12/27/15, “Arrivals”
Incheon
International Airport, Korea (ICN)
My astute
reader will notice that there was no entry dated 12/26/15, and why is
that? I never skip an entry when I
travel. Well, that’s a funny thing about
time zones. It is pitch black outside,
and my cell phone is reading a local time of 5:30 AM, Sunday 12/27/15. The corner of my laptop is reminding me that
the time back home is 3:30 PM, Saturday 12/26/15. In other words, Saturday simply disappeared. My body does not feel like it’s 5:30 AM. I’m rearing to go. I want to start seeing sites. I do not want to spend 5 hours in one of
Incheon’s beautifully decorated smoking lounges.
I am afraid that by the time I get to my
hotel in Beijing, though the clock will read 2:00 PM on Sunday, I will feel
like it is the same time it is back home 1:00 AM late Saturday night. My first stop will be the Olympic Stadium,
the main purpose of this trip, but will I be too tired to enjoy it? I hope the sunlight will remind me of the
actual local time, but, adjusting to a 13-hour time change in one day is rough,
even for me. When I wake up tomorrow, I
will probably head to the Great Wall. By
that time, I will be fully rested, and I’ll be ready to go. I am just afraid that today will be a lost
day. Christmas was Friday, but it will
be Monday before I can begin my trip in earnest. Today will be the day to settle in, just see
what I can manage to see, maybe a nice dinner, smoke my 2006 Christmas pipe,
and get to bed early. Then, tomorrow,
rested and alert, I can go see the Great Wall.
After I closed, I passed out almost as soon as we took off, sleeping
through whatever food or beverages were offered, only waking up sporadically to
go to the bathroom. I had the bulkhead
and was able to fully extend my legs and put them up on the wall, so I slept
comfortably. I got porridge for
breakfast, but I was not hungry. An hour
later, I got some snacks (brownies and pound cake). Around noontide back home I woke up for good
and listened to some Billy Joel music as we made our descent. My phone was lit up with notifications when
we landed, and I took my time in responding to them. I was all caught up by the time I got to the
duty-free shop, which had a disappointing selection of cigars, but I found a
few.
I would have about six hours here
before my flight to Beijing. That meant
time was not a factor in any way. I have
time to eat, drink, smoke, whatever. I
even think they have a swimming pool and golf course here if I were so
inclined. It’s called “The World’s Best
Airport” for a reason. For now, I’m in
the beautifully appointed smoking room with real trees and plants on the wall,
well lit, even better ventilated. It is
orders of magnitude better than meagerly one in Cairo. Once I got to the smoking lounge, one of many
throughout the airport, I lit up an H. Upmann Magnum I picked up at duty-free
and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can begin
to while away the five hours until I need to board my flight to Beijing.
Beijing,
China (“Beijing 2008”)
Seoul 1988
(January), Athens 2004 (May), Rome 1960 (September), Melbourne 1956 (December),
Sydney 2004 (December), potential revisits to Antwerp 1920 (April) and London
2012 (June), along with Rio 2016 in August are all that remain for my Olympic
Stadium goal, and I intended to finish this mission in 2016. A dream trip to the Orient, other people
would be gushing about a wall or palaces or clay soldiers or gambling in Macau
or the nightlife in Hong Kong. While I
will do all of that, it is these two stadiums that hold the true draw for
me.
As I walked down the steps of the
stadium, I snapped into an impromptu parody of “Our Last Summer.” I was making up the words to fit the Games of
the XXIX Olympiad, “I can still recall, our last Olympiad, I can still see it
all. Usain running the track, Phelps
swimming the relay. I can still see it
all.” Something like that. It’s true.
I can still see it all. It is the
reason why the windows in my bedroom at my parent’s house are still covered
with Aluminum foil, so that I was able to keep myself on Beijing time 7 years
ago. Now, here I am, not 100 feet away
from the track. When I was watching in
2008, I never imagined I’d come here.
Now, here I am, and I can still see it all. Well, how did I get here?
It has been about 11 hours since I closed at
Incheon, and I have been awake for those 11 hours. It feels like a lifetime ago that I walked
into that smoking lounge, where I spent most of my layover. I got breakfast after my first cigar, a nice,
traditional, Italian breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, mushroom, tomatoes, and
toast. (Isn’t that what the English eat
for breakfast?) I got two cappuccinos to
go with that, then I went to Burger King for an onion rings and Coke Zero.
Fully fed, I went back to the cigar lounge,
where I lit up an Aging Room. After
that, I got some pastries, a cream filled rice ball or something like
that. Then a rushed bowl in my Ardor
pipe before I headed to the gate, only to learn I had been upgraded to Business
Class. #Winning. The seats lay flat like a bed, and the meal
was exquisite, Korean bulagi and white rice, along with bread and quality
French Bordeaux. I also watched a
delightful movie called, “Before You Go.”
Soon enough, we were landing in Beijing.
Border control was painless, and I took some money out of the ATM before
getting in a taxi. I like to write about
the little things I find unique to each country that are universal in the
country but found nowhere else in the world.
For China, I noticed two things.
The first was identical high-rise buildings in groups, like four or five
identical towers in the same area. The
second was the windows on the car, they were all tinted except for the front
maybe 4 inches of the front window. It
made no sense.
The name of my hotel was
the “Pangu 7-Star Luxury Hotel.” I may
have said, “Fengu 7-Star Luxury Hotel,” but the names sound alike, and there is
only one “7-Star Luxury Hotel” in Beijing.
He brought me to a place called the “Friendship House Hotel.” I showed him the printout and asked him if he
was sure he was right. He said he
was. I showed him the picture and
pointed to the hotel. They looked
nothing alike. My hotel was less than
two klicks from the Bird’s Nest. We
hadn’t seen the Bird’s Nest yet. I
pulled out Google Maps. We were nine
clicks from the hotel. He apologized
profusely, and we headed to the right hotel, seeing the Bird’s Nest along the
way.
