently right after P.E. period). Sometimes all the kids talk and simply ignore the teacher, who pretends it's not happening and just goes on with the futile lesson anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>In America, this sort of stuff would get you sent to the principal's office, or at least earn you a detention. But it seems that often times these behaviors are ignored in Japan. Kids are not kicked out of class. I have never heard of anyone being sent to the principal's office. High school is not compulsory, and until just recently, students actually had to pay tuition — around $100 a month — to attend public high school, so perhaps educators felt they couldn't really bounce a kid from class?</div><div><br /></div><div>This is not to say there are no disciplinary measures. There are. There are a couple teachers who share the honor of being the official disciplinarians at my school. If a student acts up and ticks off his teacher, the teacher sends him to the disciplinarian during lunch or after school for a good dressing down. And this is where the disciplinary approach diverges wildly from America.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of getting sent to the principal's office, naughty Japanese students at my school get sent to the baseball coach. Now I know I said before that the Japanese are very non-confrontational people. So when students <i>are</i> confronted, when they <i>are</i> actually yelled at, it sends a strong message — You really effed up, kid. It's embarrassing. And that's exactly what this teacher does.</div><div><br /></div><div>He yells. I mean, he doesn't just lecture kind of angrily, he really lets him have it. The offender — usually a boy, I don't know if I can recall ever seeing a girl get into trouble — stands mute while the teacher works himself up into a screaming, red-faced fury. Either the boy wears an expression of defiant indifference, which only seems to prompt louder yelling, or he looks crestfallen as he tries to choke back tears. Sometimes, they do cry. While this teacher is going ballistic, all the other teachers in the office stare straight ahead, hunched over their keyboards as though nothing is happening. At times this teacher has thrown chairs. One time he even swept a heavy radio off the desk and it went crashing to the floor, though I'm not exactly sure if that was intentional considering that's kind of an expensive thing. It scared the bejesus out of me though because my desk was right in front of his at the time. And yes, there have even been times when I've seen him order kids to the floor to do push ups. I think those might have been his baseball players.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was shocked the first time I saw this episode unfold. I had never seen any teacher act that way before, and I really didn't know what to think. He was throwing chairs and raving, and everyone else was just going about their normal business. I thought about telling him to calm down a bit, but I was scared to interfere. I always feel so bad for the students who endure this treatment. It makes me want to do something to defuse the situation and comfort them a bit, like covertly sneak a piece of chocolate into their palm as they leave the office or something. But I don't. One time I took pity and handed a box of tissues to a poor boy who was sobbing and wiping his eyes repeatedly on his shirt sleeve. I feel that's about all I can do.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the dressing down is complete, the boys leave the office and I look at the teacher quizzically. The angry expression usually lifts from his face and he chuckles a bit. It's not that he gets a kick out of publicly humiliating students, but he seems a shade embarrassed about the crazy scene he just made. Because usually he's really not angry. He just pretends to be. And he is a very convincing actor.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I ask what the kids did to earn this punishment. One kid got in trouble for repeatedly skipping school. Another kid cut class and hid in the bathroom to avoid taking a test. And one boy caught it for not telling the baseball coach he'd earned some failing grades, even though they'd been told they had to report any under-performance to the coach. Of course the coach knew about the bad grades, but the kid was being punished for being too scared to own up to his mistakes and face the consequences.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have conflicting feelings about this "tough love" method of discipline. On one hand, I feel like heaping abuse on students and being physically threatening is really inappropriate. This is the very reason American schools no longer paddle rule-breakers, isn't it? Do we want them emulating that disciplinarian's behavior someday, perhaps on their own kids? Do we want to send the message that they somehow deserve less respect than us? On the other hand, well... It seems to work. The kids behave. I mean, I think my kids are just good kids in the first place, but still, American detention doesn't sound nearly as horrible as the public shaming these kids get. It seems like a good deterrent. I guess it's not so far off from the old debate of whether "time outs" are preferable to simply spanking a kid. The Japanese kids aren't being physically beaten, but they are being humiliated almost in the same manner as spanking. And the result is that I never see the kind of contempt and defiance I have witnessed American students throw at their teachers. There is a respect for authority that is sometimes absent in America. Makes you wonder if the Japanese could teach us a thing or two.</div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-55452436140193480322010-07-06T20:33:00.004+09:002010-07-06T23:10:28.726+09:00How much for that doggy in the window?How can you resist a face like this?<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljF5w12WybDTyrIPp4fWEuZ-WxeBBv8jKGtXGgYRRgqo4axmX_2V4rJBeXQpoo1UhWy1KMic_1OHLDDmaOd-N1Q1uX6XBJhA0O5ZhdppxSbXHVEM7qpvhMWv00F8nniIqIfxR6N7cs_fp/s1600/pets1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjljF5w12WybDTyrIPp4fWEuZ-WxeBBv8jKGtXGgYRRgqo4axmX_2V4rJBeXQpoo1UhWy1KMic_1OHLDDmaOd-N1Q1uX6XBJhA0O5ZhdppxSbXHVEM7qpvhMWv00F8nniIqIfxR6N7cs_fp/s400/pets1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080329785905186" /></a><br /></div><div>Look at those round black eyes. That button nose. That soft snow white fur.</div><div><br /></div><div>Japanese people see this and go ga-ga. Hypnotized by cuteness, they open their wallets, turn them upside down and shake. Money blows away.</div><div><br /></div><div>So it goes when it comes to pets in Japan. Japan is world famous for its culture of cuteness, and Lord knows there's nothing cuter than puppies.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeQ1QZelm6tt9YWuqzS79dzBewB41W6PYaEt2eymzWBVRS3ZQVA0EOwpP198iW6hXv5iDaM9AMxLr22p_En2ssGVTvG7hBujuAJYd14BOM_WMMztYdWKwtIGHlDjH5y3b1zrNtUqSTvtr/s1600/pets2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXeQ1QZelm6tt9YWuqzS79dzBewB41W6PYaEt2eymzWBVRS3ZQVA0EOwpP198iW6hXv5iDaM9AMxLr22p_En2ssGVTvG7hBujuAJYd14BOM_WMMztYdWKwtIGHlDjH5y3b1zrNtUqSTvtr/s400/pets2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080340590766194" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Take me home with yooooou!</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Pet stores here are filled with purebred animals fetching top dollar. I simply could not believe it the first time I went in to a Japanese pet store and saw that all the animals cost several hundred dollars, and many well over $1,000.</span></div></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSKJ2eTvQ_QG-yFe6iny8zy-RGB58zQQ_6oYqAxb9eOzaLLuAzYHbgKvvTo6h3eKCzxOYbpZfj-TSAvoBVBLTPvCjoZvHmedt3S4QVomxwgfFPPAGsnqRrvuKT2zY0FsIW0xwjI0Wx9Q1/s1600/pets3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmSKJ2eTvQ_QG-yFe6iny8zy-RGB58zQQ_6oYqAxb9eOzaLLuAzYHbgKvvTo6h3eKCzxOYbpZfj-TSAvoBVBLTPvCjoZvHmedt3S4QVomxwgfFPPAGsnqRrvuKT2zY0FsIW0xwjI0Wx9Q1/s400/pets3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080351328882914" /></a><br /></div><div>Even the cats!</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MMZoQPrYGsMJBdDkXzlQRFtN8fFGIxKpviouNQtbgTgrQx_h8z4UrhgU0R3ZyqKlxMk6elgr9akUL4YsjakP_URxQWWDRvMBQ1HaKKFFrjK9alt3aiYWnwOGzzUxC8FDtf2uOo1u-SxO/s1600/pets7.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7MMZoQPrYGsMJBdDkXzlQRFtN8fFGIxKpviouNQtbgTgrQx_h8z4UrhgU0R3ZyqKlxMk6elgr9akUL4YsjakP_URxQWWDRvMBQ1HaKKFFrjK9alt3aiYWnwOGzzUxC8FDtf2uOo1u-SxO/s400/pets7.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080846052968210" /></a><br /></div><div>For a while I had a sort of obsession with an orange flat-faced Exotic cat I dubbed "Smooshy." Smooshy's price tag was 98,000 yen — $980 or so. Every time I went to the Fuji Grand department store, I'd stop in to pay Smooshy a visit. I swear that cat was there for three months. Cooped up in that cage all that time. I always wondered when there'd be a Smooshy sale, since obviously no one wanted to pay so much for that cat. But there was never a Smooshy sale, and then one day Smooshy was gone. I wondered if someone finally adopted her or if she fell victim to a darker fate.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUczRPrzx6HZEuc1n9sTIpZKSSIezKR16N6eIkPwYXO-5CicE4cKrhyphenhyphenMc-hk7C2Rc_r6W8CF211FzkDwol-3M_FuQG5N1j9rWfxA5C5tXTdnBLz64uHU2docI-jwEPn1RMqrKE98FzhayV/s1600/pets10.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUczRPrzx6HZEuc1n9sTIpZKSSIezKR16N6eIkPwYXO-5CicE4cKrhyphenhyphenMc-hk7C2Rc_r6W8CF211FzkDwol-3M_FuQG5N1j9rWfxA5C5tXTdnBLz64uHU2docI-jwEPn1RMqrKE98FzhayV/s400/pets10.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080882234366802" /></a><br /></div><div>I read <a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSTRE62S0KL20100329">a Reuters article</a> a while back about how Japanese people usually don't adopt animals from pet shelters. There's a very strong "brand name" mentality here where people really don't tend to buy generic or used goods, and I think that extends to animals as well. Who wants to save some throw-away mutt when you can have a purebred one from the pet shop? That makes me sad.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPrHtYYLO3YUjXjIg-PYD6_yX9uMi25YV3orpHffucNJmz7fszDM-EkjA3vgjbu-q-53UeCXzgW3ld18GGYs7TgXOKL6INxEUu7SxiGThcsMUrl8eHfgxk0RLfA_xjL6ZuzTp6pSk0uqv/s1600/pets9.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxPrHtYYLO3YUjXjIg-PYD6_yX9uMi25YV3orpHffucNJmz7fszDM-EkjA3vgjbu-q-53UeCXzgW3ld18GGYs7TgXOKL6INxEUu7SxiGThcsMUrl8eHfgxk0RLfA_xjL6ZuzTp6pSk0uqv/s400/pets9.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487085259560673538" /></a><br /></div><div>Japan has had a declining birthrate for years, which is one of the country's major social dilemmas. It seems that rather than have children a lot of people just adopt dogs instead. <a href="http://search.japantimes.co.jp/cgi-bin/fl20100228x1.html">This Japan Times article</a> says that since 2003, there have been more pets than children under age 16 in Japan. Last year there were 6 million more pets than children.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbtDrJd2BFlDvtu0dvdhXOc587ZU-zj4gjGKNXvURshYiKYQZkZzyUP_2_rTjILHnw3x0q4c0sUHbHsbabv-MTXN_ljeQOeKBOWJXGTEKIXttsDnXaupzeb6j7VysKIWRyfqs4kWeJM__/s1600/pets6.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbtDrJd2BFlDvtu0dvdhXOc587ZU-zj4gjGKNXvURshYiKYQZkZzyUP_2_rTjILHnw3x0q4c0sUHbHsbabv-MTXN_ljeQOeKBOWJXGTEKIXttsDnXaupzeb6j7VysKIWRyfqs4kWeJM__/s400/pets6.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080372282613074" /></a><br /></div><div>People really do treat the dogs like children, too. Japanese pet stores have an unbelievable selection of dog outfits, and it seems like nearly every dog I see out for a walk is wearing a shirt. Given the importance the Japanese place on fashion and personal appearance, perhaps this isn't too surprising.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-_B1XUgMrcj_3mpSiPoLQmCaBZDdtW6Mnx_OxQF0JWyYuscS8N-O2bMC_Eh0j1Bg844CXwxjqgFVbywof3iVvlhUjaIDnzpuQliJ8k-wPn0-0Ri9QP4h-ojHEiYVodfoFzB5HfLcbf3g/s1600/pets5.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-_B1XUgMrcj_3mpSiPoLQmCaBZDdtW6Mnx_OxQF0JWyYuscS8N-O2bMC_Eh0j1Bg844CXwxjqgFVbywof3iVvlhUjaIDnzpuQliJ8k-wPn0-0Ri9QP4h-ojHEiYVodfoFzB5HfLcbf3g/s400/pets5.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080356981763346" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I mean check out some of these outfits:</span></div></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOskpRlJXm1SpoGYc4WAaZpIc7cg43cC-JMuu9tBpn52KDklxWrsWHUC-Kar_XLE1yPx06eBVmzAytAX9QTb7qMrFStIw4SddHHnStwmuiQtdHuuCmPhEkTxZZfvJ-Fb_xUntqxUOq5gWR/s1600/bluedress.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 393px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOskpRlJXm1SpoGYc4WAaZpIc7cg43cC-JMuu9tBpn52KDklxWrsWHUC-Kar_XLE1yPx06eBVmzAytAX9QTb7qMrFStIw4SddHHnStwmuiQtdHuuCmPhEkTxZZfvJ-Fb_xUntqxUOq5gWR/s400/bluedress.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487081344984083186" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNhdczbEzROWXcS_q6TuPUbwUiFGMAghyphenhyphenZpo-PGhuUOxN3EnYXkWUrhyphenhyphenm3IDbYN1n3j5wa2XwsRxkh8VBq7Va1U0a-wpYt5FgsW1XxffwBOhJ7yYdehFwSc0_lPRtgi3H9wA48hysOglF/s1600/blackdress.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNhdczbEzROWXcS_q6TuPUbwUiFGMAghyphenhyphenZpo-PGhuUOxN3EnYXkWUrhyphenhyphenm3IDbYN1n3j5wa2XwsRxkh8VBq7Va1U0a-wpYt5FgsW1XxffwBOhJ7yYdehFwSc0_lPRtgi3H9wA48hysOglF/s400/blackdress.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487081337569449090" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Every dog's gotta have a little black dress!</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CjYrvLCU8MN97gQxmVrws9ov6f1Nk1JKMcA0tINBsMFamOrN-xlJQJZ-JkDocXwZEUJMGGg7M_42rjfgRuclgj5LMFxZFh4IAELbikv7PUwm-p57YhBrmwmsK-Fs7mtyD3y3mX_ROISh/s1600/yukatadog.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 361px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CjYrvLCU8MN97gQxmVrws9ov6f1Nk1JKMcA0tINBsMFamOrN-xlJQJZ-JkDocXwZEUJMGGg7M_42rjfgRuclgj5LMFxZFh4IAELbikv7PUwm-p57YhBrmwmsK-Fs7mtyD3y3mX_ROISh/s400/yukatadog.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487081327423691250" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Yes, it's a yukata! For a dog!</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCnCBB43QJ4srRLuo8IB-y-KbeWIBbfXhwYCODypp2jUz3vNKExWnt7Pqtx2tla7RiCUDV0hbyguoMQ1_bMHuDQW2Mh9Vj-3yHXZbSqyFpq4TEvUUOvkSjE1XGs0o2t4Iaisjn40zJx7rs/s1600/pets9.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 376px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEEy4ZxqXRVYwLt1gOEkriYw_cgd3JBB0Oi_oeE1KHVZTEOeiVnWRNPVxH6h0sW2ptRo_L-TMDfOTNIAmcypnVMSHVypGtbZ9Pwf6U4R3OkbThwbJQtzimJ3NSajoZLSAExACB_enOXhm/s400/bones.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487081353514548482" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Obligatory Engrish T-shirt</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIcu_LLw-IRpILunTZrvX92J0tBxQ0xu-cXvsJzpM8n6ok1kmJXQzc2sKz6pUTDkByzkZv4VUPOFt45TXXEuLqpRF0-Zw97ueRydwVAsh9pJ0EFzoBHEOL9ClPIrOUnajd_YH0BeiNW1m/s1600/tweety.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIcu_LLw-IRpILunTZrvX92J0tBxQ0xu-cXvsJzpM8n6ok1kmJXQzc2sKz6pUTDkByzkZv4VUPOFt45TXXEuLqpRF0-Zw97ueRydwVAsh9pJ0EFzoBHEOL9ClPIrOUnajd_YH0BeiNW1m/s400/tweety.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487081316153838370" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhh...</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>For some I think the dogs become just an accessory as part of their overall fashion statement.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are even special cakes, muffins, and other sweets for these pooches.