Not quite halfway through the swim season, Michael hit one the goals he set for himself all the way back at the end of last season: he earned a "bronze" time in butterfly. He has been right on the edge of this all season, getting within a second and a half of bronze-level times in three of the strokes. He finally got the breakthrough yesterday. He is still not one of the fastest swimmers, but he has proven to himself that he is capable of performing at a competititive level.
Even more gratifying for me was what came later in the afternoon. Michael and I went to the pool in the scorching hot afternoon. One of Michael's closest friends was there, along with his twin sister and younger brother. All three are top swimmers; the sister won a trophy earlier that day for earning the most points in her age group. The four of them spontaneously set up a half-pool medley relay, with each swimmer taking a different stroke for their respective legs of the relay. It was all encouragement and fun, with no adult involvement whatsoever, and they kept it up for more the better part of an hour. Energetic, friendly free play: that is what childhood should be.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
A New Mouth To Feed ... And Walk
This is Daisy.
She is a border collie/Aussie shepherd mix, about five years old. She was the first dog we saw, on the first day of exploring what it would be like to search for a dog. We did not intend acquire a dog impulsively, and had previously ruled out border collies, but when we found her as the only dog at a cat adoption event, we connected immediately. She has probably had a hard life, likely as a breeder, so she is not very trusting of people. She was hours away from being destroyed when the rescue people found her. Although she is predisposed to be wary, she is very calm, though, and handles walking on a leash very well. Within a week, after a vet check and spaying, she came to live with us.
We have hired a dog-whisperer sort of trainer who has helped us with ways to jump-start her socialization. She now spends her time with us in whatever room in which we are spending time. Where she once paced frantically looking for exit doors, she has now learned how to be content. An open door or gate is still the surest way to get her to move quickly, but she is showing signs that her stress level has dropped considerably.
It will probably be a long time until she greets people without cowering, and she may never enjoy playing with toys. She seems to have gotten used to us, though, and will lie down curled up at our feet in the evening like a member of the family. In some ways, she is as much work as a baby, but as she starts to approach us for affection, the work will be worth it.
She is a border collie/Aussie shepherd mix, about five years old. She was the first dog we saw, on the first day of exploring what it would be like to search for a dog. We did not intend acquire a dog impulsively, and had previously ruled out border collies, but when we found her as the only dog at a cat adoption event, we connected immediately. She has probably had a hard life, likely as a breeder, so she is not very trusting of people. She was hours away from being destroyed when the rescue people found her. Although she is predisposed to be wary, she is very calm, though, and handles walking on a leash very well. Within a week, after a vet check and spaying, she came to live with us.
We have hired a dog-whisperer sort of trainer who has helped us with ways to jump-start her socialization. She now spends her time with us in whatever room in which we are spending time. Where she once paced frantically looking for exit doors, she has now learned how to be content. An open door or gate is still the surest way to get her to move quickly, but she is showing signs that her stress level has dropped considerably.
It will probably be a long time until she greets people without cowering, and she may never enjoy playing with toys. She seems to have gotten used to us, though, and will lie down curled up at our feet in the evening like a member of the family. In some ways, she is as much work as a baby, but as she starts to approach us for affection, the work will be worth it.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Arizona Had Nothing To Do With This ... We Think
If you haven't been following soccer's World Cup (or, as the broadcasters are annoyingly required to say, "the FIFA World Cup"), you are missing out on some amazing theater. True, some games have been boring, but not necessarily because of low scores. You may have heard that the US won its final pool game (its four-team mini-tournament to determine which two of the four go on to the single-elimination stage) 1-0 on a 91st minute miracle. Only one goal was scored, but the game was taut, well-played, and ultimately exhilarating because the win put the US through to the next round. YouTube is full of footage of gatherings of people in bars, restaurants and outside department store windows going bonkers when Landon Donovan scored the winning goal.
Mexico, like the US, is one of the 16 teams that qualified for the next round of the tournament. You have to wonder how the Mexican team feels, though, when they look at the brackets for the single elimination phase. In its four-team bracket, the US (ranked 14th in the world) will first face Ghana (32nd). If they get past Ghana, to get to the final four the Americans will have to take on either Uruguay (16th) or South Korea (47th).
Mexico, on the other hand, will face down a murderer's row of historic (and current) soccer powerhouses. Mexico, ranked 17th in the world, faces off against Argentina, ranked seventh in the world, coached by legendary former player (and legendary buffoon) Diego Maradona, and featuring Lionel Messi, generally considered the best player in the world. If Mexico somehow survives that test, which would be a noteworthy upset, they will have to beat either England (8th) or Germany (6th, and one of the favorites to win the Cup).
Ghana, Uruguay and South Korea, or Argentina, England and Germany. Sorry about that, amigos. Just luck of the draw, I'm afraid. I'm reasonably sure that Governor Brewer is not a member of FIFA.
[Programming note: the US plays at 2:30 pm Eastern on Saturday]
Mexico, like the US, is one of the 16 teams that qualified for the next round of the tournament. You have to wonder how the Mexican team feels, though, when they look at the brackets for the single elimination phase. In its four-team bracket, the US (ranked 14th in the world) will first face Ghana (32nd). If they get past Ghana, to get to the final four the Americans will have to take on either Uruguay (16th) or South Korea (47th).
Mexico, on the other hand, will face down a murderer's row of historic (and current) soccer powerhouses. Mexico, ranked 17th in the world, faces off against Argentina, ranked seventh in the world, coached by legendary former player (and legendary buffoon) Diego Maradona, and featuring Lionel Messi, generally considered the best player in the world. If Mexico somehow survives that test, which would be a noteworthy upset, they will have to beat either England (8th) or Germany (6th, and one of the favorites to win the Cup).
Ghana, Uruguay and South Korea, or Argentina, England and Germany. Sorry about that, amigos. Just luck of the draw, I'm afraid. I'm reasonably sure that Governor Brewer is not a member of FIFA.
[Programming note: the US plays at 2:30 pm Eastern on Saturday]
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The Man Most In Need Of A Wayback Machine
Ron Wayne has been getting a lot of attention lately. It is well-known among Silicon Valley greybeards and Apple fanatics that Apple was started by Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak (like me, Homestead High School graduates). What was not well remembered until recently is that Ron Wayne was the third founder of Apple.
As Wayne tells it, the Steves brought him in to help with the logistics of starting Apple and to be a mediator between them. Wayne wrote the agreement that created Apple, designed the first logo, and received 10% of the company. Less than two weeks later, for $800, Wayne became the first ex-employee of Apple. Instead of being a billionaire, he is a coin-and-stamp collector who spends his days and Social Security checks in Las Vegas-area casinos.
I first ran across Wayne's story about a month ago, which finally percolated up to the big media outlets, with a feature running today on CNN.com. Tracing the story back, it looks like Wayne emerged into the limelight in April, when a short article on Applematters.com commemorated the anniversary of his departure from the company ... potentially a $20 billion decision.
Some commentators (and many commenters) express amazement that Wayne could have walked away from the company the way he did. At the time, Jobs was leveraging the company to the hilt to get it off the ground, and Wayne was uncomfortable with the risk he was exposed to with the always volitile Jobs at the helm. What people tend to miss is just how common these circumstances were in the halcyon early days of Silicon Valley. Growing up, it seemed like we were always hearing of this person or that person going to a "startup." Or thinking about going to a "startup." Or thinking about someone else going to a "startup." This seemed to touch just about everyone's dad at least once. It was the culture of the place and the time. The optimism for the big score was rampant, inversely proportional to the actual rate of success. Ventures like Apple were everywhere, and they failed all the time. When one company failed, another three began. It was entirely reasonable for someone like Wayne, twenty years older than the brilliant but impetuous Jobs, to see that the risks facing the company, which along with a bunch of other tiny companies was essentially attempting to invent an entire industry, were too much for a man in mid-career to bear.
Some people have suggested that the Steves should throw a little money Wayne's way in recognition of his historic role at the creation of what is now a cultural touchstone as well as business dynamo. Wayne's current circumstances are too close to destitute to be comfortable for fans of the glossy Apple empire. While that would be a nice and humane thing to do, Jobs has never been accused of being either. Philosophically, return on investments come from investments that are actually made. Those who can't stomach the risk (which is most of us) don't earn the right to enjoy the reward. That is not a value judgment, it is simply the reality of capital investment.
For his part, Wayne seems remarkably upbeat about the trajectory of his life, considering how it could have gone. Of course, fabulous riches cannot be assumed; he could have been purged or suffered financial ruin back in the dark days when Apple nearly failed a time or two. It is not for him, or anyone, to know. Ron Wayne will forever be one of the foremost examples of "what if ..."
As Wayne tells it, the Steves brought him in to help with the logistics of starting Apple and to be a mediator between them. Wayne wrote the agreement that created Apple, designed the first logo, and received 10% of the company. Less than two weeks later, for $800, Wayne became the first ex-employee of Apple. Instead of being a billionaire, he is a coin-and-stamp collector who spends his days and Social Security checks in Las Vegas-area casinos.
I first ran across Wayne's story about a month ago, which finally percolated up to the big media outlets, with a feature running today on CNN.com. Tracing the story back, it looks like Wayne emerged into the limelight in April, when a short article on Applematters.com commemorated the anniversary of his departure from the company ... potentially a $20 billion decision.
Some commentators (and many commenters) express amazement that Wayne could have walked away from the company the way he did. At the time, Jobs was leveraging the company to the hilt to get it off the ground, and Wayne was uncomfortable with the risk he was exposed to with the always volitile Jobs at the helm. What people tend to miss is just how common these circumstances were in the halcyon early days of Silicon Valley. Growing up, it seemed like we were always hearing of this person or that person going to a "startup." Or thinking about going to a "startup." Or thinking about someone else going to a "startup." This seemed to touch just about everyone's dad at least once. It was the culture of the place and the time. The optimism for the big score was rampant, inversely proportional to the actual rate of success. Ventures like Apple were everywhere, and they failed all the time. When one company failed, another three began. It was entirely reasonable for someone like Wayne, twenty years older than the brilliant but impetuous Jobs, to see that the risks facing the company, which along with a bunch of other tiny companies was essentially attempting to invent an entire industry, were too much for a man in mid-career to bear.
