I have permission to share the following with you. I love the way this client finds ways to summarize her experiences. Telling me she has fertilizer in her shoes, she sent me the following e-mail rejoicing in the growth she is experiencing. I have, of course, modified it some to protect her identity.
I love that she has ceased fearing that dangerous word “power.” Too often people see power as “power over” rather than inner power experienced.
Dear Mona,
For the first time in my life, I feel the stirrings of empowerment –a very nice feeling! I’ve always had mixed emotions about the term empowerment. From a [very conservative] background, in which a woman is constantly taught to be submissive, to a mother who preached humility for woman and berated women with careers, to observing some women in business who lost all femininity and became very unpleasant pseudo men in the name of empowerment.
For me, being empowered is being pleasant, not a pleaser. It means having a personal plan and the guts to stick with the plan, as well as the guts to re-evaluate and change the plan if necessary. It’s doing the right thing, but not if the cost of doing the right thing violates my personal code of ethics. It’s making amends when needed, but also standing up for myself. It’s holding on, but also knowing when to let go….
And it’s still a work in progress…..for the rest of my life!
Thank you for listening!
I’d be so happy to hear comments from you who have had the aha experience of discovering the powerful meaning of “power.”
By the way, the header is a photo from our June trip to Santa Fe. No wonder Georgia O’Keefe loved to paint those beautiful colors.
Remember the old movies where the family gathered around the person in crisis, suffering high fever and approaching death? Usually there was a happy ending when the fever “broke” and the patient recovered.
Crisis: I’ve lived through so many in my lifetime. Oh, I’m not referring to pneumonia, or even personal crises. I’m referring to national and international crises. Like waiting in the New Haven, Connecticut railroad station for my boyfriend to meet me. My thoughts? We’ll never get married. I’ll never get to graduate school. We’ll all die when the atomic bomb drops on us. No, the 1950s were not a calm, peaceful time.
Korea: My boyfriend (a different one) sent letters home as he served in the “action” that never was officially a war. Always, at least once in a letter, he’d say, “Christ, we’ll all be killed.” It was a kind of mantra, I think, to ward off death.
The Cuban missile crisis. Now I had children for whose safety I feared. Sleepless nights of worry, even though I knew my worry had no power to stop “it.” – whatever “it” might turn out to be.
The 60s – Oh, the 60s. Now I look back and see the amazing changes that have happened – and the ones that haven’t. This could be a whole long blog all by itself recounting the changes in women’s lives, for example. (A subject on which I have more authority to speak than on racial changes.) Women lawyers, doctors, pharmacists, mail carriers, news reporters, commercial pilots, fire-fighters. police officers, – even chiefs of police. Women still earning less than men for jobs of equal value — not as far behind as they used to be. But I’ll save all that for another time.
The Iraq thing: Definitely kept me awake, watching powerless as that terrible period developed leaving behind an aftermath for which decades will find us paying the price.
OK. You get the idea. Now, of course, we are in another crisis. No – make that plural — crises. Technical advances changing the way we make a living – or don’t. “Global Weirding” and the related rejection of science. The rush to violence and the growing reactions against it.
I feel like I’m living in a maelstrom. And I feel like I’ve felt like this before. And I know that while I’m/we’re in it, we’re too close to see the effect it’s having on our evolution as a people, a nation, and a world. Even as a universe.
So, what’s this all about? I have learned to wait and see. Do what I can. Act as I believe is right and moral – knowing that some people think I’ve “got” it, and others believe I’m way off the mark – and that none of us individually has much power to stem the tide. But watching in awe as public opinion is making itself known. Ten years from now, maybe less, where we are heading will make sense in retrospect.
Someday the fever will break. The patient won’t die, but things will never be the same as they were. Change will happen, maybe for the better in the long run. And maybe more quickly than we expect. Just look at what’s happened to gay marriage. Maybe even our current rush to violence will “break” as more peaceful solutions prevail.
