Baci Abroad Blog
Writing from the Messy Middle
I slept terribly last night. I, usually, sleep facing the door to our bedroom with Dae-Han behind me. I am one of those sleepers who loves to be touching at least her partner’s feet all night long, maintaining a physical connection that somehow grounds me through the strange dreams I have most nights.
Last night, I was sleeping alone. To be clear, this is not about writing in the messy middle of a fight with my husband. I will get into the messy middle soon enough. For now, I am telling you about how my husband went to Okinawa for a peace march and I had to sleep alone. I tossed and turned, trying to figure out which side of the room to turn my back to. I felt exposed and unsettled. Scared, even, in my safe apartment in this safe country.
“Ufff. That’s vulnerability,” I told my therapist, in my head, where she lives on the days in between our weekly sessions. “I used to sleep alone every night in my single life, and now sleeping alone for a weekend is excruciating.”
As I write from the quiet couch tonight, I wonder how my husband had the gall to leave me by my lonesome self for a whole three days. I find it acceptable to whisk myself off to Hong Kong for birthday weekends to shop and dine, but somehow I find it wholly unfair for DH to go to march for peace if it means I will miss him so much. I suppose there may come a day when I relish a night or two alone. I am not there right now.
Two weeks ago Dae-Han and I were together in Japan. We took a long weekend to visit Osaka and Kyoto. This post isn’t really about that whole trip, but both places were beautiful and we took some great photos and they are worth sharing.
An honorable mention goes to this moment from the Imperial Palace in Kyoto:
In my hands I am holding a $20 ice cream cone. I wanted ice cream. I didn’t actually think the gold was real. It was too late to take back the order.
My husband’s face says it all. But babe, you’ll always be my Sugar Daddy now. #winning
(You can’t digest gold, by the way…)
A shoutout to the owner of Cafe Seberg, a cool little joint down the block from our teahouse abode in Kyoto.
This cool cat is a movie aficionado and he will set you down with a menu and a list of movies to watch.
Additionally, he’ll bring your coffee with a little slip of paper with Kansai (regional) phrases to use around town.
Here are spots in Osaka and Kyoto that come with high endorsements from Dae-Han and me:
Osaka Castle•Moegi Restaurant•Doki Sushi
Fushimi Inari Shrine•Kyoto Imperial Palace•Arashiyama Bamboo Grove•Kiyomizu-dera Temple
At Kiyomizu-dera Temple we met the Goddess of Mercy, at least this is who I believe her to be, keeper of the babies that never came to be.
In Japan, there are cultural ways to process and grieve unborn babies. I learned this while reading Jessica Zucker’s memoir, I had a Miscarriage. It was in the days that I would walk my favorite trails with Zucker’s voice coming through Audible that I learned that I was pregnant for a second time.
When a pregnancy stick turned positive the day before my parents were arriving to Korea, I was in disbelief. I guess the first pregnancy wasn’t just a fluke, I thought to myself. Dae-Han and I (and the whole family) were happy. I was also full of angst and worry as this second pregnancy was coming directly on the heals of a miscarriage.
I continued to listen to Zucker’s memoir, still healing from the first miscarriage, working to feel connected to a second pregnancy.
“This is the post-traumatic experience—our past remains ever present. Encumbered by the weight of our traumas, we feel the sting of every terrifying possibility,” spoke Zucker into my ear as I walked past budding cherry blossom trees on a day in early April. I held the weight of trauma, but I also felt hope as flowers were blooming. New life outside and inside of me, I marveled. My pregnancy app told me that the due date for this little bean would be the day before Thanksgiving. So perfect and poetic.
A few days later, I began spotting and spotting turned to a second pregnancy loss.
And two weeks later, Dae-Han and I stood in front of the Goddess of Mercy at a shrine in Kyoto. I was not quite sure what to do. Do I pray? I wondered. I stand in front of her as she held a tiny baby in her arms. We softly gazed at one another. And I just breathed, slowly and steadily. I did not feel a great rush of emotions in this moment. But, I felt grateful for the Goddess of Mercy. And the moment. For the minutes we stood to honor two sweet embryos that came and passed. I was thankful to be with my husband and this deity, standing together in the Messy Middle (a term coined by Glennon Doyle).
There have been times since my second miscarriage where I have felt so strong. One day walking to yoga a thought materialized. You got this, came a message from the Great Beyond. Yes, I thought back. I do. Whatever “this” is, I got it. We got it. Dae-Han and I, we got this.
There have been times since my second miscarriage where I have felt heavy and angry and anxious. I did not anticipate that Mother’s Day this year would be any different from any other. And then it was. I carried anger and grief from that day into the days that followed. I was finally able to start to sort through these emotions openly in a session with our therapist.
(I love therapy. I seem to have become a collector of wonderful therapists. I liken therapeutic spaces to the gym. In therapy you get coaching on how to do emotional push-ups. Dae-Han and I chose to start therapy together not because anything was wrong but because we wanted to keep us — our communication, our shared vision — feeling right. We go to the gym together to stay physically fit and we go to therapy together to be emotionally fit.)
Today? Today is neither particularly light nor dark. It just is.
I have been listening to Anne Lamott’s latest work entitled Somehow: Thoughts on Love. In the Overture, she shares with her readers something her husband says: “Eighty percent of everything that is true and beautiful can be experienced on any 10‑minute walk.” This morning I went on a run and 10 minutes into it, I ran into the truth and beauty of this scene:
I stopped and I appreciated just how glorious life can still be, even when you are inhabiting a Messy Middle. I suppose I am trying to build my capacity right now for, rather than squirming out of a Messy Middle, standing in it with strength. A Messy Middle will be a Messy Middle for as long as it needs to be and we are not privy to knowing that timeline.
