New dawn, new day, new life

Almost six months since my last post, it might be time to get back into it again, right?

After all the things that happened last spring and summer; all the worries, the tumultuous first year back in China behind us, finally getting back into things and realizing that it is not so bad after all; getting a routine down, getting to know new friends – getting a life – there was simply no inspiration and will to write for a while. Not that nothing interesting happened of course, this is Beijing after all, and I’ve realized I can keep myself busy for days trying to remembering it all but I guess it will come back to me after time. And it might end up here as well, who knows?

Coming home after a three week break in Sweden (and a surprise express visit to London) has been great (not counting jet lag of course but there is nothing really to do about that). The kids are thrilled to be back at school, we are all filled with energy, though it is bitterly cold the skies has been remarkably clear, only one single thing has demanded workers in the house so far and not one “that’s China” encounter yet. And the kids have been so busy that I haven’t heard a single thing about “the best Christmas ever!” Though I’ve told them over and over again that we will NOT do this every year and most probably not again next Christmas I think they have what a REAL CHRISTMAS is like imprinted in their brains and soul forever. And yes, it was very nice. I realized how traditional I am and how I think it should be just so, now that we were there, you know. Tons of snow, a weeks’ build up to if/when/how Santa will come, darkness that I had forgotten about (dusk at 3pm, really?), cooking, baking, preparing, wrapping presents in secret, Christmas music, cocooning and candles everywhere.

Now, after eating and drinking constantly and excessively, there is most definitely a new dawn, a new day and a new life ahead. 2013 will be THE year. The year when we will exercise our bodies and brains, find balance and success and most of all have lots of fun.

Heading out to try kickboxing class for the first time, the pollution index shows 428 (hazardous) and I have a headache. Still, the weekend is up ahead, jet lag is finally over and the family will be complete again so life’s good.

Not making sense

I woke up Wednesday morning with a big smile on my face, memories fresh from the amazing experience the night before. 

My husband, who knows me so very well, surprised me with a night on the town, orchestrated weeks before with family babysitters engaged and, not a single word had slipped out from anyone’s lips. I had spent the day with beautiful Mia; a whole day of lunch, a museum visit, shopping and talk, talk, talk and was clueless as to what was about to happen. All I knew was to be ready to leave a 5.30 and to dress nicely.

“It starts at 7pm” said my man and so I knew that it had to be an event of some kind but what?

We made our way into the city and started walking towards the old town. Where we perhaps going on a cruise? A musical event of some kind that I had not seen advertised?

“Let’s wait here for a moment”, he said, and guided me towards the water; the Royal Palace in front of us, the Royal Swedish Opera behind. The grey clouds from the afternoon were slowly drifting away and Stockholm was once again washed in the beautiful sunlight that only exists here.

“Can you see anything around here that isn’t here usually? Look up!” he says and I do, still clueless.

“We are going there!” he continues and points up at the roof of the Opera house and there, tilting almost, sits a class cube, THE Cube by Electrolux. I had read about the concept but had no idea where it was or when and was, of course, jumping with joy and excitement.

(http://www.electrolux.se/Cube/Cube-Stockholm_en/)

Only 18 people eat at the Cube at one time, seated at a long table almost in the kitchen which features the latest in Electrolux design and technology. Our chef of the night was Klas Lindberg, Sweden’s Chef of the Year and boy, were we in for a treat. The city of Stockholm were everywhere around (and under) us, the view spectacular as we were sipping a glass of ice cold champagne before being seated, or rather guided into the kitchen were the first two dishes were served. Or second and third actually, I almost forgot about the ice cold cucumber soup with elderberry that we enjoyed while still on the terrace.

There was one gastronomic explosion after another, all composed with the utter most respect and love for what is in season and lives and/or grows nearby. There were crawfish from the sea quickly pan fried with just a touch of garlic, a “love mix” with tiny new potatoes and bleak roe from Kalix in the very north, the winning beef dish and not one, not two but three desserts – all perfectly combined with the right wine or, in one case, a beautiful ale from Brooklyn Brewery.

Sated, happy and completely satisfied we strolled over to the Grand Hotel for a night cap before heading home in the night.

I woke up on Wednesday morning with a big smile on my face, memories fresh from the amazing experience the night before and decided to check my emails, as always in the morning…

…and learned that a friend from Beijing had suddenly, un-expectantly, passed away in her sleep while visiting with friends in the United States. She was a healthy, fun-loving, sweet woman who leaves behind a husband and three children and many, many friends and members of family; all wondering what just happened?

Rest in peace, sweet Nickie, we will miss you.

Did we have to cut his penis off?

“Mommy”, my son asks me at 6.45 one Friday morning, “why did we have to cut Shakespeare’s (the cat) penis off?

Not exactly how I had planned to start my morning but whatever, let’s tell them about the birds and the bees, the teeny tiny fish like swimmers and the eggs and get it over with. Luckily the cat was present and we could inspect his tiny testicles, all black and fuzzy and very cute like hairy black licorice balls and explain that his penis was in fact still present, the tiny little tube connecting the two (three) had been cut off, and my son didn’t get the urge to check out his own balls, not once. Thank you for that.

So what brought this on, one might wonder. Well, I had stumbled upon three abandoned kittens at the pet store available for adoption and I was so close, so very close to bring one home with me. I thankfully soon realized that it would be bad idea to introduce yet another stray kitty into our household; Shakespeare would not appreciate getting even more competition for our affection, his patience is stretched as it is. But it is so hard, so very hard, to be strong when there are so many animals around looking for home and when I explained to the kids about the kittens, and how Shakespeare had been even smaller when I found him; the penis question followed.

