28 Things I Wish I'd Known....

A friend just emailed a link to this terrific blog post about what you need to know before traveling to foreign countries.

Admittedly, I don't totally agree with his observations about health care or medicine, nor do I agree that euros have replaced the U.S. dollar as the international standard (based on recent experience), but beyond that, he makes a lot of really solid points.

Happy reading. And happier traveling.

Scotch Watch: Chapter 4

Dear Westin,

Consider this glass of five-day-old melted ice with a lemon twist a token of the fine job housekeeping has done in creating a lovely ambiance to wish me well each morning and welcome me home each night. While most upscale hotels would whisk this away—out of sight, out of mind—apparently you do not, feeling there’s some value to keeping this reminder of my first hour on the property fresh (relatively speaking) in my mind and in those of the neighboring guests.

It’s an odd sentiment, admittedly, but one I’ll remember forever.

Trust me on that.

Regards,

Cinda Baxter
Gold Preferred Starwood Member

My Favorite Chef

If you know me, you also know who my all time favorite chef is: Gavin Kaysen, the nicest man in whites.

Years ago, I met Gavin and his wife Linda as they were planning their wedding in Minneapolis. Throughout the process, Gavin’s mother-—Nancy-—and I became dear friends, which has since extended to her husband, David, and obviously, the happy couple.

Well, Gavin’s a bit of a wunderkind. Actually, he’s one of the most celebrated chefs under thirty years old in the country (possibly on the planet). His current stint is as executive chef at Cafe Boulud in New York, and lemme tell ya, he’s kickin’ it there, big time. Since Wednesday night was the one time Linda and I could get our calendars to match, we decided to meet there for dinner.

And what a dinner it was.

Gavin treated us to a chef’s tasting menu, several courses long, with paired wines for each. The food was divine (as in “If I die now, I’ll die happy”), the service stellar, and the company lovely. At the end of service, the three of us sat around, catching up on the latest buzz from New York and from home, reflecting on how extraordinary their lives are right now.

If there are two people more deserving of all this adulation—and more humble about getting it—I’d like to know who they are. Nancy and David raised a cool son who found a cool wife and they’re living a cool life.

Now that’s a God thing if ever there was one.

NSS Show Notes

For those of you wondering if I have show notes to share, I do—but they’re exclusively for consult clients and RetailSpeaks members.

Sorry for any disappointment those of you not on the guest list might feel.... If you’re an independent retailer interested in such things, however, check out the link on the right for RetailSpeaks. Might just be the best show tip of all.

NSS Undressed

I’ve joked for years that I’m always the last retailer off the show floor—could count on me still writing an order somewhere (usually in the Constance Kay booth) when the a/c turned off, the lights came down, and the carpets began to roll up...literally.

So, of course, it made complete sense I was sitting in the conference area of the Epson booth, enjoying a debrief with Patrick and the lead engineers from Japan an hour after show closed. While walls were deconstructing around us, we shared the things we’d seen, the possibilities ahead (can’t tell you what those are, sorry), and the projects that could be launched most quickly.

Suffice it to say, when things begin rolling out this next couple of years, you’re gonna be happy.

Happy happy.

I come away from this show feeling really good about where we’re all headed—in part because the last blast of enthusiastic desperation at my final NSS Advisory Board meeting several years ago is now bearing fruit in a big way. Laurie Robinson, Kelly Bristol, and later Patti Stracher, all listened to my pleas about needing technology at this show, understood the reasoning, and fought to bring it in. What Epson talks about today will completely change our industry tomorrow...and I mean that, with total sincerity.

It’s time. We’re there. And I couldn’t be happier to be part of the process.

NSS: Final day

This show went fast—really fast. Could be because I was in perpetual motion the entire time, but still...went just plain fast.

Today’s stint in the Epson booth was the best by far—began with a consulting appointment with two really neat women from Birmingham, Alabama who “get” how important it is to turn their print operation into a profit center. During our appointment, Patti Stracher and Kelly Bristol (NSS Show Manager and Asst. Manager, respectively...and both dear friends) stopped in to chat. After the consult ended, Linda invited me to sit in on a meeting with the largest US paper distributor in the industry to chat about “things to come.” Later, as I was slipping out of the booth for one last run at the show (which, at this point, I’ve accepted I won’t finish), Caroline—Epson’s media maven—pulled me aside so she could introduce me to Martha Stewart Magazine’s editor, Darcy Miller.

Funny thing is that I actually met Darcy several years ago, although I certainly didn’t expect her to remember it. One Thursday, after the show had ended, Mom and I had a private appointment and lunch with a couture engraver named Nancy Sharon Collins. As soon as we arrived at her studio, Nancy apologized profusely, explaining that another woman needed to see the line too, but could only come in while we were there. If it was okay with us, she’d work with the four of us together, which of course, was fine with us.

So in walks Darcy and her mother. Turns out she (Darcy) was engaged, looking for wedding invitations, so we all chatted and noshed over some of the most exquisite engraved monograms and designs on earth. Very fun. Very laid back. Very mother/daughter for all of us.

Very small world, yet again.

And yes, Darcy remembered.

Scotch Watch: Chapter 3

Ick.

Ick, ick, ick.

The empty scotch glass with the lemon twist has now been here fermenting in front of my door for three days.

Housekeeping has been here at least that many times.

What gives, Westin?

NSS: Epson SEO Breakfast

A couple of weeks ago, Epson asked if I would assemble a small group of top-notch printing stationers to meet with a couple of their engineers flying in from Japan. Sure...no problem...came up with six who fit the bill perfectly while representing a broad spectrum of printing styles and needs.

What I thought would be a little chat turned into an incredible experience.