It’s a little daunting, having to face again and again how little control we have. As I work towards accepting that truth, I plan to keep taking walks to keep finding more beauty around me. Send me the truth and beauty that you find on your walks.
Sexy Drifting in Shanghai: A How-to Guide
Let's begin today with the term sexy drifter. This concept was first coined by Katie Venugopal (now Kathryn Hobbs). Before she met the love of her life, got married, had children, and became a sexy skater mom, she and her friend Amanda came up with the brilliant idea of being single forever and drifting from one exotic city to another wearing nothing but bikini tops and flowing skirts, meeting men for a flirt and fling, and then slipping onto their next catamaran to sail to the next adventure. This was the dream.
One day rather recently, Katie and I were talking about my most recent dating woes. As I began to reflect upon the many things my single life does afford me, though, sexy drifterhood drifted right into my mind's eye. "Really, how I have not been owning this?" I wondered to myself.
As this conversation was taking place mere weeks before my spring break was about to begin, I thought, to hell with men. I'm taking my hot bod to a sexy city and I'm going to be my own best date! I declared.
So, I packed a suitcase with cute clothes, a dozen shoes, my red lipstick, and I bought a one way ticket to Shanghai. And then I sexy drifted all around that sexy, sophisticated city. And this is how it went:
Step 1: Choosing the hotel
The most important consideration here: location, location, location. A hotel closest to some of the hottest eats in Shanghai is just where you want to be. Your best bets are hotels in The French Concession, Jing'an, or Xintiandi. Here, booking.com is your best friend. The second measure of the best place to nest for your sexy Shanghai stay is the size of the bathtub. After drifting by foot all over the city, you'll want to run that water, add your favorite essential oils, and soak away any soreness. Finally, as you are solo traveling, consider lodging where the hotel staff will see you and get to know you, at least enough to expect you to come home at night. In the midst of your drifting, you don't actually want to disappear in a foreign city, but if somehow you do, you'll want someone who's got your WeChat and has some tabs on your whereabouts so that they can assist the authorities, if need be.
The winning auberge for this trip: Miju House. While the room is just the tinniest bit musty, in short time it will be eau de must, which is the same as shopping at Tarjay rather than Target. The bed will having you feeling like Goldilocks with its just right duvet and perfect pillows and the huge bathtub will become an ocean of sorts in the evening. You will most certainly book this guesthouse again, especially as the woman at the small "front desk" is one of the kindest Shanghainese people ever. And she'll definitely be able to describe your face. If she were to need to. (Fact: many a sexy drifter has a wild and somewhat morbid imagination; it comes with the sexy territory.)
Step 2: Indulging yourself at restaurants (and shops) around the city
By the time you've become a sexy drifter, you are many, many moons beyond the time and space of "watching what you eat" in any diet-esque way. In this liberated space of listening to your body and not Weight Watchers, when she wants fresh bread, the large slice of chocolate cake, and the second glass of wine, you say, Yeah, babe, you got it. And when you're in Shanghai, know this: your body is gonna want a lot. As you've sagely chosen an inn nearby all the good eats, you'll be able to walk to Barbarian for a custom-made cocktail, to Tacolicious for the Street Heat Fried Chicken and Steak Asado tacos, and then to Tres Perros for late night tapas and the red, red wine.
As you're window shopping up and down Fumin Road (and then subsequently taking out your credit card to buy all the things in the windows), your SmartShanghai app will help guide you to Egg for an energizing peppermint latte, and then to incredible Tom Yum soup at the plant-based Duli. Before dinner at Mercato, sexy drifter whims lead you right to Spoiled Brat Jewelry where you'll find an incredible pair of earrings. The woman who crafted the earrings will remark that they have finally found their owner as soon as you try them on. Aaaand, you're sold.
Step 3: Drifting into the art and culture scene
As a sexy drifter who moonlights as a bookworm, your first touchstone for arts and culture is choosing the right book to read while sipping lattes and wine throughout the trip. A superb choice is Kazuo Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans, set in both London and Shanghai during the 1920s, 30s, and 40s; you'll find the detective-ish novel adds further allure to the city. While reading at breakfast one morning, sitting at a cafe on a busy boulevard, you'll feel all the feels as you read, "That's where she's gone now. Off to find true love. Perhaps she'll find it too. Out there, on the South China Sea, who knows? Perhaps she'll meet a traveller, in a port, in a hotel, who knows? She's become a romantic, you see?"
A rather romantic spot in Shanghai is Tsutaya Books in Columbia Circle, a historical expat compound.
From the arched entrance to the walls of books up to the cocktail lounge on the third floor, whether drifting alone or with a new companion, this bookstore has some very sexy literary vibes, especially when you enter under the waxing moonlight.
This cocktail I chose because of its description. The Grapefruit Gimlet is "reminiscent of the glamorous woman at the bar." Shameless, the entire trip.
On another night, you must drift along The Bund. The architecture is a marvel, and the lights that cast changing motifs onto the buildings are magnificent. Evenings on The Bund are bustling, and between the crowds and cityscape you get an incredible sense of how Shanghai simply pulses with life.
There is so much of China embodied in this photo. I find it all quite beautiful.
It's worth rising at an early hour to watch the day dawn on The Bund as well. A much quieter scene, you'll see ships beginning to drift about and runners enjoying the peace of a space that has calmed in the night.
The skyscrapers surpass the surrounding clouds at this early morning hour.
