Please click on link to help me participate in Artists Wanted NY Times Square

Alyss Dorese

Occupy Oakland Strike Yesterday

This is an unedited version.


When I lived in Palm Springs, people would refer to seniors as Q-tips as they drove around town with only their white hair visible. Now, I live in Northern California and have joined the league of Q-tips.

It has been many years since I was at a protest. I remember protesting for Civil Rights, against the Vietnam War and defending pro-choice. I have protested in Washington D.C., New York and California to voice my beliefs.

Recently I have been following Occupy Wall Street. I’ve watched it in the main street media and on the Internet. In the early weeks of this protest conflicting reports emerged. Main Street media referred to this movement as a bunch of crazies and a group of people who had no direction. The alternate press was reporting the various reasons for the movement and the grievances of the protesting groups. As Occupy Wall Street grew and groups started all over this nation, main street media could no longer ignore this uprising and started to study and report what this movement is about.

I have been sitting on the sidelines of this movement. Time to pass the baton. Then yesterday I decided to join in the strike of Occupy Oakland. I was at the gathering from 11 in the morning to after 8 in the evening. I walked around the tent encampment at
Oscar Grant Park seeing the sleeping arrangement of tents crowded together. I viewed the different groups who set up around the perimeter of the park handing out literature of the ills of our present society, each emphasizing their own beliefs of what has to be changed, from more money for schools, jobs, no decreases in Social Security, Medicare, and Health Care. Included groups represented the Socialist party and Communist party, some radical beliefs and an area for meditation groups to sit and peacefully meditate asking for peaceful change. The Number 99 was seen everywhere and 99% tags were given out to stick on one's clothing. My camera out I kept clicking away at the encampment and at the visual signs with clever expressions.

What stuck out was that the majority of protest signs were drawn on paper and cut up cardboard boxes. Most people walked around the area holding these signs by hand or else they devised poles out of broom handles, crutches, and tripods. There were very few professionally printed signs. The occupation area in the Park although crowded with tents was surprisingly clean. No debris. Areas were set up for donated food and people lined up waiting being served. All used paper plates and plastic utensils were discarded in the waste containers around the park.

As the day continued, I found myself marching with a large group of people heading to close the local BOA and Citibank and Wells Fargo. I stopped at Citibank, when I saw a handful of people sitting in front of the bank’s doors. 6”x6” signs scotch taped from inside the glass door by the bank saying the doors were locked and if you wanted to enter you had to swipe your bank card. Facing us from inside the bank stood a lone guard. During the time I stood there, no one tried to pass our small group of people blocking the doors. I was told the same scenario was going on at the local Bank of America, Chase, Wells Fargo and Citi banks. As I continued to walk around I would return to Oscar Grant Park where two staging areas were set up. One, in front of City Hall and the other on the corner of 14th street. Speakers and entertainers spoke all through the day as the groups crowded around to listen.

When we joined the marchers to various building, the “Mike Check” process was used. It was the first time I had ever heard this at a gathering. And it works so well for so many reasons. There is no one leader in these groups. Everything is decided on a group vote.
Anyone can speak, make a point of order to be heard, whether they have a loud speaker or not. When someone does take the lead to speak or ask a question, a wave of repetition ripples though the crowd as each sentence is repeated in unison by the crowd in order to be heard by the gathered people. This seems to serve two purposes. A chance for the speaker to arrange what they say succinctly and a true sense of participation of a group without feeling talk to, but a part of what is being said and keeping their attention sharp.

When I looked around these thousands of people I did not see one uniformed policeman and the crowd was peaceful.

A little later in the day I went on a march with a group of people protesting cuts in Health Care and Disability. I walked along many people riding in their wheelchairs, the blind with their canes, and those struggling with crutches and with walkers. This group marched to the State Building. We wanted to take over the building. The doors where locked on our side of the building and California State Highway Patrol officers stood behind the locked glass doors directing workers to go to the opposite side of the building to enter or leave. A vote was taken. (1) Do We Stay here, (2)all leave to go to the other side of the building or (3) Do we break up onto two groups one staying at this entrance and the other walking to the other side. The vote was for us to break up into two groups with one group going to the other side of the building to try to get it closed and if we couldn’t do that, to hand literature to those people entering or leaving the building explaining why we were protesting. I walked with a group to the other side of the building and there too, stood the highway patrol behind locked glass doors and opening them only to state employees entering or leaving. We were able to hand out flyers educating why we were there. As some state workers left for the day, they joined in and stood with our group. Some of the state troopers guarding the building gave us the high sign.

Again, as I walked back to the park preparing to walk in the parade of people willing to walk the 1-mile to the docks to close the docks down. Again, no uniformed police in sight as the group march without incidence. This rally was unbelievably friendly and peaceful. At 4:45 our gathering of thousands started the parade to the docks. Another group had left earlier at 4:00 so that the groups would not congest the intersections for a long time, antagonizing drivers.
I don’t think anyone anticipated such a huge crowd of paraders. As we walked we chanted.

The first view I saw of policemen that whole day was a group of motorcycle cops directing traffic away from the exits and entrances to the highway. They were of good cheer and friendly as we walked by. As we reached the bridge to the docks, we had to trudge up an incline. Reaching the top I turned around to look at the crowd behind me. I couldn’t believe how many people were behind me. They formed a mass as far as my eye could see. When we got to the docks, with aching feet and fatigue we stood around and made new friends with our fellow protestors. When we were informed that we had successfully locked down the docks and all the longshoremen had gone home and the next shift did no show up, a group of us decided to leave. We headed to the nearest BART station in West Oakland. A few of us were leery of safe walking in West Oakland, but that feeling was quickly replaced with a feeling of camaraderie. As we past a group of motorcycle policemen we asked directions to the nearest BART. After telling us how to get there, I asked them for a ride on their cycles. I was politely turned down by one of them saying I could only ride if I had a helmet. Smiling and of good cheer we wished each other a goodnight. We walked to West Oakland Bart. The only incident was when a car brushed against some people and a group shouted and chased the car for a short distance. When we got to Bart the platforms were crowded, but again everyone was polite As we squeezed into the packed cars of the train, I remembered my days of riding the subway during rush hour in New York. What a good day we had. It was so peaceful.

Arriving home, I took off my shoes and found my big toe blistered. I was too tired to transfer my photos and videos to my computer, but I felt so please, mostly because of the huge crowd of thousands of peaceful demonstrators. I went to bed looking forward to looking over my photos and putting them in a concise order with a narrative to post on You Tube.

