2012 Transitions

 

'Twas a year with great change, now we're in our new place,

Old home's sale to arrange, all our things boxed in space.

Our whole life took a turn, years of things, all gone past,

Lots of new things to learn, and each day goes by fast.

Rugged mountains at peace, like strong gymnasts with grace,

Hard reserves soft as fleece, light and clouds skim their face.

So much there to explore, weekly treks unsurpassed,

What's tonight got in store?  Purple sunsets don't last.

Hot tub stars sail on by, make our slopes seem so young,

Nightly smile from our high, catch some flakes on your tongue.

Very cold on our cheeks, yet our muscles relax,

Neither one of us speaks, deep slow breaths to the max.

 

The commute every day with the mountains, each side,

Watch for moose on the way, steer downhill, brakes applied.

Karen drives past the U, the VA on her left,

Inspirational too, research ops, not bereft.

Every day, something new, with top minds it's a breeze,

Each doc asks for her view, which she offers with ease.

Afternoon up the hill, back to mountain delights,

Never reaching her fill, tackling new and great heights.

Alpine lakes are close by, Crystal Lake favored most,

We take cheese and some wine, raise our plastic to toast,

Private lake with some deer, at most forty acres,

Forty minutes from here, yet we, its sole takers.

At ten thousand feet high, a short hike to its shore,

Lake trout really do fly, above the ice they explore.

  

Right now the thunder rolls, no storm around, just snow,

It's avalanche controls, each boom shakes glass just so.

Can't see the tops of slopes, new clouds appear like foam,

We skiers build our hopes, five minutes from our home.

It's time to use our pass, to ski each day we can,

Ignore your shaking mass, the thunder booms again.
 

Summer, one day's tally, we did at least four parks,

Saw sun rise in the valley, some pre-historic sharks,

Rivers snaking, cutting, through a thousand feet of stone,

Climbing, hiking, drinking, watching sun descend alone.

Silly Sundays our routine, outdoor concerts on most nights,

Sundance Films must be seen, miles of trails, all at heights,

Farmers markets and the arts, town parades, all come out,

Old hippies with some money, how did this come about?

Most bring munchies, cheese, and wine, to the city park to share,

Mellow afternoon, divine, no mosquitoes, not a care,

Perfect temp and sun is out, air is thin, but that's okay,

Main Street pubs, without a doubt, each unique and worth a stay.
 

Jamie at Egyptian, summer camps as teacher's aide,

Continues on the stage, but more back than front, and paid.

Then Alex sold our old place, back in Tulsa she did stay,

Fresh flowers just in case, and then she sold it in a day.

Drove Dad through Arizona to our Utah home up high,

Defined our new persona as we hiked up to the sky.

Then off to school again so she could learn her carnal craft,

PT adrenaline, and with friends, a shot, or draft.
 

Of course our biggest dreams (and most came true this year),

Patrick with Amanda beams, their lives as one, sincere.

The Kennas join the Gribbins for a journey convoluted,

We lifted up our glasses, toasted with Swarovsky fluted.

Amanda planned her party, added Oklahoma weather,

The food and drink were hearty, nice words were said together.

Couldn't help but recall when, my wife and I just started,

All the other smiles back then, of many faces, since departed,

So much love we share together, and to see it in one place,

Reminds me we're all tethered, in a happy kind of space.

Facetimed, we share our smiles, it helps the longing ease,

Helps us ignore the miles, we can visit when we please.

Do enjoy each time we hug, feel each breath, please make it last,

Electric love, life's drug, when it sparks, it goes too fast.

I love you all, I've said it.  Just in case you did not know.

The clouds return.  I edit.  To the mountaintop I go.

It's Valentine's Day. Again. (Think Bill Murray in Groundhog's Day.)

Everybody knows that time goes by way too fast. The shockingly depressing thing is that, even if you enjoy every possible minute of it, it still goes by too quickly. Even if you're able to cut back on your work hours and enjoy every instant of whatever it is that truly inspires you, it all just ends too soon.

And memories of all those good times eventually all blend together.

So, unless you want to create a poster board wall calendar and record every day's events (which I did for ten years), or write in your journal or blog (also important but very time consuming), you'd better force yourself to photograph every day of your life. Take stills and video. Organize them by year, and then by some other descriptive category. Make back-ups on new media as it's developed. Most importantly, remember that the mundane is just as important as the births, weddings, reunions, and parties.

One of my favorite videos is now a twenty year old clip of a typical day in the life of my daughter. I simply followed her inside of and around our house while she explored and played with anything and everything. Know that a fifteen minute interview and visual history of a two year old will encompass more than you can imagine after she's grown, you've moved away from your first house, or when you discover that things have irrevocably changed.