Later in the morning or early afternoon, the Jing'an Sculpture Park is the perfect place to plant yourself on a bench and read your book, surrounded by flowering trees, manicured lawns, and an altogether aesthetically pleasing array of sculptures by many different artists.
Love Love Love. This is how NieNie always signed her cards and emails; love, love, love is here.
This woman, she was made for this city and this trip and this day.
I offered to take a photo for these women. Instead they pulled me in! Loved it.
When you are ready for a break from the Shanghai sun, walk into the Propaganda Poster Art Centre. While a rather small and obscure museum, it offers as much culture and history as a university course. You'll find posters dating from the beginning to end of the 20th century, you'll learn about the rise and fall of Mao, how women rose to prominence in advertising, and how capitalism is portrayed in propaganda.
Step 4: Connecting with friends, and making new ones
Any trip is, of course, enriched by spending time with special souls; the known and the new.
Meeting for breakfast, navigating public transportation, dining on fine Italian fare, and dancing along The Bund are fabulous ways to be in the moment with your own people.
Hyon Jeong and her 6th grade son, Alex. We met this summer on a yoga trip, and we became fast friends.
I met Jenn in Hong Kong a few years back. She was a friend of a friend, and now she's my friend!
And then there are new friends you can make, if only for a handful of moments, that will have a felt impact on your heart. Keeping a smile on your face, an open spirit, and showing an appreciation for another's joy can lead to profound interactions. You'll walk away with a deeper sense of the way human connection knows no bounds of culture, age, or race.
The beauty here, in the movement and spirit of a morning routine.
A 67-year-old Shanghainese woman and a 38-year-old American woman find they are quick kindred spirits.
Step 5: Extending your stay
It felt super sexy to buy a one way ticket, but you didn't actually do it. Because someone inside the Sexy Drifter in you also lives Reason. So, you originally booked a 4 night, 5 day trip, reasoning that it would be a good idea to return to your home city with a couple of days to rest up in your own apartment before the reality of work begins anew.
But.
When you fall, for someone, or some city, you fall hard. You're all in. And so you're going to STAY LONGER. Trip.com does not do you wrong as adjusting your departure date does not break the bank. That task will be left to Madame Mao's Dowry where you'll find organic cotton cuddle duds for your unborn baby niece that will cost you your own firstborn. But, it'll be worth it in the short term because Baby Greta will be here so soon and you are not immune to the millennial's love of instant(ish) gratification.
Staying over the weekend will also afford you more time to simply sit at tiny parks in the midst of the hustle and bustle, devour more tapas, this time at Pirata, and finish the book you started on Day 1. After all, who could depart a city before the story is finished?
From a sweet, peaceful park situated in the middle of the city.
The Wrap-Up
I have found my relationships with people and with cities to be quite similar. There are those that you might be quite content to pass along or pass through quite quickly, those that, over time, become quite significant for you, and those that draw you in right away. Shanghai, for me, was the latter. It is everything I had imagined, and more. As my Taiji boxing friend said through a WeChat translator, "Shanghai is warm, safe and inclusive. Passion, friendly."
If Shanghai is your just-right-Goldilocks city, you will feel sexy, sophisticated, bold, while also grounded. In the end, sexy drifters can become a great many things. Like Katie, a sexy skater mom, or like others, sexy single moms, sexy book moms, or forever sexy bohemians.
Someday, I am sure my sexy drifterhood will drift into a new beautiful identity and space. For now, I will soon be sexy drifting to a city near you.
Enchantingly Ever After, a Christmas in Lijiang
Sipping cat-shit coffee at a cozy, eclectic coffee shop off of a stone street in Ancient Town Lijiang was arguably a defining moment of my Christmas trip this year. Usually, Christmas-time means enjoying champagne with Gram or making Mom and Dad spiced turmeric lattes. #2020 though, right? Instead, there I was imbibing the fruits of a wild cat's butt.
Really, perhaps Lijiang more than anywhere else in the world can make sipping cat-shit coffee enchanting. At the time that I was sipping, I avoided thinking about how the Civet, a beady-eyed Indonesian wild "cat" had eaten the coffee beans, fermented them in her belly, and then graciously pooped them out to be made into the grounds for the coffee in my dainty cup.
Rather than this imagery, I was engrossed in the adventure of author and seeker Kate Harris as she snuck through a Chinese checkpoint into a forbidden part of the Tibetan Plateau as I read her memoir Lands of Lost Borders: Out of Bounds on the Silk Road.
The book, the cat-shit coffee, anything really, becomes especially enchanting when this is your view.
Whether you're up for drinking the most expensive poop coffee (I can hear my nieces across the ocean having so much fun with this), or whether you're up for the an oat milk latte, Elegant Time Coffee is a must-visit when in Lijiang.
Lijiang, essentially "small-town China" with it's 1.2 million residents, does boast beyond its coffee. Each part of the town that we tromped into proved to be picturesque, each meal sublime, and each person we encountered so, so kind.
We were first welcomed to town by a driver courtesy of one of the former Shekou International School parents who found out we were traveling to Yunnan Province. Fleta paid for us to have the driver for the entirety of the trip, and we are endlessly grateful to her for making our trip that much easier.
When we were dropped off at the gate to the Ancient Town, we were met by our guesthouse staff who had come to put our luggage in a trolley cart and walk with us to our holiday abode. The Lijiang Gui Yuan Tian Ju Guesthouse felt like home the moment we unpacked for our weeklong stay.
Brad, Alli, Charles, and I all taught in Quito together. Brad currently teaches in Beijing with his partner Gavin.
It was wild and cool to get to rendezvous for this trip.
We sat down with our hosts for Pu'er tea, which is native to the region, as they offered us suggestions of where to eat.