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-MaETZAwd0or0HAf-LH3VcUTfIO9F5VOVJUnCMdOUm70lX8_FTb87RxgM8Lqn8Wi-mvvVTzy5eh3RDw0Nqk5pYG7l53K60oGfUzGe7OcN6IoVAobmbAL2GnW4b1g6elEHVvoIpdpk_E7/s1600/pets12.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-MaETZAwd0or0HAf-LH3VcUTfIO9F5VOVJUnCMdOUm70lX8_FTb87RxgM8Lqn8Wi-mvvVTzy5eh3RDw0Nqk5pYG7l53K60oGfUzGe7OcN6IoVAobmbAL2GnW4b1g6elEHVvoIpdpk_E7/s400/pets12.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080901565359426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXZRBFkA8-g6x5kCebhu4roaDCtL9B_jEFSYz4PddoWeNzl6yGFWqOmkngwMmRZjp5eNeZwtDw96GnWCZuE3r2cWPiwWTkbhG3hnfJER7l8AVZqHLwa8VVvN7kUINOZQmUB8cbQp-n8iw/s1600/pets11.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXZRBFkA8-g6x5kCebhu4roaDCtL9B_jEFSYz4PddoWeNzl6yGFWqOmkngwMmRZjp5eNeZwtDw96GnWCZuE3r2cWPiwWTkbhG3hnfJER7l8AVZqHLwa8VVvN7kUINOZQmUB8cbQp-n8iw/s400/pets11.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487080895065848018" /></a><br /></div><div>Granted, Americans have been known to overindulge their pets, too. No doubt. When I worked for the newspaper I actually featured a lady who opened up a pet spa offering pet massage. You could get your dog groomed there using special fancy pants aroma therapy shampoos. Another lady I interviewed started her own homemade gourmet dog biscuit shop. So it's not just the Japanese. But, I do think that as a whole, Japanese pets are a lot more spoiled.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I guess when you're paying that much for a pup, you're gonna treat it like royalty.<br /><br /></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-69127581179175499082010-07-05T21:17:00.000+09:002010-07-05T21:19:34.605+09:00A walk around Hiroshima's Peace Memorial Museum<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQy7EoGrG5n3LFx-h-O2zqDeLao9O3C39yKu3Xr7YmSPz-NJEWF4e4LRID65x8UD-VItdD3ATK0vruT_flA91vvgCbcIM9JwRFKGL0rcEg_vJA5iUov9AjMyL79uugGhSzz_c-AnXbgV7/s1600/A+Bomb+Watch.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQy7EoGrG5n3LFx-h-O2zqDeLao9O3C39yKu3Xr7YmSPz-NJEWF4e4LRID65x8UD-VItdD3ATK0vruT_flA91vvgCbcIM9JwRFKGL0rcEg_vJA5iUov9AjMyL79uugGhSzz_c-AnXbgV7/s400/A+Bomb+Watch.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902953361657250" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Watched stopped at 8:15 a.m. — the moment the atomic bomb exploded over Hiroshima.</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>Last week my sister-in-law Jenny and her friend came to visit us, so we took them around to all the big tourist sites. Of course they couldn't come to Hiroshima without visiting the Peace Memorial Museum, and though I've seen it before, I've never blogged about it, so I decided to go with them and shoot a few pictures.</div><div><br /></div><div>The museum is a fascinating but depressing place filled with information about World War II history, the development and proliferation of nuclear weapons, and artifacts from the bomb's aftermath.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are a few dioramas depicting the city before and after the bomb, including this one showing where the bomb exploded, decimating the entire landscape. Only a few skeletal buildings remained.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hhOAXhhfU-Q0eEXmFtz3lM6nG5ljUWcreqH85V_jrg5TOuj0kd-3gvgyB9KadN4SrbfYNG-_9LK7FbpgJbvIE5qISs7E9dItS2KHMFBItHL0hzJaqeCZq5lOnds8HKlqP_NEcy4xuOm4/s1600/A+Bomb+Ball.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hhOAXhhfU-Q0eEXmFtz3lM6nG5ljUWcreqH85V_jrg5TOuj0kd-3gvgyB9KadN4SrbfYNG-_9LK7FbpgJbvIE5qISs7E9dItS2KHMFBItHL0hzJaqeCZq5lOnds8HKlqP_NEcy4xuOm4/s400/A+Bomb+Ball.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902381165164338" /></a><br /></div><div>One of those was the Atomic Bomb Dome, almost directly beneath the blast, pictured here at center. At the time, it was a government building. Today it remains as a memorial to the bomb.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0inh-884czGGf67ODSIfOw0UatjMGOowP7xiN_OAQJ09_D6VppF5vJsqdVbxJa2pQ14V5FuJIOaaO_n96tw8S2JDU0VP5FNHeVDm4-q43h-9p5NwAAk1LZofGosL6LaoiliVi7zoBGrL/s1600/A+Bomb+Aftermath.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit0inh-884czGGf67ODSIfOw0UatjMGOowP7xiN_OAQJ09_D6VppF5vJsqdVbxJa2pQ14V5FuJIOaaO_n96tw8S2JDU0VP5FNHeVDm4-q43h-9p5NwAAk1LZofGosL6LaoiliVi7zoBGrL/s400/A+Bomb+Aftermath.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902368385165570" /></a><br /></div><div>The bomb obliterated pretty much everything within a two-mile radius. Joe and I live about 4.7 miles from the hypocenter of the bomb (as the crow flies), far enough away that the buildings in our neighborhood wouldn't have been destroyed, though our area was hit with black rain. Actually, I'm not sure how developed our part of the city was at that time, since the museum stated that 90 percent of the city's buildings were destroyed or burned beyond repair.</div><div><br /></div><div>To me, the most unforgettable parts of the museum are the second-floor exhibits illustrating the destruction. There are lots of pictures and stories about victims and their personal belongings — school children's tattered uniforms and things like that. Some of these things are truly heartwrenching to see. One of the more famous items is this:<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivs50tkUECxJ9Be3rsazVRXHfj6OruYwwhM3sVmLpfjljwoxWi6Mv5CznZaoLIOG_Sx6MeAkH3MJWcDvYIp-gYlK8ELlPzlPCiZEjM5i9j5SrSRywN5FRw9YzhJGODjkaXMaw73YXkdauh/s1600/A+Bomb+Tricycle.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivs50tkUECxJ9Be3rsazVRXHfj6OruYwwhM3sVmLpfjljwoxWi6Mv5CznZaoLIOG_Sx6MeAkH3MJWcDvYIp-gYlK8ELlPzlPCiZEjM5i9j5SrSRywN5FRw9YzhJGODjkaXMaw73YXkdauh/s400/A+Bomb+Tricycle.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902944258596530" /></a><br /></div><div>A 3-year-old boy was riding this tricycle in front of his house when the bomb hit. He was badly burned and died that night. His father, feeling his son was too young to be buried in a lonely grave away from home, and thinking he could still play with the tricycle, buried his son with the tricycle in his backyard. Forty years later, he dug up the boy's remains to transfer them to the family grave, and donated the tricycle to the museum.</div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps the most stomach-turning exhibit confronts visitors as they round the corner into a new room. Inside an exhibit showing the aftermath of the bomb, we see wax figures of victims holding out their arms, skin melting off. This is a common image I've heard recounted many times by survivors of the bomb and in books. I remember one <i>hibakusha</i> (bomb survivor) explaining how she witnessed lines of burned victims shuffling down the street, holding out their arms like zombies, begging for water.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYqZOPab5am-uZSBSvCe-KiuFFVXKv2inT94ENPfRBdIObc2-eq4TwmWh8PsQxjl72syzq2T3Z-_mTwwFA3jEhWjqeZf3dys6vKKLF3RcwiBToKyX510ra9GON9Z1Glj1a_OtvfgIsQo2/s1600/A+Bomb+Skin+Melt.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcYqZOPab5am-uZSBSvCe-KiuFFVXKv2inT94ENPfRBdIObc2-eq4TwmWh8PsQxjl72syzq2T3Z-_mTwwFA3jEhWjqeZf3dys6vKKLF3RcwiBToKyX510ra9GON9Z1Glj1a_OtvfgIsQo2/s400/A+Bomb+Skin+Melt.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902414311788754" /></a><br /></div><div>The bomb's fury sent shards of glass flying through the air with such force that they embedded in concrete.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvl0uBIs0fSHtiyUfpOgycoCf6Y95fsGSawnpkqfJWn5eMB6MaDI8apdL8PSWnBXdXTuhplCIuqwLvNJjnapgKKVTId7eFPQ6AoiTRy-ATpuBZ0-HhqV8V-XCIyIS78Z9byR_AoaNHbEX/s1600/A+Bomb+Glass.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvl0uBIs0fSHtiyUfpOgycoCf6Y95fsGSawnpkqfJWn5eMB6MaDI8apdL8PSWnBXdXTuhplCIuqwLvNJjnapgKKVTId7eFPQ6AoiTRy-ATpuBZ0-HhqV8V-XCIyIS78Z9byR_AoaNHbEX/s400/A+Bomb+Glass.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902398709491314" /></a><br /></div><div>The heat warped steel and melted glass.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgcL3-m48ixKpd3GJ0l6gAfqggoha0UiQudUlQVIjtqB63OGzd7PQQ5N0XIs6pdM1JIyRbC80lAH6vYfsEwKa_LowMW0h7rsKyS3V9iJgNdGR88jnqRbmY8IsagezTLFwOiLtPBnNgPqt/s1600/A+Bomb+Bottles.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgcL3-m48ixKpd3GJ0l6gAfqggoha0UiQudUlQVIjtqB63OGzd7PQQ5N0XIs6pdM1JIyRbC80lAH6vYfsEwKa_LowMW0h7rsKyS3V9iJgNdGR88jnqRbmY8IsagezTLFwOiLtPBnNgPqt/s400/A+Bomb+Bottles.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489902393283951986" /></a><br /></div><div>One surprise I encountered in the museum when I went through last November with Diane and Paul was an actual mention of Springfield, Ohio, believe it or not. There is a section about a project started in September 2007 to display an atomic bomb exhibition in 101 U.S. cities, and one of them is Springfield. I imagine this was connected in some way to Wittenberg University since it has such a great East Asian Studies program.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are all sorts of books out there if you are interested in learning more about the bombing. I'm not the type of person to read a pile of history books, but actually one of the books I can recommend for those interested in learning more about the bombing is a 10-volume graphic novel called <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Barefoot-Gen-Vol-Cartoon-Hiroshima/dp/0867196025/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1278224238&sr=1-2">Barefoot Gen: The Cartoon Story of Hiroshima</a></i>. It was written by Keiji Nakazawa, a bomb survivor. I'm definitely no expert on writing book reviews, but I just wrote one for the Wide Island View. Actually it's not so much a review as just <a href="http://www.wideislandview.com/2010/07/recommended-read-barefoot-gen-a-cartoon-story-of-hiroshima/">a piece urging people to check these books out</a>. And you should — they're incredible.<br /></div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-60494193192879163572010-06-27T12:33:00.003+09:002010-06-27T12:37:47.417+09:00Let's play "Find the Foreigner"!<div>Joe came home the other day with a print of his school's staff photo for the yearbook, and as soon as I saw it I started to laugh. He's like a giant gorilla next to all his Japanese colleagues. Check it out. (Click it to see a bigger version.)</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjkczErhbVxqbElQSvbwhtluv5tcF55YrizoYz1qlH7jiEcPRBwkoj61tdoe7ND-qUxb0IkeKSotI6Le8ee7qciev2gxULYsibKYP4S8-PfIcks6Tt-TwflLpyATSVBaEeDLJiAtUTi9K/s1600/Joe+Staff+Pic.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgjkczErhbVxqbElQSvbwhtluv5tcF55YrizoYz1qlH7jiEcPRBwkoj61tdoe7ND-qUxb0IkeKSotI6Le8ee7qciev2gxULYsibKYP4S8-PfIcks6Tt-TwflLpyATSVBaEeDLJiAtUTi9K/s400/Joe+Staff+Pic.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487058520706054530" /></a>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-16703342478148833402010-06-26T21:08:00.001+09:002010-06-27T12:33:01.828+09:00Macau: High rollin'... for a moment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhgyeUgceehN9lFKipowSu_yKdvEOzjSeHKQNfOammSrWv9JlpffwgXUSkWBecgA6ZAn9uv-Jr6XrzOMdPuhFQB4cDlh26y4dDaiGnWFz6KZ6G6pympTgIsYmP1bJuadFayt_eXtysyMS/s1600/mgm.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhgyeUgceehN9lFKipowSu_yKdvEOzjSeHKQNfOammSrWv9JlpffwgXUSkWBecgA6ZAn9uv-Jr6XrzOMdPuhFQB4cDlh26y4dDaiGnWFz6KZ6G6pympTgIsYmP1bJuadFayt_eXtysyMS/s400/mgm.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487036007671004322" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Macau's MGM Casino</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>While in Hong Kong, we took a day trip to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macau">Macau</a>, which is kind of like the Las Vegas of the East. Macau, like Hong Kong, is a special administrative region of China and essentially functions as its own country. It was a Portuguese colony up until it was handed back to China in 1999 under an agreement that it would remain autonomous for the next 50 years.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now Macau's bread and butter is gambling. I've never been to Las Vegas, or stepped foot in a casino, so this was a first for me. After a one-hour ferry ride from Hong Kong, we got off the boat and directly onto a shuttle bus that took us right to the heart of the casino area, where there were all sorts of glitzy looking buildings.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60SiKnmBwT6DIeLkO_-RaAagR677-sgD4-MoHX_Z297BuNNqyPRYPs1pzeVxMa25RnBNVluPnC4ixHIvS6KxcBFdBLNXPSm7-acQMqmMBZ7zDJ9jUfcZdvT3gdvML6R0wB0JEZqDCjnTM/s1600/casinos.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60SiKnmBwT6DIeLkO_-RaAagR677-sgD4-MoHX_Z297BuNNqyPRYPs1pzeVxMa25RnBNVluPnC4ixHIvS6KxcBFdBLNXPSm7-acQMqmMBZ7zDJ9jUfcZdvT3gdvML6R0wB0JEZqDCjnTM/s400/casinos.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487036000988938674" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Is that a Rolls Royce?</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>We walked around a couple of these places and the opulence blew me away. Chandeliers, flowers, water fountains, shiny everything. It all oozed money, money, MUH-NAY!</div><div><br /></div><div>Joe and I agreed that he could play with $100 at the blackjack tables. Once it was gone though, he had to walk away. He chose to take his chances at the <a href="http://www.wynnmacau.com/">Wynn casino</a>, seen here during one of its mesmerizing water fountain displays.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZtzetXTgav7ClZx4VHMtbddCCMCArvc45Eag90loeTdazJNogsHhwJdrXJFWT4uR0W2Jv9LL6NfC8asOTjx2jKWC4lnhvXSBK2x3CbDTRlZq2-SJdKXVUY4rb4UDHUIrdx8N7nBgVL5p/s1600/casino+wynn.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZtzetXTgav7ClZx4VHMtbddCCMCArvc45Eag90loeTdazJNogsHhwJdrXJFWT4uR0W2Jv9LL6NfC8asOTjx2jKWC4lnhvXSBK2x3CbDTRlZq2-SJdKXVUY4rb4UDHUIrdx8N7nBgVL5p/s400/casino+wynn.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487035985541030818" /></a><br /></div><div>I just about choked when I saw the minimum bets at the blackjack tables. There were one or two tables with a minimum $10 bet, but no one was budging from those tables, so after waiting around for a while Joe finally took a seat at a table with a $20 minimum.</div><div><br /></div><div>Five minutes later, the money was gone. He got up and walked away. Neither of us was really upset — I assumed we'd never see that money again, and I think he did too — though I felt a little stunned about how suddenly it evaporated. A hundred bucks. That'd've been a helluva nice dinner. Of course it was tempting to plunk down some more bills and play a little longer, but you know the next $100 would probably disappear just as quickly as the first.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ah well. It was a nice experience anyway.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-39758800478655421272010-06-25T23:59:00.000+09:002010-09-01T09:57:02.073+09:00Hong Kong: The street markets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_oNu94n27-scuoWQXGHpFVYxOVL56K0_D6phM3JL7YfA7-Vw5E9hXmQ50YZpSRasfOHfQf1dkkG0yPIBGEBH6PqyakNHId6JeocBxd80ZBCPUB4EQT89caO80dBfRBhIr-8B7iEBuxxR/s1600/goldfish3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_oNu94n27-scuoWQXGHpFVYxOVL56K0_D6phM3JL7YfA7-Vw5E9hXmQ50YZpSRasfOHfQf1dkkG0yPIBGEBH6PqyakNHId6JeocBxd80ZBCPUB4EQT89caO80dBfRBhIr-8B7iEBuxxR/s400/goldfish3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485227087127275634" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Residents of Hong Kong's goldfish market</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>Out of all the sightseeing we did in Hong Kong, my favorite places were decidedly low key, and free: the street markets scattered throughout the city. In our time there we made it to a goldfish market, flower market, songbird market, jade market and some random fish, fruit or clothing markets we passed along the way.