Day 1: Flight to Puerto Rico

We packed light - only one backpack for each of us, and took the subway to the airport. We took the midnight flight to Texas, and spent the morning sleeping in the airport, waiting for our afternoon flight to Puerto Rico. From the San Juan airport we went by shuttle to the car rental location, and the second we got there it started raining very heavily. 

We drove in the rain and it was late evening when we got to the Dreams Hotel. It’s small and shitty, and the doors to the rooms are practically pieces of sheet metal, but it’s cute and it was all we needed.

For local food, the receptionist sent us to El Hipopotamo. The waiters did not really understand any English, so we ended up pointing semi-randomly at dishes in the menu. We did good: our food was excellent, and the atmosphere was exactly what we wanted. Most of the patrons were middle aged local folks, who just finished their dinner and were singing along with the man on the tiny stage. He was playing the backing tracks from his computer and every now and again brought somebody to the stage to sing with him. At some point, a bald man with a mustache and a trumpet walked into the restaurant, went on stage, joined in for one song, and left.

After dinner we went for a walk. It turned out our hotel was right next to Universidad, the campus of the University of Puerto Rico. We walked between the clubs packed with partying students and landed in the Mona Lisa, a bar that was already winding down. Facing the absence of a bartender, I managed to get some drinks out of an incompetent waiter. We drank slowly as we watched the traffic of drunk students staggering to their dorms, and then we called it a day. 

Puerto Rico / Trinidad and Tobago: Prologue

“Are you sure you don’t wanna blog this?” Julia asked for the millionth time. It was close to midnight and we were standing under the pavilion, already completely soaked, watching an Indian girl dancing in the rain, signaling to the rest of the wedding guests to join her. It was impossible to get a taxi, and the rain was just getting stronger. That’s not what I had imagined when I said we should go to Trinidad for our vacation. I just wanted to sit on a beach chair, facing the ocean, drinking a cocktail. I don’t even like cocktails, but I just wanted to do this at least once in my lifetime. 

I hate planning, but Julia loves it. And so by the time we left for our vacation Julia had the entire trip planned out. The outline: a week in Puerto Rico, including a short escapade to Vieques, and a week in Trinidad and Tobago. It wasn’t supposed to be eventful enough to blog about. 

Oh boy, was I wrong.

Day 6: Visalia->SF

The last day started with long conversations with the old Indian guy at the motel reception. First, I got locked out of my room at 9:30, when checkout is only at 11:00. The man said that the room key stops working at 10 and had some reasoning to it that did not make sense at all. We ended up reducing our arguments: his was that this is the way it's done in all hotels in California, and mine was that he's wrong, and even if he was right, that doesn't make it a good reason. Our next conversation was about Israeli politics. Finally we discussed Judaism, naturally.

I had a lot of riding to do, so I got right to it. From Visalia, I took the 198 West. It's very pretty, and the landscape constantly changes.

But it's not an easy ride: it's curvy, hilly, and the worst part - there are no gas stations.

I had to switch to my reserve tank towards the end of the road, and by the time I finally got to the 5 freeway and got into a gas station near King City, I was on my very last drops.

So I pulled over next to a free pump, and right as I turned off the engine, another motorcycle pulled over right behind me, near the same pump. There were other available pumps, but Mike wasn't there for gas - he was just looking for conversation. Mike wore a metallic helmet, reflective sunglasses, and a wife beater, and gave me the impression that he was high. He lives in a motel in King City, paying $150 a week. He moved here from San Francisco, and he likes it here: he works at random things, mostly trucking, and that gives him plenty of spare time to ride his dirt bike. He really wanted us to be friends. He said that if I'm looking for a place to eat I could follow him into town and he'll point out some places, but I really didn't have time for new friends. I fist-bumped and I went into the diner at the gas station and had a chili.

Next I stopped in Gilroy, the garlic capitol of California. I bought garlic salt, whatever that is, some pickled garlic, and olives stuffed with almonds. Why not.

Next stop was Mountain View. I picked up Julia from work and we rode home together. Back in San Francisco, the city threw me a party for my homecoming. The timing was perfect, because the Giants also won the World Series, so we celebrated that too.

And thus ends another glorious road trip.

I hope you enjoyed it, and that I will see you again the next time that I'm a

Person

On

The

Road!

(tun, tun, tuuuuuunnnn!)

(bssst)

Day 5: Lancaster->Visalia

I woke up with the weird memory of myself disassembling the light bulb in the middle of the night. There was a motion sensor in the room, and every now and again I would wake up due to the light. I had to do it. It's funny, the room I had the night before had the opposite problem - If I stayed put for a certain amount of time, the light would turn off. What's with the motion sensors?

