Finally...the remainder of our PHOTOS are posted!

You haven't heard the last of us. We have finally had time to post photos from the rest of our adventure. Enjoy!

I have been quite reflective lately. Many of the places we visited on this trip are still very much in my heart and I think about them almost daily. They are a part of me now and, every day, in my thoughts and in my actions I am still discovering how affected I have been by them.

It has been wonderful catching up with friends and family since being back. I really did realize how much I love my life while being away. I am very fortunate to have the people I do surrounding me. My family is incredibly supportive, and my friends are family to me.

I have been asked many times what I miss most about being away. Paul and I were able to visit truly awe inspiring places, meet wonderful people and take part in rare and life changing experiences. However, the one thing I find myself longing for is not external. Rather, it is the openness I felt within myself that I yearn for most. During the six months I spent away from home, each day was different from the previous one, and I had almost no expectations for the next. That created in me a vulnerability and a willingness to learn and grow that resulted in moments of pure joy that I don't believe I would have experienced otherwise.

My challenge now is to re-capture that feeling back in my tiny corner of the world. It will require a concerted effort. However, with Paul and I having begun a brand new business venture and being still "of no fixed address" to some degree, it may actually be easier than originally anticipated.

Until the next fantastic voyage, I bid you adieu.

Much love,
Grace

Somewhere on a bus ride to Phnom Penh

I really wish that we had been better recently at keeping up on our journals and this blog. My fear is that, in time, we will lose some memories forever having not recorded them along the way. But what to do? As traveling has become our life, when it ceases to be novel, it is simply where we are living at the moment and things like journal writing to someone who is not accustomed to it seem to fall by the wayside. It is only at certain moments that I truly feel compelled to write. It is at other times, as it has been the case for many entries in my journal, I write because I think I should. The result is an uninspiring observational account of what you see and do, nothing emotional, soulless, and really nothing different from what you could gather from a decent book or a few hours on Wikipedia. But the other day, as we rode through the Cambodian countryside I was paradoxically struck and awed by the normalcy of the situation. I, staring out the window across vast rice fields dotted with solitary palm trees, Grace quietly reading a book next to me as if all this was 'normal''. It is a vivid and lucid feeling that instantly brings forth the realization of the present moment, something I have ineloquently come to refer to as 'holy shit' moments. In talking with other travelers, it seems to be a common phenomenon.

I think about what will remain in memories of this trip. What will I have to say about our adventures? Strangely I feel at a loss for words even when trying to describe past countries gone by and strain to recall memorable events and stories that have happened along the way. I am sure that at one point, in one conversation or another, much will come flooding back and I truly look forward to what we will say.

In the moment it is tough to describe how we feel, how we are affected by something. However, removed from the situation I think that experiences congeal and we will begin to appreciate how this trip has affected us and shaped our views and perspective of the world. The same was true of my trip to Africa; it was only after I returned home did I begin to see how I had changed. I am very much anticipating this realization again. Time will tell, as it always does. The end is near; only 4 days until we are back in Canada and I just can't believe it!

*NEW PHOTOS

We have posted more photos of the India portion of our trip. Still more to come (we spent 2 months there and it is a massive place).

Please bear with us. If nothing else we promise to be a little more deligent about posting some more photos quickly. That being said, we will be home in less than a month so you may be seeing us in person before some more pics of us in India. For some of you that is still a good thing we hope.

Looking forward to catching up with everyone soon, and filling in the gaps that our blog has admittedly left.

Please enjoy the pics and get ready because we will be home soon!

Love Paul and Grace

New photos...a work in progress

We have posted new photos of Kathmandu and the the first few cities we visited in India. Keep in mind, we spent two months there and were quite snap-happy, so it is a work in progress at the moment. We are stopping for lunch. We will have more later.

Hope everyone is keeping well and enjoying the summer!

Paul and Grace

Thailand: somewhere between a secluded beach and a ping pong show....

We apologize again for the tardiness of our entries. We have gotten your feedback, we thank you and we are considering each of your ideas individually. We will get back to you with a reply when possible.

Coming soon......

• A post about India: we are looking for the words to summarize our India experience. We wanted some time away and some perspective as we left with very mixed emotions
• 2 months worth of India photos: pop some corn, some Advil, and a Cuba Libre and sit back and relax for 4 hours of slide show enjoyment. You should be thankful that we are not subjecting you to this when we return
• Pics from Thailand
• Stories from Thailand (edited for all audiences)

Keep 'posted' Ha! and we will update you soon.

