Corey's blog

I arrived in Shenzhen in the mid afternoon, navigated the city’s subway system for the border crossing, and walked my way into Hong Kong with thousands of others. As I stepped into this new country, I felt the change in attitude and openness. Simple points, like the prevalence of English and availability of Google, accelerated the adjustment. The diverse faces and unavoidable pulse in the subways welcomed me to one of the world’s great cities.

Nearly three hours after arriving in Shenzhen, I made it to street level in Hong Kong. People, signs, and skyscrapers. Hostel shopping proved this would be an expensive four days, but I’d found a bed for under $30/night. With a friend living elsewhere in town, I depended far less on the hostel than I had in previous cities. Laying my bags down, I was abruptly introduced to the reality of HK’s limited space. The four person room securely fit two bunk beds and featured no windows but was only occupied by myself and a  30-something Indian man. We had a few other guests over the following three nights, but he and his liberal use of AXE were a mainstay. There was no escape, I doubt I could have done a pushup. I hadn’t seen such tight quarters since the frat.

I finally met up with Kerry, who had only been there for two months at that point, and we headed back toward Central from Causeway Bay. The population density put a buzz through everything. There are so many people to feed, so many desires to fulfill, that every building is efficiently packed with markets, restaurants, shops, and massage parlors. A canopy of store signs lies adjacent to raised sidewalks, redirecting heavy pedestrian traffic from the congested streets. Enormous financial buildings cast a shadow on the countless 10, 15, 20 story buildings in every direction. Bamboo scaffolding signals a city on the mend, and on the rise. The energy left me craving a moment of pause but its ubiquity penetrated the city like a flood and for three days I’d just hold on.

Now in Central Hong Kong, where I was told many of the ex-Pats live and work, we grabbed a few beers at 7-11 and headed for dinner. Avoiding a proper bar saved us a few bucks but also supplied a dynamic introduction to the city. The specific area, Lan Kwai Fong (LKF), is lined with restaurants and bars, many on stone streets that hold centuries of memories. Nearly 8pm on a Wednesday, little shops were packing up while a wildly diverse mix of bankers and other foreigners overflowed onto the streets. If the amazing mix of nationalities didn’t blow me away, the procession of supercars, from Lamborghinis to Bentleys, did. No where else in the world had the story of Hong Kong, geographically within one of the world’s most mysterious, closed countries, yet open to the financial, social, and political freedoms of the West. The significance and history was palpable. Like starring at the Arc de Triumph, standing beneath Times Square, or walking within the Forbidden City, throwing back drinks in Hong Kong holds its own place on the bucket list. In a region with so much excitement, energy, and mystery, this was the epicenter.

I spent some time walking around Kowloon, the city within Hong Kong across the water from Hong Kong Island. I was on the hunt for the numerous tailors that call Kowloon home. My tourist outfit, complete with camera across my chest, attracted nearly every well-dressed Indian man searching for new customers. Fortunately, my search for a traditional women’s silk jacket removed my own emotions and after visiting two stores, it was clear they were all working with many of the same materials, particularly the silk. I upped on my personal travel game, buying a short sleeve button down to go along with the jacket for my mom. Interestingly, both tailors I talked with assured me they could complete any additional tailoring during annual trips throughout the United States. But isn’t it so much better to know the jacket was made in Hong Kong? That my new travel shirt was made during my latest travels?

The view of Hong Kong from Kowloon is inspiring. Like New York, skyscrapers extend from one end of your view to the other and it feels impossible to capture the city’s size in a single photo. These moments made me understand just how important travel can be, and how photography can’t quite substitute for experience. My best attempt at a panoramic might be able to harness the edifices onto a single shot, but that wouldn’t give proper attention to the sea of people on the streets, the busyness of the subways, or the pervasiveness of luxury that shaped my thoughts at the time.

We planned for two days of outdoor activities, beginning the following day with the Tian Tan Buddha. Hong Kong and its various islands are in such an ideal climate that it seems forests could quickly overwhelm civilization if given the chance. The Tian Tan Buddha sits on a hilltop of the island where Disneyland and the international airport are located, roughly half an hour on the subway. From there, a long gondola over the island’s rich forests connects the subway station to the monastery where the statue is located. The entire trip feels like a tourist pilgrimage, allowing the world’s visitors to escape the insanity of Hong Kong and get a taste of Buddhism’s strong influence on the region. The statue itself is gorgeous and positioned at the top of a hill, hundreds of steps above the monastery.

After snacking and avoiding a conversation about the underwhelming aspect of seeing such a beautiful landmark amongst hundreds of other tourists, and not wanting to jump back on the gondola and head home, we sought out nearby trails. The first half hour was less of a hike than a reprieve from the masses, but as the trail steepened and we passed cows and other hikers, we relaxed in acknowledgement that we’d arrived at our destination, a serious hike to the top of the island’s highest peak. Those descending gave us estimates on our remaining distance and after consistently climbing for nearly two hours, we arrived at some vistas nearly 90% of the way to the top. We chatted with some Canadians who were more properly dressed for the hike, and eyed the final stretch that would take us to the peak, more narrow and steeper than any of the ground covered thus far. The culmination of our hard work was a fable-like surprise, as swarms of mosquitos chased us away and proved that it’s the journey, not the destination, that should be appreciated.

Reeling from the expensive nights in the previous two days, we started that evening at my place in Causeway Bay and began walking toward Central, stopping at convenience stores when empty handed. This brought us directly though Wan Chai, where other western men, mostly fatter, drunker, and sorrier, flirted with working girls at bars and on the street. The industry is quasi legal in Hong Kong, and while it’s not the most organized operation, it’s clear that men and women head to Hong Kong particularly for Wan Chai. After telling one lonely Asian girl, who apparently moved there the previous week, that we were happy to chat but had no interest in her services, we watched her break down in tears at the reality of her new worth. It’s a sad state that is an unfortunate reality for so many.  

We continued on toward Central and LKF, where we picked up some of the world’s most common nighttime snack, donor kabab, and relaxed on the roof of Kerry’s apartment. So many apartments, so many people, so much action. Some open space within the city was far more relaxing than I could have imagined.

My final full day in Asia was another hike, this time along the hills of southeastern Hong Kong Island known as Dragon’s Back. The spine of these hills allows for 360 degree of forests, Tai Tam Bay, and the beautiful coast. The bay is home to dozens of yachts, mansions, and a gorgeous golf course. It’s proximity to the uber-expensive city makes it clear that the wealthy have staked their spot and it immediately brought me back to my closet of a hostel room. Each step along the trail led to better views on either side and we eventually spied Shek O, a small beach town that was now our destination. As with most of my time in Hong Kong, we were accompanied by others but as we continued on toward this beach town, farther from the city and away from the bus stops heading back, we escaped the other hikers. Shek O felt like a different world. The water was overcrowded with surfers but it’s easy to imagine locals catching morning breaks before heading into the city for work. After a quick dip, we chowed down on a mix of Asian foods at a beachside restaurant. I need to get back to Asia for the beaches.

The next morning I woke up and headed toward the airport. Amazingly, despite weeks and weeks of blog posts, I was only traveling for a month. Experiencing so many different places and people made it feel longer. Weeks spent back home have not had the excitement or change of scenery that days in Asia provided.

I arrived at night, unfortunately needing to wait until the following morning to experience the awesomeness of Guilin. Our shuttle bus moved rapidly through the rain, eventually dumping me and nearly a dozen Chinese travelers on a seemingly random street corner. I was relying on the hostel’s directions, viewed on a saved email I had received upon booking. Take the shuttle bus then catch a cab to the hostel. Show the driver the address and make sure he starts the meter. I hadn’t read clearly enough. Drivers approached and made offers as I masterfully haggled several cabs to move my fare from 25 to 20 RMB. As we took off and the driver disabled his meter, I quickly remembered the hostel’s advice and became agitated that I was the sucker, paying twice as much as the ride was worth. The lesson cost me less than $2, but was a valuable introduction to the cautiousness I would rely on during the upcoming days.