At the end of our first lunch, Charles mentioned that he tries not to feel like a Butterball on the first day of vacation. By some magical elements of Lijiang, we all managed to fit into our pants by the end of the trip.
Perhaps it was the walking.
At the end of each day, we would all check our step count and state the numbers with pride in our voices.
Here are most of the places we walked around in this most lovely part of China ...
we walked all around ancient town
Well, we walked, except when we sat. Models gotta model, you know.
photo credit: Charles Denson
We weren't the only models in town, either. Some may argue we weren't even the cutest.
I was delighted to find that a river runs through the part of town where we stayed. You know the feeling you get when you want to squeeze a baby's cheeks so hard because they are so damn cute? That's kind of how I feel about Lijiang because it's so damn quaint.
We walked for miles and miles and got lost and found and turned around and were delighted by it all.
In my holiday cheer, I thought it'd be fun to sing to the cats, but this is how they felt about the way I carry a tune ... or don't.
It really was around every corner, in every shop, that we found the animals were the proprietors of the stores. Or, at least, they were good at luring customers in. I hope they get a good cut of all of the sales.
photo credit Alli Denson
And what's a woman to do when she finds that perfect boutique? Buy the new coat! For many years I have prided myself on being a more conservative (read reasonable) spender than my sisters. China has proved I got that Baci shopping gene as bad as any of them. My Gram used to go to her AEM (Arthur M Marquart) when she needed to "withdraw" money. I'm trying to figure out where my nearest cash machine is now, too.
We could have stayed within the ancient town for all the moments, but there was more to see in Lijiang, so
we hiked to a reservoir
Like father, like daughter; my heart belongs to the mountains.
My company and the mountains did lift my spirits out of their sadness at spending my only Christmas away from home. We had a delightful dinner with a wonderful group of friends on the 25th, which meant
we walked around the Christmas buffet at the Hyatt
Christmas in Minnesota will forever have my heart, and this family abroad is beautiful too.
The chocolate truffles got me so good this evening. After I'd enjoyed foie gras, dumplings, sushi, red red wine, the company, the view, the whole of it, really, I did an extra lap around the dessert table hoping to carefully pocket a few truffles to go, but, alas, they had all been eaten. In the end, I simply saved room for more dumplings the next day when
we walked to a reflection lake
The happy hikers here: Charles, Gavin, Brad, Alli, and yours truly.
Mom and Pop shops are the way to eat the best local food.
This sweet little spot that serves the most divine dumplings deserves a Michelin star, and the homemade food was just what we needed to fuel the hike.
When we did enter the park, we were serenaded by lyrical music. I think most any foreigner who is traveling of their own volition anywhere will share my sentiment that seeing and feeling the spirit of new people is one of the most beautiful parts of exploring new places.
After the bright light that this man was, we were hit by more beauty.
Behind the sparkling water and pagoda is Snow Mountain.
We indeed tried to walk around Snow Mountain, too, but of all the days we spent in Lijiang -- 7, in total -- our Snow Mountain day was apparently the one the Goddess of Travel decided to play with humor. There was a lot lost in translation, there was the wind that shut down a ski lift, but then there was also the beauty of the Blue Moon Valley below.
and so of course we walked around the valley
This was about the point where I had burned my Snickers off and I wanted to eat someone's arm and Gavin and Brad were bravely trying to still get on the ski-lift before it was shut down but they couldn't. But there was a great deal to smile for -- the two friends beside me and that turquoise lake.
Just, this.
By this point our legs had served us so well, we thought, why not log some more steps. And so we did when
we walked around another old town, baishazhen
Those friends, those mountains, and those old streets with stories to tell.
While in Yunnan Province, we wanted to hike Tiger Leaping Gorge. Alli and I have hiked many of the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, and it felt our time was due for another big trek. Tiger Leaping Gorge, though is currently seasonly closed. After speaking with an inn keeper near the gorge, we contemplated hiking on the sly, but eventually thought better of it, largely because why tempt 2020 further?
Instead, we opted for a night in Shangri-La, a 4-hour drive from Lijiang.
we skipped, we walked, we meandered around shangri-la
And by this, I do not mean a fancy hotel or a mythical place like author James Hilton created in his 1933 novel Lost Horizon. Shangri-la, or Xianggelila, does indeed exist at the seat of the Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture. For us, it was as lovely and magical as one might imagine with its sweet guesthouses
We stayed at the Shangri-La E-outfitting Boutique Hotel situated beautifully within the Old Town.
Tibetan hot pot
Photo credit: Gavin C
Those dumpling bows above are folded around yak meat, the plate-du-jour all day every day in Yunnan Province. We were all fans. Big fans.
cookie-baking cafes and warm Yunnan coffee at The Compass Cafe we ordered 17 cookies and 4 other desserts.
live music pumping reggae bar, The Den.
Charles played foosball, beat everyone in the bar, and that was enough to make fast friends of the owners.
and monastery
We walked many, many steps within the monastery. It is overwhelming in its vibration and its beauty.
As we were packing up to leave Shangri-la, I was taken by this rose outside of the guesthouse door. It felt like a reminder of the great beauty in stillness, in simplicity, and in nature.
Seven days after we had rendezvoused at our guesthouse in Lijiang, Brad, Alli, Charles, and I reluctantly packed up to return back to Shenzhen. It certainly is a good life back here in our big city, and there were also so many magical moments that we were able to share in Lijiang, and I will be peach rice wine toasting to that for decades to come.
I miss you already, crew. (Charles, you have a beautiful face. I am sorry my one-handed photo skills failed to show it in its full glory.)