From Bangkok,

Over and out, P &G

We've ridden through the desert on a camel with no name...

(narrated by Will Ferrell as Professor Von Klassen while in the hot tub.)



Jaisalmer, India 2007



It was 9am under the searing desert sun when we set out on our fierce beasts. For those of us unfamiliar with the Camelus dromedarius, they anger easily and harbour resentments. But we digress, all great epics must reveal themselves in due time.



It was 9am under the searing desert sun when we set out on our fierce beasts. The first steps were shaky, unsure even, but the great animals surrendered to our steel will and began their steadfast march into the depths of the rising desert sun. 9:01am we were still walking. 9:02am see above. 9:03am; did you expect anything different - it's a damn camel safari.



As we quickly escaped civilization, or walked slowly away (and just outside of earshot), we were overcome by the power and immensity of the desert; or was that just our melting brains playing its Jedi mind tricks? The ol' Mercury was playing its childish games somewhere around the 40 - 45 degree mark. But we stayed the course (thanks Dubya, you are an inspiration) determined, nay destined, to reach the dunes that would serve as our starlit abode for the evening's rest.



As the sweat poured like Baby Duck champagne at a frosh week birthday party, and similarly seemed to find its way to the body's every nook and cranny, we discovered (for the 10, 343rd time on this safari route) the deserted desert village of the Brahman's, evicted by the thwarted Raj king who would not be granted the hand of a young Brahman girl in marriage (violence, tragedy and love unrequited; an epic of Shakespearean proportions is born).



Montage #1 (music starts, 'Chariots of Fire' plays faintly in the background):



walking, sweating, walking, walking, sweating, melting, burning, oh the burning! eating lunch, laughing, commiserating, girls beating boys at euchre (the sting of defeat running deep, as the boys had just taught them the fateful game). Arriving at the dunes.



We desaddled our desert chariots and settled down under the fading sun, nestled on a 1cm thick mattress on the hard desert sand, our evening's entertainment consisting of the close observation of the mysterious and mighty Dung Beetle, effortlessly wrestling pieces of shit thrice their size into the security of their sandy solaces. The night would be fierce, but fear not dear friends, as we would not be so bold (or shortsighted) as to slay our beloved protagonists.



The night was filled with the promise of cool. Little did we know that mother desert was crossing her fingers at the time. The clouds dashed in. The pitter patter of humid footsteps quickly followed. The sweat returned. Tossing. Turning. Sighing under the wet blanket sky. On this night, the Big Dipper was instantly transformed into the Big Dripper. Fact. Look it up. Just when it seemed there would be no refreshment from the oppressive heat, alas, a shadowy figure appeared on the dunes, with those fateful words: 'Sprite, Fanta, 7-Up?' We had come face-to-face with the ever elusive enterprising desert business man, Indianmanacus salesmanamus.



We endulged and endulged we did (what does that mean? (cameo by Jimmy Fallon)).



The desert was angry that night my friends, just like an old man trying to return soup at a deli (Costanza, George, Seinfeld, circa 1995) and just like love at 13, our situation did not last long. The clouds parted, stealing their shelter from the aloof desert sky and our ol' friend Mercury slipped and fell. Slipped yes and fell indeed, past cool and comfortable, past temperate and tolerable to shameless and shivery, cold and calculating. The sun in cohoots with the moon, testing our will and determination with nature's extremes.



On day 2, it really warmed up. We laughed at the trials and tribulations from the previous day. We bawked at the trivial temperatures that were thrown our way. We resaddled, defiant, perhaps stupid.



The day would take its toll. The slow rocking motion of our desert steads slowly ground our inner thighs and other unmentionables into the hard, unforgiving saddles. Apparently, a hump can be quite the pain in the rump.



Montage #2 (music starts, Johny Cash's 'Burning Ring of Fire')



Walking, sweating, sweating, sweating, walking, cringing, complaining, slumping, legs a shakin', hearts a breakin', arriving under the relative shelter of a large tree for an early 10:30am lunch and our 4 pm jeep pickup. Yes the math is correct, that is 5.5 hours in the devil's waiting room, where the air conditioning is broken and the only magazine is a 1982 copy of Homemaker's. Jeep arrives. Saved.



It was 9am under the searing desert sun when we set out on our fierce beasts. It was 4pm, 31 hours later when we returned. Wiser? Yes. Older? Slightly. Hydrated? Ha! We laugh at your silly questions.