The lesson in baby making continued a few nights later when we were at school for Science night; or Elementary Science Safari as it was called. All teachers and helpers donned safari outfits, hats et al and both cafeterias and the lawn outside were full of activity. We made slime (didn’t work so well…), a bird feeder (oops, how are they supposed to get to the seeds?), played with magnets, ran a save-the-planet relay, pledged to save energy, touched cow intestines including an eye with eyelashes still attached (not to be recommended before dinner) and asked the scientists (5th-graders who we all know are the smartest people on the planet) random questions. Amanda picked the following question:

“Do all eggs become chickens?” of course, back to the baby making!

“Well… aumm…hrrmmm…” the very young scientist mumbles, red in the face, while glancing at his peers, his teacher and myself.

“No worries” I tell him, “go for it, they already know it all.” I continued, a little bit smug. I’m Swedish! We are open about all these things, right? No hush hush here, naha!

And a sigh of relief goes through the whole scientist crowd, pleased that they do not have to, in front of both their teacher AND a mom, explain the whole circle of life to a first grader. Not that he goes into detail when giving his answer to the question, actually the explanation was very scientific and proper but still, how embarrassing.

Still, I’m not sure how much they actually grasped about the whole issue. One day later Amanda asked me why she had a hole in her tummy and is that, in fact, where the babies get inside….

Like

Eight months in China has cured me of my Facebook addiction. I no longer feel the need to share mundane everyday things with the world, nor do I have to “Like” what others do and don’t do all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I am still a big fan and I do go through the obstacles to log on to Facebook several times a week but I’ve become much more selective of what I share. Pretty interesting since what is happening here on an everyday basis is pretty shareable; lots of crazy, ridiculous things occur each and every day.

Like today when I went with the first graders on a field trip to the National Zoological Museum of China to study the bugs they have learned about in class.

The visit begins with a movie in 4D, yes, you read it right. The movie was completely logically about a dolphin. Well, why not? Though it was all in Chinese, of course, it was pretty easy to follow: Baby dolphin loses his mother and is chased by a shark, makes friends with a turtle and something else….hold on a minute….reminds me of some other movie… Never mind, 4D meant that throughout the movie we would get sprayed with water or puffs of air would appear from the chair in front and suddenly the chairs started shaking, all pretty randomly but then again, I couldn’t quite follow the dialogue. Amanda got scared and started crying and ended up as close to my lap as possible without actually being on it (so embarrassing!).

After the feature the kids were to be scientists and find answers, draw pictures and make observations about the bugs and insects. A paper and pencils were handed out and we started exploring. I had three very clever and studious little girls in my group so it was easy sailing. Up until the point when a Chinese class, of let’s say 40 students, arrived. Though a little hesitant and respectful at first they soon zoomed in on the classes from ISB, taking pictures, posing, doing the little “v” sign with their fingers while happening, as if by accident, to stand next to a foreign student. Most of the ISB students of foreign origin are used to this, this happens every time they go to the city and there are probably pictures of all members of my family in houses all over China (what they say about the pictures when showing them to their friends back home baffles me; this is my laowai friend that I met in Beijing?).

I’m just curious to know what their teacher of these Chinese students will say when they come back to school with a bunch of pictures of laowais instead of bugs.

The greatest voice of all

The Bodyguard is still one of my very favorite movies and I always, ALWAYS, cry at the end. How is it possible not to? Whitney in the plane, watching Keving Costner all bodyguardyish and stern on the tarmac – not a single emotion on his face but you know, you KNOW, that he is hurting on the inside, and then the music starts. “I-if Iyiyiiiii should stay, I will always be in your waaaaayyyyyyy…” and she runs ….off the plane and into his arms. Ah! So romantic and sad and it makes you wondering? Will they make it? Because while she is stuck with the old, grey guy and he is watching over some priest, will they live happily ever after in her mansion? He is not her bodyguard anymore and the crazy sister is dead so no worries, right? They can hang out, drink orange juice (only), play with his swords and watch samurai movies together. Go to the dingy bar on Friday nights and play old hits on the jukebox. And Fletcher will grow up, learn to swim, and be a normal kid where you play year-long games of chess in a cabin by a lake. If only.

No one could hold a note like Whitney; she would belt out tones so strongly that you’d think the speakers would explode only to shush down to an almost whisper and still be in complete control. And the emotions she conveyed; always getting the message through only to end with that million-dollar smile that would bright up any arena, TV screen or concert hall. It seemed so easy and many have tried to copy her style; some with great success and some…not so good. Karaoke singers love her songs, even though they are so hard to pull off. Must be the liquid courage many enjoy before hitting the stage and grabbing the microphone.  After a few drinks we are all superstars, hey?

Whitney, you will be missed. They angels are lucky to have you in their choir. Ah, who am I kidding? She won’t be in the choir, no way, she will be the soloist singing her heart out; brightening up the heavens with her beautiful voice and person and if we listen carefully, we can still hear her in our hearts.

No sweating it

Some things you take for granted in life. Contact lens solution for example, a variety of such, dental floss, minted, glossy you name it, yeast and deodorant. I had completely forgotten the lack of these items in China. Sure, there is contact lens solution – one kind, obviously not the kind I use and there is dental floss, I think, I haven’t run out yet, but for some reason deodorant is hard to find. I don’t know if the Chinese don’t sweat or if they have some magic traditional ancient herb to use instead but I had completely blocked out that I used to bring it here, back in the day. Therefore, when we knew that we were meeting up with sweet Cory and Joe in Hong Kong in January I took the opportunity and ordered a few items.