I feel a poem coming on.

"Brefkissed"

Our daughter's name for our morning meal,

And for which her parents never corrected her.

Classmates not amused by her creativity did.

It doesn't last long enough.

The benign lisp came, then was gone.

Big brown eyes and very blonde hair, they're

No longer wearing out knees in their jeans.

Shin guards and thin leos proof of sports long outgrown.

Carpet and other stains evidence of advice ignored,

Left as proud trophies of growth and independence.

Our house a collection of stuffed dreams and toys, waiting.

Drawers and closets of memories.

Every coat, every outfit with a story, or two.

Take our bag of donations now, before I change my mind.

No longer a reason to save the old land phone number,

The caller who recalled its odd cadence now gone.

Others will speed dial or refer to a list.

I hear the wind, and the ticking of the clock.

Bird songs reassuring in their daily appearance.

All else changes.

Looking forward to another spring with my love,

With whom I'm about half way through our journey.

No longer is our time or path well scripted.

Our kids are nearly to the point where

Their own paths will be chosen and

Their own stories will be told.

"Talk me in" to my bed one last time,

Better yet, let me tuck you in next to me

So that we can create our next chapter.

Holiday Wishes 2009

From Family Group Shots

It’s been quite a while since I’ve sat with my pen,

And marked down how I’ve felt of the year once again,

All that makes me both happy and sad through the year.

Prefer good times much more, and treat sad with some beer.

Wondered what I would name my next book1 at the mall,

Chose to limit my writing to friends like you all.

And apologize fully for years I have dwelt,

On fixing those things in my life I’d been dealt.2

Collected all parts of my heart, proved its heft,

Must remind good old Dave of light years he has left.

And it’s light I have found, with my camera and eye,

Captured beauty and moments too fine to let fly,

Many more I have missed or misplaced on a drive3,

All told they are proof we were all once alive.

My words work well too, hence my annual note4,

“Remember old Grandpa? Lookie here what he wrote ”

Glad my heart is still pumping, had some odd rhythm once,

Started the year with shaved chest, suppose some day, some shunts.

Must remember that friends matter more than my frets,

My sweet girls5, and my wife6, heaven’s sake, no regrets.

The talent they show really raises the bar.

Each adds so much flavor to my great life thus far.

Our calendar7 proof of what fills me with smiles,

Twelve shrinking months from my eye and its files.

Great scenes which move me from now ‘til I’m old,

From the thousands of scenes I have captured, some sold8.

Many scenes could I write a thousand words more,

And my blog9 a new outlet, hope it’s there not to bore.

Its visual tale of our China explore,

And to showcase some photos which I simply adore.

Like the sites I have made over last decade past,

To both help out some good folks and show work I’ve amassed.

And the good folks at Google like to give me two cents,

Every time you click on my links. Hint: So commence.

Force yourself to reflect on the year that you’ve had,

Take a breath and think back on the things made you glad.

They might come again. Or might not. No one knows,

Guess that’s the whole point of my holiday prose.

All I know is I’m glad of the friends I have now,

There are things we could do if but Time would allow.

There are things about Age I don’t yet understand,

Will it be aches or my knee which change all I have planned?

Or demands which I feel as the lone patriarch,

In my estrogen filled house and there’s me in the dark.

Guess that’s why we love Star Trek in all of its glory,

Now in past, present, future, each a great little story,

It’s a tale of great hope, like I still have for mankind,

Deals with travel in time and with folks much less blind,

Seems their daily decisions take a longer term view,

And the light bulbs go off as they think the thing through.

Wish the life we’ve accepted and watch daily on news,

Were as thoughtful and pensive and much less likely to ooze10.

Should I out source this card so it arrives without fail,

Less dependent on schedules and when it gets in the mail?

I let Raja control the new laptop afar

Brand new out of its box, yet its burner bizarre,

I watched as my cursor moved all by itself.

New meaning to Santa and his need for an elf

Since this Dell was intended for use Christmas Day.

The returns lady said, “Absolutely no way.

Not a one left in town, and it cannot be shipped

In time for a present as this one is equipped.”

So I plugged it back in and tried all of my tricks,

I downloaded drivers in an effort to fix

The computer from China and Raja just south

As he used his mouse rather than using his mouth.

It took him some time as I drank some Merlot,

By the time he was done, it was fit for a bow

Very thankfully typed him that he’d made it like new,

Which of course it had been, its first worldly debut.

‘Twas the week before Christmas, and here in my house,

Was an elf from afar, and a magical mouse.

My daughter will now have a laptop that works,

CD-ROM spinning blithely and now free of quirks.

Back to my dilemma, brought on by remorse

To send you late wishes or simply out source.

