My Singlish "Home"

After a couple whirlwind weeks bowing with exaggerated "sawadekaaaaaaaahhhhhhs" (and an obscene amount of coco and Pad Thai) a jet lagged Christmas (and a 2 week period of wearing as many sweaters and scarfs as possible) it was time to be back in Singapore; my forever-88-degree-humidity-swathed-home for the next 3 months. It felt good to get back to wondering my bougainvillea fringed alleyways wedged between towering skyscrapers after Utah's cold. Being January, all of Singapore was getting ready for Chinese New Year, so my traditional haunts were now decked out in red lanterns while tiny shops selling red lidded bins of cookies popped up in unsuspecting places. Enormous and weighty globe-like pomelos (or 柚) were piled high on fruit carts and everything was plastered with some sort of drawing or poster of a rooster. The year of Monkey was coming to a close...made official in my book by the gigantic and rainbow painted inflatable rooster that was blown up to sit at the entrance of Singapore's Chinatown. It was both entertaining and terrifying. I mean, come on...how is a giant inflatable chicken at least a tiny bit terrifying?

I'd grown quite fond of all the Chinese New Year celebrations (and little stands) and was sad to see them go...but not before I made the trek down to Chinatown on the actual Eve to purchase yet another red-lid-bin of my favorite cookies. I'm partial to the pineapple tarts, but think I like the little buttery rounds topped with a cashew more. Let's just say the bin didn't make it to actual New Years Day. After the maddening crowd, the lantern hung streets, inflatable rooster and swarm of tourists, I had a quiet bus ride home in the dark to come home and finish up another episode of my current binge series (with those cashew cookies not far from reach). Call it a sort of coping mechanism for the crippling sense of nostalgia I always seem to get after a visit to Chinatown. Oh, I miss China.

As January whizzed by, time was also spent in what I've dubbed as Singpore's "Little Thailand" — as if the swirling melting pot of culture found on this tiny island needed another ethnic identity. I've been keeping an ear out for the trademark "Singlish" found here in Singapore — the official English has been infused with Malay, Indian, Chinese to create a tasty linguistic creole, much like my favorite dishes at the local hawker centers. I think I'm getting the hang of it. I've decided to spend my time off the glitzy shopping streets and in grocery stores instead. I particularly like wandering the aisles of the dimly florescent lamp lit grocery store in Little Thailand, examining teeny shrimps crammed into jars and seeing gnarly knobs of ginger waiting to be grated into some sort of curry. Little Thailand is about a 40 minute bus ride away, but I make the trek to get an avocado shake at my favorite place that sits just right across the pedestrian bridge. And yes, though it takes over and hour to get there and back, I did get a punch card for a free smoothie after 10 purchases at this favorite stand. I'm determined to go through at least 1 punch card (and realistically, two) before heading back home, home (the one in America). Too bad there isn't a punch card for this waffle-and-ice-cream monstrosity below. In all honesty, I had no problem polishing this off at around 10:00 AM. Waffles are breakfast, right?

It's probably a good thing there isn't a breakfast punch card for this waffle dessert, but I have found a new favorite way to start the day: Dragonfruit. I'll saunter down to the nearest wet market and pick up a couple of the deep purple, black seed studded, and Dr. Suess-like fruits along with a couple fresh pineapples and walk home to chop them both ; always chopping the pineapple first so the golden pieces aren't stained with streaks of modena purple. Tip into a bowl and drizzle liberally with thick and floral coconut milk. It's dreamy and I have more photographs of my repetitive breakfast than I care to admit. 

Between hours of editing and entertaining Pokemon obsessed kiddos, I tried to plan my Singapore excursions in such a way that I would avoid the deluge of rain that seems to happen on the daily. I will admit that at times, I did sit in my flannel and drinking pot-after-pot of tea, imagining the brooding gray skies didn't mean it was still 80-something degrees outside. Time this month (it's hard to consider January as January when free moments are spent sipping soursop by the pool in 80° weather) has evaporated. Sure, I flip through my sketchbook and see that forts were built, avocado smoothies were sipped, hawker centers were frequented, but where did time actually go? Surely it hasn't been a month down in Singapore quite yet — I feel as though I'd just arrived.

I Ate Tiong Bahru

I got an early start this Friday in an attempt to beat the Singaporean heat. The oppressive sauna like atmosphere was pressing down on me despite the early hour. Even at 8 AM, the thick air between the high rises felt like the world had just turned off a steaming shower but you can’t let that (or anything) stop you from getting a stellar breakfast. The 20 minutes on the metro spat me out in a glitzy mall (oh Singapore, how you love your malls) before I wandered down the quieter white washed apartments to Tiong Bahru; a trendy breakfasting districted peppered with art galleries and bookstores. If that isn’t the most perfect way to spend your morning, I don’t know what is. The street was just waking up, with people going to and fro grabbing coffee and groceries with friends before meandering to their next location.  My first stop was the Tiong Bahru food centre. Any location titled “food centre” has got to be promising. Like a layered cake, this place is well worth your time and attention. The bottom tier is lined with stalls chalk full of anything you could need on your grocery list. Eggs varying from pale brown to a deep and smoky black bookended stalls bursting with spiny durian and piles of oranges. Purple Japanese sweet potatoes poked out underneath bags of apples and bean sprouts. People were milling about, trying to press on the mangoes without the vendor looking to find the perfect little specimen. There’s also a meat counter; haggles and inquiries about price are punctuated with sharp *smacks* as meat cleavers cut down, separating scales and joints. That area smells less lovely, and isn’t as pretty as admiring radishes. 

In between the red Chinese lettering you can just make out "king of kings"... Durian shares a title with a pretty important figure, no? 

But the middle tier is where you want to spend most of your time. A dizzying ring of food vendors are all selling steaming bowls of laska, curries, roti, chicken and rice, carrot cake (which is nothing like the American version) and other classic dishes.  A cute little couple took my order of chilled sugar cane juice and kaya toast; I”m quickly loving the thick coconut custard spread on toasted bread…with substantial pats of butter sandwiched between the two slices. It’s the breakfast of champions, I’m telling you…though I wished I had gone with the barley-bitter iced Milo rather than the sugarcane; paired with toast, it was a sweet breakfast. 