As per usual, we partied like rock stars, kids in tow. Great food and delicious wine, beer, sake and Red bull (?) of huge quantities were consumed and we ended our celebration at Aqua where Simon treated us to the best view in Hong Kong and a dessert platter to die for.

Not only was it lovely seeing them again, and their friends, they came equipped like the Santa we never saw on Christmas Eve. Oh the joys of not having to economize with deodorant. Being able to sweep my underarms not only once is a delight, for me and for my surroundings. When visitors brought gifts from home during our years in the states it was a treat, now it becomes a necessity. Because what to do when the yeast sucks and you have a friend you haven’t seen for 15 years coming to town for business? You order 40 packages and invite him to dinner. That’s what you do. IKEA used to be every Swedish expat’s lifeline but sadly, they only sell their own brand these days. IKEA Daim and IKEA bilar? NO thank you very much. Bad decision IKEA, really bad decision.

Now my parents are coming to visit very soon and the list is beginning to take form; candy of course, the salty black liquorice one that only Swedes like and that we therefore do not need to share, contact lens solution – the good kind, pain killers, sea salt, Wettex – a super absorbent kitchen towel and even more yeast which I will use as hostess gifts when (if) we are invited to dinner parties and such. Better than flowers.

Amanda has been home from school since Friday nurturing her cold and she happened to be around when I Skyped my parents to give them the first draft of their shopping list. As always, Amanda gets a little shy and sad when Skyping with people that she misses but after some coaching and probing my mom gets to it and asks her if there is anything special she would like from Sweden (not that she has any emotional or epicurean preferences to Swedish foods, she has never lived there after all).

“Well” she says eventually “a dog, I want a dog.”

O shit, kill me now. When will she understand that as long as we have the crazy cat (who I hope will live forever) there won’t be a dog. But perhaps I should be thankful; when my sister was the same age all she wished for every birthday and Christmas was a live monkey or a live lion.

“Hmmm…” my mom replies after having turned away from the computer so that Amanda won’t see her laughing at her request, “That will be difficult. Will some KEX choklad (Swedish wafer chocolate) do instead?”

“Ok” She happily agrees “Can I go watch TV now?”

Phew, crisis diverted, for this time.

All fake

Last night, as we were eating a by my standards very meager birthday dinner, chicken soup with noodles on the side as per request by the sick birthday girl, suddenly Marcus 8 ½ years old announces:

“I don’t think Santa is real.”

“B b b but why?” I manage to say, very confused as to where this is coming from.

“Nah” he continues “I think it is just mommies and daddies who buy the presents and say they are from Santa.”

“Only the real Santa leaves the presents by the tree when you are sleeping!” Amanda chirps in with her raspy voice with near desperation as an undertone.

“But what about when we have seen Santa”, I continue. “At little Sophia’s and Izzy’s houses and at the train park (a “professional” for-rent Santa, very real-like except for the one party we attended when he carried a jeweled staff and reminded me of Liberace)? And what about when we celebrated Christmas in Sweden and suddenly Santa showed up with all those presents?”

“No” he persists “It’s all fake, they were just people dressing up.”

How am I going to save this, I’m thinking to myself. Their belief in Santa has explained so much at Christmas time; his superhuman ability to be at so many places in such a short amount of time, how he can see and hear everything, how we can use him as a threat AND a motivator for good behavior.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I carry on “Amanda, you don’t believe what Marcus is saying is true, do you? Don’t you think there is a real Santa?”

“Aauuummm….yeeessss, but I also think there are fake ones, like when Grandpa dressed up when they visited us in America.”

She is clearly confused by now. Not only is she sick on her birthday, her daddy is away un-expectantly and she had to postpone her birthday party now, suddenly, her brother tells her there is no Santa!

“Marcus, why don’t you think there is a Santa?” I say trying to save the situation.

“Haha! I’m just kidding; of course there is the real one!”

Huh? What just happened? Has he figured it out? Did he chicken out at the last second and tried to save the situation or was he just being nice to his sister? I don’t know and I won’t find out until December but I do know that Christmas this year will have to rock. We have to find the most amazing Santa and he will have to come flying through the sky somehow and have a real beard AND a fat belly, the right laugh AND lots of presents. And there will have to be snow. I guess we have no choice; we will have to spend Christmas in Sweden this year where the REAL Santa is from.

Joy to the world and peace and quiet for all?

All you want on Christmas Eve is some peace and quiet, right? A chance to spend time with your family, eat well, meet Santa and curl up on the sofa with a hot drink and a good book. Ok, this almost never happens; there are always meals to prepare, guests to greet, kids to bribe and messes to clean up but still, Christmas has that certain je ne sais quoi to it. It’s the finish line after a month of racing and hopefully, there will be no last minute errands to run.

We woke up on Christmas Eve knowing it would be different. We had chosen to spend our first Christmas at home in our new house in China, Christening it at Christmas if you will. We would have no guests joining us, only the family having a nice time before flying off to Vietnam on Christmas Day. When we planned this, we had not counted in that our things would have arrived four days earlier. You can imagine the mess in our house; boxes everywhere, filthy floors and sofas, Christmas decorations still in boxes and a general disaster area look to it overall.

