Have you ever heard of the Chinese Bath Houses? I used to picture a giant sauna and hot tub, where men & women wash themselves once a week to keep the lice and ticks away. Well, I found out first hand what it's all about. The "Harbin Modern Recreational Centre" has one thing the old bath houses of the past don't have - people to wash you. Now I'm not talking about a person who stands there in the shower with you. "Pass me the soap, will ya?" But rather a trained professional in the art of dermabrasion.
To start off, you have to strip down to your flip flops and join the rest of the unwashed masses in a huge bathroom. No, it's gender specific, unfortunately. The dudes go in one side and the dudettes int he other. Still, I felt a little bit uneasy standing around in my birthday suit. Especially when some guy named wong was staring at my wang. I wish I knew how to say "Jealous?" in Chinese, but instead I just winked at him. That seemed to scare him off.
Now, after the gawkers had their fill, I sat down in a huge hot tub. Actually they have 2 hot tubs - one is just hot, and the other one is scalding. I couldn't stay in the scalding tub for too long or my organs would start to cook. So, I just par-boiled myself and moved on. They also have a "cold tub" here which I found interesting. It's like a hot tub, only the water is ice cold. Needless to say, I didn't feel like racing my heart today, so I skipped that one.
After I sat around and dried off a bit, I moved on to the final, and most important stage - the scraping of the dead skin. That sounds a bit like a horror movie, doesn't it? "The Scraping of the Dead". I'd watch it. Actually the real version is kinda scary the first time you see it, but you learn to get used to it. Firt off, you lie on a massage table covered in saran wrap, and someone pours warm water all over you. The, using a special sandpaper mitt, a dude starts rubbing your skin from head to toe, releasing any tough dirt buildup and dead skin that is left on your body. I imagine a few layers of live skin come off too, because my chest was looking like a lobster tail by the end of it. He then asks you to roll over on your stomach. Being naked, my natural reaction was to clench - everything. But he asked me to relax, or at least that's what I think he asked me. He scraped my back, my gluteus maximus, and finally, in between my toes and the soles of my feet. That one tickled.
After I was a few layers of skin lighter, I was told I'm supposed to rub salt all over my body and go into the sauna. I did this, and I gotta tell ya, it burned baby. I don't know if the salt is supposed to seal all my timy wounds from the sandpaper, but I got some in my eyes, and boy did it hurt. Like the tubs, there are 2 saunas. Hot, and furnace. You're supposed to stay in there until all the salt liquifies and runs off your body, so I went inside the furnace to speed up the process. I couldn't stay in there much longer than 5 minutes, and when I emerged I felt like jumping in the cold bath, but I held back. Instead, I was given a razor and a squirt of shaving cream. They say after the sauna is the best time to shave. So I did, and yeah, they were right! Shaving has never been so easy, and I managed to avoid gashing myself up!
After I finished my shave, I jumped in the shower and reached over for the supplied body wash. There were 2 types - aloe, and milk. Milk? Okay, whatever. I washed myself in milk for the first time today. You'd think it would go sour, sitting there in the shower, but actually, it gave me some new power! My skin was still feeling a bit "open" from all the scraping, but when I applied the milk, that feeling abated. Now I felt great! I had just come from a 10K run before the bath house, and when I weighed myself on the way out, I saw that I had lost 2 Kilos! That can't be right can it? Well, actually, now that I think about it, all that dead skin they scraped off me probably weighs quite a bit. Now that I think about it, maybe that's where the term "skinny" came from. "Look at that guy, they scraped him all over and now half of his skin is on the floor. Let's call him skinny."
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
March 12th - And the Polar Bears Were Boiled in their Tanks
I sorta borrowed the title for today's entry from an early Beat Generation novel called “And the Hippos Were Boiled in their Tanks” because I think it fits in a way. Yesterday we decided to make use of out limited time here in China by going across the river to see some animals. My wife loves animals of all sorts – dogs, cats, birds, slugs, you name it. When I first arrived in Harbin some six weeks ago, I noticed a sign at the airport for “Harbin Polarland” which showed some penguins wearing sunglasses, and a father and son tobogganing with a Polar Bear. Looked like a good time!
Aside from Polarland, there is also a Tiger Preservation Centre over on the other side of the river. It's sort of a nature reserve dedicated to the preservation and breeding of large cats. My wife missed our family cat I guess, because next thing I knew, we were on a safari through this semi-large grassland full of roaming tigers. For 40 Yuan, you could order a live chicken and watch them feed it to a huge adult tiger right in front of your eyes. We did, and I must say, I've never seen a chicken crap out its intestines before, but once the tiger put a big Chomp on the bird’s stomach, you might say it was scared shitless.
After the mobile tour was over, we were allowed to roam around in the breeding centre. Here they would put a male and a female of the same species (or sometimes not) to hopefully produce an offspring. Actually, there was a bit of playing God going on, because they had lions and tigers together in the same pen, in order to produce Liger cubs, which they proudly had on display. There were also cheetahs, leopards, and my favorite, the jaguars. We actually interrupted 2 jaguars getting their jag on, and one of them wouldn’t stop staring at me for as long as I was standing there. I guess if you interrupt two people while they are getting down to business, you are public enemy #1, at least around these parts.
On my way out, I had a chance to read some despicably-translated materials on the park. It was founded in 1996 after Bengal tigers were put on the endangered species list, and is now home to over 600 large cats, including the rare “white tiger”. I was hoping they were also home to the rare 80's band “Glass Tiger”, but I wasn't so lucky. I felt dejected, once again, because my dream of taking part in a Chinese 80's headbanger's ball were again crushed.
After we left the tiger amusement park, I figured we were just going home. That seemed like enough excitement for one day. But Nooooo, the driver pulled into another parking lot, this time with garbage cans shaped like penguins greeting us at the entrance. The idea with these trash receptacles is, you actually put your waste in the penguin’s mouth! I thought most zoos discouraged feeding the animals, but this one has that all taken care of. Feeding the penguins is okay, as long as they are 4 feet tall and made of fiberglass.
Once inside, we looked at some sturgeon and I could have sworn I smelled fish frying somewhere in this place. It must be like that fish farm I worked at one summer. Every week, they would let us take home a fish to barbecue. At least my coworkers convinced me that I was allowed to. Maybe that’s why I never did get asked to come back the next summer...Somewhere in the hidden back rooms of this place, I just know there is a big ol’ country fish fry going on, and damn if I wasn't just a little bit hungry.
