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The Great Wall and me

I think I was in my late twenties when it occurred to me that I really would like to see The Great Wall one day. I'm not sure why I chose that particular world wonder, exactly, it just seemed to be a sight a girl should check out if possible.

And when my friend moved to Shanghai a couple years ago and we tossed around the idea of my visiting, seeing The Great Wall did become possible. There were other reasons for the trip to China, of course: reconnecting with my bff from college, experiencing Chinese culture and food, seeing cities I'd barely dared to imagine I'd ever see, using a squat toilet...

But it was there in my mind, a bullet train ride from Shanghai to Beijing, a jaunt from there to the mountains and, cue angels singing, THE WALL.

So I planned it and followed through and holy moly, it was the cleanest, most pure shot of elation when I saw a sliver of that 5500-mile behemouth. A peaceful rush.

But I'm going to back up a little.

The day I arrived in Beijing I was driven from the train station to my hotel which, to my delight, was located on a hutong. I checked into my room and I think I squealed a little. Excuse the bad phone pictures, but I just have to show you what I saw when I arrived.

After centering myself with a cup of tea, I proceeded to walk to the Forbidden City. The hotel's bellhop, breakfast server, and all around best boy "Jimmy", strongly suggested that I take a taxi, but I wanted to see as much of the city as I could, so off I went on foot. I had a decent map and iPhone compass and only needed someone to tell me a couple times if I was headed in the right direction.

Sadly, the help often came in the guise of some scammer who spoke good English. They'd see me squinting at my map and ask, "Can I help you?" I'd request confirmation that I was walking toward Tiananmen Square/Forbidden City and he or she would give me that. But then they would tell me they were an artist and ask if I'd come look at their etchings or that they needed to practice English and could I accompany them to a nearby teahouse. Yeah, no.

That happened two or three times until I finally reached my destination to discover that 1. Forbidden City closed at 4:00, which is was, on the dot 2. A gazillion more scammers and hard sell souvenir vendors saw my blond hair and pounced as if I were a wounded impala and they wanted feast on my still warm carcass. And also take my money, and 3. Tiananmen Square was full of Chinese tourists who thought I was the most exciting thing they'd seen that day. Let the staring and cell phone picture taking commence. I'd been warned that this would happen in China, but didn't realize how exhausting it would be. At one point a guy reached out to touch me (to see if I was real? I dunno). I dodged away, but he grazed my arm and I was done.

Fed up, tired, and hungry, I decided to forego checking out more of the Square and head back toward Wangfujing Street for food.

I found street snacks, which I ate and then immediately worried I'd wake up in the night projectile vomiting across my beautiful hotel room.

That never happened, but I did, while munching my chicken and vegetable wrap, smell the worst stench that has ever, ever, EVER curled inside my nostrils. Something gamey, dead, sweet and rotten is the best I can describe it. It wafted from one of the stalls and I badly wished I was with someone whose arm I could clutch as I doubled over in serious aesthetic agony.

The next day was Wall day. Wall day! I got up early, inhaled a strange and delicious breakfast provided by  my hotel and waited for my tour guide to pick me up. He was an hour late, though I didn't mind because I had nothing else planned. When he pulled up, I jumped into a van without seatbelts (of course, because Chinese don't seem concerned with safety much, if at all), met the other people in my group: a Japanese-American couple from San Francisco and an Indonesian guy and his auntie, and off we went. First to the Ming Tombs, which were a snooze and during which I learned that I was the only member of our tour who didn't believe in an after life, a jade museum/store and lunch.

And then...

(I know I posted some of these photos earlier, forgive me).

We took cable cars, which were glorified chairlifts, up to the wall, then hiked around. I was on my own because I wanted to check out the more difficult but, as our guide told us, more beautiful end of the wall at Mutianyu. I climbed stairs so steep I felt like an animal scrabbling up a tree, but I was happy. Beyond happy. When I got to the top, I saw this:

A board people had signed as proof they'd made it up. It wasn't Everest or anything. The day was stunning, the trees goldens, the air warm, but making it there, just being there, was an accomplishment. I was on the freaking Great Wall in freaking China.

All too soon, it was time to descend. I took a sled-luge type thing down a metal chute, my hair flying, my back aching a little from hunching over the brake, my mood singing. I had done it. I was still doing it. Everything was so, so good.

Nablow go

Ah, crap. It's the first day of NaBlow and I'm not sure I want to do it, but if I miss the beginning I'll never partake. Just for something to post, here's a photo my friend took of me in a Shanghai hutong. What a day! Can you see the pure joy in my face?

Astounding China

I'm back from my trip and finally starting to recover from the jet lag (I've never experienced jet lag like this, even after Europe. It's been a sort of illness). For now, some photos. When I feel a little caught up on life I'll share stories. Thanks for taking a peek!