</div><div><br /></div><div>The goldfish market consisted of a long street of fish shop after fish shop selling goldfish (of course), a variety of other fish, lizards and baby turtles. Some shops pre-bagged the goldfish and hung them up on the wall, making for some nice window shopping.<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjtoHCMBvdymo4hqLK0mVDnE9SUwejSLdMKKjrNQ4oxZgQPVx72aHaXXaz4RRqq6doFdsv-uAxk-G_q2T6ZpGBAtRf2siG_cQ35Ew0UAJMD6V2gbJXyQlV2EhVgnpvltEWjHRtyn1y0WQ/s1600/goldfish1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhjtoHCMBvdymo4hqLK0mVDnE9SUwejSLdMKKjrNQ4oxZgQPVx72aHaXXaz4RRqq6doFdsv-uAxk-G_q2T6ZpGBAtRf2siG_cQ35Ew0UAJMD6V2gbJXyQlV2EhVgnpvltEWjHRtyn1y0WQ/s400/goldfish1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485227076597694162" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>For goldfish on the go</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHhcLr4X_OfTIiHyT4Q0dEMZOSnnxnFkvVs60esA0269cRn4XY-RdU1EfqISvjuY8piSTBo8qyCLk5nDFHElkAZ6AHN0KRLDVqWBFX5ONjr1khM6J_mjiwj3vLxxObOtwjvEbbl66zN0C/s1600/goldfish2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGHhcLr4X_OfTIiHyT4Q0dEMZOSnnxnFkvVs60esA0269cRn4XY-RdU1EfqISvjuY8piSTBo8qyCLk5nDFHElkAZ6AHN0KRLDVqWBFX5ONjr1khM6J_mjiwj3vLxxObOtwjvEbbl66zN0C/s400/goldfish2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485227066452245202" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Look at these fat prickly guys!</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>We went through the goldfish market on the way to the songbird market, a small park where we found lots and lots of birds in little orange cages, and some in those charming kind of hanging cages with the rounded tops.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYUv-rTQzEVnbi2GFJtRToPnQxrDZf-Ekoa29BIoGw4CsYPJNQn96h2iKqrOpJfI-EbpskVoCFN_ojNFZFBBavQ-1gYhoa-Lw7mEQW42lcQnj4_MAKr17BcGYM7-7ZMtOImg6fXA3vl5J/s1600/songbirds2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYUv-rTQzEVnbi2GFJtRToPnQxrDZf-Ekoa29BIoGw4CsYPJNQn96h2iKqrOpJfI-EbpskVoCFN_ojNFZFBBavQ-1gYhoa-Lw7mEQW42lcQnj4_MAKr17BcGYM7-7ZMtOImg6fXA3vl5J/s400/songbirds2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486715300871993810" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrFwvVImtVmVekR7-Gqr8-PzDD2Uo6dmcspMHENSwOwx-tJg_p4F5r2HLMpj776f2Vd6KZ1t_y8EHdSLxb5qacpW0IN3XWzEgCxfi_FmqKw_1lgOv4alUGlDk0NiKnntJsswmZMAXeKuY/s1600/bird+market1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvrFwvVImtVmVekR7-Gqr8-PzDD2Uo6dmcspMHENSwOwx-tJg_p4F5r2HLMpj776f2Vd6KZ1t_y8EHdSLxb5qacpW0IN3XWzEgCxfi_FmqKw_1lgOv4alUGlDk0NiKnntJsswmZMAXeKuY/s400/bird+market1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486714813616679234" /></a><br /></div><div>This guy was feeding the birds grubs with some chopsticks. I thought that was cute.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUYQjlU9unIzScCskUZ93ZnxeAqCUYikoZyfeqdc4kSHk-vqE9cfcNls7jvAjSSp778Wxmc0R3SiH6ogyTef-pI_h_l032yNjvJvHlAgOGVVLmvzDTCK-uezHiFPtNpyklEhvoTAv0geV/s1600/orange+cage+birds.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbUYQjlU9unIzScCskUZ93ZnxeAqCUYikoZyfeqdc4kSHk-vqE9cfcNls7jvAjSSp778Wxmc0R3SiH6ogyTef-pI_h_l032yNjvJvHlAgOGVVLmvzDTCK-uezHiFPtNpyklEhvoTAv0geV/s400/orange+cage+birds.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486714830649062690" /></a><br /></div><div>The bird garden was interesting, though I can't say I'm a big fan of birds in cages. We didn't stick around too long as all those birds gathered in one place also just felt kinda dirty.</div><div><br /></div><div>My favorite market of all was one that wasn't one listed in any of the tourist brochures, though, and that was just a standard food market located in an old building off a busy street. Peering into the wide open first floor I spied some fresh fish and decided to poke my nose in and see what else was in there.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnuxJfZEwIe4njZd2RkUftOZFVtvFzXefo7Tm3mAGrifA6k0LnS0Quo1ln_Vjve_ZgcT3EE_HoMcSKZRo2q0h-v3pErN-hl2muG_iFwiXRD4xsBDXNTBf5MkgFoSrvmiKpvB7q68lKcdP/s1600/foodmarket2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnuxJfZEwIe4njZd2RkUftOZFVtvFzXefo7Tm3mAGrifA6k0LnS0Quo1ln_Vjve_ZgcT3EE_HoMcSKZRo2q0h-v3pErN-hl2muG_iFwiXRD4xsBDXNTBf5MkgFoSrvmiKpvB7q68lKcdP/s400/foodmarket2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485228272288380802" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoxi8dEy4MITR5b29PulaJhpDMd-iDEYzAk2uXHUxsJ1raUp1xqiOyx8weo4mF0-xtsGKnGoj-Sj4hkN88327tekPL4mq1TIlZJGdGt44JOvfLHn7CkgO2RqJ2OZp0PMdaQwr-60hHXNs/s1600/foodmarket4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoxi8dEy4MITR5b29PulaJhpDMd-iDEYzAk2uXHUxsJ1raUp1xqiOyx8weo4mF0-xtsGKnGoj-Sj4hkN88327tekPL4mq1TIlZJGdGt44JOvfLHn7CkgO2RqJ2OZp0PMdaQwr-60hHXNs/s400/foodmarket4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485229641497190018" /></a><br /></div><div>It wasn't long before my jaw was hanging open.</div><div><br /></div><div>This was not just fresh fish. Ooooh no. This was Fresh Fish. Exhibit A:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TVfZbtqz91veAhUQgLjpt_iAKMUAnfWfbM5HO_4REah9QgGXD3QSGr6NQSDmTVZHSJV6RrW-X_vYhE9tdAEH4xyDZI7C559IC1nfEVHmgZCtnC_day03Xg9bYyIqS3Y8dqhgI7idLXtP/s1600/freshfish.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2TVfZbtqz91veAhUQgLjpt_iAKMUAnfWfbM5HO_4REah9QgGXD3QSGr6NQSDmTVZHSJV6RrW-X_vYhE9tdAEH4xyDZI7C559IC1nfEVHmgZCtnC_day03Xg9bYyIqS3Y8dqhgI7idLXtP/s400/freshfish.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485229657049604738" /></a><br /></div><div>These suckers are still alive. How do I know?</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZs276q6sYt1-wZXkz9F4kl39KhnW7TQvI24OpRqG_ZcA8qKOAUCCQjKlRIxQvG6crluNOE0zPrbjbxjrQwQYmQxwPy3LBmxzgBpzhqrthFZRu4HjdghyphenhyphenSG2Xl1PD0DuCPlyrfZ02dwiU/s1600/freshfish2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZs276q6sYt1-wZXkz9F4kl39KhnW7TQvI24OpRqG_ZcA8qKOAUCCQjKlRIxQvG6crluNOE0zPrbjbxjrQwQYmQxwPy3LBmxzgBpzhqrthFZRu4HjdghyphenhyphenSG2Xl1PD0DuCPlyrfZ02dwiU/s400/freshfish2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485229665527889234" /></a><br /></div><div>Because they were sliced open and we could see their hearts still beating, that's how!</div><div><br /></div><div>More fish:</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoEUvT-InT-T2rZwIiM14SNOIW0YPFm7E-DFO7OxL7lsqR_R3VA4yizPzSPc1NAv5_0R4JvP-HVxt9DO1JA83DW3ZYGGQzPhTP5O6qCpQQI6n3O614l5SqHFH0sblyyiSW_SzWP27ZZIV/s1600/orange+fish.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHoEUvT-InT-T2rZwIiM14SNOIW0YPFm7E-DFO7OxL7lsqR_R3VA4yizPzSPc1NAv5_0R4JvP-HVxt9DO1JA83DW3ZYGGQzPhTP5O6qCpQQI6n3O614l5SqHFH0sblyyiSW_SzWP27ZZIV/s400/orange+fish.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485231088205122594" /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJarw64TmGqGtKh0x2s73GR69UmlsWT74aYUX-lDGdJN87NBsYv6o39J4LrYMMDwD-FyUc2cVlMkXz4w3MgNeoYc7eps-jU58UZ74hLM8qm-hEzI7NRUupYLQTR7IHLvKNIZkRFH5TE9E/s1600/foodmarket3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJarw64TmGqGtKh0x2s73GR69UmlsWT74aYUX-lDGdJN87NBsYv6o39J4LrYMMDwD-FyUc2cVlMkXz4w3MgNeoYc7eps-jU58UZ74hLM8qm-hEzI7NRUupYLQTR7IHLvKNIZkRFH5TE9E/s400/foodmarket3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485228287873090386" /></a><br />This was just the beginning. Not only was this place a fish market, but it was also a meat market, with butchers right there slicing up huge hunks of meat — and not letting anything go to waste.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa3VSV68yRKe84J40Gk51bXc_D8DXTzj-1XX2YLjrfSrRFk5qTTdl6-2BPyKE-dT3mEo_2-gAQy4eGI7ZXsf__IzFdabXKoaDud_jGbGSspE8luomp5vyRauEMiLTHwHzMpjYUe3IItKC/s1600/hangingmeat2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPa3VSV68yRKe84J40Gk51bXc_D8DXTzj-1XX2YLjrfSrRFk5qTTdl6-2BPyKE-dT3mEo_2-gAQy4eGI7ZXsf__IzFdabXKoaDud_jGbGSspE8luomp5vyRauEMiLTHwHzMpjYUe3IItKC/s400/hangingmeat2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485229688072700962" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIGV5moo_o72lEIv0nskLIgf8-XELxkAququhHcTBz5AofvGcFipGGOSAUqbWIkCCsPa1c8n_5SDwYQp42gYJwjFm9D2TwRl_WmZQGBxwikrPREGhAuugLYFV-kvY5Lf3OBju0fg1yiHn/s1600/brains.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgIGV5moo_o72lEIv0nskLIgf8-XELxkAququhHcTBz5AofvGcFipGGOSAUqbWIkCCsPa1c8n_5SDwYQp42gYJwjFm9D2TwRl_WmZQGBxwikrPREGhAuugLYFV-kvY5Lf3OBju0fg1yiHn/s400/brains.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485228238979980386" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Don't miss the goods in the background here, either.</i></span></div></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpug1qZ7_G5jIYtowLij6oOtZuYiJngKhDWt4eENUU45dKTcmCVjNkrIexITYdLPcIIt_tXpPAaG5qTQmuoYfXjsfSamCHPXi7pVfn2yxitjN6e34QzbV5lirTXRl9KtkvB5_Oc3d06xo9/s1600/donkeytail.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpug1qZ7_G5jIYtowLij6oOtZuYiJngKhDWt4eENUU45dKTcmCVjNkrIexITYdLPcIIt_tXpPAaG5qTQmuoYfXjsfSamCHPXi7pVfn2yxitjN6e34QzbV5lirTXRl9KtkvB5_Oc3d06xo9/s400/donkeytail.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485228251360657410" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Ox tail? Or cat toy?</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div>One section of the market housed a bunch of live chickens. We watched as a worker removed one from the cage, held it just so and slit its throat before dumping it into a large funnel to drain out the blood. I grew up in Ohio so I've been around my share of livestock, but this was something I'd never seen before and it left me a bit stunned.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last but not least... ever seen <i>these</i> in your local grocer's deli?</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT9fbXP5u7TeBBCNiP9l4S1F54x1akZrzXEtTF2n8iveGFdChDmz2_u4J6EJp2zSkOB97VJomBFXwDzpsnLXZRi2nQh1xPcUOXJukrVY66uazzaFRWlIC4Eylh43a2vJr6xm7vcdnO71C/s1600/toads.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdT9fbXP5u7TeBBCNiP9l4S1F54x1akZrzXEtTF2n8iveGFdChDmz2_u4J6EJp2zSkOB97VJomBFXwDzpsnLXZRi2nQh1xPcUOXJukrVY66uazzaFRWlIC4Eylh43a2vJr6xm7vcdnO71C/s400/toads.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485231104373780514" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I looked around for a display of large black cauldrons, but alas there were none.</i></div></div><div><br /></div>Toads, brains, fish hearts and chickens with their heads cut off... without question the most unforgettable part of Hong Kong.Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-37540609039218435742010-06-21T20:58:00.009+09:002010-06-23T00:02:46.295+09:00Hong Kong: Glamour and grime<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHbSDnWMHkpYnntY3nbD5MgrspnLeeSccIyC35R7mlLAkWV0eoMX4Fy3n3gNvkeOFpn4lkFJ-gTbHeNefVjqP6l50J9uuF7o8SlRxPxtambEj3YMM9oAvw7LsCs6b6Ihmt3m-vVwBIWbe/s1600/hong+kong+skyline.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHbSDnWMHkpYnntY3nbD5MgrspnLeeSccIyC35R7mlLAkWV0eoMX4Fy3n3gNvkeOFpn4lkFJ-gTbHeNefVjqP6l50J9uuF7o8SlRxPxtambEj3YMM9oAvw7LsCs6b6Ihmt3m-vVwBIWbe/s400/hong+kong+skyline.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485197954750074450" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Hong Kong skyline at night</i></span></div></i><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSoVKSMCsqhi3rFm5mpr_GsZRUVPyKq1ihEa-yPSfgNlkCbhT2z0NghMNMpl8nsteosR2DCyed-AA0BR4beNbf924zVTZeHsEcbqdYJO3tCTV7CqfZCvroxMZZlymcMSdSHRJxKuYeL_m/s1600/hong+kong+skyline2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSoVKSMCsqhi3rFm5mpr_GsZRUVPyKq1ihEa-yPSfgNlkCbhT2z0NghMNMpl8nsteosR2DCyed-AA0BR4beNbf924zVTZeHsEcbqdYJO3tCTV7CqfZCvroxMZZlymcMSdSHRJxKuYeL_m/s400/hong+kong+skyline2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485197941635626386" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Hong Kong skyline by day</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>The above two pictures do a lot to illustrate my feeling about Hong Kong. In many ways I felt it was a city of total contrasts — luxury and wealth side by side filth and decay. At night, Hong Kong's skyline was dazzling. I've never seen such a long coastline of neon skyscrapers. By day, a haze of pollution muted that view. A completely different feel.</div><div><br /></div><div>In some places in Hong Kong, everywhere we turned we saw luxury brand name stores selling extravagant goods with price tags to match. Not far away would be beggars with horrible deformities plunked in the middle of the sidewalk, collecting coins.</div><div><br /></div><div>There's not a lot of mid-range accommodation in Hong Kong. You either stay at a super cheap hostel or a much pricier hotel. We stayed in a cheap hostel in the Kowloon neighborhood — truly an armpit.</div><div><br /></div><div>We arrived late at night and emerging from the subway into our neighborhood I immediately felt overwhelmed. Lights, people, buildings everywhere. It took a while but we finally found the large, old building housing our hostel. Something in the block surrounding the building smelled like rotting corpses and I had to fight to keep from gagging. Inside, we took a slow elevator up past a number of other hostels located on different floors. Thankfully our room turned out to be clean, though also the size of a prison cell — barely big enough for two slim single beds and the tiniest bathroom known to man. I wish I had taken pictures of this but I forgot. The shower head was mounted on the wall directly in front of the toilet so that I literally could have taken a shower sitting on the pot. If I stood sideways in front of the sink I had literally an inch of clearance between my hips and the sink on one side and the wall on the other. Settling into this room, we knew we were in for an adventure.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next morning, in the daylight, we saw the views from our building:</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLhGwpd1M_Au_JN3Oct-7dsdWlXAZSf78Oq2t09VRl_NLN0jUA6UzMeUYoIqQviKkcmfmR9dx09EopLgOwY2ccKJCKgzUvXtsuc4cW3tx-PUkf2X6hX5Z_Ki0BtLQJTp8OgsnYaUg3Xkj/s1600/decrepit3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBLhGwpd1M_Au_JN3Oct-7dsdWlXAZSf78Oq2t09VRl_NLN0jUA6UzMeUYoIqQviKkcmfmR9dx09EopLgOwY2ccKJCKgzUvXtsuc4cW3tx-PUkf2X6hX5Z_Ki0BtLQJTp8OgsnYaUg3Xkj/s400/decrepit3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485195787205593394" /></a><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzu3KZei4E4KAQ3wnydsKly-qz8fGJOfNG0UcchxukGzATxWD_7upzN58GeV2dQ2P3SPR8_vZqQ0cjtCygg2T39KLf2lXIGdeywXl0ZR3ca5yTxuTH-ygnU2vvUD1kOKDe7whT-aP4rPT/s1600/decrepit1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzu3KZei4E4KAQ3wnydsKly-qz8fGJOfNG0UcchxukGzATxWD_7upzN58GeV2dQ2P3SPR8_vZqQ0cjtCygg2T39KLf2lXIGdeywXl0ZR3ca5yTxuTH-ygnU2vvUD1kOKDe7whT-aP4rPT/s400/decrepit1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485195806726094402" /></a>It is safe to say this was truly the most decrepit building I had ever been in.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the street I marveled at the juxtaposition of old and new.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacE4eotxKd2E8bonH6muoQX5P3HIfzG3KPZOF1MtZSqMpCTMD3WJ_QigXBIN4STKEo3B9g5uYrb7R1Iwas4ACbJuoYetU3uOU1JmWj5rEXDNrK9lg6FiLfDBRA9XP3B4HzTTSOYnqo7FY/s1600/neighborhood2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjacE4eotxKd2E8bonH6muoQX5P3HIfzG3KPZOF1MtZSqMpCTMD3WJ_QigXBIN4STKEo3B9g5uYrb7R1Iwas4ACbJuoYetU3uOU1JmWj5rEXDNrK9lg6FiLfDBRA9XP3B4HzTTSOYnqo7FY/s400/neighborhood2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485197927163929874" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zBKOFIvJ7n8Tp7KmA1hd-hjHqBYptpdCrhnq2AuPShha_vYIZ2Pe2q6x2UwXhUE7_T2d0IC0fZU792_eINAEECCL1Hn8Vkk117ixwTPIDiJCqCXqQMzaesnqlmR_LfOD-lCX_w_Wz1i1/s1600/decrepit2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zBKOFIvJ7n8Tp7KmA1hd-hjHqBYptpdCrhnq2AuPShha_vYIZ2Pe2q6x2UwXhUE7_T2d0IC0fZU792_eINAEECCL1Hn8Vkk117ixwTPIDiJCqCXqQMzaesnqlmR_LfOD-lCX_w_Wz1i1/s400/decrepit2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485195795744675122" /></a><br /></div><div>It struck me that Hong Kong actually fit the image in my head of China. Crowds, heat, tall buildings, lights, dirt, street vendors everywhere. Strange that Hong Kong should fit that image even more closely than China itself.