Tag: #amwriting

Searching for locations: Morning in Hangzhou

This morning starts off with a bang.

Yes, the question on everybody’s lips, how do you fit 200 plus people into a room clearly designed to fit 50 comfortably?

The answer; pure mayhem, and a lot of people missing out on breakfast, or at the very least trying to eat in the awkwardest of positions, by balancing on edges of chairs or just standing at the bar.
This is a zero out of ten for the tour company.

Seven plus tours all leaving at the same time and no possible way of fitting them in.  Good for the hotel if they charged you for breakfast, because at various times there was nothing to eat, and definitely no milk for coffee if you could get coffee.

Still, as we keep saying, it is what it is.

It’s rather hit and miss with breakfast, sometimes there’s adequate catering, a large enough room, and enough food set out for a very large group all turning up at the same time.

So, after the lucky few who did manage to get a seat and equally something to eat, we all pile into the bus, after having to get our suitcases onto the bus because we’re moving on to Shanghai after the day’s activities…

…and then have to wait for the other seven to move off.  In the end, we reverse into the traffic and get underway.  I’m not sure what the other buses were going to do.

But, getting out of the hotel car park was only the first part of the morning’s adventure, the next part was not exactly going to be any easier.  8:00 in the morning means peak hour traffic, and here peak hour traffic takes on a whole new meaning.

Four or five lanes completely full and at a standstill, and the odd daredevil, including our bus driver, thinking he can change lanes.

Having a window seat can be fraught with danger; you get to see some of the most incredible maneuvers Chinese driver’s attempt and amazingly often succeed.

Oh, my mistake, changing lanes can be done.

It just takes a lot of nerve and a death wish.

Searching for locations: From X’ian to Zhengzhou dong by bullet train, China

Lunch and then off on another high-speed train

We walked another umpteen miles from the exhibition to a Chinese restaurant that is going to serve us Chinese food again with a beer and a rather potent pomegranate wine that has a real kick.  It was definitely value for money at 60 yuan per person.

But perhaps the biggest thrill, if it could be called that, was discovering downstairs, the man who discovered the original pieces of a terracotta soldier when digging a well.  He was signing books bought in the souvenir store, but not those that had been bought elsewhere.

Some of is even got photographed with him.  Fifteen minutes of fame moment?  Maybe.

After lunch, it was off to the station for another high-speed train ride, this time for about two and a half hours, from X’ian to Zhangzhou dong.

It’s the standard high-speed train ride and the usual seat switching because of weird allocation issues, so a little confusion reigns until the train departs at 5:59.

Once we were underway it didn’t take long before we hit the maximum speed

Twenty minutes before arrival, and knowing we only have three minutes to get off everyone is heading for the exit clogging up the passageway.  It wasn’t panic but with the three-minute limit, perhaps organized panic would be a better description.

As it turned out, with all the cases near the door, the moment to door opened one of our group got off, and the other just started putting cases on the platform, and in doing so we were all off in 42 seconds with time to spare.

And this was despite the fact there were about twenty passengers just about up against the door trying to get in.  I don’t think they expected to have cases flying off the train in their direction.

We find our way to the exit and our tour guide Dannie.  It was another long walk to the bus, somewhat shabbier from the previous day, no leg room, no pocket, no USB charging point like the day before.  Disappointing.

On the way from the station to the hotel, the tour guide usually gives us a short spiel on the next day’s activities, but instead, I think we got her life history and a song, delivered in high pitched and rapid Chinglish that was hard to understand.

Not at this hour of the night to an almost exhausted busload of people who’d had enough from the train.  Oh, did I forgot the singing, no, it was an interesting rendition of ‘you are my sunshine’.

The drive was interesting in that it mostly in the dark.  There was no street lighting and in comparison to X’ian which was very bright and cheerful, this was dark and gloomy.

Then close to the hotel our guide said that if we had any problems with the room, she would be in the lobby for half an hour.

That spoke volumes about the hotel they put us in.

A story inspired by Castello di Briolio – Episode 40

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

—

I had to almost restrain Carlo from going up to the castle and singlehandedly kill everyone in it.  I didn’t doubt he could do it, for a short time at least, until they realized what was going on.  There were too many of them to take on alone.

It would need a careful plan, and knowledge of the layout of the castle, and the likely spots where the soldiers were located.  It was a plan that had been slowly formulating in the back of my mind, especially after Carlo’s help with an internal map of the castle, some parts of which I hadn’t got to see in my brief stay.

