Suzhou and Zhouzhang

Joe and I spent our final day in China on an organized tour that took us to Suzhou (pronounced Su-joe) and Zhouzhang (pronounced… I can’t remember, but not how it looks). I booked the tour through Viator, a great travel resource even if you don’t book their tours. While Joe and I increasingly prefer to explore things on our own when we travel, checking Viator helps give us ideas about what to do.

I woke up the morning of the tour feeling pretty sick. While I tried to muster up the strength to get through the day, Joe ventured out into Shanghai for breakfast items to tide us over until lunch. He came back with our favorite- fried dough topped with sugar from KFC.

In Korea, being sick is not an excuse for anything. People come to work sick, ride the subway sick, often coughing away without covering their mouth. I can’t help but shoot daggers at them in my head, sometimes even gathering the courage to glare at them as they cough in my face. Unfortunately, on this trip I was that person who probably should have stayed in bed. I have no doubt that everyone in the van, other than Joe, was probably annoyed that I was present, but they were all very polite while they discreetly attempted to distance themselves from me. For me, the car ride was complete and utter torture. Not a second passed by that I wasn’t actively trying to repress a cough or blow my nose as quietly as possible. I am sure you know the feeling. A few members of the tour inquired as to whether or not I had a cold or allergies. I repeatedly assured them that it was probably allergies even though it felt more like a cold. One man in the back speculated that his allergies weren’t bothering him at all. He was on to my attempt at deception. (Note: When we returned to Korea I went to the doctor and was told I had allergy induced asthma, so I am hopeful that I didn’t get anyone sick)

Our first stop was the Garden of the Master of Nets. We had visited the Yuanyuan Garden the day before, so this garden was a bit of a letdown. Our guide “Helen” boasted that this was the smallest garden in Suzhou, therefore infrequently visited by tourists. Upon entering the garden she led us straight to the souvenir shop prior to viewing any of the grounds. After ordering an overpriced coffee and cup of tea we proceeded to sit around for 30 minutes until the guide was ready to take us through the garden. I am guessing this was an attempt to get us to buy souvenirs from the shop considering the actual tour of the garden took only 10-15 minutes. Helen walked briskly (actually fairly leisurely compared to her pace later on in the day) around the garden, seemingly disinterested in actually guiding and explaining the different areas of the garden. Much of the information we were able to gather about the garden came from the poorly translated signs and plaques that designated any area deemed of interest.

Joe and his expensive coffee that he didn't even remember. 

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I think Yuanyuan was prettier. 

I

 I wish I could tell you more about this. Darn you Helen. 

Bonzai tree. Joe thinks it was 100+ years old. 

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Young people like to come to the garden to paint.

Visiting the silk production factory was the highlight of the trip, mainly because it didn’t require Helen’s so-called tour guide expertise. Our visit began with a presentation that detailed the process involved in acquiring silk from silk worms. Two scarves were passed around and we were asked to vote on which one was made from real silk. Everyone, except for me, guessed it was the first scarf displayed. I chose not to raise my hand and guess the second scarf because I was embarrassed that I was the only one to vary from the group’s consensus. It turned out that I would have been right. Of course, when I told Joe this story he rolled his eyes and said, “Oh sure, sure you thought it was the second scarf.” Whatever Joe, I was right and you were wrong. Once the presentation concluded we got to tour the factory, gaining a glimpse at how silk is obtained from silk worms. There are two types of silk worms- singles or doubles, and how the thread is obtained depends on what type of worm it is. The process is mostly mechanized, but it still requires some skilled human effort. Our group tried to stretch the silk thread into a layer of silk and found that it was much harder than it looked. The skilled ladies of the factory had to “rescue” us as we heaved in vain, managing to gracefully salvage the mess we had made. I am almost positive that the reason Joe loved the silk worm factory was because of the buffet lunch that was served at the end of the tour. I count my blessings daily that he is so easy to please. I can get him to do almost anything if food is involved.