Plural. Cats. I was so happy here. 

Tiong Bahru was just waking up as I made my way to the book stores where I found nirvana (after admiring the murals painted on the whitewashed store fronts of course). Books Actually is the most perfect bookstore I’ve ever set foot in. I should have known it was paradise; not only were the glass doors adorned with succulents, vintage maps of Singapore and a sign that said “please do not let our cats out”, a stenciled vending machine was parked outside giving patrons a chance to selected a mystery book. I never knew I needed a mystery book vending machine in my life until that exact moment. Inside, a bell tinkled gently as a warm welcome to perfection; books lined the floor to ceiling, stacked purposefully and organized in a way that encouraged meandering. You could admire the stacks on the shelves, or find your way over to the little note that sort of separated genre before getting distracted by the island of books that were stacked cover to cover…the room behind opened up into a space that claustrophobically shelved with second hand books, vintage tins and glass bottles and other quirky gifts. Oh, and cats. I didn’t dare get into trouble by pulling out my wallet; upon first impression I was tempted to buy it all. I’ll be back when I can muster some self restraint. I left feeling inspired to read more poetry, collect more postcards, shoot photos purely in black and white, and explore less traveled avenues.

Shout out to Hannah Wing; this place has your name written all over it 

Brunch hours had officially disappeared, leaving me guilt free to hop over to explore Chinatown. I had hoped it would be a mini version of the gems of China but alas, what Chinatown is exactly like China?  You just have to go see the real thing. While I didn’t stumble upon the old women I would  regularly buy cherries from in Nanjing or the boy who ran the front counter of my favorite noodle house, I did find some glimpses of China within the stalls. A lunch of tomato and eggs (an old favorite) gave me the energy to poke around the enormous warehouse like structure crammed full of everything you could want; clothes, tailors, old CD's, cooking supplies, incense, lanterns and other *necessities*. It's a dizzying collection and I could only wander for so long before setting my sites on seeing some of the cool and fancy hotels and bars and restaurants that site slightly overlooking the main drag of Chinatown. Plus, the lanterns that line the street there are so much prettier from higher up. Brightly painted alleyways created the backdrop to fancy gelato stores and expensive hair salons and some really cool street murals. I took the long way around and saw the Sri Marimman Temple and the Jamae Mosque; both of which I'll go inside of some other day. Today was for eating and there was no room to delay. 

I did quite a bit of walking to get there and had to grab a snack. Luckily in this country you are never too far away from a hawker center or food court. Maxwell's Food Center is one I'll be visiting again: for just a few cents you can get a thick pancake folded over a a sugary sweet crush of peanuts to make the most divine sort of snack. Top that off with some lychee juice (ice cold and served with a thick straw and a spoon so you can fish out the whole pitted fruit pieces at the bottom between sips of the sweet nectar) and buttery roti and you are in heaven. Top that off with a mango popsicle and you are ready to call it a day; only because you can't possibly snack any more or walk any further. I missed the downpour of rain just minutes after getting into the apartment and spent the rest of what remained of that day off my feet and wishing I had taken a bag of those pancake-peanut sandwiches home with me. While there are other places yet to see in Singapore, I do think I'll go back to sample the few foods I missed while munching on my day in the neighborhood of Tiong Bahru and Chinatown. 

Me and lucky cat, hanging out in Chinatown

Being Home.

That drive to and from the airport will never get old. The way there is usually early in the morning, suitcases stuffed full of necessities and snacks you'll miss while abroad. Your passport is anxious for a couple more stamps. The way home is different, but sort of the same. The zipper on your suitcase tugs more around that one corner, and your old passport stamps join the new ones whose ink has dried...but you still feel the pull of the empty pages near the back. Its the same road, same freeway, and same exits, but feels different. I love the drive home from the airport more than the way there. Big hugs and chats about being home fill the car as you pull into the driveway of the house you haven't seen for bit. I usually bee-line it to the fridge the minute I walk in the door.

China's return meant pouring a huge bowl of cereal with ice cold milk. And spoons. I'd had my fill of chopsticks and rice filled breakfasts the past few months. It's been almost 2 years since I had seen sister S., which meant a lot of catching up to do. It was lovely to see her again.

The recounting of a trip is also something to look forward to once you book your flight home. It's always bittersweet leaving somewhere, no matter how much you miss Mini Wheats and cold milk. But you get to relive and catalogue your adventures once you are home. Meeting with friends for lunch, or finally being able to FaceTime without the WiFi cutting out gives you the chance to tell those stories independent of their circumstances; the hilarious hotel situation in Hangzhou- the one with the missing wall?- is devoid of the feeling of frustration and freezing cold rain. Instead, it's a humorous story that your friends really can't believe. What do you mean all five of you shared a bed?

Which is good...and bad. You love visiting with the people who were there with you or who have been there because they get it. They don't need the backstory that really only provides a fraction of what it was really like. And not that you tell these stories to replace someone else's own experience- your version of canal rides in Suzhou can't ever replace the actual chance to do that for yourself- but it's frustrating to not convey in exact detail what it was like. You can talk all day long about the people you met and the kids you taught and show pictures, but it doesn't do it justice. But you don't really travel to create that experience for someone else, you do it for you. You get to see the world and learn about you in ways nothing else can replace. You push yourself to experience circumstances you would have declined at home but you whole heartedly agree because you love who you are when you travel.You love that compulsion for experience, that hunger to understand, and the chance to come home and believe that your escapades in India, or your contemplative prayers in Israel happened to someone else. Flipping through photos reminds you that it was really you who did all those things... how could you have forgotten? It feels like those adventures belong to someone else.

I love how you come home and fall into familiar patterns, but with a slight twist. A smile when you pull out the porcelain bowls you bought in Turkey are filled with your neighborhood's 'version' of gelato that reminds you of a time in Italy, which is similar to what happened to you while in Jordan, which is also like that one time in China. The association game goes on and on, and hopefully won't end. And while I'm still reminiscing about my last adventure, and I'm happy to be home, and I'm grateful to be speaking English again...but there's something to be said about planning my next adventure, wherever it might be.