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish that I had taken the time to take more photos around our building, but I didn't. Here's one shooting across the intersection by our hostel though.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7C4Cv2y3ei3yvqhQrB7hibkWy6ramHsMDctO04AtT3QRvSUugK5ga5szWwaZY3WV93OvEvaXlfo6vPcZqvqYReFRMFc5ECh2I2SukcSW8B9kvuqc3UWvn0vj4KDz9QLCeVg_t64rJdT7/s1600/neighborhood.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz7C4Cv2y3ei3yvqhQrB7hibkWy6ramHsMDctO04AtT3QRvSUugK5ga5szWwaZY3WV93OvEvaXlfo6vPcZqvqYReFRMFc5ECh2I2SukcSW8B9kvuqc3UWvn0vj4KDz9QLCeVg_t64rJdT7/s400/neighborhood.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485197913442193938" /></a><br />And a couple more of the neighborhood street markets:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15L1QJ-LcwmbYu-iKBvQypSCpznzYihUvdmQu1gHxDlADEy23kbQqHD9mv67uv8uk_DozkYwjUkRrwDuM5k7-PQbBZjahEaP_gQZpmaXhqxf8RTENEBY30uI2l_0Q8hPDqnzI5PB_wjO2/s1600/streetmarket1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj15L1QJ-LcwmbYu-iKBvQypSCpznzYihUvdmQu1gHxDlADEy23kbQqHD9mv67uv8uk_DozkYwjUkRrwDuM5k7-PQbBZjahEaP_gQZpmaXhqxf8RTENEBY30uI2l_0Q8hPDqnzI5PB_wjO2/s400/streetmarket1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485195775129150194" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojNaXmpry8YTJwpFTEQFWpob4CTvxln6qoOqlCH9fC9KZSefB7__vjM_Onj7yaHtW82ZzXkOAlxWjgbPSdyKBPBpONqxcZvdVqVx9PcAMuvnzy2jVYHm2FhxIFjlIB8twmVf4injyWDNB/s1600/streetmarket2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojNaXmpry8YTJwpFTEQFWpob4CTvxln6qoOqlCH9fC9KZSefB7__vjM_Onj7yaHtW82ZzXkOAlxWjgbPSdyKBPBpONqxcZvdVqVx9PcAMuvnzy2jVYHm2FhxIFjlIB8twmVf4injyWDNB/s400/streetmarket2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485195760256816290" /></a><br /></div><div>To be continued...</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-18708872049789828352010-06-21T20:34:00.002+09:002010-06-21T20:40:07.682+09:00China Trip: Xi'an<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pKYC6EOO8hqaJhDrIBaDsRpSRxBeienMBHRihrHFAoKELUigTkXyqpPuvqbRRbqQE02IUDUIt90nHcLAGkyYr_W6uHiPBVvUdSHOjzgrHHcab16dxgTctqGUjfvg5LhiiVktBLzGqNIS/s1600/dragons.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pKYC6EOO8hqaJhDrIBaDsRpSRxBeienMBHRihrHFAoKELUigTkXyqpPuvqbRRbqQE02IUDUIt90nHcLAGkyYr_W6uHiPBVvUdSHOjzgrHHcab16dxgTctqGUjfvg5LhiiVktBLzGqNIS/s400/dragons.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485124675381440002" /></a>From Beijing, Joe and I took an overnight train to Xi'an, home to the famous Terracotta Warriors. Hate to say it, but Xi'an was probably the low point of our trip. While we enjoyed some of the sights there, worries about safety definitely put a damper on our stay.<div><div><div><br /></div><div>We splurged on a private room on the train, which was nice for the privacy, but despite paying a premium for the pleasure the air conditioning was broken and the beds hard as rock.</div><div><br /></div><div>The moment we got off the train, locals started aggressively hounding us to trade our old train ticket for an English map. When we refused, they offered to buy it from us — most likely so they could attempt to later resell it to unsuspecting tourists at a "discount." Probably our first clue that this place was a little shady.</div><div><br /></div><div>Once we'd checked in to our hostel we struck out to find some lunch, only to have one of the desk clerks hurry out the front door and chase us down to issue a warning: Best to wear your backpack on your front and keep your hands on your camera at all times, he told us. The pickpockets are very slick and will open your bags and swipe your things before you know it. A couple weeks earlier, another hostel guest had had his camera stolen off his body.</div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, this left us feeling a little unsettled. A short time later we stopped in the bank to exchange some currency, and Joe set his SLR camera on the counter next to him. When the bank employee spotted it he gasped a little as though he was surprised to see someone carrying nice electronics and told Joe "Oh, sir, be careful of your belongings!" Our discomfort grew.</div><div><br /></div><div>Consulting our Lonely Planet as we began sightseeing, we again saw a note warning that Xi'an is notorious for its pickpockets. And again, walking in an underground passage beneath a busy intersection, we saw signs on the wall warning us to watch our belongings — in only English. By this point Joe's paranoia was spinning in overdrive. Every time he saw people looking at us he worried that they weren't just looking out of curiosity, but to determine whether they could steal something.</div><div><br /></div><div>That made it hard to relax, but we tried to enjoy what we could.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Terracotta Army of course was the main draw and the reason we made the jaunt to Xi'an. Some history (thanks to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terracotta_Army">Wikipedia</a>): Back around 210 B.C., the first emperor of China took the throne and ordered the construction of the Terracotta Army and his mausoleum. Around 700,000 workers were enslaved to construct the army, which included some 8,000 warriors as well as chariots, horses, officials, acrobats, strongmen and musicians. This army was supposed to help the emperor rule another empire in the afterlife.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnq699kmrQuiBZV5nERSutAnwWXOcsirLgzYOLxke1WaotPacTl_1qqy8pMx38Nzi9G-Xh_BIbXg8Cu6C-JxQbYNr-SwMaBuBHE-rC_7KdpYuvFnGQs7ipgpiMzTrKavoTnRywmeLB8AL/s1600/terracotta+warriors2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqnq699kmrQuiBZV5nERSutAnwWXOcsirLgzYOLxke1WaotPacTl_1qqy8pMx38Nzi9G-Xh_BIbXg8Cu6C-JxQbYNr-SwMaBuBHE-rC_7KdpYuvFnGQs7ipgpiMzTrKavoTnRywmeLB8AL/s400/terracotta+warriors2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485123118311504450" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>The main pit</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>These warriors are life size and generally stand around 6 feet tall, with each having unique facial features and even different hair styles and uniforms depending on each soldier's rank.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisapM08ESfJMZkjRoJA8t1vlDQ6rG1cufkoyMFomfnOdB5Vl8nukieRQ5s0KMvTvJhCXnH_HoPaYVYBgNemMXfSfnG5v7MjZfh0oeAzQhWl41yubVn2NkxFhQkCZ6uLMHANzW6S1I3ZtPz/s1600/terracotta+warriors.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisapM08ESfJMZkjRoJA8t1vlDQ6rG1cufkoyMFomfnOdB5Vl8nukieRQ5s0KMvTvJhCXnH_HoPaYVYBgNemMXfSfnG5v7MjZfh0oeAzQhWl41yubVn2NkxFhQkCZ6uLMHANzW6S1I3ZtPz/s400/terracotta+warriors.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485123093504146818" /></a><br /></div><div>They were discovered by some farmers in 1974 and excavation continues to this day. It is considered one of the most famous archaeological finds in the world.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I enjoyed seeing this but I have to be honest; I was a tad disappointed. It seemed a little over-hyped to me. I expected something that would really take my breath away, but it wasn't quite that imposing. But still really interesting nonetheless.</div><div><br /></div><div>Probably my favorite part of Xi'an besides the Terracotta Army was the Muslim Quarter, where we went first to eat some lunch and ended up sampling several Muslim treats as well as some gyouza (Chinese dumplings). Many gastronomic delights.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvpjDEaqOZBrb4J1_y0KDy2kMIs4VsQIINRGjTIL2DEIafpvBDakLWfigzNAf3Ak_T3IWOZMGHtjRfLobAkpMnkQKJhrj5v4pntv5emrzmIC7VSxrxDXtcpOxfqSKa2ZSc2QlvxRT31yy/s1600/muslimquarter.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvpjDEaqOZBrb4J1_y0KDy2kMIs4VsQIINRGjTIL2DEIafpvBDakLWfigzNAf3Ak_T3IWOZMGHtjRfLobAkpMnkQKJhrj5v4pntv5emrzmIC7VSxrxDXtcpOxfqSKa2ZSc2QlvxRT31yy/s400/muslimquarter.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485124648069601490" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Muslim Quarter</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>Numerous roadside vendors were selling a selection of dried fruit, cheap, colorful and delicious.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEc1hYvMO4OIbMAt52fxWP9_Ipfo7k-RKRPd3V85LIga-V8BuhQssRxBUdcOmxiURTMbaPQ0IVasAuRROaGXOrDxF0eK4vSCbD7OQy_t5dJkjRqDHse56TGY_K5_LHf0OPoUGblM-S7_b/s1600/dried+fruit.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEc1hYvMO4OIbMAt52fxWP9_Ipfo7k-RKRPd3V85LIga-V8BuhQssRxBUdcOmxiURTMbaPQ0IVasAuRROaGXOrDxF0eK4vSCbD7OQy_t5dJkjRqDHse56TGY_K5_LHf0OPoUGblM-S7_b/s400/dried+fruit.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485124667032655778" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ60y-R5uucz8bC0RT9sCez06aj8hvK0bY-CWYklfNh_ovnNNleTM35coFE698K5kYUrFKzLS-7D9HNDalw-rTVDQbUeg5Bgfw0vARaGJXba3QK5b8_n34GSkFexnaLIkay1mZ5HUq7YaS/s1600/meat+legs.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ60y-R5uucz8bC0RT9sCez06aj8hvK0bY-CWYklfNh_ovnNNleTM35coFE698K5kYUrFKzLS-7D9HNDalw-rTVDQbUeg5Bgfw0vARaGJXba3QK5b8_n34GSkFexnaLIkay1mZ5HUq7YaS/s400/meat+legs.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485123140884648642" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Giant legs of lamb and some other mysterious spicy dish</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgKwBpDoi20EnUkMFySq2zvx3qoe7ArlIOXm08dwzB-RiU7-A9MhvfFfX8T9LS_mwURebRpg3tLjY9FO9I7W3HYXzfAu_qboAsrqffbdQOdg8gI0BLG7kCLXQnfsa6rfIYz27vV0O7Iow/s1600/whole+chicken.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWgKwBpDoi20EnUkMFySq2zvx3qoe7ArlIOXm08dwzB-RiU7-A9MhvfFfX8T9LS_mwURebRpg3tLjY9FO9I7W3HYXzfAu_qboAsrqffbdQOdg8gI0BLG7kCLXQnfsa6rfIYz27vV0O7Iow/s400/whole+chicken.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485123131115732242" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Nothing wasted here.</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiE-4dRSessRpcU9onLijmkFZslyFwTHIkVR2IFnoedZdxkp-czsbckRJxJZUljXq32W9aCQaYYb1AqDPZ6eIIu5MwYOebdD-Otie8S1x5Ref-dxxbcMPzmFuhw6i_D2_7qxQ8xF72nuI/s1600/eggs.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKiE-4dRSessRpcU9onLijmkFZslyFwTHIkVR2IFnoedZdxkp-czsbckRJxJZUljXq32W9aCQaYYb1AqDPZ6eIIu5MwYOebdD-Otie8S1x5Ref-dxxbcMPzmFuhw6i_D2_7qxQ8xF72nuI/s400/eggs.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485123160675050690" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Straight from the nest?</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div>And a few last photos of other sights from around the city:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaqcc5GSgMItADDEcwOTEo9AHVG54e1NReLM1YigbqoqKi92dH4viUqpmMfa-ZvpQGhxuHNGNzuEKMCJNYbwwXvpN7_velpT2kO5hQWa8-dhYnF4-7So4KsRD-3W8X3z-fFh4X7xcled6/s1600/belltower.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCaqcc5GSgMItADDEcwOTEo9AHVG54e1NReLM1YigbqoqKi92dH4viUqpmMfa-ZvpQGhxuHNGNzuEKMCJNYbwwXvpN7_velpT2kO5hQWa8-dhYnF4-7So4KsRD-3W8X3z-fFh4X7xcled6/s400/belltower.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485170059077626194" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Bell Tower, built in 1384.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmgSiK8ErFyh396_h251MAM8etjAN-tmq1eTpBaODfW9zzTIIxc596W-lLIyMus6YP7r0SQ5wDqS_Ij-184asbt9ncDt9YABPKiIfrdZ-57OzmZ8E3Mq6qaOAMMLs40bnK8mhS5_lrPJ7/s1600/big+goose+pagoda.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmgSiK8ErFyh396_h251MAM8etjAN-tmq1eTpBaODfW9zzTIIxc596W-lLIyMus6YP7r0SQ5wDqS_Ij-184asbt9ncDt9YABPKiIfrdZ-57OzmZ8E3Mq6qaOAMMLs40bnK8mhS5_lrPJ7/s400/big+goose+pagoda.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485124701450245762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Big Wild Goose Pagoda, built in 652.</i></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmPBY-3Xa8V9Bg2KuWFgrxd-PFIH2NGhqgEQE8NQ1IOCb5LAkmrjO7FB0t94V9zBzkEO19otTAuyuarCPQTmJBMayKU20r4LYcFqIxYGK9wWpiCebUnbqKERktRlqjHyiIaW9jA2S16iQ/s1600/pyramidreplica.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKmPBY-3Xa8V9Bg2KuWFgrxd-PFIH2NGhqgEQE8NQ1IOCb5LAkmrjO7FB0t94V9zBzkEO19otTAuyuarCPQTmJBMayKU20r4LYcFqIxYGK9wWpiCebUnbqKERktRlqjHyiIaW9jA2S16iQ/s400/pyramidreplica.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485183903387074098" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Pyramid replica by the side of the road on the way to the Terracotta Army.</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6x1qjkbizPjKTq7XnLrnTNctE7Dj0918O1vUWIX1MqL__pnCfBNhNelVNQs44ZtxHqLOKctIipL8D-wRoUxtaL9rsRz6I0qeQsCI4SP-UVmteCjwtjUr8U0_jkeDNW9rDFadrBeOMtGR/s1600/bird+cages.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6x1qjkbizPjKTq7XnLrnTNctE7Dj0918O1vUWIX1MqL__pnCfBNhNelVNQs44ZtxHqLOKctIipL8D-wRoUxtaL9rsRz6I0qeQsCI4SP-UVmteCjwtjUr8U0_jkeDNW9rDFadrBeOMtGR/s400/bird+cages.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485170075189017826" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Birds hanging out in the park.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">And last but not least, we left Japan but we did not escape the Engrish. Saw this lady walking through a park:</span></div></i></span></div></i></span></div></i><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxq6e1i4bEgbaiy2N-jPH-r7MStdydqdyfzZI8BkJCne8JNfhgaDdi5rfuxPanhrnNsa7LuhT0Jix-c5VsO7Q_-yYKnN3jIDtYXOVddrYgUN0yUEVQZdj_jcZSQ2Llj2SrheMDYhRxbt7a/s1600/crap+shirt.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxq6e1i4bEgbaiy2N-jPH-r7MStdydqdyfzZI8BkJCne8JNfhgaDdi5rfuxPanhrnNsa7LuhT0Jix-c5VsO7Q_-yYKnN3jIDtYXOVddrYgUN0yUEVQZdj_jcZSQ2Llj2SrheMDYhRxbt7a/s400/crap+shirt.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485124689446601090" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>caffeine</i></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>crap</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>treasure</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>shoes</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>toys</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>book</i>s</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-37690863661957112982010-06-13T19:29:00.002+09:002010-06-14T00:02:21.938+09:00China Trip: The Great Wall<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl2jkMEN7PA5xgzCj8GwbkIBiuniK_LvP9RsTq9S0yWQCkTV29tuCTk22f-UmpVl2kg-1Jznwy6cc3Av9J7xPLJCZvwWDK8BdCQAGlbv20G-0o0hEdPhjprqZCTsOS_EQxJyrK36JF1K0/s1600/joe+gail+great+wall.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl2jkMEN7PA5xgzCj8GwbkIBiuniK_LvP9RsTq9S0yWQCkTV29tuCTk22f-UmpVl2kg-1Jznwy6cc3Av9J7xPLJCZvwWDK8BdCQAGlbv20G-0o0hEdPhjprqZCTsOS_EQxJyrK36JF1K0/s400/joe+gail+great+wall.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482150622740363506" /></a></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Joe and me on the Great Wall of China</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>Of course one of the highlights of our China trip was our visit to the Great Wall.</div><div><br /></div><div>Though the Great Wall once spanned more than 8,800 miles, it is no longer in one piece. Parts of the wall have crumbled and broken down, but certain sections are accessible to tourists. We essentially had two options to see the wall while we were in Beijing: either go to Badaling, the closest and most easily accessible section of the wall (and thus most crowded), or take a tour offered through our hostel to hike between a couple sections that were further away, but more beautiful and less crowded. Joe wanted to go to Badaling. I wanted to do the hike. Guess who won.