Woo hoo, woo hoo hoo…

Today, bolstered by feeling loads better, having gotten to talk to my family, and having survived Crimma with the Pirate and I’s psyches intact, I ventured out into Zhuhai proper. My mission? An attempt to find something to eat. I’m not going to lie. I was more than eager to find the McDonald’s. Good thing those golden arches(tm) are a universal. After days of being puny, and not having much besides ramen and, well, dog, I was more than willing to explore on my search for a Big Mac. Not having to stay near a bathroom because of being so sick makes a major difference! It felt so good to leave the hotel. The weather’s a bit chilly, but not cold. Not anything like you guys in the states are enjoying right now. It was about 20 today, and I am still so not good at converting that to fahrenheit, darlings, I’m sorry. And do you capitalize “fahrenheit”? I can never decide.* I can tell you what 20 feels like, but I still have to google it to tell you what that means. Thanks to google, my lifeline, I can tell you that at it’s peak, today was in the high-60s, a bit windy and overcast. We got some rain in the night, and some drizzle in the morning, so the sun wasn’t out like it usually is. You can also sometimes not differentiate from the smog and clouds. Today was one of those days. Needless to say, my trusty Ugg boots and hoodie were more than fine. It’s a bit windy here, and different than Macau. Macau is sultry, most days, it’s the New Orleans of SE Asia, whereas, HK is San Francisco – chilly, windy, and very coastal. Zhuhai? Is like Macau’s little more temperate cousin. You can still tell you are near the ocean, but the humidity is not as strong. It’s also beautiful. Zhuhai touts green, open spaces where HK has buildings. It’s not as crowded, although I am still in one of the most densely populated places on earth, it’s not the crushing mass of humanity that is HK. Kowloon is actually the most densely populated place on Earth. Getting away from there, as much as I love it, this feels like wide-open spaces, and room to breath.

I set out from the hotel, with the hotel address in Chinese in my pocket. It’s life-savers like these that you learn to not to without. Setting yourself up a safety-net is never a bad idea, and minor ones like being able to jump in a taxi and actually show them something in their own language that will get you where you want to go, I cannot stress how awesome this can be for the weary, lost traveler. I can also not stress what a relief that it can be to know you can do just that. It’s a mental trick in some ways, but it helps immensely when you are in a completely alien place with not even a map. Not that you ever have any intention of getting lost, but it happens to the best of us. Just ask the Pirate when he left the restaurant we were at in HK in search of a bathroom. And he’s good. Way better than me.

Feeling so much better today, both mentally and physically, was like waking up. I had been in such a funk that I hadn’t really ventured very far, with the exception of the border gate, most days. It was nice to be back to feeling like the plucky heroine of this story, and not the listless, sick girl chained to her hotel. Not having anything to accomplish other than get some food in my belly, I just decided to start walking. I started in the opposite direction that Mestre and I had walked when I first arrived, focused on stopping only when I found something that struck my fancy.

I even left without my trusty iPod, content to focus all my senses on what was to be seen and heard. I’m glad I did. I have said it before, and will say it again. China is an assault on the senses. There is big-city noise. It’s not like HK, by any means, but you are still present to the fact that you are in a region that is teeming with people, and that this is a big city. Zhuhai does have some of the least-crazy drivers I’ve seen since moving to China. They are, for the most part, mindful of speed limits, and, well, I would say the biggest departure is the orderliness with which they drive. They observe lanes, traffic signs, etc. It’s kind of nice. They also do not all seem to be in an outrageous rush. This is both one thing I love and hate about HK. While more observant of the laws than in Macau, they all seem to be in a huge hurry. Macau drivers are just nuts. They all seem incredibly rushed to get somewhere, even though it is a tiny island, and hell-bent on taking out as many fellow drivers as they can in the process. I am amazed that I haven’t seen someone die yet. I’ve only seen one wreck, in my entire time. I can’t even explain it. Here in Zhuhai, no one seems to be in that big of a hurry. There’s none of the urgency that is present in HK, or Macau. It makes for a much nicer, although, a little more boring stroll along the main promenade. The one difference? People love their horns here. Even on the sidewalk, bikes and scooters have horns, and the drivers have no compunction about letting you know that you should get out of the way. I haven’t seen anyone mowed down yet, but I keep hoping.