I had coffee in my room, realizing I'm running out of my Turkish coffee. Oooh, it's time for:

Motorcycle roadtripping tips #8: use pill containers for storing small things

I save those orange pill containers from Walgreens, and I use them to help organize my backpack: one has quarters for parking, one has earplugs, one has Tums, and the big green one that used to hold syringes for a cat we took care of - that one has my turkish coffee.

I planned to get to Helendale, to see the Bottle Tree Ranch, and then start heading home.

First stop was Richie's diner in Victorville. It's a classic 60's diner frozen in time. I had lunch, of which the best thing I can say is that it wasn't really as bad as it looked.

I followed G-Lady's instructions and realized I am on Route 66. I was on other parts of Route 66 when I drove from Boston to San Francisco last year.  It's never boring here. I stopped in a random antique shop, and the owner and I immediately bonded. She told me about her son, who married an Icelandic woman,  and after nine years of marriage, she went to visit Iceland, where she decided never to come back to the US again. We talked a little about Israel and San Francisco. Then she gave me a postcard and asked me to bring Julia with me next time.

I finally got to Bottle Tree Ranch. It's pretty crazy.

I hung out near the house for a while, like the antique shop owner recommended, hoping that the dude who made all this will come out to chat, but I guess he wasn't home. It's not only beautiful and intriguing and weird, it also sounds wonderful - there are hanging pieces of metal and windchimes dangling in the wind, adding an enchanting soundtrack to this weird forest.

It was time to start heading home. The way home goes through Helendale, a beautiful, isolated retirement town built around a lake. Many houses are built right on docks on the lakeside, and everybody has a boat. It doesn't make sense that people really live like this. Some of the traffic signs actually refer to golf carts.

From this point on I was pretty much riding north-west. I passed by Mojave, Tehachapi, and Bakersfield, again, which is fine with me - I love riding in the Mojave desert. It's a super chill ride, not too curvy, and very beautiful.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #9: have a small digital camera and an OTG cable

When a photo opportunity presents itself in the middle of the road (pull off very slowly and responsibly, of course),  instead of taking off your gloves to operate your phone, a small digital pocket camera is a perfect alternative. A USB OTG cable is useful to later connect the camera to your tablet and import the photos, so that you can embed them in you blog.

My last stop for the day was Visalia. I got a room in the Marco Polo Inn and went downtown for food and beer. On the way, I passed by a high school football field, where the marching band was in the middle of a practice, so I stopped to watch. Some of my American friends don't understand my fascination with marching bands and diners and motels and old rednecks in tiny bars, but the thing is, as an Israeli, you only see these in movies, and they don't even seem real. The fact that they are is just fascinating to me.

Back in the room, when I was writing the blog post, I had to keep moving, because every time I didn't, the lights turned off.

Day 4: Bakersfield->Lancaster

I should have listened to my instincts and not stayed in that hotel. It was noisy and cold all night, and to top all of that, when i woke up, I realized my phone didn't charge. This can be pretty bad because I use my phone to navigate: I have a bluetooth system installed into my helmet which allows me not only to chat with Julia when she's riding with me, but also to be connected to my phone. This means I can listen to navigation instruction from the Google navigation's feminine, yet somewhat strict, voice, which I fondly call "G-Lady", or sometimes "Gladis" (get it?). I can even take incoming phone calls!

So a charged phone is really important for me. Lucky for me, I follow...

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #7: carry plenty of juice

Not only do I carry an unnecessary amount of USB power adapters and cables, I am also equipped with:

• A cheap power extension cable, which is super useful in motel rooms, where the power outlet arrangement is often sub-optimal;
• A portable phone charger: this TYLT one is especially awesome - it has enough juice to fully charge my phone *twice*, and has a built in arm that replaces the need for a cable.
• A USB charger on the motorcycle. I'm not convinced it's not shortening the lifespan of the battery, but it's a nice-to-have, regardless.

After a terrible, loud breakfast, and some inspiring eavesdropping to some of the regular tenants ("...and the guy goes like 'say something black!', and I'm like, 'man, fuck you! I adapt to who ever I talk to. If I need to use proper English, I'll do that. If I'm talking to my ghetto cats, that's something else. You could say I'm bilingual'"), I drove to the Kern County Museum.

Most of the museum consists of house, real houses, that they brought from all over the county, and turned into a small town. They have everything from a drugstore to a jailhouse, from a school to a photography shop.

Since Kern county has a big oil industry, there's also a truly surprising and cool exhibition called "Black Gold".

Then I tried to go to the Natural History Museum, but it was closed.

I tried to check out the steampunk store, but it was too weird, and the lady at the counter was obnoxious.

I tried to go to the small park, but it is was infested with homeless people.

Bakersfield didn't want me around anymore.