Some people have suggested that the Steves should throw a little money Wayne's way in recognition of his historic role at the creation of what is now a cultural touchstone as well as business dynamo. Wayne's current circumstances are too close to destitute to be comfortable for fans of the glossy Apple empire. While that would be a nice and humane thing to do, Jobs has never been accused of being either. Philosophically, return on investments come from investments that are actually made. Those who can't stomach the risk (which is most of us) don't earn the right to enjoy the reward. That is not a value judgment, it is simply the reality of capital investment.
For his part, Wayne seems remarkably upbeat about the trajectory of his life, considering how it could have gone. Of course, fabulous riches cannot be assumed; he could have been purged or suffered financial ruin back in the dark days when Apple nearly failed a time or two. It is not for him, or anyone, to know. Ron Wayne will forever be one of the foremost examples of "what if ..."
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Champions At Last
It took an extra game, but our A's finally got their hands on the champion's trophy. The top half of the order was productive all game, the bottom half of the order did its part, they had few defensive gaffes, and the Orioles did not hit as many bombs as they had in the last game. After two innings, we were ahead 10-0, held on as the Orioles closed the score to 11-8, then tacked on another four in the last inning to wind up with a final score of 15-8.
For his part, Michael went 3 for 3 from his customary second spot in the batting order, including a shot over the second baseman's head to drive in two with two outs to ignite a second-inning five run rally.
Ready for the pitch at second base, as usual:
Trying to score from first on a teammate's double:
In January, many of these boys had trouble playing catch. Now they carry trophies. Smiles all around!
For his part, Michael went 3 for 3 from his customary second spot in the batting order, including a shot over the second baseman's head to drive in two with two outs to ignite a second-inning five run rally.
Ready for the pitch at second base, as usual:
Trying to score from first on a teammate's double:
In January, many of these boys had trouble playing catch. Now they carry trophies. Smiles all around!
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Sports Weekend ... Continues
Our championship weekend turned out to be less hectic, but also less triumphant, than it might have been. My volleyball coaching debut offered me great hope for the future: it can only get better. Missing more than half our team, we cobbled together a squad with a few girls from another squad. All of them were reasonably good players, but they did not play team volleyball the way we did, which quickly pushed us into some bad habits. We beat Hawaii in the first game, but they took the next two. We had to stay in the stifling gym for a second game, this time with our own players but still missing two of our best. We went down to a quick defeat in two games to Pepperdine, a team that had trouble serving the ball over the net. We simply stopped playing our team game. Kelly acquitted herself well, being the only one of our girls who served overhand.
Logistically, losing both games on Saturday simplified Sunday dramatically, because he no longer had to run across town in the middle of swimming time trials and before the baseball party. Kelly was as down about losing as she ever has been about losing a sporting event, though. It was frustrating to think that we were unable to put our best team on the floor, and that if we had, we probably would have won the first game and played for the championship. Still, it was a great season, and Kelly now enjoys the sport so much that she is enrolled in a volleyball camp at St. Mary’s later in the summer.
After volleyball, we dashed back across town to catch the beginning of Michael’s championship baseball game. It had all the trappings of a big game: player introductions and the national anthem. It may only have been eight and nine year old boys playing on a small, imperfect field, but the pageantry gave me goosebumps anyway.
Lining up for introductions:
“And the rockets’ red glare …”
It was a tight game, but the Orioles hit well, we did not field particularly well, and we gave up the lead in the fifth inning (of six) that we could not recover. Because the tournament is double-elimination and we had not yet lost, we get our rematch tonight. It will be a true championship game: the winner gets the trophy, guaranteed.
On Sunday, swimming madness began again. It was far, far more relaxing this year for both Michael and I (although not so much for Cheryl, who has snack shack duties this year). Michael had a good warmup, and set personal bests in freestyle, breaststroke and backstroke, all by wide margins. Simply being a year older has made a huge difference. Once he adds a few weeks of conditioning (which he has missed because of baseball practices), it seems inevitable that he will snag a “bronze” time or two. He is still not one of the fast swimmers, but fortunately he is self-motivated to compete against the clock for intermediate goals other than winning the meet.
On the blocks for freestyle:
Stylin’ in free:
Ready for backstroke:
On his way to a heat win in back:
After time trials, we went to the baseball coach’s house for a raucous party for the baseball team, with a barbeque, cake and awards for the boys. We love baseball, but it will be a bit of a relief to spend the summer with the fundamentally individual (less stressful) sport of swimming. Tonight will tell us if we go into the summer with a finalist’s medal, or a champion’s trophy.
Logistically, losing both games on Saturday simplified Sunday dramatically, because he no longer had to run across town in the middle of swimming time trials and before the baseball party. Kelly was as down about losing as she ever has been about losing a sporting event, though. It was frustrating to think that we were unable to put our best team on the floor, and that if we had, we probably would have won the first game and played for the championship. Still, it was a great season, and Kelly now enjoys the sport so much that she is enrolled in a volleyball camp at St. Mary’s later in the summer.
After volleyball, we dashed back across town to catch the beginning of Michael’s championship baseball game. It had all the trappings of a big game: player introductions and the national anthem. It may only have been eight and nine year old boys playing on a small, imperfect field, but the pageantry gave me goosebumps anyway.
Lining up for introductions:
“And the rockets’ red glare …”
It was a tight game, but the Orioles hit well, we did not field particularly well, and we gave up the lead in the fifth inning (of six) that we could not recover. Because the tournament is double-elimination and we had not yet lost, we get our rematch tonight. It will be a true championship game: the winner gets the trophy, guaranteed.
On Sunday, swimming madness began again. It was far, far more relaxing this year for both Michael and I (although not so much for Cheryl, who has snack shack duties this year). Michael had a good warmup, and set personal bests in freestyle, breaststroke and backstroke, all by wide margins. Simply being a year older has made a huge difference. Once he adds a few weeks of conditioning (which he has missed because of baseball practices), it seems inevitable that he will snag a “bronze” time or two. He is still not one of the fast swimmers, but fortunately he is self-motivated to compete against the clock for intermediate goals other than winning the meet.
On the blocks for freestyle:
Stylin’ in free:
Ready for backstroke:
On his way to a heat win in back:
After time trials, we went to the baseball coach’s house for a raucous party for the baseball team, with a barbeque, cake and awards for the boys. We love baseball, but it will be a bit of a relief to spend the summer with the fundamentally individual (less stressful) sport of swimming. Tonight will tell us if we go into the summer with a finalist’s medal, or a champion’s trophy.
Tiger and Phil, Phil and Tiger
One measure of how precipitously Tiger Woods' stock has fallen was my surprise at seeing him featured in a television commercial this week. As the advertisement eventually revealed, the next edition of his eponymous videogame is set to be released. The game manufacturer has little choice but to feature Tiger in its advertisements, but it is conspicuously odd to see him endorsing a product. I did not realize quite how I felt about his personal fall from grace until I found myself consciously wondering why I was seeing him on my television in an advertisement.
Tiger's life, both personally and professionally, is not irredeemable. There is little question, however, that the broad-based enthusiasm for both his persona and his golfing prowess has diminished significantly. Even with a golf fan like me.
As the U.S. Open returns to Pebble Beach next week, I can't help but reflect on a few days I got to attend practice rounds at the Open in 1992. Like me, Phil Mickelson had just graduated from college. He was the brightest new star in golf, having already won a professional tournament while still in college, capping off a stellar amateur career that included a U.S. Amateur title and three NCAA titles. Personally, I had an automatic affinity for him simply because we were the same age and he was one of the first people of my generation to emerge on the world stage,and thoroughly enjoyed watching him play and gracefully accept the accolades of the fans. Just five years later, Tiger quickly eclipsed Phil as he hottest young talent on the PGA Tour, rightfully ascending to legendary status only a few years into his career. Even though I have loved following Tiger's career and have thoroughly enjoyed his talent, though, I have never stopped being a Mickelson fan.
While Tiger lived in seclusion off the course and surly isolation on it, Mickelson always offered smiles and high fives to fans, and eschewed Tiger's tactical perfection in favor of creativity that often crossed the line to recklessness. Critics blasted Mickelson's demeanor as insincere and foregave Tiger his tunnel vision. Although often derided for appearing to lack Tiger's focus and discipline, it was Mickelson's openness and brio endeared him to many fans.
As the sordid details of Tiger's life outside the ropes spilled out over the course of too many days starting last Thanksgiving, it became clear to me that Mickelson's reputation, both personally and professionally, would surpass Tigers again, arising from the very same characteristics that defined the two men. Mickelson, a handsome upper-class guy from San Diego who married the cheerleader and fathered three cute kids, stepped away from the game last year to be with her as she undertook painful treatment for breast cancer (at the same time Mickelson's mother was going through the same thing). Meanwhile, Tiger, all indomitable focus and private security, was exposed to be a cynical cad who compartmentalized his life and used countless people to satisfy his various demands.
Mickelson's victory at this year's Masters tournament, the tournament that initially defined the Tiger legend, could not have been sweeter. Tiger played well, but was too rusty from his self-imposed layoff from his personal scandals to win, and Phil was at his swashbuckling best on his way to a third career win at Augusta, one behind Tiger. For all of the heroics on the golf course, the tearful embrace between Phil and Amy Mickelson behind the 18th green will probably be the defining image of that tournament. That embrace, and all of the life in it, the twinned despair and triumph, fear and victory, stands in stark repudiation of the soullessness of Tiger's accomplishments. There will never be any question that Tiger's talent, ambition and accomplishments stand out as towering achievements of any sportsman of any age. The revealed emptiness of his character, however, will also be inextricably attached to his name. Any number of decent men on the PGA Tour offer a counterpoint to Tiger's story, but it was poetically appropriate that the answer came from his longtime and forever closest rival.
After five career runner-up finishes, here's hoping Phil will pick up his first U.S. Open title next week.
Tiger's life, both personally and professionally, is not irredeemable. There is little question, however, that the broad-based enthusiasm for both his persona and his golfing prowess has diminished significantly. Even with a golf fan like me.