I awoke this morning hoping for news reports of a wonderful day and evening but no, the headlines showed this protest degrading into chaos late last night. I can’t help but wonder, what happened? How did this peaceful movement turn into such a mess? Where did this crowd of creating violence come from? Was the day too peaceful and getting such positive supports and growing, that this was a planned response to quell this movement?
I consider myself a rational paranoid and I’m looking for the answer as to
“what happened?”

Arizona Shooting

The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs 

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time 

To behold the junipers shagged with ice, 

The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun;
and not to think 

Of any misery in the sound of the wind, 

In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land 

Full of the same wind 

That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow, 

And, nothing himself, beholds 

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Robert Frost wrote, “Poetry is for grief, Politics is for grievance.”
My mind today is cold-winter cold. I try not to think of any misery, but there is a loud roar of the wind—blowing through our land. I shift from grief to grievance. I listen but only hear rhetoric.
A minute of silence at 8AM this morning was not enough. Our reflections need deep meditation. We have to be transformed to a higher plane.
Loss, horror, anger, venting, quietude, paralysis, inertia, depression will be with us for a short while before we once again inhale and move on, remembering or forgetting, learning or dismissing life’s lessons. Becoming wiser or even less tolerant, bearing our scars or covering them.
When will we ever learn? Is the answer really blowing in the wind? Can we only try to grab at answers like reaching for a brass ring as we travel this merry-go-round of life?
I try to fill my mind with the poetry of lyrics. Songs full of words rendering hope, but the white of the Snow Man is smeared with blood. How do we determine what is not there and what is?

New Year and new commitment to blogging

It has been a while since I last posted to my blog.  I will try to post more often.

All Revelation –and perceptions.

The other day I was at the New Year Day celebration with my family, the Japanese celebration osechi-ryōri, a day of eating traditional Japanese fare.

I had told my son earlier on the phone that I had bought a external hard drive for my computer, but was having trouble setting it up.  I kept getting an “error” message.

In an exasperated tone, he said “Bring it down with the computer to the New Year Day celebration and I will set it up. “ In this techie world of younger people, I find that they are condescending to their elders, non-techie parents.

Personally, I am proud of my techie abilities and the fact that I can accomplish most technical problems that are impossible for most of my peers.

In the past, my daughter-in-law, who is not a techie expert; my son, his brother-in-law and sister-in-law have worked in the field of computers are often impatient with their elders unable to grasp the concept of the new technologies and usually treat us in a dismissive manner.

Often, when I have a tech problem and take it to my son asking for help, it turns out that it isn’t me who doesn’t “Get it”, but the problem stems from a defective piece of machinery.

So, once again I took my problem to my son on New Year’s Day and he wasn’t able to resolve it.  I told him I get a sense of schadenfreude when this happens, making me smile and feel less of a non techie and that I am capable of understanding, to a greater degree than originally given credit.

I don’t think he appreciates my feeling this way.  It only dawned on me the next day that my perceptions about feeling good about my ability might be perceived differently. What message is he hearing?  Is it that his mother is besting him or that she doesn’t want him to be successful?

I realize that I was feeling “true” schandenfreude: feeling good at his expense.

This was a revelation to me.  Never considering how he might be reacting to my pleasure.  I realize it is time for me to change.

The other revelations I had recently occurred within a few minutes of each other.  On Friday, my phone rang early in the morning.  I answered and the person on the other end inquired, “Is Dave there?”  My response was “I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”  The caller’s response, “Oh, that’s all right.”

Right after that I was watching Good Morning America.  They were reporting a story of a 6’5”, 28 year old man who stood on a flight from, I believe, New Jersey to Florida because he couldn’t fit into his seat.  He bought an economy ticket on Spirit Airline and Spirit Airline seat separation is 28” from the seat in front.  All other airlines have a separation of 31”.  The young man’s knees were crushed by the seat in front of him and for safety reasons he wasn’t able to sit sideways, keeping his feet in the aisle.  No one in the bulkhead seats would change seats with him, so he was allowed to stand the whole flight except for takeoff and landing.

In the reportage of their story, the reporter asked people on the flight and people in the street what they thought of this.  Each one said, “He should have bought a First Class Ticket.”  No one was sympathetic to his plight, or angry at the airline.  The GMA commentators joined in without anyone commenting on the fact that air travel has become equivalent to being transported in a cattle car.  They did however, report that the FAA was looking into what rules might have been broken by permitting him to stand all the way.

Revelation:  The victim in our society has now become the perpetrator of his own problems.

When did one feel it is “All right” to intrude on someone?   What has happened to “I’m sorry for dialing the wrong number and disturbing you”?

Although we have made strides with equal rights, women’s rights, gay rights, our basic human rights seem to be eroding.  To listen to the radio and hear call-in callers state that those people on unemployment should go out and get a job and that getting unemployment checks stops them from finding work.  Hearing bright people repeat these falsehoods being pandered by the media powers to be, I stop and wonder if it is different now than during the depression of ’29?  Did man’s lack the compassion for his fellowman the same as now?  Have we lost our sense of community?

Often it is said that the times set the media and that books are written about society and media reflects society.  One of today’s revelation is that media is creating our society, no longer reflecting it.

My late friend, Jack Danahy starred in a short film, A Table is a Table directed by my friend Diego Quemada-Diez.  In it a lonely man who lives by himself decides to occupy himself by renaming things he knows, thus creating a new language.  He calls his table a painting, the painting a chair, the chair a pencil.  After a while he has created his own language and when on a rare occasion he goes out into the world he no longer understands language nor could he be understood—thus becoming further isolated.  As time goes by, I understand this film more and more.

AS TIME GOES BY

There are some days I wake up focused--clear brained.  And there are days when my head, as well as the outside air is muddled by smog.  Too many voices talking at once bidding for my attention and creating a cacophony of confusion.

On those mornings, with agitation growing, I pause and try to get my thoughts to become more linear.  I inhale deeply as I go through this jungle in my head--scything away--trying to clear the overbearing distractions intruding on my brain.

I am finally able to "talk myself" down.  Find my spinal cord--my center--and venture out with a clear head--if not a clearer direction.  My brain is like my computer.  It carries a cache that needs to be emptied.  I've used up all my ram space and the rom is also full.

I joke about Alzheimer's.  I have the opposite.  My short-term memory is fine.  It's the long term that I am losing.