I checked in and upgraded to a room
on the 16
th Floor with a view of the Bird’s Nest. It was beautiful. I could see it all. I changed into some casual clothes, feeling
my Mets shirt appropriate for the occasion.
Almost no one outside the hotel speaks any English, so the language
barrier is steep. When I got to the
Olympic Park, I asked for a ticket to the Bird’s Nest and the Water Cube. They were only selling Water Cube tickets
there. I started to worry if the Bird’s
Nest was maybe closed for the season.
The weather was below freezing, and it is an outdoor stadium.
I started walking and found myself inside the
Water Cube. Reader, perhaps the most
significant event in Olympic history occurred here. I found my way into the stands. I cried in 2008. I cried when won the 100m Butterfly by a
hundredth of a second. I cried when they
came back to win the relay. I cried when
he won his 8
th Gold. I cried
again in 2015 as I walked into the stands.
I could see it all. I could see
Mama Phelps cheering in the stands. I
could see the races taking shape in the now-tarped-over pool. I could see it all.
It was a bit of maze to get out of there and
to the Bird’s nest, but I found it.
There was a ticket office. The
tickets were pricy, but it was worth it.
I walked in, made my way to the stands, took some ceremonial pictures,
and found a seat in the second row, where I proceeded to write this entry,
which I will now close so that I can make my way back to my hotel and maybe
catch a nap before dinner. This has been
an amazing experience, and possibly no other Olympic Stadium holds as much
meaning to me as this one.
It is a
familiar feeling, one that I felt in Toronto, in Sarajevo, in Ushuaia, and now
in Beijing. In my entry dated, 12/27/14,
I recounted the adventures of those cities, the first overnight stop of my New
Year’s Trip. I asked, “What adventures
will the Beijing, China dateline recount in 2015 as I smoke this pipe once
more?” That pipe, of course, is the 2006
Christmas pipe. It is the pipe that
symbolizes the culmination of Day 1, always the most stressful day of any trip,
other than, of course, Day 0. However,
for an international trip of this magnitude, Day 0 will usually be spent purely
in transit. This 2006 Christmas pipe, it
means that all the stress and anxiety of my preparations are gone, the nuisance
of being in transit for 12-24 hours has passed.
Whatever little thing went wrong has fixed itself, and I realize that
everything will work itself out.
That is
what this pipe represents. That is what
it represented in Toronto after the blizzard, in Sarajevo after the fog, in
Ushuaia after the lost cell phone, and now in Beijing after, well, I guess the
worst thing that has happened today was the difficulty finding dinner, though,
I suppose, the 30-hour voyage from White Plains to the hotel in Beijing wasn’t
exactly fun, but it was a lot smoother than expected. Well, that and the fact that the difficulties
with dinner may have cost me getting a good photo for my establishing shot for
this entry, since the Bird’s Nest is no longer lit. Oh, and I’m having trouble charging my
laptop, which is now almost dead. If I
can’t post this entry before my battery runs out, I may have to implement the
“Moscow Solution.”
However, these are
all tiny things compared to dangerous driving or a lost cell phone. I am staring at the Olympic Stadium, and I
can make it out, even if it’s not well lit.
In front of it is the Water Cube, which is better lit. It doesn’t matter. Even unlit, these two buildings hold more
meaning to me than any hotel view I have ever experienced. After I closed, I made my way out of the
Olympic Park, stopping at the gift shop, then getting a hot beverage and some
snacks, using Google Translate to communicate at the snack place. More snacks, more souvenirs, then back to my
hotel.
It was 5:30 PM. I figured I’d relax for an hour, take a
little bit of a nap, and then go to the hotel restaurant for dinner around 9
PM, then have my pipe at 10 PM, be asleep before midnight. It is now 1 AM. As I was about to fall sleep for my nap,
literally on the verge of passing out, I heard a noise that shot my entire
night to hell and totally fucked up all of my plans for the night. It was a doorbell, followed by a knock,
followed by a doorbell. It would not be
going away. It was the maid, asking if I
wanted “turndown service.” I politely
declined and went back to my room. There
is such as a thing as too over-the-top service, and this crossed that
line. I was about to fucking fall
asleep! I didn’t need turndown
service. It was a bit before I could get
back to sleep.
I woke up 3 hours later,
past 9:30 PM. The details are fuzzy, but
somehow it was like 9:55 PM by the time I made it out of the room. I figured the restaurant would be open until
at least 10 PM. I got to the 6th
Floor at 9:59 PM. There was a sign to go
to the 5th Floor. I got there
are 10:00 PM. They told me it was
closed. In all of my travels, I have
never had such a language barrier. What
bothers me most is their reaction, and I’m sure it’s a cultural thing, but it
is insulting to an American. When they
don’t understand what I say, they laugh.
Reader, imagine a foreigner walking into the Waldorf–Astoria or the Four
Seasons and asking for something in their native language, and the maid or
bellhop laughs. That maid or bellhop
might get fired for that if the guest complained. Second of all, I would expect the staff at a
“7-Star” hotel to speak English decently.
Even the people at the front desk, my Spanish is better than their
English. All I wanted was some Chinese
food. They suggested room service. No, that wouldn’t be Official. I could go to the lounge on the 21st
or 1st Floor. The one on the
21st Floor was too loud. I
went to the 1st Floor. They
only had international food. I could get
room service. Could I get the room
service delivered to the lounge? Okay,
maybe. The room service menu stopped serving
Chinese food at the same time the restaurant closed. No good.
I could get a burger and fries.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
Where
was the nearest Chinese restaurant?