As the U.S. Open returns to Pebble Beach next week, I can't help but reflect on a few days I got to attend practice rounds at the Open in 1992. Like me, Phil Mickelson had just graduated from college. He was the brightest new star in golf, having already won a professional tournament while still in college, capping off a stellar amateur career that included a U.S. Amateur title and three NCAA titles. Personally, I had an automatic affinity for him simply because we were the same age and he was one of the first people of my generation to emerge on the world stage,and thoroughly enjoyed watching him play and gracefully accept the accolades of the fans. Just five years later, Tiger quickly eclipsed Phil as he hottest young talent on the PGA Tour, rightfully ascending to legendary status only a few years into his career. Even though I have loved following Tiger's career and have thoroughly enjoyed his talent, though, I have never stopped being a Mickelson fan.
While Tiger lived in seclusion off the course and surly isolation on it, Mickelson always offered smiles and high fives to fans, and eschewed Tiger's tactical perfection in favor of creativity that often crossed the line to recklessness. Critics blasted Mickelson's demeanor as insincere and foregave Tiger his tunnel vision. Although often derided for appearing to lack Tiger's focus and discipline, it was Mickelson's openness and brio endeared him to many fans.
As the sordid details of Tiger's life outside the ropes spilled out over the course of too many days starting last Thanksgiving, it became clear to me that Mickelson's reputation, both personally and professionally, would surpass Tigers again, arising from the very same characteristics that defined the two men. Mickelson, a handsome upper-class guy from San Diego who married the cheerleader and fathered three cute kids, stepped away from the game last year to be with her as she undertook painful treatment for breast cancer (at the same time Mickelson's mother was going through the same thing). Meanwhile, Tiger, all indomitable focus and private security, was exposed to be a cynical cad who compartmentalized his life and used countless people to satisfy his various demands.
Mickelson's victory at this year's Masters tournament, the tournament that initially defined the Tiger legend, could not have been sweeter. Tiger played well, but was too rusty from his self-imposed layoff from his personal scandals to win, and Phil was at his swashbuckling best on his way to a third career win at Augusta, one behind Tiger. For all of the heroics on the golf course, the tearful embrace between Phil and Amy Mickelson behind the 18th green will probably be the defining image of that tournament. That embrace, and all of the life in it, the twinned despair and triumph, fear and victory, stands in stark repudiation of the soullessness of Tiger's accomplishments. There will never be any question that Tiger's talent, ambition and accomplishments stand out as towering achievements of any sportsman of any age. The revealed emptiness of his character, however, will also be inextricably attached to his name. Any number of decent men on the PGA Tour offer a counterpoint to Tiger's story, but it was poetically appropriate that the answer came from his longtime and forever closest rival.
After five career runner-up finishes, here's hoping Phil will pick up his first U.S. Open title next week.
Friday, June 04, 2010
The Passing of a Bay Area Inspiration
Former Los Gatos High School football coach Charlie Wedemeyer died yesterday. His passing is remarkable in part because of who he was, and in part because his life is being celebrated in 2010 and not 10 or 20 years ago.
Coach Wedemeyer was diagnosed with ALS in the late 1970s. By 1983, he was confined to a wheelchair, but continued to coach his team, enlisting the aid of his wife to enable him to communicate as the disease robbed him of muscular control. Los Gatos won a sectional championship that year.
Coach Wedemeyer's story was a big deal locally at the time, which expanded its reach when a movie was made about him. Upon returning to the Bay Area a couple of years ago and hungry to reconnect with things I remembered from my youth, I did a little reseach on Coach Wedemeyer, expecting to find his obituary. Instead, I discovered that he was still alive and continuing to be an inspiration through his dogged determination to thrive in spite of the death sentence that Lou Gehrig's Disease usually represents. Coach Wedemeyer defied his disease's grim odds to live with ALS for 32 years (the same number of years he lived without it), demonstrating along the way that an affliction need not bring the joy of living life to an end.
Coach Wedemeyer was diagnosed with ALS in the late 1970s. By 1983, he was confined to a wheelchair, but continued to coach his team, enlisting the aid of his wife to enable him to communicate as the disease robbed him of muscular control. Los Gatos won a sectional championship that year.
Coach Wedemeyer's story was a big deal locally at the time, which expanded its reach when a movie was made about him. Upon returning to the Bay Area a couple of years ago and hungry to reconnect with things I remembered from my youth, I did a little reseach on Coach Wedemeyer, expecting to find his obituary. Instead, I discovered that he was still alive and continuing to be an inspiration through his dogged determination to thrive in spite of the death sentence that Lou Gehrig's Disease usually represents. Coach Wedemeyer defied his disease's grim odds to live with ALS for 32 years (the same number of years he lived without it), demonstrating along the way that an affliction need not bring the joy of living life to an end.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
That Championship Season
We are heading into one of the most intense sports weekends yet. Michael's baseball team practiced each of the three days of Memorial Day weekend, with the Sunday practice being a Dads vs. Team game. It was lots of fun, since I hadn't actually played a game in many years. Even though we were facing a bunch of pint-sized players, there was still something impressive about them arrayed in their positions around the field, resplendent in their crisp green and white uniforms. They played well for much of the game, reliably retiring the batboys (who played with the dads), and making some plays against the dads as well. Michael started a double play on a pop fly, doubling one of the dads off first (in the dad's defense, he's British and was lucky he found first to begin with). It took a couple of near disasters for all of the dads to realize that they had to dial their intensity at the plate way back, but once we did, the teams were on relatively level ground.
Only a poor last defensive inning and silent bats doomed the boys, but their spirits rebounded when we took them to the local ice cream shop after the game.
Michael and I went back to the ballyard Tuesday evening to watch one of the other games, which pitted the Cubs, the team we beat in the first round, against the Cardinals, the number one team (which had lost in the first round to the Orioles, our upcoming opponent). The Cardinals, who swept us in the regular season even though we beat them in a mid-season tournament, won the game, making them the opponent of whoever lost the Wednesday night game between our A's and the Orioles. Wednesday evening, the boys showed up to the field full of spirit and excitement. We immediately gave up five runs in the first inning, but got all five runs back with our first five batters. The game settled into a defensive struggle until we hung another five-spot on them in the fifth, and another three in the sixth. Like our victory over the Cubs in the first round, our A's played a very solid game (once we got past some errors in the first inning). Michael made a putout at second, had several hits including a drive well into the outfield, scored a couple of runs and drove one in for a very solid all-around game.
Tonight Michael and I went back to the field to watch the Cardinals in their rematch against the Orioles, and once again the Orioles bested them, again coming from behind in the last inning to prevail by one. The game ended with the Cardinals' tying run stranded on third and the winning run stuck on second. The tournament is structured so that we will now face the Orioles for the Championship on Saturday afternoon. Because it is a double elimination tournament, even if we lose on Saturday we will get another shot at the Orioles Tuesday night. I think we're all ready for the season to be over, so we're pulling for the boys to end it on Saturday.
Ah, Saturday. That's the day that Kelly has her second round game in the volleyball playoffs. If her team wins, she plays on Sunday at three for the gold. If her team loses, she plays immediately after the first Saturday game. If she wins that game, she plays again on Sunday at one for the silver.
Kelly's team has played well, but six of the ten players will miss the Saturday games because they are all eighth graders who will be attending their school's graduation ceremony. Since both coaches are parents of two of those girls, neither of the coaches will be there either. Since I went to all of Kelly's practices and helped out a little (and played a lot), I get to coach the Saturday game(s). We will pick up a couple of players from another team to add to our small but mighty band of four seventh graders and do our best.
Some scenes from our last game, two weeks ago, a too-close victory over "Cal":
Both Saturday volleyball games fall just before Michael's championship game, so I won't be able to help out with baseball field preparation as usual. The Sunday games, however, fall right smack in the middle of Michael's time trials that mark the beginning of the swim season. Sure, why not add a third sport to the mix? And immediately on the heels of both time trials and the later volleyball game will be the baseball team party.
If you understood all that, you're doing better than us. It has taken us days to figure out all the permutations of games, schedules and transportation issues.
It will almost be a relief to go to work on Monday.
Almost. But not really.
Only a poor last defensive inning and silent bats doomed the boys, but their spirits rebounded when we took them to the local ice cream shop after the game.
Michael and I went back to the ballyard Tuesday evening to watch one of the other games, which pitted the Cubs, the team we beat in the first round, against the Cardinals, the number one team (which had lost in the first round to the Orioles, our upcoming opponent). The Cardinals, who swept us in the regular season even though we beat them in a mid-season tournament, won the game, making them the opponent of whoever lost the Wednesday night game between our A's and the Orioles. Wednesday evening, the boys showed up to the field full of spirit and excitement. We immediately gave up five runs in the first inning, but got all five runs back with our first five batters. The game settled into a defensive struggle until we hung another five-spot on them in the fifth, and another three in the sixth. Like our victory over the Cubs in the first round, our A's played a very solid game (once we got past some errors in the first inning). Michael made a putout at second, had several hits including a drive well into the outfield, scored a couple of runs and drove one in for a very solid all-around game.
Tonight Michael and I went back to the field to watch the Cardinals in their rematch against the Orioles, and once again the Orioles bested them, again coming from behind in the last inning to prevail by one. The game ended with the Cardinals' tying run stranded on third and the winning run stuck on second. The tournament is structured so that we will now face the Orioles for the Championship on Saturday afternoon. Because it is a double elimination tournament, even if we lose on Saturday we will get another shot at the Orioles Tuesday night. I think we're all ready for the season to be over, so we're pulling for the boys to end it on Saturday.
Ah, Saturday. That's the day that Kelly has her second round game in the volleyball playoffs. If her team wins, she plays on Sunday at three for the gold. If her team loses, she plays immediately after the first Saturday game. If she wins that game, she plays again on Sunday at one for the silver.
Kelly's team has played well, but six of the ten players will miss the Saturday games because they are all eighth graders who will be attending their school's graduation ceremony. Since both coaches are parents of two of those girls, neither of the coaches will be there either. Since I went to all of Kelly's practices and helped out a little (and played a lot), I get to coach the Saturday game(s). We will pick up a couple of players from another team to add to our small but mighty band of four seventh graders and do our best.