All the old show tunes I used to be able to sing have now lost their notes and lyrics.  All the poems I was able to recite, now remained buried.  Al the books and history I've read and experienced has become scattered and lost in misfiling.  Oh, how I wish I could call up my Mac "spotlight" to easily find what's hidden in my brain, as I'm able to do on my computer.  I now rely on "Google" to help my vague recollection to find those lost poems, the titles and authors of books and the stars of those movies I so loved.  My brain is like Wikepedia--it might have some information, but I cannot trust its reliability.


Last month we celebrated July 4th at my son's in laws.  Here we were, 10 people swimming in the afternoon and then, after dinner out came the iPads.  My son's niece, 13, asked her father, "Where is the old people's game app?"  "What old people's game?" I asked.  She said she called it that because her Nana said it was an old people's game.  It turned out it was a picture comparison game where you have to detect the differences in two similar pictures.  Three generations and 4 iPads started to play the game.  We all did well.  How reassuring.  There was a time when kids and adults would compare their various collections.  We sat with our iPads exchanging and comparing applications.


Has my computer become an extension of my brain--remembering for me all that I can no longer absorb?  Maybe there is some way to create an application for Alzheimer patients to be able to help them in their recall.  It is certainly working for us CRS (can't remember s--t) sufferers.

Please Call Me By My True Names

Please Call Me By My True Names by Thich Nhat Hanh

Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow—

even today I am still arriving.

Look deeply: every second I am arriving

to be a bud on a Spring branch,

to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,

learning to sing in my new nest,

to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,

to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive,

in order to laugh and to cry,

to fear and to hope.

The rhythm of my heart

is the birth and death of all that is alive.

I am a mayfly metamorphosing

on the surface of the river.

And I am the bird

that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily

in the clear water of a pond.

And I am the grass-snake

that silently feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,

my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.

And I am the arms merchant,

selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl,

refugee on a small boat,

who throws herself into the ocean

after being raped by a sea pirate.

and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once, 
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names, 
so I can wake up, 
and so the door of my heart can be left open, 
the door of compassion.

And what is my name?  A rose is a rose is a rose—and by any other name it remains a rose.  Like an onion my names are pulled off layer by layer.

The young child, quietly seated off by herself in a corner—contemplating—as she listens to the arguing adults, wishing she were elsewhere.  Then scrounging through the family’s important papers, hoping to find the documents attesting to the fact that she was not of their blood.

The young girl, writing poetry of life’s seeming abyss.  Marking time.  Awaiting adulthood, allowing escape, to find her own way.  Counting her losses as it forces her independence.

The young adult, assuming responsibilities beyond her years—caring for 2 motherless children and their bereaved father, while escaping into a clandestine love affair with a mentor 30 years her senior.

The young woman, coming into her own, upon graduating, traveling across country and into Mexico to find a new felt freedom to alight in California for months, then return to the “Big Apple”, slipping till becoming a woman and opening her heart and soul to another mentorer—eventually having him slip a ring onto her left hand as she blossomed into the person she wanted to become.

Peel of another layer as she evolved into her career and motherhood, only to be shattered by the reality of not being able to “have it all” as her marriage ship crashed and she had to let go of the life ring in order for her son’s and her survival.

Then the names, ex wife, single mother, sole supporter.  Names she kept as years sped by and age spots started to appear.

Then maturity, new loves, lost loves, loves that have moved on, outliving deaths, baton passing, as the name Survivor stays.

Thoughts inspired by Rumi

Sorrow prepares you for joy by Jalaluddin Rumi

Sorrow prepares you for joy,

It violently sweeps everything out of your house,

so that new joy can find space to enter.

It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart,

so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place.

It pulls up the rotten roots,

so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow.

Whatever Sorrow shakes from your heart,

far better things will take their place.

Rumi writes that sorrow prepares you for joy.  It violently sweeps everything out of your house.

My problem is that I am a terrible housekeeper and along with not sweeping away the dust and mess, I feel I am also unable to rid my heart of sorrow.

I’ve been thinking recently about the fact I used to be a kinder person—non-judgmental and more accepting and, I am trying to figure out what became of that part of me.  When did I start to change?

I never was aware of space, although I was always aware of my boundaries.  I tried never to cross other people’s boundaries.  I always allowed intrusions into mine, usually unaware.  Now, I find I have put barriers around my space and perhaps am more protective of my boundaries, but have I, in order for my own protection, built walls separating me completely.  I draw lines where I never did before.  I spend more time marching and keeping a watchful eye out for intruders.  I have dug a moat around the castle of self.

Spring is here with its expansiveness of beauty with its new blooms of flowers and I think of that person 20 years ago who wrote of what she wanted in this poem:

Send Me Flowers Of All Different Hues To Highlight the Feelings by Alyss 

I want violets of passion,

Roses of nettle

Gladiolas of growth

Sweet peas of tenderness

Jasmine of fervor

Forget-me-nots of caring

Buttercups of sunshine and happy days

Will-o-the wisp of adventure

Orchids of yearning

Gardenias of fragility

Asters of foreboding strength

An umbel bouquet rendering love,

P.S.  But I might settle for daisies.

 Ode to Spring by Alyss

Sip the wine, toast the world, do a jig.

Spring has sprung

Its pollen is flying

Kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo

Random Thoughts

For the past three years, on Monday mornings I attend a writing group. We begin with a poem and then write for 40 minutes about anything. At times the poem might inspire us. Thereafter, we have the option to read and share what we have written or stay silent. This is not a critical writers' group. We leave the inner and outer critic outside of our group. I thought I would post some of my musing here with the disclaimer that these were written a few years ago, so my mood and feelings of today may be quite different.

The Heat of Midnight Tears by Mirabai

If we could reach the Lord through immersion in water

I would have asked to be born a fish in this life

If we could reach him through nothing but berries and wild nuts

Then surely the saints would have been monkeys when they came from eh womb?

If we could reach him by munching lettuce and dry leaves

Then the goats would surely get to the Holy One before us?

If the worship of stone statues could bring us all the way,

I would have adored a granite mountain years ago.

Mirabai says: The heat of midnight tears will bring you to God.

Does one think of a higher power only in the time of crisis and sadness? Is religion one of need only when we ourselves are needy?

I myself think only of a higher power or reach out to that unknown power when I am seeking all types of enlightenment--it is one of many as I transverse thru life.

Mostly, the association with that so called higher power is in mockery—“God Damn It?”, “Jesus Christ”, etc., but again mingled with many Fuck You’s, Shits, Assholes, Jesus H. Christ’s.

I do believe that that higher power rests within me and only I can answer the calls of my own distraught. A quiet inner voice—reassuring and supportive and, only at times, available to be called on.