</div><div><br /></div><div>And thus we were up at 6 a.m. waiting for the tour van to pick us up. The itinerary: drive for three hours to the Jinshanling section. Hike for four hours to the Simatai section. Have lunch at a Chinese restaurant. Drive three hours back.</div><div><br /></div><div>The stretch between Jinshanling and Simatai amounts to six miles, but the hike takes four hours because the wall is steep and crumbling in sections, requiring hikers to use both hands to safely navigate. All that effort came with a reward however — the mountainous terrain made for spectacular scenery.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5azECv6KsNb5zjo95UI5CQ0IkAAWz4J3x_vP5RIgNRYQmh21kNhcTtVvfEXeJ9WCks05yl7W1vmtQMq1Yuq03FzQGN8-lGlFsdx5gXw5VvaIhD0-95JVyo_2KufMSGuXOvRowmOZheyt3/s1600/wall4.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5azECv6KsNb5zjo95UI5CQ0IkAAWz4J3x_vP5RIgNRYQmh21kNhcTtVvfEXeJ9WCks05yl7W1vmtQMq1Yuq03FzQGN8-lGlFsdx5gXw5VvaIhD0-95JVyo_2KufMSGuXOvRowmOZheyt3/s400/wall4.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482150644779344418" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ms_zdJAcPUqNE_TB4ItyLell4LVaUELo5WY_cMBLH7lBnBFClLRh6spT96K9dH4Qc-3Z9d1ojRjWia3QaCQT0bV-hq0XNEvCUzHwzZq0rxjiMVm7R5BZ4G_KVHwMBpd725l6RWmLHaW8/s1600/wall2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ms_zdJAcPUqNE_TB4ItyLell4LVaUELo5WY_cMBLH7lBnBFClLRh6spT96K9dH4Qc-3Z9d1ojRjWia3QaCQT0bV-hq0XNEvCUzHwzZq0rxjiMVm7R5BZ4G_KVHwMBpd725l6RWmLHaW8/s400/wall2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482150632291162706" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Ms_zdJAcPUqNE_TB4ItyLell4LVaUELo5WY_cMBLH7lBnBFClLRh6spT96K9dH4Qc-3Z9d1ojRjWia3QaCQT0bV-hq0XNEvCUzHwzZq0rxjiMVm7R5BZ4G_KVHwMBpd725l6RWmLHaW8/s1600/wall2.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OwUrYv4fPZndZWPuhymQRVNgyLUwh0nJTAWpEZf1kar8rOfZ4uM97x0AXPNUCd1h1ug9xewDu1J8hxgshqT7Z5pULZcfeuKPQP3ib8qa91FYPNNO5CpR7JH8BY3wmVz_4e88gSVNiMgG/s1600/wall8.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaMREa4dsdmR5IyG3akx_w-1-RqD8-xIw_PxHfVEInJh7EpSc7_PrYDibp55Cv2E1VWAEHjmzHlmPf5zcG-81waWn2ikms6n6BkcIx7OJYYrhcU_1gPT47zZp6-YEgl_VDV7FWrd4FVTO/s1600/wall18.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuaMREa4dsdmR5IyG3akx_w-1-RqD8-xIw_PxHfVEInJh7EpSc7_PrYDibp55Cv2E1VWAEHjmzHlmPf5zcG-81waWn2ikms6n6BkcIx7OJYYrhcU_1gPT47zZp6-YEgl_VDV7FWrd4FVTO/s400/wall18.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482151905309478178" /></a><br /></div><div>When we went, there were numerous trees covered in apricot blossoms, which I at first mistook for cherry blossoms. If you look at the pictures above you will notice the blossoms dotting the hillsides. This picture of the blossoms was my favorite though:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OwUrYv4fPZndZWPuhymQRVNgyLUwh0nJTAWpEZf1kar8rOfZ4uM97x0AXPNUCd1h1ug9xewDu1J8hxgshqT7Z5pULZcfeuKPQP3ib8qa91FYPNNO5CpR7JH8BY3wmVz_4e88gSVNiMgG/s1600/wall8.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OwUrYv4fPZndZWPuhymQRVNgyLUwh0nJTAWpEZf1kar8rOfZ4uM97x0AXPNUCd1h1ug9xewDu1J8hxgshqT7Z5pULZcfeuKPQP3ib8qa91FYPNNO5CpR7JH8BY3wmVz_4e88gSVNiMgG/s400/wall8.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482150662684834690" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>One of the older, disintegrating towers:</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvrJcDljaMrsoVvq6fmkD7sbf1KTtdf_yoidw9RKPnB0h6oU2yXy2x0NwqUq0AzLoZOrTTzHxHm92D_J0d5X2jbjFgS0-DllbQ31sezR_plTEKQa7wET5hGc1SHj-wWHFlCfQIpv-_TUy/s1600/crumbling+tower.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvrJcDljaMrsoVvq6fmkD7sbf1KTtdf_yoidw9RKPnB0h6oU2yXy2x0NwqUq0AzLoZOrTTzHxHm92D_J0d5X2jbjFgS0-DllbQ31sezR_plTEKQa7wET5hGc1SHj-wWHFlCfQIpv-_TUy/s400/crumbling+tower.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482193736796899602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFVEtyrTlPiwuy7amAqjwsKNkH1Jl4AyARPjy4JBWAdS6UHzd1vramIfV9yG0y6qbQeKeUa1BxM9yS-Ejpdcfay1q58Qz29tS3M4HhN9-jVEVqTfVp6DjVdSUr45FGxevMsvLhrhbvoLz/s1600/wall7.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlFVEtyrTlPiwuy7amAqjwsKNkH1Jl4AyARPjy4JBWAdS6UHzd1vramIfV9yG0y6qbQeKeUa1BxM9yS-Ejpdcfay1q58Qz29tS3M4HhN9-jVEVqTfVp6DjVdSUr45FGxevMsvLhrhbvoLz/s400/wall7.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482150654979952658" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">So now I will make a confession. About an hour into the hike, at the base of a very long incline and looking at the wall snake up and down, up and down the mountains, the tour guide gave us a choice. We could either continue the hike along the wall, or we could take a shortcut down through a valley that would cut out a portion in the middle and get us to Simatai faster, leaving more time for photographs. The group split in half — half wanted to continue on the wall, and half wanted to take the shortcut. Joe wanted to do the shortcut. I stared up at the long and steep hill. My motivation for doing this trip was more about wanting to see the scenery than sweat my way through a challenging hike anyway, I reasoned. And the scenery didn't look like it would change much from what we'd already seen. I caved. We took the shortcut.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On one hand I kind of regretted that. On the other, it gave us the opportunity to see some things I hadn't expected. Living in the shadow of the Great Wall were poor farmers raising goats and crops on terraced hills.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjumOK_KWOZlLaJlTgyKIP6ExxzRSlNKk4LeAWseRI1SygeeDQJ5dcagZhB_Gs34ZVllc-X2vYigZZ5XhlIoda6h25Fcky77vc52i74Dt9fueaz9Ua8GhMyRnnpB7Wl-5JNmuAMRyeSCr/s1600/wall13.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjumOK_KWOZlLaJlTgyKIP6ExxzRSlNKk4LeAWseRI1SygeeDQJ5dcagZhB_Gs34ZVllc-X2vYigZZ5XhlIoda6h25Fcky77vc52i74Dt9fueaz9Ua8GhMyRnnpB7Wl-5JNmuAMRyeSCr/s400/wall13.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482151897470577842" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Now that's a room with a view.</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUivtH26re8wZDUKc_yKL-3KY7GbPDYJvbemxBc6YdTOe2Bum2-WgN0_RVIzxcDiRa2lIBngqQttYECGqg7J6JUSjdQ-Dc80FNmqgZpxVH08Gj0O7CF6TIUfHxMNbuRCxoUCJmlvJtC8q5/s1600/goats.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUivtH26re8wZDUKc_yKL-3KY7GbPDYJvbemxBc6YdTOe2Bum2-WgN0_RVIzxcDiRa2lIBngqQttYECGqg7J6JUSjdQ-Dc80FNmqgZpxVH08Gj0O7CF6TIUfHxMNbuRCxoUCJmlvJtC8q5/s400/goats.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482153081382223858" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>This old man's back was permanently bent into this position.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKQEjFdh4ikyHFyFS-rgSkb_1necvOX1qb7i4xSne2P1HO8ZK893KoXN7rjxNqLhJG6rkLh54hWK-eva28rMhQWhXug8kucTexWNCGqNgxz-a4fbnNGQ4AyV8YffVlbBv9gBZopS9g3IB/s1600/wall15.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKKQEjFdh4ikyHFyFS-rgSkb_1necvOX1qb7i4xSne2P1HO8ZK893KoXN7rjxNqLhJG6rkLh54hWK-eva28rMhQWhXug8kucTexWNCGqNgxz-a4fbnNGQ4AyV8YffVlbBv9gBZopS9g3IB/s400/wall15.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482152668012788770" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Terraced fields</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OOjBe4Y4X4ZmQ7U2v9iMUDBVCDoDGapWHe6mGbZBmLCx0atJJa0uG1Od_Ck8-_6VLkLQvP-iRe_xnQXF2mF5A99keH3Q7cUmr1r3StQznYMPhFK4_x9XP3CZJKhGmpA_tj8u_-AeeaaQ/s1600/Corn+Wall.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OOjBe4Y4X4ZmQ7U2v9iMUDBVCDoDGapWHe6mGbZBmLCx0atJJa0uG1Od_Ck8-_6VLkLQvP-iRe_xnQXF2mF5A99keH3Q7cUmr1r3StQznYMPhFK4_x9XP3CZJKhGmpA_tj8u_-AeeaaQ/s400/Corn+Wall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482187583851864114" /></a><div style="text-align: right;"><i>(Photo by Joe)</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW4TqZbDMg5X7gzfPbNhAp3JBCMo8g92iAhxKPja5J2kE1qjn7k-LHUVkEdVqSxnqW1YAsOsk1WdP0UaWUMqr7buQVD7Bb7WyrKv3pZTC589AsguEI7MEiSqUufVWpmY_3fA_u-LZ9jRz/s1600/great+wall+from+restaurant.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwW4TqZbDMg5X7gzfPbNhAp3JBCMo8g92iAhxKPja5J2kE1qjn7k-LHUVkEdVqSxnqW1YAsOsk1WdP0UaWUMqr7buQVD7Bb7WyrKv3pZTC589AsguEI7MEiSqUufVWpmY_3fA_u-LZ9jRz/s400/great+wall+from+restaurant.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482188632223640482" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Finished! View of the wall from the restaurant where we ate lunch. (Photo by Joe)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Parts of the trip did not go as planned... The drive there and back took four hours each way, not three (with no stops). The gas station we stopped at just before starting the hike had the most primitive bathroom I have ever used: a large concrete room with holes where you do your business out in the open — no stalls, no running water, no toilet paper, nothing — just go and let it drop down a concrete chute. A Dutch couple who came on the trip actually brought their 1-year-old child — who was sick, and who we suspect gave his cold to Joe, who later gave it to me. And from the time we started the hike, we were followed by Chinese hawkers. They sweetly offered to take our picture in spots and always offered us a hand to get over rough patches, and then literally begged us to purchase exorbitantly priced souvenirs after following us for three hours. All stuff that left a bad taste in my mouth.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But hey. We got to see the Great Wall of China. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Really can't complain. The whole time I couldn't help but think "I can't believe I'm actually on <i>the GREAT WALL OF CHINA!" </i>Surreal, right! What an amazing blessing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's a slideshow of some more photos, for those who are interested:</div><br /><table style="text-align: center;width: 194px; "><tbody><tr><td align="center" style="text-align: center;height: 194px; background-image: url(http://picasaweb.google.com/s/c/transparent_album_background.gif); background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-position: 0% 50%; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; "><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/gameadows/GreatWallOfChina?authkey=Gv1sRgCOeSv4yRt4HaKA&feat=embedwebsite"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_dqm-I6fjefo/TBSuxpzwACE/AAAAAAAADmg/kTOXktrN92E/s160-c/GreatWallOfChina.jpg" width="160" height="160" style="margin:1px 0 0 4px;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td style="text-align:center;font-family:arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/gameadows/GreatWallOfChina?authkey=Gv1sRgCOeSv4yRt4HaKA&feat=embedwebsite" style="color:#4D4D4D;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;">Great Wall of China</a></td></tr></tbody></table>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-69574129720825100652010-06-12T19:26:00.006+09:002010-06-12T19:35:33.626+09:00China Trip: Temples<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG84m-TZUK4UB20DxQl5jYshQPowG43JE8vdva1OyEqWXMFUStoukg7cdMGBX3wdcc2N1gNS_A1N-BFCZp_uSSCJx6T4I5t1jmBUWxrkYIqeIAkysWTETm9oxtbPygglp3QbsB8flABGmW/s1600/temple+of+heaven+field.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG84m-TZUK4UB20DxQl5jYshQPowG43JE8vdva1OyEqWXMFUStoukg7cdMGBX3wdcc2N1gNS_A1N-BFCZp_uSSCJx6T4I5t1jmBUWxrkYIqeIAkysWTETm9oxtbPygglp3QbsB8flABGmW/s400/temple+of+heaven+field.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481795213956988882" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Temple of Heaven Park</i></span></div></i><div><br /></div><div>Beijing boasts plenty of interesting old temples, and we wandered through a couple while we toured the city. These places were lower key than the Forbidden City and Summer Palace, but still beautiful and rewarding, and they brought us closer to Chinese going about their daily lives.</div><div><br /></div><div>First up is the Temple of Heaven Park, a lovely wooded complex where people once prayed for good harvests. The inside of the park was alive with activity. Old people stood in circles, moving swiftly as they kicked hacky-sacks back and forth, while in other areas of the park dozens of people danced to lively music. As we walked along, we passed one man serenading his friends with an accordion.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCM0x9fW8h175AszOXLRHyjvxAbqvDiNFimO8_e5na8Ybb0e9LxbRN4CGvm5Os4GymmSlXNPu6U7FZdVR_Q4vQhdL3imUJMFmzJCvGzr8k1RnF1dJN0EISjzPAtLtl6rQ-t0bHgLjfvmS/s1600/accordion.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCM0x9fW8h175AszOXLRHyjvxAbqvDiNFimO8_e5na8Ybb0e9LxbRN4CGvm5Os4GymmSlXNPu6U7FZdVR_Q4vQhdL3imUJMFmzJCvGzr8k1RnF1dJN0EISjzPAtLtl6rQ-t0bHgLjfvmS/s400/accordion.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481806568890468322" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCM0x9fW8h175AszOXLRHyjvxAbqvDiNFimO8_e5na8Ybb0e9LxbRN4CGvm5Os4GymmSlXNPu6U7FZdVR_Q4vQhdL3imUJMFmzJCvGzr8k1RnF1dJN0EISjzPAtLtl6rQ-t0bHgLjfvmS/s1600/accordion.JPG"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PP_TZZcTmPmXR3IbpIqe996cpeblNuJ1SYG4fJ5H2KJO0mFDG1iWffvbkkiy93HbswXcGJ7EdFub1518aW21BjyLRu3NVAy2uuXzRt694MMqqhVaMYm7Gzfcf6U2Y5PluI4RpC51CBiI/s1600/joe+tree.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5PP_TZZcTmPmXR3IbpIqe996cpeblNuJ1SYG4fJ5H2KJO0mFDG1iWffvbkkiy93HbswXcGJ7EdFub1518aW21BjyLRu3NVAy2uuXzRt694MMqqhVaMYm7Gzfcf6U2Y5PluI4RpC51CBiI/s400/joe+tree.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481795192201203986" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Joe by one of the many lovely old trees in the Temple of Heaven Park.</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>The main hall in the park is the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests, originally built in 1420 and rebuilt in 1890 after it burned to the ground from a lightning strike. This hall is supported entirely by wooden pillars, with no nails.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIK5A_2IH7mfiANjrwyzIwlt4EhTSlwF4oh_3xBo8neFZra5Zvsxl_laPbN8FfwRTUc_BTRg9ROAOQH7XQ6gszMB0c-AFOGClFIv7L5C6HU4PJxXsCpBPJ1lZXhs3QetD2WESTnyHhf-0R/s1600/temple+of+heaven.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIK5A_2IH7mfiANjrwyzIwlt4EhTSlwF4oh_3xBo8neFZra5Zvsxl_laPbN8FfwRTUc_BTRg9ROAOQH7XQ6gszMB0c-AFOGClFIv7L5C6HU4PJxXsCpBPJ1lZXhs3QetD2WESTnyHhf-0R/s400/temple+of+heaven.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481795203763332818" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>The halls in this temple complex were round built on square bases, shapes which my Lonely Planet informs me signify heaven and earth respectively.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4gtsRCnw0m0BIT6m6OEO1AoOEA1Hnod99dysIMPdt0eLMxBW_8vwc9PzUGSKHc-8U1Pmel5EXHgNbMxyrfJ1OQHXAsQeGclMveKVtRBKNuvkayO09QNfX0iOrRasiC7EfqZeuAeL2QCW/s1600/pavilion1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 296px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ4gtsRCnw0m0BIT6m6OEO1AoOEA1Hnod99dysIMPdt0eLMxBW_8vwc9PzUGSKHc-8U1Pmel5EXHgNbMxyrfJ1OQHXAsQeGclMveKVtRBKNuvkayO09QNfX0iOrRasiC7EfqZeuAeL2QCW/s400/pavilion1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481797251541659330" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbS3_nfw4THMwdnb7F7YU2DBFX4uO4osnTPQAdXaxo4nCYCzAOAxK_uU7lhYBbu1fkDoJMKQE6hMODIuRGuapzQcCXhuRh3apASgHBOiphUtYziDBeF0BXMcrCYa7cGzbYjpsCPIgU4yL/s1600/pavilion2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIbS3_nfw4THMwdnb7F7YU2DBFX4uO4osnTPQAdXaxo4nCYCzAOAxK_uU7lhYBbu1fkDoJMKQE6hMODIuRGuapzQcCXhuRh3apASgHBOiphUtYziDBeF0BXMcrCYa7cGzbYjpsCPIgU4yL/s400/pavilion2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481797258295036578" /></a><br /></div><div>Like the other palaces and temples we'd seen, the inside of the halls here were elaborately decorated.