Wow. Did I take a long-ass break or what? It seems appropriate to write a post about my friend Maria again. She came whirling through town, this time armed with a O-1 visa and a Michel Gondry commercial under her belt (now with more mixed metaphors!). While I absolutely love Gondry's visual style, that RAZR2 ain't no iPhone! I love my iPhone. Really. I'm not a gadget freak. I usually keep my outdated gear for years before updating. I mean, my mother has newer stuff than I do. I've fiddled with all of Mick's phones including his Blackberry and iPhone, but it wasn't until I got my own that I realized how amazing it actually is. I love it. Love it.

That day was a culmination of a two-week visit from Maria. She is the living, breathing personification of international jet set. Barely one day in L.A. and high-powered meetings, auditions and dinner invitations magically poured in. Maria is a networking machine. It's amusing to watch her work and even more fun to go out with her. Getting into Les Deux Cafe VIP-style (e.g. no waiting b.s.) was interesting enough, even though the cheesiness was of epic proportions. Why do celebrities come to a place like this? The music is horrible, the crowd is bland--what's the draw exactly? I mistook David Spade for a frumpy housewife wearing a trenchcoat and yet, a glamazon model planted herself next to him, deeply engrossed with whatever Sir Mussed Up Blonde Hair was saying. I saw James Blunt looking miserable as ever, staring straight at me for signs of recognition. And because I'm crazy and was probably having a conversation in my own head, I actually shrugged at him in response. Mr. You're Beautiful was in the company of Robbie Williams and his soccer posse, with whom Mick had some sort of falling out. Happily, the soccer squabble was resolved that night, but sadly to the tune of mainstream hip-hop and Paris Hilton. There were more nights like this, thanks to Maria. But then I started feeling oddly guilty. Here I was, privately making fun of the very people I was concurrently celebritizing (humor me, ok?). I mean, in this peculiar ecosytem, I'm pretty low in the food chain so mocking them is essentially climbing and name-dropping at the same time, right? I can't ride the coattails of the very people I dismiss (Diane Kruger who? Yeah, I know, but thanks to her we glided effortlessly pass the bouncer and onto the VIP tables overflowing with top-shelf alcohol). Conflict was brewing in my psyche.

Fast-forward two weeks. Maria and I are sitting at the Viceroy Hotel waiting for Tony and I'm already on edge. Fifteen minutes earlier, Maria was yelling at him on the phone. I overheard their conversation--he demanded to know whether I was beautiful or not. I should've hightailed it right then and there, but the promise of going Leonardo DiCaprio's house was too tempting. "Ov coorssssse!" she yells back in her heavy Spanish lilt, "What a stupide qhuestion!" We never made it to Leo's house. Instead, we went to Stephen Dorff's Malibu bachelor pad. And stayed there. For seven hours. I met a "producer" (Dude, are you sure you want to say that? Because I can verify that shit in two seconds on IMDb). I won't say anything bad about the Dorffmeister because he was a pretty good host (in the beginning, anyway), but I will say that weed does no favors for the already slow. I watched adults struggle for nearly 30 minutes trying to find the National Geographic channel. Annoyed, I finally wrestled the remote from them and changed the channel myself. I think the IQ in the house dropped to a combined total of 85 as fat joints made their rounds. There I was, fawning over fools because Us magazine deemed them worthy of fawning over. I was contributing to this ridiculous hierarchy. I sold out. It was official--I'm a hypocrite. That's why I couldn't have any fun. My lack of principle really bummed me out. So what did I do? I called Mick and he dropped everything to come rescue me. And he did too. He swept me up as Stephen and Maria squealed away onto PCH in a black Porsche. I prefer our Phaeton anyway. I was going home.

Charlotte Gainsbourg - "AF607105" (mp3)
Lily Allen - "Littlest Things" (mp3)
Los Abandoned - "Pantalon" (mp3)
Nouvelle Vague - "The Killing Moon" (mp3)
Mazzy Star - "Halah" (mp3)
The Sundays - "Wild Horses" (mp3)

And just for fun, boys that sound like pretty girls:

The Gray Kid - "Lonely Love" (mp3)
The Magic Numbers - "Crazy in Love" (mp3)

Mick and me, at Phedon's house for a mellow New Year's Eve Party.