I sometime dance to a different drummer. I move up the down staircase, enter when I should be exiting, and advance rather than retreat and vice verse. Yet, I don’t feel out of step. I feel on the edge.

Trying for a new perspective. Turning the world ever so slightly for a different view. Beyond the given dimension. Revising the written word, redefining the painting, altering the recipe—not to improve but to give a different vantage of taste, sound and look.

Reaching out and altering the axis.

Play an atonal sound. Off shore, create a cacophony, only to be able to relax afterwards.

“CHASE IS NO LONGER COURTEOUS”

“CHASE IS NO LONGER COURTEOUS”

When I lived in NY I banked at Banker’s Trust, which eventually was taken over by Manny Hanny (Manufacturer Hanover), then Chemical and after that Chase. With each subsequent takeover, the gap between my original personal relationship with the bank kept widening, despite the increasing dollars that were being proffered by my business into its coffers. After I retired and moved California, I closed my account, as there was no longer a need to have a business relationship with a large institution. Now, being a senior, I was lured into the attractive offers made by Washington Mutual to open a free personal checking account including free checks. Faced with a choice of what my new personal checks should look like, I opted for the duplicate checks they offered. Since the bank, no longer sends cancelled checks with their monthly statements it is as an easy way to check my bank statement against the carbon copy of each of the few checks I now write. I have been doing this for the last 5 years. On occasion when I renewed my order for additional checks a debit would appear on my bank statement charging me for checks. I would go into my WaMu branch and point out that free checks were included in my type of account. Each time, a teller would acknowledge this and credit my account for the amount charged. That was until yesterday.

I went into the Solano branch of the now Chase bank, which has taken over WaMu. When I first learned of this takeover, I mused, “Chase is chasing me.” I went over to the teller and showed him my latest bank statement debiting my account for $25 for the recent order of checks. He looked thru my records and saw that I had never been charged for checks previously. He went over to one of the assistant managers (Mitra), who came over and informed me that while checks are usually free, the duplicate checks I had ordered are not free. I told her these were the same type of checks I always used since opening the account and I never had to pay for them before. She replied that not being charged was an error on the bank’s part each time I was credited. When I replied that maybe it was because the bank valued me as a customer and extended this waiver as a customer courtesy and asked that Chase do the same. Her reply, “Chase is no longer courteous.” My anger turned to laughter as I guffawed and announced out loud to the other waiting patrons, “Did you hear what she just said, “Chase is no longer courteous.”

Embarrassed by my out loud pronouncement, she offered to “rescind” this charge this one last time. I responded that in that case I may just “rescind” my account at Chase. She then withdrew her offer and said I would have to consult with her manager.

After waiting 8 minutes for her manager, I told her manager that I was no longer angry as I have a headline for a column that I was going to write entitled: "Chase is no longer courteous” The manager was very polite, but again would only let the no check charge be reversed this one last time. She asked me, ‘Please don’t write about this.” My response, “Are you kidding?”

Musings from my journal

What has become of the books and friends that have influenced my life?

Childhood friends. My youthful soul mates. Albie Meyer—the scrawny kid who when slightly older could be the character in Charles Atlas ads always having sand kicked in his eyes. He was my first boyfriend at age seven. We were inseparable. I, always defending Albie against the tougher boys. Albie, who upon entering Junior High School was tested as a genius and trotted off to a special school—away from me—never to be seen again-- only a few years ago to be googled and discovered to have been married, divorced, remarried and father of four sons and a tenured professor of math at Harvard. A few emails passed between us and then once again the silence.

Or my girlfriend, Lorraine. Friends through childhood, who, because of her need to copy everything I wore by having her mother purchase identical outfits, inspired me by age 12 to start to design and sew my own clothes. I remember going to her wedding when I was pregnant. But after her marriage, we never saw each other again. In fact, I don’t even remember how I know she had 4 sons.

I know one of my early loves drowned off the Norwegian Coast while swimming, away on vacation with his 2 sons. That remains vivid. But, what about the piano player who would serenade me each night with Gershwin? Or the college students waiters working summers in the borsht belt hotels, when only weekends would be free for us female employees to fraternize with them after they spent weeknights stupping the wives of the husbands who would only come up to the mountains on weekends.

What happened to the first boy I kissed, whose name I have forgotten.

What has become of most of the people I went to school with and worked with, who, despite seeing names on various reunion sites are no longer familiar?

You can’t go home again. I often look at life as standing on the outer rim of a carousel as it turns and I make fleeting contact with each horse and rider.

Vivid memories do remain of various people and various times. But my brain is like Swiss cheese, unable to see the complete picture. The fragments remain--the old photo album of my mind with its pictures fading and crumbling.

The Case for Burkas

The case for burkas

Having emerged from my hot shower and tending to my morning preparations, I observed my face closely in the mirror, examining the additional aging lines that had formed overnight and thought, maybe we should be more supportive of women who wear burkas.

China's Tour Group Wrap up

Back from China.

Having passed through the temperature gauges without being quarantined, created that golden envelop of life permitting me to experience a country radically changing.

It also permitted me to share 14 days with fellow travelers so individual, that they had difficulty interacting with one another.

Of our group of 24, eight were four couples that often traveled together. A very friendly octet, originally from Indonesia, now living in ultra conservative parts of Southern California—Nixon and Reagan counties—Republicans by geography—but politically uninvolved and uninformed. Two members of this group stand out: Hans, for his friendliness and flirtatious, but gracious ways. He loved to tell off color jokes—shocking and distancing himself and his group from the mostly ultra moral Midwestern couples on this trip, who were advanced enough to travel together without benefit of matrimony, but were aghast by 4 letter words. The other member of this group who stood out was Mary. Mary incessantly talked without saying anything, constantly commenting on whatever came to her head, unfiltered. Her husband was so quiet; that I don’t think anyone remembers his name.

Four other members of the 24 traveling together were a family from a small town in Minnesota. Mom is a pediatric nurse and Dad a successful mortician. Their friendly and personable 21 year old son, dropped out of college for a few years, and now was finding his way back by entering mortuary school to follow in his father’s footsteps. Poor kid, I sensed that he tried hard and almost got away from his roots, but was recently dragged back—however, I feel that there is still hope for him. His 17-year-old sister, on the other hand, is entering her senior high school year. She is beautiful with an Uma Thurman face and body, but would do better if she were flat chested rather than having a flat personality.

