Live from Guangzhou

But just barely. The two-hour flight from Chongqing turned into an exhausting trip that started at 6 a.m. and is still wrapping up 12 hours later. Traveling with two kids and luggage is exponentially harder than just one, especially when one of them (BiBi) is still clinging to Lisa. Sophie had a nice little meltdown in the middle of the Guangzhou airport, but is feeling much better now.

It's great to be back on the Shamien Island part of Guangzhou -- it's one of those places that, even though there aren't tons of things to do, you just enjoy being here. Everything is strangely exotic and entirely non-Chinese, from the palm trees to the lack of traffic to the peacocks that are current strutting around in the building outside our hotel window. (The same building also houses an ostrich, a monkey and pigeons.) And even though adoption-related traffic is way down, the White People Density Indicator (WPDI) is higher here than probably anywhere in China. I ask you, does this look anything like the high-density, polluted, industrialized China that we see over and over on TV?



We have a medical exam to do, a little paperwork, and a U.S. Consulate appointment, but other than that the week is ours to just walk around, eat, and haggle for touristy merchandise like Rolex knockoffs and girls' silk dresses. And unlike other god-forsaken parts of this country, beer is actually easy to find and is chilling in our mini-bar now.

A funny story about our public humiliation

Ironically, on the same day that the whole family took a trip to the Chongqing zoo, it was we who were the beast-like attraction when we tried to make a quick dinner outing.

We'd heard about a "deli" in the mall adjoining our hotel, so the four of us went in search of it. The deli turned out to be a Chinese-style food court, with 10 different places selling dumplings, rice and noodles. Excitedly, we scanned offerings trying to negotiate what everyone would eat, while hanging on to the two wiggling hungry kids in our arms. This alone made people notice us. Even in a sophisticated area like Chongqing, people aren't used to seeing two Caucasians with two Chinese children, and their intense stares remind us of that.

But rather than smoothly order our food using the normal point-and-indicate-quantity-with-fingers method, we were thwarted by a rather complex system of monetary exchange that took 15 minutes and some helpful translators to figure out. You see, each of the food court vendors accepts a special debit card instead of cash, and the card is obtained at a desk in the middle of the food court. Then at the end of the meal, you return the card and get back the cash balance. It all seems so simple now, but in the midst of kids, fidgeting, hunger, and a complete lack of language skills, we looked like a crazed pack of escaped monkeys trying to get the vendors to give us our dumplings and rice dish.

Even after we figured out the system, I went and caused a second-tier scene when I bought an apple for the kids and a beer for us. That part, at least, seemed to have one well, until 10 minutes later when an unexpected drink showed up at our table. It looked and tasted like apple juice, but we hadn't ordered apple juice. Was it an alcoholic cider? We had to know because the girls wanted to drink it something fierce. We tried using a complex system of finger pointing to ask the waiter if the drink was, in fact, for the girls or was it alcoholic like the beer? The only response we could discern -- over and over -- was that it cost 3 yuan and it was ours.

Exhausted but full, we returned to the room where Sophie had her real dinner of cereal. I also vowed that, having now learned the system, we must return tomorrow and have a more dignified meal where people stare at us for the color of our skin, not the ineptitude of our food ordering abilities.

Note to myself

In packing for our trip to China, the following items can be either carried on or checked:

• Camcorders
• Camera Equipment
• Laptop Computers
• Mobile Phones
• Pagers
• Personal Data Assistants

The following can be checked, but not carried on:

• Billy Clubs
• Black Jacks
• Brass Knuckles
• Kubatons
• Mace/Pepper Spray
• Martial Arts Weapons
• Night Sticks
• Nanchakus
• Stun guns/Shocking Devices
• Throwing Stars

And the following can neither be checked nor carried on:

• Blasting caps
• Dynamite
• Fireworks
• Flares
• Hand Grenades
• Plastic Explosives
• Realistic Replicas of Explosives
• Flammable Items
• Aerosol
• Fuels
• Gasoline
• Gas Torches
• Lighter Fluid
• Common Lighters
• Torch Lighters
• Strike-anywhere Matches
• Turpentine and Paint Thinner
• Realistic Replicas of Incendiaries
• Chlorine
• Compressed Gas Cylinders
• Liquid Bleach
• Spillable Batteries
• Spray Paint
• Tear Gas

Testing the power of Google

In the fall of 1991, I studied in Montpelier, France with a service learning program. In other words, we did mundane tasks for no money and received school credit for it.

While there, I became very close with two people: Sarah Hechman and Archie Jao. (Alternate name spellings: Sara Heckman, Sarah Heckman, Sara Hechman and Archimedes Jao.)