Please accept that I’m late as you have oft before,

Remember the season, your passions and yore.

And click on my websites like Rudolf’s tan hoofs,

Click away, click away like his buddies on roofs.

Look around and sigh deeply each time you feel good,

Wave into the camera, show some teeth as you should,

Wide eyes and act pleased to be present again,

Since not one crystal ball can answer us when.

Footnotes

1 Titles briefly under consideration were Going Rogue (noun: a deceitful and unreliable scoundrel; one who is playfully mischievous), Waxing Rapscallion (same def), or Viscerally Yours (obtained through intuition rather than from reasoning or observation)

2 Sister (2005); dad and aunt (2006); mom, good friend, and worthless brother (2007); Ohio limited partnership and faithful dog (2008); several lawsuits as yet unresolved

3 Most recent external hard drive (1.5Tb=1,500Gb=several million times more storage than the hard drive on the second computer I bought after finishing college. The first didn’t have one.)

4 Annual holiday poems date from the last century, circa 1990. How compulsive and weird is that?

5 Amanda returned from Portland in March. Worked teaching at Holland Hall during spring, at Riverwalk restaurants during summer, and now again at Holland Hall teaching preschoolers while working on her Masters in Social Work at OU here in Tulsa. Alex enjoyed spring semester in Beijing (and in various other parts of China) and then July and frequent visits at home while not at DePauw in Greencastle, Indiana completing her senior year. Jamie is now in eighth grade and a teenage actress and talented liaison.

6 Karen completed her first year as Chief of Staff without incident. Well, almost, if you don’t include some bold changes in personnel. The remaining physicians praise her as being the best boss they’ve ever had. They had better. If Jamie’s schedule were less busy, Dave would accompany Karen more often when she graced the scenic locales of Houston, Dallas, Biloxi, Jackson, Nashville, New Orleans, Orlando, Washington DC, Las Vegas, San Jose, Seattle, Minneapolis, Cincinnati, or Chicago. Actually did break away to visit Chicago for several very good reasons (see March photo).

7 Available in most fine stores. See footnote 11.

8 Calendar cover art and September photo document a successful surprise party, a celebration of Karen's 50th birthday, during corporate night of Oktoberfest. Poor kid never saw it coming. Cap it off with a week spent in Barbados and the realization that more than half your life is behind you doesn't hurt quite as much.

8a Family photo at the top of the post is missing Chris and Wade only because, although difficult, everybody else showed common sense and adhered to the old saying, "Don't bring Grandma and Grandpa from the nursing home intoTulsa's first ever Christmas Eve blizzard."

9 http://davegribbin.blogspot.com/

10 Going Rogue

11 Gullibility test complete if you believe 7 or are still looking for 8 or 8a.

12 Mustn’t forget: Have Fun, Be Happy, Make a Difference®

©2009 Dave Gribbin

6/1 Good bye Beijing

I paid our small initial bar tab using Monopoly money, so technically I guess there's no record that we'd ever been to the Beijing Doubletree, except that they had our passport numbers. So did half of Beijing, by this point. Karen and I leisurely left the hotel at 6 am, the minimal traffic allowing our taxi to get us to the airport within about 45 minutes, a couple of hours before our scheduled departure. Security was routine, since we'd decided to check our two bags along with Alex's large suitcase of winter clothes (and some special gift items, which I was still concerned might cause interference with the jet's electronic equipment or, just as bad, cause a fire), making our only carry-ons our trusty backpacks. Four hours to Tokyo, and then six more sitting around the Tokyo airport. The 12 hour flight had been delayed for an extra hour due to "mechanical problems," since no air traveler would argue that it would make sense to ignore a warning light before take off. [We could just as easily have had an tragic experience near the Arctic Circle as apparently happened to an Air France jumbo jet in the Atlantic at about the same time as our flight.] The delay caused us to miss our connection in Detroit, but Northwest used surprising aptitude and rerouted us on a couple of other planes to get us (and our luggage) back to Tulsa before midnight. Again, I could have just said we left Monday morning and got in Monday evening. There can be such a distortion of truth in brevity.

Oh, and 300 or so more photos (many in high resolution) are available by going to my site, www.davegribbin.com and choosing "Galleries" and then "China" (or try the following quick link):

http://theatrearts.smugmug.com/gallery/8280957_bCTNK#556881408_kmHTp

Alex plans to upload all the fun cooking school photos for the benefit of our fellow students under "China Cooking" (hopefully soon). Just ignore the multiple hoses fanning out from the propane tanks.

I've tried to recount our adventure as clearly and completely as possible, and have not made anything up. I don't know if we left as good an impression on the hundreds of people we met in China as they did upon us, but I like to think we did. So I think we accomplished our mission to have fun, be happy, and make a difference. And everybody knows now what I think of the food.