But in the end, your beloved protagonists triumphed, proving too resilient and resourceful for the desert's most fierce arsenol.



That night we dined in Jaisalmer Fort. The fusilli was drenched in a delicate saffron sauce, the air was conditioned. We were home, even James Bond stops for a martini.



Fade to black.



The End.



Synopsis: We went on a 2 day camel safari. It was really nice and fun but quite hot.

Nearing the half-way point...

When we first started travelling we were warned by more seasoned adventurers that at or about the 3 month mark, you really start missing home. We are a little premature but here nonetheless. Over some Chinese food in India, we started discussing some of the things we miss from home (one just can't eat Indian food everyday). In no particular order, here are some things that we miss:

• Doritos - Grace only
• Sushi - Grace especially
• Toronto parks and summer in the city
• Sit down toilets with paper, preferably on a roll
• Paul's dogs
• Our families (probably should have been first but you know Grace)
• Good digestion and regular (formed) bowel movements
• Red wine
• Steak
• Not sitting on a bus for 10 hours
• Horkless sound waves
• Some of you
• The cottage....aahhhh
• Unstained clothing
• More than two pairs of pants
• Less than 40 degree weather
• Sweating only upon exertion
• Poker nights
• Cooking our own meals
• Music - especially my guitar
• Nights on a patio
• Men not staring at Grace's chest
• Hassle free purchasing
• Staying in one place for longer than 4 days
• No diarrhea
• Bed bug free bedding
• and finally, a place to call home

Those same seasoned travellers also told us on day 91 you forget all about these things and go back to being elated that you are travelling the world.

So screw the Doritos, we are off to Thailand soon!

Much love and respect for some,

Paully and Gracie

*NEW PHOTOS

Greetings from Manali in Northern India. The weather is perfect, the scenery is stunning, and the internet works for 30 minutes at a time. Coincidentally, just enough time to post some more photos of our journey. The photos were taken during our month long visit to Nepal. They include Pokhara and our 12-day trek. Also included are photos from Hong Kong which were not posted earlier. Enjoy!

3 Sisters Trekking Company, Pokhara, Nepal

Maya is a 25 year old Nepali woman who loves to laugh and does not love to practice her English. She has a 3 year old son named Palbit, who is the product of an unhappy marriage to an abusive and neglectful man 12 years her senior. She has had the courage and foresight to divorce, and consequently the good fortune to come into contact with the 3 Sisters: Nicky, Dicky and Lucky Chhetri who run the 3 Sisters Trekking Company along with a guest house, restaurant and orphanage. They have created opportunities for young women in Nepal to work, travel and pursue options other than arranged marriages which, if unsuccessful can leave them destitute, dependent and possibly outcasts in society.

The following is taken from www.3sisteradventure.com:

In the early ninety's no one would have dreamed of a Nepalese women guiding a trek. Nepalese society is ruled by the Orthodox Hindu religion where women are considered second-class citizens. Their role is to be a diligent wife, a loving mother, and an obedient daughter-in-law. Society dictates that a woman should not cross out of her home threshold. But the Chhetri sisters did just that.

3 Sisters employs women like Maya and by virtue of earning their own income enables them to make decisions for themselves and gain independence. They began recruiting women as porters and guides when they, themselves were leading treks through mountain villages. They would encounter young women along the way who's families had lent them to mountain guest house managers, under the false promise of educating and caring for them in exchange for assistance with daily guest house chores. In an isolated situation with no family and no education, the women would effectively be trapped for life. Their families, unaware of their situation and continuing to believe that they had been given a better life than they could have provided, did not search for them.

The sisters would meet these women with some regularity and made it their mission to employ them, thereby effecting an incredible change in their future and prospects.

The story of how the 3 Sisters Trekking Company came to be is no less impressive and inspiring. Born to loving parents near Pokhara, they grew up in a household with five brothers who, as tradition would dictate, would be expected to be educated while the girls were expected to marry. In the meantime, the girls would help with household and farming chores. As with any privilege obtained without effort, the boys took their education for granted and did not take it very seriously, pursuing leisure activities instead and performed quite poorly. Dicky recounts how her father likened his family to a garden, and his children to beautiful flowers. The boys behaviour made him feel that he had failed in keeping the garden thriving. Perhaps he had not watered it with enough love, support or guidance.

The girls were devastated to see that the years of hard work their parents endured to provide their children with the best possible educational opportunities were being squandered and decided to go to school themselves and work exceptionally hard to achieve top grades and reward their parents. Following successful completion of university for all three sisters, they decided to start a trekking company which would employ and cater to women.