Pedja splitting open the Donald Rumsfeld pinata.

The very friendly, cute and affordable Red House Hotel. It was in walking distance to the cool nightlife area.

Our hotel in Beijing was an utterly charming apartment-like room. The city was definitely urban, but felt much more cosmopolitan than Shanghai. I think it was the older, more historic buildings and the cafe-like restaurants that lined the street. We were scheduled to meet friends there. My friend Linda and her family live there as expats. They live in a suburban community that's built especially for foreign expats and modeled after California-style McMansions. The neighborhoods themselves are actually named Irvine, Sonoma, Yosemite, Orange County, etc. The schools are incredible (and expensive), but they only allow those with foreign-passports to enter (!). The whole expat lifestyle fascinated me. Most of the people who live in these neighborhoods had drivers or use taxis, so they were pretty far removed from the average everyday China. I was stunned that wives who didn't work had nannies and maids, sometimes two of each. It sounded great, but I really wanted to know if they liked living there and to my surprise, they didn't--and they did. No one really loved living there. They all disliked the Chinese mentality (and this is coming from Chinese-Americans!). So I wasn't overly sensitive after all. I really appreciated seeing another side of China that travelers don't normally get to see.

Taia on the left and friend at home playing dress-up. Taia was the ring-bearer with the big personality at our wedding.

Me and Linda at the China World Tower ice-skating rink. It was nearly midnight and construction just began their shift.

I was feeling under the weather, so we stopped at a Subway sandwich store for soup and kicks. Oh and it was about 2 degrees centigrade outside.

We saw this sad old bike locked up as if someone was going to steal it in the hutong area comprised of old houses in small alleys.

Oh look, no exploding cars allowed here, you got that?

Me at Tiananmen Square doing my best Tuesday Weld in the freezing cold.

Mick and Marek walking through the Wanfujing shopping district. By some wacky good fortune, we met up with Marek who was in Beijing for the auto show. We spent our time visiting tourist spots. The funny thing about Beijing is that its blocks are enormous. Something that looks like it's only five blocks away on a map could be miles away. My little stroll down to the corner market would take 30 minutes one-way.

Me and Mick in the Forbidden City. I expected something much grander, but the whole complex looked barren and desolate.

A photographer really, really wanted to take Marek's picture for some reason. He took about 50 shots and made Marek turn this way and that.

Mick on the way up to the Great Wall.

Me and Mick posing at the Wall.

Here's Mick climbing the wall. He broke off a piece of it. I thought I would make an animated gif so that it would repeat over and over forever. You're welcome!

Mick and Marek at the Wall.

Poor English or excellent Chinglish. Of course, Mick violated the rule.

Me again. Are you sick of Great Wall pictures yet?

Mick on the Wall yet again!

The first thing we did after we spent all night on the train to Zengzhou (and it wasn't first-class this time) was get on a bus to go to Shaolin Temple. It should've taken about an hour. Instead, it took about six. First, some government official was visiting the temple so all roads and entrances were closed indefinitely. The driver had to drive around and around to kill time. Second, we somehow got trapped on a tour--a long-winded, non-English-speaking tour. After many fits of hand gestures and phrasebook-pointing, we finally convinced the driver to let us off the bus and get our luggage. We got into a cab and I completely lose it. This cab driver is taking us everywhere but the Shaolin Temple. He takes us to a restaurant, a hotel, another restaurant, calls somebody on the phone and on and on for nearly 45 minutes on top of the five hours we already spent on the bus. The temple is a few miles away. He refuses to go there, prolonging the agony by taking us to various commission-based vendors he has deals with, playing dumb the whole time. By now, I could mimic the words so I knew he could understand me. At one point, the driver got out of the car (to make some deal with a hotel we didn't want to stay in) and I considered stealing the cab. I would have had I known where the temple was, but I didn't. I was so frustrated, I started to cry. A little. He drove us to the Shaolin Temple. When we finally arrived, I considered hocking my own loogie and spitting at the cab and/or its driver but thought better of it. Onward.