5/31 Forbidden City all to ourselves

Although the Beijing sun rose at about 4:30, and it was fairly light at 6, we decided to sleep in a bit longer. It turned out we overslept until about 8, so we got a late start to go to Tsinghua University. The first cab driver declined to take us and we never could guess at the reason. It took a few moments to find a driver who agreed to take us. The traffic was awful, since many people had been expected to work on Sunday because, after all, they had all had a three day vacation for the Dragon Boat festival (which I discovered was an official holiday tradition for all of only two years). It was indeed celebrated more vigorously down south where we had been a few days earlier. The fare was high (Y61), since the written Chinese characters I'd given the driver for directions sent us to the wrong gate, again, and I called Alex and had her talk with the nice driver, who told me "That's cool" in English. Not being able to use simple phrases in the local language like "Sorry about that" or "Excuse me" or "How's it going" or "Where can I wash my hands" makes a person feel impotent.

We felt like we'd met the days expectations of us after checking in at the foreign student dorm's front desk and showing our passports (our passports had never been through such a rigorous two weeks as they did while we were in China). Alex was video conferencing with Jamie as we walked into her Apartment 644. It was Jamie's Saturday night at about 9 pm, and she was telling us about how she was handling being alone just fine until Amanda would be off work and home at about 2 am. I did a few quick things on e-mail and we grabbed a cab for the Olympic Park near the National Stadium (the Bird's Nest Stadium). The driver took us to the northernmost park entrance, which rarely was used by anybody, since the subway only ran to the southern entrance to the park. We were fine, because we'd hoped to be able to walk through the entire park, which only nine months after the Olympics was already beginning to be reclaimed by nature. It was very empty, something which could be rarely said about anything within Beijing's city limits. We explored a large deck overlooking a chain of interconnected ponds. As you'd expect to find in any part of the world, the koi heard us coming and all congregated near us in the hopes that we'd toss out a snack or two. A token older woman was performing tai chi in the shade behind us, and continued her ritual by the water's edge without word. It was wonderfully peaceful. As we walked southward, we did begin to see more people, mostly locals, who'd come to appreciate the varied flowering shrubs and trees. Several electric vehicles shuttled small groups from here to there, but the most memorable pair was a grandpa and his grandson strolling along with a fishing pole. He was singing a folksong in his most beautiful, loving voice as they walked over a bridge together, oblivious to the "foreign devils" watching them. I wish I'd pulled out the camera, but as had happened in so many other instances during our trip, I didn't want to intrude on something without a better understanding of its importance to my subjects. I've lost some great shots because of this sensitivity, but I feel good knowing why they went uncaptured.

After a bit of confusion (silly us, believing the park signage directing us to the south exit might be accurate), we successfully made our way past the much more grand southern entrance and the vendors (absent at the north gate) and after a few photos with the Bird's Nest Stadium as backdrop, entered the subway, still sparkling from its Olympic debut. We boarded our private car and I photographed through the open doors in each direction to the other sparsely occupied cars. In all, there may have been a dozen people on the 12:30 departure on Line 8 heading south. As Alex had warned us, that didn't last but a few stops, and by the time we'd transferred to two different lines, we'd been standing like sardines with the other thousands of early afternoon commuters. Alex wanted us to experience one of her favorite lunch places, even though it meant that we'd have to buy a few more subway tickets afterward to continue on, but we felt we could afford the additional 2 yuan. The featured treat was the "dessert" of purple rice stuffed into a hollowed out pineapple which capped off another of our very good stir fry meals. We never identified the intermittent mystery sound, which could have simply been the main burner from the kitchen stoves, but sounded more like a fire breathing dragon at an amusement park. Back on the subway, we rode to the Forbidden City / Tiananmen Square exit and started another marathon walk.

Alex amusingly kept track of each category of vendor as we were approached, again having reminded me specifically not to make eye contact or acknowledge them in any fashion. She walked with purpose past the menagerie to the innermost ticket booth, where we bought three tickets to enter the Forbidden City. We made for the national pottery collection, which was spectacular (the fact that it was air conditioned was an added bonus). I'd never seen as many six thousand year old vases and vessels which looked to be in such good shape. We lost track of time, and suddenly were faced with the fact that all would be closing in about 40 minutes. So we continued deeper and deeper into the realm of royalty, noting as we progressed the ubiquitous appearance of substantial thresholds, just like those we'd seen at every other archeological site in China. It seems the ancient Chinese didn't want to admit anybody who couldn't step over and clear an 8" wooden beam. Again, we felt eerily alone, for unlike even Alex's prior experience there, there were very few people within the Forbidden City (and later at Tiananmen Square, except for military sorts and a bunch of people who were likely plain clothes security people). The Forbidden City was virtually empty, with the exception of a couple of small tourist groups and a few stragglers like ourselves. [It reminded me of how Ghirardelli Square felt in March, 2003. We found very few people while on a visit there too. Turns out 450 Iraq war protestors had been arrested a couple of days earlier, so things had become very quiet in San Francisco. With the 20th anniversary of the uprising at Tiananmen on June 4, and recent media control and police supervision of the plaza by Chinese authorities, the explanation for how few people were there on May 31 might be self-evident.] We took photos as if we were private guests and didn't try to explain our good fortune. I'm hesitant to post the photos with my typical honest captions until Alex arrives home at the end of June.