They have overcome initial societal disapproval and have become incredibly successful, adding an orphanage and school, a hostel and training facility for staff, and a beautiful guest house from which I originally composed this journal entry.

Paul and I have just returned from an unforgettable 12-day trek, which was physically exhausting and spiritually uplifting. Often I was overwhelmed by the natural beauty surrounding me. Equally as often, I ached and complained about sore knees and shoulders until I would look over at Maya, 5-foot-nothing Maya, carrying two packs over all the same challenging terrain and in the same blistering heat that I was. But according to Maya, she was "excellent", "no problem" and "everything okay". And with the help of three sisters, she now is.

Trekking in Nepal

What takes 12 days to walk takes 20 minutes to fly!

For the last 12 days we have trekked 110 km through hillside strewn villages, across dry pre-monsoon riverbeds, past mystical waterfalls emerging through impressive boulders in the jungle-like forest, ascended into the Himalayan valley alongside the adorning snow-capped peaks of the world's biggest mountains, traversed the desert moonscape of northern Nepal, and finally ascended to Muktinath, a holy pilgrimage site for the world's Hindus, where we bathed in the 108 showers and 2 pools to cleanse our souls of all sins. The experience of trekking in Nepal has been nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Through speechless beauty, piercing physical pain and exhaustion at 4000m above sea level, we trekked through one of the most beautiful countries either of us has ever seen. With each passing day the landscape, people and culture were utterly transformed from traditional Nepali villages, through remote minority mountain peoples, to the northern Tibetan settlements and barren Buddhist districts.

We walked along 1000 year old mountain paths, linking the salt and grain trade route between Nepal and Tibet, down countless stone steps, past numerous mule caravans, along steep cliff side paths, up breathtakingly steep switch back trails, through deafeningly windy valleys, and through the Tibet-like barren moonscape of the north. As much as it was physically trying at times, it was exponentially more rewarding.

As we walked we learned of Nepali politics and royal family massacres conspiracy theories, of Hindu gods and their fantastical stories, of poverty and why it is often more valuable to keep children at home rather then sending them to school (which is free), and how it is possible for a group of socially minded trekking guides to rescue child labourers who had been sent to the mountain villages under the false promises of a better future and a good education. Nepal has as much to offer the mind as it does the eyes. And there is hope.

Nepal is in the midst of massive political change, with the Maoist insurgents and rebels being replaced with members of parliament and official political representation, to the national discussion on the future of the much maligned King and a royal family which is widely accused of lining their pockets with the nation's wealth, as the Nepali people have been left to struggle for decades, between the emerging powers of India and China. With elections in the fall, the fate of Nepal's future and monarchy lie in the balance. With less corruption the hope is that the Nepali masses will start to benefit more from the rich resources that Nepal has to offer. Maybe then it will not take 4L-of-cooking-oil-incentive to allow a family to let a child go to school (a government program, funded by international aid has begun which gives a family ~4L of cooking oil a month so that their children can go to school, an attempt to offset the additional money the child would earn for the family if they were to remain home and work.)

I would recommend Nepal to anyone, for its incredible richness of both culture and nature. With luck and leadership, hopefully Nepal will be able to ride the tides of success being experienced in India and China, and no longer feel like the forgotten kingdom sandwiched between two emerging behemoths. I will always remember Nepal the beautiful, Nepal and kind, and Nepal the hopeful of a bright and better future. I hope others will have the chance to experience this Nepal too.

Communism in China: A Personal Observation

I must admit that one of the intrigues of travelling to China was to witness, first had, a culture and country under communist control. After travelling in China for 6 weeks, I think I can fairly say that the communist control is not as evident as I had initially thought it might be.

In Shanghai, where I spent my first 2 weeks, I would venture to say that is was not apparent at all, with the exception of the Mao statues and 'little red books' for sale by the hordes of street vendors, the new religion is capitalism and the deities, cold hard cash. Beijing was different. The wide, cold concrete expanses of Tiannamen Square and the neighboring streets adorned with government buildings were much more reflective of my preconceived notion of what a communist state would look and feel like. That being said, when you ducked into, and lost yourself in the labyrinthine hutongs, all sterility of Beijing soon evaporated in the hussle and bussle of daily life. In the lives of ordinary people, I have found the effects of communism hard to see, especially when passing shoeless, black-footed homeless people sleeping in the street, something I naively did not expect to witness in a socialist society. As time passed and I witnessed more subtleties of daily life, I noticed that the communism in China is often manifested in more elusive undertones of Chinese culture, rather than overt and demonstrative displays in daily life. One such source of observation is the Chinese media.