Teacher, This Empty Glue Stick is for You.

I knew when I came to China the days of making construction paper binoculars and teaching spelling lessons would come to an end. Between the weeks of visiting other cities in China, I always came back to a classroom of kids whose stories (and names) made me laugh. I'd grown attached to all 84 of them; how could you not? Each one has a little personality and while sometimes that personality meant snarling and speaking behind your back in Chinese, you love your kids...meaning the end of the semester held some very sad goodbyes. 

All the teachers and students had worked very hard to put on a final performance for the parents of each of our students.  My older kids combined with the other 3 classes and put on a production of "The Wizard of Oz". It was a bit of an issue trying to make sense of a play that included talking lions, melting witches, and flying monkeys, but by the end it seemed like the students enjoyed themselves. Our adorable second graders embarked on an underwater adventure, each class divided up into different ocean going groups; lifeguards, pirates, sailors, snorkelers, hula dances, and beach goers. It. Was. Adorable. The production was beyond cute, each class had learned a little skit and dance to go along to their dance with each kid dressed up in their little beach attire. My 7 cuties were dressed up with white suspenders over blue and white striped tee shirts as the cutest sailors I've ever seen...and because I'm in charge, they all belted out the Beatles' "Yellow Submarine" and danced with sequined construction paper fish after their skit. It was so cute, however having the production over meant only 2 meager days with our kids before saying goodbye. 

SO. CUTE. 

The fourth graders seemed indifferent to our departure. The last two of days of classes were filled with lawless games of Uno (seriously, in what universe can you play Uno on teams and put down a blue 4 when the card on the deck is a red 7?) and towers of Jenga. Origami lessons happened while movies played, and a random assortment of treats were shoved into open mouths until the bells rang.  It was all good fun but the only difference between the previous party day and our last day was the fact that some students were interested in swapping WeChat information and a hug before running outside the classrooms. And that was that. 

Second grade was a different story. My cute kids lined up by class in the gymnasium, looking eager to see what sort of games or crafts awaited them. Their Chinese teacher wanted us to read a book with our classes, but we all interpreted that to mean taking as many pictures and videos as we possibly could in the truncated class period. When all six classes lined up to leave, all the teachers were in tears. Their Chinese instructor told them in Chinese that today was the last day which prompted the sweet girls to sob and sob and sob. After some wet hugs, they lined up to leave. 

This is intentionally in black and white because of my blotchy crying face. 

 A couple of days later, we were allowed to say a quick hello and goodbye after classes had ended which was a much happier affair. Kids swarmed to supply their WeChat information and eagerly accepted ours. I had written notes for my home room on Salt Lake City postcards which were received with mixed results; some kids loved the notes, others were confused as to why I had given them a card with snowy mountains and a skier on it. I myself received a few gifts; a Snow White pencil, a 'white-out' sticker roll, and an empty glue stick. It seems my cute kids had shoved their hands into desks and pulled out whatever school supplies they could part with in 10 minutes. 

With the promise of chats and video calls from my cute kids, I'll leave for the Shanghai, Pudong airport after a couple days longer in Nanjing. In the meantime, I plan on drinking buckets of coconut bubble tea, slurping up plates of hand pulled noodles, and trying to fit all my souvenirs into various suitcases. I'll be sure to find room for a Snow White Pen, a white out roll, and an empty glue stick. 

Lunch With 100,000 Buddhas

A short bullet train ride from the Xi'an train station got us to part two of the last vacation in China. It's hot in the city of Luoyang, we'd been traveling consistently since February, and there were definite stressors waiting for us back in Nanjing...but I wasn't going to cut a vacation short. Since it was our last little trip in China, I was going to make the best of it. That meant air conditioned taxis the whole trip long. I had done my time crammed onto busses, sardine-like. I loved it, but it was time to only have my sweat on my shirt at the end of the day, instead of the sweat of dozens of strangers you are pressed against as you make the 42 minute bus ride back to the city center. Oh, China. That air conditioned ride to the Luoyang Grottoes was worth every Yuan.

I meant my promise of treating this trip like old people. We paid for a tram to take us to the caves, a boat to take us back to the tram, and a return tram back to the exit. It was glorious.

The Grottoes were a highlight I'd been looking forward to for weeks. Once I delved into China's exhaustive history, I knew I wanted to see some of the best preserved grottoes that had somewhat survived the brutality of the Cultural Revolution. Luoyang did not disappoint. I was completely astounded to think of who had carved thousands - literally, thousands - of tiny Buddhas into this cave complex. While the massive statues were worth a marvel, each other the teeny carvings were incredible to look at. Another poignant memory was the blazing heat. There is not a person on this planet I would have given a hug to in that heat. Mom and dad? Nope. Gus from Alt - J? Handshake. The sister I haven't seen for two years? High five. It. Was. So. Hot. Despite this heat, corner shops at the base of the grottoes were selling 1) Hot tea 2) Hot milk and 3) Hot water. Hard pass.

 I could barely keep my popsicle from melting down in sticky drips before taking it out of the wrapper. That was lunch, in case you were wondering. I had no appetite for anything other than frozen foods at that point in the day.  After a stroke of heat exhaustion and more sweaty admiration of the grottoes, it was off to our hostel.

Our cool vibe hostel had fabulous air conditioning which we took full advantage of before scavenging for dinner. A little noodle shop around the block had a steaming bowl of tomatoes and eggs, which was delicious. I tolerated the hot meal with 2 ice cream bars before heading to lantern street for some Chinese shopping. I picked up a tee printed with bananas (a wardrobe staple, didn't you know?), some NKIE socks, and a handful of snack from the vendors that lined the streets. It's been months, but I still love seeing ruby red crawfish neatly staked in rows next to those tasty long, thin, ivory mushrooms. It's a stunning site.

