Miss Frugality

As anybody who knows me will tell you, I'm a frugal girl.  There are days I'm downright cheap. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my little luxuries, but I refuse to pay retail if I can get away with less.

But, it you're like me and tend to head toward store brands or cheaper alternatives, learn from my mistakes.  When you leave the familiarity of the States (and English labels), there are certain things it just doesn't pay to scrimp on.

• Toilet Paper. Just go with whatever is most expensive. Seriously. Man up and spend the long dollar. Even then, don't expect Charmin. Seems the US does TP better than most.
• Juice. It's hard to read labels in foreign languages, but look for something refrigerated, expensive, with 100% somewhere on the package. Otherwise you'll be stuck with Orange (or Apple or Grape) drink or something so saturated with sugar it would be better served as syrup.  Or jam.
• Fruits and Vegetables. Prepackaged food can be so deceiving.  So many times I've brought home a tray of veggies only to find the bottom half all moldy or bruised. Spend the money and the time to pick out your own fruit/vegetables. Worth that special trip out of your way to the "good" market.
• Beer. Because life's too short to drink bad beer.  Ditto for wine.  Unless you are in Argentina where you can get an excellent bottle of Malbec for $5.
• Ice Cream and/or chocolate. See above. Nothing worse than a big bowl of ice milk.
• Garbage bags.  Having an accident while taking the garbage out to the dumpster can be extremely messy. And embarrassing.
• Cereal. Look for Post or Kelloggs or another brand you are familiar with. Stay away from Nestle Fitness (unless it's the Yogurt one), as it tastes like sticks and dirt. With milk on top.
• Toothpaste. Many foreign toothpastes have foreign ingredients like formaldehyde, not necessarily what I want to be putting in my mouth. I've probably put worse things in my mouth, but that's another blog post.
• Coffee. Because nothing says bad day like a rotten cup of Joe first thing in the morning.

Otherwise, save away!  As my mother used to say (no she didn't), "canned beans is canned beans". If you're in a place with canned beans.  And you have a can opener.  But that's another story.

Sole Support

When we left home two weeks ago, I donned my trusty Puma slip-ons (they're soooo street) for the 23 hours of travel between the great Midwest and Dakar, Senegal.  I have walked hundreds of miles (literally!) in these shoes with no ill effects, so I felt comfortable I would survive the trip with my feet unscathed.

Unfortunately, I did not and developed a huge blister on my right heel.  My first purchase in Dakar was bandaids and anti-bacterial cream.  Because I'm certain there is some bacteria around here. Possibly even bacteria I've never been exposed to, although that would be a rare bacteria.  

It healed, but there was a bit of gimping, whining and complaining going on.  But, being the tough cookie I am, I overcame.  

During our palatial stay at the Dead Club Med, I was traipsing around the grounds, stepped on something sharp and punctured the bottom of my right foot.  After performing DIY surgery, I thought I had retracted all things foreign, but two days later this injury reared it's ugly head again and it was back to the pharmacy for rubbing alcohol and a razor blade for surgery aux duex. It's still a little sore, but I'll live.  I hope.

Sunday, I pulled on my reliable Footjoy golf shoes for our round of golf.  Again, shoes that have seen thousands of holes of golf and never felt the need to bite back.  Within the first three holes I had a bona-fide blister of mammoth proportions.  On my LEFT heel.

I'm such a delicate little flower.

Yesterday, FM and I went to the beach for a little R&R.  I played and splashed in the surf, and of course acquired sand in every crevice.  After we returned home and were beautifying ourselves for our nightly meal I noticed my newest blister looked. . . well. . . green!

Upon further investigation I found the blister sac (?for lack of a better explanation?) must have had a small hole in it, which then filled with sand.  Not being in the mood for another round of surgery last night, I left it till this morning.  

Traveling with a man who goes to work everyday doesn't give me many people to share such things with, so you, oh great and powerful internet, get to see this!

It's now been flushed with alcohol, rubbed with anti-bacterial cream and covered with bandaids.  My attentions can now be returned to avoiding malaria and severe sunburns.

But if you see someone gimping around Almadies, it's probably me.

This post was in no way sponsored by Puma or Footjoy, much to their great relief.

Tourist or Traveler? Who Cares.

I've been known to read a travel blog or two in my life.  Recently, I tripped over an online debate about classifying yourself as a tourist or a traveler. 