Still, it was Christmas and as we woke up in the morning and had the kids and the cat all in bed with us, we felt…Christmassy. I stretched and got ready to get up and for some reason, touched my armpit. Hm. Felt it again and yes, definitely, there was something there that hadn’t been there before. A lump. Yay. Knowing I could not go on holiday no knowing if I had breast cancer I scheduled an appointment for as soon as possible the same day.

Up until now, the only thing we had to do that day was leave the cat at the kennel, five minutes away by car, a doctors’ appointment was easy to fit in.

It got the cat in the car and headed for the vet. “Are you ready to go now?” the receptionist asked. I knew he was to be at another facility but not that I had to personally take him there, all the way in town, 45 minutes away if we were lucky. Ok, slight change of plans again. I left the cat with the vet and got in the car for my appointment. 15 minutes later I walked out relieved not to be sick and made a mental note to buy new, sharper razor blades…

Rushed the cat to the kennel downtown, stopped by the market to buy burner gel for the nights fondue fiesta (like pizza! We told the kids, minus the tomato sauce, right?) and finally made it home.

“When can we open the presents, mom?” Santa had already left a whole sack of presents by the fire place, he must have been there while we were still sleeping because he had eaten all the cookies and drank the milk. “At three o’clock, let’s do it at three, kids. Mommy and daddy needs to fill out the insurance claim forms first, why don’t you guys decorate the trees?” I had found two small plastic Christmas trees in one of the boxes and all the ornaments. “Go ahead, decorate!”

Ulf and I got to work trying to decipher the packing list and matching the items with the insurance form, posting pictures and explanations to what had been destroyed and where. At three we took a break for Christmas. The kids had decorated beautifully, we lighted all the candles we could find, drank warm drinks and ate cookies and cocooned ourselves from the mess around us. The presents were plentiful and we tried our best to get into the spirit. Too soon it was over and we went back to the claim forms while the kids touched away on their new tablets. Forms were eventually sent off and we enjoyed our cheese fondue (“not exactly like pizza, mom”) and toasted to not ever having another Christmas like this one.

With dinner over and dishes done we started packing for our holiday. Peace and quiet? I don’t think so.

Back to life, back to reality

It’s time to get back on track and join the world again. After a long holiday season with many troubles coupled with even more joyful moments we are finally back on track and on our way to a normal life with routines and schedules.

The container that had been M.I.A since the end of June finally reached us on December 20^th. After receiving the news I immediately informed the management office who told me the length and weight requirements of trucks coming into the compound, information I shared, of course, with the people responsible for delivering all our worldly goods. At 10am, the scheduled delivery time, I get the phone call I had suspected and expected to get: “The truck is too long; we need to move the things into a smaller truck”. Go figure.

A surprisingly short while later, the supervisor shows up with a Filofax in his hands; “Look” I tell Stacey who is there to help, “I had one of those in the 1990s, haha, remember – before iphones?“ It turns out it was mine and that it had …fallen…out of a box. Hmmm…and this was only the beginning. Other random items followed that had excaped broken boxes, at one time I went outside and found one of our couches on the driveway (the very dirty driveway I might add) one the ground, fabric side down.  Broken box after broken box were carried into our home. Our sofas looked like they had been wrapped in glad wrap – only, glasses and cups were broken, things were smushed and destroyed and many number tags (to identify everything on the packing list) were missing. It was a disaster and had I not had photo proof no-one would believe me. The supervisor was embarrassed and started taking photos as well and handed me the claim form for broken items without me asking for it.

Thank goodness for insurance, or so we thought…surely this would all be sorted out quickly. We had not counted in Christmas, New Years AND Chinese New Year which in 2012 fell only two short weeks after the western new year. Do I have to say we are still waiting? 

Kind of yellowish I’d say

It’s when you have visitors you get to go out and see and experience things; a chance to get away from the mundane days in the suburb when everything is the same, day after day.

When my dad came to visit to help us unpack and get organized we suddenly had nothing to unpack or organize since our container, hmmm how shall I put it, got lost on the way. So with all this free time and a visitor who had never been to China before, what to do? Well, I planned his visit as a 30/30/40 combination; 30% shopping, 30% sightseeing and 40% eating and drinking. We started off with the Swedish Chamber of Commerce’s Christmas party followed by champagne brunch at the Westin. Monday was dedicated to shopping and Tuesday to sightseeing.

What do you have to see if you visit Beijing? Well, Tiananmen Square and Forbidden City of course. We headed to the big square, the center of this gigantic city, a place filled history – recent and ancient. Even though I’d been there on numerous occasions I had never been to see Chairman Mao where he lies in his mausoleum, embalmed, for all his followers and curious lao wais to come see. “I’ve seen the great Mao six times!” Mr. Li proudly told us on our way over. “I love Chairman Mao” he continued” “ but it’s not the real one you will see, it’s made of wax, the real Chairman Mao is kept in the “xia” (under, I guess he meant basement)”.  “Chairman Mao’s daughter was once in my car, she was very old.” he finishes before dropping us off.

With this information under our belt we head out onto the square and follow the crowd around the big square shaped building that is the mausoleum. We had parked on the wrong side and have to walk all around to get to the entrance where we stand like two big question marks. Where to go now? A guard spotted us and begins to ask, rapidly: “How many cameras? Do you have passport? Come this way, this way!”, he says as he almost pushes us while accompanying us out of the square, across the road to another building where we are to deposit of everything except our money and passports. The guard ushers us on while continuing to hurry us on: “kwai, kwai, kwai!” (Fast, fast, fast!). He takes us behind, the counter, inside the door to the inner sanctum of deposited handbags, cameras, luggage, plastic bags (the things people lug around) and other random items. Some people visiting Tiananmen Square looks like thy just stepped off the train (and they probably did) and all of their belongings are stored here while they pay their visit to the great Chairman Mao.