Happily back in Western China, I paid less than $20 nightly for my own room, dropped my bags and headed for a nighttime, food seeking stroll. The hostel’s attendant directed me toward the center of the city, a strip of stores located on a pedestrian walkway that would provide the only food at that late hour. As I headed there, along the nearby shore of the Li River, I eyed the faint silhouettes of the city’s hills and planned my explorations for the following morning. Not much later than 10pm, I was surprised to see the sidewalks desolate and shops closed but continued on to the techno music that bursted out from the open electronic stores. Fighting every urge to sink into some of the Colonel’s fried chicken, I meandered around the area before coming upon a cold noodle shop manned by two smiling men. The man ahead of me ordered a cup of noodles with vegetables, cold and not in a broth. As I ordered the same ‘dish’ (snack is more fitting), the man motioned with his fingers that it would cost 9 RMB. I looked to the menu. Aside from the numerical prices, it was written entirely in Chinese. Three dishes sold for 6, 8, and 10 RMB. What was I buying? My questionable look prompted the second man to clear the air, asking for 8 and prompting a giggle from the charlatan that handed me the dish. This was going to be a different experience.

I went through this same back and forth at a second noodle shop and finally made my way back to the hostel. The following morning was no less eventful. I woke to the chanting and music playing of and elementary school marching band in the school courtyard located 5 floors below my window. Before and after the school day, the nearby streets were littered with children in their school uniforms, a two piece athletic suit that I had seen elsewhere before (in different styles and colors). The music was awful, far worse than I would have expected, and made it impossible to sleep much past 8am. After the traveling and headaches from the previous day, I sought out at a nearby McDonald’s, ordered a coffee, and sat down to write. McDonald’s was loved by the Chinese but still a good bet that I could find more Westerners there than most other places in the city. Coffee isn’t ubiquitous in China as it is in the US. Many small shops don’t serve coffee so I was forced to head for established, foreign stores to get a real cup. I had convinced myself I would stick to tea during my travels, but the smell and taste of coffee brought me home and I felt compelled to escape each morning with a cup.

Guilin and its surrounding region is known for steep, nearly vertical hills and the lush forests that cover the entire area. The city lies on the Li River, a popular destination for tourists who can take several hour boat rides to view the landscape. I planned to do my city sightseeing on day 1, head down the river (and back up by bus) on day 2, and leave for Hong Kong on day 3. Halfway through the first morning, I realized I didn’t have a choice because the boats had already departed. I headed for the far side of the river, across the Liberation Bridge, to a park featuring 6 hills, all of which can be seen throughout the city. As I took note of the high level of the river, overflowing some walkways that ran beside it, the rain began. For the next two hours, I waited out an absolute downpour. Unlike many other Chinese cities, where I had trouble feeling fresh when outside and long walks meant a dry mouth, Guilin felt like the rainforest. A storm didn’t need to roll through, rain clouds could rise directly from the forests.

My weak umbrella forced me to hide below an awning, where a woman attempted to sell me tickets to the park. Her English was weak but passable. I explained my predicament with the rain, that I would need to wait before heading for the steep hills in the park, which she understood. I stood with her for the next ten minutes, trying to teach her a few English sayings that might help her business. She appreciated it and we agreed that a few hours later, if the weather cleared, I’d look to her again for those discount tickets. In the meantime, I hopped from awning to awning on this far side of the river. This space felt far more Chinese, I didn’t notice a single white person in the two hours I spent wandering the streets. Eventually, I found some shelter in a nearby market, where I was one of just a handful of customers during the middle of the day.

Early in the afternoon the rain subsided and I headed for the hills. The park features walking paths throughout and one particular hill’s peak can be seen supporting a gazebo, my new destination. Prior to the climb, I checked out the giant cave that is also an attraction in the park. Being in the caves was spectacular, the opening in the rock could fit a jumbo jet and many of the internal rooms of the cave were also huge. My only issue was the bright, cheesy colored lights that were everywhere. I’m not sure if they have to avoid white light in there but at times it felt more like a circus than nature.

As I left the caves, I found a route heading up the nearby hill, presumably leading to the gazebo I saw earlier. Within minutes of my ascent, carefully climbing the hill’s damp paths, I was alone in an intensely dense, wet rainforest. Halfway up, I noticed some movement to my left and stopped to appreciate my first wild sighting of monkeys, a complete surprise.

Both seemed to jump away from the direction I was headed but as I proceeded my mind immediately recalled brief scenes from Twelve Monkeys and how defenseless I would be against a pack of angry monkeys. I paused for nearly ten minutes, contemplating my direction and whether to scrap the gazebo plans and saunter around the rest of the park. Logic told me that these animals are not carnivores and have no interest in eating me, so I quickly skirted through the parts where they had been and pressed on.

Just minutes later, I approached the top of the hill and the stone structure I’d been seeking. Thankfully, two Chinese men about the same age as me were there, relieving any remaining anxiety. I smiled and turned toward the city and hills below. It was far larger than I’d realized, with housing visible for several miles in each direction. I had felt that the entire city was built for the amusement of tourists yet I had interacted with such a small fraction of the population. Sometimes it takes the right vantage point to truly put one’s insignificance into perspective.

Quickly, several monkeys came over the hill and joined us on top.

The two men soon departed while another arrived, as interested in the monkeys as myself and great at interacting through whistles and noises. An entire clan seemed to pass directly over the top of hill. Babies held on to their mother’s chest, toddlers happily played with one another, and the large seniors led the group forward.

Of course, to keep with the Chinese theme of the trip, a twenty something Chinese couple joined us at the hill’s peak. They were dressed less functional and more stylish than the other gentleman and myself, from their graphic tees to the unnecessary sunglasses atop their heads. The proximity and sheer count of the monkeys gave each a pause, particularly the girl who almost jumped out of her shoes and had trouble keeping quiet while I did my best to shut her up. Quickly, she seemed to get the point and took out her iPhone, for what I suspected would be some photographs and videos. With a tap of a finger, the phone emanated a high pitched monkey sound. Obviously, this was seen as a threat to the group and two of the closest mature monkeys quickly ran at the railing and began to hiss at the girl. Completely shocked at her foolishness, I turned and angrily told the girl to turn off her phone, prompting surprise on the faces of the monkeys who seemed to have found an ally. She dropped the phone, giggled, and jumped back. The two monkeys settled down, likely relieved that I was equally as enraged, and the girl eventually picked up her phone and turned it off. I couldn’t believe her stupidity, but more so I was surprised how much my own reaction led to a change in the state of the monkeys, who looked straight into my eyes with curiosity when I got upset.

I headed down the hill, knowing I had seen the best that park had to offer. I spent the rest of the day wandering around the streets, checking out some of the city’s stores and malls, and generally enjoying being a fly on the wall in my final stop in China. I arranged my trip down the Li River the following day, opting for the ‘Deluxe Boat’, which would include an English translation of the information and, far more important, a top deck where I could get an uninterrupted view of the landscape.

The next morning, a bus arrived and brought me, along with 2 English speaking Chileans and fifty Chinese people, to the boat. It was frustrating that they still spoke Chinese nearly the entire bus and boat rides, but I ignored them and found myself a good location at the front of the boat, on the unexposed top level. Luckily, most of the tourists on my boat had not be interested in standing the entire trip and I had plenty of space to relax and take photos (unlike the non-Deluxe Chinese boat below). It was disappointing to be amongst other boats and not isolated, but that’s modern China. Nevertheless, the landscape’s beauty shone through with ease.

More than four hours after boarding in Guilin, we landed in Yangshuo, a small town down river. The boats all docked next to one another and passengers unloaded to head for the town. The walk along the shore was lined with merchants, aggressively pushing any product they could in our direction. Several boats docked at once, creating a level of mayhem reserved for sports games in America. I took it all in, knowing I didn’t want to purchase anything while feeling the pulse of the village.

The shops continued for a long distance, eventually opening to a maze of streets selling useless goods and restaurants with international food. It took over half an hour before I could escape the giant tourist trap and found a food stall where the locals eat.

The noodles were nothing special but cost $3, nearly $10 less than I would pay for an iced tea and peanuts at a restaurant in the tourist section. After writing for a good while, I caught the bumpy bus back to Guilin.

The skyline feels as though it was all designed at once, built as a modern attraction to complement the traditional European waterfront it faces. From the water, I cruised along flat sidewalks toward the Old City, where strings of old style Chinese buildings create a mall atmosphere several blocks in area. The stores sold a huge variety of kitschy, tourist gifts, from medical spices to paper cutout art, but the huge size meant there were plenty of high quality finds.

I was searching for a traditional Chinese watercolor painting for my mom, and stepped into the largest, most organized of the galleries I could find. I had been shopping throughout China for nearly two weeks at this point yet still found some surprise when one of the gallery employees followed me each step to deliver small pieces of info concerning the art. I had wanted to browse the store in peace, but in traditional Chinese style, it was assumed that I wanted my hand held and led through the store. I got bothered and left, but would end up back at that gallery two days later, unfazed, to purchase a painting.