I got a chicken sandwich and a beer from somewhere that was open and drove on.

I drove down the 58 and hit Tehachapi. It's tiny and cute, but that's not a reason to actually stop and hang out.

Next I drove by Mojave. I stayed a night in Mojave when I drove from Boston to San Francisco, and I'm happy to report that Mojave hasn't changed a bit - it's still a shithole.

Then I got to Rosamond. Now that's a good reason to stop - one of my favorite places in San Francisco is Rosamonde, where you can get sausages from elks and bisons and snakes.  Not kidding.

So I stopped for a beer in Norma's Pub and had a beer with an old man and a dog named Shelby.

The old man told me Rosamond is a retirement town. He moved there eight months ago after being all over the place, including ten years in the navy. He was born and raised an orphan and was never married, so he just moves around. Fascinating character he is.

Next and last stop was Lancaster. It's pretty chill here.

I got a room and drove downtown. I found the Kinetic Brewing Company, and ordered, for the first time in my life, a veggie burger. I think my body is getting tired of crap being shoved into it. The guy next to me, however, realized it's Monday and yelled at the bartender "Meaty Monday!" The bartender began to specify that "this week it's with bacon, sausage and...."

- "I don't care. Bring it!"

It turned out to be a burger, with maybe four different layers of meat. It looks disgusting. I have to have it sometime.

We watched the football game, of which I understand absolutely nothing, and during the breaks we played "beer bingo".

 America is so weird.

Day 3: Madera->Bakersfield

Today was mostly uneventful. I started by riding to Fresno, where nothing happens. I drove around until I found Mia Cuppa Caffe, where I stopped for coffee and regrouping. I decided to head straight down to Bakersfield. I pulled over at Selma to check out the huge flea market. I bet I'm the the first Israeli to ever set foot there. In fact, you could probably count the non-Mexican people there on one hand.

The things you find in these flea markets can get pretty random:

I wonder who their customers are.

I had some Chinese food from one of the trucks and moved on.

Downtown Bakersfield was dead. Nobody in the streets. I finally found a coffee shop with more than two people in it, had a cappuccino outside in the terrific sun and then started walking around looking for a bar. Which is when I saw an asshole. Not a person acting like an asshole, but an actual hole located in the middle of an ass. It was a homeless person taking a dump in the middle of the street, but since he was hiding, very poorly, between the cars, all that I could see was an asshole staring right at me. What an asshole.

That marked a transition to one of the less nice parts of town. I walked in on a drug deal, some homeless people, and finally found the Mint. It's not a gay bar as much as it's a sports bar gone sexually ambiguous. It's pretty cool.

Then I looked for a room. I found the Downtowner Hotel. I talked to the receptionist for a bit but had a bad feeling, so I decided to look some more. I drove around the other motels in town.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #5: when looking for a room, check for the signs

Shopping carts in the parking lot? no go. These belong to motel "guests", and people who carry their belongings in shopping carts are not the kind of people you want to hang out with. Also, try to check in advance for hot water, smell of cigarettes, noise, towels, and wifi.

All the motels that I saw had shopping carts in the parking lot, so I came back to the Downtowner. I checked in and went to Goose Loonies for dinner, beer, and to watch the game.

We won! and by that I'm referring to the fact that the San Francisco Giants, without any help whatsoever from me, won a game that I actually don't understand at all. But still - we won!

Then I came back to the hotel where I learned:

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #6: if staying in a multi floor hotel, do not take a room that is near the elevator  

Day 2: Turlock->Madera

Motorcycle roadtripping trip #3: blog from your tablet

Whatever you're doing with your laptop when you're travelling, you can probably do it from your tablet. Blogging, however, requires lot of typing. This is why I got this cute, foldable, bluetooth keyboard from Perrix. It's great, cheap, and the only downside is that it does take a while to get used to.

I spent a few hours last night writing yesterday's blog on a Google doc, with Julia proofreading in real time (thanks, love!). If you have been reading the blogs from my previous trips, you may remember I posted them on Tumblr, which brings us to:

Motorcycle roadtripping trip #4: don't blog on Tumblr

There is simply no way, at all, to add images to your Tumblr blog if you're on a tablet. Not from the app, and not from the website. Seriously, Tumblr, you had one job.

I spent a few good hours in Christina's Coffee House this morning trying to resolve this, eventually posting on Blogger. It's not much better, mind you: the app will not let you add images either, and the mobile website sucks balls - but it's possible. It's also nice that you can select your image from your device's gallery, Google Drive, Dropbox, or take a picture on the spot.

When I was finally done and was about to leave, I realized it had started to rain. I forgot that I had to move south faster if I wanted to avoid the rainy weather that was expected for the weekend. I decided to ride anyway - I figured it would be better than being stuck in heavier rain.