Speaking of good fortune, did I mention how many lanes of traffic (4 of cars and 3 of buses and taxis) in each direction separated the Forbidden City and Tiananmen? [This was the fourteen lane street where the famous "tank man" stood to block passage of the army tanks.] Fortunately, there were pedestrian subways so that nobody had to cross the street, though pedestrian/vehicle challenges seemed to work safely everywhere else in China. We called Steven and needed to find a bus in order to meet up with him. After I noticed a dozen painted aisles on the sidewalk with (apparently) bus numbers for each lane, I suggested to Alex that we ask one of the many microphoned bus announcers standing at attention how we might best achieve our destination. She was very helpful, and before we could find the correct number on the sidewalk, we saw Bus 81 pulling in front of the many other buses curbside. We made a frantic dash to jump on, and conveniently I had a Y1 note for each of us. We stood all the way and luckily noticed that we'd reached our cross street, so we jumped off. Many of the conspicuous, large green and white street signs in this part of Beijing which Westerners might assume give you the cross street instead feature a vertical arrow which then indicates what street you are already traveling on. Upon reflection, it was a useful device for those of us who weren't sure if we were indeed traveling north or east. The signs for the cross streets were less noticeable, but I credit Alex for preventing us from taking the bus back to the Great Wall.

Alex wanted to walk along the north boundary of the Forbidden City in order to show us the moat which originally surrounded the entire complex (but was no longer visible from the main entrance). I couldn't help but imagine the multiple lines of defense which would have made a successful attack throughout most of history all but impossible. I pictured archers with powerful crossbows on top of the walls within the moat, and was fairly confident that few people had been crazy enough to even try to scale the smooth sides after a midnight swim. A couple of rickshaw drivers with broken, but decent, English tried very hard to convince us to hire them, but I remembered one of the few phrases Alex taught me and said "gwong y gwong" which elicited a laugh and him saying "Just want to stroll, huh?"

That was exactly what we wanted, so they let us pass. Near the midway point of the northern border we crossed the street, heading north again, up yet another street to the entrance to a great park where we met Steven, who had just ridden his bicycle from work. We entered the very popular park and were greeted first by a display of miniature Gingko trees, done bonsai style, in various shaped planters. As we gwong y gwonged, we passed a number of musicians, some sitting alone playing stringed instruments (the Chinese erhu) and others just singing away a capella. Three older men had their own karaoke set up and were leading a group of seventy or so older park guests in a patriotic song in memory of fallen soldiers, according to Steven. It was an example of another of the countless things that you just don't see any more in the US, except in old musicals starring Bob Hope or Bing Crosby. These people all had soft, melodic voices, which together had some volume, but not a one had the distinctive growl of Beijing Mandarin. We were a little discouraged that Steven wanted us to yet again climb more stairs to ascend to the top of the temple, from which all of Beijing could be seen. Apparently, when the moat around the Forbidden City was built, all the dirt was piled on top of an old Mongol conqueror’s tomb, thus creating this wonderful hill and another opportunity for future tourists to climb steps. It was another one of Alex and Steven's recommendations which was top notch. We got to see the sunset on an atypically clear day over the capital city, and got a bird's eye view to the south over the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square.

We trekked back down, swearing once again that we would not climb any more tombs, walls, temples, or towers on this trip, and passed five older folks kicking a hackey sack badminton birdie back and forth as gracefully as dancers. They'd laugh at the person who infrequently missed the return or kicked it poorly. It was again very peaceful, and helped me to understand how this culture could make such a big deal about drinking some hot tea.

