Boise, Idaho is where we've spent the last week in recovery. The tail end of the trip in the U.S. was, sadly, over-planned, over-optimized and over-strategized, which left us in a haggard state. Minutes after arriving at SFO, we sped in a rental car toward Portland. Of course, in the bay area "speeding" means going about 10 mph because there's so much traffic, but still, the jump from the flight to the car was hurried. In May, before leaving for Seoul, we had planned to camp at Mt. Shasta; however, we were too exhausted to make it that far and ended up camping at Stony Gorge Reservoir, which is a fine place to be unconscious from jet-lag, even with loud, obnoxious Humvee-driving neighbors. In the morning, we drove too quickly past some beautiful countryside, and waved out the car window at Mt. Shasta, before arriving in Portland to visit family. We had a great, but not long enough, time visiting and got to go on a peaceful Wilamette cruise before continuing to Boise.

While we've tried to recover since Monday, not all of the last week has been idle: several thousand pictures (seriously!) have been whittled down to several hundred, which were organized, captioned and now populate one of several online albums. Since we were unable to post pictures in China, some pictures have been added to old posts. We also finally managed to transcribe and post a few of the last blog entries from the trip and I got the GPS data downloaded and mapped. If you're a geek, like me, here are boring (or, maybe interesting) details about our trip:

• Within Asia, using buses, trains and ferries we moved from one accommodation to the next for a total of more than 7,400km (~4,600 miles), which works out to an average of more than 100km (~62 miles) per day. (Of course, the distance would be longer if I included the walking, hiking, motorcycle rickshaws, a traghetto, an inertial ropeway, subways and taxis, but that seems like overkill.)
• Details about where we stayed on each night of the trip are organized in a table. On average accommodations cost $32.42 per day, while the average cost of staying in either a tent, hotel/hostel or transport (with a bed) was $2.92, $26.58 and $204.04 per day, respectively--each roughly ten times more expensive than the next, which, ironically, is inversely proportional to how well we usually slept in each of the types.

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Korea's most famous national dish is kimchi, pickled vegetables, such as cabbage, seasoned with chili peppers and garlic, and then fermented in vinegar. There are dozens of different variations with popularity ranging from city to city and person to person. For many, it's spicy and aromatic enough to be spoken of with a dubious adjectives, such as, acquired. I acquired the taste quickly, but Leah did not, although she does not like dishes with a strong vinegar flavor.

Traditionally, kimchi is prepared, placed in large earthen-ware jar and buried in the ground for a few months. With high density living, however, among other things, burying kimchi has become impractical, so an expressly designed electrical appliance does the job. It looks a bit like a drop in freezer, but the temperature (and possibly humidity?) are controlled with a electronic panel on the front to simulate conditions underground. And, just in case you were wondering, like myself: I was told, no, you shouldn't prepare the kimchi, place it inside and just bury the entire appliance underground.

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David and I spent a blissful week camping between Sokcho, a town on the East Sea (otherwise known as the Sea of Japan), and Seolaksan National Park, which is about 12 kms from Sokcho, up in the mountains. Sokcho, which lies directly on the sea, is so well situated that the tourist bureau promotes it as The Tourist City Created by God. I think the camp ground should petition to have the same tag used for it's location: there aren't tons of camping sites in Korea, since it's so densely populated, but this one is perfectly placed between the coast and the park and there's a bus that runs between the two every 15 minutes. You'd think that would be perfect enough, but camping is such a popular activity, especially for families, that the campground shows movies every night on an outdoor screen. David was so taken with the idea of watching movies on a big screen while camping that he had to check out the movies they showed while we were there: The Day After Tomorrow, Chronicles of Narnia, and Welcome to Dongmakgol, an offbeat Korean movie about a mountain village's experience with the Korean war.

Thankfully, the Koreans don't do much dubbing, so the two American movies were in English with Korean subtitles, but we still didn't actually watch them, mostly because we were exhausted from our various activities during the day. Two mornings we spent hiking to temples and then a waterfall, after which lazing about camp was required before going into town for dinner. Our last day we spent all day on the mountain hiking up to one of the local peaks on a 13 km trail. The trail was a great technical hiking/light bouldering one; lots of fun going up, but rather jarring on the way down. We had a good time, but David described the day as "blisterful," which is apt. We were well rested for the long hike, though, having spent the previous day doing our best imitations of beach bums and paddling in the sea.

If only we had found such a great place to relax sooner than the week before we have to leave.

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We're back in Korea and now heading out to Soraksan National Park to reunite with our camping stuff after six weeks, so we won't be posting for awhile. But in the meantime, David's added some pictures to the posts from China and if you have free time, you're welcome to check out even more pictures on our flickr page:

www.flickr.com/photos/sopedestrian

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Last night we met Catherine (her English name) at a Taiwanese fast food chain. She majored in English at university and unlike many of the English majors we've met, is actually fluent. During dinner she offered to show us the beach in Yantai, which is one of several prosperous cities in Shandong province. She was really good with our questions and explained several aspects about China, the Chinese, her family, husband, waxed romantically about the city of Weihei (another port city in Shandong province) and, with refreshing frankness, chatted about the Chinese military (her husband is a solider in the Air Force), international trade and politics.

Catherine works at a somewhat comfortable office job for a garment wholesaler that deals mostly with Korean and UK businesses and has some interesting insights. For example, she noted some customers (American and European) want the seamstresses to be treated fairly, with regards to child labor laws and overtime, but then ignore these requirements if the shipments may be late.

Strolling along the beach front promenade for about an hour, we watched the sun set, and then sat and watched a fountain show. Catherine said these shows with lights and music are increasingly popular in reasonably well off cities throughout China. It was very pleasant and I can't think of a better person to have met on our last full day in China.

Tonight we sail back to Korea, moving east, returning to the West.

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Fear not: the dodo is not yet extinct. Fashionable babies in China still wear a piece of clothing called a dodo, which was long ago also worn by women, before bras were introduced. Now, babies of both genders wear the (usually) bright red single piece garment, which fits like a long bib from neck to thighs and ties at several places in the back. The color and patterns indicate a wish for a lucky future.

More common than the dodo on small children are two funny hair styles in which most of the head is shaved, except a small patch in the front or, if in the back, so a sort of pony tail is formed. They really look odd. Especially odd when the baby is excessively fawned over by two parents (and two sets of grandparents!), in what can be refered to as 'little Emperor syndrome'. This affliction is probably due to China's one-child policy, but leaves a nation of very spoiled children.

Leah is particularly taken with small children. I often look over at her and find her gazing and beaming at a small child, usually when I think she is listening to me. She waves. They wave and giggle. She waves.... She has managed to restrain herself from grabbing any of them, unlike last summer when I think she must have held half of Gambia's population below the age of 5 while on minibuses. But with only one child, Chinese parents are more protective of their children.

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Henan's provincial museum in Zhengzhou has an impressive piece of modern art waiting to greet it's visitors: two rearing elephants that look freeze-dried and are separated by a poorly-rendered, rumpled communist archer, spread like da Vinci's Vitruvian man and topped with a funny hat. (Oh, I almost forgot, the whole thing is a shiny gold color.) Despite this hideous statue, the rest of the museum has a nice collection of artifacts, and remarkably, they're fairly well organized and labeled. Henan has a long history and many of the narratives provide context and give texture to the museum pieces. Sadly, this is the best museum that we've seen in China, with the exception of the small Poly museum in Beijing.

Since part of our trip involves going to tourist destinations, it would be incomplete not to mention that most of those we've encountered in China have been disappointing. Despite, in some cases, their "must see" status. In general, most museums and sites are poorly organized, and artifacts are poorly displayed and labeled. Even when there are labels in English, they either make no sense or convey little useful information, especially given Leah's pet peeve, the absence of dates. Here are some big sites that ranged from okay to would-have-rather-skipped:

1. Forbidden City in Beijing. All of Beijing is under construction in preparation for the Olympics and this is no exception. A barn-shaped scaffolding with green burlap material envelopes the largest palace hall. Plus, it's too big and has far too many people to enjoy comfortably.
Alternative: the imperial palace in Shenyang.

2. Terracotta Warriors in Xi'an. Three big empty pits and a museum with almost nothing in it. The few warriors you can see closely are poorly lit and kept in dirty glass cases. Also, as a sign of how badly the artifacts are protected, the roof of Pit 2 leaks.
Alternative: pictures (maybe on the Internet) would be easier to see/appreciate.

3. Longmen Grottoes in Luoyang. Most of the Buddhas are damaged, either by weather or vandals. And several of the caves are now completely bare.
Alternative: Yonggong caves near Datong in Shanxi province.

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We're in Zhengzhou at the moment, but have bus tickets for tomorrow morning to Ji'nan, the capital of Shengdong province. Sunday, if all goes well, we'll bus to Yantai, where we'll see about buying ferry tickets back to Incheon, Seoul's port city, on Monday. All of which means it might be a while before we post again. But we'll be able to access our site when we do get post, so consider yourself warned for the subsequent explosion of photos.

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The title of this post was the title of the welcome message left in our hotel room in Luoyang. The rest of the message follows:

Dear guest:
Cordially welcome to our hotel! All my staffs and I will feel honoured to attend upon you. Introductions about facilities and functions are in the service directory, you may check it or dial" 2626" for help.
We are always putting forth effort on training staffs. we initiate cheerful work. Because we know if have no happy, satisfied and full of youthful spirit staffs, we would not supply good and satisfying products. We especially hope when you part from our hotel, please leave the big wealth for us --the suggestions and ideas. It will record your bless and help. We also hope the times in our hotel will give you a sweet memoirs.
Wish you have a nice trip and everything goes well!

-David

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We had train tickets to Luoyang yesterday and since both Xi'an and Luoyang are prime tourist destinations for foreigners and Chinese tourists, there was quite a battle to get on the train. David made it sooner than I did, but ended up dislocating and spraining the ring finger on his right hand after being shoved into a chair by an old woman. (Old women must not think he's as cute as I do.) He popped his finger back into place, but his hand's quite swollen now, so I'm a little worried we may yet end up experiencing China's "socialist health care," something I'd rather save for the Scandinavian countries.

-Leah

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I rode the little bus to one of China's five sacred Taoist mountains, Hua Shan, about 120km east of Xi'an. The two and a half hour trip passed quickly from the front passenger seat, but I was mildly concerned about the blinding rain. The bus conductor was also worried and mimed the dangers of hiking in the rain, but the day before, a friendly Canadian did the same thing and assured me that there were no perilous parts.