This is the Shaolin Wushu Academy. There are different campuses in the area, but this the main one, in walking distance to the temple itself.

I guess if you're a martial arts fan like Mick is, a visit to the Shaolin Temple is mandatory. We planned to stay at the campus hotel, reserved for foreigners and journalists, but first we had to get past the gates, which was pretty difficult when the swarms of hustlers descended on us. Raw from the cab incident, I felt a little mean so I started mocking them, tugging at them like they were tugging me and mimicking pitch-perfect that horrible nasally, honking noise they made when they want your attention, right back at them. It's very petty of me (I know, quit reminding me) but it brought tremendous satisfaction. It also made the Wushu Academy campus all the better. The staff and students were so unbelievably nice, so different from what was going on outside. It's like a working-class boarding school (some students were as young as five) except that they're all gymnasts and kung fu experts. I saw an older boy tease a six-year-old and in a split second, the six-year-old had him in arm lock. Mick went to classes and I chilled and marveled at how those little kids could get up at 4:30am to do drills and practice. The camaraderie was amazing. I can't believe the Chinese government wants to tear the place down to make room for more profitable tourist attractions.

Shaolin students wearing the required uniform.

Mick in a private class for foreigners. The course to become a Shaolin master takes three years of living on campus.

It's wash day. The kids are really disciplined, but really child-like and friendly.

Students calling home.

Mick at the student store. I bought a pair of regulation sneakers for $2.

No, not spicy-ass meat as in spicy-ass chicken, but more like spicy ASS meat. The food was really, really cheap and not bad. Only the older kids and their parents ate at the restaurant. The rest of the students ate from the cafeteria.

A gathering of students in a field. I think it's a graduation of sorts from one level to another.

Afternoon practice. The students focus on academics in the morning and physical exercise later in the day.

We watched a Shaolin demonstration for tourists. The kids are specially trained for performance.

Every hotel we stayed at had these bedside controls for the room light and TV. It's not very convenient because sometimes you would have to switch these buttons on in order to make the actual switches work. One step forward, two steps back.

Shanghai is a money town. It is not, in my opinion, a charming one. There are lots of expats there for business, but the atmosphere is pure Chinese. After recently spending our time in Macau and Hong Kong, the status quo behavior was annoying me once again. It's going to sound like I'm complaining, I know, but I really just could not for the life of me grasp the Chinese way thinking. I was shoved and elbowed out of the way getting on an empty subway car, because some lady really wanted to get a seat before I did. People cut in line constantly. Cars don't care about pedestrians at all. It's every man for himself. Of course, there was the dreaded phlegm spitting again. There seemed to be no sense of personal space whatsoever. Several times, people would press up against my back in line, literally breathing down my neck. And it wasn't because it was crowded. I attempted to buy a bra (don't ask) and when I went into the already smallish dressing room, the sales lady went in with me and tried to take off my shirt. And while that was happening, a mother and daughter came into the same stall and starting taking off their clothes. Imagine four people packed into a tiny little dressing room made for one person. There was no f*cking way I was going to try on this bra! This was a fancy store too. Because Shanghai is a much bigger city, there was a fair share of aggressive hustlers. Being constantly bombarded with their attention-grabbing tactics that included tugging us, touching us and following us around really burned me up. People who were clearly not beggars would hassle us for money. When Mick walked the streets alone, he would get harassed by pimps. "Boom-boom? F*cky-f*cky?" they would say to him. I'd imagine cocking a gun (sideways like a gangsta, of course) and countering with, "Boom-boom? How about bang! bang!, motherf*cky." Oops, did I just write that? Kids, if you're reading this, ignore it. Momentary psychotic lapse.

