Can You Name the Third Largest City in China?

Shenzhen, China, population 14 million, is one of the largest cities you've probably never heard of. But the electronic goods you are no doubt surrounded by--and perhaps are using to read this very post--most likely were created and assembled here. Motorola, Sony, Apple, Dell, Hewlett-Packard, Nokia . . . the list goes on and on.


It's amazing that so few of us westerners have been here or even heard of it, especially considering it's next door to the much-visited Hong Kong. In fact, you can literally take the subway right up to the border, hop off and walk through border control, then hop on the other city's subway on the other side.

But aside from business folk, you don't see too many people doing that. And the portal between the two cities can feel like a passage to another world.


It's a city of the young. As soon as kids are old enough to leave their village, the brightest and most ambitious, most entrepreneurial, flock here to try and make a new life for themselves.


As one person told me, "Shenzhen is where you go to become whoever it is you want to be."


It's part of a Special Economic Zone established by Deng Xiaoping in 1979, as part of the larger "Reform and Opening" initiative. Really, it's capitalism meets communism, and that makes for a wicked, fascinating, hopeful, and often heartbreaking combination.


It's a tale of two cities.

The interior, where we stayed, is bright and modern, with an ultra-sleek subway system, networks of high-end malls, and Starbucks, KFCs, 7-11s and McDonalds spreading everywhere ("like germs," said one local resident).


High-rises are going up--and old ones coming down--everywhere you turn. And in Shenzhen, "old" means more than five years. Consider that in 1979, this place was little more than a fishing village. 30 years and 14 million people later, it feels like everything and everyone was made just yesterday. That's probably because they were. At 32, I'm not just older than this city, I'm also older than most of the people who live here and run this place.


In between all those high-rises it's still China. Fortune tellers dot the sidewalk beside the metro. Old grandmas pull wooden carts loaded with rice and drinking water. Babies wear split britches rather than diapers and are held over bushes when they need to pee. Police officers are everywhere, usually on bikes with flashing red and blue lights.


When Mike and I walk along the side streets, we are the only white faces, even here in the city center. Folks are not shy about staring. One group of school boys called out "hello," and when we said "hello" back they collapsed into giggles.


To live or work in inner Shenzhen, you need special papers. There is a wall that separates inner Shenzhen from outer Shenzhen, which is where all the factories are, and there are a series of checkpoints that locals tell us are becoming less and less strictly enforced. Whenever we drove through them we saw police officers with big machine guns, but were never stopped or saw others being stopped.


Once you pass through to the other side, the construction of roads and building escalates to an unimaginable frenzy. It feels like it's going so fast, there might even be workers five feet ahead of you laying the very cement you'll be driving on.


It also gets considerably less clean.


But everyone is working very, very, very hard to build a better life for themselves.


This obviously bootlegged book was being sold in a stall outside one of the many Wal-Marts in Shenzhen.


And if they can't achieve it in their lifetime, then there is always the hope that maybe it will be different for their children.


Once you go here and meet the people, who are warm and friendly and full of hope, you not only begin to share in that dream--you start to realize the true depth of interconnectivity and responsibility we in the west have to help make those dreams come true.

Dispatch From Foreign Devil in Fragrant Harbor

Woot! In case the picture didn't give it away, we're in Hong Kong now. Last night we even saw a Kung Fu film in a theater just off the bustling street you see above.

We spent most of last week in mainland China (post to follow), and though we found it surprisingly easy to get around despite our complete lack of Mandarin, it's great to be back in Hong Kong, where folks are used to English even if they don't speak it, and nobody stops to stare at me when I'm out on the street.

Here are just a few of the things I like in Hong Kong...

The Chi Lin Buddhist Nunnery

A lot of the pictures you'll see of it online crop out the high-rises that surround it, but to me the fact that this sacred place is in the middle of Hong Kong's hustle and bustle is exactly what makes it so great. And you can tell that the gardeners are working with the skyline rather than trying to ignore it.