Home

We just got back from Arizona yesterday, where we met up with my parents on the kids' spring break. There were idyllic moments. There were times when the tension between J. and me squealed like a too-tight violin string. Mostly there are sweet memories, though.

I know I'm lucky to have experienced such a trip. Such trips.

I married a traveler, you see. And my own (somewhat restrained) wanderlust had been latent until I met J. and we started to go places.

I'm planning a solo trip to China in October (perhaps I've mentioned that--I'm a little excited) to reconnect with my college roommate and best friend from those years. How fortunate! Such bounty of experience I'm accruing.

But it does take work. The planning and packing and childcare arranging.

Yesterday, after pulling into our driveway and dragging the suitcases inside, I fell catatonic and was barely able to lift clothes to hangers, toss laundry into machines. I was so tired I couldn't drink! Not even one glass of wine.

I sipped tea and went to bed. Though I stayed awake 'til midnight reading.

At 6:40, Claire called me and was shaken and teary. Another nightmare. I laid down next to her until she calmed. Then staggered back to bed where J. let me stay until 9:30(!)

Today, the kids played outside with neighbors all afternoon. Fabulous!

Meanwhile, I whipped in circles like a weathervane in a hurricane. Undone projects everywhere, most of them on my computer. Finish the photo book for Claire's class! Work on the posters for the school fundraiser! Send promised copies of Spectacle to readers on LibraryThing! Go over the manuscript again before uploading the next revision to Amazon! Format for hard copies even though the CreateSpace instructions are vexing and Lightning Source makes me want to shove my head in the coffeepot! Log onto work and catch up!

We live on a fairly quiet street, but cars do pass by, some of them not so slowly. Still, I let Max and Claire play there with the 11 and 13 year-old boys next door. They are watchful, but kids. I was uneasy. I was also trying to get things done.

I made corndogs for lunch and thought, None of this accomplishment will mean a damn thing if I hear the screech of brakes and the yell of kids and one of them is left broken on the asphalt. I think about how, in the 70s, I used to ride my bike all over the neighborhood without my parents knowing where I was.

I predict I will writhe around in bed tonight, worst-case scenarios flickering through my brain.

Where is my leisure suit?

I took this with my phone, so please don't judge.

Just a quick post tonight, because I traveled 12 hours today to get from my front door in Seattle to my parents' house in Northern Michigan and I'm beyond tired.

A few weeks ago, with J.'s encouragement, I used miles to get myself a plane ticket. I was badly missing my mom, dad, and sister.

Tonight, all three of them met me at the world's most adorable airport. And when we drove back to my parents', without planning it, we fell into our old car seats. Me behind my mom, Carrie behind my dad.

That might sound kind of corny, but with my sister and I having our own families and my living 2,000 miles away, the four of us driving anywhere together just doesn't happen.

Until tonight. And I was...well, I was verklempt. It was cool.

Being here without the kids is something I haven't experienced in a long time, either. I'm planning lots of reading, sipping of hot beverages, and several naps. I might even squeeze in a little writing.

Normal, Washington

In some ways, my last post was B.S. I did go to Portland and have the time of my life, but I was hardly "stepping out of my usual existence". Especially considering I've had no usual for the past three months.

This summer, J. was on sabbatical and, at the beginning of it, he announced that he didn't want to "waste" his time off at home, so away we went.

1. First, the kids and I traveled to Michigan for three weeks. During our visit, I left Max and Claire with my parents, met J. in Detroit and we flew to France for 8 days.

2. When we arrived home in Seattle, we took two days to unpack and repack, then drove South to Yosemite, stopping in Bend, Oregon, Reno, and San Francisco among other less illustrious towns. (Fortuna, California anyone? Shudder.)

3. After that, we spent another week and a half back in Seattle before jetting off to the Big Island of Hawaii for 2 weeks.

Kids threw up in Ziploc bags, we played road trip games, we ate at Subway more times than I care to admit, we kayaked and watched sunsets and stood in the crooks of redwoods. We rode mules and hiked and I cried because my feet hurt and it was all too much.

I realized I'm a princess whose idea of camping has its roots in childhood when my sister and I slept in the yard in our dad's musty pup tent, opening a cooler for breakfast and served ourselves cereal and milk. Then trooped inside to watch cartoons. It had nothing to do with fecund, grimy bathrooms, locking everything with a possible scent, including lip balm, in a bear locker, or counting down the hours until I'd arrive at an Oakland Holiday Inn.

The summer was deliriously spectacular. It was fun. It was hard. It was messy. It's something, given a another six months or so, I'll grow nostalgic for.

Now the kids are back in school, J. is back at the office, and I am back to my usual of food prep, laundry, and going into work a few hours a week. I have been sneaking in a little writing most days, which fills me to the brim with satisfaction.