Anyway, you're getting my point, right? Hustler fatigue. It's kind of Mick's fault because he's white (ha!). When I was alone, they didn't bother, thinking I was a local instead of a tourist. I carried a cell phone and hid my camera to look even more local. I couldn't wait to leave.

A funny hot water dispenser in our hotel room.

In front of our hotel. The pedestrian-only shopping street was huge and went on for miles. The cooler part of town is the French Concession. What a depressing name for a district.

Shanghai is giant and construction goes on 24 hours a day. They are in a big hurry to be the next super power.

This "ride" was featured in the tunnel underneath the Haungpu River on the Bund. It was totally bizarre and wack at the same time.

Occasionally, we 'd take a break from China. We did this by ducking into a Starbuck's which, with the jazzy music and the Christmas decorations, you'd think you never left America, that is until you step outside.

Aha! Chinese people are sick of crazy rude bus drivers too! After almost getting run over by a few buses myself, I can totally understand how this guy felt. He jumped into the bus window and started beating up the driver and honestly, I was quietly cheering him on.

We went to the old part of town which I thought had more personality than the other parts of Shanghai.

Stuck in traffic on our way to the train station. There was a TV monitor to keep our mind off the traffic, but we were about to miss the train, so we got out and ran all the way there.

Argh!! We're late for our train and there are a million people in the way. Luckily we made the train to Zhengzhou, but it was stressful getting there.

The minute we stepped off the ferry from Macau, we knew Hong Kong was going to be different from the rest of China. On our cab ride to the hotel, we passed by never-ending skyscrapers. There is no "downtown" part of Hong Kong, everything is metropolitan. We stayed in the fashionable shopping district and you could see a strong Japanese influence in fashion. Everything about the city is so different from mainland China: people didn't litter, they waited in orderly lines for the bus, people didn't spit all over the place. It's an amazingly cool place--see what a little freedom of speech does? The internet was not censored. Travel agencies take all credit cards. ATMs were easy. The food is fresh and healthy. Strong emphasis is placed on the arts and culture. Everyone was friendly. There is no chinglish. Hong Kong is very easy to like. It seems as though the residents operate in a totally isolated bubble. Maybe that's why when we told people we were on our way to Shanghai, they referred to it as China. I thought we were in China, but Hong Kong doesn't really associate itself with the mainland. Maybe for good reason too, because as soon as we got to Shanghai, it was the yucky China all over again.

I really don't like this combo shower/bathroom thing--everything gets wet! Our hotel (actually a hostel) in Hong Kong was cheap, but it was smack in the middle of Paterson St. in Causeway Bay in between a Miss Sixty and a Fornarina with a Y3 store only a hop, skip and a jump away.

Mick admiring the Hong Kong dollar which had none of the overt politics of the Chinese yuan (as we got further north, the yuan was referred to as the RMB). We were in a late night milk shop. Yup, I said milk shop. They served steamed milk and milk custards. It was crazy how everything was open so late.

I love this car! I wish I could import one. It's called a Nissan Figaro and they stopped manufacturing them. They're difficult to find and way in demand.

A double-decker bus we decided to hop on and just drive around and around. It's a good cheap way to see the city if you're too lazy to walk.

That's Mick in the lower right corner on the closed-caption video. You can watch what goes on in the elevator on one of the hotel TV channels.

This banner totally shocked me. I know Hong Kong is unlike other parts of China but I still found the blatant criticism unusual--I was getting used to the censorship. The protesters put up horrible graphic photos of documented torture victims. I knew there was no way this was going to make the news.

The famous Star Ferry. It just so happened that this was the last day it ran, then it closed for good. The government was going to demolish the historic ferry clock tower too. Sad.

Mick at the Jackie Chan gym in Kowloon.

Ooh, our plush private first-class coupe on the Guanzhou-to-Shanghai train. The trip took a total of 24 hours (!) but it was comfortable.

