You know that oft-quoted chestnut about Chinese eating everything with legs except the table and everything that flies except for airplanes? Well, it never did seem that crazy to me. I can relate to it more than that other cliché you’ve heard (though I’ve heard it in several variations), the one about a man being in heaven with a British salary, American house, Japanese wife and Chinese cook.
Now, I was in Guangzhou – which, if you pick up any guide to China or an older atlas, used to be known as Canton, and Cantonese is oft touted as the best food in all of China and all that. Remember how, just over a year ago, I was flummoxed by the chinglish menus in Beijing, Eli’s ulcer was acting up because everything we managed to order was too spicy, and the jokes about the dump-lings were flying? (Now that was an exercise in dventurous eating, since we had little idea what anything meant and had no mandarin speaker with us. I remember how, after we’d dropped Rick off in the domestic terminal, Eli and I found each other again after we had checked in for exit customs, cleared security and all those formalities, and he had this big-ass grin because he was now in the part of the terminal where he could order food and know what it was, and we celebrated by drinking two very overpriced cappuccinos. I also remember that, some months after I got home, I came across my Beijing guidebook again, and noticed this whole section in the back that had a list of dishes – in English, Pinyin and Chinese characters - that don’t always appear on the menu but that any restaurant in Beijing will make for you, and so many of them were things we would have appreciated. Oops!)
So, yeah. My previous experience with eating in China made me somewhat nervous. It’s not that I’m that much of a weenie when it comes to food, but, well, there are a lot of things with legs or things that fly which I just don’t want to eat. 
And even the critters that I, generally, not balk about consuming – well, there’s the matter of which part of the critter… As far as I saw it, our biggest challenge in Beijing was that we had no idea what anything on the menu meant. Which is why, when I came downstairs on my first morning in Guangzhou to look for the coffee I’d been promised was in the kitchen, I was really quite thrilled to see this poster. See how common fruits and some vegetables are illustrated here, in English, Pinyin and Chinese characters? And how, after the fact, I’d thought that was such a great idea when I came across it in the Beijing guidebook. This made total sense. I reasoned, memorize this, and I’m golden (I did not memorize it. I took a picture of it.)
It made pretty good sense, really. See how the illustrated foods match the ones I saw on the streets of Guangzhou while wandering around? Genius. And yes, I know the cauliflower is labeled broccoli. The broccoli was labeled green flowered vegetable, but that’s close enough. The thing is, I can confidently say that there is nothing on this poster that I would have any difficulty eating, and with the exception of the turnip (labeled radish) 
perhaps, I would enjoy all of these. So these aren’t really the characters I need to memorize and watch out for…
Fortunately for me, there was a matching critter poster on the other side of the kitchen. And now we’re getting into territory of avoidance, for sure. And I know what you’re thinking, that this is probably a poster for children to learn English (or, I guess, Chinese), and it’s just like those ubiquitous childrens books that illustrate all sorts of words (I have a one year old nephew, I have seen these books a lot!). And you know what I say to that? 
Ha frickin ha. Because folks, I wandered around a few wet markets. And I can make plenty of argument that this is a poster of things I might encounter in the food markets, most of these things after all having legs and not being tables. I shall start to illustrate conservatively, with the humble chicken (for some reason only illustrated in its cute, downy chick stage). We can remove ourselves from things a European or North American would eat in the normal course of the day very quickly.
And you know what else? This poster is nowhere near exhaustive enough. There are plenty of edible critters that are not on the poster. I give you, for instance, scorpions. Note how this tub is not closed in any way (also note how the caiman was just hanging out on the floor? This was very near the scorpions. And that picture was taken one morning when Rick took a break to go for a walk with me, and we were in a conversation walking through this market when that caiman lunged at me with its taped shut jaws. I jumped! I think I jumped on Rick’s foot. But what if I’d jumped and knocked over a tub of scorpions? I’m just asking, what if!)
I’ll give you, though, that there are plenty of things that don’t freak me out. You know, things like rice and tofu (I like tofu and its analogues, probably much more than meat – in any context – and I particularly liked the hot soymilk we bought) and of course all the fruits and vegetables (except durian. I don’t need durian), and I quite liked the tea shops too.
I’ll also confess that I was spared any of those hmmmm, which critter might this be eating moments the entire time in Guangzhou. This is because most meals were eating in the company of fluent Chinese speakers, and Diana was really very good about my “I don’t want turtle or toad or dog or cat or any other animal that doesn’t quack or cheep or moo or oink or is a fish!” weenie proclamations. So I ate things like lotus root and tofu and (they claimed) chicken and of course “meat” and I didn’t ask too many questions. We went to many different restaurants in the few days I was in Guangzhou, and all of them were identified by the regional specialty they were aligned with. 