From Kansas City, Mo. came 2 young special ed teachers, Lorelei and Nancy. Adventuresome in spirit, but not in food experimentation as they searched and found fast food restaurants, malls and grocery stores to insure their caloric intake would be supplemented by Snickers, Pepsi’s and chips. They only ate the French fries that occasionally might accompany the Chinese food that we were always served.

From the East Coast of Georgia, came Jim and Joy. He, originally a Rhodes scholar taught at University and she, a vegetarian, was a nurse. They kept to themselves, barely speaking to anyone—except for the last day when we were waiting at the airport to depart for home. Joy asked, “What did you think of the hotel we stayed at in Beijing?” When we replied that it wasn’t as nice as the other hotels, her outpouring of, “How disgusting it was.” shocked us. Her diatribe against not only this last hotel, but the previous ones, complaining of remnants of cigarette smoke, and lack of other home conveniences. “Perhaps,” she explained, “It is because I don’t travel much. Jim travels more and is able to put up with all this. Maybe, I’m just pickier, but I found it disgusting, etc.” I bit my tongue, so I wouldn’t blurt out, “You think?”

Then onto the Golden Girls—straight out of Florida. There was the ringleader, Bea Arthur herself, Adele. She had traveled to China some 30 years earlier with her husband who was in the furniture business. She was the leader of “les girls.” She knew everything, and therefore they should follow what she wanted to see and do. She roomed with her friend, Barbara. Barbara was a lovely widow originally from Boston, and when Barbara could get a word in edgewise over Adele bragadociousness, you discovered that Barbara’s life was truly more interesting. The third member of this trio was Selma; you could tell she was the “tag along”. I got the impression that Adele was not too pleased that Selma was on the trip. She was also a neighbor and member of the Boynton Beach Florida Widow’s club. At 85 she was very spirited, but dotty. She had her own room and Adele included her reluctantly in what they did. Selma couldn’t keep her money straight, overpaid each vendor on the streets of China, was taken at every corner and eventually ran out of money. Those of us with extra cash would give her cash in return of her writing us personal checks.

Another Midwestern couple—Nancy and Jim. There were four Nancy’s and three Jim’s on this trip. Nancy, also from a small town in Minnesota, divorced and a special ed teacher was traveling with her long time friend Jim, an ER nurse. Early in the trip, Nancy introduced herself and her traveling partner, Jim, to me by saying, “Don’t mind Jim. He was physically abused as a child and has a vagus nerve stimulator implanted under his skin to trigger off the seizures that he is prone to.” Later I found out that a VNS is similar to a pacemaker. A vagus nerve stimulator (VNS) is a small device implanted under the skin near the collarbone. A wire (lead) under the skin connects the device to the vagus nerve in one’s neck. The doctor programs the device to produce weak electrical signals that travel along the vagus nerve to the brain at regular intervals. These signals help prevent the electrical burst in the brain that cause seizures. After it is implanted in the body, the battery-powered device can be programmed from outside the body by your doctor. You can also use a handheld magnet to turn the device on if you feel a seizure about to start, and turn it off if it is causing unpleasant side effects.

Personally, I wish his VNS jolted him more often, as there was an angry undercurrent running through his demeanor most of the time.

The final couple was Ruth and Jim from the Carolinas. She taught at a nursing school and was lovely. Jim stood out from the crowd, as his hair was recently shoe polished black. For the first week, I kept debating with myself, “Someone should tell him how awful it looks. Should it be me?” I reluctantly kept mum, deciding it was Ruth’s place to tell him and who was I to say anything, if it didn’t bother her. Jim lives with his mother and they are members of a four-piece country western band. He claimed that his music is reminiscent of Chet Atkins.

This makes up our group of twenty-four. I can’t imagine how they must be describing me. One thing I know I’ll be described as the only one in the group who could eat with chopsticks.

Flying the unfriendly skies

At one time I was a business flyer. Now retired, I find I only fly to reach holiday travel destinations. Although, I still collect frequent flyer miles, I no longer belong to the “elite” frequent flyer club. So NWA may just ignore my letter.

If I ever ran my business like NWA, I would have been bankrupt, rather than taking an early retirement. After retiring I dabbled as a “secret shopper”, evaluating the business dealings and customer service of various companies. If I were to do an evaluation of NWA, there would be many minuses.

To iterate my experience with NWA:

On Tuesday, July 14^th, 2009, I was booked on NW Flight 27 leaving SFO at 1:35 PM, scheduled to arrive in Shanghai, China at 9:15 PM to meet up with a tour group in Shanghai. The scheduled arrival gave me ample time to get to my hotel, meet the other members of my tour group, and get a good night’s sleep prior to taking off at 7AM the next morning for a 12 day whirlwind tour of China’s capitals. The flight was essentially non-stop with a refuel in Noritz, Tokyo. The flight was scheduled to leave on time--something I was aware of since I had signed up to NWA departure status email service.

Upon landing in Norita, those passengers who were continuing on this flight to Shanghai were told they would have to get off the plane stay the night in Tokyo as the continuation of the flight was cancelled. All this info was being disseminated as we stood in the aisles waiting to deplane. As we deplaned I expected to see a NWA representative at the gate explaining the situation. All we saw was a confused NWA person who spoke no English, telling us we had to go down to arrivals and enter Japan. Most passengers complied, except for 7 of us who wanted an explanation as to what happened and to see if we could make other arrangements to get to Shanghai that evening. We stopped another airline employee—(no indication that they represented NWA). Our group of 7 demanded that we see a NWA supervisor. After repeated calls from this person to request that a supervisor come up to the arrival center to speak with us our requests were ignored for more than ½ hour. Finally, we were told to go down to the departure desk to speak to the supervisor who was waiting for us. By the time we were directed to the supervisor all flights on other airlines had already left or were completely booked and thus we were unable to be rebooked on another flight. I asked the supervisor for his business card and his response was he didn’t have any on him. I then asked to use the phone to call Boston, MA to inform the tour company that I was delayed. At first the supervisor said that we were entitled to a 3-minute call once we reached the Norita Hotel. When asked what happened to our plane, we were told that there was a plane scheduled to come in from Seattle that was cancelled. This didn’t make any sense.

After imploring the supervisor that it was after 1AM in Boston and I didn’t know if I could complete a call in 3 minutes, he finally granted permission to use his phone and I was able to call Boston and hold on for the night person on duty to tell them my dilemma. Later, I was informed that the Shanghai tour director was at the airport in Shanghai and had no notice of the flight being cancelled and spent hours at the Shanghai airport waiting to pick me up. The first indication that the flight was cancelled was from the information I gave the Tour Agency in Boston who was finally able to reach the Shanghai director to inform him that the flight was cancelled until the next day.