There weren’t just a couple of engineers here—Epson brought in a team, including some of the top minds in their divisions. For nearly two hours, we answered questions...paused for translations...watched notes feverishly being jotted into notebooks...and all walked away feeling like something truly momentous had just occurred.

For the first time in NSS history—or the history of the entire stationery industry, for that matter—an international company took the time to sit down and listen...really listen...to what independent retailers need with the intent of creating it. This wasn’t a fluff session, folks. This was the start of something big.

Something really, really big.

Thanks to the retailers who participated: Susan Foxworth (Write Selection, Dallas), Tanja von Kluajta Winn (RSVP, Plymouth MI), Joan Schnee (On Paper -and- the Green Paper Company, Columbus OH), Angela McLean and Tonya Panchula (Ink and Paper, Oxford MI), and Edie Frere (Landis Stationery, Los Angeles).

And major thanks to Patrick Chen (Product Manager/Professional Imaging, Epson USA) and Linda Malek (LJM Associates) for believing...and making miracles happen.

Scotch Watch: Chapter 2

Okay, this is getting kind of nasty.

The scotch glass, complete with lemon twist, is still sitting here. Can housekeeping really not see that they left it here two days ago...?

Scotch Watch

Is it just me, or does everyone else think the Westin housekeeping staff should be picking up empty glasses rather than just leave them sitting in the hallway for a couple of days?

When checking in at 11:00 p.m. Saturday—the day before yesterday—I stopped by the bar and picked up a scotch on the way to the room (Macallan 12, for those of you who care). Brought it upstairs to sip on while unpacking. Left it on the desk the following morning for housekeeping to pick up.

Which they did, right before they simply parked it in the hallway, just outside my door.

Can’t help but wonder why it’s still here on Monday.

Huh.

Chinese Silk

Dear Lord,

I know I’ve been remiss in keeping in touch lately—well, other than to ask you to let up on the jet lag—but I need a favor. Big one. Tonight, I talked Edie into running down to Chinatown with me so we could get some real, honest to goodness dim sum. She did, bless her heart, and the restaurant had it.

This was different than the dim sum in Hong Kong, though. Had liquid in it. As in squirts like a fire hose when you bite into it liquid that shot all over that gorgeous Tiffany-blue silk blouse Sunny made for me in Beijing.

Edie was really great about staying cool. Of course, I stopped breathing. I love this blouse, Lord—you know that better than anyone (thanks again, by the way, big time).

Any chance you can bless the dry cleaner for me in about five days when I stop by with the blouse in hand? Something tells me he’s gonna need it.

Thanks again for everything—and I do mean everything—you’ve done for me, Lord. You rock.

Amen.

When planning cocktails...

...be sure there’s a way everyone can spot each other.

The RetailSpeaks cocktail hour was tonight, in the eighth floor bar at the Marriott Marquis on Times Square. For some bizarre reason, the front bar was closed, but a few of us grabbed drinks from the back bar then snagged a table up front, just to be sure the rest of the group would see us (or we’d see them).

What’s that saying about the best laid plans...?

Bottom line: There were several micro-groups scattered about, no one spotting the others. My bad. Next time, gotta find a balloon or something to mark the right table. Drats.

My Mug

Ah...now I know why total strangers were calling me by name in the aisles today....

Have to admit, this feels good.

NSS 2008: Turning Tides

Well folks, here we are, on my annual trip to Mecca—The National Stationery Show at the Javitz in New York. After a late (post-11:00 p.m.) arrival at the Westin Times Square last night, my eyes are a bit blurry...especially since I had to repack this morning so the porter could move me to the correct room (a regular occurrence for me the past few visits). Oh well. Puts me in a corner King, so the hassle’s worth it.

Of course, I’m still battling Godforsaken jet lag. Am now within about four hours of “normal”...that is, until you add the additional hour flying east to New York. Who knows? Maybe mind over matter will kick in.

Hope springs eternal.

This year, I’m wearing a couple of hats at the show, most notably that of “industry expert” for Epson. Am also here to meet with a couple of retailers as their consultant, and to source product for several others unable to attend the show. Means running like a banshee from point A to point B, even more than when I was here as my own buyer. Pretty sure the days of slow going are long gone.

Nonetheless, one tradition still stands—my visit to the Crane’s booth to chat with Christopher Gleason, the nicest man on earth. Seriously. He was my Crane’s rep for most of the fourteen years of the store, but better yet, became a dear friend over the past eight or nine. Since my first visit to NSS fifteen years ago (seriously), opening day includes a morning stop to see Chris, share a hug, and laugh a bit. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

Had lunch in the VIP Buyers Lounge with a few friends, and am off to the Espon booth where I’ll be consulting retailers on how to grow their in-house print operation. Today and tomorrow, I’m in from 3:00 ‘til 6:00; Tuesday and Wednesday, it’s 11:00 ‘til 2:00. Something tells me I’m going to enjoy this process, since “paying it forward” is my drug of choice.

Toodles.

Jet Lag Limbo

Saturday, May 10, 2008
Minneapolis

Oh, Lord, do I have a new appreciation for people who fly around the world constantly. Jet lag is killing me.

Day one, I was great. Well, maybe not "great," but not flat on my back. Well, not unless you count the two hour nap that afternoon since I nearly fell asleep (a) sitting at the DMV, (b) in the checkout line at Byerly's, and (c) while on Highway 100 coming home. Still, even with the nap, I fell right asleep at 11:00 p.m., and woke up just before the alarm went off.

Day two, even better. Up before the alarm. To bed at 11:00. Slept like a baby.

Day three? Death.

Got up before the alarm again (should have explained, that's my normal pattern), but caved in and took a four hour nap yesterday afternoon, in spite of superhuman efforts not to.