The rain stopped around the time I got to Merced and I saw a sign for the Castle Air Museum. Although you get really wet when you ride in the rain without rain gear, you also get dry very fast.

And of course, right when I was about to leave, it started raining again. I decided to ride straight to Fresno, where it was supposed to be warmer.

I don't mind being wet as much as I don't like the urge to pee once my feet are wet. Why is that, anyway? Is my body so stupid, it thinks peeing is going make my situation any better? Does it go "oh no! There must be so much fluid in me, that it's oozing through the feet! Quickly! Drain it through the pee hole!" Intelligent design my ass. Evolution: 1. Creationism : 0.

And yes, I totally just reset the evolution-creationism score-board and claimed the first point. This is how vain I am.

It was dry when I arrived to Madera. I ate the rest of the strawberry cake that Julia made for me (sooo good!) and an apple, and since it started drizzling, decided to move quickly. In a weird way, I enjoyed racing the rain. I pretended it was a tornado and that this is a really bad movie.

However, just as I went back on the freeway, I saw a sign for the "Madera district street fair". Fine, I'll turn around.

Right outside of the Madera speedway lies the Quarter Midget Racing track, where tiny kids race with tiny cars. The races were just over, but the kids were still running around dressed as ninja turtles and Disney princesses. It must have been hilarious to watch them race cars dressed like that.

"But you can hang out for a couple of hours until the real races start," said one of the parents. "They smash pumpkins on the course and..."

I couldn't really parse what he said next. It was too weird. I just had to stay.

I killed some time and a couple of beers at some random bar. Then I got a room at the Super-8 that's just across the road from the race tracks, changed socks, and left for the races.

So this is how it goes:

Step one: smash pumpkins on the track.

Step two: wash with water and soap.

Step three: harness boats to race cars.

Step four:  race while trying to break other cars' boats. Last car to still have a boat - wins!

Next, we had a "Destruction Derby", where cars just smash into each other.

At the hamburger stand, the lady asked for my name. "Ian," I replied. She picked up a pen, and then stopped. "Is that with an I or an E?"

I think I need another Starbucks name. Is "Earl" to rednecky?

Speaking of rednecks - the emcee was one of the most annoying people I ever had the pleasure of being forced to listen to. In an attempt to kill time, he started to poll the audience. "Show of hands: who's drinking a Bud? Who's drinking PBR? Who came from from Fresno? Who lives here in Madera? Who's a veteran? Who's in active service? Oh, I almost forgot! Who is proud to be an American? You know, personally I don't like our current president, but I still think the USA is the best place to live in the world!"

I had a lot of questions, but I thought I better let it go.

Finally, we had a normal race, only every now and again, when they had to stop the race for various reasons, they would also put a boat in the middle of the track for the cars to smash into. You know, for good measure.

Day 1: SF->Turlock

Welcome back to yet another installment of...

Person

On

The

Roaaaad!

(ta, tun tuuuuuuunnnnn!)

(pu-du-ga-boom)

This time, I will be wandering aimlessly south-east of San Francisco. I will be alone, and I will be on a motorcycle. I left home today, Friday, October 24th 2014, and I intend to be back home on Wednesday, October 29th.

Why am I telling you all this, I hear you ask - well, it turns out a lot more people than I thought are actually reading this, and some explicitly asked me to write more. So here it is, and judging by the events of today, this is going to be fun.

I'm also going to try to add some roadtripping tips that might be especially useful for the technology-savvy motorcycling roadtripper. Which is basically me. Fine, you caught me, I'll be writing tips for my future self so I don't forget. O.K.- let's do this!

I left home at around 2pm, way later than I wanted. I was waiting at work for someone to do their work so I can do mine and leave, but it turns out they couldn't do it because somebody else didn't do their work properly. So I left. Although I already had everything with me, I realized that there's a slight chance that during my trip I might hit Mexico, so I went home to get my passport and started driving to Tracy, CA. It's a beautiful ride between warm, golden hills.

Tracy, as a town, is exactly the same as you would expect from a woman named Tracy - boring. They do take Halloween pretty seriously:

I had a boring beer at The Great Plate, and after riding for a while between a few tiny farm towns, I got to Modesto, which unlike Tracy, is not boring at all. As I entered the town, I stopped at a gas station, and while in the bathroom, I heard a man yelling "get him off me! get him off me!" The yelling seemed to come closer and closer to the bathroom.

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #1: your helmet is your weapon 

So first, I grabbed the chin-strap really hard, ready to slam the helmet at anybody coming my way. Next, I move closer to the bathroom door, in case I would feel that I need to block it.

The sounds were coming from right outside the bathroom - there was definitely a fight. At this point, the guy was actually screaming for help.