So yeah, life is just settling back down again. But when I wrote my last post from the train zipping between Portland and Seattle, there was no normal at all.

 

Time off for good behavior

I wake up early and lift my head from the pillow. My brain swirls, like a current reversing. I drank a little too much the night before.

My friend Tricia and I are on vacation from our regular lives.

It is only seven a.m. Six hours of sleep. I can work with that.

I dress as quickly and quietly as I can, pack my computer into my backpack and leave the hotel. The late summer morning is extraordinarily warm for Portland. The streets are quiet, sun slanting between buildings.

On every block a homeless person who’s been out all night asks me for change. Guiltily, I walk past them, looking for a coffee shop with comfy chairs. I find only Starbucks full of hard tables or indie cafes with tall stools along counters.

It is September 11^th, and I know every airwave will be full of remembrances and tributes. As they should be, I suppose. Still, like Tricia and I discussed, 9-11 has infiltrated every American's lives in so many ways already. I don’t feel the need for an anniversary to ponder all that happened. But then, maybe it’s important for people who’ve lost someone they know to commemorate the day.

My rejection of big 9-11 memorials could also be apathy. We are in the midst of an eating/drinking/shopping/photo-snapping orgy in Portland and are trying not to think too much.

The night before we went to a club. An actual, cheesy-ass bar where the music blew my eardrums and people shimmied around and music videos flickered across massive screens. It was ridiculous. I danced. I did. I felt stupid. But the experience was so different than my normal life that I had fun.

I’m getting old though. Case in point: watching Beyonce writhing around in a sparkly, gold bikini and Rhianna straddling tigers bugged me. Really? I thought. What kind of message is this sending? Yeah, I know. It’s having a daughter that does this to me.

The one decent looking guy in the place tried to chat me up and bugged me, too. Besides being physically there, I did nothing to encourage him and edged away from his air grinding. By the time we left, I saw that he’d found someone willing and, presumably, unmarried.

I wondered how skanky that willing someone, if she hooked up with him, would feel in the morning.

I never find a café with the soft chairs I crave or open my computer to write. Instead I get a coffee and take it back to the hotel lobby where I read my library book on a velour couch, feeling dirty (literally) and exhausted and refreshed.

Luckily I don’t yet know when I get home I’ll find an equally exhausted husband, one child with a migraine and another who sits sulking in the car for an hour after we pull into the garage.

I only know that I still have it in me to step out of my usual existence, at least for a day.

Let's look at photos from my trip to France!

Yes, I went to France! Yes, I loved it! Here are some photos:

Paris

 

Provence

Me being happy

Intentional tourist

Last week J. turned 50. He's not thrilled about the large-ish number. And, truthfully, it's taking some getting used to for me, as well. It seems as though I've just hit the 40s, but my husband has breached that other decade. The next notch up.

So, to help us adjust, my parents watched Max and Claire for a night (they were here on their annual visit to Seattle) and J. and I roadtripped to Cave B, an awesome winery/Inn in Quincy, Washington. I went berserk and scheduled us for an expensive room, massages, and a fancy dinner (bleu cheese potatoes, you all!). We also wine tasted.

Even though I'm a much bigger wine drinker than J., he knows more about wine than I. Hearing him throw around words that weren't "bitey" and "non-bitey" was no small turn on for This American Life loving, bookish, lushy me.

While there, we were surrounded by severely pruned grape vines, beautiful in a craggy way, and acres upon acres of fragrant wild sage. Our room had a view of the Columbia River, and across it, layers of gorgeous brown and orange rock.

It was good to get out of the city and see such a radically different landscape. Even better that it was only three hours away.

While my mom and dad were in town, we did some touristy stuff, including the Theo Chocolate tour and visiting Skagit Valley Tulips, which seems to be something one does with visiting parents, as the last time we went was with J.'s parents when his dad was alive.

A fun but exhausting week.

I'm ready to spend time inside my head again. Which means more angst for you to read about sooner rather than later.

Weekend

 

Early Friday there was an appendicitis scare. To the extent that Claire's pediatrician advised we not feed her anything but clear liquids in case she needed surgery that afternoon or evening. She didn't. Her stomach pain subsided and I ended up going on my weekend trip to Chelan as planned.

Driving alone. Four hours. Listening to my Imogen loud. Stopping whenever I wanted to take photos. Eating baby carrots and fun-size Twix. Calling home to check Claire. Zooming through central Washington, past vineyards and orchards just as the sun was setting coppery over the mountains.

Lots of sleeping. Friends jumping on my bed, singing the Rolling Stones song Angie over and over. And over. Cashews, because I can't have them at home. A glacial lake I didn't jump into.

 

Beautiful, ripe vineyards. Fruit trees heavy with apples and pears. Wine. Lots and lots of wine. This American Life Podcasts on the way home. A family who was happy to see me.