Things deposited and we hurry back, through the security and pass the queue lining up for the next security check. Suddenly he stops: “wu shi kuai (50RMB)”, he almost whispers and signals that this should be handled in secret. I make the mistake by asking if that is for one of two and then of course 50 is for one and we have to pay him 100RMB ($15 or so) and he pockets the money and pushes us through so we don’t have to show passports or give money to anyone else. Then he vanishes out of the blue and we are on our own. Though I’m positive proper identification is necessary, it might be free to visit the great leader but surely, this guards efforts were worth the 100RMB he pocketed. He can buy himself lunch all week and still afford to buy his friends a beer at the end of the day. Or pay his electricity AND phone bill for the month.

Even though we jumped the line, we still have some way to go, including another security check involving post September 11 like airport security measures. We are scanned, patted down, our things (what we have left) go through an x-ray and finally we are cleared. Right outside the majestic building there are yellow flowers for sale, a mountain of yellow carnations for 3 kuai each. We walk up the stairs, take off our hats as we enter and keep silent as the sign tells us to do, and there in front of us, people leave their flowers, worshipping a statue of the great Mao. The same flowers will most likely be carried back and sold all over again. A nice business I’d say, very profitable.

There is no room to veer, we simply follow the crowd through a corridor, into another and then the line divides in two and we are ushered into the center of the building were the Great Mao lies (or his wax copy, shhhh) for everyone to see. It all takes less than 30 seconds. He looks a bit pasty, kind of yellowish and with weird red eyes that almost shine like flashlights or laser beams. The glass box is lit up, of course, which may cause the yellowishness.

And that’s it. We’re done. We’ve done our duty, go back to collect our things, stroll a while around Tiananmen Square, trying to avoid hat, postcard, scarf and photographers and make our way over to the Forbidden City to absorb a completely different era of Chinese history.

Never-ending story

  

Will this ever end? Just when we had all the house problems under control; back they came, with a vengeance.

Let’s take it room by room shall we?

Master bathroom - major issues. After the geyser issue on Halloween weekend we haven’t dared use the bath tub (see previous post “Butt naked”).As of now, when we use the shower, the toilet is making a blubb, blubb, blubb sound and water is coming up. The toilet doesn’t flush and the shower floods and both sinks are clogged. On one of the landlady’s representatives visits (and there has been many) she explained to me (while chuckling; almost laughing) that the shower, the massive bath and the two sinks share one pipe leading to the toilet (!) and from there to the drain. And the pipes are really small, she says while continuing to smile and showing me exactly how small with her hands. Now, this lady travels by bus from the city, most likely for at least two (2!) hours to stand in my bathroom and snicker about the appalling plumbing in the house that she is responsible for.  

The children’s bathroom – working surprisingly well…except for the sinks, again. What a surprise. The water runs so slowly the kids can brush their teeth, go to school, and come back again before all the water is gone.

And the kitchen - ahh, the kitchen. Our house has the smallest kitchen we’ve ever had; it is even smaller than the Annecy kitchen which was tiny. I’ve bought two new cabinets for our dishes only as there is almost no cabinet space at all. And what there is; is either very high up or in the corner, impossible to reach and will be used for items not very often used. The” beautiful” laminate on the cabinet to the right of the oven (which is fitted with a strange wire structure to be used for …I have no fucking idea...) has started to peel. Most probably the glue used (on a kitchen cabinet next to an oven) isn’t heat proof.

The pipes (again the pipes) are teeny tiny and clog up. What was fixed when we had first moved in (involving some kind of drilling wire construction when the kitchen kept flooding every day) has now returned and while the water has been running slowly down the drain; now it doesn’t run at all. And what happens then? Somehow it ends up on the floor, under the “beautiful” bar coming out from…somewhere. Seriously, I don’t know. Under the sink it’s dry and the dishwasher doesn’t leak so I have no idea! But yet, somehow, brownish tinted water with coffee specks smelling of the bad wine I poured out this morning seeped out making Xiu (who was over cleaning the house at the moment) simply shake her head. “Bu hao”, she simply exclaimed, no good house.

While the management workers were here I simply left them with Xiu. She just can make them work harder than I can. They asked me for a step ladder and she fired off in vicious Mandarin: “She doesn’t have any furniture, do you really think she would have a ladder?”  I took Amanda with me and went to Stacy for coffee and the high-end Nestle chocolate she got for Christmas from Paul’s office.

“I’m amazed” she said, “I’m amazed that you are neither hooked on drugs nor a raging alcoholic by now, considering all that you’ve been through”. What can I say? There’s not a question of giving up. It’s like having a baby. You cannot not get up in the middle of the night to feed it, change it, and make sure that it is still breathing. You just have to get through it. And once you are over the hard part, the baby years, it will all be good. Or so I hope.

Ulf has been reading my posts and complained that I’m complaining too much. “People will think we are miserable!” Miserable we are not, I like it here, but as I told him that in this house there are not many things going right, right now, and a lot of complaining is justified he simply said: “Well, that is true.”

Now let’s just see if we will get our container next week when we have a semi-promise of delivery. Who is to know that they pulled the right one from that warehouse in Mesa where it was stored for two months?

Ouch two.

My husband looks like he has some kind of weird tropical disease, or chicken pox on steroids on his lower back only.