In the meantime, I’ll listen to music sometimes, instead of watching the daily din of news which will, of course, be bad, because the good stuff doesn’t make news. I’ll assume I and my world will be around long enough for “Mrs. Job” to find a new home and a new name, and even begin to make some money again.
And I’ll read the good news in my two favorite “positive-focusing” magazines: YES and ODE And wait for the day when the news media will be presenting some good news in spite of themselves.
It’s been a while since I returned, and I still don’t have all my photos arranged and accounted for, but I do have enough to start sharing my trip with you. So please first join me in Portugal.
Traveling often yields surprises, and Portugal was one of them. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t know what a luxurious place I was about to discover. Oh, maybe not all of Portugal, but certainly where we were staying. Now that I’m home, I googled Algarve which is the area we were in. I discovered it’s the most popular tourist destination in Portugal and one of the most popular in Europe. I also read that it’s the richest region in Portugal, after Lisbon and Madeira.
We had a timeshare week at Vilar do Golf— the most luxurious of the resorts we stayed in during our four weeks. It’s the closest thing to perfection I can remember enjoying. Not only did we each have our own room with a private bath, but the kitchen was supplied with everything one might want, including microwave, dishwasher, oven, an ample supply of glassware — some displayed in an attractive cabinet in the dining area — flatware, dinnerware, and — most special of all — a washer and dryer. Funny how it’s the little things that matter. They also supplied a drying rack on which I dried the laundry on the deck. I felt like I was playing house. (Actually every place we stayed in Europe supplied such a rack.)
There were other wonderful things people might enjoy at the resort. When we travel, however, we tend not to use the pools, exercise rooms, and other special places because our days are too filled with sightseeing.
But we certainly did enjoy the Bobby Jones restaurant the evening we arrived, tired and hungry. To tell the truth, I can’t remember what I ordered to eat, but I do remember ordering red wine. The server just told me he’d choose for me — a portuguese wine, of course. I’m not a connoisseur, but I do know what I like, and I liked that. In fact, I loved the way their wines were served with enthusiasm and pride wherever we ate in Portugal – usually selected for me by the server.
Bobby Jones is apparently a popular local restaurant, not there just to serve residents at Vilar do Golf. An impressive building at the end of an elegant and beautifully lighted path it provided live music and, as I recall, a floor for dancing. We just ate, but I’m sure it would be fun for anyone who might be getting ideas from what I’m saying here.
Now for a few photos. Our first day out we first explored the beach.
And crossed the bridge to the island.
On the way I spotted someone apparently capturing his dinner. If all went as it should when I updated this blog, he should also be found as today’s header.
There was a touch of whimsey along the way as well, just before a restaurant where we couldn’t be served because it requires either a long wait or reservations. (I didn’t get a photo of it, but it was a first inkling that this was a very popular place.)
On the island our first sight was something that felt like being in Cambodia. Remember? But there were no entrepreneurs selling their home-made or -grown wares. In fact, a much more luxurious feel. (That’s Doug way to the right of the photo. If he had taken such a photo he would have shopped the person out of it. I, on the other hand, take photos — beautiful or not — to chronicle where I’ve been.)
And where we went after this stop was to take a look at the shops. If I hadn’t already got the sense that we were in a pretty wealthy area I would have caught on here.) Yes, I’m emerging from one shopping area and heading for another.
As for shopping, you may remember that I chronicled my Asia/Pacific adventures by photographing the markets and noting the contrasts as the journey moved on. Here’s another contrast for you. The market we visited in our explorations the first day in the Algarve.
And there you have our first day in Portugal. I had expected to do the week in Portugal in just one blog post, but I got carried away, I guess.
I’ll be back with more.
Two nights ago I rejoiced that I had finished my part in copyediting half of “Mrs Job” in preparation for her reappearance under a new name and with a new cover. Now, I thought, I can get back to the photos from my recent four weeks in Europe until I get the second half from the editor and, after I finish it quickly, Mrs. Job will be on the way to her attractive new identity.