The way to tell whether or not it is real silk is to burn it. If the smoke is black and it curls up like it is plastic, it isn't silk. Granted, not the most useful information considering you can't really walk around burning things before you buy them. 

Silk worm pupas.

Sorting the singles from the doubles. 

 Great picture idea Joe.

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The factory workers saving the day. 

The final part of our tour was a visit to the water village of Zhouzhang. By this point what had started as drizzle was now large and frequent rain drops necessitating the use of an umbrella. The majority of the time we were in Zhouzhang I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. Our guide Helen, who had been rendered useless at the silk factory, was now back in full force. She darted from place to place, often visible only by the fabric daisy she carried in an effort to distinguish herself from the crowds. We entered buildings only to exit them in confusion, asking one another quietly what we had just seen. At several points I actually had to jog to keep up with Helen, and there was one scary moment where Joe and I actually lost her because we paused to read a sign in one of the unknown buildings we toured. I think the entire group was relieved when we hopped on board a Chinese style gondola to complete our tour of the village, especially considering there was no room for Helen on the boat. Unfortunately the boat ride was filled with long periods of awkward silence and frequent mutterings about Helen and her lack of skills as a tour guide, topped off with rain, rain, and more rain.

Chinese style gondolas.

 The locals.

Joe felt like we should document this experience with a few couple shots. It seems like every time I look horrible he wants to take pictures. 
 

The Zhouzhang Theatre- I guess we did learn something from Helen.

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Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a foodie, but I wanted this pork so bad. It smelled so good. I was vetoed by Joe. Shocking I know. Even more shocking is that I was vetoed because he thought it would make a mess.

Just before the next torture session... I mean... van ride.

While this was far from the best tour we have ever been on, it was still an interesting and memorable day. We have learned that things often don’t go according to our plans when we travel, but it is still exciting when we get to experience new places and cultures.

There is still one part of our China trip that hasn’t been written about, but I feel that the story of the Bund Sightseeing Tunnel can only be told by Joe…. No pressure, honey.

Shanghai: Yuanyuan Garden and the French Concession

Once again Joe has come to the last couple of blog entries to finish writing about one of our trips, and once again I was "invited" to guest author the final entries. This time I get to write about the last couple of days we spent in China which I spent sneezing, coughing, and blowing my nose. Should be an exciting couple of entries...

After enjoying our delicious dumplings we decided to check out the Yuanyuan Garden. We read that it would likely be crowded and that we should visit in the morning, but our walk around the garden was peaceful and devoid of tourists, for the most part.

 They had a lot of these cave-like structures. 

Unfortunately, this photo was marred by the tourist who barged through mid-picture.

As the day went on, I felt worse and worse, and my mood darkened significantly. I really wasn't very pleasant during the walk home, mainly because I wanted to take the subway, and Joe wanted to walk and take photos along the way. The walk took almost an hour, and Joe and I were in constant disagreement about whether or not to take pictures. Joe likes to take pictures of everything, which we appreciate later, but while it is going on I get a little irritable. I always worry that people won't want their photo taken by tourists, but it doesn't seem to bother Joe in the slightest. It didn't help that the few tissues I had disintegrated further with each passing minute as a result of the constant nasal drippage.

Joe is always asking (actually, there are usually no words spoken, just elaborate hand motions) if he can take a picture of people's shirts.

Drying laundry outside of your window is a common sight in Shanghai. 

At least they offer some variety...

I always wonder what I would think if foreigners started snapping pictures of my kids (future kids, that is).

Once we made it back to the hotel, I am pretty sure I passed out and Joe went back out in search of food (most likely ice cream or the cruellers we both craved).  After an hour or so of rest, I knew I had to rally so that we could check out the French Concession, the area of Shanghai that Lonely Planet describes as the "coolest, hippest, and most elegant."

Our first stop was the original headquarters of the Chinese Communist Party, a little known tourist attraction and museum included in Lonely Planet's Shanghai City Guide. Joe acted like I was torturing him by wanting to check it out, but what does he expect? He married a history teacher.