After my success with Dr. Lan and after having heard Ulf complain about his back pain (that damn bed) I one morning forced him (read me for him) to make an appointment. Men, you know, they complain and complain and complain again but seems to have a problem doing something about it. They are busy or it’s inconvenient or whatever. I stood my ground and he went and returned home later completely convinced and very impressed.

First session, acupressure massage, and already he felt better but still had to return for another treatment. As mentioned before, Dr. Lan treats you as he see fit, meaning you have absolutely no idea of what is going to happen to you. I got the needles on my first session and Ulf got the cups on his second.

Cupping treatment, or fire cupping treatment as it is also called, is an ancient form of alternative medicine in which a local suction is created on the skin; practitioners believe this mobilizes blood flow in order to promote healing. Suction is created using heat (fire) or mechanical devices (hand or electrical pumps). It is known in local languages as baguan/baguar, badkesh, banki, bahnkes, bekam, buhang, bentusa, kyukaku, gak hoi, Hijamah, kavaa (ކަވާ), singhi among others (Thank you Wikipedia).

Basically, the air inside the cup is heated and the rim is applied to the skin, forming an airtight seal. As the air inside the cup cools, it contracts, forming a partial vacuum and enabling the cup to suck the skin, pulling in soft tissue, and drawing blood to that area.

There is no scientific evidence that it can cure cancer or any other disease but increase blood flow to an area, sure! It sounds pretty freaky and the end result, big red circular bruises, is not pretty but it seems to work! It’s either Dr. Lan’s treatment or the fact that Ulf went for a business trip and got to sleep in a real bed for the first time in six weeks but the complaining has stopped. About the back at least.

Ouch!

I am a firm believer in traditional Chinese medicine. Sadly, my insurance company is not but luckily in China (where Chinese medicine is simply called medicine) treatments are very affordable.

I broke my back a few weeks ago. A combination of a rock hard bed, neglect and ignorance and most probably the cold weather and frustration was the cause, I believe. Suddenly, one Sunday afternoon I was in severe pain and by Monday morning I couldn’t move.

After having vaguely asked around for a chiropractor for weeks I was now in desperate need of one and called the hospital which actually could accommodate me and gave me an appointment a few hours later; enough time to get dressed and beat the traffic to get to BJU. A couple of neck x-rays and some spine manipulation involving a drilling-like machine on my neck, an appointment for another visit and 3000 RMB less in my bank account later I was released with the news that the problem lies in my neck and with proper care and exercise my problems could go away forever. Boy, have I heard that before!

But! Through the grapevine I’d heard of the amazing Dr. Lan. You go to see him and he will choose how to treat you, depending on your injury or problem. It can be massage, acupuncture or even cupping.

At my first session the soft spoken Dr. Lan greeted me as I was laying down on the bed and began with gently massaging my stomach and later moving his hands, pressing hard, up and down my body; all the while grunting slightly when he reached an area that apparently was in need of treatment. He later explained that today he was to give me acupuncture and massage, when the treatment was over we would talk. Ok, no problem. Some needles in my lower right scull and the painful area in my back, some excruciating massage in my right calf and where the needles had been placed in the skull later and Dr. Lan steps into the room, places his hands firmly around my head and begins to squeeze.  He presses so hard on my face and skull that I begin to wonder how much pressure a head really can take. During this cranio sacral therapy when he is holding my head so hard, pressing my cheekbones down he were humming at first, later singing to me and my squeezed head. I don’t know if it was to cause vibrations or just to make him and maybe me feel more relaxed.

As it turns out, he later explained to me, my body is imbalanced, but with the right treatment and many visits I will never experience back pain again! Worth a try I’d say. And sure worth $20 a pop.

And at my next session, one week later, the sensitivity had moved to another area; my hips as the therapist so delicately explained. I might be blunt, but after this acupressure massage session I walked around with a sore ass for days afterwards.

O fuck it part two

I was so excited about my baking the other day. Finally some Christmas preparation that doesn’t involve decorations held captive aboard a ship somewhere on the South China Sea. Fool proof. Cannot go wrong.

So I’d bought the saffron, the flour, the yeast and all other ingredients and was getting the dough ready in time for the kids to help me actually bake when they got home from school.

Hmm…something is not right here, I thought to myself, still calm at this stage. The saffron though it smelled right (though faint) was not yellow enough. But, since I had bought it at a market where the embassy chefs shop I stupidly thought they would not try to cheat you. I mean, how stupid are you to try to do that? You will lose business and most importantly your reputation and people will go shop at the next stall where they sell exactly the same things as you do.

So I proceeded mixing everything and left it to rise.

45 minutes later, a pasty grey/white rock hard lump waited for me, completely without the Christmassy saffron smell that I expected. I tried to roll it out, making the infinity eight shapes but to no avail. I tried to salvage it, adding cinnamon and sugar, making it into cinnamon buns but out of the oven came tiny, greyish, disgustingly disappointing not worthy to be called baked goods.

At this stage when I was seriously pissed off my mother Skype me and caught me in the action.

“Oh, what’s wrong?” she almost chuckles while I curse away and show her the horrible result of my labor.

What to say? I’ve felt like cursing ever since (and I do). It turns out the flour was not the right kind of flour though I never figured out which kind of flour it actually was , the yeast (though brand new) was dead and despite trying to save these scentless, greyish disgusting lumps of produits de boulangerie, in the end; I had to throw them all away.

Thank God for wine.

O fuck it.