As the bus approached the mountain, the rain eased and then stopped, and fortunately, for the rest of the day it no more than sprinkled. I choose the "classic" 6km path up the mountain, from the west. The threat of rain must have kept many tourist away, because for the first two hours, I walked mostly alone. Walking up the steep mountain gorge was wonderful with only the sounds of the bubbling stream and birds. Every so often a Taoist temple appeared, and smiling caretakers sat in what I believed to be Taoist costumes (hair pulled into an offset top-knot; dark blue coats and pants that ended at the knee; and, tight white stockings.) A mist wafted the path; visibility varied every few minutes from 10 meters to the top of the 2000 meters, or so, peak.

After about 3km of easy uphill, I met a nice old man. He wore a wicker backpack with a large propane tank stuffed into it. We didn't share a spoken language, but communicated quite well, I thought. I "told" him I was glad the rain stopped. He agreed and "told" me that I should only step on the hand-width spaces of grout between the big slick rocks. After about 15 minutes, he stopped and I continued.

At 4km the path became a staircase that switch-backed up the mountain. All along the way, spaced about 300m apart, were rest stops and restaurants, some elaborately equipped with lounge chairs and televisions. Thankfully, most vendors weren't aggressive and just passively gestured to their goods.

After about 4.8km the steps were smaller and taller. Eventually, I found myself huffing my way up an incredibly long, steep staircase with hefty metal chain rails on either side. I measured the stairs with my body. As I stood straight up on a step as deep as my foot was wide and raised my arm at 90 degrees to my body, my finger tips touched a step above. I'd never seen anything like this and held firmly to the chains on both sides. For the last 600 meters or so, I was not alone. A polite queue of Chinese tourists formed at difficult sections. I was stunned at the civility that everyone showed each other; it was a rare sight in China. The civility ended abruptly at the north peak.

While the north peak seems at first like the top, it's just a local plateau, the path continues another 500 vertical feet to the south peak. On the east side of the mountain, a cable car dumps Chinese tourists by the ton at the north peak to take pictures, buy souvenirs, smoke, yell, push and shove their neighbors in triumph at "climbing" the mountain. I started for the south peak, but quickly gave up while waiting in a hiking queue behind several smokers.

Happy with the hiking I'd already done and not willing to battle the crowds, I descended by cable cable car in only a few minutes, and slowly returned to Xi'an by little bus, by foot, by big bus, and then by foot again.

-David

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After our second week in China David declared that there are no rules in the country other than those we brought with us. People in China disobey posted rules with abandon. They smoke in front of no smoking signs, spit on relics (and everywhere else), photos are taken of "No photos" signs, pedestrians dodge between oncoming traffic despite the piercing whistles of crossing guards and parents encourage kids to shit in the streets despite the abundance of public toilets, not to mention the public health hazards involved. David's especially convinced that there are no rules with chopsticks and that however you use them to move food from the plate to your mouth is okay. But last night at dinner after impaling a fried dough stick as though he were spearing a fish, he was proved wrong.

"Whyyyyy?" cried YangYaPeng, our trainee waitress, half laughing, half dismayed. "You told me you could use them!"

And then for the first time since arriving in China, we were given forks and knives.

-Leah

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Conversation with the young man at reception in Xi'an about the hostel we were trying to book in Luoyang:

"This hostel is bad."

"Oh, how is bad?"

"I don't know, but other people come here and they tell me it's bad."

"Do you have another recommendation in Luoyang?"

"No, I'm sorry. Have it in your mind that it's bad and you stay only one night."

"Okay. Is it bad because it's like a hotel, not a hostel?"

"I don't know, but this hostel is owned by the nation..."

"Ohhh!"

"Yes, it's owned by the nation so it's not very good."

-Leah

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Plans to go to Tibet had to be cancelled when we realized we'd be spending an extra week in Beijing. It's probably just as well, since David caught the tail end of a news story about travel agents overbooking Tibet trips and travelers not having tickets despite paying for them and not being able to get refunds. The government has apparently pulled the "privilege" of booking trips to Tibet until sometime in August and since you can only get to Tibet through a travel agent because of the special permit, I guess most trips are off until the fall. So while we're sad, Lhasa is saved for another trip when we have more time.

Having had no problem picking up our passports with the (finally!) extended visas, we're currently in Xi'an, home of the first (and basically only) Qin emperor, the man who built an enormous life size army out of terracotta, complete with horses and chariots, as a way to rule the afterlife. (Given the state of his army things probably aren't going so well there.) There are also several temples and museums in town, some of which we've already explored and others which I'll see tomorrow. David's planning on hiking up one of China's 5 sacred mountains, but I am reluctant to be pushed over the edge of a mountain by hoards of Chinese tourists, so he'll probably go by himself. Unless it's still raining, in which case he might concede to being boring and coming with me.

We bought train tickets to Luoyang, in Henan province, for Monday, where we hope to see some more Buddhist cave art and then will wander over to Yantai to catch a ferry back to Seoul. Assuming, of course, our plans don't change before then.

-Leah

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Going back over a week in our trip and despite the botched visa extension foray to Taiyuan, we really enjoyed Pingyao and wanted to post something about our time there. It's one of the best preserved Ming cities in China, which means it has the old city walls still in existence and the old courtyard houses haven't been razed for more modern buildings. The city walls are built in a roughly rectangular shape and the old streets and alleys are laid out to resemble the back of a turtle (a symbol of longevity) when looked at from above. The old walls of Pingyao reminded me of Essaouira where I checked email in Morocco, and the preservation and pedestrian-friendly tourist atmosphere reminded David of Venice. Both comparisons work especially well, since all three cites are World Heritage sites. Inside the city we toured an old banking house, one of the first in China, walked on the walls where we could, and wandered through several temples.

Our favorite temple was the Taoist Town God temple, not so much because it looked the best, though it did, but because we met Lucy, who gave us a tour of the temple. She's going to start university in Taiyuan in September and is spending her free time during the two month holiday giving free temple tours to foreigners so she can practice her English. We've met several people, mostly in Beijing, who claim to be students and who want us to talk to them to practice their English, but they usually have a calligraphy show they want us to see that's leaving the next day for Japan. Since we've received the same offer for the same show several different days, I don't think they're going to make it to Japan anytime soon. Lucy, however, had no show for us to see and it was great having someone of whom we could ask all sorts of questions.

The temple is apparently unusual in that it actually has three "sections" and is dedicated to different gods in each section. The main temple is dedicated to the Town God, who, along with his wife, protects Pingyao. To the right of the Town God's complex are the Kitchen God and his wife. Lucy told us that many households have small shrines to the Kitchen God because he provides good and abundant food. And then on the left, there's the God of Wealth, although there were actually three different wealth gods: one for students, one for businessmen and one for general prosperity.

Since it was a Taoist temple, there were some weird hell scenes of people being tortured who'd misbehaved during their lifetimes. Apparently there are three crimes for which you can't ever be reborn, but are instead eternally punished, but other than murder, I couldn't tell what the crimes were (Lucy clearly wasn't Taoist). One of the big three sin punishments was being impaled on a bunch of knives, one was being stewed in boiling oil and the other also involved knives, but the action was different, so I couldn't quite tell what was going on. All other crimes get you punished as well, and rather gruesomely, but you get reincarnated and can then build up a store of good deeds to eventually be released to heaven. You get your tongue pulled out and cut off for lying, but Lucy assured us that's a minor crime. Meat eating being taboo, butchers are flayed and cut up in the way that they dished up meat during their careers. Women aren't allowed to marry more than once, even if widowed, apparently, so if they do, their punishment is to be hung upside down and cut in two, one half for each husband. Naturally there seemed to be no such prohibition for men.

After we wandered all over the temple, asking questions about the statues and art, we switched to asking questions about Lucy. To go to university in China, everyone takes a standardized written and oral test. If your score is high enough, you can go to the best schools, such as Beijing U., but as your score drops, so do your options of schools. Lucy's score wasn't as high as she wished, which is why she's going to Taiyuan. The same process applies for graduate school, though, so she can try again, if she wants. University is affordable at Y4000 per year (about $500), and we were surprised to hear that Lucy doesn't think it's very much money, either. But studying abroad as her sister does in Canada, is much more costly. Lucy's plan is to do well at university, work for a few years and then study abroad in graduate school. I really hope she makes it.

-Leah

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On our 31st day in China, we went to see the Great Wall, or more accurately, the ruins of one of several discontinuous sections. Based on our guide book and a friendly Quebecois women from our hostel, we decided on seeing a section called Simatai. However, we realized on our way there we had actually signed up for a hike from a wall section called Jinshanling to the Simatai section. Since long hikes dissuade the tourist hoards it was a serendipitiously good move. However, I look forward to forgetting the bus ride.

Boarding the bus at 7:30 was a stark contrast from the last eight weeks and, at four hours one way (to go 110km!), it was intensely boring. The people on the bus were almost entirely NALPs (our code for "non-Asian looking people") who were neatly gridded off by couple sets. For the bus ride there, the atmosphere was quiet. Neighboring couples whispered to each other and essentially had polite barriers. Absent were the Chinese who smoke, spit, drop trash, and suffer from the sad affliction of cell-yell. (In Chinese, the phone is answered with the syllable, "waay," which more often than not, is blurred into the cry, "wannn," like an unhappy baby.)

Jinshanling was where the bus dropped us before shuttling itself to Simatai, while we hiked about 10km on top of the wall to meet the bus at Simatai. At regular intervals, the wall became a tower with multiple rooms and floors, some elaborately crenelated. The views were impressive, especially the wall in the distance as it snakes over the hills and beyond view, but more than once, I wished I could just be hiking in the hills and the wall became more of an obstruction to an otherwise nice hike. In places, the wall is a crumble of stones that requires feet and hands to scramble up. At several towers, the ruin was near complete and single-track paths around the towers were available. There were touts along the entire wall, several who hiked at least half the wall in hopes of a sale and I joked to Leah that all of the stone gaps in the wall could have been filled in with them.

Water, beer (I can't think of a heavier or more dehydrating "refreshment" during exercise!), books, fans and T-shirts were for sale on the wall. The touts tried to follow, befriend or give unnecessary advice, on the assumption that if you don't want to buy something, you might later. Leah was able to puzzle them briefly by speaking in Arabic. Eventually, toward the end, they gave up on us and we even had a few minutes with the wall to ourselves.

Near the finish, an "inertia ropeway" was an alternative to hiking the way down. So, we took it. Leah and I each stepped into climbing harness, which were then clipped together, and we both stepped off the mountain together. The steel cable stretches across the river at 30 degrees or so, and we reached the bottom in less than a minute. It was fun, but I was surprised that the "brake" was a man standing at the bottom to clamp a piece of metal to the cable, where the cable's wheel is anchored. It's better I didn't see that before we went. Finally, a small boat ferried ropeway passengers to the waiting bus.