We took a day trip to Yangshou, where the landscape is both beautiful and strange. Giant, narrow hills jut up, surrounding a small town and a river. It looks just like those traditional Chinese watercolors. It's a gorgeous, gorgeous landscape and because of this, tourists come by the busloads. Aggressive vendors sell kitsch at outrageous prices, often 10 to 20 times the price. It's a huge and dramatic pain to get it down to a reasonable price. It's better to just avoid dealing with it by not buying anything at all. Even the "beggars" were super aggressive. One guy, who was healthy and fit literally pushed me around--Mick had to confront him. Argh! My patience in China is running low. My experience so far has been a mixture of wonder, surprise and frustration.

The tourist-packed town is at the foothills of the mountains.

Having lunch on a second floor restaurant. Most of Yangshou's old buildings remain as they once were. Again, those mountains are so freaky looking.

Classic Yangshou landscape.

More of those mountains.

Mick attempting to do a fob squat and clearly failing. Too western, not enough immigrant.

Mick resting. We climbed to the temple on one of those mountains.

A demonstration of traditional paper-making.

Yahngshou at night. China sure loves its neon lights.

Clever paper-cutting of Mick's profile.

guangzhou

We arrive in Guangzhou by train and leave our luggage at the station so we can explore the city for the day. We accidently left our precious Lonely Planet guidebook on the Yangshou bus, so it was terribly difficult to get around without a map with western characters, our phrase book for pointing to and general directions on bus stations and train schedules. Guangzhou is the garment district of China, so there are a lot of foreigners there for the clothing business. That part wasn't all that interesting. There is a lake and a temple and a bunch of malls. We decided to head out to Macau earlier than we planned, a task that took us hours to figure out. We could not locate a bookstore that carried books in English. We could not find an agency that could speak English to book the train to Macau. In fact, we find out that trains don't go to Macau at all. We needed to take a combination of a long-distance bus and a city bus. Again, this was nearly impossible since no one spoke English, all the maps were in Chinese as were the timetables and none of the ticket offices understood us. By some miracle, we were able to buy our bus tickets. But the adventure only just began. With our luggage in tow, now fat with souvenirs, we had to walk (and I kid you not) half a mile down the street, up the stairs, on an overpass, down the stairs, cross another street, through an alley, up more stairs, across another overpass to the bus terminal. The freakin' ticket office and the terminal was that far away from each other--it took like forty minutes total. "This would never happen in America," I kept thinking to myself. Anyway, we get on the bus and for the time being it would be OK. After two hours, we're close to the border town of Zuhai. The bus stops, a cop gets on and starts checking the locals for ID. He kicks five people off the bus and they have to find a ride back. We have no idea why. Meanwhile, a man hocks up some phlegm and spits it into a plastic bag. Well, at least he's neat about it. When it was finally our turn to get off, it took us a while to figure which city bus to get on. Crammed into the bus with our luggage and teenagers riding home from school, we rode around the city waiting for some clue as to where the Macau border was. We had a piece of paper with the word "MACAU" written on it but the driver didn't read western characters. All the stops on the diagram were in Chinese. We sat and waited and trusted that we would get there somehow. And we did (after a few false alarms, the driver kept motioning us to sit down--he was on our side after all). We stop at what looked like an airport. The bus driver motioned us to go upstairs. "Macau," he says. Macau is upstairs.

We need some Kungfu fast food restaurants in America. The food was really good. I have no idea whether Bruce Lee's family authorized the use of his image.

A very cool design shop in the middle of the garment district.

Do they not have spell check?

Me petting dogs for sale in an alley. That man was not nice to the dogs.

View from the bus. The highway was high above the city and the skyscrapers seemed never-ending.

Me at the city bus station trying to get to Macau. It was all very confusing.

macau

See? Macau really is only an escalator ride away.

OK, first of all, I thought Portugal gave Macau back to China. What's all of this border and passport control nonsense? We made the mistake of buying a single-entry visa into China when we should've gotten a mutiple-entry one because of Macau and Hong Kong. We had to pay another $200 for a second visa. After a crowded long wait on the Chinese side, we walked to the Macanese side where all the signs were in Portuguese. It might as well have been in English--we were so happy to finally understand something. The prices of everything in Macau jolted us back into reality. Judging from the BMWs and Mercedes all over the city, it was a fancy-pants place. We found a bookstore that sold English books, so once again, we are in possession of the ever-useful Lonely Planet China. Although the change was refreshing, two days in Macau were plenty for us. We're off to Hong Kong.