Of the 10 or so state-controlled Chinese cable television networks (CCTV), one broadcasts in English. Having the misfortune of being sick for a day I had the opportunity to watch the Chinese programming offered by the state. If I could summarize the programming with one statement, I would say that China was at the centre of it all. International news always involved China, sports highlights from around the world always featured Chinese athletes (I was momentarily excited to see highlights from the NBA, only to have them cease after reviewing the latest performance by Yao Ming). Arts programming featured young and promising artists working in the traditional Chinese methods. The common thread woven throughout was the primacy and sacrosanctity of Chinese culture.

Back in Shanghai, I was sitting in People's Park one afternoon and I overheard a discussion between 3 young Chinese students and a man from the UK. From what I gathered from the conversation (okay I was eavesdropping) was that the Chinese girls were trying to argue that China was in fact, the centre of the world because if you looked at a map of the world (from China), China is smack dab in the middle. Somewhat amused, the European man tried to point out that the position of a given country on a map is relative to how it is printed, stating that by that logic Europe would be at the centre of the world from a Western perspective. This debate did not go very far, as the group soon dispersed with every one's personal perceptions still firmly intact. Looking back at that conversation, I questions any one's ability to convince those girls otherwise.

China in Chinese is Zhongguo, directly translates to 'middle kingdom'. I have been told that it is extrapolated by popular Chinese belief to mean the centre of the world; if China continues to grow and prosper at its current rate, the same meaning might hold true for the rest of the world as well.

*NEW PHOTOS!

Please click on Picassa Web Albums below to view photos from the rest of our trip in China. Sorry it took so long to post these...

P&G

The Shanghai Bargainer

A few days before Grace arrived in Shanghai, I was walking down Nanjing Lu when I encountered the most persistent street vendor. He approached me as I walked by and wanted to sell me two fake Mont Blanc pens.

"Cheapie-cheapie, 100 kwai!", he said (~ $14 Cdn). "Booyao xiexie," (don't want thank you) I replied in one of the few but likely the most useful chinese phrase I have learned.

The man started walking beside me saying "Okay okay 3!, cheapie-cheapie 100 kwai" adding a third pen to the box....."Booyao xiexie", I replied......."Okay okay...... 4!, cheapie-cheapie 100 kwai" reaching into his pocket and adding a fourth....."Booyao xiexie", I replied mildly amused now......"Okay okay 5....6....7.....8...........13! Cheapie-Cheapie! 100 Kwai!" After offering the 13th pen, the box, which was built for two pens was bursting open with pens falling out....... "Booyao xiexie," I replied fully laughing at the whole ordeal now........"Okay okay 13!......and Omega watch, cheapie-cheapie, 100 kwai!".

At this point, I realized I was not going to lose this guy too easily. What probably spurred on his persistance was my snickering at the peculularity of the whole situation. Finally, wanting to shake him I stopped walking and stood to cross the street, hoping he would get the picture that I was not interested. "Come, cheapie-cheapie he repeated while tapping my arm for about 15 more seconds before finally relenting.

A couple of things strike me from this experience; one is that being friendly and acknowledging some of these vendors is not the best way to avoid their persistent sales pitch, the second is to never take their first offer, as there is a good chance that you will be offered 11 more pens and a watch!

~Paul

Hot Pot & A Bowl of Ice

It is the equivalent of ordering a pizza with no dough, but we'll get to that later...

It was our first day in Shanghai without our trusted guides and hosts, Andrew and Becky. But no worries, we had spent an entire ten minutes learning how to order our favourite dishes in Chinese, how to order a glass of cold water, and standard issue side dishes like fried rice or vegetables. We were armed and ready.

We had been walking for a few hours and had already successfully ordered "dumplings to go" at a street food stall. Apparently, Chinese is not such a difficult language to learn and can be mastered in only a day.

We later stumbled upon a quaint courtyard in a sea of storefront clothing and furniture stores and decided to stop for lunch in the restaurant within it. We were not completely certain it wasn't a tea house, as the only english sign said "Tea Hot Pot". We very elequently asked whether they were serving lunch my using hand signals and inquiring: "Food? Food?". We were led to a private booth, still not completely confident that they served anything but tea.