Beijing Roast Duck was a 10-minute taxi ride or 20-minute walk. That didn’t quite translate. I tried to find it on TripAdvisor, but he
didn’t know the exact name. Eventually,
it was suggested I go to Jin Ding Xuan, an all-night Chinese place. I took a taxi there, not knowing what to
expect. I was shocked. It was kind of like a buffet, kind of like a
sit down restaurant. The service was
terrible, or maybe it was just the language barrier thing again. You had to go up to the display area, tell a
waiter there what you wanted, and then they’d bring it to your table.
I got soup, roast duck, and white rice. It was my first Official meal in China,
bringing my count to 59 countries. I ate
with the plastic chopsticks they provided, but it wasn’t a #ClashOfCultures. The meal was very rich, and I think I ate too
much fatty duck, since I’m starting to feel it. I took a taxi back to my hotel and headed up to my room, where I changed
into my pajamas, lit up my 2006 Christmas pipe, and proceeded to write this
entry, which I will now close since my battery is almost dead. Tomorrow: Great Wall.
12/28/15,
“The Wall”
Badaling,
China (The Great Wall)
I can hear
John William’s rendition of “Bugler’s Dream” playing. I can hear Bob Costa’s voiceover beginning,
his brilliant prose that always ended with, “…at the Games of the XXIX
Olympiad.” Why? Well, while the sites I saw yesterday are the
ones I most associate with Beijing 2008, perhaps Mama Phelps (Debbie, that was
her name) more than anything, this site too, which featured so prominently in
the backdrop of the coverage, will always be associated for me with those
Games.
I never imagined I’d come here
when I watched seven years ago, though I’m sure my father mentioned wanting to
visit the Terracotta Army, which I will see tomorrow. Now, here I am. To be honest, it is slightly underwhelming,
but it is also somehow overwhelming in the same, for the very reason that it
underwhelming, if that makes any sense.
When you go to the Pyramids or Stonehenge or the Grand Canyon, you have
that one, “There it is!” moment, I even call it the “Grand Canyon moment,” the
one vista that so captures the entirety of what you are visiting. Don’t get me wrong, this vista in the upper
right hand corner is breathtaking, but it is merely one mile of the wall, one
mile of hundreds of miles or maybe a thousand miles. That is how it is both underwhelming and
overwhelming at the same time. There are
plenty of castles throughout Europe that provide equally breathtaking single
vistas. I’m thinking of the
Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany in particular, perhaps Europe’s most beautiful
castle, though it was not to be on my agenda when I went.
That is not why this is a Wonder. It is a wonder because it goes on for so long,
because of its endless vistas. The view
doesn’t change much, and it is both hard and effortless to get an idea of the
enormity of this wall in a short visit.
Hard because you are only seeing a small portion, effortless because it
appears to go on forever in each direction.
It is unlike anything I have ever seen, and it is clearly worthy of its
title as a wonder of the world.
Anyway,
after I closed last night, I was unable to post my entry since Blogspot was
blocked from the Wi-Fi. I emailed the
entry instead to my family. I then got
into a few debates/discussions online that kept me up until past 3 AM local
time. I woke up to the sunrise four and
half hours, and the smog presented a beautiful view from my window, even more
beautiful as the sun peaked up over the skyline. I also got some happy news on my phone. The Jets had beat the Patriots, and the
Steelers had lost. That meant that, if
the Jets win next week, they are in the playoffs. “They control their own destiny” is the
phrase. I immediately messaged my old
friend from the Jets game about it, and she was even more excited about than I
was. A little bit of sad news, the
Panthers had lost their perfect season, now 14-1.
I then went down to breakfast, a first-rate
buffet, even if the service was lacking, continuing to discuss various movies
with my friend. We have pretty much been
having this discussion nonstop for about a month now, trying to handicap and
analyze the Oscars races and various rankings of our favorite/best pop culture
items. Alright, it is freezing, and I am
done with my cigar, so I will wrap up.
The buffet had four or five different stations, and I was very thankful
I’d be here for three mornings so that I would not have to pig out to sample
everything. They had an omelet/dumpling
station, a noodle/vegetable station, a hot food buffet, including brunch dishes
and rice dishes, and a bread/fruit/cheese/pastry station. I got some simple bread and butter and fruit
for my first course, followed by waffle fries (the highlight), French toast
triangles, and fried dough, then two eggs with bacon, which I ate with
chopsticks, recreating a scene from Mulan.
I then had some more waffle fries and fried dough, then pastries. I had tea, of course, to accompany all of
this. I then went back to my room.
I went down, where my taxi was waiting for
the day. The hotel made me pay in
advance. The driver didn’t speak a word
of English. That was fine, except,
again, how he reacted. First, he
laughed, of course, then he tried repeating himself, just louder, in
Chinese. When we got to the Wall, we
used our translation apps on our phone to make arrangements with each
other. He’d wait for me in the parking
lot. Perfect. I needed a driver, not a tour guide. The last thing I wanted was someone walking
with me, telling me the history of the wall.
As we drove, I lit up my Davidoff Escurio, the cigar I always smoke now
on the first big drive of a trip. This
drive took about half as long as anticipated, so I wasn’t even close to done
with the cigar when we got there. As
soon as I walked out of the car, someone put a hat on my head. It was overpriced, but I really needed a hat,
as the weather was below freezing. I
finished my cigar as I made my way to the Wall’s entrance. The sun was overhead, which was providing
much needed warmth. Then I was
there.
I took my first picture, which I
sent to my best friend, telling her I wanted to share it with her before I
started blasting over social media. I
would later post to almost every form of social media, but I wanted to share
that moment with someone who mattered to me before I shared it with my 300
closest friends. I then took a different
picture to send to my family. I lit up a
Churchill for the walk, which was kind of prohibited, but the language barrier
this time worked to my favor. I would
just put the cigar in my hand when they pointed to it and keep smoking once I
was out of site.
I walked for about a
mile, a strenuous hike, appreciating the beauty of what I was seeing, taking
lots of pictures, before I turned around.