You would have been seeing a blog entry today with photos and travel descriptions.
But then the publisher e-mailed the sad news to me. They had run into a financial problem that made it impossible to go on, so Mrs. Job would not be published by them after all. My initial reaction was – rather healthily, I think – to feel sad for me. Then I thought about what it meant for them and e-mailed a sympathy note recognizing how devastating it must be to lose their dream.
So I gave myself the evening to mope, and scheduled today to think about Mrs. Job’s future now that she has basically been evicted from two homes. Well, not quite evicted. In January, 2012, I terminated her agreement with iUniverse to sign the contract with TM Publishing. The process has been slow, but their intention to follow through was genuine. And I can’t say she’s been evicted. More accurately, she never did get to close on her new home.
At any rate, I’m now starting the search anew. Any help you can offer with names of potential agents or publishers, or even just plain good ideas, will be gratefully considered.
In the meantime, while I was enjoying my mope last evening, I remembered Saturday’s rally for immigration reform at the Guardian Angels Church. Over 300 people were there, singing, listening, hoping, and being moved to tears by the stories of people who had suffered under our current system. Especially hard to see were the young people whose parents had been torn away from them.
So, no, Mona! You are so lucky to have the problems you have. Get off the stick and open yourself to creative thinking!
And open to the possibility that someone reading this might have help to offer.
I’ve just returned from four weeks in Europe: Portugal, Austria, France, and Bulgaria. I’ll be sharing stories and photos beginning in a few days. Right now I’m busy getting my photos labeled and organized while finding time to continue the editing of Mrs. Job — whoever she is to become.
Just one initial comment for my fellow inhabitants of Minnesota. All four of those countries impressed me with their roads — black, smooth, clear white lines. Not a single pot hole.
On the other hand, no place had the competence and clarity of signage that we enjoy here. Not even in their native languages.
I’ve met some wonderful people, enjoyed some amazing adventures, sights, and stirring emotions. And I’m anxious to share all that with you.
I’ll be back.
It’s ironic I know, but I am finding hope in the fact that we’ve been here before as a nation. The same problems bug us – different faces – same issues, having led us not to resolutions, but rather to more of the same. Why hopeful? I’ll be darned if I know. It should leave me feeling even more distressed, verging on despair. I guess it’s the fact that the things we live through have meaning only with the perspective of time, so I perceive myself (and you) living in the maelstrom, out of which will come who knows what. And the fact that my father died in bed at age 86. The world had not collapsed entirely during his journey.
OK, let me give that first paragraph some perspective. As I think I have mentioned, I am working on the fictionalized biography of my father, born in 1890, emigrated from Sweden to the United States in 1909. I have several sources to draw on for specific information about him, but I’m also searching sites to give me background on the times in which he lived.
One book that has delighted me with useful, and, in some cases nostalgic, information, is David E. Kyvig’s “Daily Life in the United States: 1920 – 1940.” There’s lots to comment on, but my focus here is the recognition that “Oh my goodness. We’ve been here before.” Weather changes creating financial havoc (the dust bowl). The great depression; the poorest suffering most, long before the fall of the stock market hit the upper percent. Government intrusion into personal life with the Volstead Act, created by the very people who argued against government intrusion. (In my mind equivalent to the current incursion into people’s reproductive rights by those who argue against government control). The unanticipated negative results of banning alcohol – ie. Rampant law-breaking and mob violence. How interesting to see that which was once part of the culture becoming “illegal.” Was there an element of anti-immigrant sentiment? It apparently did destroy the French restaurant business, for example. Technological advances leading to job loss and ultimate creation of new jobs.
Questions whether this time the period of creating replacement jobs will happen quickly enough to save the middle class.