After grabbing some nectarines from a fruit cart (I can't even think about not having those carts dot my streets back home, because I'm addicted) I thanked my strong immune system after seeing one rinsed off in the gutter water. Yum. It's another early morning tomorrow,

Terracotta Tandem Bikes.

As if my semester of teaching abroad hasn't had enough adventures, there was still one last 5 day vacation on my calendar. The obvious choice was to head north and west of Nanjing to Xi'an; there was no way I was leaving China without seeing thousands of Terracotta Warriors lined up in neat little rows.

So many soldiers. 

Our adventure started (and ended) with a sleeper train; the delight of sleeping in a stack of 3 beds on either side sandwiched between Chinese riders who talk very loudly through the night and take phone calls in inopportune hours of the morning was just too much fun to resist. (By fun, I mean affordable). The fun continued when 2 members of our Xi'an travel group did have a bit of a Goldilocks situation to deal with on this sleeper train. Upon boarding, 2 beds had wrinkled sheets and obvious evidence of someone sleeping in their bed. The story is funnier when you factor in the fact that each bed would be deemed "too hard" by anyone playing Goldilocks. China knows a lot of things, but it is a stranger to a soft mattress. Luckily, things were sorted out relatively quickly despite the language barrier.

I, however, lucked out my bunk mates this time around, none of whom had slept in my bed before my arrival. A very cute family with a very cute 7 year old were polite and very quiet; the most noise made was teaching mini Chinese/English lessons before the train's lights went out. Upon arrival at the Xi'an station, they invited our group of Americans to find and ride the bus to the Terracotta museum with them, meaning we didn't have to spend an eternity looking up where to find the bus station and triple checking our information to find the right bus.

I had goals of painting calligraphy on my own fan, but I decided to leave it to the experts. 

After buying tickets and weaving between souvenir vendors, we said goodbye to our little adopted family and went to explore the complex that houses the warriors. Pit #1 was first up on the list; a dusty airplane hanger swarming with tourists. When you did get your turn to see the warriors, it was difficult to take in. Rows, and rows and rows of soldiers lined up, each armed with a unique facial expression. Though the line was impressive, the highlight of the first pit came from the glimpses of the restoration process. Further into the hangar, soldiers were slowly being pieced together, held together by plastic wrap as their missing hands and armor shards were awaiting placement. Though it would be incredible to see the warriors all put together and lined up, it was impressive to see the meticulous work it takes to get these statues in one piece.

We spent the rest of our day admiring the other pits, and checking into our hostel. A visit to the Muslim Quarter made for an excellent dinner (that aspect of Xi'an will be getting it's own post), before heading to bed. Day 2 in Xi'an was a scorcher, so obviously the best way to enjoy the blistering sun was to ride atop the massive city wall on tandem bike.

Obsessed with these spicy noodles paired with cucumber. 

H. and I had the goal of riding as many forms of transportation as possible while abroad. While busses, planes and metros were easy wins, some of the more obscure modes of transportation were more tricky to find. But with motor scooters, chairlifts, ziplines, paddleboats, and bamboo rafts (etc),  under our belts, the tandem bike just had to happen. So, the minute we read online you could tandem bike in Xi'an, it was a guaranteed part of our trip. This method of getting around required much more of learning curve than our other forms (though a segway in Suzhou was also a bit tricky), it was a blast despite the furnace like temperature.

Tandem bike? Check. 

Naturally, the next course of action was the find shade and ice cream as soon as possible, leading us to the busy Muslim Quarter.  For details and artsy photos of walnuts, see the "Lunching in the Muslim Quarter" post.  That evening was spent making traditional foods for the Dragon Boat festival and double checking details about the next half of our trip. It was a quick visit to Xi'an, but well worth the trip.

Lunching in the Muslim Quarter.

If you are a fan of reading my blog (I think I am the only one who falls in that category), you’ve read posts and posts about various markets and food streets. I’m not sure “farmer’s markets” counts as a hobby, but if it does, add it to my list. That being said, when I go abroad one of the first criteria for experiencing a new city is to explore their food streets. Xi’an made that easy; their Muslim Quarter is fabulous. I was counting down the days to see the Terracotta Warriors, but I was also ticking down the hours until dinner. I had hopes the area would be reminiscent of the Muslim Quarter housed in the Old City of Jerusalem, but hopes of that sort of similarity were pleasantly dashed upon arrival. The streets are lined with shops selling characteristic souvenirs, while huge rounds of a yellow “cake” glistened with persimmons are artfully carved into geometric triangles next to entire carcasses being butchered into kabobs. It’s a lot to take in. 

It looks like cake, but it's not. How's that for disappointment? 

Both Wednesday evening and the majority of Thursday were spent in the Quarter, giving me plenty of time to attempt to take in all the sites, smells, and tastes. Wednesday’s meal consisted of a bowl of thick and cumbersome noodles piled high with a melody of pickled potatoes, zucchini and what I think were radishes, and the entirety of Thursday’s afternoon was filled with snacks from the swarm of vendors that are sprinkled down each street. Spicy cheyenne fried potatoes pair nicely with Xi’an thick yogurt, but avoid the little bread cakes stamped with Chinese Characters sold for 1 yuan…It’s similar to eating a dry salt cake mixed with a flour paste. Not my favorite bite from the Muslim street, to be sure. 

Aren't walnuts beautiful? 

Because of the heat, several Yuans were spent on ice cream and yogurt bars as we poked into the alleyways and did some shopping before visiting Gan Gao’s courtyard for a shadow puppet show. Despite not understanding word of dialogue, the intricate puppets were mesmerizing to watch…and the show made a good intermission between noshing on the edible goodies waiting outside. Another yogurt bar was purchased before sitting down on the hot steps to watch dusk settle over the massive Bell Tower that marks the entrance to the Muslim Quarter; swarms of birds were replaced by bats that swirled by the structure’s rafters while people milled around the shops that towline the square. It was a dreamy end to a lovely day of squealing over rounds of puffed pita and beautifully piled goose eggs…made even more perfect by snagging a spear of cool cantaloupe from a fruit vendor on my walk back to the hostel. 