Now, that didn’t do me much good, so far I can perhaps locate five Chinese provinces on the map – and I don’t have a sense of the food in any of them! But I was along for the ride, and the ride was mostly tasty. However, for me, a Thai cook would still beat a Chinese cook. Seriously.
The Pearl River Delta is probably the source of some things around your house, and definitely the source of many things in your local discount crap store. This area is known as the heart of China's manufacturing boom, and has the incomes and growth rates to go with it. Which is why, if all you've done is read the books, this scene would not surprise you:
I'm in Guangzhou, China. I don't really know what I expected. Nothing, really - I was mostly coming to see without having had time to do any research, and without plans. It's the end of a trip, and I've seen and done a lot - so I'm mostly content to play with my computer, go for walks, and tag along when Rick and his colleagues go for meals. You know, the sort of thing you do when visiting a friend.
And on one walk, last night home from dinner I took that futuristic photo. Before you get all impressed, let me say that I was walking with Rick, and he was in charge of navigating, and that I managed to get lost trying to find a subway station yesterday - I ended up walking to a different one rather than trying to 
figure out if that giant hole that was where I thought the subway station should be was hiding a subway entrance somewhere else, *and* I got out of the wrong exit at the subway station closest to home and could *not* figure out how to get back to Rick's place. Not at all. Seriously, I had to retrace my steps to the metro and try a different exit. 
My worry was that there might not be a way to get from the one side to the other without purchasing a fare and I wasn't worried about the fare but about how that would *work* because you punch your destination station into the machine to buy the token and that token is how you get into and, more importantly, out of the station and I was sure the machine would spit angry red Chinese characters at me if I tried to tell it I was going to the station I was already at! All of this I thought while re-finding the subway station, but it turns out the thoughts were for naught because I managed to get into a different tunnel, and this one was the right one.
So, on the epic journey that wasn't really, just me getting lost while wandering around old Guangzhou for hours, I took these pictures. It's not what I'd expected. There are far fewer cars here than in Beijing, and there are no real "big sights". It was only when I got to Shamian Island that anyone tried to sell me anything by inviting me to come look at my store and so - and Shamian Island was the only place where I saw a Starbucks. I couldn't figure out why every one of the shopkeepers who called me into her store asked me if I was adopting a baby, but I've since discovered that would-be parents adopting from this region are required to stay one month, and frequently do so in this district because the relevant offices are there. So now I know.
All in all, a successful day, even if there was no baby adoption. It would have been a whole other story if I hadn't thought to take Rick's compass and his copy of the Lonely Planet, which had a map of Old Guangzhou. Not that the other story would have been that interesting. I had a phone, a list of about five numbers for Rick's colleagues, and they all speak English and Chinese, and the address of the office printed on a paper in Chinese (and, unlike the map Rick had sketched for me before I left, I didn't lose that one...)
Air Asia is cheap, but it comes at a price. Or so we discovered yesterday. See, the airline will not let you check through, so if you are flying from, oh, I don't know, maybe Denpasar on Bali (Indonesia) to Macau (SAR of China) via Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia), you cannot simply pick up boarding passes in Denpasar, hang out in international transit areas, or forget about your bags. Instead, you must book flights with enough time between them that if your first flight is delayed, you will still make the second (because if the first Air Asia flight is delayed and that causes you to miss the second one, that is your problem, and Air Asia will do nothing for you). Then, once you arrive in Kuala Lumpur - at the Air Asia low cost terminal, which is *all* Air Asia - you have to immigrate to Malaysia, claim your bags, check into your next flight, check your bags again, emigrate from Malaysia, and clear security. And the line-up at emigration can take about 45 minutes, which is not really that surprising considering 1. Air Asia makes more money if you miss the flight and 2. only Air Asia passengers are using this emigration line. Also, Air Asia not only does not feed you, but does not allow you to take your own food on board. And given the liquid ban, the only way you're going to get any water is to buy it at a store in the Air Asia terminal (and then surrender it before getting onto the next flight. Sigh.)
It was one of those days that included flight delays, lots of waiting, and mostly crap food. The best part (by which I mean the worst part) was when I figured out that the airport express link to the ferry from Macau airport stops at 19:30, and our flight got in at 19:50 and thus we actually had to get stamped in to Macau. Since this was a trip with Rick, we got on a local bus with our packs (I think there is one woman in Macau who really hates me) and then got confused by the ferry terminal. The ferries to Kowloon were no longer running. Jetfoil to Hong Kong goes all night, but the earliest available sailing was after midnight. That is, until Rick asked about "super class", and we could get on a boat leaving in 10 minutes - so off we raced to emigration, and onto our assigned seats on the boat.
