So Lindsey and I, suffering from unusually intense bouts of jetlag exacerbated by what I shall henceforth refer to as boy trouble,* woke up at a severely ungodly hour this morning. It's barely six o'clock, and I'm already completely showered and dressed, simply because I really had nothing better to do, other than lay awake in the dark staring at the ceiling. Because yes, and I'll be the first to say it, Chinese TV sucks.
We went to the Forbidden City yesterday. It was a little disappointing because half of it was under renovation, so a lot of the big elaborate halls were completely closed off. It was a nice cool day, though - there was a huge thunderstorm the night before; you should see the video Lindsey took of the lightning from our hotel room - and the air was blessedly and surprisingly breathable.
While standing in line we were halfway accosted by a mother and her dauther, the mother repeating things over and over in English, prodding the little girl to use this rare opportunity to practice her language skills with an American, and the child hiding bashfully behind her mother's right leg. She was not, however, too shy to reach out and curiously rub at the tattoo on my calf. She finally did say "how do you do" to Lindsey, and in the end we persuaded her to take a picture with us. I don't think she ever really did trust us, though. We're freaky, large white women.
Plans for today include the Great Wall and the Ming Tombs. If our nasty luck holds out, we might even get the chance to see a lightning storm from the top of the wall. I'm going to use Lindsey as my lightning rod.
*and which includes by definition any real or hypothetical situations which might be described using any combination of the terms "pity," "love," "China," and/or "waiting for one's significant other to finish her Ph.D. in another state and/or country"
No comments:
Post a Comment