I didn't understand the point of making us get a ticket considering the museum was free, but whatever, when in China don't ask questions. 

Joe posing with the communist flag. Why the sad face? No idea.

The outside of the CCP Headquarters.

By the time we finished viewing the headquarters/museum, it was late in the afternoon. Ironically, though I had to drag Joe to the museum, I also had to drag him out of it. I don't know if he will admit it or not, but I know he enjoyed the visit. We stopped off for afternoon tea which consisted of a beverage and an appetizer, and then moved on to the Shikumen Open House Museum. The term Shikumen refers to Chinese homes that first appeared around the 1860s, combining Chinese and western architecture. The fact that we couldn't take pictures coupled with my worsening runny nose is the reason I don't have a lot to say about this experience. When we finished our tour, nothing made me happier than arriving back at the hotel and going to bed immediately. 

Joe thinks it is fun to take pictures of me when I am unprepared. 

It's not like people don't already know I am a tourist, so why not give them the full effect by referring to the guide book in public? 

I really can't understand the point of this photo, other than to make fun of my husband's excessive photo taking. 

I am pretty sure I took the camera away shortly after this picture was taken.

Shanghai: Shameful Binge Eating

The mission given to me was simple: find modestly priced food on the streets of Shanghai and bring it back to the hotel room in a reasonable amount of time. I was given no limits on type, nor quantity of ration. Finally tucked safely in bed after a miserable day of nasal leakage and wheezing, Sami was in no condition to join me on this venture and set zero parameters to her initial objective. At the time of my departure, I was uncertain if she would be partaking in found goodies at all.

I shuffled across the outdated floor of the narrow hallway and pushed the elevator button down. The door opened and revealed now familiar framed posters advertising menu items from the hotel restaurant. There was shark fin in a pink looking broth and the famous mandarin fish shaped like a squirrel. I didn't think it looked like a squirrel so I stared at it like one of those eye-trick 3-D posters. Out of the corner of my eye I admired the way my Chinese riding companions politely ignored the white lunatic with his nose pressed against a picture of fried fish.

Feeling adventurous, I quickly dismissed the idea of ordering from in house and walked through the double doors. Outside, I was greeted by the sharp scent of stinky tofu and a seated elderly woman hawking an unidentifiable seasonal fruit. She extended one white piece impaled on a toothpick upward. I took it, ate it, and made a face like I had just eaten a lemon's asshole. It actually tasted quite pleasant, but I didn't want to buy it and felt like this was easier than trying to express myself with words. She got the point and turned her head unamused.

As I walked through the alley toward the East Nianxing Rd., I took mental notes of the nearby restaurants and street vendors. Some of the people can get quite aggressive and earlier in the week I let myself get talked into a serving of dumplings which were good, but dry knockoffs of the Shanghai staple I would learn to love. I noticed piles of bright red crawdads, mystery meat skewers and dim sum galore amongst the skinky tofu.

The alleyway outside of our hotel.

When I got to the main road I had a decision to make. A few hundred feet down to the left, conveniently located at the top stairs of a subway exit lay a steamed bun vendor. We each had one of these buns for breakfast our first morning in the city. They tasted like Thanksgiving dinner- seasoned meat and collard greens inside a sticky white wonderbread roll. Somewhere off to the right was a popular Japanese ramen chain restaurant we had heard great things about. I veered toward the right, mainly because I was fairly certain that the small street vendor would be closed.

I found Ajisen Ramen and somehow managed not only to order a tasty looking dry ramen (thought it would be easier to carry than soup) but also express my preference for take-out. I sat, waited for my order, and stared at the Sumo wrestler illustrations on the wall. The customers inside were much less discreet than the elevator riders, and helped themselves to generous glances of foreigner between noodle slurps. 