The walk along the main street that my hotel is on was a nice one. China is… well there is no way I could possibly sum it up, but there is a shabbiness to it that I am starting to find rather charming. Nothing is shiny and new here. Even the shiny and new. There’s this layer of grime that kind of coats everything. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not dirty… although there is more trash in the street than you would see on the average street in oh, say, OKC. Still, there are rubbish bins, and people seem to use them with some frequency. It’s just this layer of… big city grime? Pollution? I think it must be a combination of lots of things. The poverty is something that is a little shocking. We don’t have homeless in Macau, at least, that I can tell. There is this one guy that begs outside the post office, but that’s it. Here? They are pretty ubiquitous. Mainly on main streets, but it’s not uncommon to see a cripple, or a leper on a blanket with a begging bowl on the sidewalk. I saw a woman with her obviously handicapped son in her lap, begging bowl in front of them. I have even seen what appeared to be a Hindu ascetic, in a nearly-impossible yoga pose at the border gate. I give what I can. And then I keep walking.

I run into a store, and I swear, since it turned cold, every old lady in every bodega that I go into, asks me in the exact same tone that my mother would use, “where is your coat?” in Chinese. It’s patently hilarious, as I am not the least bit cold. I sometimes forget that there’s a racial difference in reaction to the cold. It’s strange. It can be in the 60s and every Asian person I see is bundled up as if it were that bone-chilling cold that only Oklahoma could produce, with wind that cuts right through you. And here I’m rocking flip flops and a hoodie, most days. I gesture and say in my best approximation of Mandarin that I am headed to the mall RIGHT NOW to buy a coat. That seems to appease them. The idea that I am doing something about it, this poor little white girl without the sense to leave the house in real shoes. I give them my cash for my Coke Zero and head on my way.

I kept heading in the same direction along Jin Shan Lu, “Lu” is Mandarin for “road”. That’s the room my hotel is on, tugging my pants up as I go. China has ground five pounds off my already-skinnier frame. I estimate that I have lost about ten pounds total since moving here. I tease the compulsive dieters in my life, come to China. Between the sickness and the food, you’ll be at your goal weight in no time! I try to fight the traditional American sentiment that this is a fabulous thing, and take it for what it’s worth. Luckily, I have a pretty healthy body image. I’m more pleased to have a body that’s cooperating, rather than one that looks like some ideal. My sugars I have pretty much managed to keep in check, sickness considering. That I’m far more pleased with, but I do have to say that looking great in a swimsuit when I get back to Macau, despite that it will be too cold for the beach for a while, is a nice side-effect. Besides, I’m fat by Chinese standards, anyway. Go into any shop, especially in Macau/HK. Here in China, they just don’t have the English to make it stick. They’re thinking the same thing. Always such a delight to find something that fits, or, SHOCKINGLY, is too big. My little passive-aggressive maneuver. Haters gonna hate. I also have hips, a very-discernible waist, and quite nice legs, or so I’ve been told. Makes it fun to play up the “leggings-as-pants” game that is so popular in China. I scored some very cute dresses in HK, along with several cute pairs of leggings, which, in a nod to become assimilated, I rock as sort-of-pants. You just won’t catch me dead in a bedazzled, long sweatshirt. Those are all the rage here. Sorry, girls. I have my limits. But my HK dresses are really cute, and will be quite fun on cold Macau nights. I am the girl who threatened to go all totally Lady Gaga and never wear pants again when I moved. This seems a nice compromise. I still rock jeans and t-shirts most days. Except on days when it is taking forever and a day for my jeans to dry, then it’s my trusty cords. Which are too big, now. I’m looking forward to getting back to Macau and the Pirate fattening me up again with his awesome cooking. We’ve already chosen the menu, bound to change several times before then.