Apparently it's the world's largest structure created entirely without nails. The above, of course, is a picture of the garden, because taking photos in the interior is forbidden. But I can tell you it's a very welcoming and serene place, with its ornate woodwork and its many golden Buddhas and bodhisattvas, and the sound of a young nun singing reminded me of when we were visiting a museum in Istanbul that was said to contain some of Islam's sacred relics. As we walked through the exhibit, the whole thing was underscored by an imam we couldn't see who stood on the other side of a wall and continually sang the Koran. It was lovely.

The Subway System

Both here and in mainland China, the subway systems are extraordinarily fast and efficient, even for English speakers like us. It makes me feel simultaneously embarrassed and sorry for everyone who comes to New York and expects we'll offer something similar. Instead we give them enormous rats and constant service interruptions and announcements that even the natives can't understand. Sigh.

Bamboo

It's used instead of metal poles for scaffolding everywhere, even on the fanciest building projects. Which makes sense, since it's lightweight yet incredibly strong, and readily available. Hell, bamboo is so versatile it can be made into paper, into clothing...it can even be eaten. What a useful plant!

Night Markets

China really does nighttime well. Everything and everyone comes alive, and there's a market to match whatever mood you're in. Electronics, lingerie, luggage, teacups, jewelry, Mao-morabilia...

Of course, we're on the road for months, so we are both strongly disinclined to buy even the smallest of souvenirs. But we can take pictures!


(This is Mike's new nickname.)

And we can eat!


Here we are at the Temple Night Market, and that's one of the many "Beer Girls" in the background wearing the red and white stripes. She tried to get us to buy her company's brand (San Miguel) and was very disappointed when we went with Tsing Tao instead.

The Star Ferry

It connects Hong Kong island with Kowloon (which is where we're staying) and is a romantic, swift, and cheap way to make the crossing.

Our Hotel

This place is ridiculously comfortable, the rooms stunningly designed, and there's a pool with glowing and twinkling lights that cycle through overhead while you're floating on your back and thinking about how to resist the siren call of room service. Also, a sauna. Also, a steam room. Also, a shower with one setting marked "fresh" and one marked "fun" that uses six different shower heads and many lights and varying textures and temperatures of water to give you experiences that are, indeed, both fresh and fun.

Pizza Hut in Hong Kong

Can I interest you in some Chinese pizza?

No? You say you'd prefer to eat dim sum and barbecued duck while you're in Hong Kong, because you can always eat pizza when you're back home?

Oh no, my friend, check out this photo and think again:


If you're not convinced by the Flamenco-meets-Chinese dancer, perhaps this close-up will lure you in:


Mmm. That's a lot of tentacles on one little pizza.

Aminalz! Aminalz! (Also: Fruitz!)

I'm itching to tell you about Hong Kong, but first I want to share some photos from our final day in Sydney. Because that was the day we went to the Taronga Zoo, and oh my goodness, Australian animals are the best! Isolation is truly the mother of weird and fascinating creatures.


Like this Spiny Echidna, whose tongue is as long as its body, whose males have four-headed penises, whose females are mammals but lay eggs and then carry their young around in a pouch for the first fifty days or so of life...


...and the Platypus, which Wikipedia describes pithily as an "egg-laying, venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed, otter-footed mammal." That description left out the part where the platypus uses electroreception to stalk their prey. Like their brothers the echidnae, the platypus's egg-born young are called "puggles," which can only be a good thing in my book.

These wonderfully weird creatures so flummoxed European naturalists when they were "discovered" in the late 1700's that folks thought they were a hoax and tried to pry off their bills. Ow.

When I was a kid and everyone forced me to answer the question "What's your favorite animal?," my stock answer was the platypus. It was a delight to finally get to see one.


Of course, the star of the zoo, and needing no introduction, is the remarkable koala.


This guy's name is Irwin, and he seemed to take a particular interest in my husband.

We paid extra for a "koala encounter," which is why we're so close in these shots. Getting up close and personal with a koala was terrific, as was having the zoo-keeper nearby to answer all our questions.


Despite what that sign says, that's a kangaroo. Her name is Charlotte and her fur is very soft.

We also saw plenty of wallabys, one of whom was lying on her side when the white fur on her belly started gyrating like crazy. A zoo-keeper confirmed that she'd recently given birth and was carrying her young in her pouch. They were waiting for the little one to poke its head out, as none of the humans had seen it yet.