Some scenes from our last game, two weeks ago, a too-close victory over "Cal":
Both Saturday volleyball games fall just before Michael's championship game, so I won't be able to help out with baseball field preparation as usual. The Sunday games, however, fall right smack in the middle of Michael's time trials that mark the beginning of the swim season. Sure, why not add a third sport to the mix? And immediately on the heels of both time trials and the later volleyball game will be the baseball team party.
If you understood all that, you're doing better than us. It has taken us days to figure out all the permutations of games, schedules and transportation issues.
It will almost be a relief to go to work on Monday.
Almost. But not really.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Strangers in a Strange Land, Day 9+
With our flight leaving at 4 pm, we had about half a day left in Shanghai. We finished the packing and loaded the car with our bags (which had increased by one borrowed duffel bag to accommodate our souvenirs).
Kelly with her newest pal, Ryan:
Cheryl, Kate and the kids headed out to do some (more) last-minute goodie-buying. Greg and I headed back into town to see some of the massive electronic stores. You can travel miles and never go outside. These places take up floor upon densely packed floor of buildings spread across multiple city blocks, selling every piece of electronic gear imaginable. One or two items might not even be pirated. The only way to ensure that you are getting a genuine product, backed by a manufacturer's warranty, is to go to nearby Best Buy. The tradeoff for buying a legitimate item is that Best Buy's prices are not negotiable.
This is one of the fancier locations, which resembled an American mall:
In the basement of one of these places was one of the best food courts I've been two. That's not a high bar, but this one was great. There was a Burger King, but also counter after counter of Asian foods of all kinds, from Mongolian barbeque to Indian food to, of course, traditional Shanghai dumplings. For a couple of bucks, we happily spoiled our lunch.
To get to the electronic stores, Greg and I had taken a subway line that had a station about 300 yards from their house. The line had been under construction since they moved in, and the new line opened that morning. We were among the very first people to ride it. Everything was ultra-clean, of course, but the new station also exhibited odd deficiencies in build quality that spoke to a general disregard for pride in workmanship.
We took a taxi back across town to meet up with the rest of our crew, who were having lunch at the Blue Frog, a restaurant on Hong Mei Lu, the pedestrian road with restaurants from all over the world where we ate breakfast our first morning in Shanghai. I bought my only personal souvenir there, taking home a tall bar glass to add to my growing collection. The restaurant advertised the glasses for sale, but when I asked for one, the bartender just grabbed one from the drying rack, toweled it off and put it in a bag. That's not quite what I expected, but at least I can say it's actually been used in Shanghai.
From there, we parted company with Kate and her kids and Greg drove us to the airport. The novel but somewhat useless Maglev train blasted past us on the way. We arrived with several hours to spare, and some airline seats to arrange. I tried to request the same seats in the back of the airplane we had coming out from Los Angeles, but they were already taken by some savvy travelers. We did manage to get seats together all the way home, though. I also noticed that our bags were only ticketed through Los Angeles, so I had them redo it to go all the way through to San Francisco. I patted myself on the back for that one; I'm way ahead of these people now.
The Shanghai airport has a very traveler-friendly departure lounge, with lots of food and shopping options in a wide, windowed concourse (which offered expansive views of the grey-brown smoggy skies). The airports in both Shanghai and Seoul situate the departure areas a floor about the actual walkway to the airplanes, which allows for broad views of the outdoors. This is far superior to the narrow , ground level views available at most American airports; the new Asian airports get this right.
The flights from Shanghai to Seoul, where we had a very short layover, and Seoul to Los Angeles, were uneventful. I was less comfortable on the long trans-Pacific leg, but the time passed reasonably quickly thanks to two movies and a couple of albums on the entertainment system. We landed in Los Angeles on a warm Saturday afternoon, about half an hour on the clock before we left Shanghai. You have to love the international date line. We trudged through the utterly charmless hallways to the customs checkpoint. We had nothing to hide or worry about, but there is still something unnerving about being interviewed by the customs agent. It seems friendly and innocuous chatter, but every word is spoken with a purpose. We were also informed that, notwithstanding the assurances that apparently every foreign ticket agent gives to travelers, you must personally collect your luggage to get through a second check point. In Asia, the airports were spacious, clean and well-organized. LAX was the complete opposite: crowded and chaotic, with poorly marked instructions. We stayed out of a very short luggage check line because it had a sign posted that restricted the line to handicapped people. As our line went nowhere, we watched with growing frustration as a few "unauthorized" people used the line and exited quickly. Two airport policemen came by and someone in the line asked about the restricted line. One of the policemen chuckled and said there was no restriction on the line. As the went on their way past us as people rapidly filled in the newly unrestricted line, the policemen laughed to each other, yukking it up in disbelief that anyone would follow the directions on the posted signs; such rubes. I guess a lack of pride in workmanship is not limited to China.
We took our luggage over to an intermediate room where people with connecting flights are to leave the bags (why doesn't teh airport do this?). There was no obvious place to leave the bags, as there were a couple of conveyer belts, a couple of counters, and an airport employee with a printed flight list in hand trying to catch people as they came through. I took our bags to her when she offered vague assurances that we were roughly in the right place. She started to check our bags against her flight list, but was distracted by the next glut of confused passengers, so we left the bags and moved on to the long hike down to the United domestic terminal.
Sitting in the United departure lounge waiting for the flight home, something nagged at me -- ah, hello again, worry demons. I pulled out our boarding passes, and checked them against the paperwork I received in Shanghai from the Asiana agent who had checked out bags. Sure enough, inexplicably, the flight numbers did not match. United did not even have a flight number that matched out bags at all. I jumped over to the United customer service desk to sort out this last travel issue. I explained that our bags had actually made it to LA, but they were labeled for a flight that did not exist. The best the agent (who, to her credit, was very friendly and appeared to be competent) could do was put a note into the system informing anyone who came into contact with the bags that they were supposed to be on such-and-such a flight to San Francisco. By that point, less than an hour before our flight, the bags may have already been picked up and dropped ... somewhere. I thought back to the transfer agent who had not taken the time to check our bags against her printed list of flights; I have learned to react when I hear that little nagging voice, which piped up when the harried transfer worker started but did not finish looking up our flight. I could only shake my head in rueful admiration at the determination of the travel-hell demons to screw up our travel. They were going to get me at the very end.
Our airplane had arrived, so I watched out the window, pondering how long it would be until we got our clothes and souvenirs back. That's when the luggage carts arrived. Incredibly, I saw two of our bags actually go into the aircraft. I figured that if two were there, the other two were also there. In another unexpected bonus, we had somehow ended up in United's economy plus section, which is the section for people who have knees. We had more room there than we had had on any of our other flights.
Finally, after hours of travel, we arrived back in San Francisco. Even better, so did all of our luggage.
After the hike to the shuttle bus, the bus trip to the car, and the drive home, we staggered off to bed by about 10 pm. I was the first to awaken on Sunday morning, at 10:30 am. Michael was the last up, at 1:30 pm. I went into work on Monday, but succumbed to jet lag for the afternoon. None of us felt back to normal until Wednesday.
Before we left, we were very excited to see our friends, but only generally interested to see China. It is not someplace I ever would have chosen to go. Having returned, we are all very grateful for the opportunity we had to visit Shanghai; it is an incredible city, full of energy and contradiction. There were no white-sand beaches (those will be for the next trip), but it was a fantastic trip of a different sort, where we soaked up a culture very foreign to us and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Greg and Kate were incredible hosts, and we enjoyed our time together as friends as we always have, wherever we have founds ourselves in the world. Our lives are better for having made the effort to go.
Kelly with her newest pal, Ryan:
Cheryl, Kate and the kids headed out to do some (more) last-minute goodie-buying. Greg and I headed back into town to see some of the massive electronic stores. You can travel miles and never go outside. These places take up floor upon densely packed floor of buildings spread across multiple city blocks, selling every piece of electronic gear imaginable. One or two items might not even be pirated. The only way to ensure that you are getting a genuine product, backed by a manufacturer's warranty, is to go to nearby Best Buy. The tradeoff for buying a legitimate item is that Best Buy's prices are not negotiable.
This is one of the fancier locations, which resembled an American mall:
In the basement of one of these places was one of the best food courts I've been two. That's not a high bar, but this one was great. There was a Burger King, but also counter after counter of Asian foods of all kinds, from Mongolian barbeque to Indian food to, of course, traditional Shanghai dumplings. For a couple of bucks, we happily spoiled our lunch.
To get to the electronic stores, Greg and I had taken a subway line that had a station about 300 yards from their house. The line had been under construction since they moved in, and the new line opened that morning. We were among the very first people to ride it. Everything was ultra-clean, of course, but the new station also exhibited odd deficiencies in build quality that spoke to a general disregard for pride in workmanship.
We took a taxi back across town to meet up with the rest of our crew, who were having lunch at the Blue Frog, a restaurant on Hong Mei Lu, the pedestrian road with restaurants from all over the world where we ate breakfast our first morning in Shanghai. I bought my only personal souvenir there, taking home a tall bar glass to add to my growing collection. The restaurant advertised the glasses for sale, but when I asked for one, the bartender just grabbed one from the drying rack, toweled it off and put it in a bag. That's not quite what I expected, but at least I can say it's actually been used in Shanghai.
From there, we parted company with Kate and her kids and Greg drove us to the airport. The novel but somewhat useless Maglev train blasted past us on the way. We arrived with several hours to spare, and some airline seats to arrange. I tried to request the same seats in the back of the airplane we had coming out from Los Angeles, but they were already taken by some savvy travelers. We did manage to get seats together all the way home, though. I also noticed that our bags were only ticketed through Los Angeles, so I had them redo it to go all the way through to San Francisco. I patted myself on the back for that one; I'm way ahead of these people now.
The Shanghai airport has a very traveler-friendly departure lounge, with lots of food and shopping options in a wide, windowed concourse (which offered expansive views of the grey-brown smoggy skies). The airports in both Shanghai and Seoul situate the departure areas a floor about the actual walkway to the airplanes, which allows for broad views of the outdoors. This is far superior to the narrow , ground level views available at most American airports; the new Asian airports get this right.