Admittedly, I prefer the word traveler, but I am a tourist by definition.  It's not always so much about the sights and meals as it is about the people and the experience.  But sometimes, it IS about the sights, whether you're at the Great Wall of China or the Grand Canyon.  You need to see it if you happen to be in the neighborhood.  

Call yourself a tourist or a traveler, it really doesn't matter much.  There are as many different types of travelers as people.  Some refuse to leave their comfort zones while others embrace the less traveled path.  Others eat and drink their way through a new country while some stick only to the known (globalization makes this entirely too possible and reminds me of the Bubba Gump's in Depensar, Bali and the Applebee's on the Nile in Cairo - ugh).  

Still others research every option and meal for the perfect itinerary while some prefer to fly by the seat of their pants. Some people walk, some ride. Some want the beach, others prefer the mountains.  Some want to chill, others want to see everything possible.  Some are in search of inexpensive options while others enjoy posh hotels and trendy restaurants.  Some leave home for a month with a backpack and others need an entire bag just for shoes.

Because FM and I rarely get to choose our destinations, and our travel usually extends beyond the normal time allotted to just one city, we tend to be a mishmash of many different travel personalities, without even addressing our personal differences.  And, after thirteen years on the road even those preferences have changed, progressed, digressed and mutated into a convoluted crush of different methods.

Point being, there is no right or wrong way to travel, or any special classification that makes you any less of a visitor or more of an expert.  The important thing is to actually leave home once in a while and experience something new, whether it's the next county, city, country or continent.  

Because in the end we're all just visiting.

No Man Is an Island

Just outside our fancy (HA) three star hotel is a sandy cut through leading to the beach road.  For the last week, this man has been camped out on this log.  I'm assuming he's been there a lot longer than a week.  

Day or night he is there, no protection from the elements outside of the multiple layers of clothing and his gnarly hair and beard.  No shoes, not even flip flops.  No visible signs of sustenance (although obviously a lot of empty bottles???).  He's always seated.  Always facing away from the road and water.  Usually he has nothing in his hands and is still.

A curious mind and a lot of down time have allowed for much surmising about his circumstances.   First, I assumed he was a homeless man (which he clearly is, to some extent).  However, he does not beg and I haven't seen any other similar characters around the peninsula.  He does smell horrendously and mutters to himself quite a bit, lending to the hypothesis he is likely mentally ill.  

But despite his situation, he appears to be in some form of decent health.  He must be consuming water to a life sustaining degree and he does not appear to be starving, or even hungry.  The other night he was smoking.  

So my empathy has waned.  Now I'm imagining he's someone on the peninsula's husband/grandfather/uncle who has been shunned from the family household for some salacious reason.  I'm uncertain lucid conversation is possible with him, but an interpreter would be interesting. Although I bet most the neighborhood knows his story.  I need to find more English speaking peeps, as my French is nonexistent, Merci.

Regardless of how he got there or why this log is now his home, it's interesting he's allowed to stay there and that all his basic needs are being met.  

He's also a great marker for our turn to the hotel, as there are no street signs or lights out there!  

This one goes out ot all the ladies. . .

Hair. Love it or hate it, we all have it (well, MOST of us). And, eventually, darnnabitall, it needs to be cut. Or trimmed. Or colored. A trip to the salon can be a very rewarding outing. Usually when you know and like your stylist, feel comfortable in the chair with her, and most importantly, can convey your wants, wishes and desires (no matter how far reaching they may be) in ENGLISH.

You know how in the movies the heroine on the lam grabs a pair of kitchen scissors and a bottle of hair-dye and ducks into a public bathroom, only to emerge looking like she just spent $400 in a salon?

I'm about ready to give that a go.

Three months without a haircut lends to desperation in this household. Someone hide the manicure scissors.

I am McDonald's

It's not a secret, I am not a big fan of McDonald's. Not for health reasons (although I suspect this is a good reason), and I will admit they make a pretty tasty french fry, but in general I just abhor Mickey D's. Now, I'm all about Taco Bell (and even Wendy's), so it's not a fast food thing. It's just a McDonald's thing.

And McDonald's? Is everywhere. Well, everywhere you'd want to be. My definition of a "bad country"? Is one with no McDonald's. If McDonald's doesn't want to be there, I probably do not, either.

And, I'll give McDonald's some credit. No matter where we are in this big ole world, if there's a McDonald's? The food? Is EXACTLY the same. The menu might vary a little, but the taste? Unlike many other international fast food chains, it is dead on. Plus, sometimes they are the only option for a clean and sanitary bathroom, which does come in handy and I thank them profusely for this.