Woke up at 6:00 p.m....and was wide-awake-alert until 7:30 this morning. My body is officially back on China time.

I call Jenn, who travels the world with regularity. She explains that, basically, for every hour of time zone shift, you need to figure one full day of recovery.

Huh???

That's thirteen days. Thirteen days I don't have. I leave for New York--for the National Stationery Show, no less--in one week.

I'm doomed.

One last parting “gift”

I was careful with the water in China. Only drank that which was (a) bottled or (b) filtered.

Of course, it never occurred to me the bottle of water dewy from its time in melted ice in a cooler on top of the Great Wall might do me in.

Twenty-four hours at home, and I’m wrestling with a little “bug” that can only be attributed to me forgetting to wipe off the top of the bottle. My bad.

And folks, bad is the operable word here. Trust me. It ain’t pretty.

Home

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Minneapolis

I officially land three hours and five minutes before I left Tokyo. Gotta love jumping time zones.

Process through immigration. Hold my breath while waiting for my suitcase to appear on the luggage carousel (which, thankfully, does appear, and is in one piece, still closed). Pass through the final passport check. Head out the door...

...and back into the U.S.

Oddly, being in my home airport makes it seem the past two weeks were some kind of fuzzy dream. My cell rings, and it’s Jenn, telling me she’s on the way. A few steps later, I see her waving from a distance, on her way over. Still, in spite of the familiar surroundings and familiar face, I still feel like I’m in that hazy moment between sleep and sunshine, when you know you’re at home but part of you is still in La La Land.

I’ll adjust, I know. Just not sure I want to wake up quite yet.

Step 2: NRT > MSP

Flight time: 11 hours

Had plenty of time in Nartia, unlike the experience on my way to Hong Kong. Decided to roam through a couple of shops, in search of hairspray, since my bangs are falling in my eyes (and driving me nuts).

Stroll over to the boarding area.

Board the plane.

Find my (regular) seat.

Settle in for a long nap and the trip home.

Step 1: PEK > NRT

Flight time: 4 hours, 20 minutes

Since I’ve been through the Tokyo airport (aka, Narita) once before, the return trip is a cake walk. Or, more accurately, more of a cakewalk that would normally be the case for someone not short on connection time.

In the security line, a nearby passenger gasped when seeing the “Zero Liquids” sign, having apparently just come in on a US flight. I calmly smile and assure him he’s fine; as an international connection passenger, the originating airport rules apply.

He breathes. I feel good.

Finally got to pay it forward to someone who’s in the shoes I wore two weeks ago, in this very spot. Just as it should be.

Security

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing

Found the NWA ticketing counters. Got in line, which is moving like molasses as passengers seem to be stumped by the check-in kiosks (same ones we have at home). A couple of NWA employees are trying to help, but the passengers don’t seem to understand the questions about how many bags they have, etc. (my impression is that much of the line has never flown).

Finally get to the ticketing window, where they weigh my suitcase (holding my breath again), and run it through the security x-ray, right behind them, before moving the bag to the handling belt.

So of course, it gets red flagged. That's right. The one that is sucking in its midsection to stay closed.

Something on the x-ray screen is causing concern. Here’s where things get weird, though—they ask me to step behind the counter, into the secured area, to open it myself and show them what’s inside.

Seriously.

So I step over the scale, take the bag off the x-ray machine, put it on a nearby shelf, and pray. This will open—no question there—but close again? Could be iffy.

I open the bag. A couple of agents come over (higher in rank, as I understand it) to poke at things. Everyone looks puzzled--and since they’re speaking Chinese, so do I. They return to the monitor, point, chatter, point, look at me, point, chatter.

I ask (obviously, in English) if I can look at the screen to help them figure this out.

And they say yes.

Seriously.

I step back over the scale to the line area, and am led through a swinging gate that leads to the security monitor. I take a look and see the problem—some AAA batteries I brought as back up for my alarm clock. I smile. I motion to them to come back to the suitcase with me. We make the swinging gate/scale/table trek, and I pull out the batteries. Everyone smiles, nods, and motions to close the suitcase and run it through again. Cool.

So I do. While I pray. Please let this close again, Lord.

Naturally, the thing red flags again, this time over two mysterious items.

???

Yup. They have me do the scale/gate thing again, look at the monitor again, etc. This time, one of the shadows looks familiar, but...the other has me stumped (why it didn’t pop up before now also perplexes me, but who needs more to deal with right now?).

Gate. Scale. Suitcase. This time, the agent starts rooting around in the suitcase. I gasp. No way I’ll get things to fit again if they’re all pulled out and stirred up. And the clock’s ticking. I still need to actually check in, clear personal security, clear immigration, and find my gate before the plane boards.

So what do I do? I put my hands on top of the suitcase contents, and motion for her to stop and let me do that.

In the States, this would probably get me arrested. But given the fact they’ve been escorting me in and out of the security area, instinct tells me I’ve got a shot.

And it works. She smiles. Steps back. Motions for me to find the items. The asthma inhaler turns up first—that’s the one I recognized. The second item has me puzzled, though...until we turn up the small can of oxygen purchased at AAA in Minneapolis. Supposedly, if you inhale a few puffs when “sinking” during a jet lag spell, it helps. Having not had any jet lag on the way over, I completely forgot it was in the first aid pouch. Aha.

She asked me to inhale some (after I acted out doing so in the now-familiar game of charades that comes with international travel). I did. She smiled. I repacked. She re-screened.

Cleared.

Race (race!) to the personal security lines. Unpack the laptop. Take out the liquids. Keep the shoes on. Walk through the x-ray.

Cleared.