I opened the door. He was about my age, and he was getting punched by a shirtless, somewhat younger man. Both were heavily tattooed and bleeding from random places in their bodies - everything you look for in your regular meth addict. Nobody in the convenience store seemed to have any intention of intervening, which made sense to me - it looked painful, but generally harmless. Especially harmless for me, as long as I stay out of it and hold the chin-strap of my helmet really tight.

When the older guy realized that he's on his own, he came to his senses and release a punch that threw the shirtless guy over a stand of chips-bags. The shirtless guy tripped, and when he finally got up, he ran away.

Outside the store, I asked the guy if he was O.K.

- "No, I'm not O.K."

No shit - you're a meth addict. But I better rephrase.

- "Do you need help?"

Too late. The police showed up. They searched him, questioned some people, including myself, and left. He approached me and asked if I would buy him a soda.

- "Sorry man, can't help you."

Now hold it right there, I said to myself: first, that's very hypocritical of me. Just five minutes ago I actually offered him help. Second - I promised myself in the past to try to help more people as long as it's not giving them actual cash. And third, I am missing an opportunity for a story here.

- "Sure man, I'll buy you a soda". And I also got one for me.

The story? The story is that the guy used to date the attacker's mom. HIS MOM. But not anymore. No. And now he just jumps him. Everybody jumps him.  Yesterday three guys jumped him out of nowhere. And fuck this, he's getting his gun.

I gave the rest of my soda to these fine ladies:

and moved on.

I stopped by the McHenry Museum, where I saw a sign for a "Haunted Museum". Of course I went. "It's not scary", said one of the organisers who stood outside, "it's just haunted". They led a group of us into the first room where we were greeted by a dead girl with a British accent. She intorduced herself as Eleanor, and asked for our names.

- "Ian", I replied with my Starbucks name - the name I use when it doesn't matter and I don't have the patience to work with the other person on pronunciation.

- "Oh, so we both begin with an E!" she cheered, leaving me extremely confused.

She talked to us for a while, and invited the kids to play the piano, or as she pronounced it, "peeeaaano". I was the last one to leave the room. She grabbed me by the arm.

-"you know, if you ever get lonely, you can come back here, and we can play forever and ever and ever!" It was a nice gesture, but I was not impressed.

- "That sounds nice! I'm looking forward to that." We were then led to the other rooms. The museum is about the history of Modesto, and in it, more amateur actors were portraying scenes for the young children.

It wasn't supposed to be scary, which is why the old elevator actually caused everybody in the group to shriek. Otherwise it was mostly, well, embarrassing.

- "How was it?" asked the organizer.

- "Well, it wasn't scary."

- "I told you, it's just haunted. Which actor did you like best? I picked them myself."

- "The little dead girl with the British accent. I liked how she said 'piano' - 'peeaannoo'. Anyway - do you know where I can find a motel in this town? Preferably one that is not infested with meth addicts?"

- "Well, Modesto is not doing so good these days, so maybe..."

- "How about the next town over?"

So I found myself in Turlock. I got a room in the Venice motel, which is definitely seeing its share of questionable sexual activity, but it's clean and cheap, so I don't mind the young lady with the deep cleavage who chased and threw her shoes at a guy with an unnecessarily large cowboy hat out of her room.

People are dicks, though. It just so happens that after I took the room, another guy asked for vacancy. The motel owner, which like many other motel owners is of Indian descent, told him there is one more room left but it needs to be cleaned, and the gentleman will have to wait. The man offered to take the room as is for half the price, but the owner refused. The man was upset and made some comments that at first sounded playful, but as he walked to his car he turned around and yelled: "you make all Indian people look bad, you fucking asshole!" and added a Native American war whoop. Because that makes sense.

To end this glorious day on a positive note - I had dinner at 10 East. I had an elk burger and truffle fries. It was great.

And lastly:

Motorcycle roadtripping tip #2: make daily clothes capsules and pack them in your saddlebag

Each capsule is a T-shirt and underwear, rolled and held together with a pair of socks. There are plenty of techniques. YouTube it and find your own style.

China, day 14: home

Our last day in China was actually very short and consisted mostly of getting on our flight home. However, I will use my “one post per day” policy to share some insights and tips.

The subways are surprisingly organized. I was warned about the congestion, the lack of personal space and the disregard for lines, but it turns out that a few markings on the floor, showing passengers exactly where to stand before boarding the train can make a difference.