Where was I? Oh, yes. I was strolling down Jin Shan Lu, taking in the sights, the Engrish. Engrish is becoming such a commonplace sight that it no longer amazes me. It never fails to amuse, though. It just doesn’t register on the scale it used to. Anymore, when I find proper English, that’s what throws me. I just kind of stare at, while my brain tries to figure out “what’s wrong with this picture?”. What can I say, acculturation comes in tiny increments, and where you would least expect it. I notice it in tiny ways, every day, and somewhere in the back of my brain, it registers that I am not only here, but getting used to it. I still feel a million miles from home. I don’t know if that will ever be something that gets shaken, but it’s nice to know that we are more adaptable than we even give ourselves credit for. It’s amazing what you can get used to in a short time.

So, in an effort to be understood, I drew the McDonald’s logo on my notepad, the one I carry with me at all times. I know a few Kanji characters, from my study of Japanese, and while you say them differently, the meaning is the same. I can draw the word for “week”, for instance, and “day”, which is how I told the hotel how much longer I wanted to stay… it comes in handy. I also keep it for keeping notes as to stuff I need to remember to add to this blog. I’m always keeping you guys in mind, just so you know. There is funny stuff that I want to tell the Pirate, and then there’s the stuff that you guys would find just as flat-out-amazing as I do. I try to practice some editorial restraint, but, I do take copious notes. The notebook, which is a little, spiral-bound thing that I bought back at Daisho (the Japanese dollar store) back home, is a beat-up and valuable little thing. It also has my notes from my Mandarin lessons from Mestre. One of the most valuable things I have. I showed the McDonald’s logo to a policeman on the street. He pointed the direction I was already walking. He was friendly. He even smiled. So good. I chose wisely.

I keep walking. I passed a gorgeous green-space. It’s a park, I think. I pass the lovely, curvy bus-stops, the construction site where a new, huge hotel is going up, and the barriers are host to some of the most lovely Engrish I have ever seen. I wish I took time to write it down. Regardless, it’s going to be impressive. And then I rounded a corner, and there stood the largest sign for a McDonald’s I have ever seen. SUCCESS! I kind of ignored the rest of the majestic landscape and made a bee-line for the golden arches(tm). I don’t think I even realized how hungry I was. There was no cross-walk. I just attached myself to a couple of high-school kids and joined the throng. That’s one thing about China. You pretty much cross the street wherever. And when it’s a six-lane busy street, just do as the Romans do. I tend to just latch myself onto whatever group is crossing and take their cues. So far, so good. Besides, there are french fries to be had.

Turns out, the McDonald’s is in a HUGE shopping mall. It’s on the ground floor, so big that it has two entrances, with the creepy, smiling Ronald McDonald statue at both. I march right in, and like all the ones back home, they have a picture menu for us stupid non-Mandarin speakers. I point to the Big Mac meal, and ask for lots of ketchup. The cashier looks shocked when I point to the one ketchup packet and gesture that I want five. Sometimes it is so fun to be the shocking American. “Hao”, I reply, brooking no argument. (That means yes.) I retrieve my food and find a table, surrounded by Chinese families, little kids pointing and staring. The best part? It’s really actually hard to narrow it down, but my soda? Had actual ice. It was Coke Zero in a cup with about five cubes of ice in it. I busted out my book, and was in heaven. A little taste of the states, right here in mainland China. And they’re open 24 hours. I honestly felt a little light-headed after my meal. It was a bit much for my system, after the sparse diet I have been on. I didn’t care. It was goooooood. Not the Pirate’s cooking, but it’ll definitely do in a pinch. And it was definitely beef.

Afterwards, I set off to explore the mall-cum-industrial complex that is the space that the McDonald’s, along with the KFC, and the Pizza Hut occupies. I wish I could remember what it’s actually called, but I’m sure I will go back. I also found a “Spaghetti House”, which is a HK chain that is not half-bad American-style Italian. Had I known, I would’ve gone there, but now that I know it’s there, well, that may have to be my New Year’s Eve dinner.