My hunger struck as I walked back home but I remained persistent in my search of small, authentic, Chinese dining. As with most food searches, it took me almost twenty minutes before I settled on a place, but the three other men that sat at the table beside mine, getting drunk on beer and liquor while crushing cigarettes, confirmed I’d made it to the right place. I ordered two dishes, each meant for sharing, cold cucumber salad and a sautéed pork and pepper dish. The men asked about my background and what brought me to China through the waitress, a twenty something girl that simply translated their questions through her phone. The cucumbers were awesome, a good helping of greens that I hadn’t gotten in a while (and probably a good way to get sick, eating raw veggies). The pork and peppers stopped me in my tracks with their heat. Two bites in, I bought an iced tea. Two more bites, I ordered rice. At least an hour more and I finally walked out the door, somewhat full but certainly finished. That night, I met with a local friend and got out with some of the local e Ex Pats.

Upon waking on Saturday, I focused on finding a way to ship some electronics to my friend in Tibet, badly in need of a decent keyboard and mouse for his computer. It wasn’t until later that day, after several subways and long walks, including accidentally bumping into a small protest on the streets, that I picked up one of my best travel tricks. I’d decided that it would be easiest to find FedEx or UPS, a couple American companies, rather than attempting to use Chinese delivery services (and China Post, the country’s postal service, was closed on the weekend). After showing up at more than one FedEx location on Google Maps, only to find no FedEx offices, I headed for the Westin. It was such a relief to talk with well mannered, locally knowledgable, English speaking people. Perhaps it was my tourist outfit or my courteousness, but the concierge pointed me toward the hotel’s business center, where I returned the next day and easily shipped the electronics. Looking back, the Westin business center, and those at other hotels I presume, are open to the public. While my hostel had slow, unreliable internet and employees with no idea how to ship things, I finally found success went I shed my independent attitude and located the people that aided uncompromising, helpless Westerners.

The heavy rain that day delayed my walking throughout the city until the evening, when I made my way to the French Concession for some food. A quick bite of crappy pizza at a pub showing soccer games prepared me for the long walk back to my place. Moving through this neighborhood felt like walking down an American city block, with small boutique stores, large well known retailers, beautiful stone sidewalks, and a proper canopy above it all.

I had come too late; most stores had closed and the only other pedestrians were club goers. The pulsing music was easy to find and consistently led to lots of high end sports cars. Walking alone, at night, in one of the world’s largest party cities made me think about the wealth that afforded all those sports cars. If I had the money, I couldn’t imagine spending it on a car to shuttle me to loud clubs on Saturday nights. The first sight of the Ferraris and Lambos gave me pause, but the deafening base and thought of smoke filled clubs made me sure I would never envy the rich party lifestyle.

As I neared my hostel, I stopped for a snack of street food, cooked and sold by a family of three who happily fed a small crowd as midnight approached.

Sunday morning, I popped up early, quickly got my shipping done, and headed to the People’s Park. I had read that there is a corner in the park, known as the English Corner, where English speakers gather to practice the language. My goal was to learn more about the country and people, particularly their response to Westerners’ view of ‘communism' and the reality of a capitalist China. I wanted to meet individuals who lived through the Cultural Revolution and have seen their children and grandchildren free to seek material and intellectual wealth. Generations living in the country right now see different futures and potential for China, having sacrificed little to everything to arrive where they are.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find the English Corner. I hadn’t researched well enough and expected it to be more well known. One young guy knew what I was referring to, but hadn’t the slightest idea where to direct me. Instead, I took in the park, a beautiful retreat from the high energy, international city. There weren’t many large meadows in the park, like many of those in American cities. However, beautiful ponds, rocks, tree groves, and walking paths made it feel like I’d left the city.

The park had a surprisingly active side. Red track lanes gave patrons a comfortable walking option and signs proposed workouts for the patrons. Just off to the side, as I was hunting for something interesting, I was able to squeeze in my first workout of the trip, a few reps on the park bench press. Most of the guys standing around were not dressed to be active, but the man in the track suit was doing more than enough for the rest of them.

I continued on, searching for the English speakers and any other treasures the park might have to offer. The most fascinating discovery, without a doubt, were the crowds of mothers and fathers looking for suitors for their children. Hundreds of parents lined the walkways in a particular corner of the park, each standing behind an open umbrella on the ground. I had heard about this, but somehow tucked it away in my mind and was met with complete surprise on arrival.  

The umbrellas were surprisingly nondescript, very few were worn or broken, but equally as few were fancy. Clipped to each was a single sheet of letter paper with details about their child written in plain text Chinese. I was surprised no parents tried to distinguish themselves with opulent umbrellas, paper, or pictures. Only two of the several hundred umbrellas I walked past had a picture. Instead, the parents talked with one other, leaving to themselves the job their children were unable to complete. The entire scene gave me pause at first, but thinking that for each group of parents this is likely their only child, and that these children have probably spent their lives receiving everything they have, is a little help in the dating department such a surprise?

Dressed as a complete tourist, camera across my chest, I did my best to observe and not get in the way. I attempted to take photos of the entire scene, rather than any individuals, but after one of my shots, two women felt like I was focusing on them and started yelling at me, the only time my entire trip I was reprimanded for taking a photo. I promptly deleted it and headed out, ready to catch another plane that afternoon.

Strapped for time and feeling the financial advantages of traveling China, I decided I would take more cabs in Chengdu than I had previously. It’s a strange thing, wanting to take a subway while lugging your giant backpack and finding your way, but something about having the time to do so is extremely relaxing. The subway is also super easy because of directions from the hostel and the fact that every subway has English translations for station names, not to mention how informative it is to stand next to a hundred person cross section of the city. Riding a taxi can be just as revealing: trying to explain to the driver where I was headed, experiencing bumper to bumper traffic from inside a car, and getting a taste of the insanity that is Chinese driving. That said, I’ll always prefer the public transport, it’s so nice being the tall white guy in a crowded train, feeling no remorse about analyzing people because you know they’re all looking at you.

Anyways, the peace and quiet that I felt just a day earlier in Tibet was quickly squashed in that ride to the hostel. I knew Chengdu was big, but like other cities, I didn’t look at images or read much about it before arriving (always the best way to go, at least until you get the first impression). The greater metropolitan area is home to 18 million people, 6th largest in China. That’s larger than every American metropolitan area other than New York, and the city was completely unknown to me before 2016. I’m happy I had decided to stay in the middle of the city, as the initial drive passed a strip of car dealerships, giant high end fashion stores, and a number of parks and squares, including one of the country's last remaining large statues of Chairman Mao at the city’s center. Chengdu is set up in a ring structure like most other Chinese cities, and my plan for day one, arriving around 1pm, was to head from my hostel in the inner ring, by subway, to the world’s largest building by floorspace on the southern tip of the outer ring, then walk home. I’d starved myself a bit up until that point, so fresh Sichuan food would kick things off.

After checking into my $15 room with private bath (the best hostel of the trip), I had a quick, somewhat forgettable meal of chicken chunks and veggies. This type of chicken dish, a plate of chicken pieces with hidden bones, seems common in China, or at least uncommon in the US. It must have been my third or fourth time eating it this way because I happily jumped into the custom, popped chunk after chunk in the hopper, and played around until I could fish out the bones. I meandered around some local streets, where a man offered me a thorough ear cleaning but the length of his tools forced my hand and I opted to snap his photo and move on. 

A 15 minute subway later put me at the base of the New Century Global Center, less than three hours after leaving Ritoma.

The building is a monstrosity, larger than any other in the world by floor space. After being in a place so small and remote, simply approaching and entering made me uneasy.  Like any mall, there are few windows, too many retailers, and artificially clean, cold air. Unlike any mall, there’s a giant water park and hotel inside. I spent no more than 10 minutes walking around, feeling the impact of Chinese materialism and excess, before heading for home.

My city walking routes had become consistent by that point: find the large road that will take me home, then go a few blocks to the side and take a parallel route. Before arriving, I had researched a few places to eat, mostly the big names. I learned quickly, though, that the city hasn’t received awards because of it’s popular spots, but rather the ubiquity of restaurants and food stalls throughout the city. The streets, scooter lanes, and sidewalks were all crowded and the job of feeding so many people feels tremendous. It’s this immense size and density that makes it unsurprising that entire blocks feature only food shops at the ground level, from markets to ‘restaurants’.

The must eat dish in Sichuan is undoubtedly the hot pot. Everyone I discussed Chengdu with insisted that I get authentic hot pot, where diners head to refrigerators in the back of the restaurant, pick out skewers of meat and vegetables, and return to a giant pot of boiling water/chili oil in the center of the table. I had hoped to meet other travelers at my hostel that night and eat together, the way hot pot should be eaten, but a busy place that fit my expectations made the decision that I’d be eating alone. 