I was discussing McDonald's (and Starbucks and Wal-Mart for that matter) with some Uruguayan guys the other night, and although I've blogged about my dislike for McDonald's (and Starbucks, I suspect), I gave serious thought about doing it again.

But then I realized, that I, MYSELF am a lot like McDonald's. I come from America, I've been a lot of places, yet I'm EXACTLY the same, wherever I am. And when we get to a place with no McDonald's, I have to say for the most part? I agree with them. You just don't want to be there (exceptions: Boracay, Albania and Cambodia). Some people travel to "find themselves", whereas I just keep encountering my same self.

Just like McDonald's.

Maybe that's why I hate them.

First World Problems

FM and I? Not so much on the camping. We've done it before, even together. But in reality, our idea of "roughing it" is a 3 star hotel.

This weekend we went off to explore the northeast coast of Uruguay. Now mind you, it's winter here, and although the entire coast is dunes and beaches, it's far to cold for beaching it these days. Which means the population out there? Was a bit sparse.

As were open hotels or restaurants.

Saturday night, after six hours of driving through rain and blow, we were in Punta Del Diablo. With no apparent signs of life. MANY places for rent (signs up in Spanish), but nothing open. The closest place we KNEW was open was another hour back down the road.

Fortunately, we stumbled into the Apache Cabanas and encountered a very helpful man named Fernando who set us up in our own personal chalet for the night. Unbeknownst to us, overnight stays in this part of the world usually require you to bring your own sheets, towels, soap, TP - basically - CAMPING.

On Saturday night, however, it looked like paradise.

We had hot and cold running water, toilet, shower, electricity, heat via the fireplace (and wood provided by same helpful man!), a refrigerator, television, and possibly even a WiFi connection. And, we had brought our own coffee maker.

Basically, we were living better than 25% of the world population. And we considered it roughing it.

It's sad to think 12% of the world (and that's 803 MILLION people, almost three times the population of the US of A) do not have access to drinkable water, let alone a flush toilet or a SHOWER. 25% live without electricity. 14% are actually homeless. 25% live below the poverty level, which is ONE DOLLAR A DAY. Egads.

We have stayed in hotels in Africa one step below a Motel 6 and it was the nicest place in town. We've stayed in 4 star hotels in Cambodia where our NIGHTLY rate was the equivalent of TWO MONTHS SALARY for a local. We've drank away an average Burmese's monthly salary on a nightly basis.

Makes you think, eh?

Let us never forget how entirely blessed we are. No matter how much we want a new couch/car/kitchen, or even crab about the cost of electricity/gas/LAWNCARE, let's not forget all those people out there who would gladly trade lives with you RIGHT NOW. Who would think they hit the lotto. Who maybe might even appreciate it 1,600,000,000 times more than us.

On the other side of the coin, 25% of the world's population is considered obese. Hmmmm.

Six Weeks from Sunday. . .

Time. It's a funny thing. We waste it, pass it, bide it. Heck, sometimes we even KILL it.

Often, time seems long. When you're eight and waiting for Christmas. At work, when it's only 2:30 PM. Other times, it flies. When you're out with friends and suddenly its 2:30 AM. When you turn 40 and realize according to most actuary table, your life is HALF OVER.

Sigh.

But, FM and I tend to measure time differently. We refer to years by which country we were living in. Which, in our little universe, makes last year pretty much wasted time. And, although I can say I was in Macedonia, Croatia, Peru, Arizona and Vegas (and FM can add Mexico and Columbia), it still feels like we were home most of '09. And we WERE.

Now, It's been a year and a half since Beijing. Three years since Hong Kong. Five years since Rome. Seven years since Chad (shudder). Ten years since we were married.

Damn.

Which means I've been married for 25% of my life. Have known FM for 37.5% (of course, his stats are different, he's only been married for 17.8%, known me for 25%. He started late. . . heehee).

And last year? That wasted year? I was able to reunionize with people I haven't seen in HALF OF MY LIFE. Talk about time flying by. . .

The stats themselves are not important or impressive, just a reminder of how fast time elapses.

In the words of William Shakespeare, "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace of day to day."

Petty pace? Often I muse upon the ways I spend my days. Is it a waste of time to do the things we enjoy? Is reading a book a waste of time? Does it depend on what you are reading? When DOES it become a waste of time? When you are doing it instead of something else? Is Facebooking (is that a verb?) a waste of time? Watching television? Sitting on the beach? Taking a walk? What if I decide to not even leave the house? It can assume a petty pace, but tomorrows always beckon.

