sushipanda

This was my third time in Chengdu, and I was feeling some trepidation about having Clint, Mike, and Keith visit one of my favorite towns in China. Given the amount of hype I had given it, I was afraid that they might be unimpressed and turn vengeful upon their fellow man. This particular man, that is. And so as the four of us walked out of our hotel and onto the main street, fatigued and hungry from the long and boring drive from Chongqing, my credibility was on the line with these guys.

Things didn’t get off on the right note when we realized that there were swarms of people trying to wave down cabs. Given our luck in Chongqing, pessimism reigned supreme between the four of us. Even though my previous stints in Chengdu had consisted of parking my ass in front of the MGM bar for hours on end, being the most experienced the fellas had turned to me to pick a restaurant. Of course, Peter’s Tex-Mex was on the other side of town, and of course there was no way we could get a cab.

Eventually, we hailed down one of the three-wheelers whizzing by, and after some half-hearted negotiation, we hopped on for a scenic tour of downtown Chengdu, even though with our composite mass, we knew it’d be a good 30 minutes before we’d see food again.

Transportation ghetto Chengdu style…and loving it

After a massive wrong turn courtesy of my inability to even read the tiny little map on the back of a business card, we were able to stuff ourselves with greasy Mexican food while waiting for Mike’s acquantaince to arrive and show us the secrets of Chengdu. Now, usually, I don’t have the greatest affinity for Cantonese businessmen, because their moral aptitude is usually in the single digits range (out of 100). However, Mike’s guanxi with this fellow was promising, as he had mentioned that we might have a personal car at our disposal. Hmmm, were we willing to be leeches? Most definitely!

Turns out that not only did he lend us his car, but his personal driver as well, who would turn out to be our best friend in Chengdu. This man could have driven us off a cliff, ripped our bodies into little strips of expat bacon, and then boiled us in Chongqing hotpot, and we still would have had an esteemed regard for him simply because of the following fact: he brought us panda love.

We didn’t know the panda magic we were about to enjoy as we walked in

When we first walked into the Chengdu Panda Research Center, I think at most we expected to see a couple of pandas rolling around in their own feces from about 50 feet away. And for the most part, that’s what it was. Our tour guide was the James Dean of the Panda Center, lighting a cigarette and mumbling little philosophies such as “Pandas are for the white devil,” and “I hate animals.” But as any good Chinese person knows, the name of the game us guanxi, and after sensing that we were looking to get up close and personal, he whipped out his phone and started dialing.

I turned to Mike: “Holy shit, this guy has serious connections!”
Mike responded: “China is like a box of chocolates; you never know who knows who.”
To which I replied: “Who knows whom, Mike, who knows whom!”

Turns out that our guide was married to a schoolteacher of a kid whose dad had some sort of connection to the Panda center. Close enough. We crowded in with a group of Japanese tourists and a couple of old white devils who had actually paid a few hundred RMB per person to take photos with a panda parked on a tree stump, stuffing its face with bamboo. How much did we pay? Just our dignity as we shoved past the elderly to get in front of the line. Knowing people who know people who know people who know people? Priceless. Just as the photo shows below:

Me and my brother…or is it, sister? Clint knows the specifics, but don’t ask how

Later, as the four of us beamed like proud panda parents, I noticed Keith and Clint looking at the digital pics with furrowed brows. They were whispering something, and as I got closer I could tell that they were trying to determine the sex of the panda.

“Zoom in and see if you can see lips,” said Clint.
Clint is awesome.

Because we had been such delinquents in organizing our trip, we were thankful that our animal-hating but panda-hook-up(ing) tour guide took the initiative to book us on a local Chinese tour out to Leshan to see the Big Buddha, followed by an overnighter at famous Emeishan, a mountain full of monkeys and temples and old Chinese people. The whole thing, including the stay at the negative 1 star hotel up in Emeishan cost us a little over $40 USD, so we were both pleased and a little nervous at the cheapness of it all.