 Ajisen Ramen

On my way back I stopped by good ole' McDonald's. This was my safe bet. I knew that if everything else failed, I could fall back on this. I ordered two cheeseburgers and two pieces of fried chicken- a wing and a leg. Laugh all you want about my lack of creativity, but I have eaten so little fast food in the past year that I was actually giddy with anticipation thinking about the greasy gut bomb.

On the way back I used the point and grunt method of ordering some of those bright red crawdads. The man working the wok put a passle of crustaceans in a circular wire net attached to a wooden handle. He then dropped the crawdads in hot oil for a few minutes and then wrapped the greasy gift in (much to my dismay) a plastic bag. By the way, what does it say about me that I despise the use of plastic bags, but would happily chow down on shark fin soup? What kind of environmentalist am I?

A quick stop at the convenience store for a 20 ounce Tsingtao and I was ready to dig in. The crawfish came with plastic gloves (again, not environmentally friendly, but so sanitary!) which I slid on while Sami picked at the McDonald's chicken. I analyzed one, separated the head from the tail and slurped up all of the briny green brain I could. Heaven. The combination of seafood, spicy oil and cold beer had my head spinning in a pleasure orgy of flavor. I sloppily sucked brains and chewed chewy tail with delight. Sweat and hot grease clung to my glistening vacation whiskers creating a phenomenon I later dubbed "flavor face".This was easily the highlight of my trip.

 The greasy crawdad, the plastic glove, the glistening smile, this must be love.

Of course, as with all food junkies, I am always looking for the next big hit. Moments after I finished the last crawdad I headed back down the elevator. In my drunkenness I swore the mandarin fish was a little more squirrel-like. Outside I hoped to run into the fruit lady, but she was gone, no doubt humiliated by my insensitive psyche out. I bought another beer at the store and cut my hand trying to open it. With blood dripping between my fingers I walked toward East Nianxing Rd. and took a right.

My mission was simple: Obtain a Shanghainese cruller and soft serve ice cream cone from KFC and consume it before Sami sees me and calls me fat.

Shanghai: Nianxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant

 Yuyuan Bazaar

Earlier in the morning, before my chance encounter with the paper cutter and my deliberate encounter with the Chinese KFC cashier, I had thoughtfully chosen to attire myself in jeans and a long sleeve shirt- both to avoid the inevitable sunburn and fit in with the locals. It is rare, in my first hand opinion, to see Asian men wearing shorts in public. Bare legs are an essential component of the vogue Korean woman's overall appearance, but the men are contentedly confined in a dark suit, white shirt and sparkly pink or periwinkle necktie. Even on weekends. Although Sami and I agreed that Shanghai was much more casual than Seoul, there still was a distinct lack of uncovered stems on the male population. I wasn't going to take any chances.

Naturally, I regretted my choice of style over comfort as the late morning became hot and a little muggier than I would have preferred. As we walked away from the paper cutter, the green backpack (which has become an unfortunate mainstay in nearly all travel photographs we take) strapped snugly against my body accelerated the fall of sweat rivulets down my spine. Warm, swampy lagoons formed between my legs and under my arms which smelled of Mexican food.

Most people would reach for a cool refreshment during a time like this. Perhaps an iced tea, or a soda. Maybe an ice cream or a beer. Not us. We were on a quest for hot, steamy, pork soup dumplings. Of course, these were the most famous dumplings in all of Shanghai, the dumpling capitol of the world. No amount of humidity would stop us.

Nanxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant was located in the Yuyuan Bazaar in Old Town. Walking into the bazaar was not unlike walking into a crowded outlet mall in, say, Lincoln City, except that the department stores are held in giant wooden pagodas and all the people are Asian. A wooden railed deck snakes around the bazaar over a pool of green water filled with orange carp. The path leads you to such exotic establishments as Dairy Queen and Starbucks. Walking across the pond can be nearly impossible as hordes of tourists scrunch together to pose in front of the green pond.