Four hours on the bus... (if I don't write anything here, I may forget this part sooner.)

-David

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For the past several days, our time have been spent wandering around park-like settings, which have all been lovely. One of my favorite days in China so far was at the old summer palace on Tuesday. It was cool and "misting" most of the day, which was a nice change from the steamer that Beijing has been the rest of the time. Plus we had lots of fun playing with the different settings on our camera at the "Lotus-enjoying Area" on the palace grounds.

And we finally decided to make an attempt on the Wall. With warnings of masses of tourists, we decided to go to Simatai, which we're told is a big hike up and so sees fewer tourists, or so we hope. Our big preparation is to enjoy a big plate of noodles for energy. Noodles, thankfully, seem to be found everywhere in the world, maybe because they require only two simple ingredients.

-Leah

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In Beijing, Wangfujing street is a prominent pedestrian promenade and has a large, multi-floored foreign language bookstore that attracts many people, including Leah and me. Most of the store's English language selection is similar to a tiny Borders with many popular books, but most importantly, it has a decent travel book section. While browsing through the section, I discovered post-publication editing.

Pages 50, 70 and 71 of each of the Lonely Planet Beijing City Guides have sticky thin white blocks, similar to mailing labels, obscuring the text. Also, on page 72 a thin strip was stuck over a joke that bikes are not allowed in Tiananmen Square, but tanks are okay! I was able to read this because, puzzlingly, the text under the tape was still legible. It's difficult to judge: was this inept censorship or a clever loophole? The blocks of white tape act like bookmarks, drawing the reader's eye, so, I had to read them all.

Earlier that morning, I had overheard a couple talking about the Lonely Planet (LP) China guide being banned, which I have a hard time believing. Not only can you buy the LP guides in Beijing, everywhere throughout the country, you can spot bedraggled tourists moving flat-footed, heads up, mouths gaping, thick LP books swinging in one hand with a finger carefully trapped at the appropriate section. Sadly, we're not excluded from this description.

-David

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I've been meaning to write a short note about Chinese-picture-taking-tourists; here it is.

Like most places we travel, there are always people taking pictures. In China, the person behind the camera counts up 1, 2, 3. In Chinese, the person says "yee", "aar" (pronounced as would a forlorn pirate), "san" and then takes the picture. There are two poses for the subject: over a certain age, stand up straight without expression; below a certain age, smile and flash the 'peace' gesture, which I was told means 'happiness.'

(Philological note: in a previous post, I had written that 1 is 'yo'. As I understand it now, there are at least two different words for 1 and 2. 'Yo' is acceptable for bus numbers, but 'yee' is used in counting. I don't really understand why, though, so make up reasons as you choose.)

-David

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After a short spin into Shanxi province, we've speed back to Beijing. Even though the train was from 12:15 to 20:30, we bought soft sleeper tickets. The set up was comfortable: a cabin with four bunks (Leah and I took the upper ones), plenty of space to sit up, read and sleep, and thankfully, a door to keep the cigarette smoke out (most Chinese smokers stand at either end of the car to tap their ashes on the 'no smoking' signs that protrude from the wall.) The next morning, we took the bus to the PSB, filled out some paperwork and left our passports: our 30 day extensions will be ready next Thursday (July 20th)--no lines, no hassles, and no demands to "see" $6000.

-David

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In general the Chinese don't queue, they mob. Naturally this is especially bad when queueing would be most effective, like when trying to buy tickets, but this fact in no way deters people who clearly have centuries worth of mobbing behavior behind them. Even in the train stations where heavy metal dividers have been erected to funnel everyone into a line, there are still mobs. We'd experienced some mobbing buying train and bus tickets earlier, but since we'd been warned by the LP and friends who've lived in China, we usually managed to buy our tickets at "off" times. Early weekday evenings work best. In Beijing, trying to get tickets mid-morning, we stood next to a queued mob in which people were dislodging one another from the ticket window: arms were flailing, money was tossed about and punches were thrown with no regard given to size or age. Since we weren't in the melee, it was interesting to watch, but I was more than happy to not actually be in its midst. But no journey to China would be complete without actually participating in a mob and trying to get to Pingyao on Sunday we finally got our chance.

We rolled into Taiyaun at 11:30 after a very pleasant day at the Yungong caves outside of Datong on Saturday. We made it to the train station by noon, which turns out to be the worst time to buy tickets. Everyone is going home after weekend trips or is off to work for the week after staying with family. We still lucked out buying tickets, though. David spotted a roped off area that had open windows and very short lines. Of course it turns out you're not supposed to actually buy tickets there, it's for people returning/refunding tickets, but we happened to get a very accommodating ticket seller who walked to another window (thereby increasing the frustration of everyone in that line, I'm sure) to print our tickets and didn't make us move.

Getting on the train was a completely different experience. We had only been able to buy "standing tickets," so instead of waiting for the first mad crush to be over, which we usually do, we queued behind the ticket check gate with everyone else. Once through and walking on the platform looking for our car, I was thinking about how well transport had gone so far. We got a taxi stepping out of the hotel and made it to the station quickly where we secured tickets for a fancy behemoth leaving 10 minutes later. Then we were only going to have to wait 45 minutes before the train pulled out. All in all a damn fine transport day, but all those proverbs are true and I was excited about our luck too early.

Actually boarding the train was a disaster. Our plan was to move to the middle of the car, hoping to stow our bags above and then grab seats in case no one showed up for them. Moving to the middle, though, meant climbing over other standees and their luggage. The train didn't have air conditioning and with a couple hundred people crammed in the car, the heat was intense. David joked that the sweat helped us slid past everyone, but it was a little too true, to be funny at the time. I was being much too American about the process, trying not to hit people with my pack, and ended up being shoved so hard from behind that I almost tipped over. David was punched in the butt by a tiny old woman for not moving fast enough for her liking. I didn't know about the punch since he was behind me, but I knew immediately that something must have happened because he started swearing loudly, something he only does when he's truly upset. The Viennese waltz being piped over the loudspeaker seemed an incongruous accompaniment.

Eventually everyone got settled and the standing journey to Pingyao, shifting frequently to move the weight on my feet, was quite pleasant. All the pushing and shoving was quickly forgiven, probably a necessity with so many people in so small an area. David started talking to 'Mike,' a young man who's just finished his freshman year at University studying computer programming. This, especially since we were standing, attracted lots of attention, so Mike and another young man sitting nearby ended up translating lots of questions from some women sitting in that section of the car. We were asked about our age (apparently we look younger), citizenship (they knew David was an American because of his hair and because he's so tall), how much we paid for train tickets (they were afraid we might have been charged too much) and marital status (we should have children immediately). Lots of fun.

And now we don't have to mob again.

-Leah

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There are months worth of sites to see in Beijing and we missed most of them. This is somewhat handy, since we're heading back on Wednesday. Unfortunately, not because we actually want to, but because we need our visas extended. We were told we could get it done in Taiyuan, the provincial capital of Shanxi, but we went today and it's essentially impossible. We'd been on a scouting mission to the PSB (Public Security Bureau) in Beijing and thought we knew what we needed for the extension, but either they forgot to mention a key piece of information, or the officer in Taiyuan isn't up to date on her regulations. She needed each of us to show her $100 for each day we wanted an extension, so essentially $6000 for the full 30 days. We're not even going to spend that much money on the trip as a whole, so being able to produce it in cash, and dollars at that, seemed a bit of a stretch. David pointed out that since we're not stupid we don't carry that much cash and instead use travelers cheques and credit cards, which she agreed was much more secure, but she couldn't seem to make the logical connection that went with that statement.

So, we have another day in Pingyao, a well-preserved Ming era city, before heading back to see if the PSB headquarters has the same demands, or not. We will, of course, keep you posted.

-Leah

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Five and a half hours after leaving Beijing and after a slow climb up and into the mountains, we arrived in Datong, in the north of Shanxi province. As well as the scenery, the people seemed pleasantly different from those we'd met up north. Everyone was more relaxed and many said hello or spoke to us out of curiosity, rather than avarice. Additional interactions are the little-kid-wave, the hello-then-giggle, the Chinese stare, which is more common outside of the bigger cities.

Initially, the staring frustrated me, but quickly I began to appreciate it's reciprocal nature. So, since people routinely pushed their faces to my email, journal or meal, I began to do the same. It's actually immensely helpful; when I see somebody tucked into a nice looking meal, I walk over and stare at their food, sometimes pointing and evaluating it with Leah and then the waiter. Sometimes the diners look at me (with no expression), I look at them (with no expression) and then we both return to looking at their food. A different stare also exists and is used by people who rarely see tourists.

Tourists mainly stop in Datong to see the Yungong caves, as we did. Buddhas (and other Buddhist themes) in countless arrangements are carved out of the rock--actually, the cave is the space around the Buddha. Their sizes range from tiny ones that could be covered with a palm to Tokyo-crushing giants. My favorite Buddha, in cave #5, is seated, brightly painted, towers some 60 feet (from tail bone to coils) and occupies about a third of the cave's volume. For some of the Chinese tourists, though, never mind the 1500 year old ruins in the background, we were far more interesting. A girl told me that her mother has never seen a tourist and wanted to get a picture of her friends with me. Leah also posed for some pictures with a couple of other groups, an experience she found oddly flattering. I just thought it was funny, but perplexing.

-David

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We're currently still in Beijing. When, we arrived here, the plan was to leave on the 5th, but we stayed an extra day (the 6th) to recover from accumulation fatigue. Also, David's been burdened with cold symptoms for the last few days, so we didn't think the extra day would hurt. Unfortunately, I had a bout of 'e-coli' cramps yesterday morning (they reoccur every so often after Morocco), so we decided to try to leave today. Our next leg takes us to Datong. Our current plan is to travel through Shanxi province into Shaanxi province (gotta love those slight differences) to Xi'an where we'll spend some time seeing the warriors, museums and temples and extending our visas. We'll also check to see if a Tibet trip is within our time and budget constraints.

On July 1st, the railway line to Lhasa, Tibet was completed. David had seen a news report about the engineering triumph on the one English language channel and promptly decided we should go. The reason it's such a feat is that after hiring lots of outside experts, including the Swiss who are apparently the world's premier ice tunnel diggers, the Chinese government ignored them all and built the railway anyway. The Tibetan plateau sits 4000-5000 meters above sea level, so much of the railroad is on permafrost and there's a serious danger of the line buckling.

