Forrow me prease

Things I had forgotten about Beijing:

• ·         That women do hard labor, for example laying new bricks on roads
• ·         That they wear fake sleeves to protect their clothes from getting dirty
• ·         That Chinese pat their bodies, hard, to ease what I presume is pain in various body parts
• ·         The Kanji, Chinese Character, overload.
• ·         That people stare, without shame, at you and often also point fingers and snickers
• ·         How I will explain to the kids that even though Chinese people ride their bikes and motorbikes without helmets, they can’t. Same goes with seatbelts; when there are any…
• ·         The smell. Hard to describe. I have no idea how asbestos smell but I think that is how China smells.
• ·         How much they love it if you try to speak their language, every taxi ride is a linguistic adventure

Our apartment is brand new, the electric meter measured 0.1 of whatever measurement they use.

We have two thick, brand new white rugs; it looks like we’ve had a massive lamb fight in the apartment.

It is comforting to see that nothing much has changed. Last night our friend Mats had made reservation at a restaurant with “The best American food in Beijing”.

This conversation took place as we arrived:

“Ni hao.”

“Ni hao.”

We have made a reservation for six people but we will be seven.”

“Yes.”

“Yes! We have a table booked for six people, but we will be seven.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, it is true. We have made a reservation.”

….

This could go on forever. The waitress’/hostess’ eyebrows were now up to the middle of her forehead, she was thinking so hard. She indicates for us to wait because she has to ask a colleague and Mats has to repeat the whole conversation with another person. During this time we have had time to go to the bathroom and come back. The restaurant is not full by any means.

“Yes, it is true, we have made a reservation.”

“Forrow me prease.”

And he leads us to a lovely table at the end of the garden, as promised far away from the stage where a live band might perform later. There is a sign on the table telling it is reserved for MAST with his phone number. We didn’t see waitress number one much during the evening.

Happy Hour was in full swing; “Buy one, get two, a great deal and a great way to share an order, or so I thought, but alas, no sharing. Have one drink and later remember that the restaurant owes you another of the same kind. And check the check carefully.

…

All the new, and for me and Ulf old, impressions are exhausting. The novelty has worn out and as we are trying to live “real” life in our service apartment; we realize even more how much we miss our own things. Marcus misses his Legos, Amanda misses her teddy, I miss my kitchen and my clothes, my books and my shoes….

Add to that the sleepless nights due to jetlag and games of musical beds. Somehow, until last night, I have never finished the night in my own.