This is the Macau border. It looks like Europe, right? No one speaks Portuguese, everyone speaks Chinese.

There are big giant casinos everywhere. They call it the Monte Carlo of China.

Having our morning coffee overlooking the view from our hotel room. If you look closely, you can see a reflection of Mick in his skivvies (straight guys and relatives, ignore what I just wrote).

I'm only pretending to take a picture of Mick. What I was really photographing are those two monks in the background ordering food from McDonald's!!!

Look at the architecture and the cobblestones--nothing Chinese about it.

Macau is is still very dense though, like the rest of China.

Mick with a mouthful of western food. We're at STARBUCK'S, drinking a PERRIER reading a WALLPAPER magazine plotting out our trip with our brand new Lonely Planet guidebook.

As I was approaching this school, it sounded like several thousand kids were being tortured, but in fact, it was only recess break. Jeez those kids can scream.

A giant Cup o' Noodles at the Cup o' Noodles museum. Don't say we didn't get a little culture in.

Looking down from the top of Macau Tower. They were extremely proud that Charlize Theron visited there.

Our high-speed ferry ticket to Hong Kong.

Chinese Coke tasted normal while Vietnamese Coke tasted weird.

And I thought Nanning was going to be a sleepy town.

nanning

We made our trip to China by land, first taking a bus from Vietnam to the border, crossing the border on foot, then getting into a taxi to the Chinese border town of Pingxian. The Vietnam side was unorganized and half-assed (we had to pay a 10,000 dong bribe which is roughly 80 cents) and the Chinese side was disciplined and gleaming with new construction. Their border looked like a stainless steel and glass airport lobby. Vietnam's was just sad and not worth describing. The lady taxi driver spoke a little Vietnamese so we were able to communicate, but once we got to Pingxian, all familiarity ended. First of all, we couldn't even being to guess what all the signs said. Communication through speaking was impossible because we knew zero Mandarin and they knew zero English. It was all hand signals and pointing to the guidebook. I expected this tiny town to look like Vietnam, but it was drastically more modern and developed. They're both Communist countries, but what a difference money makes, huh? Somehow, we make it to the bus station and purchase tickets to Nanning--neither party spoke the other's language. The bus was a very pleasant surprise (luxurious comfy seats, a movie, a uniformed attendant wearing a beauty pageant sash). The roads were brand new as were the rest stop service stations. OK, so the toilets were squatting ones, but they were clean. When we arrived in Nanning, it was a brand-new Vegas-like business town. Neon and shopping everywhere. What a fantastic introduction to China (but you know I'm speaking too soon here, you can just feel it).

Our hotel was great, efficient and cheap. At the reception lobby, the hotel listed two price columns: Regular for 185 yuan or Bargain for 118 yuan. Which did we want? Before we could answer, they said they'll give it to us for 100 yuan. We'll take it. And that, ladies and gentleman, is bargaining in China. We went for a walk on the wide, expansive concrete sidewalks and dropped in and out of super cheap cool stores that stayed open until midnight. It was like buying Japanese stuff at Vietnamese prices. Later after midnight, the hotel room phone rang. Mick answered, then he unplugged the phone. "Who was that?" I asked. "A hooker," he said. Dammit! Hookers again. He knew because our Lonely Planet guidebook warned about it. While I was annoyed at their nerve, I was a little impressed that they cold-called to generate leads.

Impromptu ballroom dancing in the park. Cute.

A giant mall.

A passerby in racy stockings. Even though girls don't cover up, pale skin is still in demand, evident by whitening formulas in every lotion, soap and deodorant on the market.

Another giant mall, bigger than the one before.

Me practicing my pose for Japan. What the heck is Jalice?