We'd really like to go, especially before they're forced to close the rail line (!), but it's an awfully long way to travel and foreigners have to get a 'Tibet Travel Permit' which basically acts as a tax. We can't buy tickets to Lhasa without it, though and we can't leave the municipality once we're there, without even more special permits, so we'll see what happens. It's also entirely possible that the new train service has been booked out through the end of the summer, with all of the promotional stuff the government has been doing. Either way, we plan, at the moment, to continue at least as far west as Lanzhou, which can be considered the Eastern end of the silk road, before heading back East to Korea.

-Leah

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Bus number 111 (which apparently is pronounced "yo yo yo" in Chinese and still makes me laugh) lumbers from the busy shop-lined street near our Beijing hostel to the China Art Gallery. With Leah sick, wanting to spend the day in bed and not the biggest fan of modern art, I headed off for a visit. The museum has seven floors, but is surprisingly small and divided into roughly three parts: a special exhibit of paintings, a special exhibit of bronze portraits, and a ceramics collection.

Mexican paintings from the 1950's to the present made up the bulk of the first special exhibit. Consisting of mostly abstract works or paintings designed to shock with an unsettling theme of anguish or anger, I didn't linger for too long. The second special exhibit of bronze portraits by Wu Weishan was wonderful. His portraits of historical and modern figures had an unfinished or rough look, but managed to convey significant movement and expression. The figures all had character, from the dominant, unapproachable first emperor of Qin to the steady, intelligent figure of Yang Zhenning, Nobel Prize winner and physicist. My only regret was that they didn't have more of his work.

Ceramics figures, vases, dishes and unusual objects didn't disappoint. I was particularly impressed by a small rusted-looking tractor that was actually made of ceramic. I worked my way up through the floors and then took the elevator down. On the elevator, descending from floor 7 to floor 1, an elderly woman gestured to the floor selection control panel and I slowly, confidently said, "yo." She didn't even giggle.

-David

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Papa used to cut my hair when I was little. It was long and beautiful, but I didn't like it because it never did that neat "blow in the wind" trick that women's hair on TV did. By the time I was 12, I was cutting my own hair, which generally meant it never saw scissors at all. (I also made some attempts at cutting hair for other people, but I was forced to give that up after giving Eleanor a bald spot when she was 8 and I was 13.) I cut my own hair for so long that I didn't think I'd ever need to have it done professionally, especially since it's so 'forgiving' that it always looks okay.

In January, though, I realized that wanting to keep it short meant I had to have someone else cut it. I could do it, but it doesn't look as good--just ask David. So with 2 professional cuts now safely under my belt I thought I could get away with not cutting my hair till we arrived in Boise in August. But, it grows too quickly and it's too hot and humid here to endure, so today, an "extra" day in Beijing to run errands and see missed sites, I got another haircut.

The salon I went to seemed fairly Western in style. They had a nice waiting space where David read and made friends with the other people waiting. And there were lots of people waiting. With 1.3 billion people in the country, there's a lot of excess labor, so the people David waited with were actually other employees.

One of the ways in which China seems to be dealing with the excess labor issue is by 'under employing' people, which means there are 2-3 people per job. I have no idea if this is a government policy or just a natural outgrowth of having so many people, but here are 'extra' laborers everywhere. The upside of this is that people actually have jobs, so when foreigners walk into a restaurant, store or salon there are at least 6 people standing around with nothing to do, who can help with any translation/gesticulating that goes on. The downside is that as an employee people are probably bored stiff. (There are all sorts of 'economic' downsides, too, but I don't remember most of them, so we'll just ignore that side.)

One of the most interesting (and least pleasant) 'underemployment' jobs I've noticed is street sweeping. We've seen a couple of street sweeping machines, so I know they exist here, but for the most part the job is done by people. There are two people for every major block, one on each side of the street. These poor women (very few are men), have to deal with traffic constantly--the noise, pollution, anarchic traffic, near death experiences at least every 3 minutes--armed with only a large broom made out of twigs, a cart for debris, face masks and a thin orange safety vest. It's a long way from working in a nice salon.

The haircut, which David claims to like, by the way, cost Y30, or just under $4.

-Leah

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Some years ago, while walking through a bookstore, I happened to flip through "The Tao of Pooh," a small book that used Winnie the Pooh to teach some of the principles of Taoism. One example that I remember, explained that when the wind blows, Pooh lies down. I had also read somewhere else that Taoism temples had a random layout; to avoid removing trees, buildings' positions and heights avoided natural obstacles--in harmony with nature. So, without actually studying Taoism, I had the impression that it was a peaceful and tolerant religion. Wow, I was wrong.

In 1319, Taoist monks razed a plot in Beijing and began raising structures for the Dongyue Temple, which consists of a rectangular set of buildings framing a row of centralized structures, straight as a arrow. The central row contains some devotional figures that are difficult to see, since the lights were broken and each was covered in thick layers of dust. It was unclear to me if in the Yuan dynasty monks also built the dozens of halls to form the outer rectangle to explain teaching of Taoism, or if they were a later addition. Either way, each of these halls was about the size of a single car garage and labelled as a particular Taoist "department."

Usually, there were 13 life-sized figures for each department, so from the center to either side: a large seated figure staring forward, two attendants, two scribes (?), 6 figures portraying the particular department's subject matter, and two guards. The figures were humans, demons and mythological characters. I'm familiar with quite a bit of weird Greek, Roman and Judeo-Christian mythology, but this mythology seemed so much creepier. The particular subjects could be described as usual, bizarre, gory, bureaucratic or dumb. There were departments for good behavior and ancestor worship, but also against abortion, incurable diseases, plague, bad intentions and dozens more. Several of the odder departments used their 13 figures to illustrate their point in extremely gruesome scenes. Departments subjects were redundant, overlapped and eventually seemed as though the subjects were chosen by a drunken group yelling their personal pet peeves to each other.

I took many pictures; here is a (incomplete) list of departments: Resurrection, Urging, Insect Birth, Egg Birth, Bestowing Happiness, Punishment, Preservation of Wilderness, Interrogation and Examination, Unjust Death, Demons and Monsters, Earth Gods, Abortion, Implementing 15 kinds of Violent Death, the Hell (which from the description sounds more like Hades), Animal, Signature, Final-indictment, Increasing Good Fortune and Longevity, Flying Birds, Deep-rooted Disease, Wandering Ghosts, Door God, Opposing Obscene Acts ("...lewdness is the worst crime."), Mammal Birth and Judging Intention.

WWPD (What would Pooh do?)

-David

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While in Beijing, we wanted to try the famous duck, so we did. Leah and I pedalled a rented 12 foot long, plastic, canopied duck on the lake in Beihei park, which is just northwest of the Forbidden Palace. I really wouldn't recommend travelling by large plastic duck. For one thing, the forward view is spoiled by what looks like the top of a huge bowling pin. For another, duck boats aren't as hydrodynamic as the more common variety. Also, the short seat, small petals and metal railing made a bruising 45 minute trip, and the squeaky gear box overpowered any potentially pleasant sounds. But we still had a lot of fun.

On dry land, we did make the short hike up to see white pagoda, which is no more impressive up close. There is an impressive multi-armed animal statue tucked away at the top and hundreds of low-relief Buddha tiles. From an upper railing, the views of the Forbidden Palace, the park and surrounding Beijing were vast, smoggy.

-David

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In no particular order are some random thoughts about being in China and the trip in general.

1) In The Gambia there's a cultural norm that men who are shirtless are considered crazy. Much of this probably comes from the Muslim influence, because all people should be covered in the sight of Allah. China (and the rest of the world) could adopt this norm, I think. There's an astonishing tendency for men here to go around with their shirts pulled up over the bellies, which I, with my prudish, hopelessly middle-class outlook, find somewhat off-putting.

2) We budgeted about $50 a day for the two of us. This was not quite enough for Korea, which means we overspent in the first 3 weeks, but it's pretty good for China. Stuff in China is fairly cheap, though museum/palace/site entrance fees have all been more than we'd expected. And in Xi'an, home of the enormous army of terracotta warriors, entrance per person is Y120!

3) Most of the hotels we stay in are classified as "budget" hotels, which means they range from about Y120 to Y200 (so $15 to $25), though for my birthday we splurged on a "mid-range" hotel for about Y348. (For more detailed info on where we stayed and how much they cost look for David's "accommodation" post.) All the hotels have air conditioners, bathrooms and TVs, which means we've watched more World Cup coverage this go-around than the last two combined. I was really rooting for Ghana, but with their loss to England, I wanted Portugal to win the final match. Of course I have to root for the Italians, now, having lived there, but I can't really be too excited about something that has devolved into a EuroCup. David pointed out that since the final match is now between France and Italy it can be played as a last arbitration for Corsica, something our friends in Italy talked about: apparently, if Italy wins, Corsica goes to them, and if France wins, Corsicans will stop speaking Italian . Go Italy!

4) We're staying in the New Dragon Hostel on Shijia Hutong. Hutongs are old alleyways in Beijing and fan out from the very meticulously laid out Forbidden City in the center of Beijing. We're only about 2 kms from the City as the crow flies, but since it's walled in and only has gates on the North and South walls, it's effectively 4 kms door-to-door. There are tons of cheap places to eat in the surrounding hutongs, but lots of upscale places, too. Since it's the heart of the old city, it necessarily sees lots of tourists, so there's something for pretty much everyone. We generally eat for between Y8 and Y16, or $1-2. Dumplings are by far my favorite meal, though that's partly because in my attempt to avoid fish, I'm not terribly adventurous without being able to point to food that either on some else's plate, or a picture. In general the food is pretty good, but greasier than we're used to.

5) Does anyone remember the song Morgan Spurlock has the little kids sing in *SuperSize Me*? His point is that the kids (probably about 7 years old, or so) all know the words to the fast food song, the chorus of which goes "McDonald's, McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut" but can't remember the words to the national anthem. In fairness to the kids there are a lot fewer words to remember in the fast food song, but it's still really funny to watch their obvious flailing with the national anthem before singing the fast food song with appropriate gestures and gusto. The chorus, though, perfectly sums up the American chains available in China. Much to my surprise, KFC is by far the most popular. I guess the Chinese really like fried chicken. At Shenyang's botanical gardens we met a chef from Delhi who told us the only Indian food the Chinese like are the chicken dishes. How can you not love naan? Weird.