The flights from Shanghai to Seoul, where we had a very short layover, and Seoul to Los Angeles, were uneventful. I was less comfortable on the long trans-Pacific leg, but the time passed reasonably quickly thanks to two movies and a couple of albums on the entertainment system. We landed in Los Angeles on a warm Saturday afternoon, about half an hour on the clock before we left Shanghai. You have to love the international date line. We trudged through the utterly charmless hallways to the customs checkpoint. We had nothing to hide or worry about, but there is still something unnerving about being interviewed by the customs agent. It seems friendly and innocuous chatter, but every word is spoken with a purpose. We were also informed that, notwithstanding the assurances that apparently every foreign ticket agent gives to travelers, you must personally collect your luggage to get through a second check point. In Asia, the airports were spacious, clean and well-organized. LAX was the complete opposite: crowded and chaotic, with poorly marked instructions. We stayed out of a very short luggage check line because it had a sign posted that restricted the line to handicapped people. As our line went nowhere, we watched with growing frustration as a few "unauthorized" people used the line and exited quickly. Two airport policemen came by and someone in the line asked about the restricted line. One of the policemen chuckled and said there was no restriction on the line. As the went on their way past us as people rapidly filled in the newly unrestricted line, the policemen laughed to each other, yukking it up in disbelief that anyone would follow the directions on the posted signs; such rubes. I guess a lack of pride in workmanship is not limited to China.
We took our luggage over to an intermediate room where people with connecting flights are to leave the bags (why doesn't teh airport do this?). There was no obvious place to leave the bags, as there were a couple of conveyer belts, a couple of counters, and an airport employee with a printed flight list in hand trying to catch people as they came through. I took our bags to her when she offered vague assurances that we were roughly in the right place. She started to check our bags against her flight list, but was distracted by the next glut of confused passengers, so we left the bags and moved on to the long hike down to the United domestic terminal.
Sitting in the United departure lounge waiting for the flight home, something nagged at me -- ah, hello again, worry demons. I pulled out our boarding passes, and checked them against the paperwork I received in Shanghai from the Asiana agent who had checked out bags. Sure enough, inexplicably, the flight numbers did not match. United did not even have a flight number that matched out bags at all. I jumped over to the United customer service desk to sort out this last travel issue. I explained that our bags had actually made it to LA, but they were labeled for a flight that did not exist. The best the agent (who, to her credit, was very friendly and appeared to be competent) could do was put a note into the system informing anyone who came into contact with the bags that they were supposed to be on such-and-such a flight to San Francisco. By that point, less than an hour before our flight, the bags may have already been picked up and dropped ... somewhere. I thought back to the transfer agent who had not taken the time to check our bags against her printed list of flights; I have learned to react when I hear that little nagging voice, which piped up when the harried transfer worker started but did not finish looking up our flight. I could only shake my head in rueful admiration at the determination of the travel-hell demons to screw up our travel. They were going to get me at the very end.
Our airplane had arrived, so I watched out the window, pondering how long it would be until we got our clothes and souvenirs back. That's when the luggage carts arrived. Incredibly, I saw two of our bags actually go into the aircraft. I figured that if two were there, the other two were also there. In another unexpected bonus, we had somehow ended up in United's economy plus section, which is the section for people who have knees. We had more room there than we had had on any of our other flights.
Finally, after hours of travel, we arrived back in San Francisco. Even better, so did all of our luggage.
After the hike to the shuttle bus, the bus trip to the car, and the drive home, we staggered off to bed by about 10 pm. I was the first to awaken on Sunday morning, at 10:30 am. Michael was the last up, at 1:30 pm. I went into work on Monday, but succumbed to jet lag for the afternoon. None of us felt back to normal until Wednesday.
Before we left, we were very excited to see our friends, but only generally interested to see China. It is not someplace I ever would have chosen to go. Having returned, we are all very grateful for the opportunity we had to visit Shanghai; it is an incredible city, full of energy and contradiction. There were no white-sand beaches (those will be for the next trip), but it was a fantastic trip of a different sort, where we soaked up a culture very foreign to us and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Greg and Kate were incredible hosts, and we enjoyed our time together as friends as we always have, wherever we have founds ourselves in the world. Our lives are better for having made the effort to go.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Strangers in a Strange Land, Day 8
For our last full day in China, we decided to venture out from Shanghai to visit the watertowns, a group of villages built upon waterways much like Venice. Unlike much of Shanghai that we saw, the watertowns have been in existence for hundreds of years, where you can cross over (or under, on the water) bridges that date back to the Ming Dynasty.
A little more than an hour west of Shanghai by modern highway, our first was Tong Li. This little town had a conventional land-side commercial and residential zone.
With the payment of a few RMB, you could pass over into the much older waterside part of the town. This part of the town was marked with narrow alleys, slim canals, and ancient bridges.
We saw this unusual fishing vessel tied to the side of the canal.
The birds are tethered to the boat. The fisherman sends the birds out to hunt for fish, which they bring back to the boat in exchange for a portion of their catch. Avian sharecroppers, as it were.
We spent much of our time in Tong Li shopping for souvenirs in a few of the many tiny shops that line the canals. That left us with no time to visit the China Sex Museum. That’s probably for the best.
After a semi-harrowing tram ride back to the car, we took country roads to the next watertown of Zhujiajiao. I was particularly interested in traveling the smaller roads to get a feel for the Chinese countryside. Like much of America, the rural landscape is dotted with small towns and houses here and there. What was different and, I think, uniquely Chinese was that where barns would stand in farmers’ fields in a similar trip in the US, there were small factories rising from countless Chinese fields. They were not the massive facilities at factories usually become stateside; most were relatively modest in size, the size of a large gymnasium. There was no way to tell what sorts of widgets they were building, but it was clear that China’s status as the world’s preeminent producer of consumer goods is well-earned by the efforts of what must be hundreds or thousands of similar operations.
A typical truck on Chinese roads:
At Zhujiajiao, we dropped in on the local KFC for lunch. The employees were less adept with English than their counterparts in Shanghai (where I had no trouble ordering lunch at a McDonald’s several days before), but like most restaurants we visited, every item on the menu was shown in a picture.
After consuming chicken infused with the very familiar 11 herbs and spices, we crossed over a tall bridge and wandered about in the very charming town.
The alleyways were tight, full of a combination of traditional food establishments and tourist trinket stores.
Cheryl hard at work, hunting for souvenirs:
We enjoyed exploring the extensive gardens of a formerly private (and grand) home in the town:
We had our most unusual and overt "foreigner" moment in Zhujiajiao. Two young Chinese women approached Michael and I, pantomiming using a camera and pointing at Michael. I gathered that they wanted to take a picture with him. We were in a public place and I was bigger than they were, so I figured it was safe, and the novelty of it was too funny to pass up. One girl happily posed with Michael while her compatriot took a couple of pictures. For his part, he was too surprised to do anything but flash his smile automatically when the camera came out.
After the girls went on their way after offering gracious thanks to us, though, Michael had words with me. Sternly, he made it clear that I was to ask his permission before granting photo privileges. Point taken.
One of the reasons we went to Zhujiajiao in particular is because it is where a prominent paper cutting artist works and sells his wares. Greg and Kate have a number of his beautiful creations in their house, and we looked forward to finding one for ourselves. Unfortunately, on the day we visited, the artist was not working. Instead, we found another shop where a woman and her aged father created beautiful watercolor and calligraphy scenes. We bought a number of pieces from her, some the size of index cards that Kelly gave to a number of her friends, and some larger pieces. Although the town clearly caters to tourists, there is still something charming and honest about buying art that this woman and her father (who was outside in an alley working on new pieces while we were there) had created.
When it was time to leave, we took one of the many riverboats piloted by a man with a single oar off the back of the boat. With a well-practiced twisting action, he deftly propelled the boat forward and steered it with the single oar.
After we returned to the house, it was time to start packing for the trip home. Greg and Kate’s nanny (Xiao Wu, the kind young lady who had let us into the house the first day), had diligently washed and folded our clothes all week, which made packing a simple exercise. (Greg and Kate had advised us before our trip that Xiao Wu would take care of laundry, so we were able to pack very lightly. Considering the challenges we faced in the airports, packing lightly made a huge difference in simplifying our travel as much as possible.)
Packing to leave also meant that it was time to tackle the travel demons again. I had been unable to get seat assignments for our homeward flights, and knowing how full all of our flights had been, and how lucky we had been to be seated anywhere near each other, I was becoming worried that we would be scattered all over the airplanes for the trip home. Since we were within 24 hours of our departure, I made a concerted effort, through a towering display of patience, to work through the airlines’ phone systems to try to get our seats for the trip. After innumerable keypresses, I managed to get through to an Asiana customer service representative. She assured me, cheerfully, that the only place I could reserve seats was at the airport itself. Although that was disappointing, it was also somewhat liberating. We could not do a thing to control where we would sit until we got to the airport, so there was no sense in worrying that I was missing some opportunity to make our lives easier (which is how I spend much of my worry time on a regular basis anyway).
All that remained, then, was an easy morning of last-minute souvenir buying and a trip to the airport. We knew, though, that our adventure would not end until we got all the way home.
A little more than an hour west of Shanghai by modern highway, our first was Tong Li. This little town had a conventional land-side commercial and residential zone.
With the payment of a few RMB, you could pass over into the much older waterside part of the town. This part of the town was marked with narrow alleys, slim canals, and ancient bridges.
We saw this unusual fishing vessel tied to the side of the canal.
The birds are tethered to the boat. The fisherman sends the birds out to hunt for fish, which they bring back to the boat in exchange for a portion of their catch. Avian sharecroppers, as it were.
We spent much of our time in Tong Li shopping for souvenirs in a few of the many tiny shops that line the canals. That left us with no time to visit the China Sex Museum. That’s probably for the best.
After a semi-harrowing tram ride back to the car, we took country roads to the next watertown of Zhujiajiao. I was particularly interested in traveling the smaller roads to get a feel for the Chinese countryside. Like much of America, the rural landscape is dotted with small towns and houses here and there. What was different and, I think, uniquely Chinese was that where barns would stand in farmers’ fields in a similar trip in the US, there were small factories rising from countless Chinese fields. They were not the massive facilities at factories usually become stateside; most were relatively modest in size, the size of a large gymnasium. There was no way to tell what sorts of widgets they were building, but it was clear that China’s status as the world’s preeminent producer of consumer goods is well-earned by the efforts of what must be hundreds or thousands of similar operations.