But, eventually we run out of tomorrow. Sometimes suddenly. Or the people we love cannot count another day.

The passage of time just feels sad. Not only in what it physically does to us, but in the lost seconds, hours, days and years we can never respend.

How do we live in the moment? How do you pass the time? What makes your time "worthwhile"? Being paid? Helping others? Enjoying yourself? All three?

I've been pondering this concept of time. The only conclusion I have discovered is, even if I have a hard time filling it, I want more than what I have coming.

This Sunday, we'll have been in Montevideo for six weeks. A relatively short period of time, but a chunk of my life that has figuratively flown by. And, I kind of want it back to relive and enjoy again. Yet, I also look forward to the next six weeks. And the next.

Time. It's such a conundrum.

Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them. - Dion Boucicault.

Out with the Old, In with the New

Yesterday, I stepped out on the front porch to have my first ciggie of the day, and found this "gift" laying on the steps.

Of course, my initial reaction was EEEEEEK! I have a SNAKE! Living near my house!

Which of course, is insane, because we are surrounded by woods, ponds and other flora which promote snake-life, so the idea of a SNAKE actually living in this woodland paradise isn't that far-fetched.

Nor is it exactly comforting, but whatever. In the 4.5 years we've lived here I've never seen evidence of a snake, until now.

And you know what they say about snakes. If you see one, that's ENOUGH! LOL

But, in the interest of laziness, I've left the snakeskin lying (laying? hmmm) out there, and I've spent a fair amount of time outside in the last couple days, so I've seen it more than twice.

I got to thinking about that snake. I'm sure it's not an exactly pleasant experience to shed one's skin. And, I'm sure he picked the concrete, a rather less comfortable place for a snake than say, the WOODS, in order to facilitate this process.

Which led me to thinking about FM and my life right now.

Although I don't think we are as creepy as snakes, it may be time for us to shed our own exterior skins in exchange for newer, brighter, better fitting ones.

It may be painful for a while (I'm actually quite sure it's going to be), but in the end we will walk away with a fresh new skin.

Thanks Mr. Garter Snake for the life lesson. I'm glad I didn't immediately throw your old protective covering into the trash, but instead let it sit there and remind me that sometimes change IS for the better.

Yep. We are in Peru. I can tell because HERE IS AN ALPACA!  I missed these guys, they're so cute. Not as cute as a vicuna, but cute enough to take massive amounts of pictures of and say, "AWWWWW!"

Other things that have happened since arriving:

• Stuck in the suburbs for the first week, venturing out only at night when accompanied by my bodyguards
• Read too much information about the dangers and pitfalls of Lima, left me feeling too chicken shit to take camera out of bag
• Moved to apartment in Miraflores, very safe area of town, now feel comfortable walking around to some areas
• Arranged for private driver for FM to take him to work and back, so he doesn't have to talk to taxi cab drivers
• Managed to make my BRAND NEW TENNIS SHOES stink already
• Got a SIM card for my phone
• Argued with Comcast cable about my bill for ONE HOUR
• Drank some beer
• Drank some wine
• Ate octopus salad (acceptable, think it was better in Croatia, however spotty readers to this blog would NEVER know I was in Croatia. In February.)

and, oh yea.

• Found out as of June 30, FM doesn't have a job anymore with his current employer.

Must find new job in order to continue Flatbacking lifestyle. Sigh.
Also visited some ancient Lima Culture ruins near my house, which can be viewed at http://www.aroundtheworldin80beers.net/id47.html if you are interested. Or not.

I hate pretentiousness

And, no, I'm not talking about the election. But, if I was, I'd tell you to make sure you VOTE TOMORROW. And, I'd like to tell you who to vote FOR, but I guess that's your choice. Meh.

I am talking about paying damn good money for sub-par food, though.

Saturday night was a surprise 40th birthday party for my nephew (how I have a nephew older than me can be blamed right on FM) held at a restaurant here in town called Bistro Bella Vita.

They have a reputation for good food and better martini's. I did not join in the martini fun, knowing I had to drive home, but did consume a couple draft beers. And food that was no good.

This place is filled with posh looking couples and groups of people clinking martini and wine glasses and looking like they stepped out of magazine pages. Ocassionally I would see someone eating. More of a place to be seen on a Saturday night than anything. I must say, it's been more than eight years since I've been there, and I do remember the food being AT LEAST EDIBLE.