We found Steven's bicycle locked among countless others, and after kindly refusing more post cards and books (of which we never bought any), we walked towards the most anticipated dinner of our entire visit at the Hot Pot Restaurant which has a more formal name I can't recall. Lots of red and gold and wood and copper, and an entourage of Chinese businessmen entertaining a treasured guest donning a white suit, white shoes, and white beard, all of whom passed us on their way into the separate and very private dining room, right out of a Humphrey Bogart and Peter Lorre black and white film. The four of us each had what seemed to be our own personal waitress, each with a plastic embossed name tag with Chinese characters and then the English "No" and her number. [I'd grown to like the Anglicized names like "Sophie" or "Nancy" or "Wendy" or "Annabel" or "Jerry" which most of the service folk we'd met had adopted, and was a little offended that I'd have to ask Number 619 to again fill my tiny glass with beer from the bottle sitting right next to me or scoop fat from my individual copper bundt pot of boiling water which I'd been parboiling various offerings of meat, vegetables, fungi, and tofu.] But I still smiled at each of them, No one and all, since they too seemed so pleased to be doing their duties and attentive to our every need or desire. The crazy thing was that tips are not expected, nor does anyone seem to give them. The service comes because it's expected as part of the job. And they really seem eager to do their jobs well. I still can't answer if it's because of the culture, or because they know that there are probably ten more Chinese who would love to have their jobs if they don't do it well. But it was a good meal, and like all others we ate with Steven, we never left hungry. Steven insisted on picking up the tab, and after some hesitation, we graciously accepted. Turned out to be the one time in history that he underestimated the tab, but he refused to accept anything from us. So I like to think that I took care of the tip.

Steven also presented us with a wonderful parting memento, Natural China, a book of beautiful nature photography published by his own Nature Conservancy, to remember our time with him and with Alex. I'd often wondered, watching Steven and Alex walking on ahead of us during various times around Beijing, how things work---that Steven and Alex end up, if only for a brief period, on the other side of our planet to create memories together, in much the same way that Amanda's and Bryan's lives overlapped for a time in Portland. It made me wonder what coincidences might be held in our future and thankful for those that we'd already enjoyed. And I thought of how I'd been able to witness all of it so far, and realized that I needed to write about it as well as photograph it in an attempt to really get as much flavor out of it as possible. So I guess that's my excuse for writing so much about things which other people could probably have said more concisely. [Ironically, my journal of our trip to China might be the one time where I could have simply and appropriately said, "The food is good."]

Parting with Steven was easy because he looked so happy. He had matured into a really neat guy and one with whom I was very proud to have shared our lives. Plus, I knew he'd be visited in a few months by Bryan's family as well as his mom and Tom, and that we'd see him again over Christmas back in Tulsa. Parting with Alex was much more difficult, even though I knew we'd see her in just a few weeks. She came back to the Doubletree to see our room and to spend a little more time together, but both she and Karen started to get really tired really quickly. I walked Alex down to her taxi, a bit of small talk to delay saying the important things we really wanted to say, and then just as her tears had welled up, I was able to croak out how much I really loved her, which is easier to print on a Valentine's coffee cup than it is to say as you're motioning to a Chinese taxi driver to take away one of the most important gifts of your life. I knew it was futile, but I still assessed the cabbie and memorized his license number as she quickly climbed into the front seat and headed off into the darkness. But I also knew that if she could handle Beijing, she can handle anything which life might throw at her. It made the trip back to 1539 more manageable, and I felt good.

Depart Beijing

5/30 The Simatai section of the Great Wall is worth the risk

Alex was on Skype with a friend and kind of forgot that she said she'd come back to the hotel at 9 am. At 9:30, I called and learned that she hadn't yet left the campus. When she finally arrived, we met her downstairs, and less than five minutes later Steven appeared. We lounged a few minutes in the comfort of some high backed couches, and then set off in search of breakfast. It was a bit of a hunt, since the hotel was in a southwest part of Beijing not known for a plethora of restaurants. But Steven is very resourceful and found us an unmarked eatery. Since it was now closer to lunch time, and since he and I agreed that every Chinese meal goes better with beer, we called it lunch and ordered a whole lot of food and some beer. We struggled to find a driver willing to take the afternoon to take us to a remote section of the Great Wall, but as I said, Steven is resourceful. We negotiated the drive there (which we estimated as two hours), a couple of hours wait, and the return for an agreed upon price of Y650, more than we'd hoped but far less than most drivers were asking. The weather was in the mid-seventies and mostly sunny, and most importantly, the air was very clear. Our driver was friendly enough, made so by Steven sitting in the front seat visiting fluently with him. The trip up to the mountains was so restful and I felt like I'd become accustomed to seeing Chinese life, so I actually dozed off several times. Then I realized how irritated our driver had become because the area Steven had bargained for turned out to be a lot farther than the driver imagined. Steven was translating some of the comments made by the driver, and it was not sounding as hopeful as it had when we'd started out. We turned into an entrance and the driver called over to a guy standing in the middle of the road to come over. We determined that this was the road to one area of the Great Wall, and since the next entrance was 20km farther north, this would be the one we were taking, in spite of the fact that Steven wasn't altogether convinced that this was the one we had heard was so great. Nonetheless, as we approached, we saw hints that the portion of the wall to which we were headed was situated along some fairly majestic peaks. The dry, clear blue skies contrasted sharply with the mountains which, if they hadn't been so green, could have been an area northeast of Scottsdale. Of course, instead of pueblos were hutongs on the road leading up to the mountains. The driver let us off and agreed to be there when we came back, which we'd said would be around four o'clock. He'd demanded a rather substantial deposit, which Steven wisely cut in half after exchanging phone numbers.