The next morning, still reeling from excitement at our panda encounter, we got in a rickety old bus with some clearly local-local people, and embarked to see the Big Buddha. The trip began auspiciously when one of the tour members went haywire when the tour guide (who we initially thought was a cutie pie until we later learned that she was a cutie pie made of shit) did not give him a receipt for his payment. As he held up the bus to listen to him make a jackass of himself, Keith tried to calm him down by giving him the receipt to to our breakfast that morning. It didn’t work, but it got us a good laugh, and we decided that “receipt man,” by the power of Grayskull, was going to be on of our mortal enemies forever.

I’ve mentioned the Leshan Big Buddha here before, and while the Buddha is indeed big and impressive, waiting in line two hours to see it last year was definitely forgettable. This time, not only was I going to brave the crowds again, but since it was a national holiday and China has about a gazillion people, I was expecting the worst in terms of the line.

We got the worst.

This is what it looked like front and back for three hours

Not only did the line look like it belonged on the south side of the Rose Bowl, but it seemed that everyone in the line was aiming to play linebacker. After contemplating whether or not we should enter what appeared to be eternal hell a super-long wait, we grabbed the bull by the horns and eased into the back of the line.

For the next three hours, we tried various attempts to prevent people behind us from pushing ahead. Apparently, “being annoying” was a goal attempted by folks from all age groups. Parents were using their kids as excuses to push ahead, giving us shrugs and looks as if to say: “Hey, I can’t help if my kid is cutting in line, I gotta stay with my kid.” After a while, we got pretty sick of it, and decided to keep a running tally of how many families we could split up. Compared to all these sickly Chinese folk, Mike and I were like two Refrigerator Perrys. At one point, I kept a kid from moving ahead by standing on his foot, and then kicking his shins. I’m going to be a great parent.

After three and half hours, we finally made our way down the Big Buddha. I took a few snapshoots and reviewed the images: Yup, the big buy was just as we left him. It’s never as thrilling to see him the second time around, especially when you have annoying-kid-blood still on your shoe. I don’t think any of us could say that the experience was worth eternal hell the wait, but hey, we were there so we might as well enjoy it. So after spending all of 5 minutes at the bottom, mugging for the camera and joking about Big Buddha penis size, we climbed back and up and vowed never to do that again. Of course, I had made that vow last year as well.

With “receipt man” and giving 4 hours of our lives so we could get a photo of a 50 meter tall crotch, we were all tired and looking forward to the wonders of Emeishan. But oh, it was not to be the last of “receipt man.” Stay tuned, kids.

You see a resemblance? I swear, Keith looks just like Pierce Brosnan here.

We took pictures with a panda. That should be enough to get across the sheer awesomeness of our May Holiday trip. This one will not soon be forgotten. Chongqing -> Chengdu -> Shenzhen -> Hong Kong

*Note to reader: the post below was actually started about three weeks ago. However, due to a host of issues (including ISP problems, computer crashes, everyone and their alcoholic mothers visiting in one weekend, and the swarm of killer bees that flew into my office cubicle and dismantled my keyboard) I have been unable to get into my customary blogging groove, and have thus neglected this site and my loyal reader (yes, reader). I ask for forgiveness, and please continue to be patient as I plan on chronicling the happenings of the past few weeks, particularly our May holiday trip, in soporific segments*

Wow, it sure has been a long time since I’ve posted something here. However, I was just too swamped with scratching myself in front of the TV watching episodes of “Queer Eye” work to actually sit down in front of my computer and write something of substance. Oh wait, I guess I never did that anyway! 算了！Oh yeah, I also had to go on one of the greatest vacations in the history of mankind, so forgive the delay as I’m still recovering from the sheer awesomeness of the trip. For pictoral evidence of the aforementioned sheer awesomeness of a sentence ago, see below:

Pandas only hang out with the cool kids

As I mentioned in my previous post, which seems like decades ago, Keith and Clint and Mike and I set off on our adventure with high hopes for spiciness everywhere. Sichuan, as loyal readers will remember, is my favorite province in China (not that I’ve been to that many, unless you count Guandii as a province). We started in Chongqing, not particularly because there was much to do there, but because it was cheaper to fly there and then take a bus to Chengdu versus flying to Chengdu directly. Chongqing is known for spicy hot pot and super beautiful women, and indeed while we were exploring the area close to the hotel, one of us would call out “Spicy!” every time a pretty girl passed us. However, all of us have different tastes, and being that I only find grandmothers and facial hair attractive, I didn’t scream as often as the others did.