As I have been developing a deep nostalgia for our trip, I have returned to The Lands of Lost Borders, which I finished on the plane ride back to Shenzhen. I connected to so many of Harris's words.
While we were not pedaling our way across the Silk Road, I think we all viscerally understand what Harris means when she writes, "Your sole responsibility on Earth, as long as your legs last each day, is to breathe, pedal, breathe—and look around.”
And so a final toast to looking around in this New Year. Looking around at the ordinary to see the extraordinary, looking around to see how we can be of service to someone else, to consider how we might bring greater equity to the spaces we inhabit. Looking around to see where we can take new chances, cherish moments with those we love and those who love us back and live in gratitude for what we have in this very moment.
All my love,
Jamie
Chinese Hospitality in Qingdao
The Tea Houseby j.n.baci
wearing a tamed top bun --dark glasses perched upon her nose,perfect lips painted soft pink --a mother lounges on the creamy couchshe leans over the tea tableand takes her daughter's phone;her mouth breaks into a smileat what the screen revealsmen's soft voices speakover the dark red lacquered table,while the clink of tiny porcelain teacupschime in the Qingdao air"every passing moment is the passing of life;every moment of life is life itself"she reads her bookas she sips the carmelized-amber liquorand lets the pu'er tea languish on her tongue,cradling the cup between her fingertipsbreathing in the scene,gazing out the window;her eyes cannot decipherthe meaning of the characterson the building across the roadbut she appreciates the shadowsthat green leaves caston the fine lines of words unknownwhat a wonder it has been, she thinks,to feel welcomed by her many hosts --the server at a tea house,the waiter at a restaurant,the manager at a hotel --locals who have worked to decipherher gestures and singularMandarin wordsso that they may offer herthe comfort of hospitalityin the form of fine teasand seafood still in the shellgratitude fills the world inside of herthat this unfamiliar placehas opened up spaceto her:the foreigner,the traveler,the seeker
Where I am typing right now, a busy Starbucks back in Shenzhen, is quite a different scene from the tranquil tea house I sat at in Qingdao, another seaside city in China. Today I am yearning for the cooler climate and slower pace of this "smaller city," thus, post-trip nostalgia has already set in.
While I have been residing in China for four years now, I have explored little of my host country as I have chosen to either return to Minnesota or travel abroad for vacations. That which a couple of months ago felt so upsetting -- a forced stay in China for the summer -- has opened up space to explore the culture and expansive space of this country more deeply; while I miss home, I am grateful to feel fully like a Shenzhener and a true resident of China now.
The trip to Qingdao was precipitated on the following: This fall, at a gala that auctions items to raise money for women and girls in China, I bid on and won a night at the Shangri-La in Qingdao. As I picked up my voucher, I giggled because I did not even know where this city (of some 9 million residents) was located, or why one would visit.
I did not yet even really know what I was celebrating in terms of a city. Mostly, at this point, I was celebrating that I am as good as any of the Bacichx at spending money.
With time on my hands this summer, I finally booked the Shangri-La -- originally for three nights -- with Alli and Charles, and we packed our bags and got on the plane, blindly, as none of us took time to look up any information about the city before we arrived. (We had, though, heard from friends here and there that Qingdao is known for its seafood, and having been friends in fitness and food for 7-years, this felt promising to the three of us -- or at least Charles and me. Alli does not like seafood but she is ever the good sport and will find something on the menu.)
After an early morning 3-hour flight, we landed in Qingdao and taxied to the Shangri-La. Upon check-in, I took out my voucher. The woman at the desk looked at me apologetically as she pointed out that the voucher is not good for July or August. Missing this itty bitty detail is mmmm, maybe a little bit on-brand for me. I made sad attempts to barter the point saying, "I understand that most years this is probably high season, but right now not as many people are traveling, so could you make an exception?" Losing a debate? Also on-brand. But, I shrugged my shoulders and we paid the mere $72 a night for each of our rooms, and promptly found our way to lunch.
While it was not our first lunch, our most notable one did include a tableful of seafood -- Qingdao certainly lived up to its reputation.
Once, when I was many, many years younger, and trying to barter with my dad about getting my own room, I "ate" a smoked oyster. I believe I spit most of it out. I suppose this was one time that I finagled a way to get what I wanted, but then he said he would have given me my own room regardless. And by own room, I mean Mom and Dad turned part of the downstairs living space into an open-air bedroom. And I was rather thankful, and then regretful because I missed talking with Linds as we fell asleep.
I digress, and return to the ways I have refined (those, like my oldest niece Natalie may debate my use of the word refined here) my palate over the years. Case in point, the shellfish I consumed on this day in Qingdao:
This clam is so much prettier than that smoked oyster. Photo credit: Alli Denson
Walking into the seafood restaurant hungry (or hangry if you are a Jamie or a Charles and God bless Alli), we struggled for a long minute to figure out what most of the raw seafood on display was and how to order an appropriate amount. After the use of phone translators, speaking English slowly -- as if the owners would then learn our language in a mere moment -- and many gesticulations, we were on the verge of giving up and trying another restaurant. Low blood sugar will hinder one's ability to problem-solve or have patience. But, just at this moment of greatest defeat, a woman who also worked at the restaurant stepped in with enough English to let us know that we could simply order a bamboo steamer full of mixed seafood and try samples of many new shelled sea creatures.
Photo credit: Charles Denson
We ate most of this. We were really full.
How many times have I breathed an incredible sigh of gratitude when I have been saved by someone stepping in to help with more English than I have Chinese even though we are in China? So many times. So, so many times.