Moving on, we saw seals swimming around in a tank, but the water looked like it was about “kiddie-pool” depth, plus there were all these props in there with them – a dingy, some sort of water wheel, a bunch of buoys, and not to mention, 4 seals. I watched them flop around for a bit, but then we moved on to the next exciting animals – the penguins!
When you think of penguins, that big-time, box office smash “March of the Penguins” probably comes to your mind. This documentary features only 1 type of penguin, the “Emperor Penguin”. They are the largest of the penguin family, and make some pretty cool noises too. At Polarland, there is a whole mish-mash of the penguin brotherhood. I counted at least 3 different species, and there were about 30 penguins in all, hopping around on the fake rocks, all jazzed up with white spray paint so you felt like you were in the arctic. I followed the journey of one guy from the time he plopped his round little body into the water, to his loops and summersaults all over the tank. He looked like he was having tons of fun. Just then a worker entered the penguin habitat to check on something. It was funny, because the penguins must recognize him as a source of food. They all followed him in a big line, single file. It looked like a big game of follow-the-leader, but no fish were given out as prizes. The dude just checked the thermostat and left. Poor little guys didn't even get a sardine for their troubles.
Now, moving on to the next area, I saw out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a big hairy blonde dude swimming laps. That reminds me, my YMCA membership has run out. No, wait, that's a Polar Bear! There were 2 of the beasts, with one doing the backstroke from end to end of the water tank, and another up on the fake rocks, looking like he wanted to kill somebody. He must have been pissed off, because this tank was tiny. I was actually pretty appalled at the size of this tank. When both Polar Bears were in the water together, they could barely move around. Luckily, they learned to swap now & again, with one in the water swimming laps, and the other pacing on the rocks, from end to end. The whole tank couldn't have been more than 15 or 20 feet long, and less than that in depth. My wife asked one of the workers if they have a “Polar Bear Show” like they do with the seals. I saw him laugh. I figure he said something like “Are you crazy? Do you think someone would actually get in there with 2 angry Polar Bears?”
Aside form the Polar Bears, the main attraction at this place was 2 Beluga Whales. Back in Vancouver, the local Aquarium has 3 or 4, I think, with one having just died last summer. Tragic, I know, but what's more tragic is the lack of space these poor animals have at Harbin Polarland. I think they make due with what they have though, because one of the whales was swimming around, playing with a toy and having a great time. The other one was just sitting still, not moving at all, and only coming up for breaths now and again. Either it was napping, or it just doesn't have the energy to move. The Belugas I've seen in captivity are usually pretty blubbery, and almost like big marshmallows. These 2 were slim, grayish things with scars all over them. I don't know their story, but either they got outta line and the trainer gave them a lashing, or they were rescued in a harbour somewhere, after getting caught in a fisherman's net. Either way, I didn't feel like watching them.
My wife on the other hand, wanted to stick around for the Whale Show at 1PM. In the meantime, we checked out the shark tank downstairs. It was odd. All these different tropical fish, turtles and manta rays were swimming around in the same tank as 3 great big bull sharks. Why don't they eat them? Maybe they are all vegetarians like in the Jack Black movie. Maybe they're just full. Yeah, that's probably it. Maybe here used to be several hundred fish in this tank. Now, there's maybe 50. After a while, they probably got sick of fish. How about a nice, juicy tourist. We're sick of Chinese food too. What's that? Italian? Mama mia! I think I'm safe though. Nobody ever asks for Canadian food, do they? What do you feel like tonight, honey? Chinese? Indian? Maybe Thai? Naw, how about some Canadian?!?! Ok, I'll get the timbits, you go pick up a 12-pack of Molson. Now that's a wholesome dinner!
After a bunch of fluttering around, getting the Belugas to wag their tails like dogs and wave to the giddy onlookers, they cranked up the music, and the trainer got in the pool. Now to add to the cheese-factor, they were playing Celine Dion, and the trainer started floating around, pretending to kiss the whale. Awww, isn't that sweet. I kept waiting for the whale to make a wrong turn and crush the pesky human up against the side of the tank, but it never happened. The whole show lasted about 7 minutes, and ended with the wetsuit-clad teenager jumping out of the water off the nose of the whale. My wife really enjoyed it, so I played along, No point ruining her day with my “plight of the animals” schpeal. She agreed that the tanks were too small, but I suppose in China, the rules are more lax when it comes to animal treatment. Heck, back home, you practically have to cross a picket line to go to the circus. I know, I once applied to be a carnie, but I couldn't take the carnage.
On the way out, we stopped off to have one last look at the Polar Bears, and a pair of wolves that were also on display. I read the sign and learned that the wolves were from Canada. Finally! Someone I can relate to. I asked them where the nearest Tim's was, but I don't think they heard me. They were too busy watching over their young. Watching them over there in that other pen. I don't know what it will do to you if you are separated from your parents by a pane of glass, but it had these wolf cubs thinking they were hamsters. There was a little training wheel in the middle of the cub pen, and one of them was running his little legs off. I have expected his water dish to be filled with gator-aid and to see him wearing a little sweat band on his wolf-mullet. But no, like me, these guys like it “au-naural”. No gimmicks, no special equipment. Just me, the glass wall, and my giant hamster wheel. Now excuse me, I have to go eat my food pellets now. Don't step on my tail.
Aside from Polarland, there is also a Tiger Preservation Centre over on the other side of the river. It's sort of a nature reserve dedicated to the preservation and breeding of large cats. My wife missed our family cat I guess, because next thing I knew, we were on a safari through this semi-large grassland full of roaming tigers. For 40 Yuan, you could order a live chicken and watch them feed it to a huge adult tiger right in front of your eyes. We did, and I must say, I've never seen a chicken crap out its intestines before, but once the tiger put a big Chomp on the bird’s stomach, you might say it was scared shitless.
After the mobile tour was over, we were allowed to roam around in the breeding centre. Here they would put a male and a female of the same species (or sometimes not) to hopefully produce an offspring. Actually, there was a bit of playing God going on, because they had lions and tigers together in the same pen, in order to produce Liger cubs, which they proudly had on display. There were also cheetahs, leopards, and my favorite, the jaguars. We actually interrupted 2 jaguars getting their jag on, and one of them wouldn’t stop staring at me for as long as I was standing there. I guess if you interrupt two people while they are getting down to business, you are public enemy #1, at least around these parts.
On my way out, I had a chance to read some despicably-translated materials on the park. It was founded in 1996 after Bengal tigers were put on the endangered species list, and is now home to over 600 large cats, including the rare “white tiger”. I was hoping they were also home to the rare 80's band “Glass Tiger”, but I wasn't so lucky. I felt dejected, once again, because my dream of taking part in a Chinese 80's headbanger's ball were again crushed.