The stares that you get as a white person travelling in China can make you feel uncomfortable. It helps to travel with someone who speaks the language and can tell you what they’re saying about you behind your back. We were on the subway one day when a group of construction workers boarded. They just stood there and looked at me. And at Julia (“because I’m with a Chinese woman traveling with a white man, they probably think I’m a whore”). I was already prepared, so I yelled “ni kan sheng ma?” (Chinese: what are you looking at?!), but that only made them laugh. They said that my pronounciation wasn’t terrible and asked me where I was from, a question which I can actually answer (“Wo shi yiselie ren”, Chinese for “I am Israeli”).

The food is amazing. You should eat everything, all the time. Next time we’re in China, we plan to do a “food on a stick” day. It’s gonna be awesome! My only regret is that I wasn’t brave enough to try the fried duck head, or the duck neck, that they sell in every corner of every street. Gross.

As a tourist in China, you should have your passport easily accessible at all times. You’ll need it for buying train tickets, checking in at hotels, and pretty much everything else.

If you don’t speak Chinese or you’re not traveling with a Chinese speaker, then, well, good luck. Generally speaking, Chinese people don’t speak English. If you decide to go ahead with it anyway, the most useful phrase in Chinese to learn is “bu yao” (pronounce: “boo ya-oo”), which translates to “I don’t want it”, and is to be used on the swarms of people jumping on you in every touristy site with brochures, food, souvenirs or whatever.

There’s always buyer’s remorse in China. Avoid buying in the first place you find something. Make yourself visible as you scan stores and stands. The second time you come around, prices will be lower. As a non-Chinese person, the prices stated to you are probably higher. When haggling, remember that just walking away does not work. Stay at the stand and insist on a lower price for a while. Then raise it a little bit. That’s when the negotiation starts. (This is what I have learned. It is far from being a perfected method. First, I figured it out pretty late, and second, I’m pretty bad at haggling in the first place).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the ride. I would like to give special thanks to Julia for proofreading, contributing pictures, translating, taking me to China and being my girlfriend. And I hope y'all join me for the next installment of 

Person

On

The

Road

(tun, tun, tuuuuuunnnnnnnnn!)

China, day 13: Shanghai

We had to get up early to meet Phil at the electronics components mall. It was chilly and smoggy and we did not have time for breakfast, so we got a red bean and soy drink, hopped on a cab and went on our way.

Once again, this is a 6-stories-tall building packed with shit. This time, the shit is any kind of electronics component you can imagine: there is one store selling only heat shrink tubes. Another store sells only stepper motors. Most of the stands in the first two floor, however, sell a variety of stuff.

Phil got the stuff he came for, we said our goodbyes, and Julia and I were left alone surrounded by electronics components. What was intended to be a one hour visit became a three hour frenzy, leaving with a loot of tools, motors, ribbon cable, LED strips, and big ass emergancy switches. Great success.

We took a taxi to the fabric district to pick up Julia’s new jacket and had a late lunch in an adjacent Muslim restaurant. Next, we found a post office and sent the SIM card we’ve been using in Julia’s phone back to her grandmother in Hainan.

We went back to the hotel to rest, and then took a cab to meet Michael at Cheng Long Hang Crab Palace. This is a fancy place, where they serve you mostly, emm, crab. The flagship dish is the hairy crab. 

The muddy-looking spots on its claws are actually hair. It’s a delicious creature, however, hard to manage. For this reason, a young waiter is usually present in the room to come to your rescue whenever you and your crab don’t get along. The waiter will then shake his head, roll his eyes, and smile to himself. Promptly after, he will approach you and show you, for instance, how to get the meat out of a leg using another leg, and generally make you feel completely incompetant.

We walked towards People’s square, which turned out to be where we walked on our first night in China. We passed by some street karaoke:

And an indoor food market:

And some stands that sold clothes. We were looking for a scarf to get as a present for Julia’s mom, so I took my new haggling skills on a final test. Julia started by asking how much a scarf costs.

- “Jiu shi jiu” (“ninty nine”) the lady responded.

- “pfffff”, I said. “wu shi!” (“fifty!”)

She said something to Julia, who was distracted, and started mumbling. I waved in front of the lady’s face to attract her attention back to me, then pointed at Julia and told the lady: “Ta de zhongwen bu hao…” (“her Chinese is not good…”) 

She looked at julia and getrured, as if writing on her own hand the figure nine. I cut her off.

- “Wo zhidao jiu shi jiu. Wu shi!” (“I know <what you mean by> ninety nine. Fifty!”

- “Jiu shi jiu!” (“ninty nine!”)

- “Liu shi!” (“Sixty!”) and I added my signature pat on the back and “good price for you!”

- “Ba shi!” (“Eighty!”)

- “Qi shi!” (“Seventy!”) 

- “Qi shi wu!” (“Seventy five!”)

and we had ourselves a deal.

We took a taxi to Tian Zi Fang, a maze of tiny alleys that is home to craft stores, coffee shops, and bars. We sat at Kaiba, yet another ex-pat bar, had a last drink in China, and went to the hotel to pack.