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></u></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3u2FAaIBwr5ff5Wlgn58mVYYIA4Qh47FqPosX6LWq7ObHjbOT3k6rd7Q60krcqVskYGvzxC14deTzJjxk1VKFcwcdMqUNIIrQe_U5VFpLs_2ncrKblzp-zTVh1bW_91e-oLJ6aQEWiJF/s1600/temple+heaven+inside+2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3u2FAaIBwr5ff5Wlgn58mVYYIA4Qh47FqPosX6LWq7ObHjbOT3k6rd7Q60krcqVskYGvzxC14deTzJjxk1VKFcwcdMqUNIIrQe_U5VFpLs_2ncrKblzp-zTVh1bW_91e-oLJ6aQEWiJF/s400/temple+heaven+inside+2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481795226282400530" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFtfHaCcP9OcBLhKA962ycGFvjIARY2rnKq77bBioXRdHx7i5LqGgwluMHohH14n5j4b0AYw4uLs6LYS1FaTvfoz3GslCwzQuJQIAgCjY4pYFaQ11XJUQ7oTjstk6Y23U4uQPQN6DqftP/s1600/temple+heaven+inside.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFtfHaCcP9OcBLhKA962ycGFvjIARY2rnKq77bBioXRdHx7i5LqGgwluMHohH14n5j4b0AYw4uLs6LYS1FaTvfoz3GslCwzQuJQIAgCjY4pYFaQ11XJUQ7oTjstk6Y23U4uQPQN6DqftP/s400/temple+heaven+inside.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481810268706735394" /></a><br />The second major temple we visited was the Lama Temple, the most renowned Tibetan Buddhist temple outside Tibet. Incredible architecture here as well. The Lama Temple is a lamasery, so we saw monks going about their business, as well as lots of worshippers burning incense, bowing and praying. That's what I really appreciated about visiting this place — getting to witness the process of worship.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dtDQffBDOF6-KzDeoIw4RuuNMVE7gzkOM8Xe0s99E7OoyRSYyeSDulAPs96Km785O2ELCSPQ3xckZn_2KWgFI87KLKYA4jBBZNgp1Vgftt_Sdo6txdD6o7KTkQ-d9UfTyOfS8I4ZxpGa/s1600/Lama+Worshippers.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dtDQffBDOF6-KzDeoIw4RuuNMVE7gzkOM8Xe0s99E7OoyRSYyeSDulAPs96Km785O2ELCSPQ3xckZn_2KWgFI87KLKYA4jBBZNgp1Vgftt_Sdo6txdD6o7KTkQ-d9UfTyOfS8I4ZxpGa/s400/Lama+Worshippers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481827155481545394" /></a><i><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>(Photo by Joe)</i></span></div></i></div><div><br /></div><div>The temple complex was filled with many halls like these.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ptgwptVNLdlQN9RfHCkTAHgLg-etG38StYmQNVpZXZcCD7D2GbCXjrjiGho0Y0xTH1GFm9GMzt-C1uC5wPhrmJnmnK-s6ndTk5NUEs-tkfl-Jxzw3-7ss_bmCQvjq2CAa0WTJ55kIjN/s1600/lama+temple+3.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7ptgwptVNLdlQN9RfHCkTAHgLg-etG38StYmQNVpZXZcCD7D2GbCXjrjiGho0Y0xTH1GFm9GMzt-C1uC5wPhrmJnmnK-s6ndTk5NUEs-tkfl-Jxzw3-7ss_bmCQvjq2CAa0WTJ55kIjN/s400/lama+temple+3.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481816199818290754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Couldn't fit the entire structure in one shot.</i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47BYNnErlbZ49TPUJW-9RBq5GJMkJ4a41OtqJxEmohbcV5TPImRaaMCo0Ioc_pz4jZ-JzyHijakIpVNS6SeyPD-1tv1ogGITxxnUs2uI6wmKhEO-2LKs4yDGIdRJPdshPOaJTum5sivIV/s1600/lama+temple.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47BYNnErlbZ49TPUJW-9RBq5GJMkJ4a41OtqJxEmohbcV5TPImRaaMCo0Ioc_pz4jZ-JzyHijakIpVNS6SeyPD-1tv1ogGITxxnUs2uI6wmKhEO-2LKs4yDGIdRJPdshPOaJTum5sivIV/s400/lama+temple.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481792531559023426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMke1fagd6EPuwXNJOzauMQrzjonsYAeJEiCr0IP2ASaTHHazIOX-O-NsNoxcU0ka1erCAbQblXh9D46S8keIsD5QIvsD6UXnVKqbROtW5zN5VrV87mmCqxdiNI1l06Csxl3sfQwdpg5i/s1600/lama+pagoda.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMke1fagd6EPuwXNJOzauMQrzjonsYAeJEiCr0IP2ASaTHHazIOX-O-NsNoxcU0ka1erCAbQblXh9D46S8keIsD5QIvsD6UXnVKqbROtW5zN5VrV87mmCqxdiNI1l06Csxl3sfQwdpg5i/s400/lama+pagoda.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481792524548788002" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Certainly a sacred and spiritual place, and a wonderful experience.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-1115546523925862912010-06-11T22:03:00.002+09:002010-06-11T22:10:56.921+09:00China Trip: The Summer Palace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHFTet75WoEHfqEwys9keJKGRhcxvgdB6WA879phRAtjAXylaV8zxqFVISkCZmi7Wq1q4Z-RwJCwxJ-8Yw2ehTvmUmiXz9IXPA0VHs1KGnx6PEdPxl8e_4tOybOVWfBUIKsjENuXnlxAg/s1600/canal.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSHFTet75WoEHfqEwys9keJKGRhcxvgdB6WA879phRAtjAXylaV8zxqFVISkCZmi7Wq1q4Z-RwJCwxJ-8Yw2ehTvmUmiXz9IXPA0VHs1KGnx6PEdPxl8e_4tOybOVWfBUIKsjENuXnlxAg/s400/canal.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066375798541890" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Canal at the entrance to the Summer Palace</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Out of all the incredible things we saw on our China trip, my favorite had to be the Summer Palace, a site once used by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">China's royalty as a summer retreat from the Forbidden City. M</span></div></i></span></div></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">y Lonely Planet described it as an "opulent dominion of palace temples, gardens, pavilions, lakes and corridors (that) was once a playground for the imperial court."</span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Words cannot convey the wonder I felt inside the Summer Palace. It was truly stunning — despite existing in a cloud of smog. Everywhere I looked in the Summer Palace looked like a beautiful photograph. I easily could have spent the entire day there wandering around taking pictures, and probably would have if Joe didn't start getting restless after a while.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0jDR-hPQoHNwlP3k59S6lRI-YxVkpnybg_ddNBnYXy56-Mg0fF9devjTdeF7wSFTCo2FTCc_7xOPwjx6o8_IW8MkTkUPjRscCRM2gr9DkbvQ2TKwT5v9qlMdPe9WIs9E20HtkFhIgJet/s1600/rooftop.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0jDR-hPQoHNwlP3k59S6lRI-YxVkpnybg_ddNBnYXy56-Mg0fF9devjTdeF7wSFTCo2FTCc_7xOPwjx6o8_IW8MkTkUPjRscCRM2gr9DkbvQ2TKwT5v9qlMdPe9WIs9E20HtkFhIgJet/s400/rooftop.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066947211701362" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Temple on the way to the main tower</i></span></div></i></span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7LapQXMfSUrWEnsb9zNz-jFDcNL6Kp2f5Pp8O2QMo6UDcz8g_uJDnmmKy8aVxTwaQbE9hBqKKDZOfEjrqfnCtEjIH5-He76By4dgtgpSgRa01o8U1tGPIJiYxwVMI6bwHiQyKUrpulNgh/s1600/joe+circle.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7LapQXMfSUrWEnsb9zNz-jFDcNL6Kp2f5Pp8O2QMo6UDcz8g_uJDnmmKy8aVxTwaQbE9hBqKKDZOfEjrqfnCtEjIH5-He76By4dgtgpSgRa01o8U1tGPIJiYxwVMI6bwHiQyKUrpulNgh/s400/joe+circle.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066341598964530" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Joe — too big for ancient China. Surprise.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcETEdbK8c6kPMJ6dolF99tE1J012OSz2ZhP63Jp_Wm9tZTP6TyFK4grviFFfB7gDLS9ZyrVaHcRlkWHoke00rQGCKshOGtcdzmeHlHGfNO90rPQqSqf0Hl_p80UmPYqQ2aLPStVbhDuzy/s1600/summer+palace+walls.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcETEdbK8c6kPMJ6dolF99tE1J012OSz2ZhP63Jp_Wm9tZTP6TyFK4grviFFfB7gDLS9ZyrVaHcRlkWHoke00rQGCKshOGtcdzmeHlHGfNO90rPQqSqf0Hl_p80UmPYqQ2aLPStVbhDuzy/s400/summer+palace+walls.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481484641296192738" /></a><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The centerpiece of the palace complex was this magnificent structure, the Tower of Buddhist Incense. The inside, painted in extraordinary detail, houses a several-hundred-year-old bronze statue of Buddha featuring 1,000 hands, 12 heads and 24 arms.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div></i></span></div><i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ufr3YGVfmtcBBi_4k0ofmQME-sJPKr24q9WHxIR54jxmn9XJPeCCMHG4YRtPf4B-HSqtt64KnlTS-uCzHI0In5GbIFuHHMmjATe_2sU7U1-0t16cF2Ex65uw75PCGUtMU576Mv9ajTMN/s1600/summer+palace+pagoda.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Ufr3YGVfmtcBBi_4k0ofmQME-sJPKr24q9WHxIR54jxmn9XJPeCCMHG4YRtPf4B-HSqtt64KnlTS-uCzHI0In5GbIFuHHMmjATe_2sU7U1-0t16cF2Ex65uw75PCGUtMU576Mv9ajTMN/s400/summer+palace+pagoda.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066916108356882" /></a></span></div></i><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqC7nRfAcAUkInpYIgIP8zKc45VHbsLVwEVQN6uHXBs7NC5UVIupzDHuEEn2WT6XK20jlMMlBikvR3NmcTAbC9-ywHF6SgaNGPYIXTaaDPQJoCwTILoXDCa7Dl2IrQ2fhaYiN0Jlne0ZM/s1600/inside+palace.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqC7nRfAcAUkInpYIgIP8zKc45VHbsLVwEVQN6uHXBs7NC5UVIupzDHuEEn2WT6XK20jlMMlBikvR3NmcTAbC9-ywHF6SgaNGPYIXTaaDPQJoCwTILoXDCa7Dl2IrQ2fhaYiN0Jlne0ZM/s400/inside+palace.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481068924584672066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETZksJmu9kGneV-uW4kUXC1GArcQu2Cx0B6gWAIj9uTLVPQIm8m73y9baOPF-sq_-9dvyys4iQ5DEGEpqt1csg6e1pyQTlvfIKNdbhIb1quYKY33KuLYWR8tEOBZaH9s656X3W_DyiI-x/s1600/summer+palace+roof.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETZksJmu9kGneV-uW4kUXC1GArcQu2Cx0B6gWAIj9uTLVPQIm8m73y9baOPF-sq_-9dvyys4iQ5DEGEpqt1csg6e1pyQTlvfIKNdbhIb1quYKY33KuLYWR8tEOBZaH9s656X3W_DyiI-x/s400/summer+palace+roof.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066941840784770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>Ceiling</i></span></div></i></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDcszppVVRdNkjRKkolcBrHC99y9EuNdxE1RM_OaG-QjGnL_U_2V-Mj4m_zkFdE61qMxXz1e3C37dWZZbcbz_-udfbdE2kqLRZ_mNecJDW8OUjEsdjb-sZjmWQ4HowsOeBCPT7kO0_33q7/s1600/summer+palace+pagoda2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDcszppVVRdNkjRKkolcBrHC99y9EuNdxE1RM_OaG-QjGnL_U_2V-Mj4m_zkFdE61qMxXz1e3C37dWZZbcbz_-udfbdE2kqLRZ_mNecJDW8OUjEsdjb-sZjmWQ4HowsOeBCPT7kO0_33q7/s400/summer+palace+pagoda2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066925730682434" /></a><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaY8v9u4hxbYjp6nqycF9L5evG73oDTe1tc3ZSGxPp6MWlIA9wUEEgLgBD1FSbyhYiwtXgg2pJc1x6DZvSRrVSSQ-WpWm46VTwrXwtRqFk2wbB61wPxsNfTxMqvI7c1SKxtGhZWUD19YQF/s1600/hallway.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaY8v9u4hxbYjp6nqycF9L5evG73oDTe1tc3ZSGxPp6MWlIA9wUEEgLgBD1FSbyhYiwtXgg2pJc1x6DZvSRrVSSQ-WpWm46VTwrXwtRqFk2wbB61wPxsNfTxMqvI7c1SKxtGhZWUD19YQF/s400/hallway.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481499789807911586" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div></i></span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The tower is perched at the top of a hill overlooking a giant lake dotted with dragon boats carrying tourists across to the Seventeen Arch Bridge. Imagine what this could look like on a clear summer day with water sparkling in the sun...</span></div></i></span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJvytNzDrJGkxw-M0xIU0fmplKOe27E0X_YAiqpeJ4gmODIKJ3XizwctW6G6pSU3OCPWlSGOihjkmfGwqEQXAwwa2l-IwSSacFvIoFK3Vu8JxoYI75VXNE1-373PySFirBYFE-lPrqe74/s1600/overlooking+lake.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJvytNzDrJGkxw-M0xIU0fmplKOe27E0X_YAiqpeJ4gmODIKJ3XizwctW6G6pSU3OCPWlSGOihjkmfGwqEQXAwwa2l-IwSSacFvIoFK3Vu8JxoYI75VXNE1-373PySFirBYFE-lPrqe74/s400/overlooking+lake.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066329948025090" /></a><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">In the 1700s, the emperor ordered 100,000 laborers to expand and deepen this lake. He liked to sit on this hilltop and watch the imperial navy do drills.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> </span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4PPfi9CIlqS8V3TSFaQXl-Tiz8f7TtedBBGKJA-JTZTaACtKBf8ORUL-Db1teDsYqWhkXf0C5yN97tiP7TiyY7fO-pkxRTHVcmTjDpzXA4a3boxltf9AyvQxc-AMPfIoADjOMUsNPvkD/s1600/dragonboat.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4PPfi9CIlqS8V3TSFaQXl-Tiz8f7TtedBBGKJA-JTZTaACtKBf8ORUL-Db1teDsYqWhkXf0C5yN97tiP7TiyY7fO-pkxRTHVcmTjDpzXA4a3boxltf9AyvQxc-AMPfIoADjOMUsNPvkD/s400/dragonboat.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481066363921839490" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><div style="text-align: left; display: inline !important; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>The dragon boat we rode</i></span></div></i></span></div></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div></i><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3G7d3KLp2gZoO8_kPrWtUh5NQie4EtwrJMkBJHT7_juu259lo8_F8NmlDmYU-fQjd3AUdmqQAgaMaf1_IRvNwnM45skNStDI8d3WY9HjxJ2MdSfC9z6Y_VDA0vstnVfbZdCN437cSx9_/s1600/17+Arch+Bridge.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3G7d3KLp2gZoO8_kPrWtUh5NQie4EtwrJMkBJHT7_juu259lo8_F8NmlDmYU-fQjd3AUdmqQAgaMaf1_IRvNwnM45skNStDI8d3WY9HjxJ2MdSfC9z6Y_VDA0vstnVfbZdCN437cSx9_/s400/17+Arch+Bridge.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481489908121303474" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Seventeen Arch Bridge on the other side of the lake</i></div><div><br /></div><div>It was a fascinating place, and an afternoon I'll never forget.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-17860419686476391212010-06-09T22:31:00.001+09:002010-06-09T22:34:14.019+09:00China Trip: Donghuamen Night Market<div>We made it to a handful of markets while we were in Beijing, including the Silk Street Market (haggling for anything and everything) and the Pearl Market (huge building overflowing with pearl vendors), but the most memorable by far was the touristy Donghuamen Night Market.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Donghuamen is located in a swanky part of Beijing with numerous luxury brand stores lining the streets, and while the fare at this night market was certainly exotic, ya can't exactly call it high brow...</div><div><br /></div><div>There were crayfish on a stick...</div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rRDr9ZZbMhW65HZ1zsF7n9PkpJraE8xWOyYxhLstd5OqddAXlRCjo-HsvF_8_WNYRMrwgPDmj5uuQWjnM22D_0C0lNnYKeu5sL6agsK0l_pOMzQv2LqAk_EZDcpX0D0eip_7P21MELyY/s1600/crayfish.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rRDr9ZZbMhW65HZ1zsF7n9PkpJraE8xWOyYxhLstd5OqddAXlRCjo-HsvF_8_WNYRMrwgPDmj5uuQWjnM22D_0C0lNnYKeu5sL6agsK0l_pOMzQv2LqAk_EZDcpX0D0eip_7P21MELyY/s400/crayfish.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480754997792158866" /></a><br /><div>Scorpions on a stick...<br /><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFUe6zUaAstX78rCd_iUYwcBnhaYlEMLh9oInXgSfzAol8wjKOpGyAUzbX_BjAcdqIn22vSZFTK_PiA9RLWycSO-QqGrQ3DAeb6sc1SUOg9hGDQATkKDLisrhj-9C8Ki9UOgfo4RZtS3y/s1600/scorpions.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFUe6zUaAstX78rCd_iUYwcBnhaYlEMLh9oInXgSfzAol8wjKOpGyAUzbX_BjAcdqIn22vSZFTK_PiA9RLWycSO-QqGrQ3DAeb6sc1SUOg9hGDQATkKDLisrhj-9C8Ki9UOgfo4RZtS3y/s400/scorpions.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480754979396661218" /><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMpVoGp7x5U_tmLT31tpn9qgl5IyvZo4XN-y5OFrIli1cXY6mPnaSeU2_pwOQNUN_DkQR_TudMjn639YSVbob0vuHahw6bS7W_roqzhUktIRDH_c-MHIMKlfq2BYpU5SH5G4tgCk1buAW/s1600/crispy+birds+nest.JPG"></a></div><div>Crispy bird's nest...<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMpVoGp7x5U_tmLT31tpn9qgl5IyvZo4XN-y5OFrIli1cXY6mPnaSeU2_pwOQNUN_DkQR_TudMjn639YSVbob0vuHahw6bS7W_roqzhUktIRDH_c-MHIMKlfq2BYpU5SH5G4tgCk1buAW/s1600/crispy+birds+nest.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMpVoGp7x5U_tmLT31tpn9qgl5IyvZo4XN-y5OFrIli1cXY6mPnaSeU2_pwOQNUN_DkQR_TudMjn639YSVbob0vuHahw6bS7W_roqzhUktIRDH_c-MHIMKlfq2BYpU5SH5G4tgCk1buAW/s400/crispy+birds+nest.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480754947716114418" /></a><br /></div><div>Hmm, let's see, bee cocoon, long horn beetles, water beetles, centipedes, snakes, silk worm or star fish... on a stick!