After we left the tiger amusement park, I figured we were just going home. That seemed like enough excitement for one day. But Nooooo, the driver pulled into another parking lot, this time with garbage cans shaped like penguins greeting us at the entrance. The idea with these trash receptacles is, you actually put your waste in the penguin’s mouth! I thought most zoos discouraged feeding the animals, but this one has that all taken care of. Feeding the penguins is okay, as long as they are 4 feet tall and made of fiberglass.
Once inside, we looked at some sturgeon and I could have sworn I smelled fish frying somewhere in this place. It must be like that fish farm I worked at one summer. Every week, they would let us take home a fish to barbecue. At least my coworkers convinced me that I was allowed to. Maybe that’s why I never did get asked to come back the next summer...Somewhere in the hidden back rooms of this place, I just know there is a big ol’ country fish fry going on, and damn if I wasn't just a little bit hungry.
Moving on, we saw seals swimming around in a tank, but the water looked like it was about “kiddie-pool” depth, plus there were all these props in there with them – a dingy, some sort of water wheel, a bunch of buoys, and not to mention, 4 seals. I watched them flop around for a bit, but then we moved on to the next exciting animals – the penguins!
When you think of penguins, that big-time, box office smash “March of the Penguins” probably comes to your mind. This documentary features only 1 type of penguin, the “Emperor Penguin”. They are the largest of the penguin family, and make some pretty cool noises too. At Polarland, there is a whole mish-mash of the penguin brotherhood. I counted at least 3 different species, and there were about 30 penguins in all, hopping around on the fake rocks, all jazzed up with white spray paint so you felt like you were in the arctic. I followed the journey of one guy from the time he plopped his round little body into the water, to his loops and summersaults all over the tank. He looked like he was having tons of fun. Just then a worker entered the penguin habitat to check on something. It was funny, because the penguins must recognize him as a source of food. They all followed him in a big line, single file. It looked like a big game of follow-the-leader, but no fish were given out as prizes. The dude just checked the thermostat and left. Poor little guys didn't even get a sardine for their troubles.
Now, moving on to the next area, I saw out of the corner of my eye, what looked like a big hairy blonde dude swimming laps. That reminds me, my YMCA membership has run out. No, wait, that's a Polar Bear! There were 2 of the beasts, with one doing the backstroke from end to end of the water tank, and another up on the fake rocks, looking like he wanted to kill somebody. He must have been pissed off, because this tank was tiny. I was actually pretty appalled at the size of this tank. When both Polar Bears were in the water together, they could barely move around. Luckily, they learned to swap now & again, with one in the water swimming laps, and the other pacing on the rocks, from end to end. The whole tank couldn't have been more than 15 or 20 feet long, and less than that in depth. My wife asked one of the workers if they have a “Polar Bear Show” like they do with the seals. I saw him laugh. I figure he said something like “Are you crazy? Do you think someone would actually get in there with 2 angry Polar Bears?”
Aside form the Polar Bears, the main attraction at this place was 2 Beluga Whales. Back in Vancouver, the local Aquarium has 3 or 4, I think, with one having just died last summer. Tragic, I know, but what's more tragic is the lack of space these poor animals have at Harbin Polarland. I think they make due with what they have though, because one of the whales was swimming around, playing with a toy and having a great time. The other one was just sitting still, not moving at all, and only coming up for breaths now and again. Either it was napping, or it just doesn't have the energy to move. The Belugas I've seen in captivity are usually pretty blubbery, and almost like big marshmallows. These 2 were slim, grayish things with scars all over them. I don't know their story, but either they got outta line and the trainer gave them a lashing, or they were rescued in a harbour somewhere, after getting caught in a fisherman's net. Either way, I didn't feel like watching them.
My wife on the other hand, wanted to stick around for the Whale Show at 1PM. In the meantime, we checked out the shark tank downstairs. It was odd. All these different tropical fish, turtles and manta rays were swimming around in the same tank as 3 great big bull sharks. Why don't they eat them? Maybe they are all vegetarians like in the Jack Black movie. Maybe they're just full. Yeah, that's probably it. Maybe here used to be several hundred fish in this tank. Now, there's maybe 50. After a while, they probably got sick of fish. How about a nice, juicy tourist. We're sick of Chinese food too. What's that? Italian? Mama mia! I think I'm safe though. Nobody ever asks for Canadian food, do they? What do you feel like tonight, honey? Chinese? Indian? Maybe Thai? Naw, how about some Canadian?!?! Ok, I'll get the timbits, you go pick up a 12-pack of Molson. Now that's a wholesome dinner!
After a bunch of fluttering around, getting the Belugas to wag their tails like dogs and wave to the giddy onlookers, they cranked up the music, and the trainer got in the pool. Now to add to the cheese-factor, they were playing Celine Dion, and the trainer started floating around, pretending to kiss the whale. Awww, isn't that sweet. I kept waiting for the whale to make a wrong turn and crush the pesky human up against the side of the tank, but it never happened. The whole show lasted about 7 minutes, and ended with the wetsuit-clad teenager jumping out of the water off the nose of the whale. My wife really enjoyed it, so I played along, No point ruining her day with my “plight of the animals” schpeal. She agreed that the tanks were too small, but I suppose in China, the rules are more lax when it comes to animal treatment. Heck, back home, you practically have to cross a picket line to go to the circus. I know, I once applied to be a carnie, but I couldn't take the carnage.
On the way out, we stopped off to have one last look at the Polar Bears, and a pair of wolves that were also on display. I read the sign and learned that the wolves were from Canada. Finally! Someone I can relate to. I asked them where the nearest Tim's was, but I don't think they heard me. They were too busy watching over their young. Watching them over there in that other pen. I don't know what it will do to you if you are separated from your parents by a pane of glass, but it had these wolf cubs thinking they were hamsters. There was a little training wheel in the middle of the cub pen, and one of them was running his little legs off. I have expected his water dish to be filled with gator-aid and to see him wearing a little sweat band on his wolf-mullet. But no, like me, these guys like it “au-naural”. No gimmicks, no special equipment. Just me, the glass wall, and my giant hamster wheel. Now excuse me, I have to go eat my food pellets now. Don't step on my tail.
March 11th - Edible Oddities
Here is a list of some of the interesting things I've encountered on the dinner table while in China. I have eaten all of these things, and I live to tell the tale. And no, I haven't eaten any dogs or cats over here. At least I don't think so.
