Really Live Like A Local

Live Like A Local

Big Poopy Birds

shanghai urban landscaping
Originally uploaded by sherryworld.

It's China. I understand it's a different culture, a different tune that folks march to out here. Really. I get it. But then there are times when I come across the incomprehensibly out of whack. Like this building that looks like a giant seagull just cruised by and took a big fat poop on it. This just makes me turn around to the nearest person and ask, with a very sincere and perturbed look, "Why?"

Architects inspire. From Alvar Aalto to Zaha Hadid, these amazing space manipulators have time and again provided us with awe-inspiring, drool-inducing panoramic backdrops that make up the world stage we like to frolic in. While flipping through Art Nouveau a few years ago, one curious glance at Gaudi's seductive Casa de Batllo was enough to convince me to book a one way flight to the EU.

Unfortunately I cannot say the same for the architectural "experiments" here in Shanghai. For a city where building cranes almost outnumber residents (ok, complete exaggeration on my part, but you get the idea) you would expect an oogle of amazing architecture spilling from every angle of this fine city. Instead we've got some PCB- pretty crappy buildings. Literally.

Fiber Optic Roadblocks

It's a pain in the ass. The Middle Kingdom's sense-sore-ship is at it again, and the latest victims are any and all blogs hosted by Blogger. To see what thoughts are occupying my dear sister's cranium, I now must break out with creative bandwidth acrobats.

But truth be told it's not so bad here as far as information voids go. In fact, China doesn't even make the Top 10 list, a fact that probably has something to do with the lack of certain Hennessey aficionados. I guess the occasional internet phreaking is acceptable as long as I get to where I need to go. I gotta admit, all this makes me think about a particular specimen on our own endangered species list.

Slow Club Shanghai

slow club shanghai
Originally uploaded by sherryworld.

Some eat to live. I live to eat.

To spice up our weekends, a bunch of us Shanghai transplants started "Dim Sum Sundays", where the Cantonese tradition of "yum cha" lives on in the form of tasting various restaurants around urban Shanghai. The crowd is always different but the ambiance is relatively similar: talking loudly with food in your mouth. After all, it's a canto doctrine.

To solve the home-away-from-home dilemma, we've expanded our operations to "Slow Club Shanghai", where we gather for a night of lovely conversation and much-needed home cooked food. Last week, my contribution was this delicious banana bread pudding. (No one died, I swear) This Wednesday, Czech food at Andrea's. I don't think I've ever had Czech food, let alone home-cooked! My tastebuds can hardly contain their joy.


Banana Bread Pudding:

1 loaf day old Italian or French bread
3 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 quart milk or half and half
1 1/2 tablespoons vanilla
4 large ripe bananas, mashed
1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 teaspoon cinnamon, divided in half
1 cup raisins
1/2 teaspoon fresh, finely grated ginger root
2 tablespoons dark rum or banana liqueur

Cube the loaf of bread, place it in a large bowl along with the milk and allow to stand for an hour.

Place raisins in the rum or liqueur, and warm briefly in the microwave (15 seconds). Allow to sit at least 30 minutes. This will allow the raisins to absord the rum flavor. Stir in 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon and mix well.

In a separate bowl, beat together the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and remaining spices. Mash the bananas and combine all ingredients together.

Turn out into a lightly greased 10X12 or 9X13 inch baking dish and bake at 325C (162 F) degrees for 70-75 minutes or until edges are golden and toothpick inserted in center comes out nearly clean.

Now Available: Lie Detector... on Skype?!

While researching for my job hunt, I found this article that describes the use of a lie detector in interviews. Through Voice Stress Analysis technology, an add-on to Skype can now detect whether you or the person you're talking to is unleashing the old whopper. By measuring frequency patterns, the program uses a graph to show various stress levels found in a person's voice. If you ask me, there's something portentously Big Brother about this devilish program. Don't get me wrong- I'm a relentless purveyor of truth and honesty, but I also have a pungent regard for the right of privacy. Not to mention the susceptibility to failure of these tests, with a bit of practice, practically anyone can learn how to beat the polygraph. So what's next? A program that can detect lies written in emails?

Thai Adventure #1

monk friend
Originally uploaded by sherryworld.

Did I ever tell you about my new monk friend that's an ex muay thai kickboxing champion?

Before I start though, let me share with you my enlightening experience at my first Thai spa. Everyone must, at least once in their life, go to a free herbal sauna in Thailand run by a Buddhist monastery. Seriously. Not only can you zen out and be beside oneself, its a perfect way to detox from the snake venom your friend dared you to ingest the night before. Once at Wat Pho, one can change into a fabulous sarong before drenching yourself with dirty thai water head to toe, and then proceed into an 6'x10' oven-like sauna that's infused with citronelle, lemongrass, ginger, lavender, jasmine, and other indiscernible powders stored in colorful nameless glass jars. The walls of the sauna are built with robust CMU blocks, worn by years of mileage, with a single frosted glass square that allows that the faintest glow of natural light to seep in. Once in the dark cavern, the potpourri envelopes you, and before you know it, fierce beads gather and slippery sweat spills through your happy pores. A bit more time passes and your lungs begin to fill with a heavy vigorous air, your nostrils clear, and suddenly nirvana kicks in at full gear. Maybe not nirvana, but you are certainly struggling not to pass out from the lack of oxygen flowing to your now-mushy noodle.

Which brings me to the Monk. Across the road resides a group of monks that maintain the monastery and surrounding grounds. By some feudalistic law, every Thai man is required to go through monk-hood at some point in his life. Soontun, on the left, has been a monk for 12 years and counting, and before that, a muay thai champion for five consecutive years in the thaiboxing town of Patong. After befriending Soontun on our way out of the sauna, he invites us back for lunch the next day. That's how Alix and I found ourselves repeating Buddhist chants underneath the canopy of an obscure temple one random afternoon in Koh Phagnan. Upon arriving, the first thing Soontun did was give me a small key chain of a naw (a thai instrument), and he points to me and says, through his broken English, "You, music. You music." (I'm a musician by trade) Then he gives Alix a seashell windchime which, although wasn't the EXACT one she wanted, was a souvenir she's been meaning to buy for herself. It's strange and inexplicable, as if he had spiritual gifts and was flexing his ESP powers. He then offers to "bodyguard" us to Chiang Mai via train, and invites us to pick oranges at his family's grove in Chiang Dao. But the story does not continue and we did not meet with him again. He did, however, call our cellphone nonstop every few hours for the duration of our trip. Was that monkish of him? We didn't think so. We figured either a.) he's a psycho undercover that enjoys hanging out at wats or b.) he's painfully bored, or c.) he's spiritually gifted, but still painfully bored. Upon returning one of his phone calls, he hands his phone over to another man, who turns out to be a Dutch friend Soontun befriended as well. Apparently he received calls at all hours as well. So, final answer, b.) painfully bored.

I'm still not sure if I can classify my experience with the monk as mystical or mad. Alix thinks the latter, but I am not fully convinced. I have a feeling this is not the last I have seen of this monk. When we left, I found the little dog in the picture chewing up my shoes. Too bad the monk didn't see that coming.