These days, cigarette smoking is illegal inside bars and restaurants in China, but I found that the best food was often accompanied by a few smokers at the nearby tables, and this place was no exception. Unfortunately, there was nothing in English, or any waiters who could speak English. More surprising, the food in the refrigerators didn’t have any labels, so I’m not sure I was in a different position than the locals. I’m still unsure what I ate, and having grabed a little of everything, I know it wasn’t all the normal cuts of meat.

I picked out my smorgasbord, destroyed skewer after skewer of hot, spicy, oily food, and walked beneath the awesome nighttime skyline toward my hostel. Weeks of traveling taught me that the best time to see any sights is super early, before hoards of Chinese travelers arrive, so I had planned the next morning’s breakfast with the pandas.

The Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding is about twenty miles from the city center. I woke up and grabbed a cab for less than ten US dollars and made my way through the gates, to a sanctuary separated from the bustling city. The space was exceptionally lush and from the sounds there was a huge bird population to accompany the bears. The emptiness of the paths and walkways was refreshing, I could have easily spent the entire day there if no one else arrived.

There are dozens of pandas in the research base, which is remarkable considering how rare it is to see a panda at zoos throughout the world, much less multiple pandas. The first enclosure I arrived at was empty and several of us waited for the pile of bamboo to meet their end. We were lucky to be parked right next to one of the peacocks that called the base home. The squawks of the bird were unbelievably loud and high pitched, which felt somewhat fitting.

The bear that finally emerged to destroy its breakfast was an awesome sight. The hobble up to the pile of bamboo was slow and wobbly but its dexterity immediately made it clear that this animal could do some serious damage if the opportunity came.

I spent the next few hours walking around the park as more and more visitors arrived in large groups, wielding selfie sticks and disrespecting any attempt to keep the sanctuary quiet. The red pandas were a complete surprise to me, and I parked in the corner of their enclosure until one came toward me. They move much more than the black and white giants, and climb trees with ease. One managed to pop out of a hole in the fence, and before the visitors could trap the bear and line up for selfies, the little guy scurried back into place.

A light rain started to come down and I left the pandas and crowds and sat by Goose Lake, reading and writing. The intense change I’d experienced in the previous days was worth reflecting on. In Tibet, the animals are such a vital part of the community and have so much space to roam and graze. While this research base was a sanctuary, we were only yards from the hustle of the city streets and visitors insisted on making whatever noise they could to get the animals’ attention. The bears live a super comfortable life, and I hope most zoo animals can be as fortunate, but it’s still not the wild. Obviously, with the attention these animals receive in a cage, they would be quickly exterminated by poachers in their natural habitat, so the efforts the Chinese have taken to keep them around should be commended, but it still sucks. I hope virtual reality lets me hang with animals in the wild, that will be awesome.

On my way out, I bumped into an Israeli guy and German girl, both around my age, that I met earlier at the park. We took the slower, cheaper buses back to the city. Coincidentally, we were all staying at the same hostel, so we made plans for later in the day as they went to buy bus tickets for a camping trip they would set off on the following morning. I departed from them and walked the streets of Chengdu for lunch, arriving at yet another noodle shop on the side of the road. I had realized at that point that there wasn’t much communication needed for me to get food, although I liked knowing what meat was before me before starting to slurp. I’d resorted to either making animal noises or using Google translate to ask if it was pork, chicken, or beef. At this particular stop, pork was the choice and roughly $1.50 was the cost. It wasn’t until 3/4 of the way through the bowl that I finally thought about the small, perfectly shaped holes within the meat. I knew the answer wouldn’t help me finish the meal, so after emptying the bowl I asked the cook again and was told by a bilingual customer I’d just eaten ‘insides’. I think we settled on it being the stomach, but she wasn’t great at English and was actually just using me to practice. I didn’t get sick.

I had a few drinks with my new friends that night, jealous of the fact that both seemed to have lives they were ready to return to but relaxed and traveling at the moment. The guy had been on the road in Asia for three months, the girl for six, and both would be returning home in the next two or three months to resume their lives in security and medicine. A bunch of people I met throughout traveling felt a bit off the cuff for me, freely dancing around the world without a worry but simultaneously avoiding the relationships that make life more than a sightseeing tour. These two felt in control, confident and excited to return to a career and life back home but enjoying the freedom and novelty of life on the road. Two days in Chengdu, one month in China, it didn’t feel like enough for me. 

As envious as I had been, the two of them had a brief interaction that helped bring things into perspective. Discussing their bus the next morning to a multi day camping adventure, a trip they decided on that morning, both had received interesting reassurance from home. The girl’s mom was happy she had found a guy to accompany her, the guy’s mom was at ease that he’d found a doctor to keep him safe. I woke the next morning and chatted with my parents for nearly an hour, over video, and felt much closer to home than I expected. 

Luckily, I arrived first and sat in the airport Burger King waiting for Willard’s plane to land. At 6’9”, he’s not too difficult to spot, for me or our Chinese driver who saw him immediately. The drive up to the plateau was a great part of the trip and made me regret not taking a train in Lanzhou, had there been enough time. China has so many distinct terrains that a car ride or train, in which you see and feel the environments changing, adds tremendous perspective. Flying into Lanzhou, we were almost shuttled to the edge of the plateau, roughly 5,200 ft in elevation, but still had to climb to 11,000 ft. The driver didn’t speak a word of English but his car’s seat covers and embroidered pillows made the ride feel rather upscale. As we passed Lanzhou, there were large apartment complexes which hadn’t been completed and felt sizable enough to house entire communities. Looking back, these building projects are likely created through a slow process that allows the government to control employment and available housing. The site of giant, half finished, empty buildings however, is rather eerie.

Two hours of driving moved us away from the urban environment and into the openness of Tibet. The highway was in great shape, felt new, and featured multiple long tunnels through the hills. As we left the dense city, mosques began to pop up all over, highlighted by their large, often gold, tear drop temples. This wasn’t too surprising after seeing and meeting many Muslims in Xi’an, but they spoke to the size and presence of the religion in these parts. It’s crazy to think we were only half way across the country at this point, hundreds of miles of China lying to our west and north which is home to millions of Muslims.

About an hour and half from our destination, as each breath became a bit less fulfilling than the last and snowy mountaintops could be seen in the distance all around, we stopped in the last small city to grab some food from a supermarket. The market was surprisingly big and sold much of what you would see at a US market. The main attractions were Bill and myself, mostly Bill, who was stared at and pulled in for pictures by the employees. Back in the car, we made the final leg of the journey along a mix of paved and dirt roads. 

Slowly, we began to encounter the wildlife that the area relies on, beeping as we passed sheep and yak on and around the road. Beeping is a crucial part of driving there, as well as other parts of China, and drivers often beep the entire time they pass another car (or an animal). 

Each village we passed, some made up of just a few houses, featured a full length basketball court built next to the road. The road was mostly concrete here, still bumpy but flat enough for driving, unlike the plateau beyond the homes. At almost every basketball hoop were kids, hanging out and playing, unsurprising for a Saturday afternoon.

We pulled up the guest house, met Bill’s new boss Dechen, and headed in. The guest house, and all of Norlha’s buildings, sit next to the larger village and are far more comfortable than I would have expected. There is constant power and wireless internet, stronger than many other parts of China, and the design inside has a clean simplicity. I was caught off guard by the classic Chinese rosewood furniture and various textiles throughout the house; pillows, tissue box covers, blankets, all made from the awesome Norlha products. We sat down for tea and dinner with Dechen, her husband, her 6 year old daughter, an Australian working on IT for Norlha, and the daughter’s American tutor. The house’s main dining and living room looks out on the plateau from the second story and provides miles of views to the south, in the direction all the houses face. Starving from our long trip, I expected very little but we ate extremely well, as I would my entire time in Ritoma. Endless vegetable and yak meat dumplings, yak sausage, a barley and chard dish, barley crackers, and a dessert of yak yogurt and honey was more food than we could finish, presumably to be saved for the next day or the animals.

The following morning we drove with Dechen’s family to the local town of Gannan, Labrang in Tibetan, to see the town while the family ran errands. Beyond Norlha, Dechen and her husband own a cafe in Labrang that could have been placed in San Francisco and done quite well, with good coffee, surprisingly tasty cake, and again, fast wifi. It was hard not to think what a few months in this isolated place, going to the coffee shop each day, would do for my work and projects.