We were shown a menu with food items written both in Chinese and English, and non-exhorbitant prices so we decided to order. We pointed to a beef dish, spring rolls and shrimp dumplings. The waitress pointed to soup options, but we opted out. It was an extremely hot and humid day, so hot soup did not seem like a refreshing option. She continued to point to various items on the menu, but we refused, as a beef dish and a couple of appetizers to share should be adequate, and we were not going to be up-sold. She seemed unsatisfied with our choices, but left the table, smiling and nodding.

She returned a few minutes later with another waitress and two burners. We signed to her that we would be sharing one, and she again pointed to the menu, asking if we wanted any additional items. We began refusing again, but she repeatedly pointed to the soup section, saying "Hot pot. Hot Pot".

The fog lifted and we realized that what she was trying to tell us was that a hot pot is exactly that. A fondue/Korean barbeque of sorts, where the ingredients you order (or singular ingredient in our case, as all we had ordered was beef) are added to a hot pot at your table and cooked in the soup base of your choice. Laughing, we pointed to chicken soup and she seemed relieved that we finally understood the concept. In essence, we had been trying to order pizza with no dough.

We added noodles and collected a few dipping sauces, finally understanding how ridiculous our order must have seemed. I won't embarrass ourselves any further by recounting how we ordered ice water and received a bowl of ice. Delivered again by our waitres while smiling and nodding.

The moral of this story? Chinese is a difficult languange to learn and cannot be mastered in a single lesson. Even if you believe you have mastered a few phrases, attempts to use them will be met with a myriad of responses from giggles to looks of bewilderment.

Yang Yang, Shen Shuang, and the $23 tea lesson

It is needless to say that foreigners stick out in China; even easier to say that a lone Caucasian male walking by himself with a backpack might offer further distinction. This is how I came to meet Yang Yang and Shen Shuang.

I was walking alone in People's Square in central Shanghai, when the two of them stopped, introducing themselves in very good English as students from Beijing. If you have been to Shanghai you can probably stop reading because you have heard this one before; if you have not, please read on and enjoy my slight misfortune :)

Yang Yang (a 20 year old male) and Shen Shuang (a 25 year old female) asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Shanghai and proceeded to tell me that they too were visiting Shanghai, on a school trip from Beijing. They were spending the afternoon going to a tea tasting/ceremony that their professor had told them about. Asking if I had any further plans for the afternoon, they inquired if I wanted to join them. Having none, I obliged, thinking this would be somewhat of a unique cultural experience. We arrived at the teahouse which was a little off the beaten track and were directed to a small private room. Now my friends Andrew and Becky had forewarned me about certain scams in the city, including tea tastings where they invite you to try a variety of teas and then when the bill comes they have charged you an inordinate amount of money for each tea. Feeling slightly suspicious and moderately clever I asked in one of the few Chinese phrases I have learned 'how much is it?'. At this our private tea expert showed me a list, written all in Chinese but with the price of 30Y per person, or the equivalent of around $4.50 Canadian written on the side. Still holding on some reservations my Beijing friends assured me that they would pay their own way. This was enough to make me feel comfortable, as I was willing to pay $4.50 for tea and a unique cultural experience.

Six tea tastings later and after a short intermission of tea cookies the bill arrived. 1100Y or $170.00! Now what I had failed to realize, or had failed to be told was that the price of 30Y per person was actually 30Y per person, per tea! Plus a fee for the tea cookies! Plus a 'service fee' from our expert! I was now on the hook for $57.00 worth of afternoon tea and my unique cultural experience. My face must have went white when the bill arrived as I knew that I had left the house that morning with only 150Y ($23), with no debit card and no visa card. I was mortified that I did not have the money to pay my portion of the bill but my new student friends said they would gladly cover the difference. Embarrassed, I left the tea house and soon parted ways with Yang Yang and Shen Shuang, exchanging email addresses should I like to have them show Grace and I around in Beijing.

That evening I told the story to Andrew and Becky, my university friend hosts in Shanghai. They both laughed and were of the opinion that the 'students from Beijing' were in fact from Shanghai and likely worked for the teahouse, bringing unsuspecting and ignorant tourists in to pay inordinate amounts of money for a tea tasting. Becky then spoke of friends she has known that have been put in similar situations and have had to pay bills up to $300.

So I am glad my lesson in Shanghai street smarts only cost me $23, a price probably worth the story and lesson learned. Since that day, sure enough I have been invited to tea by 'students from Beijing' and an older Chinese man in various areas frequented by tourists. One thing is for certain, I am now once bitten and twice shy.


~Paul