6) Internet cafes are pretty much what you'd expect, if you've used one overseas. Up north most of the cafes we used charged Y2 per hour or less. Here in Beijing, it's not uncommon to find them for Y10 an hour, though, since the government closed thousands as a result of a fire last year that killed 25 people. The internet cafes range in quality, though most are dark, smoky and noisy with sad looking computers bolted to desks in long rows. Others (the expensive ones) can be clean and feel like a Starbucks would in the US. Despite being labeled a bar or cafe, most places don't serve drinks, though snacks seem to be readily available. They're probably for the emaciated young men who stare at their video games for hours on end looking sickly in the glow of the computer screen (interestingly, there are few women around). All have US keyboards (surprisingly) and use Windows (not surprisingly.) The operating system and web browsers are in Chinese, but years of computer work allows most people to easily identify the menus, icons and pop-up boxes, so it's really not a problem. At our current hostel internet use is actually free, though this seems very rare, and is actually somewhat problematic. There are only 3 computers, one of which seems to be in a permanent state of repair, so unless you're a morning person like David and can write coherently at 6 am, actually using either of the working computers is unlikely.

And that's enough randomness for today.

-Leah

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Beijing is refuge--not the highlight of any journey, but a welcome break. Generally, it's an easy place to visit, has few traffic problems (for pedestrians), far less honking, plenty of English speakers (handy when you need information about a visa extension; painful when you are forced to listen to an American yell, "This is not acceptable!"), supermarkets, and restaurants with pictures of the food. On the down side, the air pollution is some of the worst I've seen, and so thick, I feel I could cut out a little piece of smog as a souvenir. Covering more kilometers than can reasonably be walked, the subway (which is inconveniently placed from our hostel) and the local buses are compulsory.

Local buses costs Y1 (12 1/2 cents) and are relatively clean and easy to use. While we're too lazy to just get a map of the bus routes, we've found that we can just hop onto a bus heading down the correct boulevard and then hop off, if it turns. Combined with the GPS, this worked really well on our visit to the Temple of Heaven, originally a Ming dynasty harvest temple.

It's described as the "perfect" example of Ming architecture. The buildings are enormous and impressive, but overall somewhat lacking in personal feel. The park has a vaguely artificial feel because it is overly groomed and restored, but made for a relaxing few hours of strolling, especially since the cement and stone paths are sprawling.

Afterwards, trying to live up to our blog's namesake we decided to walk from the park to a "nearby" mosque--an incredibly draining experience. In the countryside or mountains, the distance, elevation and terrain are about the only logistics to consider, and once that's out of the way, the land, animals and views can be enjoyed. For big cities, though, high levels of pollution, traffic, noise, sewer smells, intermittent sidewalks, obstacles, missing street signs and the blinding heat of sunlight reflected off of cement can make even relatively short walks miserable. Especially since "we" miss estimated that the walk was about 1.5km, when it was closer to 4km. Still, the mosque was worth the trip.

Cow Street Mosque is very Chinese in design and character with brightly painted and highly glossed tiles integrating several roof components into one sophisticated piece of ceramic (classically Ming, as we had learned from the Temple of Heaven.) If we hadn't poked our heads in the doorway and seen the beautiful Arabic script on the west wall we wouldn't have even guessed it was a mosque, given the overall architecture and lack of a minaret. Unfortunately, non-Muslims aren't allowed in the mosque itself, though we were free to wander the grounds of the complex. (Ever since our trip to Turkey, I've found mosques relaxing and am always disappointed when we can't actually go inside.) This mosque has a great history, since it was founded in the 10th century, but it must be showing its age, since most of if was covered in scaffolding and being restored. As such, we didn't actually get to see very much other than green construction cloth draped everywhere, but one of the funny things we did see was a photo of the former Iranian president on his last visit to Beijing, with the Imam of the mosque.

-David

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Knowing only a few words in Chinese, we are reduced to a crude type of pattern matching to decode the script, and often we develop picture mnemonics to remember the characters. For any city, the name becomes the first characters we memorize. Fortunately for the pattern matching and like many cities, Beijing has only two characters; the first looks like the profile of two people sitting back to back and decidedly not speaking to one another, while the second (Leah's creation) looks like an elephant face (complete with trunk and tusks) with a little hat. (If your computer can display Asian fonts, you can see for yourself: 北京)

In addition to pattern matching, we have finally purchased a Chinese phrasebook, the Lonely Planet's Mandarin Phrasebook. Somewhat surprisingly, in the Northern cities, phrasebooks aren't available or, at least not stocked, even in huge multi-floor bookstores with English language sections. Even with our new book, most of our communication involves pointing, miming and gestures. Our train travelling companions helped us to discover our number gestures were almost completely wrong, which has been a huge source of confusion so far. Now we know, one through five start with the index finger, unlike European who start with the thumb. Six involves only the thumb and pinkie in a hang loose configuration. Seven requires straight fingers, finger tips together like Italians questioning comprehension, although without the movement. Eight is a straight pointer and thumb, which we'd been using for two. Nine is a coiled pointer, similar to 'X' in ASL. And ten, is a fist or two pointer fingers crossed like the Chinese character. So now we know, when forced to bargain with the unscrupulous vendors, if our counter-offer is ten, we should shake our fists, right (?!)

-David

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The overnight train from Qiqihar was great! Neither of us slept very well, crammed into the top bunks on each side of our 'compartment' but we shared the space with a very nice family going to Beijing for a 10-day holiday. The family consisted of a son (who's name I can't in the least pronounce, so won't embarrass myself by butchering the romanization), his parents and grandmother. He's 17 by Chinese age, which, like many East Asian cultures counts the 10 months in the womb as the first year so you're 1 when you're born. He just finished his fourth year of middle school and will being high school in September.

Unbeknownst to him, one of his friend's, Ding Yi, was also on the train with her mother, also on the way to Beijing for a holiday. They found each other when Ding Yi was walking past our compartment to the bathroom and instant excitement commenced. Neither of them has been to Beijing before and they were both really excited. They also both spoke English, which facilitated the conversation (with us). They've been studying for 3 years and will continue the language next year in high school. I think it's a requirement at their school, but I couldn't swear to it (communication was easier, not perfect).

In addition to the teenagers on the train, we had a lot of fun with some younger kids. They're studying English, too, but the youngest, who was 7 (American age), and the only girl, was the boldest in talking to us and her language skills were limited to the greetings and name exchanges. Her older brother, who's probably 10, seemed to understand a lot of what we said, but he wouldn't actually talk to us. He just kept whispering to her things to say, but her English wasn't up to it, so she'd tell us in Chinese, which was great, but not really helpful in terms of continuing the conversation. But giggling and trying to push each other forward translates all languages, so we all had a good time.

-Leah

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T48 designates the sleeper train from Qiqihaer to Beijing and has two classes: "soft sleeper", or first class, and "hard sleeper" or second class. The hard sleeper is further sub-divided in price by bunk levels: lower, middle and upper. The prices rise as the bunk levels fall (the narrow ladders up are tricky.) Due to availability and cost, we ended up with two hard upper bunks. Each bunk level has progressively less space from lower to upper so a person can sit up straight in the former, while the latter requires a type of low crawling. Lying on my back with my arms over my head, my ankles hung over the end of the bunk. There was no worry that even a tall person would bump into them walking through the aisle because the height of the bunk is well above the top of the door frame (the nose-bleed section.) With my arms vertical and straight, I pressed both palms to the ceiling with my back and shoulders firmly pressed to the bed. When I lowered my arms to my sides, each elbow touched either the wall or the metal railing. Needless to write, I didn't sleep especially well.

The next morning, we met our neighbors, a family, grandmother, father, mother and son. The son, who spoke a little English, and I worked to communicate, but the going was difficult. In the end, he practiced some phrases, pointed out interesting sites in Beijing, and I worked on my pronunciation, especially the difference between two provinces we plan to visit, Shaanxi and Shanxi, which sound lightly separated by tone. Living in Qiqihaer, they were touring Beijing, which is the only place in China they have travelled. The previous night, the family did not speak to us because they thought we were Russian, which is not an uncommon identification for the northern Chinese who receive large numbers of vacationing Russians each year. The grandmother even thought Leah looked like a Russian volleyball player, which is funny because she hasn't played volleyball in years--I mean, ever.

-David

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Qiqihar is 'famous' for the nature reserve 30 kms south that provides breeding grounds for over 260 species of birds, including several species of cranes. The red-crowned crane is especially famous because in some East Asian cultures it has been revered as a symbol of longevity. We found this ironic, since it's estimated that there are now only about 1900 of the red-crowned cranes in the wild.

Despite the low number, the reserve, which we visited yesterday, does have several of the endangered cranes. The area through which people are allowed to tromp is fairly small, but they have a tower with really powerful binoculars and a very nice woman who finds interesting things for you to see and then brings the unwieldy lenses into focus. We saw a (presumably) female red-crowned crane sitting on a nest built at least 5 feet off the ground and another (again, presumably) female out feeding with a chick. The chick was really cute--very fuzzy and only about a fifth of the size of its parent, which stood about 4.5 feet high. They're huge birds and there are several warnings not to get too close to any of them for fear of crane attacks.

The reserve, and Qiqihar in general, have been very pleasant and have made a nice break from the bigger, more hectic cities through which we've been. Qiqihar has under a million people (downright tiny, in China!) and is amazingly flat! This is of interest because our hotel room was on the 13th floor and we could see for miles and miles. Not that there's too much to see; it's largely an industrial, though pleasant, city.

Our hotel room is in the past tense, because we've checked out and are 'killing time' until the overnight train to Beijing leaves at 4:50 (2 hours to go!). We arrive tomorrow morning at about 8:30, which makes me slightly nervous. Beijing is enormous and there's a ton to see. We haven't decided how long we'll be staying, but sometime next week we'll be heading to Datong in Shanxi province and then eventually over to Xi'an in Shaanxi province, home of the stone warriors. But first there's the 16 hour train ride to experience!

-Leah

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China is bizarre (although probably no more than any other country we've traveled to), and here is an incomplete, unalphabetized glossary of miscellaneous insights:

Money: the base is the RMB (the People's Money) or yuan, sometimes simply written as a 'Y' before numbers. Y8 is about a US dollar. Y1 has two different paper forms and a coin version. A tenth of an RMB is called a jiao. A tenth of a jiao is called a fen (confused yet?), which has approximately no value (I can't even use one to pry open the battery cover on the GPS!).

Food: cheap and greasy. My first meal in China was a plate of fried noodles from a street vendor for Y2 (25 cents.) From a restaurant in Qiqiha-er, my last meal was a huge plate of shredded vegetables/potatoes, transparent yellow crepes used to wrap the former, a thick bready pancake, cilantro,onions, sauce and tea. Leah and I both ate until we were stuffed for a total cost of Y11 (less than $1.50). My favorite food is cold noodles with cucumbers in a spicy sauce. In hotels with breakfast, Western and Asian foods are offered. The strangest is what I have named 'white bread topiary', which tastes like white bread and is fashioned into all sorts of unusual shapes--spirals, twist, etc. The food has all tasted good, if a little too oily, with the exception of a sweet "pastry" roll that was dipped in a finely shredded sweet meat and filled with mayonnaise (Just mentioning this breakfast makes Leah a bit sick).