When I got back to the base, with my cigar and beard and hat and obvious
Western look, two locals, a couple, asked me something in Chinese, pointing to
their camera. Sure, I’d take a picture
of them. No, they wanted to pose for a
picture with them. Sure, why not. The travelling philosopher must have his
image spread. First the woman posed with
me, then the man. They thanked me profusely. I headed to the gift shop next, where I got
all the souvenirs I needed, except for a coffee mug, and it pretty much drained
me of all of my cash.
I then found a
nice bench in the sun with a good vista, where I proceeded to write this entry,
which I will now close so that I can head back to the taxi and back to Beijing,
where I will need to figure out how to spend the rest of my day. It is not yet 1 PM, and I should be back at
the hotel around 2 PM, which gives me three hours before sunset, enough time to
see a site or two in Beijing should I so choose.
Beijing,
China
The tallest
building in the Western Hemisphere, a harrowing drive through Yugoslavia to
Budapest, crossing the Beagle Channel on the ship where I made so many new
friends (some of whom would change my life), and, now the Great Wall. Ottawa, Budapest, M/V Corinthian, and Beijing.
That is this day in history. I
don’t mean December 12. I mean, Day 2 of
my New Year’s trips, when I have smoked my 2007 Christmas pipe, as I am doing now. The difference here is that this is my second
night in Beijing, which is an exception to the above, where I was spending my
first night in each of those locations.
While it is tough to say that anything could top Antarctica, I would say
the Great Wall certainy gives it a run for its money. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to pull
off my trip next year, but, unless I see the Great Barrier Reef on Day 2, I can
be sure that these past two Day 2 smokings of the 2007 Christmas pipe will
never be matched. On that note, I’ll
have to briefly pause before I recount the events that followed my entry at the
Wall.
While I was
finishing up my entry, two more women came up to me asking to take my picture
with me. Is this like a thing? Do locals come to tourist sites and take
pictures of the tourists to share with their friends? Anyway, I suffered through freezing cold and
lit up a Partagas on my way back, taking pictures with the marble “plaques”
just outside the entrance. I was soon
back at my taxi, and we were at the hotel not much later. I had just missed the lunch window, but I
wasn’t even that hungry, and my snacks in my room would suffice. I was more tired and exhausted than anything
else. I could have slept until
morning. That would not do.
I looked at the map. Beijing has three WHS. Two, along with the People’s Congress, were
near Tiananmen Square, so I could do all of that morning before I leave. There was one outlier. The Summer Palace. It was 20 minutes from the hotel, and I had
to be there at 3:45 PM at the absolute latest.
It was approaching 3 PM as I figured this all out. That meant no nap, no time for lunch. I would travel light, and I will describe in
detail what followed from the time I got out of bed at 3:10 PM. Reader, pay close attention here.
I grabbed a chocolate cake from my snacks and
a can of Diet Coke from the fridge. I
finished the cake much quicker than the can of soda. I figured I’d travel light, no computer
bag. It would be a quick stop. I just needed one or two pictures, then I
could come back and pass out until dinner time.
I put on my pants and socks and shoes and overcoat, still wearing my
Jets shirt. I grabbed my baggie of
cigars for the day and added in a selection of two more Cubans. I put those in my coat pocket. I made sure I had my lighter. I found my portable battery and plugged my
cell phone into it. I put that
combination into my pocket. Now, this is
the important part. I grabbed my can of
Diet Coke, still drinking it, and headed downstairs and got in a taxi. It was 3:20 PM at this point, right on
target. The clerk at the hotel gave me a
card to show the driver on the way back, which she said would take me to my hotel. There would be taxis waiting at the Summer
Palace. Perfect.
As we were driving, I did my customary pocket
check. Where was my passport? Oh, I had left it back at the hotel. I wasn’t pleased about it, but it was
fine. I paid the driver and got out of
the taxi. He drove off. Where was my water bottle? Reader, have you been following along? Closely?
Then, where was my water bottle.
Yes, seeing as I had been drinking the can of Diet Coke as I left my hotel
room, and in my tiredness and haste, I had forgotten my water bottle back at
the hotel. Crap. Crap.
Crap. It was much better than
leaving it in the taxi, but there was no time to go back to get it. I would not be able to take my ceremonial
pictures with my water bottle and cigar.
I would not even Officially be able to give myself credit for this WHS,
I didn’t think. I felt naked without
it.
I paid my admission fee and went
inside. The Summer Palace is just that,
a summer retreat. It surrounds a
beautiful lake. The lake was frozen over
and covered with snow. It was even more
beautiful like this than in the pictures I saw of summer. However, I was painfully aware of my missing
water bottle each time I tried to take a ceremonial picture. It just wasn’t the same, even with the Trinidad
I had lit. The main attraction was the
Buddhist tower, but I got to it too late.
I was able to do some climbing and get a decent picture of it, but not
the one I wanted. I made my way back,
enjoying the vistas, but lacking the fulfillment value an Official visit would
have brought. I stopped at some souvenir
shops along the way, not finding what I wanted until I had left the
palace.
I found a taxi and handed him
the card. He pointed to the palace,
indicating we were already there. I had
shown him the wrong side. I turned it
around and showed him the hotel information.
I was just finishing my cigar when I saw the familiar site of the
hotel’s tower. I’m actually not even
sure it’s part of the hotel. There are
four identical buildings with a similar taller tower. It seems the hotel is just one of the smaller
buildings. I have no idea what those
other buildings are. I am about to fall
asleep now, so I will need to wrap up. I
passed out as soon as I got back to my room, waking up to a text from my oldest
friend at 9 PM. I was still tired, but I
didn’t want to fall asleep and have a repeat of last night. I fell asleep. It was 9:40 PM when I woke up.
I raced to get downstairs, and I got to the
restaurant right before they closed.
They showed me into a private room.
I asked for one facing the Bird’s Nest.