</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuRHUMcrYXBfY4YmWQcR9CSUPqZcG9YftyZbQ14IDVzOTnQpH-Duic5ZxVA5OtFn3yrYb49i4kf6Ozg7_diYtrHbUuoYFi0GsRPZgF_Pi_Zl_eVThhB3XS5whh_WS6_wFSlkS5LrBKqlG/s1600/Beijing+night+market.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsuRHUMcrYXBfY4YmWQcR9CSUPqZcG9YftyZbQ14IDVzOTnQpH-Duic5ZxVA5OtFn3yrYb49i4kf6Ozg7_diYtrHbUuoYFi0GsRPZgF_Pi_Zl_eVThhB3XS5whh_WS6_wFSlkS5LrBKqlG/s400/Beijing+night+market.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480754931075710754" /></a><br /></div><div>And many, many other things that ought not be considered edible, not the least of which included sea horses, grasshoppers and various animals' internal organs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Did we eat anything? Well, yes. No, I was not brave (or stupid) enough to eat the things you see pictured above. I did, however, consume a small sandwich consisting of an English muffin with diced meat inside. I saw this and thought it looked appealing and ordered it without knowing what it was. Only after hearing the price did I look at the price board and learn that what I'd ordered was stir fried pig liver with green chili peppers. And you know what — it wasn't bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>Joe, having successfully devoured his own pig liver sandwich, got even bolder and decided to give the exotic food roulette wheel another spin. While I snacked on sugar-covered strawberries and kiwi on a stick, he returned from a food tent holding this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKnMeJnbRXslZxoeyyH0MgvSJ7EtjPEyMBWFVWl0fkAnwTRnEzicehiwTcPwUzPczJKgNhNPftOPq4DYoZsFMLAtshrwTjdKTFHp2a9fqgcJm102zGqdNNMPNm9cADYzheqQ3Ve2NgZ02/s1600/joe+silkworms.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 358px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKnMeJnbRXslZxoeyyH0MgvSJ7EtjPEyMBWFVWl0fkAnwTRnEzicehiwTcPwUzPczJKgNhNPftOPq4DYoZsFMLAtshrwTjdKTFHp2a9fqgcJm102zGqdNNMPNm9cADYzheqQ3Ve2NgZ02/s400/joe+silkworms.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480754962483203682" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Those would be fried silk worms</i>.</div><br />He ate one. Chewed. His grimace told me all I needed to know. The verdict: The outside was crispy, the inside, well — I seem to remember it being described as "like a burst of puss." NO thank you!</div><div><br /></div><div>I think the only thing I ate after that was some fried ice cream, which was delicious. And sane.</div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-36902853907581306052010-06-08T19:44:00.006+09:002010-06-09T22:32:49.500+09:00China Trip: The Forbidden City<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPxYGDPVh0yKn8qYvqZe0sDseX5n2omRCLacLVEL7oM0Aj4vTbusqACcBKFkciVIHgVEIhQuSe9DOBa4cmcz4es2p9o4yRCzNY5zkL4tyilyZbBJdEDrLTRdQ0wJQpEfOyaBnYJBDNAV9/s1600/lanterns.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijPxYGDPVh0yKn8qYvqZe0sDseX5n2omRCLacLVEL7oM0Aj4vTbusqACcBKFkciVIHgVEIhQuSe9DOBa4cmcz4es2p9o4yRCzNY5zkL4tyilyZbBJdEDrLTRdQ0wJQpEfOyaBnYJBDNAV9/s400/lanterns.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479991420173739250" /></a>There were 600+ photos on my camera from our trip to China and Hong Kong over the Golden Week holidays this spring. You could say I'm feeling a little overwhelmed about writing about the experience. There is just so much to show and tell, but I've got to skim the cream, and that's difficult. I'll try.<div><br /></div><div>It was an incredible trip. The Great Wall, the ancient palaces, the street markets, the Hong Kong skyline at night? All absolutely unforgettable, jaw dropping experiences. Nothing I describe here can do justice to many of the things we saw. Not everything about the trip was lovely, though. Some parts in fact really sucked. But I never expected China to be a pleasure cruise. It was dirty, it was raw, it was old, it was loud. It had its own kind of charm, I suppose. Despite its rough edges, though, I loved Beijing.</div><div><br /></div><div>We flew to Beijing on a flight from Hiroshima with a stop along the way in Dalian, a city whose name I already knew for only one reason. The spring before I came to Japan, working as a newspaper reporter, I covered a horrific car accident just down the road from my parents' house. Three Chinese international students from a local university were killed in the crash. Another driver who had just been through the Wendy's drive-thru came unhinged when he saw he got mayonnaise on his sandwich even though he ordered no mayo. He reacted by blazing down the road at close to 100 miles per hour. His SUV collided with another car, went airborne and crushed the Chinese students' car stopped at a light, killing them. One of those students was from Dalian. I drove by that spot everyday in the following months until we left for Japan, and I always thought of them.</div><div><br /></div><div>So it was an odd coincidence, I guess, that Dalian was our first glimpse of China. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was immediately clear that China would be nothing like Japan. Coming in for landing, we saw rows upon rows of buildings (maybe apartments), all exactly alike, crammed extremely close together and extremely close to the runway. Inside the airport, the workers we saw wore militaristic uniforms and helmets. No one smiled. A totally different vibe from Japan.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were there just long enough to get off the plane, file through immigration and get back on to continue the trip to Beijing. Beijing itself was enveloped in a thick cloud when we arrived. I thought some rain had probably just rolled through. The following day I realized it was pollution.</div><div><br /></div><div>I expected Beijing to be polluted. I just had NO IDEA it would be as bad as it was. It was by far the worst smog I've ever experienced. It's like living in a fog. You look across the street, and it's foggy. Less than 24 hours after we'd landed in Beijing, I was blowing black snot out of my nose. After a few days, I started feeling asthmatic symptoms that I usually only struggle with when I exercise really hard. Really kinda scary, and made me wonder how people could live their whole lives in that kind of environment. Chinese people were constantly hocking up huge loogies and spitting them into the street, which was pretty nasty. Often on the trip I gaped in wonder at the ancient marvels we were seeing — and that was while seeing everything sitting in smog. My head spun at the thought of how mind blowing it would all be if the air <i>were actually clear</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I can say, at least, that our hostel was beautiful and extremely clean; in fact it was the nicest hostel I've ever stayed in. We stayed at the <a href="http://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/Peking-Yard-Hostel/Beijing/40998">Peking Yard Hostel</a>. The place was pristine, overflowing with flowers inside, and located in a quiet hutong, a traditional old Chinese neighborhood with narrow streets and alleys. During the day we could see other Chinese going about their business without a bunch of other tourists around. Down the street we found a little Chinese restaurant with a huge menu with pictures. The staff didn't know a lick of English, but we ended up eating several meals there because the food was so good, and cheap. Somehow we managed to communicate with the staff through pointing and miming, and I guess they liked us, since they always smiled and laughed a little when we came in. I think they don't see many tourists. My favorite dish was made with chicken and peanuts and red peppers and spicy sauce. The sweet and sour chicken was tasty too — and much to my surprise tasted exactly the same as the stuff back home. The desk attendant at our hostel was nice enough to write in Chinese "Go easy on the spice" on a scrap of paper for us before we went there the first time, and we made sure to show it to them every time. They always nodded and smiled, and our food was always just about as spicy as I could stand it. So I imagine that I wouldn't have been able to eat it if it were prepared as usual.</div><div><br /></div><div>We hit most of the main tourist sites while we were in Beijing: The Great Wall, the Forbidden City and Tienanmen Square, the Summer Palace, a few markets and a couple significant temples.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll start with our first destination: the Forbidden City.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV4_TQsZZ-H1S857gWUQAQ-JpyXiOcatnVOkeX45WNveXFonCf5Q1jqwTSZHUEem2jpwPqSVlw5GZ29-34y2uMxQL_pdo24wwuuvE4V0uiPPQKcPywbChhX9fDRSC_XD9DU3MCys8lBXL/s1600/tienanmen+square.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitV4_TQsZZ-H1S857gWUQAQ-JpyXiOcatnVOkeX45WNveXFonCf5Q1jqwTSZHUEem2jpwPqSVlw5GZ29-34y2uMxQL_pdo24wwuuvE4V0uiPPQKcPywbChhX9fDRSC_XD9DU3MCys8lBXL/s400/tienanmen+square.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479995379613959330" /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Tienanmen Square, at the entrance to the Forbidden City. Say hello to Chairman Mao!</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The Forbidden City is in the middle of Beijing. It is a walled city that was built in the early 1400s and served as home to 24 of China's emperors over the course of 500 years. It took more than a million workers 15 years to build the palace complex, with some 980 buildings remaining today. According to the brochure we got, "It is the most magnificent ancient architectural complex we have in our country, and the biggest and most intact architectural complex of palaces in the world."</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46X2BtLfsCPRN9-bm32RcAK-Zqo6DfRYAu5-aaJw7S_Ro7ermJ1DED7G0XIX5pi5qqQdf3ff9muLL61nwzJ08V3GUk4b0d06L6yzTjmk4s_06MdPIxltkWzjYVxFp_vUufdPpAL8yq6NC/s1600/forbidden+city.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46X2BtLfsCPRN9-bm32RcAK-Zqo6DfRYAu5-aaJw7S_Ro7ermJ1DED7G0XIX5pi5qqQdf3ff9muLL61nwzJ08V3GUk4b0d06L6yzTjmk4s_06MdPIxltkWzjYVxFp_vUufdPpAL8yq6NC/s400/forbidden+city.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479987620482077298" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Our view of the Forbidden City from a nearby hilltop. Amazing (and yes, draped in smog).</i></div><div><br /></div><div>As you can imagine, it was crowded. Going on a Saturday morning didn't help matters. Generally speaking the crowd was not so troublesome, except when we were trying to get a glimpse inside certain significant buildings — then the mob just crushed against the entrance. It reminded me exactly of being uptown at Ohio University during Halloween, where everyone is pushing together so hard you start to worry you might actually be crushed or trampled. And thus I learned: Chinese people do not like to queue.</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6rpPTeB2OsyXNU_sFmleONkGGyXq29u5BhG3eFxQwGAI257RCJXYwaUP_gz6fCUUa2VzXGDwBETRQfVvatEFjfnjKt7zEkzBL-e1ZHJNmOCGhNGa6O9M1Omkxo0z6yNGpNXnxrQwCTj0/s1600/forbidden+city+lion.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6rpPTeB2OsyXNU_sFmleONkGGyXq29u5BhG3eFxQwGAI257RCJXYwaUP_gz6fCUUa2VzXGDwBETRQfVvatEFjfnjKt7zEkzBL-e1ZHJNmOCGhNGa6O9M1Omkxo0z6yNGpNXnxrQwCTj0/s400/forbidden+city+lion.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479991031093437938" /></a><br /></div><div>These palace buildings are definitely more detailed than the structures we've seen in Japan. The temples we saw in Korea looked similar.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0PfqxpMoDpO20h3A6WzdrJtmS0yzJmuB1Cl3RjwtUSjLY-VCPn2Pr_2ifUa-kdvdpGsE5eQEveVQAW2IdN5HgzbUvk3TtqaIupmoMa5YUIY2NEjZ6o1SKcmYSWTogosuYHhybSbToxmY/s1600/forbidden+city+rooftops.JPG"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0PfqxpMoDpO20h3A6WzdrJtmS0yzJmuB1Cl3RjwtUSjLY-VCPn2Pr_2ifUa-kdvdpGsE5eQEveVQAW2IdN5HgzbUvk3TtqaIupmoMa5YUIY2NEjZ6o1SKcmYSWTogosuYHhybSbToxmY/s1600/forbidden+city+rooftops.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0PfqxpMoDpO20h3A6WzdrJtmS0yzJmuB1Cl3RjwtUSjLY-VCPn2Pr_2ifUa-kdvdpGsE5eQEveVQAW2IdN5HgzbUvk3TtqaIupmoMa5YUIY2NEjZ6o1SKcmYSWTogosuYHhybSbToxmY/s400/forbidden+city+rooftops.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479991040109550434" /></a><br /></div><div>We spent half the day wandering around admiring the buildings and exploring a few exhibits filled with precious jewelry, intricately carved jade and ornate clocks. The Hall of Clocks and Watches was a real treasure, filled with elaborate clocks given to emperors over the years.<br /><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiw-KfGNHQ-Y82xGuAXpaAZ7LdHiZicOkn_jqAVLLlhvOIvqirOWorAsqiuWYax_1BI-jVdvfkZ_BK-RZSsm8gM0FGdHYRt0kcboY5TUAy-9mAVa5-RUTyqcDhfdKRqhkWUodUESSSKok/s1600/clocks.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiw-KfGNHQ-Y82xGuAXpaAZ7LdHiZicOkn_jqAVLLlhvOIvqirOWorAsqiuWYax_1BI-jVdvfkZ_BK-RZSsm8gM0FGdHYRt0kcboY5TUAy-9mAVa5-RUTyqcDhfdKRqhkWUodUESSSKok/s400/clocks.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479991061404980610" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">These don't even hold a candle to some of the more ornate time pieces.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></i></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7UhGzAXw907HL6-nAISG-i5Xnzq-nJAP0tco4xj3LEfPcp1eJRJxfOVv2JEmmdqmt0FiYeFHuTk5QIaIXABjoI_K9lvGNBgg_BhSSAJu23xyJ0mK5qnAqgkuWaoRTzxXpduNmDnIgssL/s1600/dragons.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH7UhGzAXw907HL6-nAISG-i5Xnzq-nJAP0tco4xj3LEfPcp1eJRJxfOVv2JEmmdqmt0FiYeFHuTk5QIaIXABjoI_K9lvGNBgg_BhSSAJu23xyJ0mK5qnAqgkuWaoRTzxXpduNmDnIgssL/s400/dragons.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480331275951702018" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The Nine Dragon Screen (Photo by Joe)</i></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHVrBrSY8XI1WHedyh3LjktnZrpeqjHOiI41NQc670Y4kDvwSITQ1LbyGZXoWDAyaFug9Iu8xQsRInBMQuath__JntvfnqR_W2adoQydeeAoHle819m6tHRG0pHXSu0o5jcHxDqCAFfMR/s1600/forbidden+city+dragon.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHVrBrSY8XI1WHedyh3LjktnZrpeqjHOiI41NQc670Y4kDvwSITQ1LbyGZXoWDAyaFug9Iu8xQsRInBMQuath__JntvfnqR_W2adoQydeeAoHle819m6tHRG0pHXSu0o5jcHxDqCAFfMR/s400/forbidden+city+dragon.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479991052145625410" /></a><br /><div>The dragon was the symbol of the emperor in ancient China. The story goes that this wall is made up of 270 glazed tiles. Shortly before the wall was to be complete, one of the tiles fell and broke. This meant that the project couldn't be completed on time, which would have led to the beheading of the craftsmen involved. Luckily a carpenter managed to make a replacement tile out of wood that looked like the original. The emperor never noticed the difference, and the craftsmen kept their heads.</div><div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXI0Q-r0kedREXFLUau7Wis2BcDN_VwDYXp1XKERUFf-ssS7R9GBmxzqKBGxJYYLSI27QH8hmL7OHkml4woAkwXhZ0ZDB7HlYT_tsH1FeeX8ILD0BPZLqioYcBy97Vy54dT5MVqH9UWfb2/s1600/forbiddencitywalls.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXI0Q-r0kedREXFLUau7Wis2BcDN_VwDYXp1XKERUFf-ssS7R9GBmxzqKBGxJYYLSI27QH8hmL7OHkml4woAkwXhZ0ZDB7HlYT_tsH1FeeX8ILD0BPZLqioYcBy97Vy54dT5MVqH9UWfb2/s400/forbiddencitywalls.