When I break down and shell out triple digits (or FM does) for dinner, I do expect it to be FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC. Especially triple digits in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

If I had been served FM's Boeuf Bourguignonne, it would have went straight back to the kitchen. It was SO SALTY. I declared it inedible, but being we had waited over an hour and a half for it to arrive, FM just quietly gobbled it down and waited for his ankles to swell.

I had the Skate, which is a very light and delicate ray fish which the cook (chef? dare I call him that?) had used about three times too much oil to prepare.

And our Greek Salad appetizer? Since when are there no peppers in a Greek salad. And why the fennel? Not that fennel is bad, it just does not belong in my Greek Salad. Which, by the way, neither does SPINACH.

Whatever. At least you could eat it.

Woke up in the night with a very upset stomach.

In other news, our 1995 Taurus finally lost it's transmission enroute to one of the more exquisite golf courses around town. Whilst being followed by our financial advisor driving his brand new BMW.

Thank God he was there.

And Mike got SENIOR RATES at the course. Saved us $10, but made him feel a little sad, I think. Yes, we are golfing in November in Michigan. Going again tomorrow, as it promises to be 70 degrees Fahrenheit.

The junk yard gave us enough money for the car to cover our golf on Friday or our dinner on Saturday. But not both.

Sigh.

Well, Hello There Little Blogger Account

Boy, I've been avoiding YOU like the plague, eh?

I'm home from China, FM got to spend 36 hours here before reboarding a plane bound for Beijing (totally unplanned, of course, he'd never fly home for 36 hours) and is expected back in my loving arms on Tuesday night.

Of course, he'll probably be grumpy as hell and jetlagged to boot. Poor dude.

I've been shopping my butt off while he's gone. Spending money is so much easier when the man is not around. . .

On a good note (?), the shopping has left little time or energy for the drinking, so my liver is getting a break. All good.

Is Sarah Palin a Policitian or Stand-Up Comedian?

Without getting into a HUGE political debate (O-BAMA-O-BAMA), I must say, I'm confused. Is she giving speeches or perfecting her comedy routine?

Now, don't get me wrong. I like my politicians to have wit and charm. But I also like them to be able to speak about ISSUES without delivering a BADDA-BING after every point.

I just met this gal last week and she's already making me tired. Silly bobblehead.

I fear the average American will vote for her, thinking they're putting Tina Fey into office and at least she'll be good for a laugh over the next four years. Or maybe they think that was here on SNL.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26725961/

FM REALLY believes there's a magic basket

Here was my schedule for Labor Day, Monday, September 1, 2008:

• 6:30: Wake Up
• 6:30-7:00: Drink coffee to wake up
• 7:00-7:30: Get pretty
• 7:30 - 8:15: Make breakfast for our golfing foursome
• 8:15 - 8:30: Wait for foursome to show up
• 8:30 - 9:00: Entertain foursome, eat breakfast, drink more coffee
• 9:00 - 9:30: Ride a half hour in a taxi to golf course, while getting lost a couple times
• 9:30 - 10:00 Rent clubs, get briefed on specific rules of tournament, organize bags, take a pee, buy water, smoke some cigarettes. etc.
• 10:00: Walk to appropriate tee box
• 10:15-10:30: Wait for foursome ahead of us to tee off.
• 10:30 - 4:00: Play some really bad golf with a couple good shots thrown in to keep us coming back.
• 4:00 -4:20: Unpack rental bags, bid our caddies good-bye, take another shower
• 4:20 - 5:00: Drink beer in the clubhouse while waiting for food
• 5:00 - 5:30: Eat semi-decent food, hungrily
• 5:30 - 6:00: Award ceremony for those who actually played decent golf and booby prizes for those of us who didn't
• 6:00 - 6:30: Drink more beer
• 6:30 - 7:00: Wait for taxi to come and pick us up
• 7:00 - 7:30: Ride home in taxi
• 7:30 - 8:30: Take a "nap"

So, at 8:30 we discuss going for dinner, but decide to eat nectarines and pistachio nuts instead, watch a little TV and get ready for bed around 10:30. And, what does FM ask me?

"Did any laundry get done today?"

Hmmmmmmmm.

I am confused. Exactly who does he think has been doing the laundry for the last six months?

If the Olympics Were High School

MOST LIKELY TO BECOME AN INTERNET PORN STAR:

Leryn Franco

This Paraguayan Javelin Thrower didn't qualify for her event, but self admittedly, it didn't bother her. Her main reason for attending the Olympics in Beijing was to get enough coverage "to make me famous". If her recent internet success is any indicator, I think she'll do just that.