We decided to take the lift up the mountain, so we bought one way tickets in addition to paying the entrance fees. Each car of the lift carried two people, so Karen and I jumped in first and Alex and Steven brought up the rear. There were not many people. In fact, as we were to soon discover, we'd come to a part of the Great Wall on a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon which featured more vendors than there were tourists. We couldn't believe our good fortune (except that each tourist became more highly sought by each vendor) as we climbed higher and higher toward the crest of the mountains. Unfortunately, the lift ended well before we'd reached the top, and we climbed an additional couple of thousand feet to reach the wall, being trailed by one mysterious vendor who shadowed us stair by stair for a majority of the climb. He’d stop and wait every time we stopped to catch our breath. Even having grown accustomed to Chinese sense of space, this began to grow on all our nerves. It became worse as he continued to follow us, lock step, as we explored many segments of the Great Wall. And I became frustrated at the fact that my ability to tell him how I felt was limited to hello, thank you, and the food is good. But just before I had decided to risk life and limb and push him over the wall into a Mongolian abyss, Steven talked with the man's wife, who had also joined us by this time and was trying to sell us the kinds of books, postcards, and other valuable commodities for which we'd purposefully traveled seven thousand miles and climbed seven thousand steps. He explained that we really were not in the market for anything except maybe a really cold beverage, of which there were none, so that the man's time would be better spent pestering the Europeans farther up the wall (which had been the solution which I'd suggested to Alex, that if any vendor approached me asking if I wanted a whatever, that I'd respond with a "No" but then point to a distant stranger and say something like "but Rolf, there, he's looking for a good tour guide" and then walk away). And it worked brilliantly. The guy finally left and we got to enjoy a desolate stretch of the Great Wall of China. Although, "enjoy" might be at times a euphemism for "almost die on" or "nearly fell to my death" on. We'd experienced steep risers and narrow steps throughout China, but now it was possible to fall to your death within a few steps to the right, to the left, and straight ahead of you. To make it even more exciting, a gale force wind from right to left greeted us as we emerged from every guard house, many of which looked like they'd been successfully battered by those same winds for centuries, and some were in such bad shape that we were forced to detour around them on a narrow path.

There were no other tourists here for a reason, it seemed. My knees and legs already ached, and I knew Karen felt the same. Unfortunately, I think even Alex and Steven were showing signs of fatigue (which reinforced the fact that we were pushing our aged bodies to their limit), and we weren't even sure as we walked for what seemed like miles down the wall that we wouldn't reach the separation between cliffs (where there was now a narrow rope bridge that I sure as hell was not going to traverse) and have to turn around and then climb all the way back up to where we'd started in order to then get back down to where the lift had dropped us. On the one hand, it was magnificent. On the other, I was wondering how many sets of tourist bones were scattered along those mountains which had gone unrecovered. [We later learned that a friend of Steven's had camped along the wall not far from here and had her entire bag, cell phone, passport, gear and all, blow off the wall and vanish, unrecoverable, far far below. Forever.] To add a relatively minor stress, it was 4:15 and we were still near the apex of the journey. But did that stop us from some fun photos? Heck no! We were still commenting on Steven's recent stellar performance at the Expat Show in Beijing, and asked him for some pointers on posing as a Chinese opera star (which he and a buddy had performed for two days to the delight of thousands of Chinese attendees---they were the hit of the show---see http://www.vimeo.com/4850005 and give it a moment to load). So we have various combinations of opera poses (and Dave as a Mongol warrior, though I think I look more Manchurian) on top of the Great Wall. No photo compared to Steven's opera debut, but we attributed that to the fact that they'd paid a guy 800 yuan to spend two days covering them with make-up in full authentic Chinese costumes (which Steven complained were not at all comfortable for a person of his height).

