Idling in Chong Qing

As I alluded to in Three Cities, One Boat Ride, we spent the last 3 days of our sojourn in Chong Qing, in a 4-star hotel. We really didn’t want to spend the money for extravagant accommodations but no others were available, seeing as National Holiday is one of the peak traveling seasons in China. Again Mask makes good with the bargaining; his government employee status earns us a hefty discount. Can’t say we were slumming at all while in Chong Qing.

Presumably Gary did his homework while planning this trip for us. He knew of Ancient Town, a part of the city not at all redone. It was in fact the original city, surrounded by a moat and protected by a winding staircase, once you cross the bridge. Everything about the houses there is small: windows barely a meter square, doorways I have to duck into, floor space that only just accommodates four people and ceilings that nearly graze the top of my head. The alleys match the houses in proportion, thus, this being one of the three yearly occasions the Chinese travel on, Ancient Town was filled to capacity.

About those stairs: we had had enough of stairs with our giant crater experience. Matter of fact, Gary was so sore I offered him some Tylenol. Most Chinese do not take such medicines; indeed he felt the medicine wasn’t helping because it only masked the pain but did not alleviate the cause of the distress. Sorry Gary, Tylenol will only help you forget your agony for a while. Your sore muscles are going to have to work themselves out.

So here we are, back on a staircase, gluttons for punishment. The castigation was well worth it: Ancient Town proved delightful. Artisan shops lined the alleyways and the walkways were filled to capacity with shiny black heads and pressing bodies. We bobbed along for a while, carried by the tide but soon grew weary of this exercise and found a tea shop to settle into.

Having met Gary at a Starbucks I was worried that he fancied that mega-eminent brand. Turns out he prefers eclectic shops and off the beaten path dens of refreshment, like I do. We sat in that tea house for quite a while, comparing pictures and telling stories. We stayed till we got hungry and then, led by our noses went to find the snack stands.

While you can find such standard fare as noodles and jiao zi anywhere, every region in China has its own food specialties. Wuhan’s is hot, dry noodle – Re Gan Mian, my favorite breakfast treat. Being located in the Sichuan Basin, Chong Qing likes spicy, crunchy food. I’m not a fan of food so spicy that all you can taste is spice and not the food itself, but I am getting used to food that has a pleasant glow to it. That is the minimally accepted standard of spicy in Chong Qing. Mask, on the other hand, is on a permanent quest for food spicy enough to make him break out in a sweat. This whole trip was a disappointment to him in that respect. Early in the trip he bought a jar of crushed peppers, and said jar made its appearance at every meal we ate. It was 1/3 empty by the time we boarded the train home. Gary sat squarely in the middle where spice was concerned. He likes things spicy enough to make him sweat, and finds it easily.

Have I told you these guys can put away some food? I think I did, in The Guys post. Mask especially. The smallest of us three, that man can chow down like an entire army of recruits and then eat again an hour later. Gary and I poked fun at him for this. Long after he and I had put down our chopsticks Mask was still eating. Each time we ribbed him he would sheepishly mutter: “I was hungry”.

So, emerging from the depths of Ancient Town it was no surprise that Mask would be the first to err off in search of food. He returned laden with skewers of succulent meat, unspicy for me. He and Gary wolfed while I nibbled. By now, deprived of my yogurt for several days, my stomach was not behaving well at all. Our breakfast, provided free by the hotel, was still sitting. I was not ready to eat again. I was ready to laugh though, and I did as Mask returned again and again with his hands dealing out meat skewers like some sort of flesh-dealing poker player.

We ate hotpot several times while in Chong Qing. Although fun, that was not the most remarkable dining adventure we had. This city, like many others in China boasts a Snack Street. Gary, in the mood for food, decided we should spend a day there, sampling indigenous foods. First a stop at the grocery store where I finally found my yogurt, and then it is off to snack street with us!

Besides spicy, deep fried would best characterize the food in this city. I am decidedly a fan of deep fried so, after my yogurt did its thing, I was ready for whatever golden treat there was to sample. Gary wanted some rice noodle soup, a dish indigenous to that region. Mask treated me to a frozen shaved mango concoction that I would gladly eat every day, or several times a day. Seeing my enjoyment, he went to buy one for himself and Gary to share.

And so we ate, and then we walked and then we ate some more and then ambled further, until Gary cried Uncle and demanded a rest. Chong Qing being a very cosmopolitan city, there were no funky little tea shops to be found, only Starbucks. That is where we parked ourselves to watch the world go by and the sun set.

In Chong Qing nobody rides a bicycle. The region being too hilly, the streets are much like those of San Francisco. Walking is the extent of physical exertion the inhabitants partake of; otherwise there is an excellent bus system and plenty of taxis. With everyone out and nobody riding bikes, we tourists found it hard to nab a taxi when confronted with locals who had all the tricks down pat. Getting back to the hotel proved a challenge on several occasions. Once or twice we rented a private car to ferry us home.

Whereas Gary loved Chong Qing and expressed a desire to live there, Mask and I didn’t care for the atmosphere. It felt like a city of nouveau riche, filled with people who were trying too hard in flaunting their fortunes. Its urban sprawl seemed disorganized and chaotic. Even those out for pleasure adopted a frenetic pace, as though there were a goal that they had to reach within a certain time.

Our second day there Sam sent me a text message asking if I was home. My new furniture had arrived; would I be there to greet it? No, I was over a thousand miles away. “Never mind” he replied. He has a key to my and to Victor’s apartment. He would let the movers in. Briefly I agonized over his having to move my unmentionables out of the old wardrobe before they move it out, but then I reasoned that everything was discreetly folded and thus would not embarrass him too terribly. Now I had something to daydream about: what would my new furniture look like? In jubilation I thought about being shut of the world’s ugliest couch for once and for all. As I didn’t particularly care for the sights of Chong Qing, I mostly turned inward those last two days except for when we went to the museum. There I plied Gary and Mask with thousands of questions regarding Chinese history, literature and culture, addressing the exhibits on hand. Marvelous how neither of them got tired of my incessant questioning! Gary even remarked that he must improve his English in order to better be able to slake my thirst for knowledge.

Our last day. We were to catch the afternoon train back to Wuhan, arriving early Saturday morning. I woke up to the chime of a text message. Wondering what the guys had to say, I rolled over and read: “Are you back yet?” from Sam. “No, I’ll return on Saturday morning” I replied. “You know you have class on Saturday, right?” Sam fired back. In a panic I leaped out of bed.

He had originally told me that Saturday’s classes were to make up for Thursday’s, and Sunday’s would cover Friday’s, missed because of the week-long holiday. At some time during National Holiday that got changed and Saturday’s classes now covered Monday’s. I have a full course load on Mondays, so now I was staring an entire day of teaching in the face, after a night on the train. I tapped “I thought you told me…” and described the course arrangement he had discussed with me prior to my engaging on this 7-day trip. “I made a mistake” he typed back, but then added: “never mind, you can make up the day”.

Being a consummate professional, I was uncomfortable with this arrangement. My teaching obligations being minimal as they are, how could I permit myself to miss so much as an hour of teaching?

Mask was holding our train tickets so over breakfast I again asked him assurance that our train would pull into Wuhan at some time reasonably prior to 8AM, when class starts. They noted the concern on my face and expressed their dismay and outrage over the situation. Regardless of outrage, I had to go teach bright the next morning. I would not be dressed or psyched up for it.

And that is how I came to spend a day teaching in blue jeans, tee-shirt and boots, having hastily changed from my flipflops while riding in the taxi back to school the next morning.