So, why be hopeful? It’s some crazy twist of my own psychology, I guess. Sometimes I advise folks that it’s better to give up hope than to keep on wishing for that which cannot happen. Maybe that’s it. I’m not ready to give up wishing that things will get better if we keep on trying.
With this entry, my Asia/Pacific excursion comes to an end. And a very powerful end it is!
Our last stop was in Nagasaki, the site that was devastated by the second dropping of the atomic bomb. Only by chance was Nagasaki destroyed, having been the back-up target when weather prevented hitting the initial choice.
The header tells the first part of the story… the total devastation of what was a prison with people in it. All that was left were those rows of melted and twisted material. Here’s the complete photo.
And here’s a photo of the nearby monument erected over ground zero.
If that “prison” photo doesn’t send chills and warnings, I don’t know what might. That’s the devastation side of the experience at the Peace Park.
Now for a series of photos illustrating the other side of the story. The peace park is a monument to the desire for non-violent resolutions to conflict. I couldn’t help but be sensitized to the nuances of forgiveness. At no point in the park or the museum, or the words of the tour guide, did anyone say anything like “When the US dropped the bomb.” In all cases it was “When the bomb dropped.” That simple turn of phrase makes it what they want it to be – a lesson to be learned.
The Peace Park is beautiful and peaceful — except for the tourists, that is. I would have loved to go back for a quiet period with no one taking photos of family and friends in front of the various statues. It almost seemed like desecration. But that’s what tourists do, and I’m sure most were also appreciating the potential serenity of the Park with the powerful message of love and peace.
Many countries (if not all) have contributed statues to the park. Here are some that I managed to photograph with no tourists in front of them.
And finally the visit to the museum, including a wall laying out in a straightforward, factual way the process of arriving at the decision to use the bomb. Again, the message was clearly couched in “When the bomb dropped,” not, as might have been, “When they dropped the bomb on us.”
The photo below marks the entrance to the museum
I found myself pleased to see Eisenhower’s opinion regarding its use. He was not alone in his opinion.
And now for the bookend. I have no photos to show, but I was at Los Alamos, New Mexico, last week — seeing where it began. A moving experience, in effect wrapping the whole thing up in one emotional package. I won’t bore you with going into a discussion of my reactions, but I will say the thoughts and emotions did roil.
This whole experience has only served to strengthen my commitment to restorative practices.
Thanks for joining me on this Asia/Pacific journey.
It was a day of fun in Dalian, starting with a tour which took us to the farmer’s market and other places. As I’ve pointed out before, it was interesting to watch the progression of markets. This one was tidy and tempting, but I noted especially the following offering, one we wouldn’t find in the U.S. — at least I don’t think so. It did remind me that the one food I would not accept from my butcher father-in-law was pigs feet. Any other part of the body was worth a try, but pigs feet look like pigs feet. (For obvious reasons, of course.)
One thing that stood out was the activity in the public squares — people dancing, for example.
As we drove past another square, we were told that people came out after dinner to exercise.
And then there were the kites. Part of our tour was the chance to fly our own and take it home with us. The kites were beautiful, but the wind was not cooperative. OK. If you haven’t already laughed at the header, let me tell you I forgot I’m not six years old and ran, as instructed by the girls who offered help at the park. Of course, as I probably did when I was six — spending my whole life as I did being physically clumsy –I fell down. No damage done, and I especially appreciated the reaction of the girls who simply offered help in getting up and assumed I would continue (as I did). No tut-tutting, “Are you alright.” Believe me, once one reaches my age, being hovered over like you’re fragile is not appreciated.
The fact is, no one — except for Doug — got a kite in the air. That orange flying object above the man’s head is Doug’s kite.
But there’s more to the story in Labour square. While I was assisted by girls who just happened to be in the park, there were also young people who had shown up specifically to help us, hoping to practice their English — American English. They were students planning to become teachers. We met many such young people in China, eager to practice their linguistic skill with us. We also learned that children, when they start school, are given American names. The name of the young man in the next photo, conversing with Doug, is Kevin.