I forgot that being built back in the middle ages, and the history of cities fighting against each other, there were ways in, out, and around, both inside and in the walls, so that soldiers could travel from one part of the castle to another without being seen, and not having to go inside the castle itself.

There were, also, tunnels, one of which I had inadvertently found, but there were more, and it seems only Carlo knew of those.  Some were useful, others would lead to an early confrontation, and give early notice of our intentions.  Those we would avoid, or use to escape.

We had set up a command center at the church ruins, having found several rooms off the cellar that had two exits.  I didn’t like the idea of being trapped, nor waiting in a location that Fernando was familiar with and was likely to return to.

Which, in a sense, I was hoping he would because we had set a trap and he and his men would be caught in the crossfire.  He was not going to get a chance to explain, nor would I ask any questions, or show him any mercy.

Especially when I found out what he had done to Martina.  If it was as bad as Chiara, he would be repaid in kind, if the opportunity arose.  I tentatively agreed to give Carlo five minutes in the room alone with him, but he knew that expediency might not give him that luxury.  Blinky was not happy about it, but he hadn’t been here long enough to know what the man or his people were like.

We’d also worked out the surveillance system so that we would know when anyone turned up in the village, particularly our prized defector Meyer, and whether anyone left the castle to come down to the village because it was possible there would be more defectors passing through, and they needed to be warned.

What was particularly useful was finding the radio that Martina had been using.  It was in the church grounds, which was not entirely unexpected, but one of Blink’s men had stumbled over it when looking to set up a latrine.

Blinky had brought a radioman, but his radio had been damaged in the parachute landing.  Now he had a new toy to tinker with, and got a connection back to Thompson, after some initial difficulty in translation.  That I could help him with, my Italian was marginally better than a schoolboy.

Thompson was relieved to hear from me, as I was to talk to him.

“It’s been difficult to get a clear picture with Martina, but I got the impression you had to be precise with your questions.”

“A case of getting lost in translation, perhaps.”  I had not had similar problems, but Thompson was from the aristocracy, and his version of English was sometimes quaint.

“The situation is bad, I understand.”

“It is.  The castle is over-run with British-German double agents.  The three you sent out, and reinforcements that followed.  I get the impression we have about 20 odd dead soldiers languishing in shallow graves somewhere on the Italian countryside.”

It hadn’t been hard to realize that while the officers were known British officers, the soldiers were substituted Germans whose English language and mannerisms were impeccable.  I had no doubt once they’d reeled in Meyer, they would move on, integrating into invasion forces and creating havoc from within, unless of course, we stopped them.

A sigh at the other end, perhaps a lamentation of such needless loss of life.  This war was getting tiresome for both of us.

“How close is Meyer?  We last heard he was in Gaole, waiting for a courier to take him to the village.  His arrival is anticipated to be any time from tomorrow onwards.”

“We’ve got men out keeping tabs on everyone.”

“Blinky arrive with his team?”

“All bar the radio, but as you can hear, we have access to one do it will not be a problem.  I think we might finish this and talk again tomorrow.  Don’t want the Germans tracking the radio waves.”

“Good.  Tomorrow, and hour before today.”

I’d almost forgotten that the Germans were good at tracking radio signals, especially when they thought the enemy was using them, as those at the castle would.  That radio unit could also be used to trace other radio signals, and no doubt they had picked up the signal.  Hopefully, we had not been on long enough for them to run the trace.

That was not going to be a problem.  One of Blinky’s soldiers on village reconnaissance was waiting for us as we approached the church ruins.”

“What is it, man?”

“There are four people at the village, looking for someone or something.”

“More defectors,” I said.  “We’d better get to them before Leonardo and his men get to them first.”

—

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Searching for locations: The Pagoda Forest, near Zhengzhou City, Henan Province, China

The pagoda forest

After another exhausting walk, by now the heat was beginning to take its toll on everyone, we arrived at the pagoda forest.

A little history first:

The pagoda forest is located west of the Shaolin Temple and the foot of a hill.  As the largest pagoda forest in China, it covers approximately 20,000 square meters and has about 230 pagodas build from the Tang Dynasty (618-907) to the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911).

Each pagoda is the tomb of an eminent monk from the Shaolin Temple.  Graceful and exquisite, they belong to different eras and constructed in different styles.  The first pagoda was thought to be built in 791.

It is now a world heritage site.

No, it’s not a forest with trees it’s a collection of over 200 pagodas, each a tribute to a head monk at the temple and it goes back a long time.  The tribute can have one, three, five, or a maximum of seven layers.  The ashes of the individual are buried under the base of the pagoda.