Silk Worms – Yes, they are actual worms. They serve them roasted, baked or boiled, and they idea is to pierce the hard exoskeleton and suck out all of the creamy innards. I've been told that eating 3 silk worms will give you the same amount of protein as eating one egg. Not my favourite food by any stretch, but if I was starving, I could eat them.
Bone Marrow – Inside every hambone lies the thick, salty fluid that drives dogs wild – bone marrow. When a waitress hands you plastic gloves and a drinking straw, you know that you are in for a treat. The idea is to eat away all the meat, and then poke your straw into the canal inside this hambone, then you suck, suck, suck your meal away.
Congee – There's really nothing shocking about rice soup, I just find it a bit strange, and I am not a huge fan of it. To start with, the texture throws my appetite off a bit. Imagine a big bowl of warm, chunky snot is set down in front of you. Wanna bite? Or rather, a slurp? The flavour, or rather lack thereof, is quite bland, and just tastes like watery rice. I don’t see what the big deal is about it, and why it’s such a popular food, especially at breakfast. I'll take my rice solid, please.
Hot Milk – You can't just drink regular milk here in China. It's either sweetened to the point that it's now considered a soft drink, or it's boiled to remove any bacteria. I ordered a milkshake at one restaurant, and they served me a hot glass of purple milk. It was disgusting. I couldn't drink it. This isn't just for cow's milk, but soy milk as well. There's something about hot milk that just turns my stomach.
Hot water – At a restaurant, if you ask for a glass of water, it's not ice water. They bring you a cup of boiling water. I don't know if people generally like the feeling of scalding their lips, or if it's just a precautionary measure to kill any bacteria. Either way, I miss good ol' tap water that you can actually drink.
Pig's Head – There is one day of the year when everyone HAS to eat pig's head. I think it's some sort of ritual, like a dragon once ate a pig's head or something, so it's good luck. Last night I was lucky enough to eat some, and it was pretty darn rubbery. It tasted like pork alright, but a little more weathered. But, I suppose if I had to eat one animal's face, it would be a pig's. Considering all the hot dogs I ate as a kid, I feel like I've already eaten about 15,000 snouts, ears and eyeballs anyway, so what's one more?
Chicken Feet – Another rubbery treat, chicken's feet are considered a delicacy here in China. You can even buy them at corner stores in little plastic wrappers, all ready to be heated up in the microwave “nuke & puke” style. I've eaten a few of these, and aside from their texture, they just taste like chicken. Oh wait, they are chicken.
Duck's tongue – When I ate peking duck, a special piece of meat was given to me on a tiny little plate. It was pretty long, but tasted really nice & it was tender as hell. I've also had goose tongues, but I didn't like them as much. They were cooked in some sort of sauce that I didn't appreciate. I think it was called saliva.
Duck's brain – I always thought salmon was brain food? But I guess, what better brain food than brain itself? Brains are a rare delicacy here in China, and are served in special ceremonial dishes. What are they called again? Oh, right. HEADS!
Chicken necks – When you buy a frozen turkey or chicken at the supermarket, you often find a frozen bag of organs and a crooked neck rammed inside the carcass. When I was a kid, my mom used to cook the neck and feed it to our cats. They loved it! Over here in china, the neck of the chicken is chopped up into little pieces and served just like the rest of the chicken. I didn't even realize it was the neck, until I looked closely and saw that I was sucking on vertebrae.
This is just my Top 10 for now. I know there are far stranger things out there, and I don't dare mention the black market trade of tiger's penises and all that spiritual stuff. I don't think I was given the full tour of Chinese cuisine, just because I have friends over here who care about my health. I have heard stories about white people being served dog food over here as a joke, and then being sick for a week. Hopefully that doesn't happen to me in my last week over here in China. All in all, I have enjoyed the majority of the food, maybe aside from the silk worms and chicken feet. One thing’s for sure though, when I was eating a chicken's foot, nobody got mad at me for biting my nails.
Silk Worms – Yes, they are actual worms. They serve them roasted, baked or boiled, and they idea is to pierce the hard exoskeleton and suck out all of the creamy innards. I've been told that eating 3 silk worms will give you the same amount of protein as eating one egg. Not my favourite food by any stretch, but if I was starving, I could eat them.
Bone Marrow – Inside every hambone lies the thick, salty fluid that drives dogs wild – bone marrow. When a waitress hands you plastic gloves and a drinking straw, you know that you are in for a treat. The idea is to eat away all the meat, and then poke your straw into the canal inside this hambone, then you suck, suck, suck your meal away.
Congee – There's really nothing shocking about rice soup, I just find it a bit strange, and I am not a huge fan of it. To start with, the texture throws my appetite off a bit. Imagine a big bowl of warm, chunky snot is set down in front of you. Wanna bite? Or rather, a slurp? The flavour, or rather lack thereof, is quite bland, and just tastes like watery rice. I don’t see what the big deal is about it, and why it’s such a popular food, especially at breakfast. I'll take my rice solid, please.
Hot Milk – You can't just drink regular milk here in China. It's either sweetened to the point that it's now considered a soft drink, or it's boiled to remove any bacteria. I ordered a milkshake at one restaurant, and they served me a hot glass of purple milk. It was disgusting. I couldn't drink it. This isn't just for cow's milk, but soy milk as well. There's something about hot milk that just turns my stomach.
Hot water – At a restaurant, if you ask for a glass of water, it's not ice water. They bring you a cup of boiling water. I don't know if people generally like the feeling of scalding their lips, or if it's just a precautionary measure to kill any bacteria. Either way, I miss good ol' tap water that you can actually drink.
Pig's Head – There is one day of the year when everyone HAS to eat pig's head. I think it's some sort of ritual, like a dragon once ate a pig's head or something, so it's good luck. Last night I was lucky enough to eat some, and it was pretty darn rubbery. It tasted like pork alright, but a little more weathered. But, I suppose if I had to eat one animal's face, it would be a pig's. Considering all the hot dogs I ate as a kid, I feel like I've already eaten about 15,000 snouts, ears and eyeballs anyway, so what's one more?
Chicken Feet – Another rubbery treat, chicken's feet are considered a delicacy here in China. You can even buy them at corner stores in little plastic wrappers, all ready to be heated up in the microwave “nuke & puke” style. I've eaten a few of these, and aside from their texture, they just taste like chicken. Oh wait, they are chicken.
Duck's tongue – When I ate peking duck, a special piece of meat was given to me on a tiny little plate. It was pretty long, but tasted really nice & it was tender as hell. I've also had goose tongues, but I didn't like them as much. They were cooked in some sort of sauce that I didn't appreciate. I think it was called saliva.