We enjoyed the ocean air of the Yellow Sea on our first day.
Alli and me at the pier. Photo credit:
As we continued to venture around the city, we continued to encounter so much goodwill from our short or longer-term hosts, and often at just the right moment.
On our third day in Qingdao, as we were in the process of navigating different modes of transportation and buying tickets to enter the park surrounding Mt. Lao, a woman who worked at the (vastly Chinese) tourist center stepped in to support our cause. In part thanks to her, we were able to enjoy the following day:
Photo credit: Charles Denson
Life lived in translation is often entertaining. I do not post this photo to make fun of the translation at all. I find the translations often endearing, and I am humbled by anyone who can write in both Chinese characters and use a Roman alphabet.
There are several temples along the paths on Laoshan.
This guy was guarding the entrance to one of the temples. As we descended the mountain, we took in this view for a bit.
Photo credit: Charles Denson
The following morning, enjoying the delicious buffet at the Shangri-La, our newfound friend Wallance, one of the managers of hospitality, said that he had comped our breakfast. After Charles went back to the room, Wallance did tell Alli and me that Charles was the reason he, Wallance, was most inspired to take care of the cost. Despite the lovely ladies beside Charles on the trip, he was the one with the most admirers. The compliments that Alli and I received ... well, they were mostly from Charles. We didn't complain; we just kept eating the free food.
Wallance, we love you, fine friend.
And then we kept walking, all around lovely spaces. One of those spaces was the German quarter. Some 100 years ago, Germany had control of Qingdao. At least this is what we were told on the trip at some point; I still have not done my research on the city. Whenever it was that the Germans occupied Qingdao, they influenced the city through architecture. In the German quarter, a Catholic church rises high on the top of a hill and is surrounded by a plaza. People-watching in this square was fabulous.
So, so many brides and grooms every day of the week are being photographed at the plaza surrounding the church.
Take a few moments. Just take in the whole scene. We loved this space.
After three days of exploring together, the Denson's flew home to Shenzhen, and I decided to rebook my flight and stay another night at the Shangri-La.
Just a bit deliciously dizzy on half a glass of red Italian wine from Milano’s, biting into a piece of pan-fried sea bass with coarse black salt, I reflected about how on-brand (I'll tire of this phrase soon) for me to extend my stay in various places. I was supposed to be two years abroad, and it's turned to 7 and counting. I was supposed to go to Thailand for 7 days in February and it turned into 23. I was supposed to stay for 3 nights in Qingdao and it turned into 4.
Evident in all of these extensions is the great privilege that is so much of my life. Also evident, as one of my 11th graders stated at the end of this past school year, is the way that "nothing is certain until it's certain."
And so as my seemingly certain 3-day holiday out of Shenzhen turned to 4 days, I sat at a tea shop and sipped pu'er tea.
I sipped some more, read, listened to the people around me, listened to the soft water running in the little man-made stream in the center of the tea house, and just allowed myself to be.
While in Qingdao, I was reading Lisa See's The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane. The story offers some interesting history on pu'er tea, and of course, now I am low-key (read: I drink it every day now) obsessed with it.
As I went to pay for my $47 (that is indeed in US dollars) cup of pu'er tea, a tall Chinese man wearing lounge pants and a t-shirt began to converse with me in as much English as I have Chinese. After he named California and New York after asking where I was from, I tried to explain that I am from a state in the middle of the two. Minn-e-sot-a I repeated several times. Ahhhh he said as he pulled up a photo of Kevin Garnet. I laughed and thought, it's a big-small world, isn't it?
As I was asking about my bill for the cup of tea, the man insisted on paying for my extravagance. He expected nothing in return and simply waved happily as I walked out of the tea house, saying, Welcome to China with a big grin on his face.
And now I'm here, in Shenzhen, thinking about this kind man, and all of the spaces we were welcomed into in Qingdao, and I'm thinking about humanity and goodness and life as I am always The Contemplative.
Plans are always subject to change. Sometimes we change them, sometimes they change on us. Tonight, I am feeling particularly grateful that in the times that whoever's choosing the change of plans has been, the world has continued to offer hospitality to me in many ways.
And the Universe continues to call me to reflect on how I can pay hospitality, in its many forms, forward.
In Singapore, fan-girling hard
When I was 11 years old, I won first place for the fifth grade in a school wide writing contest. This landed me a place in an old school white limousine and lunch at TGIFriday's (I think--it could also have been Perkins or Baker's Square). I remember writing in a tiny notebook in my bedroom when I was in grade school, trying to imitate the authors I was reading, creating stories of protagonists and their beautiful horses. In high school, I wrote poetry dripping with angst and emotion. Poetry made its way onto my bedroom walls in sheets (and so many years later permanently onto my arm).
It wasn't until I moved abroad, though, 20 years after that 5th grade award, that I realized how integral writing was, is, to my identity. In the last six and a half years, I find that unless I write regularly, I struggle to process my experiences deeply. I feel a bit lost and detached from myself. I close my eyes to see myself floating in a dark amorphous space that begins to take clearer shape when my fingers finally have time to connect with my keyboard.
So here I find myself today -- as a wild rice chicken casserole bakes in the oven, as Silvie has just knocked over the full garbage, again -- tuning in to myself, and reflecting on meeting an incredible writer in Singapore last weekend.
I first encountered Roxane Gay when a friend forwarded an instagram story to me. The Grammer (like the Tweeter) was talking about the characters in Gay's Difficult Women. I bought the iBook pronto, and found myself immersed in story upon story of women in the midst of tragedy, ambiguity, fear, hope and growth. As international life would have it (that is just slightly cringy -- I hear the privilege in all of this), I was at a conference in Nanjing as I was reading the book. Noting my newfound enamorment (the New Baci Dictionary hits print in June) with Roxane Gay's writing, a couple of friends who live in Singapore told me that Gay would soon be making an appearance in Asia for the Singapore Writer's Festival.