Race to the immigration lines (well, as much as one can race while trying to figure out where she should be in a terminal that doesn’t yet have English on the signs...if you can find the signs...). I don’t have the proper papers. Need to fill out an Exit Card, which is on a nearby counter.

Race over there. Dig out a pen. Fill out the card. Jump back in line (thankfully, they let me cut in).

Cleared.

Race to the next passport and laptop check.

Oddly, my passport is taken by a Chinese guard, who disappears into an office about 50 feet away, stays there with it for about five minutes, then comes back.

(No clue what that‘s all about. For all I know, I was red flagged due to my internet activity the first night in Beijing. Which, chillingly, is probably possible.)

Cleared.

Find the gate. Purchase a bottle of water from a vending machine at the gate. About five minutes later, start boarding, which includes yet another security check at the gate, by hand.

Granted, it’s a cursory check. The baby-faced guard who opens my computer bag motions that the bottle of water has to be pitched (then lets me gulp it down, bless his heart) while he just nudges things around inside the bag. Doesn’t take anything out. Doesn’t ask any questions. Doesn’t open the roll aboard carry on at all.

Cleared.

I get on the plane, and settle into my usual seat (somehow, I managed to get the same one on both inbound flights to Hong Kong as well as both outbound flights back home). I’m headed home.

But am not at all ready to leave. Not at all. This all went by far too quickly.

(Photo credit: Anonymous)

Push Down

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing

Note to the Beijing Airport Council:
Fire whoever came up with those graphics on the luggage cart handle.

Forget the arrows that point up--you have to push down to disengage the brake.

Of course, I don’t discover this until reaching the ticketing area.

‘Nuff said.

PEK: Beijing Capital International Airport

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing

Good guess on the doorman and driver’s part. This is the terminal where I should be.

Grab a luggage cart at the curb. Try to figure out the confusing graphics on the handle that “explain” how to disengage the brake. Pretty sure you’re supposed to lift up, but sheesh, this thing is hell to move. Especially with ten thousand pounds of overstuffed luggage on it.

We’ll call this my morning workout.

Headed Home

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing

Got up at 4:30 a.m., after a two hour nap. Got the suitcase to close (using all my body weight to do so). Signed the bill at the front desk, grabbed a taxi, and am on my way to the airport as the sun is just beginning to come up.

This is the prettiest time of day just about anywhere. Quiet. Peaceful. Still.

Same here. Wish we had time to spin past the Forbidden City one last time. I’ll bet it’s amazing right now.

While enjoying the last moments of Beijing, I’m also holding my breath about making my flight. In spite of allowing ample time to get out the door, my exit from the Westin was still about twenty minutes later than planned. Plus the doorman wasn’t sure which terminal I need to go to. Plus the driver wasn’t sure which terminal I need to go to. Plus there seems to be no highway signage that tells you which terminal to go to.

Hopefully, all international flights depart from the same place, because that appears to be the guess both the doorman and driver agreed to try out.

Hmm. Could be interesting.

(Photo credit: Anon.)

It’s 2:30 a.m.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Beijing

I’m not a bit tired. The packing is pretty much done, but I seriously fear my suitcase will burst open. It’s jammed to the point the zippers are straining, so I’ve put the bathroom footstool on top of it, in hopes things will compact down over the next few hours.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t even want to think about leaving. I can barely bring myself to close the curtains, as I watch the night sky twinkle above me (how many cities can you actually see the stars in?).

Only two hours before I need to get in the shower and start heading out. Two hours.

Not enough time.

Not nearly enough time.

Ankles Away, Update #4

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Does it matter? I’m going home tomorrow. I refuse to look at my ankle tonight, so there.

Instead, I get on Skype (which, thankfully still works, unlike half my email accounts and all access to RetailSpeaks or Blogspot since the morning after I checked in). Call the folks. Get a call from my sister. And from my brother. And it was great.

In fact, this has been just about the greatest birthday of my life. In spite of being half way around the world from them, I knew all day that every single one of my family members was right there by my side, scaling the Wall, gasping at the view from the top of the Summer Palace complex, sipping champagne upstairs.

I am blessed. Over and over and over again, I’m blessed.

I’m also not even remotely tired.

Or packed.

Gulp.

The Bathologist, Chapter 3

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Tonight's bath ritual: Arabia

Ginger, cinnamon, nubmet, geranium, cumin, and amyris

Much to my surprise, this is my favorite of the bunch. Divine. Sat in the dark bath, surrounded by my candles and rose petals, watching the “dripping lights” on the Ritz Carlton a couple of blocks away. Sipped the last of my champagne. Decided to move to Beijing.

Bubbles in Beijing

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

No way I‘m going to spend my last evening in the room, packing (besides, I’m seriously in doubt that my belongings are going to fit in the suitcase, having forgotten to buy a cheap second bag for the return home). Denial being a wonderful thing, I opt instead to head upstairs to the Executive Lounge, which I’ve been granted access to as part of a hiccup on the hotel’s part during check in.

(Note: Not a big hiccup...not even big enough to warrant this, in my mind, but the manager insisted.)

I head up, wearing faded blue jeans and my new cashmere sweater (purchased for 50 RMB each, or $7.15 US...seriously), to grab a couple of hors d’oeuvres and a cocktail while writing out postcards—if they’re going to be postmarked “Beijing,” they pretty much needed to go out in the morning. Since the room was fairly full, only one love seat was open, facing a nice American man who offered it. I sat. We visited. And I had a blast.

Turns out he’s from Arkansas, a big thoroughbred horse racing fan (who sincerely knew what he was talking about), and fun. His trip to Bejing was to visit a college friend who’s currently living here in the hotel. His friend--Chinese by birth--is a hotel staff favorite and knows the lay of the land.