I'm posting their names and pictures here on the off change that they've set up Google alerts for their own names. (It's happening a lot more these days.) Archie and Sarah -- I found these great pictures of you and I hope you're doing well. Drop me a line if you can.

Eric Dawson wedding update no. 3

A.k.a., the trip home.

Imagine you're in a U.S. airport post-9/11. Someone activates a portable siren, while others around him blow police whistles and throw papers in the air. Now ask yourself how long it would take TSA agents to swarm, beat and shoot this group of people: 5 seconds? Maybe 10?

Amazingly, people in Spain are allowed to walk around the airport in this way for hours unmolested. In this, the country that suffered its own mini-9/11, it's apparently fine that gangs of people are actively trying to cause a panic in an international airport.

And that was just one of the many surreal travel experiences we encountered on the way home from what might have been the greatest wedding ever.

The aforementioned return trip began at 3:30 a.m. when we had to grab a taxi in San Sebastian for the 70+ minute trip to Bilbao. This travel interlude was the result of poor advance planning and late travel arrangements on our part. Still, the ride went well, and we actually made it to the airport before it opened, which at first seemed like a mistake, until we realized the flight on our ticket didn't actually exist at this airport.

After surviving both the re-ticketing process and the disgruntled and be-whistled janitorial staff above, we found ourselves in Frankfurt having to, again, rectify incorrect tickets. Dodging both long lines and insane American tourists, we were soon on the trans-Atlantic flight home. And speaking of insane tourists, Mark was stuck next to the proverbial 450-lb. elephant until an accommodating stewardess got him a better seat. This begs the question: If I'm dinged for the size of my carry-ons, why wasn't this guy dinged for the size of himself?

It's just amazing that anyone ever survives international travel, given the sheer number of things that can and usually do go wrong. But we did, and here we are.

Eric Dawson wedding update no. 2

As Mark might say: Holy shinola, what a day. The wedding ended a mere 2 hours ago, and it was possibly the best wedding of all time. It's no offense to all of us who had great weddings also, but Eric and Genevieve held one for the ages.

We started Saturday by sleeping in late after a long night of hitting clubs. Well, one club, and it didn't start to fill up until about 3:30 a.m. Apparently, San Sebastian parties late. And luckily there were no museum trips or nature hikes or squirrel pettings to get up for -- just the spa for massages. Lunch followed at 3, where Genevieve's gay friend Andy left the straight guys in the dust when it came to looking for naked boobs on the beach. Then a quick change of clothes and we were off to the wedding.

The cathedral where the wedding took place was the oldest building in San Sebastian, and the priest may have been its oldest person. Still, he held forth on the benefits of having 3, 4 and even 5 wives, or so we understood from his English. It was an amazing ceremony, and when we all left the cathedral, there were dozens of locals gathered around to cheer on the couple.

Then we were off to the reception, where people ate 6 courses of Spanish food and got absolutely crazy on the dance floor. Even 10-year-old Pablo shook his thing and took turns dancing with pretty much all of the hot women.

The braver among us are still out partying in the local clubs, but Mark and I have (wisely, I think) turned in for a good night's sleep. Genevieve's sister just now gave us a look of doom when it was clear we weren't going back out with them. We face the challenge of either altering or adapting to our early Monday morning flight, so we'll need all our rest to make it happen.

Stohler, out!

Eric Dawson wedding update no. 1

Mark an I are shacked up together in the so-so Hostal Bahia in middle of the amazingly gorgeous San Sebastian. We got in yesterday afternoon after a flawlessly executed trip that included two planes, a cab, a bus, and a lot of walking with nothing but a street address for a destination. And we did it all on a mishmash of half-remembered French, loud English and the single Spanish word "autobus."

After a quick nap yesterday, Eric and Genevieve took the whole wedding party out for drinks and tapas at possibly the coolest little restaurant int he world. We hung out with friends of theirs from high school and work, family from the Philippines and Norway, and even random people from Durham who happened to be walking down the street and heard English being spoken. But we're the lone Guilford reps here, to the shame of all the other Fighting Quakers Class of '92.

Today, the cultured ones in the wedding party got up early and went to the Guggenheim. Mark and I enjoyed non-interrupted sleep until noon, when we stumbled out of bed, toured the city and ate chocolate croissants. Eric's beloved "La Bomba" breakfast treat eluded us. Oh, and Mark bought two yards of pink ribbon.

Tonight is the rehearsal dinner and tomorrow the wedding. Until then, we're heading out to the beach to read books and maybe eat more croissants.