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480331288732520994" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Wandering between the city walls (Photo by Joe)</div></i><div><br /></div>Perhaps the biggest shock of the trip for Joe began while at the Forbidden City. Joe saw a baby whose pants looked to have split in the behind. He pointed the baby out and commented about how unfortunate that was, and how his poor mother must be trying to cover him up. Later, I spotted another baby's butt hanging out a split in the seat of his pants, and that's when we realized this was a deliberate style. Before long we saw one mother let her young child squat down in a corner by one of the buildings, pull the split in her pants apart, and urinate right there. We were stunned. This place was once considered to be the emperor's palace for hundreds of years. Now kids are pissing on it. The same episode repeated itself later right in front of us on the sidewalk outside the Summer Palace. I thought Joe might have a heart attack from the look of shock on his face. No question we ain't in Kansas anymore, Todo... this was like some total opposite Bizarro world from Japan. (Though... now that I think about it... Japanese men seem to have no quibbles about peeing in public sometimes, too...)</div><div><br /></div><div>Joe felt too creepy photographing it, so here's a picture from <a href="http://www.flickr.com/creativecommons/">Flickr</a><a href="http://www.flickr.com/creativecommons/"> Creative Commons</a> so you can get an idea what I'm talking about:<br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCf0ZRxxbT77rzrxwxSb50VnxxjyoZKQg4bBpAJModk4Xewcz1Ujk2eMEwuzYL7FE5DNZgBmYuaYPC6QvtjAO4XSP-BNe8gwTU9BYoM7v89UpW1pcIOTWSvmCnnB1mPbpwBusGSjaS3nnB/s1600/split+pants.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCf0ZRxxbT77rzrxwxSb50VnxxjyoZKQg4bBpAJModk4Xewcz1Ujk2eMEwuzYL7FE5DNZgBmYuaYPC6QvtjAO4XSP-BNe8gwTU9BYoM7v89UpW1pcIOTWSvmCnnB1mPbpwBusGSjaS3nnB/s400/split+pants.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480346492012904786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What exactly's the point of pants, then? (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>Photo by </i><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kongharald/203745722/">Kongharald</a>)</i></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Talking to the workers in our hostel later, we learned that this is a pretty common thing in China for kids who aren't 100 percent potty trained yet. Makes it easier to go without having to wrangle with your clothes while you're squatting and all that. And it saves on the expense of diapers.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As I said: China... A charm all its own...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">(To be continued...)</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-36525609313328032982010-06-06T23:17:00.001+09:002010-06-06T23:19:00.153+09:00Yukata Festival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrEK_Ckj-TXmZRxKJ63dsekC9RKQCazZrJ46EB0Oi2DdzVbhgHzdgR-ZcGwBWV6bOw7WmCmMTCTPJdpL5FhRQaUHgYi8z8L8Z9MoVEAcuvfLVKNyWJSXzrGxBJhdG5WX8DcYWzvRTFlIx/s1600/yukata+kids.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 368px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDrEK_Ckj-TXmZRxKJ63dsekC9RKQCazZrJ46EB0Oi2DdzVbhgHzdgR-ZcGwBWV6bOw7WmCmMTCTPJdpL5FhRQaUHgYi8z8L8Z9MoVEAcuvfLVKNyWJSXzrGxBJhdG5WX8DcYWzvRTFlIx/s400/yukata+kids.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479656277573884082" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Kids are always cutest in yukata</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Toukasan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">, also known as the Yukata Festival, happens the first weekend in June and marks the beginning of summer in Hiroshima. It's one of the biggest festivals of the year here, and also one of my favorites.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The Yukata Fest is your standard Japanese street festival with plenty of street vendors and, of course, thousands of people wandering around in colorful yukata (lightweight summer kimono). Seeing so many people in colorful, festive yukatas — especially the children, they're darling — is a real treat and always leaves me in a cheerful mood.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">I took some lessons to learn how to put on my yukata, so I do know how, though I'll be honest: I really didn't feel like messing with it this weekend, so I didn't wear it to the festival after all. On the up-side, I got lots of stuff done.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Some images from this year's festival (and a few from last year's, too):</span></div></i><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZcQFX2S3vJdkMOyzLrYItcULLNN2iWpDqAycCBhtt6yv7UbFpixn4B5PaCh8g6uCDlzWQ6J2xDSCh9hGIjRod6_MlHusqZZXKATF6q9z5WtQi5r8q_tNRsyVrWQCs9Oc75nheTFXpqgl/s1600/yakitori.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6ZcQFX2S3vJdkMOyzLrYItcULLNN2iWpDqAycCBhtt6yv7UbFpixn4B5PaCh8g6uCDlzWQ6J2xDSCh9hGIjRod6_MlHusqZZXKATF6q9z5WtQi5r8q_tNRsyVrWQCs9Oc75nheTFXpqgl/s400/yakitori.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479656271523414818" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Yakitori (grilled chicken on a stick)</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hHMCF_BIisqlESNASvj9mhL2MTTRNE9BvovaopTfjDsSCmyf4p8icxf__iiwg-dfx21bAD-94OgJ_G6SI8XfeZdGWmm1BkSypmhKAh60uhGmv7QBVKUrMRD3hV9NsvOBu7ZNjeHUxM7C/s1600/toukasan2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-hHMCF_BIisqlESNASvj9mhL2MTTRNE9BvovaopTfjDsSCmyf4p8icxf__iiwg-dfx21bAD-94OgJ_G6SI8XfeZdGWmm1BkSypmhKAh60uhGmv7QBVKUrMRD3hV9NsvOBu7ZNjeHUxM7C/s400/toukasan2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479656257105798562" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Aag! Cuteness...is...killing me!</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FGhhQIzrViavAn1tbBpkOTzu9gGgSqK8AZ5sH3Rmu6KqrBGaDSp9K7n6m50l1mfrJJ-tJtcuNFQ3jbW_sSF4Rx8qVUhnRCCErI38todZn-t0pN4TS3T4c5d3xZ_ZQ6m2JPoQmS9KcMSz/s1600/toukasan1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 340px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6FGhhQIzrViavAn1tbBpkOTzu9gGgSqK8AZ5sH3Rmu6KqrBGaDSp9K7n6m50l1mfrJJ-tJtcuNFQ3jbW_sSF4Rx8qVUhnRCCErI38todZn-t0pN4TS3T4c5d3xZ_ZQ6m2JPoQmS9KcMSz/s400/toukasan1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479653631041685250" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Yukata and super dos!</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4-BZwPxzSkj-srSsdWEHFALNxCbeRlLzqZDjLMiD1MmPTDTLC6_QlFzdKuhUy13GsQgnLMhdF120Ko6_CgZ5VHFkeE7n20zx6FqIBpvE43M9nrr5BHIh_Hgj44bYqp4PRp2ynbw4_cZ2/s1600/slushee.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn4-BZwPxzSkj-srSsdWEHFALNxCbeRlLzqZDjLMiD1MmPTDTLC6_QlFzdKuhUy13GsQgnLMhdF120Ko6_CgZ5VHFkeE7n20zx6FqIBpvE43M9nrr5BHIh_Hgj44bYqp4PRp2ynbw4_cZ2/s400/slushee.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479653619467420482" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Flavoring for snow cones</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVbHhF9xF_9KSR0BiNKZ92L342x7MjgQhkhLpr8OooFZkqyUMppa5EC3deQw9hXwFYhVS1Ai2ytKly30C4stWRJE0WUiU9PFQs4tff2dn7alD9jDjlv6m4n78UHuf1VSuGG311b3uwMsO/s1600/pikachu.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvVbHhF9xF_9KSR0BiNKZ92L342x7MjgQhkhLpr8OooFZkqyUMppa5EC3deQw9hXwFYhVS1Ai2ytKly30C4stWRJE0WUiU9PFQs4tff2dn7alD9jDjlv6m4n78UHuf1VSuGG311b3uwMsO/s400/pikachu.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479653609149033234" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Bird whistles... with a Japanese twist</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsXyXpir9s5JpR3B2zNyuprzobYS9XQn7oHnFwFlHmnGkOOOZpnRGRuaKNgvpzWgMcyJZmBIgvZ38pagvcoiEW13RSQb2RF6NUiaA6g5ZaHtvfYU2zQV0bbAPzuYtyTEXHPwYWOZdLtwP/s1600/guys+pose.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSsXyXpir9s5JpR3B2zNyuprzobYS9XQn7oHnFwFlHmnGkOOOZpnRGRuaKNgvpzWgMcyJZmBIgvZ38pagvcoiEW13RSQb2RF6NUiaA6g5ZaHtvfYU2zQV0bbAPzuYtyTEXHPwYWOZdLtwP/s400/guys+pose.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479653598766122754" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Guys in yukata...</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2Zkvm1CvqO2QYwXGvri2HF2tSgufAAyCZh6nRtgPKHa3lGEOxYDLVaYUXs2uETaoHkaWwhD-Hb2uThHbOR1PXDW6GhjIOOTcaSpcC1BOTsLsuPifNt_4pgetQ2Ds_DiFdZzr3C7HT-R-/s1600/girls+pose.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2Zkvm1CvqO2QYwXGvri2HF2tSgufAAyCZh6nRtgPKHa3lGEOxYDLVaYUXs2uETaoHkaWwhD-Hb2uThHbOR1PXDW6GhjIOOTcaSpcC1BOTsLsuPifNt_4pgetQ2Ds_DiFdZzr3C7HT-R-/s400/girls+pose.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479653588881109570" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">...and girls in yukata.</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9iWHB1L1xh6O5wzH9VdOmvBsh28FU50B0Iw0hA0ekIgUCUbcbs66JLtTOUFvRNrb8VTgDzRMqC7A9OoQ8VMHxIVUEMaE-Iykyu0b6jfFxGcd4NGfvAnOkkbn_haNjnijemAx9f1g1NOk/s1600/fruit+candy+bags.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9iWHB1L1xh6O5wzH9VdOmvBsh28FU50B0Iw0hA0ekIgUCUbcbs66JLtTOUFvRNrb8VTgDzRMqC7A9OoQ8VMHxIVUEMaE-Iykyu0b6jfFxGcd4NGfvAnOkkbn_haNjnijemAx9f1g1NOk/s400/fruit+candy+bags.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479651928552845634" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Hanging bags of candied fruit. YUM!</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobSvhRl9niQYO9XDJUPYhnzJC4LVe70wAw5m9uX7Sf76iKs-7gh1e3jFJDWP0edJ_DiT7J9uYyZeCSuprtjaBCVPX2x4TBYWF4tXcM0x_IfmGyDY32rc2rREwJ2a6b1puR0N6KaPyk9T8/s1600/choco+bananas.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobSvhRl9niQYO9XDJUPYhnzJC4LVe70wAw5m9uX7Sf76iKs-7gh1e3jFJDWP0edJ_DiT7J9uYyZeCSuprtjaBCVPX2x4TBYWF4tXcM0x_IfmGyDY32rc2rREwJ2a6b1puR0N6KaPyk9T8/s400/choco+bananas.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479651917938630578" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">As the Japanese say, "banana choco"</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgC-vBoLK19LK9FMy5KwK1ocbb78vrkaNjBmBk3fpyI56bg21Y8cNi8Plwc8hi1SaFSCY7SkVCjS3oBa9GWS1A6H687oKrh5ihBytXGZR9KSCJwg_bU40-IEIXBlJcaO3lo1lIVxXz-Nh3/s1600/candy+apples.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgC-vBoLK19LK9FMy5KwK1ocbb78vrkaNjBmBk3fpyI56bg21Y8cNi8Plwc8hi1SaFSCY7SkVCjS3oBa9GWS1A6H687oKrh5ihBytXGZR9KSCJwg_bU40-IEIXBlJcaO3lo1lIVxXz-Nh3/s400/candy+apples.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479651906770168930" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Blue candied apples featuring Doraemon, famous child cartoon character</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOudia5vAeFKwQZk7iOSO7USlRSXbalN_MilM-AG7QxLFEhzygxotKNRt5ilLoYkKRg9_wYVwI4Zhnn7x4bk5Bk7-ChufuyJmloypLkKOhgfNNP0q-LI3hyMQQVny9EftI5aNhb7r1HbOS/s1600/bouncy+balls2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 334px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOudia5vAeFKwQZk7iOSO7USlRSXbalN_MilM-AG7QxLFEhzygxotKNRt5ilLoYkKRg9_wYVwI4Zhnn7x4bk5Bk7-ChufuyJmloypLkKOhgfNNP0q-LI3hyMQQVny9EftI5aNhb7r1HbOS/s400/bouncy+balls2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479651897147647170" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Bouncy ball vendor</div></i></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgMYceTlCazPCsxUb1PzBgJrW_GV_LAwmswggQ2T7Z78wvmiOi0nzdZeo_Uef__Qtfx6gRoRm9jF_ptQ1U4Zloo-X68QgCo1BNePH7mPLBZh-emkO2GnUX9E8xQp1CEJqQpV8vwP6OXe6/s1600/bouncy+balls.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTgMYceTlCazPCsxUb1PzBgJrW_GV_LAwmswggQ2T7Z78wvmiOi0nzdZeo_Uef__Qtfx6gRoRm9jF_ptQ1U4Zloo-X68QgCo1BNePH7mPLBZh-emkO2GnUX9E8xQp1CEJqQpV8vwP6OXe6/s400/bouncy+balls.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479651886086151170" /></a><i><div style="text-align: center;">Who doesn't love bouncy balls?</div></i></div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7591838896659424968.post-27729125859805105052010-05-21T17:50:00.002+09:002011-02-16T04:08:44.943+09:00HipPop Monster!Engrish is everywhere in Japan, and by this point I am so used to seeing my native language horribly butchered that it doesn't even really register most of the time. However, now and then you do still come across a real gem. This is one of those times.<br /><br />I was in the Fuji Grand department store near my house, in the kids' section, where there are a bunch of stickers and notebooks. A child's address book on the bottom shelf caught my eye and when I picked it up, this is what greeted me on the front cover:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0iKSxG19aVVQbPAGo02YhvTu1Kp5_xY16hhGpuBCvAdyzyL-LgdKRm9ejPgr1sOcGvZiMGgCHpdzqQNVagU4rFBG8mehgHnu39HCx6RFgJ71f0HTwOxmMPkvZ3Eua6s4MGBOHhJhmjPh/s1600/frontcover.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 339px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0iKSxG19aVVQbPAGo02YhvTu1Kp5_xY16hhGpuBCvAdyzyL-LgdKRm9ejPgr1sOcGvZiMGgCHpdzqQNVagU4rFBG8mehgHnu39HCx6RFgJ71f0HTwOxmMPkvZ3Eua6s4MGBOHhJhmjPh/s400/frontcover.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472587977369804914" /></a><br />Well, you can see it for yourself. A baby's ass with a smiley face drawn on it exclaiming "Nice to meet you!" as it hovers over a big city skyline, a little girl above the baby's butt informing us "It's so cute!" and a baby boy in the corner with the commentary "Oh My God!" and "Shit! My hip is the monster..."<div><br /></div><div>NO CLUE what any of this is about.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's turn it over to see the back cover, shall we?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iKZW_UEN50uZPDL9oQ0ckHkBlNuqPxVeSDpKLbJVpEDRhRI9oaW20T-NvZC8adN9gRcLOlTTJBnSvCL6N_LQ-GrQxQtptI9Aq1K5ip9gD85ntRgMv2Cx-VIgx_wF3XPweoIMMMInwCts/s1600/hippopmonster.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3iKZW_UEN50uZPDL9oQ0ckHkBlNuqPxVeSDpKLbJVpEDRhRI9oaW20T-NvZC8adN9gRcLOlTTJBnSvCL6N_LQ-GrQxQtptI9Aq1K5ip9gD85ntRgMv2Cx-VIgx_wF3XPweoIMMMInwCts/s400/hippopmonster.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472587972060497730" /></a>Yo! Yo! Check it up! "My hips were monster when getting up in the morning!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>On the inside were several pages of very amusing stickers. You can click the pictures to enlarge these.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFAPDCn7tAT5iYAjYS1OSj5PeeBVMp2egFSb2ahj1kmG4z5HEp_33gpw26TK_wydv06jeoVjUT7XSsM6MPpS5qox2TKCGrRl8VvzrmAVAG6nb4aP1UZ163eIGMKubjV89edf8-mK6ZHPl/s1600/stickers1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFAPDCn7tAT5iYAjYS1OSj5PeeBVMp2egFSb2ahj1kmG4z5HEp_33gpw26TK_wydv06jeoVjUT7XSsM6MPpS5qox2TKCGrRl8VvzrmAVAG6nb4aP1UZ163eIGMKubjV89edf8-mK6ZHPl/s400/stickers1.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472589325559386882" /></a><br /></div><div>I do have to admit that the baby wearing the bat ears saying "Ga Ha Ha Ha Ha!!" is awfully cute. But is he a bigger charmer than the baby in the bottom right corner with a butt that proclaims "I'm hungry"?</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAplIG6sKrSyTEA3dNVGC6gj1mqBc5YqFE6uX854lw0YLyapYfeRDc63KdPnl5n4q1_OOR0h5ULmC-zCD5VECETFlkHeYNBvZWi5yFXi3A9jkl8-iOSLgb3CpgxumOsGM0ihXMdICvFir6/s1600/stickers2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAplIG6sKrSyTEA3dNVGC6gj1mqBc5YqFE6uX854lw0YLyapYfeRDc63KdPnl5n4q1_OOR0h5ULmC-zCD5VECETFlkHeYNBvZWi5yFXi3A9jkl8-iOSLgb3CpgxumOsGM0ihXMdICvFir6/s400/stickers2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472587947498047954" /></a><br /></div><div>Also love the stickers in the bottom right corner here with the blank baby's face stating "Unbelievable!", as well as the baby bottom saying "Feel so good!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I was tempted to buy this but I really didn't have any use for a child's address book, and the rings in the binder were such that I didn't think I could find other blank pages to insert. So for a few minutes I was just the weird gaijin photographing stuff in the notebook section. This embarrasses Joe, but it really doesn't bother me.</div>Gailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16772307839103532814noreply@blogger.com