Super class on Jetfoil is interesting. You get a meal, even. The meal consists of sugar, sugar paste, sugary cream things, sugary fruit drink, and sugary food colour products. I slept for most of the hour to Hong Kong. And then we spent five minutes figuring out how to get to the MTR, I was a total dummy about how to use my single fare ticket and had to be rescued by some nice Chinese woman, and we changed subways and before 11 p.m., we hit Chungking Mansions, dropped our stuff and raced up to the Khyber Pass Mess Club for some curry and then I fell asleep to the glow of the mac across the room (which in Chungking Mansions is about 1 meter away).
I love the grand names for things that... aren't. Chungking is to Mansion like favela is to Taj Mahal, and the Khyber Pass is a private club because I doubt that they'd pass a restaurant health inspection. The curry was good.
Right now, I'm perched on my bed, waiting for 2 p.m. to pick up our laundry before going out exploring some more. I ventured out this morning, for a walk and some errands. I feel accomplished: I found laundry, went to a pharmacy for some ointment for some nasty foot thing I picked up in Bali, got money out of the ATM, procured my very own octopus card to avoid having to figure out the single ride tickets from now on, ate breakfast at an unremarkable Chinese diner, found some coffee, and replaced my Hong Kong plug adapter for the computer (I have one. It is on a field trip to somewhere called "bar camp". Guess what Rick is doing today?) And while I'm listing my accomplishments, today I have also brushed my teeth, combed my hair, made my bed and uhhhhh... yeah. Hong Kong is overwhelming, ok? (And I'm not that fond of shopping. It's a weekend. That's what people *do*.)
For over a week, I was in Bali - mostly in a gated resort community taking part in that whole UNFCCC thing you heard about on the news. But there was a little bit of time to explore after, when Rick and I left a conference field trip to Nusa Penida Island (we did not leave the tour while *on* the island, a decision on the part of the organizers that we were not particularly keen on.) So we got to rent a room in a guest house in the middle of rice paddies.
I don't have time to tell you much more while sitting here in this discount terminal in Kuala Lumpur, waiting for a delayed flight to be called. I've lost Rick somewhere, but skype tells me he's online. He's working a lot, so I find myself on my own a lot. My favourite was in the middle of the aforementioned rice paddy, where I sat on the veranda in the dark listening to the frogs, and then got a foot massage from an old Balinese named Jede while the guest house owner chatted with me about the rainy season. Last night, I went out and hired a van to take me back to resortland to pick up our left baggage while Rick was working on-line, and had a fascinating conversation with driver. It's one advantage, I guess - I talk to more people this way.
In October, I was hanging out at Stockholm Arlanda airport and I saw the prettiest flight crew ever leave on a bus. The women wore turquoise and pink full length outfits, heels, and they had perfect hair and makeup (also, it seemed, none of them were over 30). I caught myself thinking, this is the stereotype I remember from when I was a kid in the 1970s (and I didn’t know anyone who had actually been on planes or anything, but we all *knew* that “stewardesses” had to be beautiful and glamorous). Now, of course, I fly enough to know that there is zero justification for said stereotype anymore. Not with the airlines I fly. They may be good at their job and courteous and attractive. They may also be far from that. Hey, I fly Air Canada on a regular basis. I have experienced the whole range from “amazing” to “amazing that this woman can behave in this way and not be fired on the spot”.
But back to Stockholm Arlanda, and my mouth-open astonishment at these pretty pretty women, who looked perfectly groomed and had not hint of a surly expression after what must surely have been a long haul. I have fantastic powers of deduction. I immediately figured out that a) this was no European or North American crew (which I of course figured out by the uniforms, and the fact that all of these women were Asian had nothing to do with it) and consequently b) they must come from an exotic destination with direct connections to Sweden. South-East Asia qualifies. I think I vaguely assigned to crew to a box of Thai or Singapore Air or something… and went on my way.
Well, forward a month and a half. Mark, Lisa and I were traveling to Indonesia together (not totally a coincidence, since I’d called the travel agent and asked her to put those two on the same flights as me if possible…) After a night in Hong Kong, we picked up a Malaysia Airlines flight. And there was that pretty pretty turquoise and pink uniform! And the in-flight service was really good, and the food was surprisingly edible too. But the best part? The best part was when one of those gorgeous creatures started walking the aisles with a *tray of beer*. Lisa burst out with “I can’t believe this airline has a beer lady” and I concluded that this was the best airline ever. Being served cups of beer on a three hour flight. Compare that to the way Air Canada flight attendants will prowl the aisles with a big bottle of water with cups stacked on top of it on really long-haul flights… I prefer the Malyasia Airlines approach.
Oh, and some disclaimers:
1. I believe that men and women are equally capable of being flight attendants.
2. I don’t believe that this capability magically disappears when one starts to look less then kissed with dewy youthfulness.
3. I in no way believe physical appearance is a measure of how suited one is to do this job.
4. The ability to be courteous and smile, however, is.
5. And having a beer lady helps no matter how you look at it.