First of all, I don't want placenta of any sort touching me. Second, do you think it's Obya instead of Olay because of difficulty pronouncing the "L"?

Mick says that with my similar colored t-shirt and hair, he couldn't find me in the store. I said nonsense so he took a picture to prove it. You can find me, can't you?

Me getting a massage from a blind man. That whole corner was blind massage central.

At McDonald's with pineapple and taro pies. KFC and McDonald's are everywhere in China. We found them to be useful places to sit and gather our bearings in new cities. They also have clean and reliable toilets that are way better than public ones.

This strange machine is a room deodorizer, we figured out. Instead of just lighting incense the old-fashioned way, the Chinese have come up with an electric way to do it.

guilin

We're on a train to Guilin. There was a big sign with a symbol for "No Spitting." Who would spit on a train? I'm afraid I would soon find out.

We stayed in Nanning an extra day because we liked it so much. We made our way to the next destination by train. We had a nice and helpful conversation with a young student on his way back to school. He kept getting called away to speak to the conductor. We found out that he lost his ticket stub and had to pay the whole fare again. It costs 65 yuan, but he had only 41 yuan on him, so made him pay that. We felt so bad because he still had a bus ride left, so we gave him 30 yuan just in case. He was really bashful about it.

Guilin is also huge and modern, but prices remained reasonable. In contrast to Nanning, there were more foreigners (most travelers pass through on their way to Yangshou). On our first night, we took a walk to find a restaurant. We passed a bunch of fancy-looking ones but didn't go in because of the cages of various animals displayed outside. There were these things that resembled hedgehogs with orange teeth (bamboo rats), turtles, eels, frogs, catfish, etc. all jumping around trying to escape. When I saw a woman vigorously beating a large, wriggling fish to death on sidewalk, I lost my appetite. We ate some vegetables at a buffet and I still got sick--from the grease. Damn, Guilinese like their oil!

So for all modern conveniences and development, I find China strangely backwards and vulgar and it was becoming more and more apparent. People hock loogies all day and night, indoors and out. Spat out loogies covered the ground everywhere we went. That's why the train had to put a sign up--people actually spit right onto the carpet. I'm told that government is trying to clean up for the 2008 Olympics. They've outlawed horn-honking too. The bathroom situation was getting worse. China basically took an old, old idea of a squatting into a hole in the ground and updated it with porcelain and stainless steel. The trick is you have to put water in it and make it flush. Is it absurd to suggest this? At the train station, the toilets consist of one long stainless steel trough with stall doors to separate them. There is no water or any method for flushing. I'm not even sure if there was a drain. Can you imagine the smell? That's why we relied on KFC and western fast food joints for bathrooms. At least they flush and got cleaned every once in a while. There's nothing that can ruin your day more like seeing a fresh pile of poo in a water-less toilet. GROSS.

Guilin late at night. There seems to be hundreds still out.

We stayed a funny hotel with funny paintings of 80's popstars in the hallway.

Our first and probably only cool hotel. It had free, but censored in-room internet access. I couldn't look at Google News or Myspace profiles. Pfft!

A window at the train station for extra special people.

Some kids torturing another kid. If you're at all familiar with any of the asian communities in L.A., then you will notice that those kids are in front of a Lollicup, the familiar boba drink chain.

A pretty temple in Guilin.

Rats and dogs on the menu. This should've tipped us off because while we were eating, a giant rat scurried by, as if on cue.

Hanoi is a nice place, once you get out of the tourist areas. When we ventured outside of the Old Quarter, everything was normal and friendly again. Hundreds of tiny, little 6-year-olds walking back to school from an outing screamed, "HELLO!" to us, one by one, as if it was the funniest thing ever, a riot. Unlike hustler kids who would ask for money. Food was cheaper and better too. The baguettes are amazing in Hanoi. As was the coffee which costs more than beer. There are lots of Australian expats married to Vietnamese and many of them spoke Vietnamese fluently, which baffled Mick because he can't distinguish the Vietnamese tones from each other at all. One Australian told us how hard it was to do business there because of the corruption and red tape. I simply can't understand why Vietnam can't understand that hurting tourists will hurt tourism, hence hurt Vietnam's pocketbook. Make tourism easy. Accept credit cards. Standardize prices. Fix the roads. The Australian guy was trying to convince me to live there and introduce American smarts to Vietnamese business. No chance! I'd sooner live in Croatia.