They had one. The service, like
the rest of the hotel, was both over the top and awful. They brought the drink menu. I couldn’t believe the price of a can of Diet
Coke, literally 8 times what I’d spend in a vending machine back home. A bit later they brought me the food
menu. And stood over me as I looked at
it. That was annoying af. I took my time. I then asked about the appetizers. They had no idea what I meant. If you are going to fucking stand over me as
I look over the menu, you sure as fuck better be prepared to answer any fucking
question I have about the menu, especially one as simple as that.
The prices were outrageous, too. Either some of these dishes were exotic rare
dishes that had to be imported or hand caught or something or I don’t
know. They had a fish dish that was, I
shit you not, two orders of magnitude more than a typical main course
elsewhere. Reader, I don’t use monetary
amounts unless strictly necessary, but, I’m talking two weeks of my net pay for
a fish dish. Again, I shit you not. I chose a dumpling appetizer and sweet and
sour pork, both of which were relatively inexpensive, and I say
relatively. Mr. K’s in the city is even
cheaper. I also got some white
rice. They brought my can of Diet
Coke.
Reader, for the price of that can,
they should have put it in a chilled crystal goblet and held the goblet for me
as I drank it. It was a standard glass,
and she poured it and walked away. It
was warm. WHAT THE FUCK?!? I couldn’t believe it! I asked for some ice. She brought a big bucket of ice and tongs
and, ceremoniously, put one ice cube at a time in the glass. She dropped one on
the table, apologized, and then took the glass and the ice behind me to finish
the process unseen. She put five or six
ice cubes in. It didn’t help. I was extremely thirsty, so I finished it
right away. I asked for another one with
my food. This time, they put a bunch of
ice cubes in first.
I was continuing to
discuss with my friend at this point what records Star Wars will and won’t
break. We agreed it would break all of
Avatar’s records, but the ones set by Titanic and ET would stand, though it
might break a few of them. The dumplings
were decent, and the sweet and sour pork was delicious. As they brought the check, I continued to
message with my friend. If they wanted
to hover, I was going to finish my message while he was standing over me. He started to walk away, either taking the
pen or the whole thing with him. After I
sent the message, I motioned for him to come back. I signed the check, not leaving any
additional gratuity, so annoyed by every aspect of the service.
I headed downstairs to see what my options
were for seeing the Terracotta Army. I
had thought it was a 2-hour drive, and the train ride would be about the
same. I was in for a shock. First, I was told that the train ride would
be 5-6 hours and cost a very high price.
They would look into a taxi. This
didn’t seem right. I checked Google
Maps. Wait, what?!? 11 hours by car? How could I have been so off? I was told soon thereafter that driving in
one day was not an option.
I could fly
back and forth for about twice the price of the train. I could take an 8:50 AM flight, and be at the
site by noon. I then had plenty of
options for flying back. That’ll work,
assuming I can wake up in time. I
continued my discussion with my friend as I headed upstairs. I then sat down in my chair, lit up my 2007
Christmas Pipe, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so
that I can finally pass out. Hopefully I
can make that 8:50 AM flight, which means I have to be up in like 4.5 hours.
12/29/15,
“The Terracotta Army”
Xi’an, China
Most
impressive. Definitely worth the trouble
and lack of sleep it took to get here. I
have certainly never seen anything like this in all of my travels, and I would
have been disappointed if I left China without seeing it. Obviously I cannot smoke my cigar inside the
mausoleum, so this picture shows the entrance.
It has been a harrowing ordeal in the almost exactly 12 hours since I closed
last night, and I only managed three hours of sleep.
I slept for one REM cycle, waking up around
3:30 AM. I couldn’t get back to
sleep. My friend texted me a little
after 4 AM my time. I couldn’t go back
to sleep, so I texted back and forth a bit with her, about our upcoming London
trip, about Star Wars Episode 8, and about the Oscar races, the usual
stuff. Once the conversation died down,
I was able to fall back asleep, waking up another REM cycle. I had enough time to shower and hastily get ready
for the day.
Did I need my suit? I would flying, but, technically, I do allow
an exception for a day trip if I will be returning to the same hotel. I have just never used that exception for a
commercial air flight like this before, only for chartered flightseeing
tours. I figured I would need it for
warmth anyway. I didn’t have time for
breakfast, so I hit my snacks. That
would tide me over until lunch. A piece
of cake, a muffin, two tiny hot dogs, and half an ice cream bar. That’s all I’ve eaten so far, but I’m good
for now. I packed my tobacco and
electronics for the day, bringing my water bottle this time. I took a taxi to the airport.
It was 6:50 AM. The flight was at 8:50 AM, and I still didn’t
have my ticket, apparently unable to book it online this close to departure
time. I lit up a Romeo y Julieta for the
ride to the airport, which was much shorter than anticipated, getting me there
at 7:20 AM with plenty of cigar left.
The cigar was not worth risking the flight, so I ditched it outside. The people at the ticket counters spoke
better English than those in the hotel and taxis. I got a round trip ticket, for about 50% more
than what Google told me it would be.
This day trip, including souvenirs and ground transportation, would cost
me close to what I’ve paid for weekend trips to the West Coast or Arizona. It would be worth it. It’s the Terracotta Army. At least I hoped it would be worth it.
I lost my lighter and all of my matches to
security. Fuck! I would have no way of lighting my ceremonial
cigar in Xi’an. I guessed I could stop
at a drugstore or something. Where the
fuck was I going to find a drugstore on the way to the Tomb? I’d think of something. I always do.
I went to KFC for breakfast, a sausage sandwich and a cappuccino. The sandwich had a funny taste. Mustard.
Fuck! I haven’t felt nauseated
yet, so that’s a good sign.
I had a
middle seat, but it was a short flight.