Eggs in cartons are a rare sight in China; my favorite way they are transported is in a massive crate
precariously situated at the feet of whomever is driving the motor scooter. 

The Venice of China.

Dubbed "The Venice of China," Suzhou is just a short ride by bullet train from Nanjing...But why save time when you can save money by taking a K train? Unlike their faster counterparts, K trains are bombarded by youths who make quite the racket despite the early hour. Crowded, smoke filled, and loud; exactly how a vacation should start. Sarcasm aside, the 2 days in Suzhou was delightful. Saturday and Sunday were spent on the beautiful canals, gazing up at a building that looks like a pair of pants, eating steamed bread that looked like penguins, and perusing various markets. Food, architecture and alleyways: that's exactly how a weekend should start.

Not quite Italy, but close. 

Serendipitously, right after we had gotten off a city bus trying to make it to the PanMen gardens, a lovely lady named Ivy invited us to lunch and drove us through the windy alleyways to the garden. She had seen us trying to figure out where we were on a massive city map and asked if we would like a ride to the park instead of walking. She mentioned she needed to get lunch for friends before leaving, ordered us noodles, then had us all eat lunch up in her office that overlooked the city. We then all piled into her car and got to PanMen in record time. Suzhou was quickly earning some serious points; people can be so incredibly kind. The park itself was beautiful; white washed and black tiled hip and gabled roofs peeked out between pagodas, willow lined canals, and dreamy bonsai forests. To top it off, an art installment had beautiful glass orbs that chimed between vibrantly colored paper windmills, creating a quiet swirl of sounds when the breeze flitted through the trees. Naturally, it was an ideal place to take a nap.

Little motorcycles zip along the city stopping to sell the most beautiful fruit. 

Maybe it was the crooning lullaby our boats-woman had sung during our canal ride, but all four of us were beat despite it being early afternoon so we cuddled up on the banks of the canals and snoozed a bit before walking down the haphazard streets to our next bus stop. I don't use the term haphazard lightly; the roads are a honking maze of mopeds swerving between private cars a busses while this particular street had shops with knee high stacks of dishes out front or burlap sacks piled high with cayenne, black tea, cinnamon sticks and other spices. I loved it.

Forget buying dishing off the rack. 

And that's exactly how the rest of the weekend went; kind strangers riding segways pointed us to various gardens, markets, other food streets or alleys crammed full with succulents and parrots. I'm not kidding; Suzhou is home to a "bird and flower market" which means a terrifying combination that's reminiscent of an overcrowded and outdoor Petsmart and the abandoned garden section of your local Home Depot. It's an assault on the senses to be sure.

There are the loudest chirping crickets ever in this little clasped containers. 

I've yet to make it to Italy's Venice, but China's version certainly offered some aspects I'm sure aren't found in Europe. Sipping a coconut milk tea down the canals with an 'everything bagel' -esque round of bread made by one of the prominent Muslim eateries is one major difference- that and  being pleasantly bombarded by high school students who need to take pictures with foreigners for a homework assignment. Suzhou was unpredictable and beautiful; the characteristics of a weekend in China.

A Snack of Scorpions.

I’d heard of the famed food markets of China and had been waiting to put my money where my mouth was and order up a skewer of scorpions. 

Scorpions and seahorses aplenty. 

I’d visited plenty of food streets in China thus far, but Beijing’s Wangfujing street had a collection of creepy crawlies I hadn’t had the pleasure of tasting yet. We had all eaten a delightful and delicious breakfast at a farmer’s home after climbing off the Great Wall of China meaning my stomach wasn’t exactly empty when we arrived at the bustling and lantern adorned street. Right at the entrance, a booth adorned with skewers of seahorses, rows of glistening grasshoppers, and topped off with a bouquet of little scorpions. Neighboring booths were selling potato skewers, towers of Beijing yogurt, sugared strawberries stacked 12 high and other goodies, but I was on a mission; I wanted a eat a scorpion. 

Yum. 

It’s something you have to decide before ducking down the busy street because your courage will falter when you see the critters in real life, waiting to be munched and crunched. 

The tiny desert dwelling snacks were everywhere; vendors got a kick out of shoving live scorpions glued onto sticks in our faces and were pursued the street, trying to muster up the courage. 2 other girls and myself split the cost of a skewer of 3, each carefully sliding off the slightly greasy critter off it’s thin, wooden prison and took the time to muster up courage and to take a multitude of pictures. At the count of three, the scorpions were quickly shoved into apprehensive mouths, stinger and all. 

 

The faces sort of say it all: disgust, amusement, and general confusion. 

I had low expectations for this thrill-filled snack; it was crunchy, greasy, and tasted like the singe of burnt hair. The whole thing crunched around in my mouth before being washed down with a healthy gulp of water and a few caramelized strawberries. I hadn’t known what the aftertaste would be like, and wanted a juicy burst of sweet to wash out any sort of scorpion residue before finding an actual meal among the booths. While it is not the worst thing I have ever eaten, I don’t see myself dishing up seconds anytime soon. 

Not pictured: the skewer of strawberries purchased immediately after the scorpions. 

Sleeping on the Great Wall.

When I heard about a chance to sleep atop a world wonder, I decided right then and there to take it. The Great Wall of China would be World Wonder #4 out of 7 for me, so going to some overcrowded and restored tourist destination seemed like the cheap way out. I wanted to spend more time on the wall, so camping overnight seemed the ideal option. A shuttle picked us up outside a metro stop rather far away from our hostel and we were on our way to the wall. There were 6 teachers from my school in Nanjing, and a lovely Brit named Kelly joined us, as well as a well traveled American Meghan, and 16 year old Paul, from Germany who was making his first international trip to China to visit his cousin in Beijing. Despite the forecast for rain later this evening, it was an ideal set up for a night up on the Great Wall of China.