And to round out the Australian collection, an emu! It's not just a Scrabble word!

My goodness, that's a big bird...we saw it bullying the young kangaroos into giving up their food.


On the ride home at dusk, we finally saw the famous Sydney bats, thus completing our zoological tour of the continent down under.


And then these lovely people had us over to their home for a wonderful meal. Janet (woman farthest to the right) was our production manager at the Opera House, and she and her partner Adrian loaned us their very own table to use in our production!


I forget what this dish is called, but we'd had it the night before in a Chinese restaurant and loved it. Then we had Adrian's version, with finely diced apples and I-can't-remember-what-else, and his version was even better.


Dessert was an assortment of exotic fruits. Exotic to *me* at any rate. Of all the fruits pictured above, I'd only ever had one of them. TRAVELMONKEYS readers, I issue you this challenge: How many of these fruits can you name? And how many have you had the pleasure of trying yourself?

Sailors Thai

...unless you post it to your TRAVELMONKEYS blog. Then it's immortal.

If you are ever in Sydney, do not miss the opportunity to eat at Sailors Thai. There's a posh downstairs, a more relaxed "canteen" upstairs...the food at either is exquisite. Really one of the best meals I've ever had.

One More Story Before I Go

We fly to Hong Kong today, which I'm finding both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

I have visions of myself paralyzed on the side of the road while pedestrians stream by, not being able to find an entry point, like a new driver who's frozen and unable to merge.

Then I think, Really? You've lived in New York how long? Surely you will learn.

But before I go, a quick story from Sydney.

So, we go to this restaurant for breakfast one morning, and shortly after sitting down I notice there's what looks to me like a parrot hanging out next to the table of a dour German couple.

The waiter comes by to hand us our menus and I ask him if the parrot belongs to the restaurant. He looks up and says, "Oh, those? They just come here."

Shortly after that two more of these magnificent birds (which I will later learn are Rainbow Lorikeets, a sub-species of the parrot) appear, and I take this picture:


The busser in the background notices and comes over to our table shaking a sugar packet. He pours it into my open hand and the birds flock to us.


The non-tourists around us couldn't be less interested. In fact, they're probably a little disgusted. I'm trying to imagine how I would feel if I saw a tourist back in the States encourage a pigeon onto their tabletop before eating.

But as you can see from this photo, I'm way too delighted to be cool.


I will pay for this later, when one of the lorikeets returns mid-meal to swipe a sugar packet from me.

More and more of his brothers (sisters?) return, and I keep trying to shoo them away--but in a quiet-ish way, so as not to disturb the Aussies around us conducting business meetings. I am unsuccessful.


Until finally Michael puts both hands over his head and says

cawww! CAWWWW!!!

It is so loud that absolutely everyone in the restaurant stops what they're doing, startled.

But it works, and the lorikeets leave us in peace for the rest of our meal.

Sydney Psalm

It’s a constant embarrassment, this living.
The gloves come off and so do the panties,
the eyes widen but the feet march forward
--meanwhile the waves continue their assault
on the shore, boats carrying screaming
children and waggling businessmen rock
from side to side but no one is lullabied.

It’s a joke, this life. And also, a song.
A rude intimation, a whisper before
passing out. Everyone knows the ending,
yet we struggle to leave with our hats on
and our dignity intact. Fat luck, that.

--meanwhile the best bedtime story is yet
to be found. Climb that hill, scratch that old man’s
back. Ask the weatherman to speak, if he would,
on politics. Or maybe try spitting watermelon
seeds from a great height, then scuttle below
to see the pattern you’ve made, ooh and ahh
at their form, say, Yes, I was here.

You can summon lorikeets with sugar,
watch their rainbow heads bob in your palm
while you survey the harbor, belly full
of noodles, wallet full of cash.
What is there to do now, but sing?

The Path to the Opera House

Notes from Down Under

Well here I am, at the start of a two-month tour that will take me around the world, from Australia to Hong Kong to mainland China to Ireland, from performances at the mighty Sydney Opera House to a humble parish hall in rural Ireland. If ever there was a time for TRAVELMONKEYS, this is undoubtedly it.

