Wanderlust

I am turning into my father.
Evidence at the end of this post.

Before that, though, a quick concern;
I bought a pinky ring last night.
It fits not only my pinky, but my middle toe as well. Is that abnormal?

Anyway.

Last weekend I had a business trip down south to a different province.

We left Beijing Friday night at midnight, spent the night sleeping on an uncharacteristically uncrowned train. My train ride was a thoroughly refreshing seven hours. The rattle of the undercarriage beneath my head eased my concious into a deep and renewing rest. No joke, no sarcasm. I was enamored. That one night’s sleep was enough to make the entire weekend worthwhile . Glimpses of unadulterated mobility assalted me, tantalizing in their simplicity. It awakened an echo in me of nomadic experiences before this incarnation, packing up moving on and starting new with the dawn. There was something so sexy, so alluring, overly familiar, about the prospect of a transient existence. Sleeping with no worries because as each track passes below my head I slip farther and farther from all my conflicts. No matter how fast they run my issues can’t quite grasp the door of that last train car.

I fancy it.

I woke in the morning time in the province of Henan (河南 ) in one of it’s two large cities, Shang Qiu（商丘). I spent all of Saturday at a elementary school talking to and playing with little Chinese kids, testing the English level of each. Most had no English experience at all and they were all so cute and sweet! We all know Jessie’s weakness for little asian kids (eclipsed only by her weakness for charming asian men and sesame seeds), so there way really no way I could have disliked my work. On top of it, my boss (who accompanied me) took me out to the best lunch and dinner I have had since I’ve been in China.

There is one thing I can’t describe to you though. Remember how I said the Great Wall was indescribable and then took it back? I’m about to tell you that henan’s night markets were indescribable, and I’m not reneging on this one. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes. The night markets were crammed with so many tiny mobile stalls of so many tantalizing foods I am salivating just thinking about it. They were multi ethnic and multi talented.

Some of them had minature clay ovens on the backs of horse drawn carts filled with red coals from which sesame encrusted rounded baguettes emerged, ashy and piping hot.

Some of them had carts where, in tidy lines, bowl after bowl was filled with different pickled, steamed, or fried vegetables, which were then wrapped in huge crepes to make a southeastern Chinese style burrito.

I can’t even describe to you to how sexy it all was. All I know is I became more and more excited as I came upon each new edible wonder, and I ate some of everything (almost everything- most of them were vegan!). It made me feel complete, and happy, and renewed my faith in the world.

The fact that food can do that to me, and just how much food I packed away that night, is what makes me know I am my father’s daughter.

All in all it’s not such a bad thing to be.

Love you poppa.