Yesterday, when I was in my daughter’s extremely brightly lit bathroom, I threw a glance in the mirror, thinking how long my highlights had lasted; no dark roots at all! I leaned in closer, inspecting my tired, pasty white face with dark, gloomy circles underneath my eyes and saw to my horror that the hairs that I thought were salon bought coloring were in fact strands of grey. I’ve never had a grey hair before in my life. These grey hair sums up what has been a week of bad mood and disappointments.

Bad mood caused by the disappointing news that our container is being held captive and has not yet even arrived in China. The weather has not helped improve my bad mood; it’s absolutely freezing outside and chilly to say the least, inside. A quick email to Serena to complain and voila! today an air con/heater repair person shows up out of the blue.

“Tai leng le” (Too cold) I complain.

“Mei wenti!” (No problem!” he explains.

Everything works fine I think he says while he is touching the pipes coming out of the units inside the garage.

“But wei shenme (why) only 17 degrees (Celcius – you figure it out if you have to but it’s cold, trust me) in the living/dining room?” I ask.

“Zhe ge fangjia hen da le” (this room is very big), he continues.

“But wei shenme only 17 degrees zai zhe ge fanjia?”  (in this room) I ask him and shows him the control pad in the TV-room/sun room (no sun though) “zhe ge fangjia hen xiao.” (this room is very small)

“Ahh”, he exclaims and starts fiddling with the control pad pushing the buttons and tries to explain that (I think) max is 23 degrees and when it reaches 23 it will ting (stop).

“23 tai re le.” (too hot) I tell him.

“Mei wenti, it’s never going to reach 23 anyway” he says and leaves.

I think, this is the jist of our conversation and considering that the insulation is non-existent, the plumbing sucks, the paint flakes and the laminate on the cupboards are falling off it makes absolutely perfect sense.

Getting in the spirit

Swish, time flies, seriously fast as if by jet plane. November is nearly over, almost all the leaves has changed colors and fallen down and it is cold in Beijing. Ah, the novelty of wearing hats and gloves – it quickly wears off. “You must be tired of sun and warm weather after four years in Phoenix?” someone commented. Uhhh….not so much. We layer on sweaters and jackets and grunt about the fact that we bought new winter clothes for everyone last year before our spring-break ski trip; gear that has not yet arrived. The container that was supposed to arrive in Xinhui, China – in the very south – last Saturday is still M.I.A. and/or delayed due to congestion. I try desperately to stay positive whereas my husband, the ever pessimist (or perhaps realist) says we are lucky if we have a home before Christmas.

It is hard to find a holiday spirit in an empty house but we’ve got to! It is still early days, not even the last week of November yet, but still. Had we been in America still, our Christmas lights would at least be up, lightning up the dark, starlit Arizonan nights. 

That reminds me, gotta buy new Christmas lights too…. I never thought I’d say this but I’m so tired of buying new stuff all the time. Here shopping can be a chore which takes several days. This can be found there and that is best to buy at that place, an hour away; where is Target when you need it? And when you find it, bring it home and realizes it won’t fit, it isn’t the right color, it’s broken or whatever – you have to do it all over again the next day or whenever is convenient and you have the car and driver.

What I did find yesterday on my food market shopping trip was saffron, both the good, real stuff and the thready orange bits without flavor. This afternoon will be dedicated to lussebullar.

That reminds me…gotta get back to IKEA (again) and get some Glögg…

Fly away!

Thanksgiving is coming up, a holiday we never celebrated in the US because it simply doesn’t mean anything to us. It is not our tradition, we didn’t have family close by and to cook a whole turkey for four people is simply a waste. Here, I long for Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe I just feel more thankful this year or maybe it would just be nice to do something nice, I don’t know. But I’m looking forward to Saturday, cooking all afternoon and enjoying a nice meal with new friends.

Therefore Christine and I headed to San yuan li market to find a turkey. San yuan li is a real market-market; indoors but not heated, small stalls selling everything under the sun related to food and cooking. A huge fruit section, vegetables of every kind, nuts, spices, noodles, tofu, meat – some still almost alive, fish and seafood – beautiful scallops; every kind of crustacean, teeny tiny mussels  and huge razor clams. This is the place where the embassy chefs go shopping, or so I’ve heard, and I understand why.

Amidst all the food stalls there are also tiny stalls selling pots and pans, plastic buckets and silver ware, cooking utensils, kettles – anything and everything imaginable.

Christine has had a few flies in her house refusing to die a normal death. They are probably just like any living creature trying to escape the bitter cold outside and like the environment in the deMuro household. She’s been looking for a fly swapper for some time now but to no avail, simply impossible to find. This should be the place.

“Bzzzzzzzz”, I tell him making a swapping gesture with my hand.

“Aaahhh!” he exclaims excitedly and gets a huge hammer from under a counter.

“Nonononono, bzzzzzzzz, xiaode (small) bzzzzzzz”, I continue.

“Aaahaaaa!” more excitement follows and he bends down and gets a smaller hammer.

“Nooooo”, ok, now it’s time to get the dictionary out and find the right word for fly or mosquito.

Amazingly enough, he finally gets it (and gets it) from under a pile of stuff, a variety of fly swatters in hot pink and baby blue.

Now if we can only find some background sound of a football game, the American kind.

I go by cool

“Amanda, you look super cute in your new soccer outfit!”

“Mum, I don’t go by cute, I go by cool.”

“Amanda, do you want to see if Katie can play today?”

"Mum, we don’t call it play anymore, we hang out.”