 The entrance. You will find no shortage of knock offs in the shops, but the dumplings are the real deal my friend.

O.K. so maybe it is nothing like Lincoln City. I lied.

 

The restaurant itself is fairly indistinguishable from the other wood framed restaurants and shops if not for the seemingly hundreds of customers queued up waiting for a taste. The line stretched outside the door where several families sat on open air benches waiting to be called. We weighed our options and quickly decided to jump into the take out line. We were after the eats, not the seats.

After a good half hour we reached the front of the take out line. There is a glass window where you can observe the cooks skillfully twist the dumpling skin around a portion of meat, and place them evenly in a round bamboo steamers and stacked atop each other to dangerously high levels. We paid for two servings and the woman behind the counter served them to us with all the delicacy of a handless bongo player.

 Finally made it to the front!

We scurried off and found a piece of pavement to sit down on. I pulled out my chopsticks (Yes, we brought our own! Look at us being environmentally friendly!) and dug in. I have to admit that I thought the skin was going to be a little thinner, but the flavor was exactly what I wanted. Pork fatty and garlicky. The broth was perfect, not too salty and just the right amount of fat to cover your mouth and remind you later how good it was.

 When traveling in China, bring your own chopsticks. Save bamboo!

After we ate, Sami wanted to get her Starbucks fix in and I let her. Meanwhile, I searched the Dairy Queen, but when I was told they had no shell syrup for the dipped cones, I retreated. What the hell is this? Communist China? I had half of Sami's caramel bullshit thing and it was quite refreshing. Looks like I beat the heat after all. Even without shorts.

Shanghai: Cruller to Crook, Pastry to Paper Cutter

It was my job to retrieve breakfast. Basically, my sole duty in this domestic partnership of ours is to gather and prepare food for my wife two or three times a day. I don't mind this all that much because she takes care of nearly all of the additional household duties- dishes, laundry etc. So even though I wasn't thrilled about venturing out unaccompanied to order unfamiliar items in an unfamiliar language, it was only fair.

A fellow teacher friend of ours here in Korea recommended a certain type of fried dough sold at the KFC's in Shanghai. She is Chinese-American and has spent a considerable amount of time in Shanghai visiting family, so we quickly deemed her an expert of the local culinary scene. If she said KFC was bomb, who were we to question. We had hoped to find the fried tasties at the World Expo, but had no luck.

On my way to KFC I walked past a small number of people, kids mostly, dressed in bright silk pajamas and a larger number of people, elder folk mainly, practicing thai-chi.

I successfully ordered the crullers (five, if you must know) and bounded back to the hotel. Inside Sami had already started the coffee. Truthfully, the phrase "started the coffee" is a bit of a misnomer. You see, in Korea, the only real coffee option available to the home consumer is the instant variety. It really isn't that bad. One serving comes in a long, tubular package. The coffee crystals are concentrated near the top third on the pack, closest to the opening and the sugar and cream dust follows. I like to regulate the amount of sugar and cream and only pour in the top half of the package's contents. Sami pours the whole thing. We each prefer a double.

The cruller was hot, crispy on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside. It was covered in cinnamon and sugar and when you chewed, the pastry would release delicious grease that would coat your mouth with flavor. They reminded me of Native American fry bread. I remember once in my old job we had a conference at Kah-Nee-Ta Resort and Casino. They served fry bread and blackberry jam for breakfast and I could not get enough. I ate so much that I nearly damaged the inside of my mouth with happiness. I was much heavier in those days.

 Fried dough. Instant coffee.

Our plan for the day was to walk along the river and see as much of Old Town as we could during the day, and the French Concession at night. Typically, my number one goal was to try the famous soup dumplings at Nanxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant, while Sami's main objective was to visit the home of the First National Congress of the Communist Party of China in an entirely different part of the city.

It was an unusually clear day with mid-level altocumulus clouds draped across the morning blue sky. The walkway along the river had only been open for a month after an extensive re-model in preparation for the World Expo. As a result, there were a fair amount of tourists out posing for pictures alongside famous landmarks such as the TV Tower.