MOST CAPABLE OF IMPOSSIBLE FEATS:

Samuel Kamau Wansiru

This Kenyan Marathoner ran 4.8 minute miles for just over two hours. In the HEAT and POLLUTION of DOWNTOWN BEIJING. IMHO, every person who ran this marathon deserved a gold medal. I can hardly walk to the grocery and back!

MOST LIKELY TO NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN:

Liu Xiang

It wouldn't surprise me if the PRC sent him off to a work camp somewhere.

MOST LIKELY TO BE CAUGHT SKIPPING:

Dayron Robles

Cuban Hurdler who can out hurdle anyone. Althouth he didn't break Liu's record from '04, he skipped away from the rest of the field like a gazelle.


MOST LIKELY TO BE CAUGHT LYING ABOUT HER AGE:
He Kexin


Oops, too late. Already caught lying about age. . .


MOST POPULAR OVERALL:
Kobe Bryant


Not only a hit amongst the Americans, but the Chinese LOVE him. Adore him. Have a huge fan club here for him.

MOST SPIRITED OLYMPIAN
Samiya Yuusf Omar


200m Runner from Somalia who finished a full 9 seconds behind in her heat. But dudes, she's from SOMALIA. And, she's only 16. If she can run like this, she should just keep on running until she hits Egypt.

HONORABLE MENTION: The Entire Iraqi Squad



BIGGEST FLIRT:
Stephanie Rice
Australian Swimmer allegedly caught playing tonsil hockey with Michael Phelps. . . Think of the children they could have!

OLYMPIC CLOWN:

Usain Bolt

I don't care what the IOC says, this dude deserved some showboating. He only hurt his OWN chance at a BETTER World Record. Totally Irie, Mon!



LEAST AMOUNT OF OLYMPIC SPIRIT:
Angel Matos



While Dayron brought nothing but fame to Cuba, Angel brought nothing but shame when this 80+ kg TaeKwonDo athlete kicked a Swedish ref in the face after disagreeing with a call. Nice.





And now, your King and Queen.





OLYMPIC PROM KING:

Michael Phelps (Uh, who did you expect?)

The most decorated Olympian ever.

AND YOUR QUEEN:

Yelena Isinbayeva

If this Russian Pole Vaulter ever gets tired of jumping over plastic poles she can always take Brooke Shields place in the modeling world.

WE GOT THE GOLD, BABY!

Unless you live on Neptune, I'm sure you know, our magnificent basketball team won the Gold on Sunday afternoon at the 2008 Olympics.

But, did you know we were there?

Oh, YEAH, Baby! It ROCKED!

Quite the game. You can read more and see other pictures here.

You're Standing on My Last Nerve

Lately, I've been a bit of a bitch.


Okay, maybe I'm always a bit of a bitch and lately I've been a whole lot more.


But, man. People are really getting on my nerves. It was so bad Monday night I decided to stay inside and not interact with anyone on Tuesday. I needed a time out.


Yesterday I felt a bit better and did interface with a few people.


And then we went to Paddy O'Sheas to watch the basketball game. Besides meeting an awesome gal from Maryland and her son who kindly shared their table with us, everyone else in the place, including the staff was UNDER MY SKIN.


I don't know if it's Beijing, hormones, boredom, tiredness (is that a word?) or what, but I'm starting to think I'm about one idiot away from going postal.

It doesn't feel good.

HELP!

The Veneer is Cracking

It's funny how actually living in a specific foreign country will change your perception of said foreign country.

Not really.

But, it IS funny how your perception of a foreign country morphs the longer you stay.

My feelings about China/Beijing have run the gamut over the last six months (OH MY GOD HAVE WE REALLY BEEN HERE THAT LONG AND THE END IS STILL NOT NIGH), mostly on the low opinion side of the poll.

It has been fun watching/listening to our friend Randy, who is a fairly well traveled dude. When he first arrived he was quite impressed with everything. I don't know if this was based on his pre-conceptions of what Beijing would be like or if he just saw things differently than we did upon our arrival. Granted, he was supplied with a driver (for work), which takes ALOT of the initial hassles out of the equation, and he was working with some highly educated Chinese folks proficient in English (that would be nice!).

But the longer he's been here the less enchanted I think he's become.

I would say the rose colored glasses he initially was wearing have become a tad polluted. Not to the point he's not enjoying himself, just to the point where he is able to see behind the curtain a bit.

It's a strange place.