Duck's brain – I always thought salmon was brain food? But I guess, what better brain food than brain itself? Brains are a rare delicacy here in China, and are served in special ceremonial dishes. What are they called again? Oh, right. HEADS!
Chicken necks – When you buy a frozen turkey or chicken at the supermarket, you often find a frozen bag of organs and a crooked neck rammed inside the carcass. When I was a kid, my mom used to cook the neck and feed it to our cats. They loved it! Over here in china, the neck of the chicken is chopped up into little pieces and served just like the rest of the chicken. I didn't even realize it was the neck, until I looked closely and saw that I was sucking on vertebrae.
This is just my Top 10 for now. I know there are far stranger things out there, and I don't dare mention the black market trade of tiger's penises and all that spiritual stuff. I don't think I was given the full tour of Chinese cuisine, just because I have friends over here who care about my health. I have heard stories about white people being served dog food over here as a joke, and then being sick for a week. Hopefully that doesn't happen to me in my last week over here in China. All in all, I have enjoyed the majority of the food, maybe aside from the silk worms and chicken feet. One thing’s for sure though, when I was eating a chicken's foot, nobody got mad at me for biting my nails.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
March 10th - A Marrow Escape
It was a fairly uneventful day today. Being Sunday, everybody was in rest-mode, including yours truly, after a long night of clubbing China-style. We mostly lazed around the bedroom today, and I started the packing process. Believe it or not, this is our last week in China. 7 days from now I'll be on my way home, and then I don't know what I'll write about. Maybe I can continue my story of a Canadian boy living in um, Canada?
Anyways, the highlight of my day was when we went out for dinner with Mother-In-law's friends. You might remember the food pushers from an earlier entry. If not, I'll refresh your memory. It's this older couple who think everybody is too skinny, and needs to put on some weight to stay healthy. They use every trick in the book, from putting food on your plate for you, to masticating your steak and regurgitating it back into your mouth like a hawk feeds its young. I'm grateful for them saving me energy like that, but when I've had enough, I've had enough.
There was one item on the menu tonight that deserves at least a paragraph, maybe even a run-on sentence or two. The first dish the waitress brought out was a stack of giant hambones. Alright! Now we get to play dinosaurs! Pass me a brontosaurus bone, will ya? They even give you a pair of plastic gloves like those Subway Sandwich artists wear so you don't get any meat juice on your hands. And what's this? A straw? I didn't order a milkshake, did I?
It turns out that the straw was for a different type of beverage – a meatshake. After I was done picking all the meat off my leg joints, the idea is to stick your straw into the carpal tunnel of the hambone and suck out all the marrow. I imagined a bar for dogs – this would be the most popular drink. “Ruff, gimme a cartilage cocktail. Ruff ruff.” I felt like I was drinking gravy through a straw. Now, I usually like to enjoy a tall glass of gravy at dinner, but I prefer to drink it right out of the gravy boat, not like this.
After my 2nd femur, I decided to move on to another dish. My pusher was watching me closely. He spun the giant turntable around every time a new dish was brought out (there were about 15 dishes altogether) so that the newest dish was positioned right in front of me. Now I couldn't stay out of the line of fire. I ate and ate till half past eight, then I had to say nein. I couldn't eat another bite, honestly. To a food pusher, this means that you can have at least 2 more helpings. I was offered some sort of pastry, and I took it, thinking it was dessert. When I bit into it, the crust was filled with meat and vegetables. Dammit! I thought this was desert. Those crafty food veterans tricked me into eating another course! I must admit though, they are skilled at what they do.
After politely refusing yet another offer to put food on my plate, Mr Pusher came up with the theory that I eat too fast, and therefore I filled up too early. He began telling my Mother-In-Law that I ought to eat more slowly, and then I can eat all night. Well, if I didn't have someone trying to ram food down my throat all night, I could have eaten nice and slowly and actually enjoyed my meal! In the end, I felt pretty full, but not disgustingly stuffed, like the last time I dined with the Food Nazis. That is, if the Nazis just went around making people overeat instead of sending them to gas chambers and concentration camps. Same difference.
Anyways, the highlight of my day was when we went out for dinner with Mother-In-law's friends. You might remember the food pushers from an earlier entry. If not, I'll refresh your memory. It's this older couple who think everybody is too skinny, and needs to put on some weight to stay healthy. They use every trick in the book, from putting food on your plate for you, to masticating your steak and regurgitating it back into your mouth like a hawk feeds its young. I'm grateful for them saving me energy like that, but when I've had enough, I've had enough.
There was one item on the menu tonight that deserves at least a paragraph, maybe even a run-on sentence or two. The first dish the waitress brought out was a stack of giant hambones. Alright! Now we get to play dinosaurs! Pass me a brontosaurus bone, will ya? They even give you a pair of plastic gloves like those Subway Sandwich artists wear so you don't get any meat juice on your hands. And what's this? A straw? I didn't order a milkshake, did I?
It turns out that the straw was for a different type of beverage – a meatshake. After I was done picking all the meat off my leg joints, the idea is to stick your straw into the carpal tunnel of the hambone and suck out all the marrow. I imagined a bar for dogs – this would be the most popular drink. “Ruff, gimme a cartilage cocktail. Ruff ruff.” I felt like I was drinking gravy through a straw. Now, I usually like to enjoy a tall glass of gravy at dinner, but I prefer to drink it right out of the gravy boat, not like this.
After my 2nd femur, I decided to move on to another dish. My pusher was watching me closely. He spun the giant turntable around every time a new dish was brought out (there were about 15 dishes altogether) so that the newest dish was positioned right in front of me. Now I couldn't stay out of the line of fire. I ate and ate till half past eight, then I had to say nein. I couldn't eat another bite, honestly. To a food pusher, this means that you can have at least 2 more helpings. I was offered some sort of pastry, and I took it, thinking it was dessert. When I bit into it, the crust was filled with meat and vegetables. Dammit! I thought this was desert. Those crafty food veterans tricked me into eating another course! I must admit though, they are skilled at what they do.
After politely refusing yet another offer to put food on my plate, Mr Pusher came up with the theory that I eat too fast, and therefore I filled up too early. He began telling my Mother-In-Law that I ought to eat more slowly, and then I can eat all night. Well, if I didn't have someone trying to ram food down my throat all night, I could have eaten nice and slowly and actually enjoyed my meal! In the end, I felt pretty full, but not disgustingly stuffed, like the last time I dined with the Food Nazis. That is, if the Nazis just went around making people overeat instead of sending them to gas chambers and concentration camps. Same difference.