We eliminated any more photo shoots and purposefully forced ourselves to make better time going down. We estimated that if we were lucky, we'd get back to the drop off area at about 5 pm, and that the taxi driver might still be there, and if not, we might be able to find others to get us at least part of the way back. We marched. We stepped. Our calves and feet were burning, since the steps became so steep at times that the Chinese authorities actually installed the one and only safety device I'd seen on our entire trip to China, a steep steel ladder with handrails. Our spirits lifted after we confirmed that we were indeed on the correct route by talking with an English speaking pair who were climbing in the reverse direction. Our pace quickened, if only for a few steps, and then the pain returned. Poor Alex had worn flip flops, which caused us even greater concern. But we were making really good time and finally arrived at a side path which had just recently been completed and was populated by, you guessed it, lots of local vendors. A group of college kids were keeping the drink vendors busy, so we made our getaway. A short distance later, we saw a zip line which offered to whisk us most of the way down the trail for only Y40 each, but Steven and Dave felt that we'd already pushed our luck for the day. Karen more than Alex really wanted to show that she had faith in the Chinese safety commission and didn't seem to understand that this attraction was probably run by a relative of the guy who'd followed us morosely for thirty minutes just a while earlier. So we walked on, and were relieved after we saw that takers of the zip line trip were probably taken again at the bottom, since there was no trail out for them. They probably had to pay another Y40 each for the boat ride to shuttle them out to the park exit. In the alternative, they'd still be listening to the vendors' sales pitches.

Our driver was located via Steven's cell. He was in a particularly jocular frame of mind, given that we were over an hour late for our scheduled return. It seems he'd made a particularly clever purchase of some fish, and he'd made a friend of another taxi driver, and he'd probably found some rice wine, because he was just giddy and so pleased that he'd spent a beautiful afternoon in the mountains (which is what Steven told him to expect in the first place). We started back, and as he had done on the way up the mountain, displayed his propensity to pass slower vehicles both on the left and the right. We'd grown accustomed to beginning to pass a vehicle at the same point that Westerners would feel compelled to return to one's proper lane to avoid the unfortunate and often painful head on collision. Yet we survived in spite of odds stacked against us. Karen insisted that I stop taking photos from the car, because every time I had the camera out and was ready to click the shutter, the driver would turn and stare at me or at what I was going to photograph and not look at the road ahead of us. He did so regardless of our speed or the winding road, and probably would have even done so while passing, but I couldn't bring myself to test this theory. As it was, we hit over 180 km per hour on the tollway for much of the remote parts. My already taxed brain recorded that driving in a taxi at over 110 mph without a back seatbelt was another first for our family. It also provided examples for posterity of how difficult it is to navigate between slow moving vehicles, like trucks filled with oil, bricks, or stone, when the difference in relative speeds is over 70 mph and the trucks are perilously unaware of our approach from behind. Again, we just knew that somehow it would work and that we'd survive again. After all, we'd been kind to some of the sadder vendors. Steven had purchased some berries from a hard working older woman, and during our mountain return, even convinced the cab driver to pull over for us to buy apricots and cherries from a cart family on the side of the road.

The driver took us to another of Steven's favorite haunts, a place famous for serving up great lamb soup and something like fried lamb tacos. Steven had made history during one visit for eating a full meal and topping it off with five of the fried tacos. As we finished, several of his friends came in for dinner, so we had a chance to meet Andrew (Steven's cohort performing the previous weekend at the Expat Show), Austin, and Emily (broken foot cast recently decorated by her friends). We left, and Steven led us in the darkness through several alleys. I know it sounds strange, but if you can avoid the occasional nasty sewer and diesel exhaust smells, the rest of Beijing smells of mesquite wood burning and can be rather pleasant. After a bit, we suddenly emerged near the Bell Tower that Karen and I had gone up ten days earlier, so we started to get our bearings, the only difference being that Karen and I had limited our adventure to well lit main streets during the daytime. Steven preferred the back alleys at night. We passed our former hotel, The Bamboo Garden, and revisited the blind masseurs for a relieving foot and leg massage. Since they were unusually busy for so late on Saturday, the proprietor brought us each an oak bucket lined with plastic so that we could sit out in the alley and soak our feet in hot water, steeping with what resembled a tea bag. As soon as my blind young man finished massaging an elderly handicapped woman and the proprietor kindly carried her to her wheelchair, I let him work my feet with his knuckles and knead them until I passed out from relaxation. Karen did the same. I loved the fact that he spoke a few words of English, so that I could tell him my feet felt "Beautiful" and I didn't have to tell him in Chinese that "The food is good." We returned the empty bottles of beer which Steven and I had purchased to get the deposit back, and he walked us out to the main road so that Alex could catch her taxi and we could catch ours. Alex had left her cell phone in Karen's pocket, so her textbook departure was slightly marred by her having to literally run back down the street to us screaming before we too had entered the second cab. Although tired, Steven walked to his hutong since it was relatively close.

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