After coffee, Bill and I wandered around the Labrang monastery, a maze of small roads and houses that leads to the central prayer room. One of six major Tibetan Buddhist monasteries, Labrang is now home to nearly 1,500 monks, young and old, that we saw walking around in their familiar red robes. It was an amazing experience to see the monks and locals walk around the shrines while clutching their bead necklaces and reciting lines under their breaths. As we approached the central prayer room, hundreds of monks exited and headed home, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what the young guys were interested in outside the faith, they all wore basketball shoes.

Dechen and her husband also run a ‘camp' several miles away, where guests can stay in traditional yak skin tents, eat local inspired meals from the in-house American chef, drink and hang at the bar they built, and relax in the most open, peaceful place you could imagine. I was told that in the summer the entire landscape lights up with green grass and flowers, although the end of winter attitude I experienced felt perfect.

A familiar site in Tibet, the entrance to the camp was highlighted by Tibetan prayer flags, much like those you might see in Everest base camp pictures.

We made the nearly two hour trip back to the village that afternoon having finally understood the importance and size of the Tibetan community in this area. The following day, we awoke to a simple, awesome breakfast of eggs, bread, yak butter, yak yogurt, honey, jam, and granola. Similar to most of China, hot water was readily available at all times for instant coffee or tea.

We got to the office around 9am and were teased for being the late Americans. The management team was already working on new designs and products and Dechen took the time to give me the quick office tour.

I was amazed how comfortable the office space felt, particularly from the natural wood that made up the interior. The management team featured several English speakers, but everyone except Bill, Mike the IT guy, and myself spoke Tibetan with one another.

We moved between the weaving, sewing, dying, and felting rooms. In each building, up to twenty workers, all living in the nearby village, worked on different aspects of the textile process. 

Dechen’s mother, Kim, had created the business as a way to combine her French upbringing and knowledge of the textile world with the enormous potential of extremely warm and soft yak wool that her husband’s Tibetan people are so accustomed to. Dechen headed to Tibet after college in the US and backpacked for six months, moving from village to village to find the most suitable place to begin Norlha. Now in her 30’s, the business is productive and provides jobs for many of the locals. I can only imagine what it was like to decide on this location and watch the offices and manufacturing buildings rise from the plateau. The employees are artisans, creating physical goods from mounds of wool, threading them into thread and yarn, then using these to weave and create the cloth. The company sells these goods through multiple outlets, both white label goods to some of the world’s best retailers and more recently under their own brand name on their website and through other retailers. Many of the products are pure yak wool, while others are combined with silk and cashmere. At various points, the wool can be dyed, from the raw wool for felt, the threads which are then weaved into patterns, and the the entire pieces. The tour ended in the amazing showroom, where all of their products, place mats, scarves, stuffed animals, and clothes, are sold at outlet prices to lucky visitors. We were able to find time here to chat about the online business and driving traffic and sales to norlhatextiles.com.

Immediately upon hearing Norlha’s story and seeing the awesome textiles throughout the guest house, I knew I wanted to be a part of its future. All the outsiders working there, from Bill the basketball coach to Andrew the tutor, put in work to shape and share the company’s message. I kept coming back to a conversation I had with a coworker when I recently bought my first camera. How do I take cool pictures? His answer: Go to cool places and take pictures. Forget about the lighting, the angle, or the aperture, great pictures have little to do with the photographer and everything to do with the subject. Norlha doesn’t need to stretch the truth to prove there are real people creating this clothing and building something more important than a company. It doesn’t need to create exaggerated stories about its beginnings to evoke real emotion about its purpose. What it needs is to tell its story. Have it’s picture taken. It’s easy to commit my time toward something so obviously successful.

At this point, I had come to understand that Dechen is both a cool, Western educated girl as well as a smart, knowledgeable CEO. That night at dinner, I really got to understand how impressive she is while seeing into the real lives of some locals. The four Westerners and Dechen headed to one of the employee/shooting guard’s house for dinner.

A 10 minute walk from the office, we headed inside Saru’s main living room, several futons along the walls and two small, wooden coffee tables with food. Plates full of fruit and cooked yak and sheep meat sat in front of us. Our host and his wife never sat down to eat but instead chatted as they brought dumplings in and filled our tea glasses with hot water. The Tibetan-English discussion all happened through Dechen. As dinner progressed, a conversation began with the final member of the dinner, a Nepalese man in proper slacks, button down, sweater vest and jacket. Complimenting his attire led to him discussing his childhood and the long road it has been to this place, where at 55 he lives in a room at Saru’s house and has nearly 40 years of experience weaving. He discussed his house in Nepal, which he builds with money saved from work, his childhood, how he began weaving so young, and his son who is also working in textiles. He arrived at Ritoma not knowing Tibetan, but emphasized his loyalty toward Norlha and his regret at not having attended school to learn English. Perhaps most amazing was Dechen’s ease at translating the entire conversation between English, Hindi, and Tibetan. That was the coolest dinner and story I’d ever heard.

The final day there, after hanging around the office, I followed Bill’s advice and headed for a long walk. The amount of open space was breathtaking. At the top of a hill, yaks look like bugs and there is nothing in all directions except mountains that are miles away. Walking up on a dog was a welcome surprise, a dangerous encounter with one of the world’s most vicious dogs that I didn’t fully appreciate until later.

I spent day one walking around the city and viewing some of the other big attractions. Xi’an was the capital several Chinese Dynasties, particularly during times described as the height of Chinese culture. The city sat at the eastern end of the former Silk Road and that helped it develop into a cosmopolitan city before almost anywhere on Earth. The inner city is surrounded by a 40 foot wall that has been well restored and maintained and sits inside amazing park areas and a huge moat. I got to see all of this on a weekday, when it seemed every grandparent was out playing with their grandkids. It’s hard to have any hard feelings about the Chinese after seeing these families. Maybe it’s that grandparents and grandkids don’t seem to have many worries, they’re happy to be around each other.

I continued from the city walls to the Big Wild Goose Pagoda, a giant structure that was built to house Buddhist scriptures brought back to India by a monk in hopes of protecting them from fires. The entire area surrounding the Pagoda is an awesome shrine to the Buddha, with beautiful statues, carvings, and paintings. It’s a spiritual and quiet place where a number of Chinese, presumably from elsewhere in the country, are praying and paying their respects. The other Westerners were all respectful as well, aside from our tourist attire. There were, however, a number of young Chinese people taking selfies within the shrines, acting loudly, and showing little respect. I began to lose my patience for the 20 something year old Chinese.

I checked out the gift shop and while deciding on some small animals carved from jade, got a serious taste of how far bargaining can go. This gift shop was a bit out of the way from the action, and there wasn’t much action on Thursday at noon, so I stood in this large gift shop with 5 women all working on the sale. The sticker price on each piece was 650RMB, far too expensive for two stones about the size of casino dice. I said no, she asked for my price, and I said 800RMB, still more than I wanted to pay. She said ok, but I analyzed them more and decided to leave without the stones. As I walked out, they barked and yelled at me, ‘What price? What price?’. I held strong and walked out, but about 200 yards toward the exit of the complex, the woman I was talking with had run me down and offered 500RMB for both. At this point, I had no interest, but learned an important lesson.

I grabbed some food and checked out the local Shaanxi History Museum which houses a bunch of artifacts showing off Chinese technological advancements and art. For 20RMB, just more than $3, I was able to skip a 30 minute line and enter immediately. The economic and class distinctions are real. The museum was a nice place and had a lot of very old artifacts, but there were too many people to enjoy and settle into it, so I left and headed to the subway.

I got off at the famous Drum Tower and headed for the large Muslim quarter, near the city’s big mosque, and the location of the most popular shopping street in the city. As with many of these tourist streets, the first 50 yards of stores sold the same things as the next 500, but it was great dealing with the merchants, men wearing fez’s, women with burkas, and zero pork. I gobbled up some Middle Eastern-esque tofu and headed toward the eastern part of the city where I was told there was great Chinese food.

As opposed to the Muslim shopping street, this area had no Westerners, only Chinese locals. Of course, nothing was written in English so I found a restaurant with pictures and ordered some dumplings. I headed this way because of a recommendation from a girl working at our hostel. I’ve learned that these are usually the best people to ask for tips as they’re probably locals, they can speak English well, they’re young, and they understand that you don’t want to be around tourists. Finding locals who have a good grasp of English is an invaluable resource. Overall, avoiding tourist areas and being the only Westerner in a ‘restaurant’ has led me to the best food.