I worked on updating my 2016 travel plans on the flight. While we were in the air, I had an idea. It was so simple. Why didn’t I think of it before? When I went through security at PEK, there
was a big box of lighters that people had to forfeit. Surely, XIY would have the same box at their
security terminal. I’d walk up, from the
groundside, and ask to take some lighters and matches. Surely, they’d be okay with it. When we got there, I had to circumnavigate to
find the security checkpoint, but they were just fine with me taking whatever I
wanted. I can do the same thing at PEK
again and at every airport for the rest of the trip, for the rest of my life
even. This was the ultimate airport
hack. How did I not realize this
before?
I was accosted by taxi drivers,
but I ignored them all until after I had my lighter. Wary of being ripped off again (I had paid 5
times the going rate for my first taxi ride on Sunday from the airport to the
hotel), I asked him to use the meter. He
named a price. It was much too high. No, he said it was round trip, and the driver
would wait. Okay, that would work. After about an hour, continuing to message
with my friend, the one with whom I’m having the ongoing movie conversation,
this time about ideas for future Star Wars films and how perfect Christ Pratt
would be to play both the new Indiana Jones and a young Han Solo, us both
agreeing there is no one else we’d better trust to take the hat from Ford.
Once I was there, I was again accosted by
tour guides. I wouldn’t have wanted one
even for free. I made my way to the
tombs. I walked into Pit 2. There were a few whole soldiers out on the
edges in cases and lots of broken soldiers articulately numbered. That was kind of cool. I then went to Pit 3. Hmm, there were a few whole soldiers and
horses, but it was tiny, not that impressive.
I was prepared to leave underwhelmed.
Wait, I hadn’t been to Pit 1 yet.
I found Pit 1. It was
packed. I caught a glimpse of the
pit. My jaw literally dropped. Never in my life had I ever seen anything
like it.
It looked like a packed IMAX
theatre, but, instead of moviegoers, it was all terracotta soldiers. I got to the front row and started taking my
pictures, both normal and ceremonial. I
sent my friends and family some pictures.
I went from being underwhelmed to being overwhelmed. It was incredible. However, after five minutes, the view didn’t
change, and there was nothing else to see.
I could have gotten away with lighting up a cigar, taking a ceremonial
picture, and then walking outside, but I deemed it disrespectful. I bought some terracotta warriors as souvenirs,
and I was good.
I then went outside to
light up my cigar and find a good spot.
I took some ceremonial pictures with the outside of the mausoleum in the
background. I must have been quite a
sight with my cigar, beard, and suit.
All the locals wanted to take pictures with me. I obliged, often even recreating the iconic
pose. Once they left, I sat down on a
podium or something, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now
close.
As soon as I’m done with this
cigar, I’ll take one last look at Pit 1, then head back to the car, then to the
airport, where I should have enough time for lunch before my flight. This is my last night in Beijing, so I’ll be
sure to go to Beijing’s finest restaurant and maybe even a cigar lounge if I
can find one. Tomorrow, the touristy
stuff in Beijing.
Beijing,
China
It has been
about 18 hours since I left my hotel this morning. Those 18 hours have consisted of 1 hour of
sightseeing, 1 hour of napping, 1 hour of relaxation, and, I shit you not, 15
hours of aggravation. I am dead tired,
so I will recall the remaining details of the day as quickly as possible before
I crash. The Rideau Canal and Canadian
Parliament in Ottawa, the historic sites of Hungary and the miraculous
single-cigar drive between the Parliaments of Slovakia and Austria, staying up
past midnight with my new friends as crossed the Drake Passage bright as day
all night, and Terracotta Army. Those
are what I have experienced on the various Days 3 of my New Year’s trips before
I smoked my 2008 Christmas pipe.
Earlier
this year, I noted that no smoking of the 2008 Christmas pipe will ever compare
with the one aboard the Corinthian. Even
the Terracotta Army cannot compete. It
is now so polluted out that I cannot even see the Bird’s Nest from my window,
only the Water Cube. The entire city
smells like a dirty ashtray. Xi’an was
not much better. I will be glad to be
leaving Mainland China tomorrow. After I
see the touristy stuff in the city center, I will have done everything I set
out to do on the mainland, except have a good meal. More about that later.
After I closed, I headed back towards to the
parking lot, stopping to get some more souvenirs on the way. It was a big commercial center. They even had a McDonald’s by the souvenir
shops. I kept walking. Then it hit me. The parking lot was huge. How the hell would I remember where we
parked? I had no such problem,
fortunately. My driver was waiting for
me at the entrance to the parking lot.
Was he standing there for two hours?
That was good service. My
cellular data was not working, and I spent the car ride struggling with it,
trying to check my grades for the semester, among other things. That was aggravating, especially since it was
draining the battery. We were
approaching the airport, and he asked for the rest of his money. I told him I’d pay him when we got to the
airport. He doesn’t understand a word of
English. He then pulled over, again
demanding his money. I used my
translation app, “I will pay you when we get to the airport.” Reluctantly, when he saw I wouldn’t budge, he
agreed.
I was struggling with my data
all throughout my time at the airport, as well.
I got my ticket and distributed my lighters and matches throughout my
belongings. They found each and every lighter
and matchbox, even the souvenir lighter I had bought of a Terracotta
soldier. That was a bummer. They then wrote down my passport number and
made a note of it. Uh oh. I got lunch, which consisted of very fancy
and expensive tea, and a pork and rice dish that was less than the price of the
tea. I continued to struggle with my
data.
I chose Beijing’s nicest
restaurant, called Black Sesame Kitchen, which was opened from 7 PM to 10 PM. I figured my flight would land at 7:30 PM,
I’d be at the hotel around 8:30 PM, relax, and get to the restaurant by 9:30 PM
no problem. Well, that didn’t exactly
work out. I napped on the plane, waking
up for a snack, a “Chinese Hamburger.” I
got some more lighters from security when we landed. I then got a taxi to the hotel, noticing the
smell of smoke as soon as I left the terminal, even though no one was
smoking.