Traffic: mayhem!

Parks: relaxing with lots of people of all ages. Kids run around, young adults play badminton or basketball, adults walk, and the elderly use the park's outdoor exercise equipment, such as walking machines, parallel bars, twisting platforms and gym rings, just to name a few.

TV: almost nothing in English. If we do turn the TV on, we watch the World Cup, since soccer doesn't require translations. Once or twice we've tried to watch a Chinese movie and do our own dubbing, which can be hilarious.

Internet bars: noisy, smoky and filled with kids playing video games or watching movies.

Chinglish: most English sentences are strange--ranging from just awkward to completely incomprehensible. Here is a sample of my favorites:
1. In Dalian at the hotel, a price on a disposable razor reinforced with the label "uncomplimentary."
2. On the road to Qiqiha-er a large official looking sign reading, "Rearendcolusion: Keep Space."
3. In Harbin at the restored church of St. Sophia, a panel painting of the Virgin Mary entitled, "Board picture of Holy Mother."

-David

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We're in Qiqihar (pronounced chee-chee-hair, which seems odd to someone completely unused to Asian languages) after yet another bus ride of about 4 hours. The ostensible reason we're here is because there's a nature reserve 30 kms away that is the breeding grounds for the endangered red-crowned crane. Really it's just another place to see, though we rarely need an excuse for that.

After arriving, we found the hotel where we wanted to stay and proceeded through the complicated business of checking in without a mutually intelligible language. At most of the hotels in China a breakfast buffet is included in the price. So we were totally prepared for two small paper tickets that came with our key when we checked in. We were not, however, prepared for the two plastic tickets that also came with the key. We stopped at the desk on our way out for dinner to 'ask' about them and ended up completely side tracked.

After much giggling by the desk clerks, we were pointed to another area of the large lobby. When we got there, a very nice young man took our tickets and indicated we should sit down in the plastic seats in front of a large desk, where we were clearly supposed to remove our shoes. There were some other people sitting already, wearing plastic flip-flops. As we were trying to figure out what was going on, the same attendant returned pairs of shoes to each of them, which made me exclaim to David, "I think it's a shoe shine service." David was extremely skeptical of this idea, quite rightly as it turns out.

After our shoes were taken away and we were each given a little key the attendant motioned us to follow him into an elevator. David and the attendant got off at the 3rd floor, but I had to stay with a woman who was going further up. The two of us got off on the 7th floor and I followed her into a changing room with several female attendants in simple uniforms. I'd decided by this point that maybe it was a free massage. We get calls in our room every night asking if we want one, although I think the "massages" are aimed at David since the phone is often hung up whenever I answer. Walking into the changing room I realized that the enormous marble tiled room that led off from the changing room had several shower heads and decided that instead of a massage, it was a Turkish-style bath, similar to the one I went to with my friend Samira in Morocco. I walked over to the locker that matched the number on my key and opened it up and then was watching the woman who I'd followed out of the elevator for ques as to appropriate behavior. When she took off her skirt, I took off my pants; she took off her blouse, so I took off my shirt; our socks followed and then I realized that it wasn't exactly like the hamam experience in Morocco--we weren't keeping our underwear on for the sake of modesty.

While telling myself that American body image issues were clearly out of place, I took an extremely long shower. It turns out massages were available, as was being thoroughly scrubbed down by one of the attendants, but there was a price list on the opposite wall and without my glasses, I couldn't see if I had enough money with me for any of the extras. Also, I wasn't sure how long David would be, and didn't want to keep him waiting too long. As it turns out he was not overly impressed with the set-up, so he was down earlier than I was and then we departed for our much delayed dinner.

One of the most rewarding, though painfully learned, aspects of traveling and living overseas is the ability to give up control. Sometimes you just have to believe that the strange people around you aren't going to let you come to any serious harm. Trusting people with whom you can't converse is really difficult, but it's also often the only way to have a truly good time. Or in this case, be really clean for awhile.

-Leah

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We left Changchun by another 'luxury' bus on Friday and arrived in Haerbin, four hours later. Haerbin is famous in China for it's Russian district. The city (and presumably the area) belonged to the Russian empire for about 50 years, ending in the 1920s. One of the results of this is a long pedestrian street with French-style Russian architecture on either side. There used to be several Orthodox churches as well, but most of them were destroyed during the Cultural Revolution. One of them, St. Sophia, has been somewhat restored and now houses a collection of photographs from the turn of the century in Haerbin. It's a neat space and the exhibition is somewhat interesting, but there are no captions in English, so we weren't really sure of the point of the collection or the photographs themselves.

The architecture along the Russian row is really fun, but it's much more enjoyable just because there are no cars. David's mentioned the traffic as being anarchic and it really is. We talked about it being chaotic, at first, but his mathematically inclined self couldn't deal with that, since there are actually patterns, or order, in chaos. No such order exists in traffic here, so the pedestrian only street is especially nice. There's an enormous river that the street runs into and running parallel to it is a lengthy boardwalk. It has rollerbladers, a neat park with gymnastics and other sports equipment, lots of ice cream vendors and plenty of people watchers.

This morning, we went to two of the three Buddhist temples in town. The third is an active monastery that non-community members are only allowed to enter twice a month, but the first two, the Temple of Sacred Bliss and the Temple of the Seven-tiered Pagoda, are open to the public everyday. The Sacred Bliss temple, unfortunately was anything but blissful (too much noise), but the Seven-tiered Pagoda temple had two halls filled with hundreds of wonderful carved wooden deities, painted (or layered?) with gold. Unfortunately we need an art history class in Chinese Buddhist art to appreciate most of what we saw, but it was really lovely nonetheless.

-Leah

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David and I have been together for long enough that today was the 10th birthday of mine we've spent together. He asked, this morning, where I've been on all my birthdays and going through the list, I thought it was kind of neat.

Turned 22 in Boise, ID
Turned 23 in Zurich, Switerland
Turned 24 in Boise, ID
Turned 25 in Bursa, Turkey
Turned 26 in Boise, ID
Turned 27 in Essaouira, Morocco
Turned 28 in Padova, Italy
Turned 29 on the Mulange Massif in Malawi
Turned 30 in Old Jeshwang, The Gambia
Turned 31 in Haerbin, China

Tentatively we'll be biking in Scotland or Ireland for my next birthday, but you can be sure we'll keep you all updated.

-Leah

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On our cross-country/family trip in May we stopped in Las Vegas to see David's family, where we also saw my cousins Betsy and Kjersten and Kjersten's husband Cole. Betsy and Kjersten are sisters, but due to extremely different work schedules, they don't get to see each other, so we got each of them to ourselves for awhile. We went to the Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant, with Kjersten and Cole. We were all a little unsure of how the whole experience was supposed to go, since none of us had 'done' fondue at this particular restaurant before. David and I had had a fondue night at a friend's years ago, but the restaurant experience was completely different, especially since we all had to agree on some things like the same cheese mixture for the appetizer and a dipping style/broth for the main course. But we figured it out in the end and had a really nice time to boot.

Yesterday for lunch in Changchun, not only were we unsure of what we were doing, we didn't even know what we were ordering. We had found a variation on the food court idea in a dingy open-air style mall the night before where we'd had fabulous dumplings. There were about 25 different stalls so we wandered back for lunch and ended up sitting at a serpentine lunch counter with a hole in front of each seat about 8 inches wide. The waitress and we didn't speak a mutually intelligible language, so to get the ordering ball rolling I pointed to a plate of something sitting in front of another patron that looked like dumplings (I'm a sucker for them). The waitress then tried to convince David he had to order something that cost 12 yuan ($1.50), which he was reluctant to do, since we had no idea what it was, but agreed in the end. We were then 'encouraged' to order some greens, which we also did. After completing the ordering process to the satisfaction of the waitress, we each had a pot set in the hole in front of us into which boiling broth was poured. It turned out that all of the food we'd ordered was to be 'cooked' in the pot, removed with a strainer and then set on a little plate after which we poured sauce on it. As complete novices we received help in the appropriate sauce mixing not only from the waitress (me), but from another patron (David). The sauce, which we had thought was a thick yellow mustard, was actually similar to a Thai peanut sauce after all of the accoutrements were added and tasted quite good. The 12 yuan dish, as it turns out, was thinly sliced beef, the 'dumplings' were actually fish balls (blech) and the greens we got were cabbage, cilantro and something that could be a lettuce, but we're not sure. All in all it was a fun lunch.

We were in Changchun because we left Shenyang on Thursday and took a 'luxury' bus similar to a Greyhound, but nicer, on our journey north. Changchun is the former capital of the 'puppet' Manchurian empire under the Japanese occupation. The last Qing emperor, Puyi, who was forced from power after the Chinese revolution in 1911, was brought back by the Japanese and ruled the northeastern part of China until the end of WWII. The palace is now open to tourists and the translation of the signs into English is hilarious. Chinglish, in general, is really funny, but as propaganda against both the Japanese and the colluding Chinese officials, with the exception of 'poor Puyi,' it's somehow especially amusing.

-Leah

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Shenyang's botanical gardens have been temporarily consumed by the 2006 International Horticultural Expo, or so we discovered when the bus dropped us at a stop we had hoped would be the gardens. Since we can't really communicate, we just smiled and tried to pronounce the Chinese name for the botanical garden and then hoped for the best. Well placed on a massive area of land, the Expo had a grand entrance, loads of services and an impressive spire named the Lily Tower, which yes, looks a bit like a lily. Sadly, most of the exhibits didn't live up to the venue, though.

There just weren't enough plants and flowers. For example, in the internationally-themed section, most countries had large shop-like areas with prominently placed vendors selling bobbles, and seemed to just stuff a few flowers off to the side. On the up side, the Turkish exhibit offered several Turkish dishes. Leah made a bee-line towards this "exhibit" and snapped up a pide, a sort of oblong pizza. I veered to the Turkish ice cream window, watched the show where the Turkish vendors were playing with their patrons by throwing the very sticky ice cream around, pretending to drop it and yelling while clanging a bell. After getting tapped on the bill of my hat with the bottom of the cone and having it pulled from my hand, I finally got to eat it. Yum.