In moments like this, I feel entirely inspired by Mark Twain's words: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." I am thus less in touch with what I remember from reading Rich Dad, Poor Dad, the book my own dear dad bought me when I started to have to consider the notion of adulting. (Let's be real -- the sobrinas aren't expecting for there to be any money in my will to do anything more than support the cats.)
So, aYOLOing I went. My dear friend Ceci was present at this moment, and she endorses all things spontaneous -- within seven minutes, I had a hotel and plane ticket to Singapore for the festival, and a ticket for a seat in front of Ms. Roxane Gay.
As I sat looking up at this queen, I was moved by so many of her words, not just those she was reading from her book, but those that kept echoing truth throughout the auditorium. "You don't have to find your voice. It's already there, you just have to allow yourself to access it," said Gay in her soft but firm voice. As a writer, as a woman, as the me who is working in so many ways to evolve, I found comfort here, a reassurance that I did not have to go rummaging through so many boxes sometimes, yelling "Marco" into an internal void, hoping to hear "Polo" singing back. Gay's words align with my mindfulness practice, with yoga and meditation and coming to see that we already have what we need inside of us; it is about sitting in enough stillness to feel it.
Getting in touch with my own Divine Feminine, it's been a journey, one that will continue until the end of my days, but I have felt that power rising, rising in my breath, rising in my heart, rising in my voice. In a time when Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's We Should All Be Feminists is taught in international classrooms (mine for one!), where Emma Watson becomes the voice of the HeForShe campaign, some are asking about what we are asking for from men. Gay's response: "Just be a fucking feminist, which just means women are people. " Mmmm, yasss, I murmured. I love when we stop mincing words.
At the end of Gay's session, the audience was invited to a book signing outside of the auditorium. I had purchased three of her books before her talk began, Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body, Ayiti and An Untamed State. Employing my greatest efforts to avoid my own greed, I had decided to have Ms. Gay sign Ayiti as it was the only hardcover book that I had purchased. As I approached the table she was seated behind, I smiled shyly and began stammering about how I had come from China to see her, that I had just really discovered her writing. To my surprise, and delight, Ms. Gay looked up at me in her own surprise and said, "You came all the way from China?!" We engaged with one another for a few more moments and then the cameraman asked if he could snap a photo of us. I yammered a yes, looking at Ms. Gay to see what she thought about the question. Somewhere in the internets, friends, this photo exists. I have yet to find this golden picture, but I'll be looking until I do.
After the snap of the photo, I mumbled a few more words of thanks to this incredible human. I walked with legs of Jell-o towards my friend Ana Maria whose mouth was also agape. Best day ever, I said, wearing my biggest grin.
For the past week, I have been immersed in all things Roxane Gay. If somehow this blog makes its way to your computer, Ms. Gay, my most heart-felt congratulations on your engagement. My deepest gratitude for your strength, your writing, your voice.
And, as I close here, now from Shenzhen, I wonder what would happen for each of us, if we heeded some of my favorite words of Ms. Gay's from that sunny day in Singapore: "Open your lives. Open your hearts."
To Ghent We Went ... and Amsterdam too
I first have a request: anyone who has heard of Ghent, raise your hand. I'm squinting through space to count about three hands raised. Mine is among those three hands now, but three weeks ago I thought that Ghent was the name of our street that our hotel was located on in Brussels, thus I booked Mom, Gram and I train tickets from Amsterdam to Brussels. Ghent, though, is not in Brussels, but located about a 30-minute train ride beyond Brussels.
Before I go on about our time in Ghent, and what a fortunate mistake our hotel booking was -- though, of note: Mom said she did not mistakenly book a hotel in Ghent, that she meant to book a hotel in Ghent because she read that Ghent is quaint and cute to which I replied, "Why did you let me buy train tickets to BRUSSELS then?! ... but I digress ... -- I think you must see the way that we traveled to Ghent.
When we arrived to our lovely Belgian town -- after having passed through a Brussels that looked a bit rough around the edges -- we were delighted to find an old Medieval city, or, as a resident of the city named it: a very modern city in an old jacket.
Perhaps one of the best things we did in our cozy host city was to take part in a free walking tour. One of the most fascinating facts we learned from our congenial guide was that Ghent used to be the 2nd largest city in Europe -- from the 12th - 15th centuries. I'm tucking that tidbit away for my next trivia night.
Also of historical note: During the middle ages, beer was safer to drink than water, so having your pint at the local watering hole could simply be considered health care. I wonder if I could take this up with my insurance company today?
As an English teacher, I find the etymology of words and phrases quite interesting. As we meandered about the town, Liam (or Brahm) told us where the phrase "stinking rich" stems from. Let's take a moment to make some guesses ... and while you are crafting your response, another scene to take in ...
So, stinking rich? Well, the wealthier you were, the closer to the alter in the church you were buried, but graves were not closed off properly, thus the flesh would begin to rot and smell up the space. I think I'll stick with being potpourri poor. I believe this phrase was first coined in 2007 when friends would leave flowers at the door of humble, poorly paid teachers.
In addition to being a bit smelly, we also learned of the torture rooms inside of the castle in Ghent. As I have learned about history, there have been eras that have seemed rather appealing. The 1920s, for example ... like, I think I would have loved to have been a flapper. A resident of Medieval Ghent, though? Hard pass.