So I spent a restless and sleepless night in Norita being told that we would be leaving at 4:40 in the morning from the Norita Hotel for the rescheduled flight scheduled to leave at 6:15 AM. We were given a meal ticket to have an inedible meal at the Norita Hotel.

Upon leaving the hotel in the morning for my flight to Shanghai, I ran into 8 other people on my scheduled tour. One party from Minnesota was informed of the delay prior to flying from Minnesota to SFO to connect with the plane toShanghai. I find this curious as the time is earlier in Minnesota than at SFO and there was no indication at SFO of the flight ending in Norita. He was also informed that the delay was because of the hours put in by the crew on our flight would exceed the permitted flying time and there wasn't another crew to take over in Tokyo.

We left Norita, Tokyo 11 hours and 50 minutes from the original time of our scheduled departure. Something I also find curious, as I know flights delayed more than 12 hours have to compensate passengers.

Well, finally we reached our tour group and rather than having a calm sendoff, we were rushed to catch up with the rest of our group who had already experienced a welcome and good night’s sleep. It took me days to adjust to the hectic pace—something that I was anticipating when I planned to get into Shanghai a day earlier in order to rest.

While in China, I flew two Chinese airlines, one to Xian and another to Beijing. I can’t tell you how efficient the service was along with the modern terminals and planes and crew. The only similar thing to NWA was the airline food.

I returned to San Francisco on July 27^th from Beijing on Flight 008 at 8:55 AM landing in Norita and connecting to Flight 028 from Norita to SFO. I was seated in 36C. The flight schedule went without a hitch, save for the fact that I never drink airline water and usually ask for a can of club soda. On the Norita to SFO leg of the journey, I was awaken by a crew member who offered water and, in my stupor, took the cup and sipped some insipid water and quicklystopped when I overheard one flight attendant say to the other, “Did you see the yellow things in the water?’ “Yech” was the reply as they continued to serve the rest of the cabin. The flight continued and we landed nearly on time and safely at 10AM. I continued home, went to bed and awakened with my stomach in knots. I had just spent 14 days eating Chinese food, drinking bottled water and felt fine. The following day I had a case of Montezuma’s revenge. I’m sure this was because of the water from the plane as the reaction was immediate and lasted for 24 hours, my having consumed no other food or drink except for what I was served on the plane ride. I've written to NWA asking them to investigate if any other traveler on this flight had a similar problem.

I look at China, with its developing infrastructure of its highways, rails and airlines and terminals. This trip was an educational one for me. The analogy I picture is China and the US on escalators. Only China’s escalator is going up as America’s is, sadly, going down. With NWA merger with Delta, I see it joining other American corporations on the way down.

Blog 11

Blog 11.

This will be my last blog from China.

This morning we met at 8:30 to go off to the Beijing Zoo to view the Pandas. There are only 30 pandas around the world’s zoos. All of them borrowed from the Chinese. If the Panda gives birth while on loan to zoos, the citizenship remains with China. That is their agreement with all the countries. America pays close to one million to borrow the Pandas we have on display. Pandas have very short lives—about 30 years. They eat Bamboo and fruit. They are lazy, but cute. There have been studies in China with regard to reproduction and the pandas are very reluctant to mate. There is only a short period around 7 – to 10 years of age. Artificial insemination is being used. Also, they have studied that Panda in captivity have become so reluctant to mate, that they have resorted to showing Pandas films of other Pandas mating. I think this is the only porn allowed in China.

Viewing the pandas was very difficult because of the crowds of people. It was like Times Square Subway station during rush hour.

The weather is holding today, although it is hot it is dry. We’ve had rain, but only showers and they only last while we are indoors and stop when we go out. The gods are looking after us.

We left the zoo after a short time and road to the Summer Palace. Again a magnificent place for the past emperors. I wonder what they would say when they look over the vast land and gardens they had for themselves and their court and now find it is open to the masses who are descending on their land.


Got back to our hotel about 1PM. I’m too tired to do any more tourists things. I’m getting old. Tonight we are having our farewell dinner—Western style. Supposedly steak. Have to pack tonight, as we have to be up and ready to put our luggage outside our rooms at 5:00 and leave at 5:30 AM for the airport.

I was going to take BART home rather than car service, but my dear son, (love him), ichatted me and said he would pick me up. After having to be up at 4:30AM to be ready to leave at 5:30AM a day later than I arrive, flying all day to arrive at 9:50 AM Monday. I lose a day. What a blessing to be able to see a familiar face to help this weighed down exhausted person get home.

Blog 10

Blog 10

Good morning tagalongs. We are winding down our trip.

We had breakfast and left at 8:30 to visit a Cloisonne Factory. Watched them demonstrate how they make Cloisonne. Also inquired why the workers didn’t wear respirators or masks while they worked. Was assured that it wasn’t dangerous. When I asked about silicosis, the reply was “Oh no, the only danger they face is cuts on their hands.” I’m happy that the men retire at 60, the women at 55.


Our bus driver is a calm man. How he can remain so calm in such a stressful job is beyond me. I asked our local guide Steve, if bus drivers retire at 35. He told me that our driver might be 35 but he has a heart of a 55 year old with the stress of driving. When you sit up front you see all the near misses of cars, pedestrians and bicycles. There are always cries from the people in the front seat of our bus. We rotate each day, but as the days go by fewer and fewer people want to sit in the front seat.

Back to the Cloisonne factory. The prices are exorbitant. The quality is good. I think might have to take out some of my old cloisonné jewelry to wear. I can’t believe the prices here. I think it is cheaper in the states and yet I am amazed at the people buying. Most of them are from small towns across America, so their exposure is limited. I guess the reality is that I’m too cheap to spend that kind of money for trinkets. Do I really want a 4” cloisonné Elephant for $300 or a candy dish for the same price? It may, however, be a good way to cut down on affording to buy candy.

After visiting the Cloisonné Factory we headed to the Kongfu School. They put on a special show for us Grand Circle Travel group. This is a boarding school for the future Jackie Chan and Bruce Lees. They are accepted (both boys and girls) starting at age 5. The summer students were there. I shot film of the show and took a few pictures. The kids are adorable.

We then came back to the downtown part of the city. Beijing is huge and takes forever to get around with all the traffic. Some of us were planning to take the Hutong tour and a lot of the group was suffering from Western Food withdrawal, so they begged to be taken to a MacDonald’s. We went to a MacDonald’s (which is a big thing here as is KFC), but Nan our tour guide and I opted out to eat at a nearby noodle restaurant. Had a wonderful meal there. The folks who went to MacDonald have found the burgers spicy.