The bustling city of Beijing quickly melted into emerald green covered hills, pocketed with villages bearing signs that advertised motor bike repair and donkey meat catering. Empty school yards blurred past as our shuttle moved further into the China that would be familiar to those who saw it thousands of years ago. A couple of hours passed, and we arrived at a quaint farmer's home; white linens dried on a clothes line over a square garden which supplied part of our delicious meal. Spicy eggplant swimming in a dark sauce, some sort of tempura fried anise, ridged and rectangle noodles dubbed as "bandaid noodles', my favorite standby potato slaw also made an appearance, as did Chinese melon and eggs. All of this, was of course, served with steaming bowls of rice. We also played a dangerous game of Pepper Roulette with the pile of wok fried peppers; some where hot, while others were sweet. It helped us all get to know each other just a bit better; it also has been officially dubbed the best meal I've had in China thus far.

Life tip: Take pictures from far away so you can't see the sweat. 

Now (very) well fed, we drove 5 minute's time to a valley where you could see the wall snaking behind telephone poles. To "help with our digestion" as Sonia our guide let us know, we first started by seeing a section of the wall that had split in the middle of the ravine; you could see the crumbling stones on either side of you when you walked through it. After our digestion walk, it was time to pack up enormous backpacking backpacks with tents, mats, sleeping bags, and tonight's meal and start our steep incline to the wall. Trying not to tip over with the weight of my bag while trying to breath up an incredibly steep hike up was no small feat. I kept taking photos in an attempt to sneak in a breather without falling behind too far.

The view from my bedroom window. 

Eventually, we all made it to what would be home for the night; one of the few watchtowers with a roof still intact which would provide cover for the night. Sonia had us drop off our bags and sit for a brief history lesson before we snagged snacks and cameras and got to exploring the Great Wall of China. We camped at Wangquanyu; a section completely unrestored, meaning exploring involved climbing through brambles on loose rubble, clamoring into watchtowers missing stairs, peeking out of stone winds, obsessed with the goal of seeing what scene lay ahead once we got to that ridge, or the curve after that, or just on more watchtower ahead of us. Perhaps it worked out well that a few hours into our adventures, gray clouds shrouded the watchtower we were sleeping in and we all felt a few raindrops. In a flash, thunder was crashing around us all, and I made a haphazard dash down to our watchtower, getting completely soaked by both the rain and the sopping leaves I was pushing away from my face.

Home sweet home!

An impromptu clotheslines was made out of a shoelace, wooden pegs made from cramming sticks in between the mortar in the walls were also used to help dry soaking clothes. The night felt more friendly after changing into dry clothes and setting up 5 tents into a narrow walkway. We played cards (and Swedish twister to warm up) before chowing down on noodles, rice, and marinated tofu for dinner while swapping ghost stories. The sunset distracted us from a particularly icy tale, so we dropped everything to run atop our watchtower to see the sun melt into the still stormy skies. It was a gorgeous site....until a frigid gust of wind drove us back into warm tents. We chatted idly, brushed our teeth outside watch towers, laughing as globs of mint foam fell and splatter on an ancient marvel before snuggling up in tents for bed.

Quite the view. 

It's never been easier to get up at 4:30 AM to watch the sunrise. I heard some rustling which woke me up initially, and I jumped out of bed (okay, that's a generous term. i was sleeping on a one inch inflatable pad on stone), thinking I had missed the sunrise based on how light it was already. Turns out, it takes about an hour for the sun to actually rise, giving us all plenty of time to climb on top our tower and slowly wait for the rays to hit our faces. To the west, the sun was already bathing the snaking stones in a warm glow, but we waited for our eastern hill to alight before packing up the tents. Eventually, the sun poked up above the ridge and it was time to zip up tents, squash the air out of pillows and mattresses and stuff it all into our packs. I took a minute to send another few foaming balls of spit over the wall as I brushed my teeth, then a more serious reflective moment trying to soak in one last view of The Great Wall of China.

Thankfully, we breakfasted at the same farmer's home and had a meal to rival our lunch; a corn version of a cream of wheat type soup, scrambled eggs and scallions, and these beyond delicious round, pancake type dumplings filled with egg and scallions. I wish I had gotten the name but I was too concerned with snatching up any extras to preoccupy myself with learning. Convinced my legs will be sore from the steep climb up and down, I packed away my bag in the back of the shuttle and snoozed all the way through the little villages until they turned into steal sky scrapers and the honking of traffic woke me up. All too soon, my time on the wall was over and it was off to Beijing's next adventure: Scorpions.

Finding the Forbidden City.

The Beijing Railway station provides a visual for anyone doubting China’s boggling population. It seemed that all of China was crammed into the exit canals that spilled onto the square outside, into the bright and sweltering sun. It’s a decently good wake up call after a fitful night of sleep on a sleeper train. While there was no loogie alarm clock this go around, there were some chatty Kathy’s that got yaking around 5:30 and continued their conversation until our train made it’s jerkiest and last stop in Beijing. Seriously, the train felt like it was driven by a 4-year-old that was learning the struggling of having terrible hand and eye coordination. Sleep or no sleep, only having only 4 days in this city meant it was time to make the most of it. Yes, during my life of teaching for a handful of hours and eating crazy good noodles and seeing the sites around my own historic city, I also get vacation time to visit places I've only dreamed about, hence the trip to Beijing. I've got it rough, I know. 

Thinking about snatching one of these lions in my suitcase to stash on my own doorstep. 

A quick moment to repack bags at our hostel after taking the metro from the train station and a 10 minute walk led to Tiananmen Square. It’s enormous, by the way, and incredible to see in person. Everyone has seen pictures of the place, so it’s neat to get some first hand context about the events that happened here.  The impressive grounds are no place to lounge (though some did picnic under the streetlight/surveillence poles- a meager slice of shade in the heat) so once our banana ice pops had melted, it was time to move onto the Palace Museum. They are sold by woman shouting Yi Kuia, Yi Kuia on the street and are the best way to beat the heat (and cost about $0.15).  Unbeknownst to us, "The Palace Museum" is  the Chinese colloquial of The Forbidden City which initially caused some confusion. A split between pro-audio guide and anti-audio guide broke the group into sections, and the more historically inclined took the longer route through the maze of golden tiled rooftops. A stunning site to see, these glittering rooftops give a glimpse into the lavish life of the Chinese royalty; I cannot believe people in the past called these intricately detailed, richly decorated, and insanely massive palaces home. H. got an audio guide which meant sharing tidbits of information that only enriched the experience; at one point, I walked on a marble road between two palaces that was only reserved for the emperor....Emperor Emily has a ring to it, don't you think? 