And yet.

I'm having trouble because I can't quite see the point of it. Which wouldn't be trouble at all, except that three different dear friends of mine have recently been tugging/prodding/encouraging me to update TRAVELMONKEYS, and it's got me thinking about what it's all for.

I started this blog because I wanted a way to connect with my family and friends while I was on the road. Then along came Facebook, and goodness, it's been a blessing for me, allowing me to feel much more connected and far less isolated. It's also ridiculously easy to upload photos and post updates.

Of course, it lacks depth and persistence. Looking back at these TRAVELMONKEYS entries, I enjoy their scrapbook quality. I enjoy that I can flip back to my trip to Istanbul and see the photos I've arranged, the little narrative I created, and remember that time.

Facebook is like writing on the wind. Here it is and there it goes, and if it's been more than a week, it's already gone.

But creating good TRAVELMONKEYS posts is time consuming, and the process of uploading the photos is kind of cumbersome, and in the end it reaches far fewer of my friends than my posts to Facebook do, and honestly, I don't think the time it takes is worth it to me now that I have this other path to achieving that feeling of connection I seek.

So it's not looking good for ol' TRAVELMONKEYS, which might make about five people out there sad, myself included.

Because when I read the entries, I really enjoy them.

This is what I've been thinking about.

But maybe I'm going about it all wrong. Maybe the problem is that I'm trying to be too completist. Maybe I need to change my lens so that I'm not telling the story at the end of it all but right from the middle. Maybe I need to make a sketch of the place en media res, and whatever I capture, I capture, and at the end of that day, that is better than nothing. Maybe.

Like, if I were to write about Sydney right now, I might say something about how fun the differences in the English we speak are. Instead of a cinnamon bun it's a "sultana scroll" for "breaky." Coffee with steamed milk is a "flat white," without milk a "long black." Two things that don't belong together aren't apples and oranges or oil and water, but "chalk and cheese." In the theater, strip lights are known as "zip strips," bulbs as "bubbles," the cherry picker is a Cougar, and nobody says "break a leg," they say "Chookas," which has something to do with chicken, like if you do a really good job, you'll get fed chicken after the show instead of the usual scraps.

I might also talk about how every day I walk along the famous Circular Quay (which is pronounced like something that opens a locked door), dodging around tourists taking photos of themselves with all those iconic sights behind them: the Sydney Harbour Bridge, which tourists in chain-gang suits pay to climb to the top of; the glowing eyes and rides of Luna Park beckoning from across the water; the ferries and sailboats and catamarans zipping back and forth from the Taronga Zoo, Manly Beach, and points beyond; and of course, the Sydney Opera House itself, probably the most iconic piece of architecture the world has yet known, and the very reason we are here at all.

From the moment we leave our hotel to walk the half mile to the theater, the Opera House beckons us from across the harbor. All eyes are on its majestic sails, which I'd expected to be a sun-bleached white, smooth like actual sails, but which in fact, in person, possess a reptilian texture, causing the whole thing to look rather like a great lizard. Make that a majestic great lizard, but a lizard nonetheless.

That's what I'd write about.

I might be tempted to mention the wild parrots who ate sugar out of my hand this morning, or the girls who fill the streets on the weekend with impossibly short skirts and ridiculously high heels, or how the other day the northern foyer of the Opera House was occupied by a man named Hari Das who was busy summoning a Hindu deity and allowing himself to become possessed by Him. The remarkable thing is that this man is an ordinary well-digger in southern India nine months of the year, and then is worshipped as a god for the other three months. Not a bad balance, I'd say.

And then, dear TRAVELMONKEYS reader, I might stop right there. Without even mentioning the Sydney Writers' Festival, or how I've been reading "Moby Dick" for the first time and am startled with its loveliness and relevance to my life. I might save that for later or maybe even just save it for myself.

I reserve the right to be incomplete and absent. I reserve the right to be overly detailed and loquacious. I reserve the right to bore you. I especially reserve the right to be imperfect and quickly post. This is not my life's work, these are simply a series of sketches, a loose affiliation of notes, and I thank you for sharing in the journey with me.

Onwards!
JM