-David

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Recalling the fun we had biking in Gyeongju, Leah and I decided to rent a tandem bike to enjoy Beiling Park in the northern part of Shenyang. The theory is straightforward: each person contributes their own share of pedaling power, which is summed and distributed equally, fairly to forward motion. However, in practice, one person may petal too slowly and I may petal too fast, which makes the other person (or one person) stop pedaling altogether for short periods of time. I won't even mention steering problems. After much painful practice and accusations of unequal contribution, we had the bike moving slowly along and both agreed to use individual bikes next time. A welcome break from the biking was a spacious tomb that offered nice architecture and history of the early Qing empire.

Outside of the park, we walked. Unfortunately, Shenyang is not pedestrian friendly. The city is crammed with anarchist pedestrians, bicycles, mopeds, motorcycles, cars and trucks. Basically, the biggest buses and trucks barrel through the streets (and the sidewalks!) and honk, ignoring lights, pedestrians, bikes and shockingly, the traffic police, who lamely wave orange batons at vehicles that try to run them over. Each smaller vehicle, in turn, speeds past and honks at even smaller transport. It's more than a little stressful and completely belies the peace of pleasant parks, tombs and a nearby botanical garden. It also left us with a somewhat negative impression of the city.

-David

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I really enjoy traveling. Sometimes I get cranky or tired, and I often get hungry when we're walking past dozens of places to eat because David's just sure there's a better one up the road. Sometimes I'm scared of the unknown and wish the language, culture, people--whatever--were just a little more comprehensible, but overall I love the exploring aspect of travel. Meeting new people, seeing how they live, hearing about very similar and wildly different ways of things. Traveling, too, has a way of reducing life to it's most basic, which can be oddly invigorating. Worrying about finding food and shelter and interacting with strangers in a way that will prove helpful, makes me so much more aware of everything. I worry about things I don't at home, too: finding the nearest bathroom, trying to decipher a menu enough so that I don't order fish, which I detest, wondering whether the bus I'm on is actually going where I want, and even if it is, how I will recognize the stop. It's all a lot of fun, even if it's stressful.

Even more than traveling, though, I love reading. It has the same exploratory aspect for me, without the physical discomfort. The mental discomfort from reading a really well written book can be as great as that from traveling, though you can always take a break and return to the safe and known world of the everyday. And reading while traveling can be especially rewarding. The intersection of two new worlds can be really exciting. I've read some great books while traveling and hope to read several more on many other trips.

But there are some new worlds that probably shouldn't intersect. Some worlds are better explored from the physical comfort of home, because they're so mentally taxing. *Blindness*, by Jose Saramago, is one of those. It's an excellent world to explore, but since it's concerned with the breakdown of modern society and what happens when people are reduced to a life without an infrastructure they're used to, rather like traveling, reading *Blindness* on a train from Dalian to Shenyang is not the best idea. So read it, and explore other worlds through travel, but don't do the two together.

-Leah

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We took the ferry from Incheon to Dalian on Saturday night. We shared a cabin with Sang Wook, a very energetic 7 year old, his mom and his grandfather. They were on their way to Dalian for a month to visit Sang Wook's older sister, who we think is going to a private Canadian school there. Language exchange was limited, but we made do and everyone was very cheerful.

We got into Dalian at 10 in the morning and planned to head straight to Shenyang, the provincial capital, but trying to change money left us trudging between banks and by the time we had enough RMB to feel comfortable, the only train tickets we could get were for a sleeper. While we plan to try a sleeper before we leave, doing so for a 4 hour journey seemed silly, so we got a room for the night and wandered around, instead. Dalian is referred to as the Hong Kong of the north and as you can imagine, given that description, the people are more affluent than in most of China and aspire to be so. The city, while large at 5 million people, is fairly relaxed and everyone seemed to be in a good mood.

We spent a very pleasant evening sitting in Zhongshan Square (which is actually a circle) watching people exercise small dogs and play with all sorts of toys: badminton, hacky sack, bikes, roller blades, scooter, cell phones, cameras, bird chasers, bouncy balls, big sponge brushes (the pavement is your Buddha board), people watchers, skates and a top kept spinning by a whip. We had such a good time watching the hacky sack players with their home made hackies, which David kept calling 'hacky-minton', we bought one for ourselves. It's made of plastic discs with metal discs in the middle and four very brightly colored feathers coming out of the top. The construction makes it much easier to hit, which being fabulously uncoordinated, I find very helpful.

Our circuit for the next week, or thereabouts, will take us north. We're planning on traveling from Shenyang to Changchun, Haerbin and then Qiqiha'er, which is as far north as we're allowed to go (more or less). Then we'll shoot down to Beijing and after a couple of days try a more southern (though really central) tour, but more on that later.

-Leah

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China is the first 'Communist' country we've visited, although I would personally call it an oligarchy, but we needn't quibble over labels. Still, while we've visited our share of countries with different types of political systems, China is the biggest country we've been to that's not a democracy. In their search for political control, we'd heard about the need for all sites to go through one routing system (or whatever the technical term is), so that the government could control subversive content. We did not, though, think that this would mean we couldn't access our site. But we can't. So our lovely friend Amy, who hosts this site on her space, is also going to start posting for us. We're backdating a couple to match where we were at the time we would have posted, but otherwise, hopefully they'll come through whenever we get a chance to email.

-Leah

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Whatever anyone tells you, "noraebang" (노래방) is not just Korean karaoke. There are two major differences: the setting is not a bar, but a small private room for you and a few friends; and, you can't buy or carry in alcohol, which, ironically, has been scientifically proven to lubricate any one's singing voice. If anyone out there is considering a first trip to the local noriban, here are some of my suggestions, in a particular order, which I don't now recall:

1. Before you go, drink lots of "soju" (소주), which is the national paint thinner.
2. Bring someone along that knows how to use the karaoke keyboard.
3. Don't sing songs you like; sing what you know, like Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.
4. If you're gifted with a deep voice, don't attempt to sing anything by Brittany Spears. (Oops, I won't do it again.)
5. Disregard the incongruous video playing behind the words of the song. For example, the rap song you're singing has nothing to do with the video of the man singing a ballad during a fake snow storm in a dark room.
6. Laugh all you want at your friends singing, because the music is too loud for you to be heard.

On a completely different note, tomorrow, Leah and I will board a ferry for Dalian, China--and, just 16 hours later, will be there!

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We spent last weekend in Gyeongju, the historical capital of the Silla (신라 pronounced Shil-la) kingdom . Given the longevity of the kingdom (roughly a thousand years, from 57 BCE-935 CE), Gyeongju has lots of burial mounds/tombs, a very nice museum, several temple complexes and ancient Buddha carvings, and, like the rest of Korea, some great National Parks. One of the parks, Namsan, is actually in the middle of the city, and has paths most of the way around it, so hiring bikes is extremely popular. We reinforced all sorts of Western gender stereotypes, since I was given a pink beach cruiser and David got a blue and sliver mountain bike. We had a lot of fun riding around, although I wish we could have gone out for the full day instead of just 3 hours. There are several sites of interest (mostly Buddhas into rocks) off the path and up trails into the mountains. We locked the bikes up and visited a couple of them, but then had to get back due to time.

Because Gyeongju has so much to see in so small an area, it's a huge tourist destination. David was skeptical when he read that fact on the train ride there, but while it's the only place outside of Seoul we've seen so many other non-Asian tourists, it's not peak season, yet, so it wasn't too bad. Peak season starts next month and when we come back from China in August, rumor has it that accommodation prices double and you can't move because there are so many people here. We're hoping to escape to Sulaksan NP, but that may be awfully crowded, too. In the meantime, despite my cold we've had a lovely time in Korea, It really is a lot like traveling in Europe (if you ignore the fact that the language, culture and people are completely different).

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Rather than Buddhism, confusion-ism made up the bulk of my experience at our Haeinsa temple stay. Clearly, having never stayed in a temple and, more generally having only a scant knowledge of Buddhism, only being given a single sheet of paper with the summer schedule was inadequate. Help came from another temple guest, Mr. Woo, who was staying for a few days on his way to Seoul. Having decided to take me as his charge, he provided explanations and advice about the dorms, Buddhist symbolism, tradition and etiquette. For example, before we first entered the large cafeteria for dinner, Mr. Woo told us not to speak during meals. (A difficult and awkward task when an unaware couple living in Arizona plopped down at our table and said, "So, where are you from?") Mr. Woo also decoded the meaning of the various percussion devices used before each ceremony (briefly: the drum=earth, the suspended wooden fish=sea, the metal plate=sky and a bell=combination of all three) Mr. Woo even provided helpful notes scrawled on post-its, during the first two ceremonies.

Mr. Woo was at a different temple for the third ceremony, so I was left getting hints from the attending monk who was clearly obsessive and compulsive. For example, at one point, while sitting on my mat, I received a stern look and a mimed correction because a finger on my left hand was touching the floor. The monk also gestured for us to stand and sit, in time, with the other monks. However, without knowing exactly, when or how to execute the proper movements, I had a tendency to fall down and pop up in a modified jumping jack--not the dignity that was expected.

As we were preparing to leave, Mr. Woo provided his final three grave warnings about the following day's camping and hiking: snakes, which hide in the grasses at this time of year; large, dangerous mountain pigs, which can attack lone tents in the middle of the night, although I still don't quite understand their reasoning; and bad people or people with "vice." I listened carefully to Mr. Woo, thanked him and we left for a campsite just outside Haeinsa town. That night, we camped next to a waterfall of a small river, and I thought about Mr. Woo's warnings. The rest of his advice had been so sound, that that night I dreamt of a wave of small pink pigs rampaging our campsite.

The next day, our plan was to hike over the mountain, and we had just begun when the first of Mr. Woo's warnings appeared, a small snake near the path. It was a meek ambassador that quickly moved backward and coiled itself under a rock. I started planning for the next attack: what would we do when a mountain pig blundered into the path? Near the summit, I calmed myself with the realization that I was the mountain pig! It became clear, with two pieces of evidence: my Chinese zodiac is the pig and, at the temple lunch the day before, I had stuffed myself with three helpings (the top button of my pants was even temporarily relived of duty.) Two warnings down. The final warning, surprisingly, turned out to be the forest ranger on the other side of the mountain at the Baekungdong Ticket Booth. After 10km and up and down 900 vertical meters, the ranger unsympathetically and rudely told us we couldn't camp because the campground didn't open until July. This was in sharp contrast to the nice, helpful rangers in Haeinsa that told us even though the campgrounds were not open, we could camp, if we understood that some of the facilities (bathrooms, water, etc.) may not be available, which they turned out to be.

So, thanks for the warnings Mr. Woo.