The next day I woke and headed to the Terracotta Warriors, an 8RMB and 50 minute bus ride in the pouring rain. We arrived fairly early, before 11am, and the walk from the parking lot to the excavation sites was quite nice. When I finally arrived, I was surprised by the crowd, as there weren’t many people in the park area that we’d just walked through.

It’s remarkable how big of an attraction it is and how much money it generates, charging 150RMB for entrance. I walked into the large building which houses the largest pit and it was completely packed. The attraction is absolutely huge, but the visitors just walk around the outside and peer into the dig.

The Chinese are quick to point out that it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and it’s hard to imagine exactly how much money it has brought to the area. 150RMB was more than I would pay for any single attraction up to that point. I moved through the multiple pits fairly quickly, trying to have some peaceful moments but mostly fighting with Chinese people for a good view. I was happy to return to the rain, take some pictures from outside, get molested by shop owners to buy crappy gifts, actually buy some food from a cute Muslim couple who loved to hear that I’m from San Francisco, and hop on the next bus to head home. Overall, it’s an extremely impressive attraction, especially its size, but not worth traveling around the world for. Maybe if I arrived when the doors opened. Lesson learned.

I spent the rest of the rainy day searching for post cards, writing, and preparing for the next day’s trip to Lanzhou, where I would meet up with Willard and take a 5 hour car ride to Ritoma, near Gannan on the Tibetan Plateau. I had no plans to make the trip to Tibet when I arrived in China and made the flight reservation days before. It ended up being one of the best decisions of my life.

I was overwhelmed with curiosity as I got to the Osaka airport for my flight through Shanghai to Beijing. The layover was short enough that I needed to rush to my Beijing bound plane and decided to check my large backpack in Osaka. Luckily my flight didn’t have a giant line for checking bags but that wasn't the case for the Xi’an bound flight that lined up next to me. Everyone was using a free baggage roller, evidence of American’s ability to charge everyone for everything. Soon we’ll be paying for a cart at the grocery store. More surprising than the amount of luggage is the composition of that luggage. Almost every family bound for Xi’an had a rice cooker. It’s clear that the Shanghai plane I was boarding had a younger, more individual group, and the families going to Xi’an are heading to meet family or return home.

As the line slowly shortens, a girl about my age made a timely return to the front of the line and prepared to check her bag. Visibly bothered and bordering on late, the Asian guy next to me needed to relax my anxiety. She was pushed out of line because she had too much in her bag, removing bags of make up and other crap into an additional bag she would carry on. This isn’t a surprise, Chinese people seem obsessed with stuff, particularly those that are under 35 and have money. The same situation plays out regularly in the States and I probably say the same. I don’t know how long she was in Japan or how long she plans to be in Osaka, but the giant make up bag and multiple pieces of fur clothing that she was stuffing in her bag tell me hint at the excess I’ll be experiencing over the following three weeks.

I made it to the flight on time and had my seat moved toward the front to help catch my next flight. In Shanghai, I navigate the large airport fairly easily, and luckily check the departure screens to see that the gate has changed from what my ticket shows. It’s small decisions like that which make me wonder how I don’t get lost and miss flights more often. I arrived with roughly ten minutes to spare, but if I headed for the original gate I easily would have missed the flight.

This turns out to be a recurring theme during my trip. I think it’s one of the overlooked skills that travelers, particularly young, cheap, hurried travelers, pick up. Earlier that day, I decided to take public transport to the Osaka airport. A single wrong move would have meant the difference. After missing one subway, in the 5 minutes on the subway I finally take, can I figure out exactly how to catch the 45 minute train to the airport? One misstep and I’m probably going to miss my flight. All to save $30 on the taxi ride? I think it’s to prove that I can figure it out. That if offered $30 for making those decisions, I would take it in a heartbeat.

When the plane finally arrived in Beijing, I followed the heard to baggage claim and sunk back into my Kindle. As the bags appeared, and the other travelers departed, I was left without my backpack and noticed another Westerner talking with China Eastern Airlines personnel about a missing bag. I put the book away and joined the conversation. It turns out this Dutch guy, Mitch, was on the same flights as myself from Osaka and I remember him holding up the baggage line in Osaka. It shouldn’t be a big deal for me, I'd be in Beijing for 4 or 5 days and need to be sure they can deliver everything to the Holiday Inn, where I'd be for 2 nights. There’s only a few things I really needed from the backpack, particularly toiletries and chargers, but I can last a day or two in the same clothes. Mitch, however, was headed to North Korea the following morning, not such an easy situation. I pry a bit on this one, and it turns out he’s going for the Pyongyang marathon, meeting his younger brother. It sounds like the country opens up a bit for the marathon, which is run by an international marathon association, and more visitors than usual are allowed. I discussed my recent traveling through Japan, and rough plans for China. Reminiscing on my 24 hours in Kyoto, he enjoyed telling me he’s lived there for five years on and off and considers it his favorite city in the world. He runs an online business, capitalizing on an arbitrage between eBay and Amazon, though I don’t get specifics. As a big Tim Ferriss fan, and having read plenty about Digital Nomads and living on the road, I spent the 15 minutes we are waiting on these Chinese airline workers asking him about his travels. Beyond Kyoto, he’s lived for roughly six months in Medellin, Colombia, Xi’an, China, and soon St. Petersburg, Russia. I definitely agree with his choice of second tier cities rather than the large, international ones that seem to lose character as high rises are built. I finished filling out the forms and left the airport thinking about life on the road, living all over the place and how I could make tit happen myself. But would I want it? A single day in Kyoto wasn’t nearly enough, and five years is clearly too much, but six months? Alone? I know I’ll try to get myself back to places for more than a vacation but not at the expense of the rest of my life.

My cab into Beijing at around 5pm on Friday was mostly had in traffic but still cost just ten dollars. As I entered the car I showed the driver a Chinese address, which I’d have to do throughout Asia, but this is one of the few cabs I'd take. It’s easy to think you’re getting suckered in a cab like this, but I don’t have alternative options and these rides aren’t too expensive anyways. The exchange rate for my trip will be 6.5 Chinese Yuan (RMB) to 1 dollar. The math can get a bit painful at times so I tell myself it’s 5 to 1, which keeps me on the cheaper side of things.

The first thing I noticed about Beijing in comparison to the various cities of Japan, and my home in San Francisco, is the size of buildings and the collection of these buildings. Apartment complexes consist of multiple high rises, many over 20 stories. Huge office buildings litter the skyline. This all makes me feel much smaller and more insignificant than my place back home. The cars on the highway are virtually the same as those you’d see in America, or Europe for that matter as there seem to be some European and Asian brands we don’t have in the US.

As we approached the exit to get off the highway, I was properly introduced to the craziness of Chinese roads. Cars don’t care much about one another’s position on the road and expect another car that is behind them to make the necessary adjustments to avoid an accident. Weaving across three lanes to catch our exit isn’t just allowed, but routine. Once we got to city streets, scooters and three wheeled, motorized rickshaws join the fray. These smaller vehicles don’t seem to abide any of the rules of the road. Scooters ride on the streets, sidewalks, against traffic, through red lights, and any other place they fit. Cars don’t seem concerned with oncoming traffic when turning, but instead just start going in the direction they’re headed, expecting oncoming traffic to stop. All over China, it feels like there is a near brush with death at every intersection. As a pedestrian, you need to be aggressive or you’ll never get anywhere.

I dropped off my few belongings, met Andrew in the lobby, and headed to a local bar. It was great to see the familiar faces of he and Noah but even more settling to meet other Westerners at the bar and hear natural English. The area feels fairly international and I’d soon learn that there are a large number of ex-Pats living in the area. After a couple drinks, Andrew ordered an Uber and we headed about 10 minutes away to his favorite restaurant in the city, an upstairs, loud, casual spot full of Chinese people. Apparently it had a bit more culture when smoking was permitted inside. The food is served family style, all ordered by our host from the 10 year old looking waitress that claims to be 18.

The next morning, rocking the same clothes I traveled in, we began our sightseeing at the Forbidden City. Like most cities I’d visit, I hadn’t been researching the city too much, although my Fodor’s guide book gave me an understanding of the city’s layout. Beijing is set up in the standard ring structure of many Chinese cities, with the historical Forbidden City in the center and the surrounding street being the 1st Ring Road. The Forbidden City was home to the government during several dynasties and only entered by the party elite. Knowing the importance, I was expecting a very regal, ornate setting but it’s mostly pretty bare and sturdy, with only the center buildings open for viewing. To add to the intrigue, thousands of Chinese people from all over the country were on the tour with us. Absolute madness, and it was super hot.  