A typical truck on Chinese roads:
At Zhujiajiao, we dropped in on the local KFC for lunch. The employees were less adept with English than their counterparts in Shanghai (where I had no trouble ordering lunch at a McDonald’s several days before), but like most restaurants we visited, every item on the menu was shown in a picture.
After consuming chicken infused with the very familiar 11 herbs and spices, we crossed over a tall bridge and wandered about in the very charming town.
The alleyways were tight, full of a combination of traditional food establishments and tourist trinket stores.
Cheryl hard at work, hunting for souvenirs:
We enjoyed exploring the extensive gardens of a formerly private (and grand) home in the town:
We had our most unusual and overt "foreigner" moment in Zhujiajiao. Two young Chinese women approached Michael and I, pantomiming using a camera and pointing at Michael. I gathered that they wanted to take a picture with him. We were in a public place and I was bigger than they were, so I figured it was safe, and the novelty of it was too funny to pass up. One girl happily posed with Michael while her compatriot took a couple of pictures. For his part, he was too surprised to do anything but flash his smile automatically when the camera came out.
After the girls went on their way after offering gracious thanks to us, though, Michael had words with me. Sternly, he made it clear that I was to ask his permission before granting photo privileges. Point taken.
One of the reasons we went to Zhujiajiao in particular is because it is where a prominent paper cutting artist works and sells his wares. Greg and Kate have a number of his beautiful creations in their house, and we looked forward to finding one for ourselves. Unfortunately, on the day we visited, the artist was not working. Instead, we found another shop where a woman and her aged father created beautiful watercolor and calligraphy scenes. We bought a number of pieces from her, some the size of index cards that Kelly gave to a number of her friends, and some larger pieces. Although the town clearly caters to tourists, there is still something charming and honest about buying art that this woman and her father (who was outside in an alley working on new pieces while we were there) had created.
When it was time to leave, we took one of the many riverboats piloted by a man with a single oar off the back of the boat. With a well-practiced twisting action, he deftly propelled the boat forward and steered it with the single oar.
After we returned to the house, it was time to start packing for the trip home. Greg and Kate’s nanny (Xiao Wu, the kind young lady who had let us into the house the first day), had diligently washed and folded our clothes all week, which made packing a simple exercise. (Greg and Kate had advised us before our trip that Xiao Wu would take care of laundry, so we were able to pack very lightly. Considering the challenges we faced in the airports, packing lightly made a huge difference in simplifying our travel as much as possible.)
Packing to leave also meant that it was time to tackle the travel demons again. I had been unable to get seat assignments for our homeward flights, and knowing how full all of our flights had been, and how lucky we had been to be seated anywhere near each other, I was becoming worried that we would be scattered all over the airplanes for the trip home. Since we were within 24 hours of our departure, I made a concerted effort, through a towering display of patience, to work through the airlines’ phone systems to try to get our seats for the trip. After innumerable keypresses, I managed to get through to an Asiana customer service representative. She assured me, cheerfully, that the only place I could reserve seats was at the airport itself. Although that was disappointing, it was also somewhat liberating. We could not do a thing to control where we would sit until we got to the airport, so there was no sense in worrying that I was missing some opportunity to make our lives easier (which is how I spend much of my worry time on a regular basis anyway).
All that remained, then, was an easy morning of last-minute souvenir buying and a trip to the airport. We knew, though, that our adventure would not end until we got all the way home.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Strangers in a Strange Land, Day 7
Day seven of our Shanghai tour held out the promise of viewing more Shanghai landmarks, plus a lunchtime visit to the visa section of the U.S. Consulate to catch Greg for lunch.
Once again, we bundled ourselves up in Kate's car for a trip downtown. This time, the traffic was snarled on the elevated highway. Poor Ryan. Not-quit-two-year-olds the world over object to traffic jams, and Ryan was no exception, especially since his mom was driving and could not comfort him. As we neared our destination, though, Kate found some time in the "stop" portion of the stop-and-go traffic to give Ryan her full attention, and he calmed right now. He's a great kid, and it was the only time all week he was anything but perfectly genial.
As Kelly and I had the day before, our whole family executed a perfect dump and run at the roadside so that Kate could find parking while we explored the Jing'an Temple:
This Buddhist temple takes up most of a city block, is surrounded by typically modern office buildings, and houses a variety of shops in its outer walls. Like so much else in Shanghai, the temple was freshly spruced up for the coming Expo.
The temple is not a mere tourist curiosity. It is a functioning house of worship; a service of some kind took place in one of the many altar rooms while we were there, while other visitors lit incense sticks or prayed to innumerable Buddhas.
Across the street from the temple is a very pretty park, with manicured gardens and an elegant waterside restaurant.
The park contains remnants of ramparts that once guarded the temple. Plaques in the park also describe various artifacts that used to be kept there, until they were destroyed during the cultural revolution. The destruction of priceless pieces of Chinese history is stated dispassionately, but the bland explanation only accentuates the needless tragedy of the cultural purges.
We walked from the park to the business district where the U.S. Consulate's visa office is located. Amid high-end department stores plastered with building-sized billboards for expensive European cars, the visa office is hidden away, nearly unmarked, about halfway up an office tower (which has a multi-story department store in its lower floors, complete with a Mercedes-Benz display). We were given a quick tour of the small office, which has a dozen or so portals through which diplomatic officers interview and process Chinese nationals who wish to obtain visas to visit the U.S. The diplomatic corps interviews a staggering number of people each day, yet still manages to flag and investigate numerous people who should not receive visas. There is also a small set of windows for U.S. citizens who need assistance. Still, unless you knew what you were looking for, you would have absolutely no idea that the U.S. Consulate was in the building.
We had lunch at the Crystal Jade, another fabulous restaurant where I had perhaps the best sweet and sour pork I will ever taste. Along with more delectable xiao long bao, of course.
Leaving Greg to his post at work and Kate to take her kids home, we found our way to the subway and went back to the People's Park to go to the Shanghai Museum.
The Museum is across the street from the Municipal Building, which was the most overt presence of the ruling Communist Party we encountered in the remarkably free-wheeling Shanghai.
Numerous red Chinese flags flew in front of the imposing building, and it was guarded by two young soldiers wielding rifles. None of it appeared to be particularly ceremonial.
I became a little more acquainted with the state authorities than I wanted when we went through security at the museum. As we approached the x-ray machine, a young soldier in an ill-fitting army uniformed became very agitated as I approached. He felt no need to attempt to communicate with me in English (for which I do not fault him), but he clearly had a problem with something I was carrying in my backpack. As it turns out, we had two water bottles in the exterior pockets of the backpack. I was already concerned that they would be a problem, but not for the correct reasons, as it turns out. Bringing water into the museum was not the problem. I was ready to dispose of the water bottles in the trash as we entered, which only upset the solder and another security guard even more. What bothered them was that while one of the bottles was well-labeled and had obviously been purchased in town, the other was a standard clear water bottle that unfortunately no longer had a label attached. After a few anxious moments of pantomiming, I realized that the security detail wanted me to drink from the unmarked bottle, to prove that it was, in fact, just water. Once I did so, they immediately lowered the alert level back down to Defcon 5 and turned their attention to the next visitors. (Although I initially thought the security stations in the subways were a joke, I was forced to drink from the unmarked bottle again that evening when we headed home from the museum.)
The Museum was not large, but had many galleries of Chinese art from various eras. We saw pottery from every dynasty, traditional calligraphic artistry, and clothing worn by the many ethnic minorities throughout China. We could have seen coins and other exhibits, but instead we spent significant time at a visiting exhibition of the Uffizi Gallery of Florence, Italy (yes, we viewed European art in a Chinese museum). It was a thrill to see paintings by the true masters of the Renaissance, including Botticelli (The Adoration of the Maji), Titian and Tintoretto. Kelly was in the middle of a project on Botticelli, so the opportunity to see this art first hand was a real treat.
After a stop at one of the ubiquitous Haagen-Dazs vendors and a subway/taxi trip home (we were pros by now), another successful day was in the books. We were just a little sad, though, knowing that it was our last trip into the city before the end of our vacation.
Once again, we bundled ourselves up in Kate's car for a trip downtown. This time, the traffic was snarled on the elevated highway. Poor Ryan. Not-quit-two-year-olds the world over object to traffic jams, and Ryan was no exception, especially since his mom was driving and could not comfort him. As we neared our destination, though, Kate found some time in the "stop" portion of the stop-and-go traffic to give Ryan her full attention, and he calmed right now. He's a great kid, and it was the only time all week he was anything but perfectly genial.
As Kelly and I had the day before, our whole family executed a perfect dump and run at the roadside so that Kate could find parking while we explored the Jing'an Temple:
This Buddhist temple takes up most of a city block, is surrounded by typically modern office buildings, and houses a variety of shops in its outer walls. Like so much else in Shanghai, the temple was freshly spruced up for the coming Expo.
The temple is not a mere tourist curiosity. It is a functioning house of worship; a service of some kind took place in one of the many altar rooms while we were there, while other visitors lit incense sticks or prayed to innumerable Buddhas.
Across the street from the temple is a very pretty park, with manicured gardens and an elegant waterside restaurant.
The park contains remnants of ramparts that once guarded the temple. Plaques in the park also describe various artifacts that used to be kept there, until they were destroyed during the cultural revolution. The destruction of priceless pieces of Chinese history is stated dispassionately, but the bland explanation only accentuates the needless tragedy of the cultural purges.
We walked from the park to the business district where the U.S. Consulate's visa office is located. Amid high-end department stores plastered with building-sized billboards for expensive European cars, the visa office is hidden away, nearly unmarked, about halfway up an office tower (which has a multi-story department store in its lower floors, complete with a Mercedes-Benz display). We were given a quick tour of the small office, which has a dozen or so portals through which diplomatic officers interview and process Chinese nationals who wish to obtain visas to visit the U.S. The diplomatic corps interviews a staggering number of people each day, yet still manages to flag and investigate numerous people who should not receive visas. There is also a small set of windows for U.S. citizens who need assistance. Still, unless you knew what you were looking for, you would have absolutely no idea that the U.S. Consulate was in the building.