Once I pulled my head out of things, namely, FOOD, I noticed a really beautiful palace across the street. I still haven’t figured out what it is, but it’s not far, and I’ll figure out what it is eventually. So, I headed into the mall. It seems to be my super-power, or one of them, to be able to find the most expensive shopping areas in all of super-cheap China. It’s a nice mall. There’s a gelato stand… which I aim to try at some point. I got lost. In the mall. Yeah, it’s that big. Kind of frightening, “Mall of America” big, with no handy maps to point you in the direction you want to go. I did find a pair of Jack Purcells, but I have a rule of not buying anything I can get back in Macau, for now, so I passed. They were cute, though. Now I know where the cool Converse store is here.

I wish I could convey the sense of goodwill that a full belly and feeling actually well for the first time in days can give. Perhaps you can imagine. Having gotten the chance to talk to all of my family over the past two days was a balm to my soul. Realizing that I can extract money out of the ATM was a huge weight off my mind. Knowing that I can afford to stay here until I get to go back to Macau was something I didn’t realize was stressing me out as much as it was, as there is no Western Union that I know of, and the Pirate is stuck in Macau. I got lost in the mall feeling the best, both mentally and physically that I had in days, sending the Pirate sweet text messages the whole time.

Did I mention I got lost? So, streets in Zhuhai are not clearly marked so I am a little anxious when I emerge the exit and realize that I am in a different part of town. The mall is that big, or at least it feels that way. I decide to walk around the mall. Seems simple, right? Right. Turn a corner, turn another, and I don’t know where the fuck I am. It’s cool, I’m actually getting used to it. I just keep walking. I finally, after about a mile, emerge at ANOTHER ENTRANCE TO THE MALL. Awesome. I just choose to go back in. And then I remember that the floor I came in on was separate from the rest of the first level, and I’m on the wrong side of it. Yes. This is my life. After feeling just a little stupid, and being glad that the Pirate is not here to get exasperated with me, which is understandable, I make my way back out to the street where I entered. Yay! There’s the palace, and there’s the street where my hotel is! Woot!

I head back home, opting to walk on the opposite side that my hotel is, as this is where the bootleg shops are, and I know that there’s a Circle-K, (called “O-K” here, hilarious) on this street somewhere between here and “home”. Having been a little chintzy with my insulin, afraid of falling low, I’m now incredibly thirsty, and waiting for the two hours to make sure that I don’t overcompensate and fall too low. Diabetes! So much fun! Ha ha. Walking, stop by the “O-K” and get a big bottle of water. It’s tepid. Of course. I’m getting used to that, too.

Decided to stop by the bootleg store, and score “Spartacus” and season five of “Dexter”, but not before the sweet shopkeeper and I do several cups of tea. He’s nice. Like, really nice. I walked in, he offered me some tea. It is impolite to refuse. And then you must drink three cups. (They’re tiny, the size of a small American shot-glass). It was boiling-hot, and quite good. When I finished the requisite three cups, he brought me a “traveler” while I shopped. It’s moments like these where I feel blessed, lucky, and overwhelmed at the opportunity that I have been given. To see the world through these eyes, and truly be living this dream. It’s moments like these that I give a very firm, “szhe szhe” to the universe, for taking such good care of me, and dropping the Pirate in my lap.

I bow to the nice shopkeeper, and thank him for both the bootlegs, and the tea, separately, and head on my merry way. Back to the hotel, by way of the bodega, where I buy a couple of 40-oz bottles of Haizhu, the Miller High Life of China, and settle down to write this, between frantic texts from the Pirate because my phone has run out of minutes and none of my texts have gone through. He worries. I don’t blame him. A Devon on her own can be a dangerous thing. I run down to the phone guy and buy some minutes, and we’re back in business.

All in all, a really good day. We’re at 14 days. Past the halfway, kids. I leave you dancing in my Zhuhai hotel room to the 5,6,7,8s. Woo hoo, indeed.

 

 

*note: according to spellcheck, you do capitalize “Fahrenheit”. But then again, It suggests continually that I have misspelled “Macau”, and that I have erred in my spelling of, well, “spellcheck.” So, I’m going to let it ride. Spell-check and I may just have to agree that we have artistic differences.