The size, height, and story of the pagoda indicate its accomplishments, prestige, merits, and virtues. Each pagoda was carved with the exact date of construction and brief inscriptions and has its own style with various shapes such as a polygonal, cylindrical, vase, conical and monolithic.

This is one of the more recently constructed pagodas

There are pagodas for eminent foreign monks also in the forest.

From there we get a ride back on the back of a large electric wagon

to the front entrance courtyard where drinks and ice creams can be bought, and a visit to the all-important happy place.

Then it’s back to the hotel.

Searching for locations: Hutongs, Beijing, China

What are Hutongs?

In Beijing Hutongs are formed by lines of traditional courtyard residences, called siheyuan.  Neighborhoods were formed by joining many hutongs together. These siheyuan are the traditional residences, usually occupied by a single or extended family, signifying wealth, and prosperity. 

Over 500 of these still exist.Many of these hutongs have been demolished, but recently they have become protected places as a means of preserving some Chinese cultural history.  They were first established in the Yuan Dynasty (1279-1368)Many of these Hutongs had their main buildings and gates built facing south, and lanes connecting them to other hutongs also ran north to south.

Many hutongs, some several hundred years old, in the vicinity of the Bell Tower and Drum Tower and Shichahai Lake are preserved and abound with tourists, many of which tour the quarter in pedicabs.

The optional tour also includes a visit to Shichahai, a historic scenic area consisting of three lakes (Qianhai, meaning Front Sea; Houhai, meaning Back Sea and Xihai, meaning West Sea), surrounding places of historic interest and scenic beauty and remnants of old-style local residences, Hutong and Courtyard.  

First, we had a short walk through the more modern part of the Hutong area and given some free time for shopping, but we prefer just to meander by the canal.  

There is a lake, and if we had the time, there were boats you could take.

With some time to spare, we take a quick walk down one of the alleyways where on the ground level are small shops, and above, living quarters.

Then we go to the bell and drum towers before walking through some more alleys was to where the rickshaws were waiting.
The Bell tower

And the Drum tower. Both still working today.

The rickshaw ride took us through some more back streets where it was clear renovations were being made so that the area could apply for world heritage listing.  Seeing inside some of the houses shows that they may look dumpy outside but that’s not the case inside.

The rickshaw ride ends outside the house where dinner will be served, and is a not so typical hose but does have all the elements of how the Chinese live, the boy’s room, the girl’s room, the parent’s room, the living area, and the North-south feng shui.

Shortly after we arrive, the cricket man, apparently someone quite famous in Beijing arrives and tells us all about crickets and then grasshoppers, then about cricket racing.  He is animated and clearly enjoys entertaining us westerners.

I’m sorry but the cricket stuff just didn’t interest me.  Or the grasshoppers.

As for dinner, it was finally a treat to eat what the typical Chinese family eats, and everything was delicious, and the endless beer was a nice touch.

And the last surprise, the food was cooked by a man.

Searching for locations: Toronto to New York

After leaving Toronto, we just had enough time to have breakfast and get to the car, another sedan, just managing to fit everything in.

By now we have finally realized the booking agent at Flight Centre had made the wrong type of car bookings for us in Canada, and I will be waiting with interest what cars we get in New York.

We went to a special section of the airport where Air Canada planes depart for the USA, and where the customs and immigration were completed on the Canada side and we just walked out of the terminal into the USA.

The plane trip was undertaken in an Embraer 175, twinjet, a small plane with 27 rows of 2 x 2 in coach, the American equivalent to economy.

Today we are traveling from Toronto Pearson to Newark Airport, somewhere near New York, USA.

The flight, a relatively short one, was supposed to take 56 minutes flying time, but as we all know, that’s not usually where the problems lie.

Here is the flight’s running sheet:

Boarding completed at 12:08

Push back at 12:18

Advised of a 45-minute wait at 12:41, something is holding us up.

Engines are shut down and we are sitting on the tarmac somewhere within the airfield. Snacks are handed out.

Take off is at exactly 1:30 pm

Landed 2:40 pm after taking the long way to Newark. Follow the course tracker as we approached Newark was like watching a drunk wander home from the pub.

Taxied for 8 minutes only to discover our parking bay is still occupied, so waiting to see if it is a long or short wait.

We have been plagued with difficulties.

Engine shutdown, or so I thought, at 2:56 means we are in for a long wait for a gate. Turns out the engines were on slow idle so they could power the lights and air conditioning.