We hung out in the lounge, me sipping champagne while he drank red wine, for a couple of hours. Eventually, his friend joined us, the two of them trying to convince me to join them for a trip to the foot masseuse a couple of blocks away. And this was no run o’ the mill footrub, folks; the basic package was a two hour massage, complete with oils, reflexology, the whole bit.

Wisely, I opt out—partially because as nice as they were, they're still total strangers, and partially because I’d undoubtedly be tempting fate, given the current condition of my left ankle. About an hour later, I bid my farewells, and head back to my room, champagne in hand.

After all, I have a Bathologist appointment to make.

The Westin Welcome, Part II

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Then I got to my room.

This is what I found on my desk, next to a hand signed note wishing me a happy birthday, on behalf of the entire staff.

I’m telling you—Westin is the way to go, folks. No question.

The Westin Welcome, Part I

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

After a tearful goodbye to Holly--who has become very near and dear to this traveler’s heart--I walked into the Westin, greeted by no fewer than three staff members with “Happy Birthday, Miss Baxter!”

???

Took me a moment to realize they have my passport on file, but the fact they take the time to make note of it, then be sure the lobby staff recognizes you from your photo, is three steps past impressive. Felt like I owned the place. Wow.

Wow.

Beijing, Baby

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Beijing

Several of my books about Beijing explained that until fairly recently, the Chinese didn’t recognize or acknowledge the wealth of historic treasures they had at their fingertips. Since then, they’ve become the largest tourism group, soaking up the sights as enthusiastically as those of us who traveled from half way around the world.

Also mentioned was a propensity for taking pictures...with foreign tourists. Specifically, with American women.

So it didn’t surprise me when a pretty, college-aged Chinese woman approached me, speaking in good English, to inquire as to whether or not I’d be willing to have my photo taken with her uncle...who claimed to be quite taken with me.

I jumped in with both feet, and had a blast. It didn’t stop there, though. After Uncle, then his brother wanted a photo, so we shot another. Next, a cousin wanted a photo, so click away. Holly was shooting with my camera while the niece and the aunts were snapping away with theirs. Felt like a little paparazzi session, right there on the shores of Kunming Lake.

The second uncle, upon seeing the nephew jump in, smiled warmly and referred to me as “Mei Guo Lao Mei.” Since Holly also smiled, I figured whatever it meant was okay. After the farewells were said, she translated for me:

Old Sister.

Huh. Not quite what a 48-year-old woman wants to hear on the day of that particular birthday.

Turns out it’s actually a complement of warmth, “old sister” being a term you’d use to refer to someone you’re fond of.

Turns out that I can live with.

...and the Phoenix

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

The Phoenix, also in the east courts.

The Dragon...

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

As in all palaces and royal gardens, the dragon and the phoenix appear repeatedly, symbolizing the Emperor and Empress. This dragon is in the east courts area.

Bats

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Bats, seen in numerous carvings and sculptures in the Summer Palace complex, are a sign of happiness and longevity. These were found on a door, near the Harmony Court between the Long Corridor and the east entrance.

The Marble Boat

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Remember Cixi, the Spend-Spend-Spend Emperess? Well, here’s her crown jewel—the Marble Boat.

The original, simpler structure was destroyed during the Second Opium War. Cixi, however, resurrected it toward the end of her 1888 renovation, completing it in 1983 by diverting funds earmarked for the Chinese Navy, with the aid of corrupt eunuchs.

The base of the boat is a marble slab that originally served as a platform for a Buddhist monastery during the Ming Dynasty; from there, they’d free birds and fish originally intended for sale in the markets (earning them good karma). The wooden "Marble" ship was built on that same platform, complete with paddle wheels on the sides and elements of European architecture. The whole thing was painted to look like marble, thus the name.

In 1903, Cixi had the top story added, along with colored glass and mirrors in positions to give the impression the boat was actually floating on water.

Which it doesn’t do.

Not too hard to see how this might have irritated the Navy along the way, but still...pretty impressive for a big, white elephant.

Twenty Heads

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

This tower is pretty impressive, three stories tall, with eight open sides to expose beautiful views in every direction. A statue of the Thousand Handed (Guanshiyin) Buddha is at the center, with a giant pearl hanging from the apex of the ceiling above its head(s). The gold gilding literally glows in the late afternoon sun, exuding a mystical quality of its own.

I can’t find anything that explains how the gold stayed in tact, since this dates back to the Ming Dynasty, long before Allied soldiers began scraping gold off the gold gilded cauldrons of the Forbidden City with their bayonets.

Chalk that up to another Chinese mystery.

(Photo credit: Vilas, from Picasa)

The View from the Top

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Yes. Definitely worth the long, painful hike up. Just look at this view.

The main Palace complex is below, with Kunming Lake beyond it. You can see the myriad of ferry boats between the shore and South Lake Island, where visitors go to see the Temple of the Dragon King.

Beijing lays in the far distance.

Even the staircases....

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

A peek at the ceilings in the stairways, on our way to the top of the mountain. No surface is left bare here. Amazing.

On Our Way Up

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

This gate is near the Garden of Virtue and Harmony, home to the three-story-tall theater the Empress Dowager Cixi had built for her 60th birthday (in 1895). She’s responsible for much of the palace grounds...and much of the county’s financial pain paired with it.

Even though the Palace (which, ironically, isn’t just one structure, but an entire system of buildings, temples, gardens, and such) dates back to 1153, it was ransacked and virtually destroyed by Anglo-French forces in 1860 in retaliation for China’s defiance during the second Opium War. All that was left were nonflammable structures—the bronze pavilions and stone pagodas.