Notice the man to the right, recording the entire encounter. No, he wasn’t a government spy. He was doing what people all through China seemed anxious to do — photographing Americans. Unfortunately our tour guides hadn’t told us that to have a conversation was the hope of the young folks who met us to help at the park, so we didn’t chat as much as we would have had we known.
Before I left the park, I gave my kite to the helper girls. It was indeed beautiful, but there wan’t much likelihood I’d use it, or display it, at home.
Speaking of conversing leads me to the next, and last, stop, for our day in Dalian. A totally delightful visit to the apartment of a retired couple. The entrance hall to their place was dark enough that I strained to see my way to the steps. Once in their place at the top of the stairs, we were escorted to their everything room. Six of us from the tour, plus Victoria – our student translator – met with an eager and happy-to-see-us Mr. and Mrs. Wong. Three mats were set on the bed and four chairs were arranged around the small table almost within touching distance of the bed. These were for us tourist guests. Mr. and Mrs. Wong then pulled up folding stools.
On the table was a plate of delicious small tomatoes and oranges that I would call Clementines. Although we had passed an outdoor food market on the way to their home, we were told that our treats had been purchased at a nearby super market.
I also discovered that the Wong’s were like my mother-in-law. With Mama, if you admired something, she insisted you must have it. (I learned early on not to admire things too often — unless it was food, of course.) At any rate, when I raised the question whether the food had been purchased at the nearby farmer’s market, everything was passed for a second time, with the insistence that we must take more than one.
But, back to our initial reception. The first question was, as you might expect, “Where are you from?” The couple from Canada were greeted warmly, as were the two from the Philippines, but when Mr. Wong heard Doug and I were from America, he leapt to his feet and took off his hat to show us it was from the states. He was clearly excited to meet us, as had been so many other folks we encountered in China.
With Victoria’s help we had a conversation of some 20 to 30 minutes. We learned that Mr. Wong had worked for the railroad, retiring at (uh-uh, I think it was 60) as required by law. Mrs. Wong had worked as a nurse at the RR station, retiring, as mandated, at 55. They had also raised a family there.
Upon leaving, we did, of course, take photos with our hosts. Mrs. Wong reminded me of my mother-in-law when she lovingly and enthusiastically caressed my face — and Doug’s — in saying an affectionate goodbye. All in all, it was a highlight of my trip.
Having paid that visit, I noted a bit of social psychology in action. I realized the reason for the communal activity in the parks. There one could engage in physical and group activity not even possible within the confines of a small apartment. The very size of the home directed folks to a life of community.
There is one very sad note, though. If anyone out there can help me, I’d be deeply grateful. I intended to send them a thank you note, including a copy of the photo. To that end, Victoria gave us a template of their address. The sad thing is, we somehow lost the template, so I haven’t been able to let them know how much I appreciated the visit. As a matter of fact, I even called the excursion folks at the Holland America Line to see if they could help. Declaring that this was a first ever request, the woman I spoke to didn’t offer much hope, but did say she would try. Sadly I have heard nothing from her.
SO, IF SOMEONE OUT THERE SHOULD HAPPEN TO RECOGNIZE THE FOLKS IN THE FOLLOWING PHOTOS, PLEASE LEAVE ME THE INFORMATION HERE ON THE BLOG.
Mr. Wong, Mona, Mrs. Wong, and (my son) Doug
Mr. Wong (and his American cap), Victoria, and Mrs. Wong
The journey is almost over. Nagasaki is coming up. (Remember, you can increase the size of every photo by clicking on it.)
I can’t describe the vastness of tian’anmen square. It’s a little like the photos I couldn’t get of the wildness of the ocean back in 1955 when the SS Kungsholm went into the North Atlantic in a hurricane to rescue nine men off a sinking Greek freighter. I guess that’s why we go to see these places – the only way to get the real impact.