China, day 12: Shanghai

We started the day late and headed to the Shanghai Google office, where Julia has set for us some lunch plans. The office is located at the 60th and 61st floors of the “bottle opener building”.

We first met Michael, a friend of Julia’s product manager at the Mountain View office. Michael is really nice, and he said he’ll show us around whenever we want during our stay in Shanghai. After lunch with him we had desserts with the shopping team. We discussed mostly the air pollution that was breaking new records. This was the view from the cafe:

After Chris, one of the shopping team engineers, took us for a tour in the offices, we left to explore the Pudong area, and from there we left to Chenghung Miao, the Temple of the Town Gods area. The area is very touristy, with all your expected stores selling decorated chopsticks and shit. There was a guy selling steampunkish pocket watches. There were 20 Yuan a pop. We got him to sell us 3 for 50. However, when we walked on, there were other people selling the same watches, sometimes for 15 a pop. As Julia said - you always feel buyer’s remorse when you’re in China. I decided, however, to stop being such a wuss and start bargaining with these people.

Many merchants were selling Chinese good luck knots, so we asked several of them if they know where to get the thread. Only one of them knew - she was actually making these knots in her stand. She told us how to get to the raw materials mall, and also, after some persuading, agreed to sell us all the thread she had left. Finally, mission accomplished. We decided to go to the raw materials mall anyway. 

The mall, like the fabric district, is a 6-stories-tall building packed with small stores selling all the raw materials that are used for making all the shit that you can buy in China.

We found a guy selling the string. I haggled with him a little bit (“Liang ge, wu shi”, Chinese for “two for fifty”. I added a pat on the back and “good price for you!” in English) and we decided not to buy yet and look for more options. In the basement floor there are mostly toys for wholesale. Piles and piles of them.

We were getting yelled at by store owners - this is not a place for tourists, but for retailers to get their stock. Also, stores were starting to close, so we ran back to the ground floor, got a big ball of red string from one stand, three smaller bundles of other colors from the first stand, and left the building with a smile of victory.

In the street there was a guy frying and selling squids on a stick. We asked for two, and he put three on the griddle. Julia told him we only want two, and the guy said “well, it’s 3 for 5, and he (pointing at me) is going to eat two anyway”. As soon as Julia translated for me, I nodded - he made an excellent point, and to be fair, the squids were delicious.

We walked towards the Bund, which is the the waterfront area to the west of Huangpu river. On the way we stopped at a knockoff mall. I was getting fond of bargaining - I was learning new techinques, practicing some chinese, and generally having a blast at the same time. We didn’t buy anything though.

The view at the Bund at night is supposed to be beautiful, but with the thick smog and the dying-dinosaur-like sounds coming from a crane on the other bank, the atmosphere was very apocalyptic.

From there we started walking towards the Old Millfun, which we were told is worth a visit. We walked by a small market and bought a weird green vegetable for my vegetable gallery. I also chatted a bit (mostly through Julia) with a lady selling live chicken and pigeons. Well, she kills them before selling them.

The Old Millfun is known for its interesting architecture. Today, it’s a strange mall, with closed shops, high-end restaurants and a performance center. We walked around for a bit and left.

For dinner, we stopped at a small restauraunt that had all the main courses still alive in a set of plastic containers laid out in the middle of the street. We were feeling brave and adventurous, so we pointed at some random things. The waiter told us how he recommends them being cooked, and took us to a table.

One dish was squids - that’s an easy one. The next was Haichang, also known as Penis Fish. Why, you ask? Well, because when still alive and well in the ocean, or in a plastic container in the middle of the street, they look like this:

After being cooked in chives, and feeling less happy, they look like this:

and they actually taste pretty good.

The third dish turned out to be silkworm chrysalis. 

They pop in your mouth, releasing creamy, weird tasting substance. The shell is to be spit out. This one is not for the faint-hearted. Or for Julia.

We took a taxi to the hotel to get a little bit of rest, and then went to meet Michael, his friend Mike, and Phil, at a whiskey bar called Constellation 3. We had some whiskey to start the evening, departed from Mike, and were taken by Phil and Mike to KTV.

KTV is a chain of karaoke places, in which your party rents its own room. You can select from several packages that differ in the number of hours and the number of beer bottles. The rooms are equipped with a karoke system that allows you to control key, tempo, balance between the playback and your microphone, and even the room lighting (lasers included!). There were also dice, and Michael taught us how to play a local gambling game.

Michael had to go, so Phil took us to “88”. It’s a steampunky club where even in what Phil described as a slow night, people seemed to be partying pretty hard. It feels to me like Shangahi is living as if the world will end tomorrow. The smog might have biased my perception, though.