I got to the hotel right on
schedule, scouted out the cigar bar details, saw that my grades hadn’t been
posted, and took a nap, waking up at 9:20 PM.
I raced to get out the door and get a cab. The first cab refused to take me
anywhere. I had the hotel sort it out. The restaurant was 23 minutes away. No one had any idea where it was. I had the address. Eventually, they figured out how to get it in
the taxi driver’s GPS. It was 9:40 PM at
this point. At 10:00 PM he indicated we
were there. No, we were not. Another five minutes before he figured out
which direction to go. I was on the
verge of tears at this point. They might
have served me at 10:02 PM, but not 10:07 PM.
The restaurant was only two minutes down an alley.
I saw a bunch of Westerners coming out. That had to be it. No, they were closed, and they couldn’t seat
me. I begged. She explained that 7 PM to 10 PM meant they
sat people at 7 PM and the single seating lasted until 10 PM. If I had gotten there at 9 PM, it still would
have been too late. My only chance would
have been if I had come straight from the airport. That was somewhat relieving. We called the cigar bar. They served food. That would have to do.
He had no idea where it was and dropped me
off on the right street. I struggled to
find it, begrudging the cold and the smoke in the air. Eventually I found it. The cigars were overpriced and poorly
kept. Eventually, I opted for a Cohiba
Siglo II, my favorite cigar in the world, and an Hoyo de Monterrey. I also got a glass of Hennessey XO, which was
reasonably priced, a beef noodle soup, and a chicken dish not worth mentioning. It was the perfect combination.
I enjoyed my cigar (the Cohiba, saving the
Hoyo for another day) and brandy while I waited for the food. The beef noodle soup was delicious, and I
finished the cigar and brandy half asleep.
I got a cab back to the hotel, relaxed for a few minutes, then lit up my
2008 Christmas pipe and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close
so that I can pass out the moment I am done with this pipe.
12/30/15,
“Bye, Bye Beijing”
Aboard Air
China 5403, En route PEK-MFM
Hellish. That is how I would describe the 72 hours I
spent in Mainland China. Other than the
sum total of maybe 7 hours of actual site seeing, 2 hours of eating, 18 hours
of sleeping, 3 hours of writing this blog with my Christmas pipes, and 4 hours
messaging with my friends back home, the rest was pure hell. That is approximately 16 hours of enjoyment,
18 hours unconscious, and 38 hours of hell.
I suppose that’s typical. It was
certainly in-line with the 2013 trip, where I was in hell until I arrived in
Vienna on 12/30, two years ago today.
Maybe my arrival in Macau will signify a similar reset. My time in Vienna (and Austria) was
wonderful. I hope to love my time in the
SARs or Macau and Hong Kong just as much.
However, it doesn’t matter. I did
what I set out to do in Mainland China.
I set foot in the Bird’s Nest Olympic Stadium. I walked the Great Wall. I saw the Terracotta Army. I visited all three WHS in Beijing. Guess what?
When I recall this trip in a month or a year, I’ll remember the sites I
saw. I’ll remember the great
breakfasts. I’ll remember the three
Christmas pipes in my room. I’ll
remember messaging back and forth with my friends back home. I won’t remember getting ripped off by taxi
drivers. I won’t remember having to have
dinner at a cigar lounge one night. I
won’t remember struggling with the mobile data.
Well, actually, I will remember all of that, but I’ll remember it as a
funny story that served as the interludes between the enjoyable parts of the
trip.
When I recall my New Year’s trip
from last year, to Antarctica, I
don’t recall losing my phone on Day 1. I
don’t recall the adversity that came from underpacking. I recall all the times I sat next to Vanessa
in total silence, her mere presence assuring me that everything would be all
right and that nothing could hurt me, or sitting with her family at dinner and
joking with her father. I recall the
beautiful scenery of the Great White Continent.
I recall the all-nighters I pulled with my new friends, staying up well
past midnight, bright as day, drinking with Danny and Davey. I recall New Year’s
Eve in Port Lockroy.
I can still see it
all, and I remember the good memories as the bad ones fade. That is why my readers are often surprised to
learn how highly I rank some of the trip that contain the most complaints in
this Travelogue. I assume I will recall
this trip similarly. Today was
particularly hellish. It was close to 8
AM before I got out of bed, and I packed a little before heading down to
breakfast. I opted for the more
traditional Chinese dishes this morning, instead of a Western breakfast. It was so good. I could eat like that every morning.
Again, I didn’t pig out, and I started with
some fruit and pastry. I then just got
one plate of Chinese breakfast food, but it was amazing. They had an assortment of dumplings. I chose a pork dumpling. They also made me onion pancakes (think
scallion pancakes), two fried eggs, and garlic steak. It was practically orgasmic. I then closed with some pastries and bread,
the entire meal accompanied by black tea.
I promised a full discourse on the buffet. The highlight was the freshly prepared food,
and I didn’t even get to try everything.
The offerings included the garlic steak, some type of fish, the egg
station, the onion pancakes, the dumplings, a dim sum station, and, what I
didn’t try, noodle and vegetable stations.
Then there was the continental section.
A huge assortment of fruit, bread, and pastries. Then there was the Western-style hot food,
along with with assorted rice choices.
When I last examined the question of “best breakfast buffet ever,” I
excluded brunches at the Waldorf and in Vegas, leaving the Frontenac, the two
in the Black Forest, and one in Delhi.
This would now round out the top five.
I would have to put the one in Baiersbronn at number one. The Majestic in Barcelona failed to make this
list because it failed at the hot food station.
You fail the hot food, it’s a bad buffet. Bottom line.
It’s like failing the final in a college course. After breakfast, I headed back up to the room
to finish packing, shower, and dress for the day. Before I recount my sightseeing in Beijing, I
will now pause to eat lunch or dinner or whatever this food is, the first real
food I have had since that majestic breakfast I just recounted.