Twenty-eight years later, Cixi “kinda sorta” re-appropriated 30 millions taels of silver that were supposed to go to the Chinese Navy and “kinda sorta” spent them on rebuilding—and enlarging—the Summer Palace. In fact, that’s when she named it the Summer Palace.

Fast forward twelve years to 1900, when the next wave of destruction hit, this time when the Allied Forces invaded Beijing. Nearly all new construction was demolished, and all valuables were stripped and stolen by the troops.

But Cixi was a tough old cookie. Didn’t stop her from going for build out number three, this time in 1902 when, according to historical records, she "rebuilt the Summer Palace with unbounded extravagance and opulence, spending some 40,000 taels of silver per day. Singing and dancing went on without end."

Which would have been fine, if not for the fact she ransacked the state coffers yet again.

Literally moments before she died, Cixi named the next, and final, Chinese Emperor—Puyi—who ascended the thrown just weeks before his third birthday. After the 1911 Revolution, the deposed Emperor retained the Palace as private property, but three years later opened it to the public.

When he was forcibly removed from the Forbidden City and Beijing, the Summer Palace was nearly destroyed yet again—this time, by the Chinese army. After the founding of the People’s Republic in 1949, restoration began one last time.

It took nearly four decades to bring the Summer Palace back to its original grandeur, but it is most certainly there.

And it is most certainly glorious.

The Pagoda of Buddhist Fragrance

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

There it is. The high point of the palace grounds, and we’re headed that direction. The Pagoda of Buddhist Fragrance (aka, the Tower of Buddhist Incense). Right at the top of a 200 foot high staircase.

Between the Tian Tan Buddha, this morning’s climb on the Wall, and this, I sincerely expect to see a drop of at least three pounds on my bathroom scale upon returning home. I mean seriously.

Seriously.

Inside the Pavilion

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

A peek at the ceiling in the Spring? Summer? pavilion. Breathtaking.

The Four Seasons

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

As you walk along the Long Corridor, you come to four evenly spaced pavilions, each representing one of the four seasons. Inside, even the ceilings are layered with rich jewel tones crafted into intricate paintings that tell ancient stories and picture Chinese virtues.

This is the Jilan pavilion. I think it’s either spring or summer, but don’t quote me on that.

The Long Corridor

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

One of the most impressive features of the Summer Palace is The Long Corridor, zig-zagging along the coastline, beginning at the Hall of Happiness and Longevity. It’s an exquisite sight, with 17,000 hand painted images adorning every square inch of its half mile length, including the rafters, making it both the longest and the most elaborately decorated corridor in Chinese garden architecture.

The Corridor is a peaceful place, heavily shaded by trees on both sides, and Kunming Lake on the left. I can easily imagine long, slow strolls by beautifully adorned Empresses years ago. The place is simply magical.

It’s a Small World: Chapter 2

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

It’s one thing to run into a fellow Minnesotan or two on the Great Wall (yeah, an understatement, I know).

It’s quite another to be strolling along, deep in conversation, when someone runs up, taps you on the shoulder, and says “Hey, I thought you were going to the Great Wall today!”

Yup. It happened.

A woman I met at the Pearl Market yesterday remembered our conversation, including my plans to see the Wall this morning. I told her we’d just come from there. She wished me a happy birthday (remembered that too), and was off.

Holly, of course, was initially stunned, looking at me as if a third eye had grown from the middle of my forehead. Then she stopped. Shrugged. Smiled. And said “Cinda, you know everyone in China.”

Not quite. But I’m working on it.

The Summer Palace

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

Following our hour-plus race through the hills back to Beijing, we visited the Summer Palace, where the Qing Dynasty retreated to when escaping the steamy city heat. Including the lush parks, a river and its three lakes (Kunming, West, and South), this little getaway lays out over about 2 square miles, overlooking the lakes from Longevity Hill.

How’s that for “lakeshore property?”

From the moment you enter the grounds, you’re surrounded by gardens, dragons and lions. The carving above is one near the entry, on a side wall, featuring the ever-powerful dragons and a giant pearl.

It’s All In Your Viewpoint

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

Here’s an example of just how pitched some of the Wall is you’re traipsing along. Holly’s not an acrobat or hanging onto something off camera; she’s standing upright. Of course, in taking the photo, it didn’t occur to me to line it up based on gravity and a true sense of vertical; I held it in line with by body that was also standing on the same slant.

When corrected, well...just look at her wisps of hair in the adjusted photo below. They fall straight down, with gravity.

Now you see what walking the Wall really means.

Any questions?

It’s a Small World After All

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

So, we’ve taken the Christmas card photo, during which we heard a couple of Americans speaking to a woman nearby we’d just had a visit with. Naturally, we say hello, and ask where they’re from.

Minnesota.

Where in Minnesota?

St. Cloud. All of an hour’s drive from my house—with traffic.

Turns out Cindy Melloy was in China visiting her son, Matthew, who’d been studying Chinese in Shanghai as part of his studies through Colorado College. The two of them were traveling all over the mainland, soaking in sites, and enjoying the adventure.

We chatted for several minutes about home, about China, and about how lucky we are to have these kinds of opportunities.

It really is a small world, after all. I mean, hey, this is the section of the wall with very little traffic, and still, I run into someone from my own back yard??? Go figure.

The Official Picture

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

This is the one that goes on the Christmas card, no question. What has me smiling, though, is half about being on The Wall and half about what happened moments beforehand.

Holly, in her very gentle way, decided to make my birthday one of celebration. As we stopped to guzzle some water, she suddenly produces packages of seriously yummy cookies and crackers from her shoulder bag for us to snack on. But before we take our first bite, she breaks into a huge grin...steps back about a half dozen paces...and belts out a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” It was absolutely divine, unexpected, heart warming, and perfect. I can’t put into words how much that meant, standing on top of the world, no less.