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This was the summer schedule, and the only information, we were given when we got to Haeinsa temple last Thursday. They have a temple stay program so if you pay W 10,000 (about $10) you get three meals (all meatless, since Buddhists are vegetarians) and accommodation for the night in traditional ondol-style dorm rooms. Ondol rooms are heated from below, formerly by burning wood in a clay-lined space, but now by electric heat. I shared the room with 8 Korean women (and one Polish speaking American), none of whom spoke English, but who were fabulously undeterred by this lack of verbal communication. I was fed an apple, delicious cherry tomatoes, and a rice cake stick. Two of the women were also clearly appalled by my inability to order my bedding, so they did it for me. Despite each of the other women sleeping on one blanket folded in half, with another for a cover, my bed was made up of two wool blankets, spread full, with a thick quilt on top and a thin quilt for covering. With all of the that and a heated floor, I was really quite hot during the night, but since we had to get up at 3, the discomfort didn't last too long. The men's dorm was not nearly so well organized and they almost missed the early ritual because the slept through the alarm, a monk who walked around the complex ringing a bell. In their defense, it sounded rather like a wind chime, but since several of the women in my room also set their cell phones as back up alarms, I'm not sure they should be excused.

The rituals were all quite interesting and even at 3:30, we were surprisingly awake. We spent the first two rituals we attended (evening and morning) in the lecture hall, with the other guests and the one monk who did all of the chanting. The monk's voice was exceptionally monotonous and he droned on for the hour-long ceremony that is roughly divided into three parts, with bulk of the time spent sitting cross-legged. They were quite peaceful, though David and I are both really bad at meditating. David did math computations (!) and I thought about when we should leave for China and other logistical stuff.

For our last ritual, we went up to the main hall, because we wanted to see what it was like with all of the monks in one room. When we got there, I was surprised that there was only the one monk chanting, and another, extremely officious and rather obsessive-compulsive, monk who waived us away from the center alter and off to one side. Apparently if you dedicate your life to Buddha, attending just the last 20 minutes of the prayer is acceptable, since that's when the hall filled up. Hearing about 100 voices chanting together in the lower registers was really quite stirring. It should have been peaceful, too, but unlike in the lecture hall, where we were allowed to sit through the whole thing, the OCD monk indicated that we had to participate in the stand-prostrate-kneel cycle. I'm sure once you're used to it there's a meditative aspect to the movement, but David and I did an awful lot of flailing and flapping of arms, trying to stand up in one motion. Not that we're terribly graceful, anyway.

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As yet another example of Korean hospitality, we were each given a Sun chip by a little girl at the Gongju National Museum, where we were clearly as much on display as all of the artifacts from the Baekje kingdom. David talked to one of the docents for the children's area (my favorite kind of souvenir--we each did a rubbing!) who said that the last non-Asian tourists they had were two Germans who visited last June. It's really too bad that the area doesn't see more tourists, since the people are lovely and the sites and museum are quite nice, too. The little creature to the right is an imaginary one that the Baekje people believed would guard the dead in their tombs (think small Egyptian pyramids covered with dirt and planted with grass to look like hills).

King Muryeong was one of the last Baekje kings, before they were conquered by the Shilla Kingdom from the East, centered in present-day Gyeongju. By some oversight on the part of grave robbers throughout the last 1500 years, Muryeong's tomb wasn't plundered and when it was 'discovered' in 1971, about 3000 artifacts were found, now housed in the museum. There are several fancy gold ornaments, as well as pots that indicate trade with the Han in China. Being sadly ignorant of the poorly named Three Kingdoms period (there were actually briefly five kingdoms during the 100 BCE-700 CE stretch), I'm sure we're missing lots of clues and interconnections, but it's fun to look at everything anyway.

Somewhat more invigorating than the museum, though, is the old Baekje fortress. Originally built with wood, but burned down in the Japanese invasion of 1592, the fortress is now crumbling stone that tourists traverse. We saw the changing of the guard ceremony that is performed every hour during the summer, which was fun. It must be a rite of passage for young high school boys to work as guards: almost all of the boys were plugged into their ipods and a couple of them were conversing on their cell phones. Clearly historical accuracy is not paramount when you have to stand in the hot sun all day.

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For a break from hiking, Leah and I stayed at a hotel in the city of Gongju and visited a set of tombs and the museum nearby. While the 7 tombs (built from 500-529 C.E.) are closed for preservation, full scale replica tombs are available for tourists to learn more about the Baekje (one of four kingdoms of the poorly named Three Kingdoms period).

Tomb No. 6, similar to King Muryeong's Tomb, is not much bigger than a small shed, but we're proof that it can accommodate 6 adults and 25 tittering 8-10 year olds. We somehow ended up pressed to the back of the tomb, but Leah still managed to raise her arms to take this picture. The school lesson (taught by the male teacher on the right) only lasted about 10 minutes. When the kids had finally filed out, and we saw larger group on the way in, Leah pointed to the door and loudly whispered, "Go, go, go..."

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On our way down from the Munjangdae summit, in Songnisan National Park, we were passed by a large group of Koreans, who all seemed quite friendly. When we got to the next rest area, the group was seated around a large table, and waved us over to join them. Which we, of course, did. David tried using some of his Korean and they all laughed uproariously when he said we were from Migook (America) and then they got us drunk.

One of the items sold at the mountainous rest areas (or carried, if there's a threat that it won't be available) is a brown, watery drink of fermented vegetables that we were eventually told is 5 or 6 degrees (I don't really know what that means, but David said it's similar to the percentage of alcohol). When we were handed the small white bowls, I thought it was miso soup and was quite excited. David, apparently, thought it might be alcohol, but then tasted it and decided it wasn't and finished his bowl which was promptly refilled and then swallowed. I tasted it, realized it was alcohol, and sipped the rest of the time we sat with the group.

There were 9 people in the group (see 5 of them in the picture from David's last post), all engineers working for Vina, a small electrical engineering firm based in Seoul. Once a month, this group goes hiking in a different park. We chatted about engineering stuff and traveling in Korea and during the 20 minutes we sat there, we were handed a whole cucumber (which David tried to pass off to me with a "Did you see this?" ploy), given kimbap (a rice and vegetable concoction rolled like sushi) and two choco-pies (vaguely like ding-dongs). David seemed to feel badly about taking all the food, but I happily ate my choco-pie (so much for having given up chocolate) and we had to take the cucumber with us when we left.

One of the two English speakers in the group explained that cucumbers are really good to take hiking because they give you a lot of energy and have a high water content. The cucumber tasted really good when we ate it half way down the mountain so we brought some on our hike today (Magoksa Temple complex) that we were then able to trade when we were given tomatoes by another very friendly group. So now we have to take cucumbers, tomatoes, choco-pies and water. David's determined to out-give the next group we meet hiking, but I don't think it's going to happen. We only carry one small backpack, but every hiker carries their own here, so they can cram a lot more food in. But we'll do what we can.

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Here are more pictures (clockwise from the top left): massive gold-plated standing Budda, new friends, summit marker, summit view.

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Here is the campground near the trailhead to an impressive temple (with an even more impressive gold-plated Budda) and several mountain summits, including the one we hiked, Munjangdae.

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At the risk of geek-ifying our blog, here are the GPS coordinates for our hotel:

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We're leaving Seoul this morning for Songnisan National Park to do some hiking and camping. This is actually a day later than we had planned to leave. Seoul is unbelievably comfortable, and having a nice hotel room certainly doesn't hurt. We've actually used the enormous TV to watch a Korean movie, Too Beautiful to Lie and the end of The Return of the King. David had seen the Korean movie at Pitt as part of the Korean movie night program, so he was able to explain the plot and some of the dialogue. The Return of the King was in English with Korean subtitles, so understanding it wasn't so much a problem. Both movies, though, led to an incredibly poor choice on our part: a nap. I don't think we've ever succumbed to the oh-let's-just-take-a-quick-nap decision while still in the grips of jet-lag before, and you'd think we wouldn't now, but we did. And without an alarm clock, too. David's been up since midnight, which wouldn't bode well for not napping today, except we'll be traveling in the afternoon, so it should be okay.

Outside of the very comfortable room, Seoul is quite nice, especially for a big city. We've been wandering through historic districts with old palaces and new financial districts (with a different kind of palace) and they're all really very pleasant. There are signs and banners every where, and street vendors are quite common. We saw a woman selling fried larva yesterday, outside an upscale grocery store, and bought some kiwi bubble tea from another vendor. (I'm not prepared to try the larva. Possibly fried grasshoppers, but not the larva.) We also went to Namdeamum market, a huge old outdoor market with nothing but vendors, either on the street, or hanging out of tiny shops on the side. It reminded me of the Marrakesh souq in design.

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Yesterday, Leah and I arrived safely in Seoul. The plane, a 777-200, was not one of the new, 50-percent-more-space-per-person that I had thought, but rather a workhorse of the overseas industry. Seating arrangements, duration and the uninspired food reminded me of the flights from SFO to Munich I used to take for work when we lived in Italy. Leah wisely missed the uninspired food by ordering Indian vegetarian meals, which looked great. Unfortunately, the second meal remained uneaten. Leah had started to slump in her seat, tired and a bit airsick.

I had forgotten how sick she really gets from travel. Her sickness only got worse on the one hour bus trip from the international airporat in Incheon to Seoul. Just before our bus stop at An-Guk subway station, she was coiled over her backpack. If I asked her how she felt, her arm would slowly rise and her hand would move a bit from side to side to indicate she was so-so (or, maybe she was trying to form a fist to punch me for asking such a silly question; it's difficult to say.) Once we were on our feet moving toward the hotel, she started feeling much better.

Our first choice, a backpacker's hostel, did not have a double available, so we ended up at a quiet hotel only a minute down the very narrow road. The room only cost a few dollars more and surprisingly, proves that Korea is indeed the most wired country. We have a flat screen computer with free internet in our room, a luxurious whirlpool bath/shower, a very nice (and firm) bed, and an enormous flat screen TV. In fact, the screen is about half the width of the wall, which reminds me of a mathematical truth: as the ratio of the TV size to the room size approaches 1, the more likely you are to dream that you live in a cheesy sci-fi TV series. Or, maybe the dream was because I didn't sleep well on the plane.

For a moderately priced room, there are also needlessly fancy automatic lights, which tend to turn off at the wrong times. There are also a myriad of sundries: toothbrushes, hairgel (in case you were wondering, my hair looks the same with the hairgel in), electric kettle (which, with our pot, we used to make noodles) and a condom. And, there is an unusually shaped mini-fridge too close to the computer, which was the source of a odd arguement. I'll omit most of the details, but here are the key comments, "The computer is on, Leah! That's the refridgerator, David!" In my defense, I have been out of the electronics field for a year.

Well that's enough about the room. Hopefully, today, after exploring Seoul, I'll have something more interesting to write.

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