March 9th - Chinese Dance Club
Most people who know me are aware that I don't usually go in for dance clubs. Last night, Mother-In-Law's driver wanted to take my wife and I out for dinner and drinks, followed by a visit to this place called Baby Face. We went to a familiar place for dinner – I'd been there before, when we came back from Sanya. Now listen to this: After we had all finished eating, everyone was sitting around chattin, and since I can't take part in that business, I was sittin around drinkin. I must have had 6 or 7 quarts of beer, when our waiter came in with another guy who worked in the restaurant. He pointed at me and made a gesture with his hands, like he was measuring something. Everyone laughed and started looking at me.
I asked my wife what was happening, and she told me that the waiter remembered me from the last time because I'm such a boozebag. He showed everyone how much hooch I drank at dinner last time. I'm not sure if I've described the moonshine they drink over here, but imagine you've just filled your glass with turpentine, lit it on fire, and downed the whole glass. It gives you a nice, excrutiating feeling down in your gutiwuts.
Now that I was primed, well-oiled, and a little bit buzzed, we got in a taxi and headed out for a night on the town. Our gang was made up of: My wife, her niece, the company driver, his wife, their 9-year-old daughter, and myself. Yes, that's right, the dude brought his little girl along to the club. Now, there are 2 views on this situation. The first: “I wish my parents were that cool!” And the 2nd: “Are you sure it's okay? What will that do to the kid?” Apparently it's more common than you would think, because the club had lots of kid-friendly items on their menu – ice cream sundaes, fresh fruit, popcorn, candy, and lots of juice. Looking around though, I see lots of underage girls, maybe in the 15-18 age bracket, who these items would probably appeal to as well. Nice business strategy! Our little partier just sat there with her mom, munching away on ice cream and goodies, looking content as could be.
Now for the adult refreshments. They have a unique way of getting you drunk at this place. To start with, you choose a 40 ouncer of any booze you want (we chose the finest cognac – or rather the driver chose it.), then the waitress comes by and pours a few shots into a large pitcher of ice. She then fills it up with ice tea, and slob's your uncle. I couldn't even taste the booze in it, but I was assured that it was indeed “strong tea” by the others. I had a few dozen glasses of the stuff, and then I started to feel tealightful.
Now for the music – at first it was just your average club music. It's funny, the last time I went to a club was probably a couple of years ago, and the music hasn't changed, aside from substituting the old Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas songs with the new ones. There was some hip hop, r&b, and you know, some other music that you'd hear on the radio. They were playing it pretty safe. My wife told me that there was going to be some sort of “show” later. I didn't know what to expect, but I saw 2 stripper poles at either end of the club. The dancers came out, assumed their “positions” at the poles, but they didn't strip. They just danced sort of nonchalantly, like they didn't really want to be there. I got the idea that they aren't paid very well to do this. Nobody was waving singles at them, so they weren't showing the goods. Fair trade. No money, no honey.
We stayed for a while longer, and eventually my wife and her niece convinced me to dance. Actually, they had some help from a Mr Cognac. I think he and I make a pretty good dance partner. I told my wife that, in order to help her out, I would make a fool of myself on the dance floor so people wouldn't look at her and judge her moves. She said she was feeling a bit rusty, so I decided to create the spectacle. I busted out several of my old classics – the lawnmower, the grocery shopper, biker daddy, the smoker, and when the strobe light kicked in, I busted out the “oops, my shoe is untied.”
And now, I would like to share with you my new move. I'm not sure if I invented this, but if nobody else lays claim to it, the blog will be proof that I am the inventor of “The Flower Petal”. Yes, that's right, the flower petal. You can act it out in a number of ways, but I usually like to start by a) digging a hole; b) planting a seed; c) watering it; d)waiting patiently, looking at watch, etc and then, the piece de resistance; e) crouch down really low and gradually get taller and taller, ending with my hands opened underneath my face, revealing the flower that is me. I'm not sure if I can draw a picture for you, ut my hands would look something like this:
@
V
Imagine my face is the At symbol and the V would be my two hands. Other variations of this move could include the ice cream cone (get someone to lick the top of your head), the Venus flytrap (bite people, or just chomp at them if you are vegetarian), and the Home Alone Kid (everybody knows this one). It's okay, I will allow you to use this move if you want. I'm not greedy when it comes to boogeying down. I say, if you have a boogie, share it with a friend. My instructional DVDs will be available soon, but only in fine stores that sell pirated videos including non-licensed music and copyrighted materials. This means, it will only be released in China, and possibly the Phillipines, if I can find a mule to sneak them into the country for me.
So my friends, if you have a chance to visit a club when you are in China, I can recommend a good one right here in Harbin. It's called baby face, and the manager is a pretty cool guy. He came up, shook my hand, gave me his card and yelled something into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, but I heard every word. It's that kind of dedication that brings customers back time and time again. Heck, I know where I'll be going next time I want to bust out an ice cream cone, Venus Flytrap or Flower Petal. Boogey on!
I asked my wife what was happening, and she told me that the waiter remembered me from the last time because I'm such a boozebag. He showed everyone how much hooch I drank at dinner last time. I'm not sure if I've described the moonshine they drink over here, but imagine you've just filled your glass with turpentine, lit it on fire, and downed the whole glass. It gives you a nice, excrutiating feeling down in your gutiwuts.
Now that I was primed, well-oiled, and a little bit buzzed, we got in a taxi and headed out for a night on the town. Our gang was made up of: My wife, her niece, the company driver, his wife, their 9-year-old daughter, and myself. Yes, that's right, the dude brought his little girl along to the club. Now, there are 2 views on this situation. The first: “I wish my parents were that cool!” And the 2nd: “Are you sure it's okay? What will that do to the kid?” Apparently it's more common than you would think, because the club had lots of kid-friendly items on their menu – ice cream sundaes, fresh fruit, popcorn, candy, and lots of juice. Looking around though, I see lots of underage girls, maybe in the 15-18 age bracket, who these items would probably appeal to as well. Nice business strategy! Our little partier just sat there with her mom, munching away on ice cream and goodies, looking content as could be.
Now for the adult refreshments. They have a unique way of getting you drunk at this place. To start with, you choose a 40 ouncer of any booze you want (we chose the finest cognac – or rather the driver chose it.), then the waitress comes by and pours a few shots into a large pitcher of ice. She then fills it up with ice tea, and slob's your uncle. I couldn't even taste the booze in it, but I was assured that it was indeed “strong tea” by the others. I had a few dozen glasses of the stuff, and then I started to feel tealightful.