The real win of this picture is not having single tourist in the shot. 

Despite the Beijing heat, it's well worth an afternoon to delve into the small side streets that bridge the main drag of the Palace Museum. The courtyards are smaller, with an old herringbone type stonework where the cracks are inhabited with moss under massive and shady trees, adorned with plaques that literally read "old tree". Unfortunately, there were more sites to see in Beijing so we bid our adieus. A dizzying metro ride later, and it was time to check off a site I had wanted to see since the 2008 Olympics. The Bird's Nest would have to wait until tomorrow, but this afternoon was reserved for the Temple Of Heaven. 

Check out Instagram for the single jumping picture that turned out amidst the
dozens of attempts. 

Though nearly every structure in China has been burned down once or thrice, it's still a marvel to see in person, and older than anything in the United States can boast about. The park itself is a place I wish I could have spent more time in. Huge rows of neatly planted trees shade diagonal pathways where you can hear a smattering of unique comings and goings. Old men are huffing and puffing on the workout park to one corner, while the brassy tune of an accordion plays over the pitched opera sung by a group of women congregated to another side. Small circles of people gather to bounce a feathered shuttlecock around while tourists mill around between pockets of every day life of Beijingers. The sites to see of course were stunning, and merited an embarrassing number of photos trying to get the perfect shot. 

A now-Nanjing-nostalgic dinner of tomato and eggs (you gotta try it) was dinner for the night before give the alleyways behind the hostel some decent exploring time. Rows of restaurants with deep mahogany ducks roasting in the windows while the side streets allowed a glimpse of real life; a man dragging a dog more interested in snuffling in the gutters, a woman giving a reluctant child a bath in a plastic tub, and a group of women playing mahjong at a side table outside of a teeny restaurant roasted kabobs outside, all alight by the neon signs the lit up the dark alleys. As a side note; buy anything that is reminiscent of a circular pastry I adore no matter what city you are in. Beijing's street food version is a flaky crust imbedded with black sesame seeds and studded with a sweet honey type syrup that has soaked into the pastry. De-licious, and the perfect sweet treat before going to bed. The fruit salad ordered by another teacher at the restaurant was less successful. Fruit salad apparently means some sort of pear tossed into straight up mayonnaise. Also, the grapes in the picture apparently can be replaced with tomatoes. 

The Great Pocky Experiment.

Food is an enormous part of any worthwhile travel experience, and being in China for a good part of a half a year means eating a lotta things. Some tastes have been less successful (stinky tofu, anyone?) while others I could (and try to) eat everyday (muslim noodles, please). I believe I had had Pocky before coming to China, but it’s got a cultish following here despite it’s Japanese origin. The kids here HATE Japan. They aren’t shy about it either, please see Hannah’s blogpost for more details. I had stashed a box of the chocolate dipped cookie sticks in my backpack one day which had Blaze dropping to his knees begging me to give him a piece. Considering Blaze’s English skill, it was pretty impressive to hear him say so many words in English to get his point across. It’s pretty good stuff and comes in a rainbow of flavors. Hannah had the stroke of brilliance to buy as many flavors as we could find at the local Suguo and talk to everyone in the group to find a combination worthy to name after themselves. We are talking 15 boxes of Pocky and 23 flavor combinations. As the flavors piled up, the idea of the Great Pocky Experiment got more and more difficult to resist.

Rows and rows and rows of the stuff.

Despite our love for Pocky, there were Nanjing sites to visit, kids to teach, and translation mistakes to be made. Life gets busy here in China. It was surprising difficult to find the time to start the Pocky project. The rows of boxes sat atop a box shelf, tantalizingly taunting us before bed when all you want to do is chow down on new flavors of the stuff.  They sat quietly, like row of books atop a shelf you are dying to read but you can't just blitz through because you want to give the whole process justice. But no; we had to wait. But the payoff was worth it. This morning, we decided dozens of Pocky sticks would make for an excellent breakfast. 

Half way through the matching up process...yum!

Hannah started by laying out all the flavor combinations; White Mousse and Double Chocolate, Strawberry Cream and Banana, Almond Milk Tea and Matcha, etc. Before too long, a couple dozen perfectly angled pairs of Pocky soon lined our desk. Hannah made her predictions, I made known my favorites, and then, only then, did the tasting begin.  Hannah filmed herself tasting the suggestions paired by our fellow teachers and graded each flavor combination on three fields of criteria: aesthetics, flavor blending, and overall taste. There were some surprises; I was not a fan of any of the strawberry flavors which nixed out a few contenders. "Strawberries and Cream”, “Strawberry Cheesecake”, "I Like Smoothies Berry Much"; all of which got low scores on my leaderboard. There were no surprises when my top rated were the chocolate contenders. The thicker mousse Pocky’s were divine and only got better when paired with more chocolate. Shocker: the very best flavor in my opinion was the S’mores combo. Basically, take all the chocolate Pocky’s you can find (Mousse Milk, Double Chocolate, Classic Chocolate, Regular Milk, Mousse Dark Chocolate) and eat them all in one go. It. Was. Delicious. My “Black and White” combo is the poor man’s version and was quite tasty, prejudice aside. 

By the end, I was so sick off Pocky, but there was one last flavor to go; “The Fruit Smoothie”; A mixture of all the fruit flavors, from Mango Mousse to Double Strawberry; It was disgusting and a sad ending to the Pocky Experiment. Luckily, the overall winner as dubbed my averaging mine and Hannah’s scores was the “Banana Split”; a classic combination of banana and chocolate. I pushed aside my sugar sick feeling to let that taste linger in my mouth before heading to class. 

Later that evening, we had all the other teachers over to taste some new flavors of Pocky (and to get rid of the remainder) with a little Pocky Mixer. Tried and true and new combinations were made, and everyone seemed to have rediscovered a love for the sweets. I think I’ll be off the stuff for a while…but I will be bringing home a few boxes. 