The heat was oppressive and after a walk up a large hill in the city, we headed for some air-conditioning and Peking Duck. Luckily Andrew knew the good spots. The budget wouldn’t suit me for my entire trip but a few days eating well in Beijing won’t break the bank. The highlight was the duck skin, in which they took the best pieces and served them alongside sugar for dipping. I think I really started feeling all of the walking through airports because my appetite had become insatiable.

We finished the night with some dumplings and got a prompt start the next day toward the Great Wall. Our two hour car ride brought us to a fairly empty spot on the wall, well worth the trip as I’ve seen pictures that make it look like Time Square. The ride also gave us a chance to see the surrounding areas of Beijing. From inside the cab I could see the freshness of newly planted trees and plants and can’t help think of what this land was like twenty years ago, none of it looked natural. When we finally arrived, we navigate the small, tourism supported village that leads to the wall. This specific location is located on a lake where visitors can take out boats. We were the only Westerners we’d see until we left later that day, but it gave us a chance to see all the Chinese tour groups and families in true form. The group activities and humor of the younger people can take on a very immature tone, which can possibly be explained by the Chinese school system, which focuses on memorization and allows for few relaxed moments during school. (I must say that I recently walked past an elementary school at the beginning of the day, and while orderly, kids are kids and didn’t seem to be holding back from their antics.) I also have to think that the current generation in China must be in a tough position, having parents and grandparents that know such turbulent times in their own youth and trying to build a lighter cultural side without much lead from their elders.

Walking the Wall involved a good deal of climbing up and down stairs, and we were able to get to some great view points that show off the immense size. It felt like the wall was built not only as a physical barrier to entry but a way for troops to move from place to place as well as a lookout for possible oncoming attacks. It’s remarkable how much of it was built on the crest of the hills' ridges, giving amazing views but presumably making it more difficult to build.

We headed out that night to catch some Premier League Soccer at a local bar. It felt like we’d walked into a London pub, as British English was the most notable tongue and there were barely any Asians aside from the bartenders. I managed a 4am wake up the next morning to watch Speith lose his 5 shot lead, then saw Andrew and Noah off to the airport, ready to take on the craziness of China on my own.

The next day, my last in Beijing, I headed for the Olympic Stadiums and planned some shopping in the famous Beijing Hutongs, alleyways lined with shops that are all over the city.

The entire Olympic area is impressive in its size, situated next to a very large park and containing a massive amount of open space for a city that is so congested in certain areas. It’s clear that the park and this Olympic area were totally redone and beautified before The Brid’s Nest outdoor stadium and Water Cube aquatic center are directly next to one another, and of course there’s a single ticket to go check them both out. The outdoor stadium held the World Games recently and the Aquatic center will be home to some of the ice games in the upcoming winter Olympics held mostly outside Beijing. I was more impressed with the Bird’s Nest, it has a beautiful look from the outside and the stadium features only good seats, particularly for track and field.

The Hutong I went to next was a bit disappointing, particularly because everything was super expensive. It’s understood that the sticker prices are only suggestions, but $500 for a tea pot is a tough starting price. Similar to America, the store owners feel some privilege being on a popular, sort of out of the way street in a huge international city. The goods are high quality but it’s obvious that there is a particular customer, non locals.

The nearby mountains were barely visible through the evening fog and the village took on a somber, quiet mood that helped me slow down after the craziness of Tokyo. I was able to walk around the entirety of the village in about an hour. The area is a popular stop for travelers, both international and Japanese, with three golf courses in the area, a botanical garden, half a dozen restaurants, several hotels, and multiple ryokans. I then settled in for a meal at the most authentically looking Japanese place I could find, where I took off my shoes with everyone else and found a seat in the small dining room. It’s common in every home and hostel I’ve been to for everyone to remove their shoes and put on slippers, but this was the first restaurant following the tradition. The other similarity I picked up at the restaurant was it’s being run by only two people. The hospitality feels a bit more sincere when the waitress and chef give off the impression that they’re welcoming you into their home. At the time I arrived in the dining room, only three other tables, roughly eight people, were seated, many in seats and tables depressed into the floor.

I would have asked for one but you can’t be insisting on a four person table when dining alone. It was nice to see that the others were all Japanese, among them a pair of mothers and daughters that I passed earlier on the sidewalk. When ordering began, I went with the familiar Asahi beer and allowed the hostess to steer me toward her favorite dish, a noodle bowl with beef. The food was awesome, and I headed back to the ryokan for a quick jump into the hot spring for my 30 minute time slot. I fumbled things a bit at this point, not realizing the protocol, so I made up my mind to wake up early the following morning and get into the spring again, at nearly 6:15am, before eating breakfast and heading to the lake.

The next day was clear as one could hope, opening up the surrounding mountains. The trip to the lake, via bus, trolly, and gondola took about an hour and sadly featured just 5 minutes of quality Mt. Fuji viewing, when descending a hillside on the gondola toward the lake. I found out at this time that two nearby volcanoes had been active as recently as 2014, closing much of this route for the past year prior to my visit. There was clearly some steam coming from these areas, but Mt. Fuji stole the show.

We got down to the boats, huge motor boats designed to look like classic Japanese sailing ships, and kept in great condition like most of the country. The ride brought us past solo fishermen that made me jealous of the peaceful nature this lake could take on if given more time and less of a schedule. It’s at these moments that I feel most content and realize why there’s such a power in going for a simple walk through the woods or on the beach. I know these tour companies are trying to maximize their profits but I don’t think there’s enough attention given to tourists who just want to chill, at least not in such popular destinations.

Off the boat, I boarded another half hour bus back to the trains and hopped on a three hour ride for Kyoto. The train station at the cultural center of Japan is a behemoth and my hostel, another ryokan, was just a short walk. Kyoto is a far different place from either I had visited, home to a dozen or so Buddhist shrines that are built in traditional Japanese architecture, with sloping curved roofs and open courtyards between buildings which house Buddha statues. I quickly grabbed my camera and headed for a walk to what looked like a close one on the southwest part of the city, where I could loop around and get a good view of several. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen well to the ryokan host and his advice to take the bus, as the city is geographically large and walking can take forever. Buses are the most common public mode of travel and run with Japanese efficiency. Walking through the residential areas, however, showed off the true beauty of the city.  

Small winding streets are lined with beautiful home that are extremely well kept and often feature their own individual shrines. I failed at reaching high ground to take some sunset pictures and quickly passed a second shrine before walking through a tourist shopping area and searching for food.

At this point, I found some wifi and took a friends advice to search for Italian food, a little overwhelmed with all the Japanese I’d been consuming and curious if they could bring the same methodical process to Italian food that they had brought to cars. Luckily, my first stop was closed because I pressed on to a second restaurant and asked for an English menu. Sorry, only Japanese and Italian, the hosts seemed upset to deliver the news. I reached down into my mediocre Italian knowledge, told them I speak Italian, and pulled up a bar seat to the window opening the dining room to the kitchen. Two Japanese cooks, having spent time in Italy studying how to cook, chatted with me about my travels and cooked up an authentic Italian meal, all without a word of English or Japanese.

I knew at the time it wasn’t a real surprise, why should’t some Italian cooks know Italian, and the dish names are practically English at this point. But something about finding a common language that is not the native tongue of either party is super refreshing. I see international people do it through English all the time and feel like a fool, this time I felt cultured. I’ll happily admit that there weren’t any philosophical discussions going on but even discussing the basics of our lives and my trip were so satisfying.

The next day I toured around the city in the pouring rain, visiting the many shrines with pleasantly smaller crowds. It was nearly two hours before I succumbed to the city’s size, bought a bus pass, and started moving more quickly from place to place. 

I did find time to walk, though, particularly along the cherry blossom lined waterway that was now rushing at full speed. That afternoon, I hopped an hour long train to Osaka, where I would leave the next morning for China.

My time in Osaka was short, but the first afternoon spent walking around Kyoto made it clear that it deserved a full day. The hostel I stayed in was clean and new, opened in 2016 and still smelling of the fresh wood used throughout. I didn’t drop my bag off and head for dinner until eight o’clock and learned quickly that I wasn’t far from the huge nightlife district of the city. The first glimpse was enticing, neon lights, well dressed people, loud music. As I approached, the grime started to leak onto my skin, fully repelling me as I noticed the hotel rooms sold by the half hour. The Japanese hustlers on the street were everywhere, working to get you into their show rooms, bars, and clubs, but unlike their counterparts in  other parts of the world, a quick stare straight into their eyes forced them to look away and shrivel. I think it’s my height, but I wasn’t intimidated or even annoyed once by these hype men.