We had lunch at the Crystal Jade, another fabulous restaurant where I had perhaps the best sweet and sour pork I will ever taste. Along with more delectable xiao long bao, of course.
Leaving Greg to his post at work and Kate to take her kids home, we found our way to the subway and went back to the People's Park to go to the Shanghai Museum.
The Museum is across the street from the Municipal Building, which was the most overt presence of the ruling Communist Party we encountered in the remarkably free-wheeling Shanghai.
Numerous red Chinese flags flew in front of the imposing building, and it was guarded by two young soldiers wielding rifles. None of it appeared to be particularly ceremonial.
I became a little more acquainted with the state authorities than I wanted when we went through security at the museum. As we approached the x-ray machine, a young soldier in an ill-fitting army uniformed became very agitated as I approached. He felt no need to attempt to communicate with me in English (for which I do not fault him), but he clearly had a problem with something I was carrying in my backpack. As it turns out, we had two water bottles in the exterior pockets of the backpack. I was already concerned that they would be a problem, but not for the correct reasons, as it turns out. Bringing water into the museum was not the problem. I was ready to dispose of the water bottles in the trash as we entered, which only upset the solder and another security guard even more. What bothered them was that while one of the bottles was well-labeled and had obviously been purchased in town, the other was a standard clear water bottle that unfortunately no longer had a label attached. After a few anxious moments of pantomiming, I realized that the security detail wanted me to drink from the unmarked bottle, to prove that it was, in fact, just water. Once I did so, they immediately lowered the alert level back down to Defcon 5 and turned their attention to the next visitors. (Although I initially thought the security stations in the subways were a joke, I was forced to drink from the unmarked bottle again that evening when we headed home from the museum.)
The Museum was not large, but had many galleries of Chinese art from various eras. We saw pottery from every dynasty, traditional calligraphic artistry, and clothing worn by the many ethnic minorities throughout China. We could have seen coins and other exhibits, but instead we spent significant time at a visiting exhibition of the Uffizi Gallery of Florence, Italy (yes, we viewed European art in a Chinese museum). It was a thrill to see paintings by the true masters of the Renaissance, including Botticelli (The Adoration of the Maji), Titian and Tintoretto. Kelly was in the middle of a project on Botticelli, so the opportunity to see this art first hand was a real treat.
After a stop at one of the ubiquitous Haagen-Dazs vendors and a subway/taxi trip home (we were pros by now), another successful day was in the books. We were just a little sad, though, knowing that it was our last trip into the city before the end of our vacation.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Spring Sports Update
Sandwiched around our spring break trip to China, the kids’ spring sports seasons have been going full speed, winding up their respective regular seasons this past weekend.
Kelly has had a great time with her “Penn State” volleyball team. They have a lot of talent, get along well together, and have knowledgeable but nurturing coaches. They lost only one match during the season (in the last game, unfortunately). The team they lost to, Minnesota, lost their only match to Hawaii, which suffered its only loss at the hands of… Penn State. Our girls will be seeded second in the championship tournament, and will play their first tournament game this Saturday.
The season has been particularly fun for me, because I have been given the opportunity to help a little bit of practice, which has often involved getting into the game to play. Several of the girls also like to stay after practice to play pickup games that I and a couple of the other parents have participated in. More than once we stayed almost an hour after practice playing volleyball just for fun. I have the scabs on my knees to prove it.
Coaching matters. Not just Xs and Os, but style, especially for girls. This past week, after our practice was over, Kelly and one of her teammates stayed behind to work on their servers with me while a rival team held its practice in the next court. Their practice consisted essentially of a scrimmage, but they were a couple of players short, so the coach invited our girls to join in. Our two players played consistently well, passing the ball to the center position, making sets and generally showing that they knew what they were doing, much better than the players on the team they were helping out. More tellingly, their coach berated his players for everything they did wrong, although about the only thing he seemed to be concerned with is that they called out “mine!” if they were going to play the ball. It was immediately obvious to me (and Kelly) that his team is unified – against him. I saw more than one pair of shoulders slump when he lit into his girls for failing to call for the ball, regardless of whether it had been a good play. In my limited but growing experience with youth sports, I have found that boys can be challenged, but girls need to be built up. It sounds pat and condescending, but the evidence is in full view. Kelly would not be as fervently enthusiastic about volleyball if she had to play for a coach that always criticized rather than taught and encouraged.
Michael’s baseball season, which began in January, finally ended Tuesday night. Our A’s finished up with a 10-5 regular-season record. This past week was particularly heavy, with a practice on Friday, games on Saturday and Sunday, and another game on Tuesday (with practices to come on Thursday (today) and Saturday and the first postseason tournament game on Sunday). Although they finished with a great record, coming in second in the league, it has been something of an up-and-down year for our boys. Some days the offense is overwhelming, and other days it disappears entirely. Some days our defense is solid and intelligent, and other days we can’t catch a ball with a butterfly net, and have no idea what to do with the ball once we get it. Over the weekend, we blew out the Yankees on Saturday, then faced them again on Sunday and squeaked out an incredibly tense 13-12 extra-inning come from behind victory. On Tuesday, though, the first-place Cardinals finished their season sweep of the A’s in a game in which we could do nothing right. The positive to take out of those last three games is that we were missing one of our top three players, and our best player was stuck in a horrible slump on both sides of the ball. For his part, Michael played a lot of second base, a key defensive position. He also recovered his batting stroke, which went through a low spot halfway through the season when he struck out once in two consecutive games, his only strikeouts of the year. Like most of his teammates, however, he did not play particularly well in the last game, although he showed off a strong arm from right field with several pinpoint throws all the way to the pitcher.
Michael, like his teammates, has developed tremendously as a baseball player over the course of this season. His greatest improvement has probably been in his arm strength. At the beginning of the season, he threw across his body without much velocity. That still put him ahead of many of his teammates, but he could barely get the ball across the infield. Now, after hours of throwing with me as well as at practice, his arm is much stronger, and is very accurate. He may not be big and strong enough to pitch next year, but his accuracy may give him an opportunity to try it.
Even if the coaches sometimes get upset the boys for appearing to regress toward the end of the season, they know they have a good team. They also know they have a very supportive group of parents. We routinely have a crew of four dads helping with assistant coaching duties on game days, plus another few dads on call to help with field setup when we are the home team. Our grounds crew team shows up an hour before the game, which contrasts starkly with most of the other teams, which seemed to scramble to put together a grounds crew with one or two people half an hour before the game. Since field prep involves dragging the dirt with a metal screen behind an ATV, hosing down the infield, and laying down a lot of chalk lines, it is not a trivial exercise, and the commitment of our team’s parents to helping out has been a testament to the commitment our families have made to the team. During the games, I have become the bench coach, getting the boys ready to bat and calling out defensive positions in between innings. I love being around the boys, encouraging them, getting to know them, building them up when they are down and celebrating with them when they succeed.
Now the real pressure cooker begins: tournament play. Both kids start this weekend. I hope I survive it.
Kelly has had a great time with her “Penn State” volleyball team. They have a lot of talent, get along well together, and have knowledgeable but nurturing coaches. They lost only one match during the season (in the last game, unfortunately). The team they lost to, Minnesota, lost their only match to Hawaii, which suffered its only loss at the hands of… Penn State. Our girls will be seeded second in the championship tournament, and will play their first tournament game this Saturday.
The season has been particularly fun for me, because I have been given the opportunity to help a little bit of practice, which has often involved getting into the game to play. Several of the girls also like to stay after practice to play pickup games that I and a couple of the other parents have participated in. More than once we stayed almost an hour after practice playing volleyball just for fun. I have the scabs on my knees to prove it.
Coaching matters. Not just Xs and Os, but style, especially for girls. This past week, after our practice was over, Kelly and one of her teammates stayed behind to work on their servers with me while a rival team held its practice in the next court. Their practice consisted essentially of a scrimmage, but they were a couple of players short, so the coach invited our girls to join in. Our two players played consistently well, passing the ball to the center position, making sets and generally showing that they knew what they were doing, much better than the players on the team they were helping out. More tellingly, their coach berated his players for everything they did wrong, although about the only thing he seemed to be concerned with is that they called out “mine!” if they were going to play the ball. It was immediately obvious to me (and Kelly) that his team is unified – against him. I saw more than one pair of shoulders slump when he lit into his girls for failing to call for the ball, regardless of whether it had been a good play. In my limited but growing experience with youth sports, I have found that boys can be challenged, but girls need to be built up. It sounds pat and condescending, but the evidence is in full view. Kelly would not be as fervently enthusiastic about volleyball if she had to play for a coach that always criticized rather than taught and encouraged.
Michael’s baseball season, which began in January, finally ended Tuesday night. Our A’s finished up with a 10-5 regular-season record. This past week was particularly heavy, with a practice on Friday, games on Saturday and Sunday, and another game on Tuesday (with practices to come on Thursday (today) and Saturday and the first postseason tournament game on Sunday). Although they finished with a great record, coming in second in the league, it has been something of an up-and-down year for our boys. Some days the offense is overwhelming, and other days it disappears entirely. Some days our defense is solid and intelligent, and other days we can’t catch a ball with a butterfly net, and have no idea what to do with the ball once we get it. Over the weekend, we blew out the Yankees on Saturday, then faced them again on Sunday and squeaked out an incredibly tense 13-12 extra-inning come from behind victory. On Tuesday, though, the first-place Cardinals finished their season sweep of the A’s in a game in which we could do nothing right. The positive to take out of those last three games is that we were missing one of our top three players, and our best player was stuck in a horrible slump on both sides of the ball. For his part, Michael played a lot of second base, a key defensive position. He also recovered his batting stroke, which went through a low spot halfway through the season when he struck out once in two consecutive games, his only strikeouts of the year. Like most of his teammates, however, he did not play particularly well in the last game, although he showed off a strong arm from right field with several pinpoint throws all the way to the pitcher.