Right after that, she took this photo. It’s no understatement when I say I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life. What a gift.

Bright Light and Cool Shade

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

The other thing you can’t imagine is how crazy the sun is up here. It’s hazy. It’s intense. And it’s wicked. Makes taking pictures tough (wish I had a polarized filter with me) and avoiding sunburn a challenge.

Also makes the surveillance towers cool islands of respite, easily fifteen to twenty degrees lower than outside. Might explain why Holly is smiling so broadly (so was I, but since stepping foot on the Wall, that’s been my permanent expression).

Each tower is just a little bit different from the next, in size, shape, layout, and feel. Kind of like turning a new corner each time you enter one. Some have steps that climb two stories high...some have maze-like floor plans...some are just simple little rooms like this one. All are steeped in history 500 years long, which makes every one of them a treasure.

Graffiti Hill

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

Passing through the first guardhouse going west, we find the interior walls white washed, then covered with graffiti in every conceivable language. Not bad stuff. Not even marginal stuff. It’s names—the signatures of those who came before us.

With a big smile on her face, Holly whips out a green pen. I whip out a black pen.

And we become part of the Wall’s history.

(Beats the heck out of that time I nearly got kicked out of the original Hard Rock in London for signing a wall there.)

The Great Wall

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

You know in your head what to expect.

And you’re wrong.

After disembarking from the cable car, then following more steps, then climbing a ladder-like section, we surfaced on top of The Great Wall of China. I stood up. Turned west. Took one look at a centuries old image made of ancient stones, snaking its way across the mountain ridges in front of me.

Yup. Tears. Quiet little is-this-really-happening-to-me tears overflowing eyes brimming with joy.

Trust me. You don’t know. Not until you get there.

The VIP Car

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Great Wall, Mutianu

After an hour and a half drive through the countryside on twisting two lane roads (at lickety-split speed), we arrived at the foot of Mutianu, the section of the Wall I wanted to see. Unlike the closer and more frequented Badaling section, this one’s a lot quieter with far fewer tourists to clamor over.

You start the process by climbing steep (and I do mean steep) steps and ramps though fruit stands and souvenir stalls to get to the cable cars that take you the rest of the way. Admittedly, we had to stop a couple of times during our climb, just to breathe. One poor couple ahead of us simply halted half way up, with her unable to scale another step. It’s a workout.

So, we make it to the cable car building, find ourselves alone on the platform (like I said, not nearly as populated as Badaling), are shown to a car, hop in...and start giggling.

There, on the glass directly ahead of us, are the words:

“President William J. Clinton took this car down the Great Wall on June 28th, 1998”

Cool beans, baby. Cool beans.

Sunny Morning Visit

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

After Holly and the driver picked me up (she was able to book a car and driver for eight hours, unlimited miles, for only 500 RMB—$72.04 US), we headed to Sunny's place for my fitting. Wasn’t originally planned, but if he’s willing to get six blouses done and delivered to the hotel in 24 hours, the least I can do is show up for the fitting first thing in the morning.

He’s amazing. The unfinished blouse fits like a dream already. By the time my head hits the pillow tonight, they’ll be in my suitcase, delivered to the hotel across town for free.

Definitely one of my best finds in Beijing. Definitely.

Happy Birthday to Me

Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Beijing

This is it. The big day. The big four-eight.

The big ankle.

And the big adventure that nothing—nothing—is going to stop in its tracks. After all, today’s the day I fulfill a dream.

Today’s the day I stand on the Great Wall.

Woke up before sunrise. Made coffee. Snuggled up in the oversized chair next to the windows to watch the sky light up. Watched locals doing tai chi below. Opened my birthday cards from the folks. Got choked up. And realized there’s no one luckier than me at this very moment.

God blessed me, big time, and that’s the best gift of all.

Ankles Away: Update #3

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Decided not to submerge my ankle in the hot bath water, in case that’s why my skin felt like it could peel off last night.

Nonetheless, it’s deeper red, verging on purplish. And it’s bigger. Lots bigger. As in “no way my Timberlands are going to fit on my feet tomorrow” bigger.

I have two options. Go to the International Hospital where there are English speaking doctors, trust in whatever pharmaceuticals are available in China, and probably be told to stay off my feet the remainder of the trip.

Like that’s gonna happen.

Or go with Door Number Two. Ride this out.

Admittedly, the second option isn’t smart, but my head and heart are in a tug of war between being cautious and fulfilling my dream of seeing the Great Wall tomorrow.

My heart won. Let’s hope my ankle won’t lose.

The Bathologist, Chapter 2

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Tonight's bath ritual: India

Bergamot, nutmeg, cedar wood, black pepper

I am really getting used to this.

In Stitches

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Everyone told me to have custom clothes made while in China—even my grandmother, who brought home beautiful suits from her trip to Hong Kong and Japan.

Found a guy’s name in a travel guide. Found a taxi near the Pearl Market. Found the right biulding in the right district.

Found a miracle worker.

Here’s how you find him:

1. Take a taxi to the Yashow Market at 58 Gongti Bei Lu in the Chaoyang District.
2. From the front entrance, walk straight ahead; take the escalator up to the third floor.
3. Turn right at the top of the escalator; walk to the end of the aisle to stall 3066 (they’re well marked).
4. Ask for Sunny. He’s a young guy with near fluent English (amazing, since he’s self taught, using reruns of American television shows like “Friends” for fine tuning).
5. Describe what you want made. Look at his fabrics. He’ll measure you, negotiate the price, then let you know when to return for a fitting.

I really wanted matte finished silk for the blouses Sunny would sew, but his silks had the traditional sheen to them. Based on my description of preferred style, he told me how much silk to ask for, then let me go source that out elsewhere:

1. From Sunny’s stall, head back toward the escalator.
2. At the top of the escalator is a large silk shop. That’s your place.