Writing
about food must have made me hungry.
That was quite a lunch/dinner (linner?).
I am ready for a nap, so I will once more recount my hellish experience
in central Beijing as quickly as possible.
I had everything timed perfectly, or so I thought. I would leave the hotel at 9:30 AM, and I
would need to be at the airport by 2:30 PM for my 4:10 PM flight. The taxis from the hotel to Tiananmen Square
back to the hotel to pick up my luggage then to the airport would take 2 hours
at most. That would leave me with 3
hours for sightseeing, plenty of time for two WHS, the Square itself, souvenir
shopping, and an entry, right?
Wrong. I calculated I would want
to be en route back to the hotel 12:30 PM, 1 PM at the absolute latest. Well, that’s when the shit started to go
down. First, the Temple of Heaven was
significantly further away from Tiananmen Square than I thought, and then we
got stuck in traffic. The good news was
I knew this would literally be a Lavaux moment.
I’d light up my cigar, take a picture with the Temple, have my sip of
water, and head back. 15 minutes
tops. It was 10:15 AM when I got
there. I did exactly that, and the tower
was magnificent, but it was a bit of a far walk. I opted for a Punch for my ceremonial cigar.
It was 10:45 AM when I left, 11:00 AM by the
time the taxi dropped me off at Tiananmen Square, on the south side, the
opposite side of the Forbidden City.
Tiananmen Square is fucking huge.
An hour and a half now seemed like too little time. In addition to being huge, like in Moscow,
you need to use these underground passages to cross the street, and there are
security checkpoints. For some reason,
my American passport exempted me from having to be screened, but I still had to
wait on line.
I first found the National
People’s Congress, the largest legislative body in the world, and took my
ceremonial pictures there. I figured I’d
get my flag pin in Tiananmen Square, having not picked it up at the Great Wall
or the Temple of Heaven, as I expected souvenir shops in Tiananmen Square. I had bad information about that, or I was
too rushed to properly look, but I seriously fucked up by not getting it
early. Now I don’t have a flag pin,
unless I did get it at the Great Wall and forgot about it. I was also almost out of cash. This would be a problem. I needed an ATM. I took some ceremonial pictures in Tiananmen
Square itself, and the police there spoke pretty decent English.
I asked where to find an ATM. Eventually, I found one. It was approaching noon at this point. No luck.
Had I overdrawn my bank account?
That would be disaster level. My
payday was in about 5 hours, but I needed to take taxis before then, and they
don’t take cards. I went to check my
bank account. I had no signal on my
phone. Now I was panicking. I was told there was another ATM in the
subway, which meant leaving the Tiananmen Square security area. I made my way to the subway, getting a data
signal on the way and confirming that I had plenty of money in my back account,
actually more than I had thought I had had.
The subway had the ATM, and I got my cash, but it was past noon now, and
I was seriously rushed.
The line for
security was long, and, again, though flashing my American passport caused them
to waive the screening process for me, it was 12:15 PM by the time I cleared
the security checkpoint. Now I was
seriously rushed. I would have time for
one ceremonial picture inside the Forbidden City, and I’d still be rushed. I figured I absolutely needed to be in a taxi
by 1 PM, or I’d risk missing my flight.
I got my ticket and went through the gate, again, the security screening
waived for me, or at least just done perfunctorily. There it was.
The Forbidden City. Smoking, was,
of course, forbidden. I just wanted to
take one picture. I figured I’d light up
the cigar, take a ceremonial picture, then make a run for it. I got everything ready for the ceremonial
picture, lit up an H. Upmann, took the ceremonial picture, and headed back to
the entry plaza.
Well, it was one way,
apparently. Like the Terracotta Army
area, it was designed with designated entrances and exits, and the exit path
would lead you through the big touristy area.
I should have just gone to the exit.
I begged my way out through the entrance, went to get a souvenir at the
shop in the entrance plaza, and asked where to get a taxi. I was told it was by the exit plaza. Fuuuuuuuuuccckkk! It was after 12:52 PM at this point, and it
was a long walk. It was after 1 PM by
the time I got to the exit plaza, but they had taxis there, all of whom had
broken meters, apparently, and all of him wanted over three times the going
rate to take me to my hotel.
The sums of
money weren’t worth arguing, but I just didn’t want to be ripped off
again. I named a price two-thirds what
they were asking, and a black cab driver (as in a driver of a black sedan, not
a black person who drove a cab, haven’t seen a single black person all trip)
told me to come with him. As we walked
he kept trying to negotiate. I stood
firm at my price, telling him it was much more than it should be. In fact, it was more than double the going rate
by meter. We got stuck in traffic.
It was 1:35 PM when we got back to the
hotel. I got my bags and got a new cab,
with a meter. More traffic. It was almost 2:30 PM when I got to the
airport, right on target. The emigration
and security procedures were long and arduous, and I lost my Bird’s Nest
lighter, which was a disappointment.
There would be no time to right an entry at the gate, not even enough
time for a meal. I used up my remaining
yen on cigars and snacks, getting to the gate right before we started
boarding. I had a whole row to
myself. In the adjacent three-seater was
a father and his daughter. The daughter
wanted to sleep, so the father asked if he could take the window seat next to
me. What was I going to say? I let him in and sat back down in the aisle
seat.
After we took off, I proceeded to
write this entry, pausing for lunch, which consisted of bread, fruit, duck,
rice, cake, and the daughter’s cake, along with a much needed can of Diet
Coke. I then continued the entry, which
I will now close so that I can take a nap and be well rested when we arrive at
Macau. Maybe I’ll go out James Bond
style, tux up, and do some gambling tonight.
Why not? James Bond does go to
Macau in both “The Man with the Golden Gun” and “Skyfall.”
12/31/15,
“New Year’s Eve”