After MacDonald stop we went for the Hutong tour. Hutong are small houses in the downtown area of Beijing. They were being torn down and replaced by tall apartment buildings, but the elders objected. They had lived in these communal type houses for years and like the sense of community, which is lost in high rises In1949, the government took over the Hutong Properties and forced the owners out to bring in the military for housing use. A few years ago, when the government decided to stop destroying these hutongs in the downtown area, it made provision to those people who could prove they originally owned the hutong to return them. Those people who still had proof of original ownership moved back and the government gave money for them to fix up their small places. A Hutong is usually small and there is a communal bathroom and shower with your neighbors. Younger people have no desire to live in them, but the elders do. The values of these properties are way up. A hutong usually is a center house with rooms for about 8 families. They are small It reminds me of the gentrification of town houses and/single room occupancies in the slums of NY, which became high value neighborhoods. There are some people who were able to claim the whole Hutong and others who have bought whole Hutongs for over 3 million American Dollars and have fixed them up. They hutongs are built along alleyways and the way we toured them was to go by Pedi cab—the modern rickshaw—bicycle driven.


We were hosted to tea by a Hutong owner who inherited her small house, which belonged to her grandfather. He had originally owned the whole property, but was only able to prove ownership of the one room. It is small, but neat and clean. It has a kitchen, but no bathroom. Our hostess uses a communal toilet and shower, but she likes the sense of community of her neighbors.

After the tour, we got back to the hotel in the late afternoon. I’m too tired to go out and after my large noodle lunch I’m not hungry. It is now after 8 PM and I’ve spent the last 4 hours on my computer downloading photos, etc.

Tomorrow we go to the Summer Palace and visit the Panda Bear. We will then have a Western Style Farewell Dinner.

The next day we leave at 5:30 AM for our flight to the airport.

Blog 9

Blog 9

We went off to the Peking Opera with dinner. This in no way compares to the Met.

The Peking Opera is a combination of song, costume, mime, acrobatics, and martial arts.

It is colorful and brought to mind the Ed Sullivan Show of many years passed. I can just envision Ed Sullivan crossing his hands in front of him and announcing…”And now from Beijing, The Peking Opera performing…”

Jumping back to the Forbidden City. There were a lot of student tours going on there. The students would come up to us Caucasians and ask in English if they could take a picture with us. They made me feel like a celebrity as they encircled me and asked if I would comply. Then each one would stand next to me and the rest would photograph us. This went on for many minutes as I stood next to at least 20 students, one at a time. They were charming as they tried out their English. I asked our guide, Nan, why did they want their picture taken with me and she told me that some of the students come from remote towns where Caucasians have never been seen and this way they can go back and show their relatives and friends that they met a Caucasian and what they look like.

Tomorrow we go to the Great Wall and on the way visit a Jade Factory, then lunch and after Ming Tombs with Sacred Way.

We went to the Jade Factory. They were not giving anything away. In fact, nothing is inexpensive here. I have found very few bargains—nothing like my experience in Thailand.

We then went to the Great Wall. I climbed to Tower Three. It is a tough walk, very steep, but even harder to go down. Exhausting. It has been raining intermittently here. Seems mostly while we are traveling by bus. Traveling in this spread out city of Beijing is tough. The Chinese are a patient group. Never again will I complain when I’m stuck on 880. More and more people here are able to afford cars and thus, the traffic snarls are unbelievable.

The railroad system has been renovated in the last 20 years--from steam engine to diesel to electric and now monorail. It makes one reflect on what we Americans have neglected to do for our infrastructure. Here more farmers’ children are leaving the outlying areas to get better jobs in the big cities to improve their lot. The government, in order to encourage farmers has, for the last 3 years, lifted taxes. So farmers are doing much better, but that doesn’t stop the younger people to move into the big city. Now in the city, rather that the old hutong way of living, all these condos are going up. Average size is 800 to 1000 feet for family of 3. Remember the one child rule is still in effect. The costs of the condos are about $100 per foot and the condos are actually leased to the buyer for 77 years. They are between 12 and 18 stories with central heating and central air-conditioning. They are also expanding to the suburbs where rapid rail transit speeds close to 300 kilometers an hour. So commuting time is cut 2 ½ hours to 35 minutes. To think this new rail system was built in 3 year. One has to wonder about LA’s subway system that is a complete bust—both financially and rider ship—as well as not being completed these many years. BART system seemed to go up quickly, but nothing has expanded for years. I used to dismiss thinking about mass rail-- poo pooing the fuss made about it. Now, I have a new respect for the need for our country to expand and update our rail system. I can’t help comparing countries. This country is so old and yet so modern. Maybe it is better to first be communistic and then capitalistic—rather than the reverse. This trip furthers my beliefs that we are really living on our past laurels and we better wake up before it is too late. Our arrogance will be our downfall.

After the Great Wall we went to The Ming Tombs and after the gardens. I’ve added more pictures to my Shutterfly site

http://chinatour709.shutterfly.com/#n_19

While driving along I saw a bumper sticker reading “Mama On Board”—so different than our perspective “Baby on Board”

I was also stopped at The Great Wall and became a celebrity again with school children asking to take a picture with me.

We had another Chinese Dinner tonight at a local restaurant. The food is getting better or else I’m getting used to it. I think one of the weaknesses of this tour is that we are not experiencing Chinese food of the difference provinces—one night Hunan, another Mongolian, etc.

Now I’m back at the hotel all tired out from the day.

Blog8

Blog 8

Went to bed last night at 8:45 and awakened at 5:30. Everyone is anxiously waiting for the solar eclipse. Left the hotel for the airport hoping to experience eclipse, but the cloud cover is too thick. There are so many people who traveled to Shanghai and other areas to view it—I wonder if they were able to experience it. Well, I guess we have to wait till 2132 for the next one.

Right now I am sitting in Xian airport. It is 9:55. Our plane departs for Beijing at 10:25.
One of our guides told a Chinese joke: The American, Russian and a Chinese Presidents were traveling along a Chinese highway each in their own chauffeured limo. When the American came to a crossroad the driver asked which way should he turn, the American President replied: right. When the Russian President reached the same crossroad, he told the driver to turn left. When the Chinese President reached the crossroad, he told the driver to signal left, but turn right.