Now for the music – at first it was just your average club music. It's funny, the last time I went to a club was probably a couple of years ago, and the music hasn't changed, aside from substituting the old Justin Timberlake and Black Eyed Peas songs with the new ones. There was some hip hop, r&b, and you know, some other music that you'd hear on the radio. They were playing it pretty safe. My wife told me that there was going to be some sort of “show” later. I didn't know what to expect, but I saw 2 stripper poles at either end of the club. The dancers came out, assumed their “positions” at the poles, but they didn't strip. They just danced sort of nonchalantly, like they didn't really want to be there. I got the idea that they aren't paid very well to do this. Nobody was waving singles at them, so they weren't showing the goods. Fair trade. No money, no honey.
We stayed for a while longer, and eventually my wife and her niece convinced me to dance. Actually, they had some help from a Mr Cognac. I think he and I make a pretty good dance partner. I told my wife that, in order to help her out, I would make a fool of myself on the dance floor so people wouldn't look at her and judge her moves. She said she was feeling a bit rusty, so I decided to create the spectacle. I busted out several of my old classics – the lawnmower, the grocery shopper, biker daddy, the smoker, and when the strobe light kicked in, I busted out the “oops, my shoe is untied.”
And now, I would like to share with you my new move. I'm not sure if I invented this, but if nobody else lays claim to it, the blog will be proof that I am the inventor of “The Flower Petal”. Yes, that's right, the flower petal. You can act it out in a number of ways, but I usually like to start by a) digging a hole; b) planting a seed; c) watering it; d)waiting patiently, looking at watch, etc and then, the piece de resistance; e) crouch down really low and gradually get taller and taller, ending with my hands opened underneath my face, revealing the flower that is me. I'm not sure if I can draw a picture for you, ut my hands would look something like this:
@
V
Imagine my face is the At symbol and the V would be my two hands. Other variations of this move could include the ice cream cone (get someone to lick the top of your head), the Venus flytrap (bite people, or just chomp at them if you are vegetarian), and the Home Alone Kid (everybody knows this one). It's okay, I will allow you to use this move if you want. I'm not greedy when it comes to boogeying down. I say, if you have a boogie, share it with a friend. My instructional DVDs will be available soon, but only in fine stores that sell pirated videos including non-licensed music and copyrighted materials. This means, it will only be released in China, and possibly the Phillipines, if I can find a mule to sneak them into the country for me.
So my friends, if you have a chance to visit a club when you are in China, I can recommend a good one right here in Harbin. It's called baby face, and the manager is a pretty cool guy. He came up, shook my hand, gave me his card and yelled something into my ear. I'm not sure what he said, but I heard every word. It's that kind of dedication that brings customers back time and time again. Heck, I know where I'll be going next time I want to bust out an ice cream cone, Venus Flytrap or Flower Petal. Boogey on!
Did You Read The Headlines?
I just found out that I was being spied on recently at a restaurant. My Mother-In-Law, ever the fan of the occult, hired a psychic to come along and secretly scope me out for flaws, etc. I don't know if the whole dinner was staged for that reason alone, as there were other friends invited too, but I of course, didn't know what was going on; everyone spoke in Mandarin as usual, so I just sat there and ate silently.
My wife told me what was going on the next day. She asked if I wanted to hear about it, and I said no, as I thought it was a crock of shit. I would however, like to know how much this dude got paid for doing this, and if it's a lot, I would like to get in on this scam. They could call me “The Paleface Liar” or something, and I will judge your cosmic energy by how many times you get up to go to the bathroom during dinner, and how many times you chew before swallowing to calculate your zodiac number in the cosmos.
My wife decided to tell me some stuff anyway, but all casual-like. She said, yeah he said you must be healthy because you can drink a lot and it doesn’t phase you. I laughed. Either that or alcoholism is genetic. Did you tell him about my Irish roots? That should be considered. I probably drink a lot less than your average pig farmer. Oh, and that wrinkle on your forehead, it means you are independent. What? That's enough, that's enough. “No, no,” she says. My wife was getting a kick out of this. He was looking at the way you hold your chopsticks too. He says the higher you hold your sticks, the further you will go in life.
Apparently, he only found good things, or at least that's all my wife was telling me about. I must have a good cosmic balance in my zodiac bank account. Mother-In-Law went off to his den to have another reading for herself just now. I don't know if they will throw tea into the air or roll the cat's bones, but hopefully he can tell her which lottery numbers to pick, and who is going to win the Stanley Cup this year. Just think, if you had this guy around all the time, you'd never have to leave the house! Or at the very least, you wouldn't want to. It would be too hilarious. Now excuse me, I have to go iron out the wrinkle on my forehead, just to throw him off.
My wife told me what was going on the next day. She asked if I wanted to hear about it, and I said no, as I thought it was a crock of shit. I would however, like to know how much this dude got paid for doing this, and if it's a lot, I would like to get in on this scam. They could call me “The Paleface Liar” or something, and I will judge your cosmic energy by how many times you get up to go to the bathroom during dinner, and how many times you chew before swallowing to calculate your zodiac number in the cosmos.
My wife decided to tell me some stuff anyway, but all casual-like. She said, yeah he said you must be healthy because you can drink a lot and it doesn’t phase you. I laughed. Either that or alcoholism is genetic. Did you tell him about my Irish roots? That should be considered. I probably drink a lot less than your average pig farmer. Oh, and that wrinkle on your forehead, it means you are independent. What? That's enough, that's enough. “No, no,” she says. My wife was getting a kick out of this. He was looking at the way you hold your chopsticks too. He says the higher you hold your sticks, the further you will go in life.
Apparently, he only found good things, or at least that's all my wife was telling me about. I must have a good cosmic balance in my zodiac bank account. Mother-In-Law went off to his den to have another reading for herself just now. I don't know if they will throw tea into the air or roll the cat's bones, but hopefully he can tell her which lottery numbers to pick, and who is going to win the Stanley Cup this year. Just think, if you had this guy around all the time, you'd never have to leave the house! Or at the very least, you wouldn't want to. It would be too hilarious. Now excuse me, I have to go iron out the wrinkle on my forehead, just to throw him off.
March 8th - Morning Market Massacre
Last night my wife said that she would like to take me to the outdoor morning market, a sort of swap meet/farmers market where you can buy everything from artichokes to zucchinis all under one, well, sky. Sounded like fun to me! I love fresh fruit, especially when it's dirt cheap (It's usually the cheapest when there's still dirt on it. That's how you can tell if it's fresh too). So, we woke up extra early so we'd get there before the pickins got too slim, you see.