 That crazy spaceship looking thing is the TV Tower. The one that looks like a bottle opener to the far right is the second largest building in the world.

Sami consulting the guidebook. Little Ben in the background.

 

I was excited to see the outside of the Astor House Hotel, which served as the location of a crucial scene in "Man's Fate" a novel by Malreaux about the failed communist revolution. I read the book in college when I really couldn't have cared less, and now wish that I would have brought it along with me. Astor of course was the famous American who was the first to import furs (really the only thing from North America that the Chinese cared to import) to China. Outside of the hotel, a woman in a vibrant yellow dressed posed for photographers.

 In front of the Astor House

We found a place to sit and pulled out our guidebook. There were a few gardens we knew were nearby and worth checking out. As we sat, we were approached by a friendly man in a dark blazer and khaki baseball cap. He told us he was an artist, a paper cutter, and told us a few familiar factoids regarding the area. He was nice enough and we obliged him by smiling, nodding and allowing him to accompany us to the nearby gardens. We had successfully avoided an attempted scam our first trip in Shanghai, and were hoping to keep our streak alive. However, we were unprepared when he whipped out his scissors and began to cut my profile. When he finished he said that he wanted 60 yuan for it. You've got to be kidding me. Because we are nice and gullible, we ended up paying 15 yuan- about the cost of our cruller breakfast.

 The paper cutter.

Doesn't even look like me.

 

Dejected, we turned toward the gardens and then to Old Town for the soup dumplings. After all, Sami was getting hungry and it was time for me to live up to my end of the deal and find food.

Shanghai: River Tour of The Bund

When we first arrived in Korea, we were driven by our recruiters to our new apartment. The town we live in is about a 2 hour ride from the airport, and since we had already been traveling for about a full day, the car ride felt like an eternity. When we arrived in Guri, I was caught a little off guard by how different everything looked. Sure, there was a familiar 7-11, but everything else felt new. Most of all, I couldn't believe how much neon there was for such a small city (Guri's population is about 300,000, but because it is so densely populated, it feels like more).

After living in Korea and quickly growing accustomed to the neon office tells and apartment high rises, Shanghai wasn't much of a shock. However, Sami and I decided that Shanghai has much more personality than Seoul when it comes to architecture. Sure, Seoul has the wonderfully restored palaces downtown, and Seoul Tower is a definite sight to see, but because Seoul (and Korea in general) has been so ravaged by war, remnants of its past are not easily caught at first glimpse.

Shanghai on the other hand, has a more diverse, if shady history. After the Treaty of Nanjing, the ensuing foreign presence left a permanent mark on the city's skyline, most notably in the most famous tourist area of the city known as The Bund.

After we had finished our day at the World Expo, we hopped on a tour boat of The Bund at night. Our travel group included a middle aged Australian couple and our guide, Maggie (somehow I doubt that is her real name). The first thing I did on the boat was buy two warm Carona's (Sami was dumbfounded I would choose a Mexican beer, but do I really need a reason?). The beer did nothing but make me have to pee in the worst way.

On the top of the boat, we met a deaf artist who carved some traditional Chinese stamps for us. They are wooden and mine has a Tiger (2010 is the year of the Tiger) on top and my name in English and Chinese carved on the bottom. Sami has a dog because she was born in 1982, which was a dog year. The way he worked with a little chisel was quite impressive, especially when he carved a miniscule "Shanghai 5-6-10" on the side of the wooden stamp. I use the stamp to mark my students' papers and they get a big kick out of it.

After the tour we took a tour of East Nianxing Rd. which just so happened to be the same street as our hotel. We jumped in a train shaped shuttle and rode around while Maggie told us all about how much she works (no days off) and a man in the car in front of us turned and stared at our white faces.

When the ride was up, we turned and walked toward our hotel, our eyes mesmerized by the neon scene all around us.