All said with attitude of course. What happened to my six-year old?

But then again, last night she couldn’t sleep and I told her to start thinking about her wish list for Santa and I told her I would do the same.

“But mommy, how will he know where we are?”

“Oh, remember the Santa satellite? We talked about it last year. And now Santa has email! Write your list and we can send it to him.”

My dad is coming for a visit to help us unpack (hopefully we will by then have things to unpack) and buy Christmas presents. When I told the kids about that both of them exclaimed:

“But Santa makes the gifts! He makes all of them!”

Ooops.

Christmas trees are already for sale, big ones, small ones, all planted in big, green buckets by the side of the road and we hope there will still be some around the weekend before Christmas when we will find the perfect one to decorate and enjoy for one whole week before flying off to our sunny holiday break in Vietnam. Hopefully we will also have our own decorations to decorate it with….the missing container saga continues….

Butt naked

Sometimes, those things happen in life that makes you say: “One day we will laugh at this…” even though, at that moment when it happens; it is definitely no laughing matter. 

One of those moments was last Sunday, when after a long weekend of moving to our new house, Halloweening and a delicious Sunday brunch, we ended up sitting buck naked in the bath, waiting for the management office to send a repair man.

By Sunday night we were exhausted. We had successfully unpacked most bags and semi-installed ourselves, we had ordered out for dinner, enjoyed our Chinese food (just food here!) on paper plates and successfully put the kids to bed. The huge Jacuzzi was too tempting to be ignored; ahhh, to relieve those sore muscles and to relax for a while before trying to sleep on our rented rock-hard bed.

It all started out well; we did not run out of hot water, nor did icky stuff come out from the air holes when we started the Jacuzzi. It was nice and relaxing, really, but there is a limit how long you can stay and we were ready to get up and get ready for bed. “Let’s turn the bubbles off, dear”, I told my husband and as the nice man that he is, he tried to do just that. And tried again, when it didn’t work, and again. And again. He tried to move, get out of the bath to get a better look at the button but then, of course, we had a geyser in the bath. We managed to fill it up so that he could exit but to no avail. The bubbles would not stop. Next, time for me to try to get out – more water had to get in – and finally we are both out of the water, wandering what to do next.

One of the benefits of living in a compound like this is that you have a 24/7 management office to call, in times of need. And boy, were we in need. A quick phone call to explain the matter and 30 or 40 minutes or so later, a worker  comes in the night on his bicycle.

“Ayoo, bu hao, bu hao” (not good, not good), he repeats to himself and to us as he is trying to pry the button up in order to shut it off. More head shaking follows. Finally he manages to turn it off and then we can’t get the water out. The stopper is stuck as well! More prying, more head shaking, more sharp tools not to be used near the tub normally are used and finally, he manages to pop it out. Ok, we think, that was it. One dip and for sure, the tub will be broken for the entire term of our lease. 

But, to my surprise, and with the help of our excellent realtor Sabrina, a few days later a worker shows up. And after five hours of work, including lifting the whole thing up, prying underneath, rubbing cooking oil on the drain stopper and inviting a worker from the house next door to help; it supposedly works again. I’m not sure we will be brave enough to try it again in the near future but at least we now know who to call and what to do in case we end up in endless bubbles again.

Enjoy!

Last Sunday we were enjoying our first Sunday Brunch since moving back to Asia. Now, if you are not familiar with the concept, in Asia brunch isn’t simply eggs and bacon, pancakes and free flow of coffee; No! In Asia you go to five star hotels and enjoy anything under the sun to eat and free flow champagne to drink. 

We headed to Westin and their Bubbalicios, and as it was Halloween weekend – Spookylicious, brunch.

It was all so very familiar and took us back to the days when we did this quite frequently, i.e. BC – Before Children: the lobster, the sashimi, the make-your-own pasta counter, Indian food, “normal” breakfast fare (the best sausages and bacon ever according to the kids), dim sum, chocolate fountain and every other dessert imaginable; all accompanied by free flow of Moet & Chandon. Due to Halloween weekend we also had vampires walking around offering a taste of their own blood, mealworms, spiders and cockroaches on display, another vampire girl in a gigantic plastic bubble greeting us at the entrance, and a full game of Planet Vs. Zombies being put on in the one of the ballrooms in addition to the fully supervised and equipped play room. Everyone enjoyed themselves and ate and drank their hearts out.

Halfway into our meal, the kids were summoned to the ballroom for THE Planet Vs. Zombies game and excitedly they went. 10 minutes later they return: “Mom, it was soooo lame!” I think they both expected computers to be involved somehow, not a bunch of kids and grown-ups in paper masks throwing plastic fruit on each other. Still, you have to admire their ingeniousness.

The kids didn’t suffer though. There were tons of kids around and strengthened by ice-cream and candy they hit the play room and soon found friends and me and my husband could have a rare, quiet champagne moment alone.

Still, as we were sitting there in this wonderful restaurant enjoying all these extravagances, everyone having a wonderful time, I couldn’t help but think about my friend who last Tuesday had to do the unimaginable – she had to put her little girl to rest. Sweet Mia only got to live 400 days before a viral infection of her heart and lungs took her short life, unexpectedly, unexplained, very quickly and so very unfair. My heart is breaking for her parents and the rest of her family.

Life sure offers many ups and downs and trying to settle in in China is a real roller coaster. Still, we are so very lucky. We are all healthy and together and we have embarked on this adventure that will turn out fabulously. Sweet Mia, rest in peace, I wish there was more I could do for your mom and dad right now.