Even the header photo I have of people lined up to see the Mao Zadong Mausoleum is inadequate, but that’s because we were there during the long Chinese New Year’s celebration, so people were off doing their holiday thing. I did find a link to Mao’s story which includes, toward the end, a photo of the long lines. If you scan all the way down to it, you will get a sense of the vastness.Mao Zedong
The guides and other folks who talked to us about Mao were enthusiastic about all he had done for the country. Well, if you read the article referred to above, you’ll find that his supporters hold him in high regard for modernizing China, making it a world power, promoting the status of women, making health care and education available, providing universal housing, and raising life expectancy for the population. One guide explained that before Mao, the people really believed they didn’t have it so bad compared to the rest of the world where, they had been told, everyone lived in poverty, to the point of dying in the streets. They credited Mao with opening China up to the world. Those one would assume are the supporters who stand in that long line to see his mausoleum.
Then, of course, there’s the Mao with whom we in the West are more familiar, the Cummunist dictator who ran roughshod over human rights.
It was in Tien’anmen Square, I think, where people came up to Doug and me, wanting us to pose for a photo with their family members. I will say, they seemed very happy to see Americans. Young people especially seemed excited by our presence. But then, you may get a different idea looking at the photo of me all wrapped up for the cold.
And, if you look to the lower right in the photo of Tien’amen Square above you’ll see a rear view photo of Doug with Cambodia hat. Maybe they just wanted a picture with a couple of really weird looking Americans. Or maybe they thought we were celebrities there in disguise. Anyway, we did feel very welcomed.
This day, and especially the next, we became aware of the enthusiasm many of the young people had for learning English – American English. We met several who were hoping to be teachers of English. By the way, we also learned that when they first start school, the children are given American names. I guess Emily and Tia from Cambodia probably had Cambodian names that we’d have trouble with, and probably wouldn’t work so well for entrepreneurs.
And so on to The Forbidden City. I confess, I didn’t know until I was there that the forbiddance applied to the Emperor as well as to the common people outside the walls. They weren’t allowed in, and the emperor wasn’t allowed out.
We were told that the people approved of the portrayal of the last emperor of the Qing Dynasty in the film “The Last Emperor of China.” When we returned home, Doug and I made a point of seeing it. My conclusion – being an emperor was no great shakes, maybe especially before he was deposed. But there is so much more. On the recommendation of one of the people in our tour group, I read “Empress Orchid.” Yes, that too was well worth the read.
I’m in no position to go into detail on the emperor, but I am providing a link in case you’re interested. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puyi
Our final stop that day was at the beautiful Tau Temple of Heaven. Mostly we just looked at it from outside, but it was well worth the look.
OK. That’s it for today. For tomorrow’s entry you will have my permission to laugh.
Sorry. This trip is dragging out, but the report will soon be over. Not that I was happy for the trip to end. I am really enjoying this opportunity to relive it.
In the meantime, I have excuses for being slow to get back to you. Last weekend I spent taking a course on the use of hypnosis in therapy. I learned a lot by making a lot of mistakes. The best way to learn. I came away inspired to advertise my practice, because I do want to see clients. I think I have something good to offer. But I still won’t affiliate with a managed care group, nor will I do electronic billing. So, people who come to me have to be willing to submit their own statements for insurance reimbursement. Or sometimes we can work out a fee arrangement more attractive to clients.
BUT THEN I got back to working on the fictionalized biography of my father. What fun it is to make discoveries about things that affected his life, like the drafting of his best man who was subsequently killed in action in WW1. First of all, I managed to track him down based on clues from my father’s graduation information from Upsala college. Then I found details of where he lived in Connecticut. It turns out he would probably have registered for the draft on June 5, 1917, a day before my parent’s wedding. Good — and very sad –stuff for fleshing out the story.