Walking to the market, there were a bunch of peripheral merchants, not necessarily part of the whole function, but taking advantage of all the foot traffic. I imagine you have to pay in order to get a stand at the market, but if you are say, 25 feet outside the gates, it's all gravy. One guy was standing there yelling “Everything you see, 2 for 1 Yuan!” On the ground all around him were little piles of nail clippers, rulers, rolls of tape, crazy glue (a glue-sniffer's paradise) and other odds and ends you usually find in your junk drawer back home. We stopped and the maid bought a few spools of thread. You never know, I might accidentally tear a hole in my batman outfit one night. I don't want to be out there fighting crime AND hypothermia.
We finally entered the market. We headed down the meat isle first. Here, you could buy every cut of meat imaginable, and some you'd probably care not to imagine. They had chicken legs, chicken feet, breasts, backs, necks, beaks, bones, and skin. If chickens had fins, they'd be there. I just covered my beak and kept on cluckin'. None of that today, thank you. My wife sampled a couple of cherry tomatoes. Oh yeah, they'll let you sample just about anything in this place. Except the chicken necks. There was this incident a while back, and they don't want to stick their neck out any further on this one. Bada-bing!
We picked up some hand-made noodles and a block of wiggly-jiggly tofu. I've never been a huge fan of tofu, or “douf” as it's called here, but if it's cooked just right, aka deep-fried, I'll eat it. Actually, you could probably deep-fry turds and I'd like it. I love anything battered and dipped in hot oil. Which conveniently, is the next item we bought!
My wife wanted to buy her childhood morning market treat, but apparently they stopped selling it. I suggested health code violations, but she said the weather was too cold. We settled instead on a deep-fried honey cake. I figured it would taste great, you know, being deep fried and all, but boy was I wrong. It was quite flavorless, and the batter kind of stuck to the roof of your mouth in gritty cream-form. Yuck! After one bite I was done with that little catastrophe.
I saw another catastrophe today, but it was in human form. There was a beggar sitting on a little homemade cart in the middle of the crowded market. He had a little plastic bucket on the ground beside him, into which passers-by were dropping coins. Now, back home I walk past beggars all the time. You can never tell if they actually need the money, whether or not they'll feed themselves with it, or if it's going up their nose or into a hypodermic. This time, I was sure it was going to a good cause.
To start with, the man had no shoes on. That was sad. But when I got up closer, I saw that he had no toes on either foot! That was a bloody tragedy! When I looked at his hands, I saw that he was missing 2-3 fingers on each hand. He had no teeth, and I could see scars on his emaciated face, either from some sort of cruel torture, or maybe they were self-inflicted, I don't know. We dropped some coins into his bucket and headed off. I wonder if he got enough to buy himself something to eat today.
I usually try to wind up these little stories with some humorous quip for you, the reader's enjoyment, but this time, for the sake of that poor, toeless bugger, I think I'll end it on the serious side today. Be thankful for what you have, and try not to act in prejudice when it comes to those with an outstretched hand. Take a closer look, and it could be a face you recognize, or maybe your own reflection some day. If you're always in too big a hurry to lend a hand, who's to say anybody will drop you a coin when you need it? There, that's my preaching for the month.
Walking to the market, there were a bunch of peripheral merchants, not necessarily part of the whole function, but taking advantage of all the foot traffic. I imagine you have to pay in order to get a stand at the market, but if you are say, 25 feet outside the gates, it's all gravy. One guy was standing there yelling “Everything you see, 2 for 1 Yuan!” On the ground all around him were little piles of nail clippers, rulers, rolls of tape, crazy glue (a glue-sniffer's paradise) and other odds and ends you usually find in your junk drawer back home. We stopped and the maid bought a few spools of thread. You never know, I might accidentally tear a hole in my batman outfit one night. I don't want to be out there fighting crime AND hypothermia.
We finally entered the market. We headed down the meat isle first. Here, you could buy every cut of meat imaginable, and some you'd probably care not to imagine. They had chicken legs, chicken feet, breasts, backs, necks, beaks, bones, and skin. If chickens had fins, they'd be there. I just covered my beak and kept on cluckin'. None of that today, thank you. My wife sampled a couple of cherry tomatoes. Oh yeah, they'll let you sample just about anything in this place. Except the chicken necks. There was this incident a while back, and they don't want to stick their neck out any further on this one. Bada-bing!
We picked up some hand-made noodles and a block of wiggly-jiggly tofu. I've never been a huge fan of tofu, or “douf” as it's called here, but if it's cooked just right, aka deep-fried, I'll eat it. Actually, you could probably deep-fry turds and I'd like it. I love anything battered and dipped in hot oil. Which conveniently, is the next item we bought!
My wife wanted to buy her childhood morning market treat, but apparently they stopped selling it. I suggested health code violations, but she said the weather was too cold. We settled instead on a deep-fried honey cake. I figured it would taste great, you know, being deep fried and all, but boy was I wrong. It was quite flavorless, and the batter kind of stuck to the roof of your mouth in gritty cream-form. Yuck! After one bite I was done with that little catastrophe.
I saw another catastrophe today, but it was in human form. There was a beggar sitting on a little homemade cart in the middle of the crowded market. He had a little plastic bucket on the ground beside him, into which passers-by were dropping coins. Now, back home I walk past beggars all the time. You can never tell if they actually need the money, whether or not they'll feed themselves with it, or if it's going up their nose or into a hypodermic. This time, I was sure it was going to a good cause.
To start with, the man had no shoes on. That was sad. But when I got up closer, I saw that he had no toes on either foot! That was a bloody tragedy! When I looked at his hands, I saw that he was missing 2-3 fingers on each hand. He had no teeth, and I could see scars on his emaciated face, either from some sort of cruel torture, or maybe they were self-inflicted, I don't know. We dropped some coins into his bucket and headed off. I wonder if he got enough to buy himself something to eat today.
I usually try to wind up these little stories with some humorous quip for you, the reader's enjoyment, but this time, for the sake of that poor, toeless bugger, I think I'll end it on the serious side today. Be thankful for what you have, and try not to act in prejudice when it comes to those with an outstretched hand. Take a closer look, and it could be a face you recognize, or maybe your own reflection some day. If you're always in too big a hurry to lend a hand, who's to say anybody will drop you a coin when you need it? There, that's my preaching for the month.
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