Mick at a liquor and baby formula shop. Everyone on this street sold liquor and baby formula. They charged Mick twice as much. I talked them down a little.

Here we are sitting on tiny stools five inches off the ground toasting our beer hoi at beer hoi junction, an intersection of crowded street bars serving 12-cent beers.

Vietnam vs. Thailand in soccer. It was close, they tied.

Mick with some cool guys talking about restoring vintage Vespas.

Who would want a fake IKEA shopping bag? I don't know, but they're for sale.

Me sitting on those little stools again. This place sold one thing only: fruit doused with condensed milk over crushed ice. Yum!

The scooter traffic seems never-ending.

I meant to show how crappy this river was, but it turned out to be picturesque.

This rickety old bridge was brought to you by the makers of the Eiffel Tower.

This is a nice park isn't it? I wish whoever is drying their laundry would stop doing that.

This is a nice lake isn't it? Until...

...you see dead fish floating everywhere. Ugh, I wonder what's wrong with the water.

A FiviMart supermarket. I was so frustrated with all the overcharging and negotiation on the street, I went here instead, where prices are marked, you know, normal and taken for granted in the U.S.

Sorry, another picture of scooter traffic that goes on for miles. I couldn't get over it.

This lady is living dangerously. This is a working railroad track.

This means "NO PEEING." No one obeyed.

A piece at a bonsai exhibition.

Me relaxing with a smoothie after my day at the spa. All the cheating scamming and hustling in Hanoi took it's toll. The locals cheated, not me.

This was our shuttle to the bus station. Yes, I'm serious. My luggage is in between the driver's legs.

Back to Hoi An. This charming little town looks like colonial Vietnam movie set wherever you turn. Some of the buildings are centuries old. At least the government knew enough to declare the whole ancient town historically important, so no giant concrete buildings will spring up. The other thing about Hoi An is that it's one giant dressmaking shop. Tailors will not only custom-make dresses, suits and shoes, but they will do it in 24 hours. I was really excited about this because I thought Jason can have all of his suits made here for cheap. I quickly realized that it wasn't worth it when we saw the final product. It's no Saville Row, I can tell you that much. It's not the workmanship, it's the small decisions that involve taste. I gave a shop some photos of a Dior Homme suit so they could make a skinny suit for Mick, but the proportions were off. I'm sure it's fine for classic shapes, but anything other than that would require too much directing. Their were suit shops all over Thailand too, but they were all Burmese and very agressive. Why?

We arranged for a private driver to pick us up because we can't do adventurous bus trips with my mom. The passenger vanity mirror had a video monitor (!), but the driver's side was covered in plastic. Typical.

Mick watching a man make silk lanterns. I bought ten in each color.

See? Isn't Hoi An cute? One of many cool old Vespas parked all over Vietnam.

Mick waiting for the rain to stop. He bought that little stool out from under someone and got ridiculed all over town. Peasants! What do they know?

Mick making another deal on ceramics sitting on the now beloved stool.

View from our hotel room.

The dressmaker invited us to lunch behind the her store.

Me getting the final fitting for my ao dai, a traditional Vietnamese dress.

My mom feels better here. I'm not sure that she's listening to Mick's animated conversation.

I'm lecturing this kid for pulling a devious newspaper scam. I had other confrontations with people who tried to do the same. In the U.S., non-customers would not be allowed into a cafe.

At the market. I bought one of those hats too. I'm going to wear it in L.A.

I am a foreigner. It says so on my train ticket.

The food cart on the train. It was surprisingly thoughtful for a Vietnamese venture.

Mick with Mustafah and Mohamed, two really nice Thai kids on the train.