This morning I’ve been googling information about the platform and actions of the Democratic and Republican parties to tie my father’s preference for the Republicans to the experiences he had in Sweden and in America. By the way, he wouldn’t have been drafted, because he wasn’t naturalized until 1918.
There’s more. And I look forward to its going into the outline for now and then being written into the story.
So, why the big “BUT THEN” above? To tell the truth, I’m feeling the pressure of time. I’m no longer in my forties, so I can’t just hang out talking about what I want to do. I need to do it. And I want — and plan — to continue traveling. So, must there be a fork in my road? Must I choose the one less traveled? or the busier one? Or can there be lots of stops along the road I’m on? Stay tuned if you wonder along with me.
And now to Beijing and the Great Wall of China.
There are many sites where one can see, enjoy, and climb the Great Wall. Our stop was at Juyongguan. (No, I can’t spell that from memory.). And guess what! We were there in a snowstorm. Do you remember back to when I was practically on the equator in Singapore? Temperature-wise we traveled a long way. Still, the snow was a surprise. Couple the snow with my acrophobia and you won’t be surprised to know that I didn’t climb very far. I did go up this flight of stairs, and even a smidge higher.
From there I managed to get this photo of the view from the wall.
See? Snow.
Anything else was beyond me.
So I hung around below, satisfying myself with a photo of where I didn’t climb.
In fact, I wasn’t alone taking refuge in one of the shops for warmth. Those who did climb higher had a bit of a struggle getting down. The steps are, of course, old, narrow, and uneven, and as the snow accumulated it turned them into a downward slope instead of steps. But all in our group survived to move on to the next stop, which was a jade showroom beneath the restaurant where we’d be having lunch.
We were given a really interesting lecture on the nature and variants of jade, and after lunch we got to roam the showroom. They did have a section of relatively affordable stuff for tourists. I bought a necklace. (Sorry, no photo). Most everything else was extremely costly — and beautiful — as you can see in this photo.
Then it was on to lunch above the showroom. The header is a section of the photo of drapes in the window there, just to give a sense of the decor. Our special treat was Peking Duck, preceded by lots of appetizers. I’ve included a photo of the table and the carousel in the middle to demonstrate the Chinese style of service.
As I understand it, all food is served fresh from its preparation, so items are brought out as they are ready. I may have said this before. If so, please excuse me. Anyway, we were told not to take the food off the carousel and pass it. Rather, we were to use the serving utensils — chopsticks and spoons — not one for every dish, but to be shared.
As for the food, I really enjoyed it.
The big attraction was Peking Duck. I have to confess, I found it to be no big deal, perhaps because we had already had so much good food. It’s something every tourist should see, I guess, and I did get a photo of the chef carving the duck into very thin slices to be rolled into a very thin round of bread.
The day had been very full already, but there was still one more stop to go. In the area there are 13 tombs from the Ming Dynasty. This is one of them.
This day we didn’t head back to the ship, staying overnight instead at the Sheraton Hotel. I didn’t get photos of it, though I wish I had. It was magnificent. The bathroom was extremely luxurious, though lacking somewhat in privacy. On entering the room, and placing our key card in the slot to turn the lights on, the first thing we noticed was a huge section with glass walls. Not exactly very private. We did, however, discover that there was a button to push that lowered the blinds on the outside walls. Built into a corner, it had two entrance doors. Inside there was a glass-walled section for the toilet, another for the shower, and a tub in between the two sections, along with the vanity table. Why all this fuss about the bathroom? Oh my, it was the talk of the elevator on the way down to breakfast in the morning.
There was also a magnificent swimming pool, monitored by a couple of very attractive women at a very stylish desk. We didn’t get to use it, though, because a bathing cap was required. Yes, they did have them on sale, but we decided to forego it.
And so ended our first day in Beijing. I’ll try to get back soon with the next installment.
Remember, you can enlarge any photo by clicking on it.
monagustafsonaffinito 