The remains of the Great Pocky Experiment.

“I like to eat Duck Tongue”

Abby is the queen of construction paper
iPhone Selfies. She's a cutie. 

Between weekends in Shanghai and trips down to Southern China, I teach a gaggle of darling 2nd graders and slightly less-cute-but-more-articulate 4th graders. There’s more teaching going on for the older kids; Language Arts lessons and Spelling tests occupy my afternoons while construction paper iPods and musical chairs with 7 year olds is how I spend the rest of the day. I’ve been teaching these kids for several weeks now and have all but gotten used to the hilarious stories and quirky names; but there are still moments that catch me off guard. The stories are funny, made even funnier by the fact that some of my kids have the most absurd names. You have the traditional titles like Josh and Kyle, Steven, and Taylor. Then, there's group that must have gotten their names out of the 1950’s sock hop registration list; names like Gary, Oscar, Scarlett, Linda, and Vicky. I’m also partial to the names are those that are not so much as names, but are objects; Cookie, Robot, Daisy, Honey and Kitty. However, my very favorites are those that aren’t really names at all: King, Happy, Blaze, Sweetie, and Michael Potato, to name a few. They are cute, they are sweet, they are naughty, and they are my kids….and their stories are hilarious. 

I’ve got a dozens of little tales that I painstakingly write down to make sure I remember them well enough to give me a giggle years down the road (or still make make my stomach turn). My 4th grader’s have more bewildering anecdotes. I’ve got one kid, Blaze, who doesn’t know much Englis

h. He can string together a few words to let me know he’ll be getting drink or going to the bathroom instead of writing down this week’s new Spelling list, so when he came into class wanting a “small this”, or a “little bag”, it took a minute for me to realize what he was asking for. “No Blaze, I don’ have a ziplock back…this is Spelling class. Why in the world would you need a bag or container?” Blaze opened his clutched hands, releasing about a dozen ants that immediately started crawling between his fingers. Luckily, a small houseplant was available to be the ant’s new home. I’m often asked for objects that don’t really make sense (“Teacha, do you have a lid for this?” “Teacher, do you have a picture of a hedgehog?”) but I have taken to carry around tissues in case they are needed. Once during reading, a boy named Jerry (there are about 7 Jerry’s in the ILP program, go figure) asked for a tissue, and I didn’t have one. He then proceeded to stand up, walk out the door to the bathroom, then changed his mind…spilling a loogie into his hand, then wiping that on the rubbish bin. In. His. Hands. 

Gross. Gross. Gross. 

My second grader’s are much cuter (see photo) but sometimes that gross. We end each day by piling all the kids into the gym room for a song and the chance for them to report their behavior to their Chinese teacher. Most of it is conducted in English, though sometimes it’s in Chinese. The American teachers usually tune out during the Chinese parts, but our attention was called once Hanson’s eager hand was finally called on, he said his comment, and the whole class chuckled. Lily, the Chinese coordinator replied sheepishly: “Thank you, Hanson: Chris; We mustn’t eat things out of the rubbish”. These kids will eat anything. Sunny (a 4th grader) once dove down to lick what turned out to be baking soda off the floor because it had fallen out of the fridge. You would think they didn’t get fed all day; they do, I promise. One afternoon, my horde of cute 2nd graders came running in to tell me that “James eat an ant!”. The girls were grossed out, the boys smiled and shrugged their shoulders when I asked them why in the world James would eat an ant, but I never got a straight answer.

Sometimes that communication barrier makes conversations even more hilarious. I teach a ridiculously cute and ridiculously loud 7 year old named Simba. He has the puffiest eyes that hide behind yellow rimmed glasses and the child shouts everything. His face is often found freshly flushed from yelling his report or screaming hello at friends. He is so-oo cute. Chris is his classmate (the rubbish eater) who is very naughty but has taken to giving me hugs for what I’m sure is some ulterior motive. He came into class and said sweetly “You are milk”. I looked to Simba who speaks slightly better English, who made a drinking-something-motion to confirm my question of “Milk?”. Simba replied “YES, MILK”. I asked again: “I am milk?”, utterly confused. Simba screams back at me: “NOT ME! CHRIS THINKS YOU ARE MILK! MIILLLLKKKKK!”. I have no idea what that even means. 

Simba is the star of one of my very favorite stories. My lesson included asking the kids what sort of pets they had at home. Some were eager to share their cat just had kittens, or that they have a bird at home that’s their very own. Simba rain forward to get right in my face and screamed at the top of his tiny lungs “I HAVE A BUNNY, 2 BIRDS, AND A DOG BUT THEY ALL DIIIIEEEEEEEDDDDD”. I was laughing hard, meaning I wasn’t paying him my full attention so he felt the need to shout the follow up: “TEACHA, I HAVE MANY, MANY FISSSSSHHH”. Oh Simba. My heart and eardrums won’t be the same ever again. 

King tries to play it cool, even on the St. Patrick's Day
slash Easter party.

This is usually how pictures go. 

There are also the offhanded comments that lower your self esteem in one swoop. King has to be one of my favorites (also he’s in my homeroom, so that’s a plus). He is sooooo cute, which is good because it means he gets away with saying things like “Teacha, so soft” when he jiggles my upper arms. Thanks, King. It’s a good thing I like you. 

The girls have sweet stories; shocker, I know. Pictures are often drawn and have the most heartwarming anecdotes. Taylor I think is the sweetest student I have; bonus points because she’s in my homeroom. Taylor drew a picture of Superman with hearts and when I asked what her Superpower would be she pointed to her paper because “She would make the whole world love each other…”  Could she be cuter?? 

Don’t get me wrong: the trips to exotic and exciting places have been wonderful, but it’s nice to come back home to my kids. I’m going to miss telling me their favorite breakfast food is duck tongue, or needing Michael Potato to make sure I don’t forget the “Potato” when I roll call his name just as “Michael”, or drying off leaves before class one by one for the pet silkworm for my 4th graders. Oh, I'm going to miss these kiddos.