We arrived in Beijing and taken to our hotel, The Feng Ze Yuan. It is well located, just a few blocks from Tiananmen Square, but it is nowhere as modern or large as our other two hotels. Beijing is very humid and it is raining intermittently. There is a dank smell in our hotel. One interesting thing about my room is that when you enter, the bathroom is on the left, there is only a shower, no bath, and the bedroom is much smaller than the other hotels. As I looked around the bedroom I noticed different buttons. Most were for turning on lights, adjusting the air conditioner, etc. There was one strange looking set of buttons on the left wall of the bedroom. (The wall adjacent to the bathroom.) I pushed the button and like a hidden panel, the wall, (which was not a wall, but a shade in the same color of the wall) started to electrically rise as a film screen would. Lo and behold, a total view of the shower and bathroom could be seen from the bedroom. How strange. I asked our guide, Nan, why there should be such a shade? She said she didn’t have it in her room. I asked other people in our tour, but no one else either noticed or it doesn’t exist. They were all going to see and tell me today. I could understand if the button was on the bathroom side and if someone was in the bathroom and wanted a wider view or was feeling claustrophobic, but can you imagine sharing a room, you would never feel privacy in the bathroom, because that privacy could be interrupted at any time without your okay. In a country that frowns down on porn, this is rather weird.

When we arrived in Beijing, we had about an hour before we went out to dinner of Peking duck. The dinner was okay. Getting used to the food. But I’ve had Peking duck before and love it; this version was too salty and not exciting at all.

We have three women here from Boyton Beach, Fla. They all know each other. Two are rooming together, Adele and Barbara and Selma, in her eighties, is rooming by herself. Adele is the leader of the group and they follow her every lead. It is very funny to watch. What Adele wants to do, they obediently follow. Barbara is very lovely and easygoing. Selma is a bit dotty but very friendly. She still hasn’t figured out the money and has continuously been taken. She paid 250 Yuan for something I paid 20 Yuan. Last night at dinner, “les girls” were oohing and aahing over the wine bottle cover in the restaurant. --something you can find in any Chinatown in the states for a couple of dollars. They were for sale. The waitress said $2.50 a piece or 100 Yuan for 5. When asked how much in Yuan, they were told by the waitress 30 Yuan. I said no, 20-Yuan (which is closer to $2.50) Selma hands the waitress a $20 American bill and was willing to pay $20 for it, until I stopped her. It is a good thing she was left enough money by her late husband, whom I sure handled all money matters. I have no idea how much she has been taken since she got here, but she told me that she is running out of cash and has to go to the ATM. She reminds me a little of Edith in All In The Family. But she is a trouper.

It was raining hard, when we left the restaurant, and so rather than go out last night, I stayed in and went to sleep even earlier than the night before. I find this trip more tiring than my others. I don’t know if it is because I’m getting older or because the group is not too stimulating. We are all still cordial, but no close associations have been formed.

Today we are seeing Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City. Tonight the Peking Opera with Dinner.

More later.

Today, we walked our feet off on Tiananmen and the Forbidden City. Too much to take in. We saw the spot where the world famous picture of the student defying the tank just before the 1989 suppression.

It is very muggy out today, but not rain. It is now 2:45 and we will be leaving at 5 for dinner and the opera.

Blog7

Blog 7

Okay, I’m not saving the best for last. I just got back from having a 70 minute Chinese Foot Massage and I’m in heaven. Cost 140 Yuan about $20 American Dollars. I am so relaxed. We are leaving Xian tomorrow morning to Beijing. I do like this city.

Earlier in the day, after breakfast, we went to a Lacquer ware Factory. Didn’t buy any furniture although I took a picture of a piece of furniture that would make a great table for a large set TV. I liked the design, but I’m not interested in buying any furniture. I downsized when I moved from New York and don’t want to start collecting again.

I did purchase a jade pendant for my grandson. I think it is very unusual and I hope that he and his mother like it. The carving is supposed to represent a healthy life and as he wears a modern day magnetic resistor necklace, I thought this might complement it—something old and something modern. The one thing my grandson asked for me to bring back from this trip is metal bottle caps for his collection. I have some people on this tour helping me find them. They are scarce, but I have a couple. I hope I’m not stopped by customs and have to explain this unusual request.

After the Lacquer ware Factory we went to view the small Pagoda. I was more fascinated by the little children and took pictures of them.

We had lunch at a Restaurant in a first class hotel. Again, service was many dishes on a large glass lazy Susan. I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but we usually sit at round tables accommodating eight people. We often shift around so we sit next to other people.
Often there are over 15 dishes served on the lazy Susan and we have small plates, a small soup bowl, chopsticks and a glass. The napkins sometimes are smaller than cocktail napkins, other times; large dinner napkins that are tucked under the dish and you leave the napkin tucked in and just lift the edge to wipe your face and hands. Well, there are times that the Lazy Susan gets out of hand as it goes around and people don’t wait for others to finish serving themselves before they turn it to get to the next dish. In order to be fair, I asked everyone if they were familiar with ER? When they responded, “Yes,” I reminded them that when someone was going to be paddled the doctor says “Charge.” before he paddles them. I suggested we use the same method. When we want to turn the lazy Susan, we now say, “Charge.” This is working out very well and everyone is now being polite. It is my communist manifesto. (lol)

Either I’m getting more used to the bland Chinese food, or it is getting tastier. Today’s meal was very good. Did you know that the Chinese here end their meals with watermelon? I’ve had more watermelon in the last week than I’ve had in years—but it is refreshing. Unfortunately, most of us still are craving chocolate.

After we left the restaurant we went on a City Tour of the Old Muslim Area and Great Mosque. The Mosque looks more like an old Pagoda. We walked through the Muslim market with its different foods. It was interesting. I for to mention that at last night’s Tang Dynasty Show with Dinner, sitting at the table next to us were 4 women wearing burkas which totally covered their faces except for the eyes. It was fascinating to watch as they carefully lifted the Burka flap each time they took a mouthful of food. I would have loved to get a photo, but there was no way to take a picture discreetly.

Then we returned to our hotel at 2:30 and left for the foot massage at 3:30. Ah, what more can one say when one is so relaxed.

It is not 6:15. Dinner is on our own, but I’m not hungry. Been eating much too much.

I will spend the evening repacking and watching the MADMEN Netflix DVD’s I brought along.

Internet is free in Xian. It was inexpensive in Shanghai. I have no idea whether it is available as easily in Beijing.

That’s it for now. I’m leaving for the Airport at 8:30 tomorrow morning for Beijing.

I originally thought I would take BART when I got back to SFO, but I think I’ll be carrying too much to shlepp it.