Because Mike and I had essentially arranged this trip in the span of two hours, we didn’t really have am ambitious itinerary in Chongqing. Thus, we found ourselves at an internet cafe, where I paid a whopping 2 RMB ($0.25 USD) for Mike to get online and surf the websites to find interesting places to eat, since we were all starving. This gave me a chance to do some work-related research, as I support the i-Cafe program in my department. Before I could start, however, Clint pointed to a girl next to me who was videoconferencing with a friend of hers online. Apparently, her friend had bought a new wardrobe and was modeling the clothes in her bedroom via the web cam. After about 20 minutes of seeing if she would get naked, Mike had finished his research and we left the dank and dingy confines, happy that we had found a place to eat.

Things didn’t look too good when we were stuck here looking for things to do

And where would that place be, you ask? Try KFC, where, after traversing a few blocks of extremely local terrain and being ignored by about 30 cab drivers, we found ourselves standing in front of the Chongqing Carrefour. At that point, the KFC sign beckoned to us like the toothless grandma I had tried to hit on four hours prior, so we cavorted in and ordered a bucket. As if snacking on wings and corn under the watchful eyes of Colonel Sanders in Chongqing was not surreal enough, Tom Jones suddenly blasted from the speakers above. At that point, we probably could have found a more “Chinese” experience watching a rodeo in Texas.

Eventually, we gave up on looking for local attractions, as we had had our fill from simply being lost in the streets of local Chongqing. Clint and Keith decided they wanted to show their supple bodies to the adoring throngs by the pool at the JW Marriott, so after chicken we went into the Carrefour to shop for swimming trunks of all things. I’ve been known to float in extremely salty water; other than that, I try to stay away from the water these days until I can exhibit a six pack (at the rate I’m going, I’ll need a time machine and go back to when I was 4 to actually see any abdominal muscles whatsoever). Clint and Keith, being skinny and fatless as they are, had a great time trying different bathing suits on each other.

Clint was making all the ladies wet…their pants in laughter

When evening rolled around, we decided to try out the famous Chongqing hotpot. Given that 4 out of every 4 restaurants in the city are hot pot places, we figured we would have much better luck than we did in the afternoon. After sauntering around the shopping district, we headed to the food street and were eventually lured into the restaurant by the properietor standing outside, who claimed that hers was the most famous hot pot restaurant in Chongqing, and being savvy and experienced China travelers, we believed her and stepped in.

Indeed, it turned out to be some of the most delicious hot pot we’ve ever had, despite the threatening look of the pot when it was first placed on the table. For those of unfamiliar with spicy hot pot, imagine a boiling vat of red hot oil. Then, imagine sticking pieces of raw meat and entrails into it and letting it cook. Then, imagine that I’m the 10 year old niece of a shepherd in the Swiss alps back in the late 19th century, picking berries and churning butter four times a week in my adorable little pigtails. If you’ve done all that, then you’ve just visualized my deepest, darkest fantasies.

After going through about eight cartons of napkins as we dripped sweat from our foreheads, we finally sat back and beamed at our accomplishment; we had stared the hot pot beast in the eye, and slayed it with thine own greasy hands. And then, *poof!* Our elation was wiped out when the waitress walked over and said: “Next time, you should try the medium spicy hot pot instead of the non-spicy one we gave you!” We had been riding training wheels this whole time.

Frightening at first, the spicy hot pot slowly turned into a friend

Our one night in Chongqing turned out to be a satisfying set-up for the rest of our adventure. The next day, as we bid adieu to the huge alien statue in front of our hotel (I guess the citizens of Chongqing have a deep admiration for the X-Files) and climbed on to the bus toward Chengdu, Mike and I looked at each other knowingly.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
He nodded back at me, “Yup, you’re thinking we should definitely come back here?”
I shook my head. “Nah man, I’m thinking I should have dropped the kids off at the pool back at the hotel over there. It’s a long bus ride, after all.”

And indeed, I should have.

*to be continued*

Chongqing, famous for bizarre public monuments