I settled on an awesome beef restaurant where you cook on a grill placed in the center of the table. Walking in I received the usual Japanese welcome yells from the entire staff, awkward because I'm alone and have no idea what they’re saying, but a big smile works well enough. As with all food that week, the beef was unbelievably good and a great send off to my week in Japan.

Sayonara Japan. Next up, China…

I made my first moves up to Akihabara, the anime and electronic centers of the city. First step was to grab some sushi, finally sinking myself into good food almost 16 hours after arriving in Japan and realized here that I would get by just fine in the city without speaking Japanese. It’s tedious, but nearly all menus had pictures and a few basic greetings were enough to get what I needed while being polite.

After eating, I checked out a few electronic and anime markets, more intense than I expected. Possibly the biggest surprise was a small bazaar right off one of the main streets which sells all of the resistors and LED lights you would need to build some sweet electronics. When I left these shops, I looked up to notice maid cafes where lonely guys get waited on and revered by young women dressed in caricature maid outfits. This was super weird but not entirely surprising.

From here, in the north central part of the city, I walked counterclockwise toward the Meji shrine. Tokyo has a sprawling, fast subway system but I’ve always preferred to walk and get a feel for the speed, sounds, and energy of places I visit. I think the quality of public transportation, efficiency of traffic, and high cost of living pushes most off the sidewalks, so there were many areas in my ambling where I was the only one walking. I’m happy I made the decision as it allowed me to see a ton of shops, restaurants, schools, and fields that I otherwise would have missed. Among these, I walked past a row of ski and snowboard stores, larger and of higher quality that I’ve seen anywhere in the US, including mountain towns. Tokyo clearly has a wealthy population.

One of the most notable differences between Tokyo and the cities where I’ve lived in the US, particularly New York and San Francisco, is the lack of diversity. Everyone seems to be upper middle class, or at least dresses that way. Many groups of men are walking around in dark suits, but those my age are also dressed well, in the popular brands I know from home. It’s not surprising the clothes and dress are nice, it’s surprising that everyone fits the mold. I didn’t see a single homeless person until my third day in Tokyo, and even then it was only a single guy catching some rest. While I can’t tell the difference between the many Asian faces, there are very few people that are not Asian and the manners and consistencies suggest most are Japanese.

During my walk, I was sidetracked by an old palace, which received a lot of tourist (still Japanese) attention because it is situated on a small lake lined by cherry blossoms. The attention to detail and amount of work put into this place was evident by the walls which welcomed us to the palace, built of gigantic stones intricately and beautifully fit together.

This is where I first felt the crowdedness of the city and obsession with the cherry blossoms. A small food festival located at an adjacent shrine was full of people, most of whom were picnicking on blue tarps, sitting with shoes off in a circle, drinking and eating. I kept my stroll on and made my way past some parks and sat down to watch a little intramural softball and tennis. Next, I passed a high school field, where an American football practice was just beginning and guys screamed in calisthenic lines wearing football pants. A few lax cages in the corner made it feel like home. An entire bank of cherry blossoms and screaming Japanese kids made it feel like Tokyo.

I finally took a break at the most Western looking bar I could find, Le Mermaid, and collapsed at the happy hour to a nice big beer. It was a great choice, and the only other person sitting at the bar was an English speaking Japanese man that told me he’s been to San Francisco several times as a freelance sound engineer. The entire bar staff spoke English well too, which led to me hanging out and having a few more drinks than I planned. I left after two hours or so to meet a friend of a friend in the exPat part of town, a huge office building where we had expensive cocktails at a bar on an upper floor. It was great to talk with an American and hear about her time in Tokyo, but I prefer the locals.

The next day, I again hunted out quality Japanese food and walked to a few small areas of Japan with tons of character. I began at a huge department store, amazed at the materialism, but as someone who rarely goes to malls in the US, I’m probably overemphasizing it. I had an awesome panko crusted pork dish, and headed out for some more walking.

I finally made my way to some larger parks, where the cherry blossoms still dominated, there were tents selling food, and no less than 5,000 Japanese picnicked on tarps. The weather wasn’t as nice as I would hope for some outdoor drinking but the bloom was in full effect and the locals weren’t being stopped. From here, I walked a few miles west on small streets though residential areas until finally reaching my destination, a small hipster town without the large buildings at the center of city. I popped into a few shops selling fashionable gear and finally picked out my next meal, a ramen bar that seated less than 10 people and only had one employee, the 50 year old host/chef/bartender/cashier. This guy spoke almost zero English, but the machine where I bought my food ticket had pictures and that was enough. By the time I sat down, the two other diners had left and it was just the two of us remaining. I began reading until my meal came, at which point the chef stood and watched me eat. Luckily, the dish was awesome, and the guy was super happy to have me there. We shared some laughs as he showed me I should mix everything up, I took a picture of him with the food, and I scarfed down the bowl with ease. Up to that point, this was the moment of the trip, realizing how easy it is to converse with people over food, gestures, and smiles.

You never know what people will sell in a foreign country. This was the only US college gear I’ve seen my entire time in Asia, fitting.

I got to sleep before 10pm to wake up for the fish market, where I’d read the tuna auction spots are usually gone between 3am and 4am. I walked the 30 minutes in the rain to the market, arriving at 3:45, only to find out the auction spots were gone by 2:30am. Next, I stood on line at Sushi Dai, one of the highest rated sushi restaurants in the country, located next to the market. Everyone in line was a tourist, probably half coming from a night out. I heard rumblings that the wait could be multiple hours, but it wasn’t until 1.5 hours of waiting and the end of a book that a chef came out and said my point in line would need to wait five more hours before being seated. Not happening. I headed to one of the many other sushi restaurants at around 6am, had an awesome meal, and continued to eat my way through the restaurant area in the pouring rain. These weren’t restaurants so much as sushi bars, most fitting only half a dozen people and several serving directly from their storefront. The first place I chose felt overpriced, but I chatted with a few Americans and the food was awesome. Next, I grabbed some great, torch cooked scallops and tuna and headed to Starbucks to wait for the 9am opening of market.

When I finally got back to the market, the small vehicles I saw at 4am were still buzzing around the alleys, now teeming with people as well. The market is gigantic and covers more space than I realized early on, selling every fish you could imagine. Huge, shock frozen tunas were cut and packed for delivery but the majority was fresh seafood, most of which was being sold, packed, and shipped to large buyers. A few places had some cuts for tourists, and the fresh tuna I picked up was some of the best fish I’ve eaten, super simple with a toothpick, soy sauce, and wasabi.

I left the market, headed back to the hostel for a shower, and back out to meet some friends throughout the city. Unfortunately, this was where not having cell service really started to take its toll. I rushed from Starbucks to Starbucks, seeking out wifi to try to catch up with a friend on the move. We finally agreed on a meeting beneath Tokyo Tower, chatted for 5 minutes because I was lost for an hour, then I headed to Shibuya, to meet a Japanese friend of my brother’s, Kohta.

This guy was awesome, a lax player who graduated college just months before and told me he’d soon be moving to New York to play lacrosse. He’s no stud, but loves the game and wanted to play with Americans, even if it was on a club team while working as a translator for Japanese tourists. The first place he brought me? Tokyo’s only lacrosse and football store, proud to show off and needing to pick up some shooting strings for his wand. Next, we downed a few beers at a nearby, all you can drink bar as he told me about life in Japan. Kohta was born in the US while his parents worked in the Bay Area. He had great English, in my point of view, and told me about the life of young adults and college kids in Japan. It was great to hear from a local about the intensity of Japanese culture and commonness of nights spent singing karaoke. His desire to head to the US stemmed from lacrosse, but also a distaste for the life of many of his friends that were working ungodly hours in banking, insurance, and other white collar environments. The culture is so strong and strict, those that are lower on the totem pole avoid leaving work before their superiors and end up working long hours with little personal life. This seems to stem for a focus on one's outward perception, which also explains the nice clothing. Additionally, most will put their money into clothes and cars, opting for small residences where friends are rarely invited over and the American dinner party is completely absent

After a few drinks, I left to meet another friend of my brothers, Kosuke, a 34 year old alumni lacrosse player of the same college Kohta attended. He brought me to a restaurant situated below an art gallery he supports, where the food was unreal, from top notch sushi to kobe beef sashimi. There were two other current laxers and another alumni, a 2010 grad as well.

The next day, I would leave Tokyo for Hakone, located near Mt. Fuji, to check out the countryside and begin my journey toward Osaka. As you can tell, it was a hell of a few days in Japan’s largest city.