Michael, like his teammates, has developed tremendously as a baseball player over the course of this season. His greatest improvement has probably been in his arm strength. At the beginning of the season, he threw across his body without much velocity. That still put him ahead of many of his teammates, but he could barely get the ball across the infield. Now, after hours of throwing with me as well as at practice, his arm is much stronger, and is very accurate. He may not be big and strong enough to pitch next year, but his accuracy may give him an opportunity to try it.
Even if the coaches sometimes get upset the boys for appearing to regress toward the end of the season, they know they have a good team. They also know they have a very supportive group of parents. We routinely have a crew of four dads helping with assistant coaching duties on game days, plus another few dads on call to help with field setup when we are the home team. Our grounds crew team shows up an hour before the game, which contrasts starkly with most of the other teams, which seemed to scramble to put together a grounds crew with one or two people half an hour before the game. Since field prep involves dragging the dirt with a metal screen behind an ATV, hosing down the infield, and laying down a lot of chalk lines, it is not a trivial exercise, and the commitment of our team’s parents to helping out has been a testament to the commitment our families have made to the team. During the games, I have become the bench coach, getting the boys ready to bat and calling out defensive positions in between innings. I love being around the boys, encouraging them, getting to know them, building them up when they are down and celebrating with them when they succeed.
Now the real pressure cooker begins: tournament play. Both kids start this weekend. I hope I survive it.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Strangers in a Strange Land, Day 6
Day six dawned as sunny as day five had been gloomy. Venturing into the heart of Shanghai again, we utilized a more conventionally American method of conveyance: we piled into Kate’s car and she drove us into town.
With a little bit of patience, we made our way to Yu Yuan Gardens, a shopping mall of sorts for all manner of trinkets.
The shopping areas surround a traditional garden; until recently, everything had been hidden under scaffolding as countless workers refurbished the buildings in preparation for the influx of tourists for the Expo. Now, the buildings are freshly lustrous:
While there, Cheryl, with Kate’s expert help, haggled with storekeepers and came away with silk pajamas for herself and Kelly, a T-shirt for Michael, and some “Oakley” sunglasses, the last for about three dollars. We allowed ourselves to be drawn into the far reaches of the long, densely packed stores, but, again with Kate around to keep the shopkeepers at bay, we managed to escape without buying a bunch of junk… or at least without paying more than we should have for a bunch of junk.
Speaking of junk, we bought some AA batteries there for Kelly’s camera. They may have been labeled Duracell, but like just about everything other product in China bearing a recognizable name, their provenance was highly suspect. The batteries were dead by the end of the afternoon, under nothing more than light usage.
A special treat was a small area where artisans were available to create, on the spot, beautiful personalized drawings or traditional Chinese character stamps. While Kate purchased a couple of the brass stamps for her sons, we commissioned the artist to put together a beautiful drawing of bamboo with a special birthday greetings for Kelly, as it was indeed her 13th birthday. Dad was doing his own explorations of China around the time Cheryl and I were married, and he gave us a Chinese scroll that was personalized with our names and the date of our wedding. It was fun for us to see an echo of that special gift in the art we gave Kelly. The drawing is beautiful, but the opportunity to watch the artist create it was exquisitely deft strokes of his pen makes it a true keepsake.
After our shopping extravaganza, everybody but Kelly and I went home, and Kelly and I headed out for some dad-and-daughter time. With the beautiful weather, we decided it was our opportunity to try to go to the top of the World Financial Center again. In another only-again-Shanghai moment, Kate dumped Kelly and I out almost literally in the middle of a tremendously busy intersection, pausing at the curb after a left turn just long enough for us to leap from the car and hop over a low fence to get into the relative safety of the People’s Park. (I don't fault her for this; it was by far the best way for us to get where we were going, and it fit with the general unruliness of Shanghai traffic.) From there, we fumbled our way to the subway, for one stop to get us under the river.
The newer, Pudong side of the river is quite a contrast from old Shanghai:
Up we went, 474 meters to highest of three observation decks in the World Financial Center, at 492 meters (1614 feet) the third tallest building in the world.
Smog limits the view somewhat, but the vista is impressive. Looking north across the river and the Bund to the older part of Shanghai:
The Pearl Tower:
The Pearl Tower with the Jin Mao Tower in the foreground:
Looking south:
A view through the floor:
Kelly and I had a terrific time looking out at the city, taking dozens of pictures and watching other people do the same thing. The upper observation deck hangs below the large opening in the top of the building. We sampled each of the two lower observation decks, which are progressively wider as the building itself widens. We eventually made our way back down to the street and the subway, as we had to get back home to continue our day.
Successfully navigating the gauntlet of trans and taxis yet again, we returned home to take-out dinner (food in China – not limited to Chinese food – is commonly ordered for delivery) and a birthday celebration for Kelly:
We then departed for our evening activity: an acrobatic dance performance. This required us to go to a part of the city we had not yet been to, so we were a little less confident in our ability to get there. However, the taxi driver took a look at our tickets (which we had purchased the day before at a ticket agency miles from the venue and totally unmarked from the street – many thanks once again to our expert hosts) and grunted his acknowledgement. For once, we found ourselves not in one of the ubiquitous, rattling VW Santanas (a Chinese-made version of the Passat from two generations back) but a nearly brand-new Buick. Luxuriating in the quiet ride and comfy leather seats, we rode in style to the Shanghai Circus World, the circular theater where the performance was to take place. It was perhaps the one place we visited where non-Chinese easily outnumbered Chinese. The performance itself was astonishing, with amazing feats of strength, grace, flexibility and courage.
I was concerned that Kelly might feel let down by having her birthday in the middle of a family vacation. Happily, she had a great day and enjoyed all of it. Technically, given the huge time difference, the actual anniversary of her birth would not take place until about 5 the next morning, but we decided we would let her have her day anyway. In our defense (should a defense have been needed), we could say we went to the ends of the earth for her birthday. We could not have gone any farther from home, but our delight in her, and her innate joy of family, we brought with us.
With a little bit of patience, we made our way to Yu Yuan Gardens, a shopping mall of sorts for all manner of trinkets.
The shopping areas surround a traditional garden; until recently, everything had been hidden under scaffolding as countless workers refurbished the buildings in preparation for the influx of tourists for the Expo. Now, the buildings are freshly lustrous:
While there, Cheryl, with Kate’s expert help, haggled with storekeepers and came away with silk pajamas for herself and Kelly, a T-shirt for Michael, and some “Oakley” sunglasses, the last for about three dollars. We allowed ourselves to be drawn into the far reaches of the long, densely packed stores, but, again with Kate around to keep the shopkeepers at bay, we managed to escape without buying a bunch of junk… or at least without paying more than we should have for a bunch of junk.
Speaking of junk, we bought some AA batteries there for Kelly’s camera. They may have been labeled Duracell, but like just about everything other product in China bearing a recognizable name, their provenance was highly suspect. The batteries were dead by the end of the afternoon, under nothing more than light usage.
A special treat was a small area where artisans were available to create, on the spot, beautiful personalized drawings or traditional Chinese character stamps. While Kate purchased a couple of the brass stamps for her sons, we commissioned the artist to put together a beautiful drawing of bamboo with a special birthday greetings for Kelly, as it was indeed her 13th birthday. Dad was doing his own explorations of China around the time Cheryl and I were married, and he gave us a Chinese scroll that was personalized with our names and the date of our wedding. It was fun for us to see an echo of that special gift in the art we gave Kelly. The drawing is beautiful, but the opportunity to watch the artist create it was exquisitely deft strokes of his pen makes it a true keepsake.
After our shopping extravaganza, everybody but Kelly and I went home, and Kelly and I headed out for some dad-and-daughter time. With the beautiful weather, we decided it was our opportunity to try to go to the top of the World Financial Center again. In another only-again-Shanghai moment, Kate dumped Kelly and I out almost literally in the middle of a tremendously busy intersection, pausing at the curb after a left turn just long enough for us to leap from the car and hop over a low fence to get into the relative safety of the People’s Park. (I don't fault her for this; it was by far the best way for us to get where we were going, and it fit with the general unruliness of Shanghai traffic.) From there, we fumbled our way to the subway, for one stop to get us under the river.
The newer, Pudong side of the river is quite a contrast from old Shanghai:
Up we went, 474 meters to highest of three observation decks in the World Financial Center, at 492 meters (1614 feet) the third tallest building in the world.
Smog limits the view somewhat, but the vista is impressive. Looking north across the river and the Bund to the older part of Shanghai:
The Pearl Tower:
The Pearl Tower with the Jin Mao Tower in the foreground:
Looking south:
A view through the floor:
Kelly and I had a terrific time looking out at the city, taking dozens of pictures and watching other people do the same thing. The upper observation deck hangs below the large opening in the top of the building. We sampled each of the two lower observation decks, which are progressively wider as the building itself widens. We eventually made our way back down to the street and the subway, as we had to get back home to continue our day.
Successfully navigating the gauntlet of trans and taxis yet again, we returned home to take-out dinner (food in China – not limited to Chinese food – is commonly ordered for delivery) and a birthday celebration for Kelly:
We then departed for our evening activity: an acrobatic dance performance. This required us to go to a part of the city we had not yet been to, so we were a little less confident in our ability to get there. However, the taxi driver took a look at our tickets (which we had purchased the day before at a ticket agency miles from the venue and totally unmarked from the street – many thanks once again to our expert hosts) and grunted his acknowledgement. For once, we found ourselves not in one of the ubiquitous, rattling VW Santanas (a Chinese-made version of the Passat from two generations back) but a nearly brand-new Buick. Luxuriating in the quiet ride and comfy leather seats, we rode in style to the Shanghai Circus World, the circular theater where the performance was to take place. It was perhaps the one place we visited where non-Chinese easily outnumbered Chinese. The performance itself was astonishing, with amazing feats of strength, grace, flexibility and courage.
I was concerned that Kelly might feel let down by having her birthday in the middle of a family vacation. Happily, she had a great day and enjoyed all of it. Technically, given the huge time difference, the actual anniversary of her birth would not take place until about 5 the next morning, but we decided we would let her have her day anyway. In our defense (should a defense have been needed), we could say we went to the ends of the earth for her birthday. We could not have gone any farther from home, but our delight in her, and her innate joy of family, we brought with us.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)