Negotiate hard on this one. They’ll dig their heels in, but that’s part of the dance. They’ll offer a number on a calculator, which you refuse, you type in your counter offer, then they do, then you do, and so on.

You should negotiate with Sunny too, but not as hard if you buy your silk elsewhere.

Can’t wait until my fitting tomorrow morning.....

(Photo credit: farm1)

The Pearl Market, Round Two

Monday, May 5, 2008
Bejing

After getting back to the hotel last night, I did more reading about where I’d head to today. In doing so, I ran across another entry about the Pearl Market that explained where the reeeeally good vendors were in the building—fourth floor, above the floor Holly and I stayed on. So, of course, I need to go back to be sure the strands I picked up for my Goddaughters are the quality they should be.

From the Underground City, it’s not a tough walk—a mile or two, maybe. Easy. No turns. Major roadway. Simple stuff.

After saying hello to the vendors where I picked up Mom’s Mother’s Day gift yesterday, I head up the escalator to what immediately looks like the big time. These aren’t stalls—they’re small stores, and they’re packed, predominantly with Americans. After selecting a store, then sorting through several strands, I found a few, which are being strung and knotted in front of me.

While they continue working on the necklaces, I wander around, find a couple of other necklaces for me, and meet a lovely woman (from Wisconsin?) who’s also waiting for her pearls to be strung. We chat about where we’ve each been thus far, what we’re going to see tomorrow, and how amazing this city is.

For those of you headed into the Pearl Market, skip the lower floors, and head straight to four. At the top of the escalator, look for Ling Ling Pearls. Their selection of pre-made necklaces from semi-precious stones and all sorts of pearls—in addition to the traditional strands—is terrific.

Next time I do this, I’m going to bring a lot more cash along, understanding just how lopsided the pricing is compared to US retail. If you‘re willing to part with a couple of hundred dollars US, you can walk out with a strand of pearls worth thousands back home.

The Underground City

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Mao was scared of the Russians. As a result, he ordered 70,000 laborers to build an underground city that could hold 40% of Beijing’s population. During the Cultural Revolution, political leaders used it to secretly move around the city. During the Tiananmen Square riots, the army used it to move in on crowds of protesting students.

Today, only one of the three entry ways is open to the public. If you can find it.

After my little stroll through the hutongs, I circled around about a square mile’s worth of charted and uncharted streets, finally coming to what I just knew was the nong tang with the secret wooden doorway. Ran into a group of five British college girls doing the same, so they followed me in. Another five minutes of searching and—gasp—there it was. Right in front of us.

And it was closed.

For renovation. Due to water damage. Seriously.

According to the very, very kind guard (for some reason, only female guards are given this post), a nearby tear down of hutongs resulted in serious water damage to the tunnels. They were closed for clean up, and in anticipation of tourists this summer.

The past hour and a half has been quite a journey, but it ain’t gonna end where I’d hoped. Oh well. All in all, it was kind of fun.

Now that it’s over.

Lost in the Hutongs

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

My mother would pass out if she saw me now.

The trike driver couldn’t find the Underground City, even with the map (admittedly, that’s the way Mao intended things—it’s a secret city, after all). Had yet another meeting of the minds over the Chinese map. He offered to get me there...for another 20 yuan. Decided to bid him farewell and wing it. Something told me we had to be close.

He takes off. I look around. It occurs to me that the reason we couldn’t find this place is because it’s not on a map.

Which means I’m not on a map.

Which means I am on my own. Not on a map. No boat. No paddle. No GPS.

A 5’11” Caucasian wandering through their hutong (a collection of alley dwellings) gets the attention of the locals. They stare at me warily as I pretend to know where I’m going. With confidence. And great acting. I mean hey, doesn’t every American tourist plan a fifteen minute trek down an unmapped nong tang (alley)?

My internal compass tells me to head west, then north, until I hit traffic.

Which I do. And it works. Fifteen minutes into this little side trip, I hit traffic.

Which means I’m back on the map.

Which means deep breath time.

Truth be told, I was probably quite safe the entire time (crime is pretty severely treated in China), but still. Not the smartest move I’ve made. But definitely a memorable one.

(Photo credit: mhobbs)

Which Way’s Up?

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

Taxi drivers in Beijing are notorious for not knowing where things are located. In their defense, street names and numbers are almost meaningless, with little or no logic applied. Drivers pull over and ask directions from random folks on the sidewalk as routinely as they turn street corners.

Same plan applies to the trikes. We pulled over to a little “shop” the driver knew, he purchased a Chinese map, and had me show him where I was headed (this is, of course, about ten minutes into the ride that began with his insistence he recognized my destination, the Underground City).

Oh well, I’m riding in a vehicle with a side mirror held together with packing tape, so what the heck. It’s an adventure.

Put Put

Monday, May 5, 2008
Beijing

After parking myself on a nearby bench outside the Forbidden City to read my map and eat my ice cream, I decide transportation is going to be necessary to reach the next stop—having walked the length of the City, I now have a better handle on the scale of this place. Definitely a bigger area than I first thought.

For some reason, the one thing that seems to be absent from the boulevard that borders the north end of the complex (Xianmen Dajie -or- Wenjin Jie -or- Jing Shan Qian Jie -or- Wusi Dajie, depending on which map or twelve-foot stretch you happen to be standing on) is a taxi. But...there are a bunch of little “put puts,” or motorized tricycles around (think: a three-wheeled motorcycle with a boxed single seat on the back). Oh yeah. The motorcycle’s at least vintage 1940.

What the heck.

Jump in. Hang on. We’re off.