So, that was Ghent. We're glad we went. I did not add up all of the money that we spent. And so, to you I toast tonight, Ghent, with my dark Belgian chocolate in hand. Cheers!
Before we arrived to Ghent, we did spend four days in Amsterdam. Gram is our guest writer for this part of the post today. She spent a bit of time journaling each night, capturing the moments of the day. This is what she has to say ...
Saturday
Interesting hotel. Trying to discover heat. Fans blowing cold air. Need wool socks.
Our room is small for three, but the shower is really nice. We could shower together. 🤔. Our hotel, the Linden, is a quaint hotel located in the center of Old Amsterdam. It is perfect for our needs, as the narrow streets are lined with restaurants, pastry shops, clothing and gift shops, and bars. We are able to walk to most other sites from here.
Waiting for Jamie to arrive. Anne is napping. Not much sleep on the plane. (Something I wish I would have acquired from my mother is her ability to sleep. For long hours.)
Outlets need converters in order to charge devices. Hoping Jamie will figure it out. (As it turns out, I did not bring my converter, thus failed at being of help here.)
Jamie arrived around 7:00. She was starving. We walked to a restaurant and had a delicious meal. Anne ordered a Dutch dish—mashed carrots, potatoes and onion with a meatball in the center. Dad would have loved it. I had pork tenderloin with pepper gravy, and Jamie had meatballs with salad. (Meatballs with peanut sauce are where it is at.)
Sunday
Slept til 9:00. Showered and hit the streets. Anne and I did a canal tour for an hour. Very informational. The architecture reminded me a bit of Boston. Amsterdam was founded in the 1200’s. That is a long time ago!!! The canals are man made, and many of the buildings were built in the 1600’s.
Anne and I bummed the streets. Went into a couple shops—high end. Anne tried a pair of boots, but they didn’t have her size. I wanted a sweater, but it was $$$$$$. Not in my budget. We stopped at a pub and sat at the bar. The owner, George, gave us a piece of his pizza. So good. I had wine.
In the afternoon, we toured the Anne Frank house. As a taxi driver said to us later that day, “Why would a tourist want to pay to see her house when she isn’t there, and leave depressed?” Good question!!
We dined at an Italian restaurant, but were disappointed. I had lasagna—no meat and no noodles. Different and not what I as looking forward to. Anne had steak, and Jamie ordered a salad and tomato soup. We will do better with selecting restaurants. (Good thing we found our true Italian in Ghent.)
Monday
This was an exciting day. We did a bus and water tour—visiting three provinces of Holland. Our first stop was populated with wind mills. A miller who worked one of the mills showed us how logs are cut into lumber. Other mills in the province are used for making grain and Linseed oil (which I purchased at a shop.) A mill can also mix paint.
We bused to our next stop where we learned how wooden shoes are made. There were hundreds of shoes hanging from the ceiling to dry. They need to dry for three weeks before they can be finished—sanded, polished and decorated.
From there, we boarded a ferry where Jamie and I quickly ordered a beer. I chose the beer of the land—Heineken—Jamie ordered Robuust. 😃 Oh yes, Anne had apple pie.
At the third province, we learned how cheese is made, and purchased enough to increase the weight of our luggage by a few pounds!!! Oh my 😖. The cheese was delicious, and we couldn’t resist. We ate lunch at one of the restaurants—fish and chips which we shared. Following lunch, Jame and I snacked on pancakes with fresh fruit—covered in chocolate!! We didn’t see the sign, “Don’t fed the birds.” So, the birds were happy.
A final lesson for us on this tour was a demonstration on how waffles were made. These are not like the waffles we make at home, but very thin cookie-like waffles filled with caramel or chocolate. They are good, but we didn’t buy them to take home. They are available at our hotel for our enjoyment. (Gram is writing about Stroopwafels -- check out this page for where to find the best in Amsterdam.)
From here, we boarded our bus and traveled back to Amsterdam. Anne rested, I walked the streets and Jamie found a workout class to attend.
Jamie chose an amazing restaurant for dinner. The food was excellent!! The cocktails were pretty good too. (Gram is talking about Morgan and Mees. It was Ashley's suggestion and it did not disappoint. It was quite posh.)
Tuesday
We slept in again, then leisurely showered and dressed for another rainy day. We shopped as we walked to see the Red Light District—so I could say we did—then had lunch at a restaurant Gina suggested. We then taxied to the Van Gogh Museum where we spent an enjoyable period of time learning about Vincent’s life and art.
In the evening, we taxied in the pouring rain to Central Station where we met Jamie’s Gustavus classmate (Ashley) and her male friend. From the station, we boarded a ferry which took us to an area where we had dinner. To get to the restaurant from where the ferry dropped us off, we walked quite a distance—again in the pouring rain. I had no idea what was in store for us when I put on open toe sandals for the evening. That walk required RAIN BOOTS!!! and a raincoat. It rains horizontally here, so an umbrella doesn’t help much. We were wet and cold when we arrived at the restaurant.
The atmosphere in the restaurant was warm and friendly, and dinner was accompanied and complimented by fun conversation.
Following dinner, we called a taxi to take us to our hotel. It was late, and we had had a full day.
Wednesday
We are schlepping our heavy luggage and boarding the train to Belgium. Despite the sunny sky, it is once again raining. (And this brings us to the very beginning, a very good place to start ... )
In closing, the trip was picturesque, with a good dose of adventure, and plenty of charm.
At one point, as Gram and Mom were walking down the middle of the street, taking their lives into their own hands, I turned to Gram and said, "We're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Come up on the sidewalk." It seems, though, that we did land somewhere over the rainbow.