We left the club at around 3AM, got a variety of things on a stick from a dude in the street corner, and took a taxi home.

China, day 11: Shanghai

One of my favorite ways to explore new cities is to define tasks that need to be accomplished. The more random these tasks are, so i discovered, the bigger the chance of having a cool adventure.

Our first task for the day was to try to find some red string. You know these Chinese good-luck knots kinda thing? So we want to make one in the shape of a Chamsa, which is (kind of) a Jewish good-luck kinda thing. I know, we’re disgusting. Anyway, we need red string. We went to the fabric district, which is mostly this three-stories tall building packed with tiny fabric and clothes stores.

Everybody was yelling at me, of course. “Halo! Come in! Look-Look (which is a weird translation for the common Chinese expression "kan-kan”)“. Most would say "scarf!”, which for some reason they seem to think I need one. Some of them would hold in their hand some gloves as they yelled “scarf”, and, when I declined, took a scarf and yelled “gloves!”

We didn’t find any string. However we did find me a really smooth black, Chinese-style jacket, and a nice light jacket for Julia, which they had to make for her. We declared our task to find string as a temporary failure, and we moved on for our next task - finding the Chabad House of Pudong.

Chabad, in case you don’t know, is a movement in Judaism. They are known for having centers all over the world that help travellers and Jewish locals with their religious needs. I have never actually been to one, but I was told by friends who travelled that attending a holiday meal is a memorable experience. It was the last night of Chanuka, so we decided to go. We didn’t know what to expect, so we defined the task as lighting Chanuka candles.

It took us a long time to find the place - a taxi dropped us off pretty far from the address we had, so we walked for a while, and when we finally got to the approximate location we realized that I had the wrong address the whole time. We corrected the address on my phone’s google maps and followed the directions, and when we got there we realized that this time the phone was wrong. We walked even more, and just as I was about to give up - we found it.

It was a house in the middle of a “nice” neighborhood - the entire neighborhood was surrounded with a fence and had a guard at the gate. The door was open, and the Chinese housekeeper let us in. Nobody else was in sight, although we could clearly hear children. After a few minutes of waiting, Julia asked the housekeeper if she could call somebody.

Rabbi Greenberg and his wife were super nice to us. It turns out it wasn’t that kind of a Chabad house. Theirs is more focused on the local Jewish community. Rabbi Greenberg’s brother is running another Chabad house closer to the center of the city, which is more dedicated to helping travellers. Regardless, they sat to talk to us, gave us sufganiot (doughnuts, a traditional food for Chanuka. It’s not all about latkes, you know) and gave me candles to light. Mission accomplished.

We left after a short time because we didn’t want to be in their way as they prepared for dinner, and went on our way to meet Phil.

Phil is colleague of ours from our days in the Media Lab, and is now working in Shanghai as a design technologist for Frog Design. Accompanied by Eva, his German co-worker, he met us near his work and took us to “Mr. X”.

Mr. X is a complex of rooms which you can book. Your party is locked in the room, and in order to get out you must solve a series of puzzles. This was so much fun! The room Phil booked for us was called “The Book of Isaiah”, and had interleaved Jewish and satanic motifs, so I would describe the experience as being ignorantly, harmlessly, and amusingly anti-Semitic. Otherwise, it was fucking awesome. The puzzles were hard and challenging, the execution was very good, and the atomsphere was actually a little scary, which was perfect. Solving the last puzzle (we actually used a hint for that) helped us open a chain that locked a door in a tube in the middle of the room. Inside it was a ladder, and when we climbed it we found ourselves on the builidng’s rooftop - we won!

Good taste is not Mr.X’s strongest point.This, for example, is in the waiting room/bar:

and more research revealed that there used to be another room called “concentration camp”. If you don’t care too much about these things, I strongly advise you go. They are a chain and can be found in several other cities in China.

To celerate our victory, Phil took us to a speakeasy. The elevator drops you in a room that has nothing but stacked bookshelves and a telephone. Eva picked up the phone, talked to someone, and one of the shelves turned out to be a secret door. We went in, had a drink, departed from Eva who had to wake up early, and continued following Phil around.

First, he took us to the Bomb Shelter. A club that is designed as, well, a shelter from bombs. The space is very cool, but was also very empty. We continued to the Apartment, another bar where local girls come to hunt for ex-pat men. We had one drink and left.

Outside, some beggers were trying to get us to give them money. One of them continued to follow us as we walked away. In front of my very eyes, Julia transformed into an old, mean, Chinese woman. "Fan si le!“ (Chinese: annoying me to death) she yelled at the begger, who finally left us alone, and I swear, it took about five whole minutes until Julia’s hair turned back from grey to black.