Here we sit on the tarmac at Newark airport and going nowhere. Other planes are seen to come and go.

A 3pm announcement, another 20-minute wait for a gate.

3:40 pm we can now go to our gate.

4:15 we exit the terminal and find the car, and set off for the hotel in New York

Suburban 7 seater, very sedate driver, didn’t go over 45mph. Finally, we get a car that fits us and our luggage.

As for the ride from the airport to the hotel…

We were picked up by a Chevrolet Suburban, driven by the most cautious driver in America. Hoping to get a glimpse of the US countryside on the way from Newark to the hotel, arriving after 4 and getting dark by 4:30, most of the drive was in the dark

As far as I could tell, after taking the Manhattan tunnel, we drove around the outside of the island till we reached the nearest street to our hotel. It took about 45 minutes but at least it was warm, comfortable and better than any limousine we’ve had so far.

And then the Manhattan club…

I can’t help but think on first sight that this was once a night club, you know, the type that existed in the 40s and 50s where it wasn’t a social crime to smoke and drink and then drive home though I suspect most of the customers those days had nearby apartments.

Yes, a different and now lost forever, age.

As for the truth…

Perhaps we are not alone…

I guess there was more to be worried about than a few scorch marks on the side of a ship.

It did beg the question, in those milliseconds I had to pull myself together, that the agreement everyone was a party to on Earth was that we were not going to have ships with weapons, and the ability to attack one another in space, was just that, between nations on Earth.

What if there was life other than on Earth?

The person I was looking at didn’t look like an alien, or at least not one of our endless stereotypes, but what if there was life other than us, and this was a representation of it?

I guess it was time to take the first step.

“I’m assumiung this is some sort of dispute over cargo, or perhaps interstellar freight lines, and if it is, there are proper channels to resolve your issues, not at the end of a laser.” I looked at the weapon in the person’s hand and it looked nothing like anything I’d seen before.

Well, not outside our weapons lab, our there on the edge of space where the occupants were not likely to get snooping visitors.

The helmet with the reflective glass panel gave no indication who was behind it.

“It is not an issue over freight.”

OK. A humanised voice, spoke slowly as if by one feeling their way around the language. Yes, English, but why didn’t they pick French or Spanish, or even Japanese? English was not exactly universal, and the translators in our ears reduced everything to our native tongue. Myrtle’s language was Italian, so she would not be hearing this in English.

“Space lane violation?”

Yes, there were lanes in space so ships didn’t crash into each other. There was some degree of civilization out her in no man’s land.

Time for a different tack.

“Just exactly where are you from?”

In that same moment I heard the Captain’s voice coming over my private communicator, in a very uncaptain like manner. “What in God’s name is that?”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Searching for locations: Vancouver to Kamloops, Canada

This morning started with a visit to the car rental place in Vancouver.  It reinforced the notion that you can be given the address and still not find the place.  It happened in Washington where it was hiding in the back of the main railway station, and it happened again in Vancouver when it was hidden inside a hotel.

We simply walked straight past it.  Pity there wasn’t a sign to let people know.

However…

We went in expecting a Grand Jeep Cherokee and walked out with a Ford Flex, suitable for three people and four large suitcases.  It actually seats 7, but forget the baggage, you’d be lucky to get two large suitcases in that configuration.

It is more than adequate for our requirements.

Things to note, it was delivered with just over a quarter of a tank of gas, and it had only done about 11,000 km, so it’s relatively new.  It’s reasonably spacious, and when the extra seats are folded down, there is plenty of baggage space.

So far, so good.

We finally leave the hotel about half-past ten, and it is raining.  It is a simple task to get on Highway 1, the TransCanada Highway, initially, and then onto Highway 5, the Coquihalla highway for the trip to Kamloops.

It rains all the way to the top of the mountain, progress hampered from time to time by water sprays from both vehicles and trucks.  The rain is relentless.  At the top of the mountain, the rain turns into snow and the road surface to slush.  It’s 0 degrees, but being the afternoon, I was not expecting it to turn to ice very quickly.

On the other side of the mountain, closer to Kamloops, there was sleet, then rain, then nothing, the last 100kms or so, in reasonably dry conditions.

Outside Kamloops, and in the town itself, there was evidence of snow recently cleared, and slushy roads.  Cars in various places were covered in snow, indicating the most recent falls had been the night before.

We’re staying at the Park Hotel, a heritage building, apparently built in the later 1920s.  In the style of the time, it is a little like a rabbit warren with passages turning off in a number of directions, and showing it is spread across a number of different buildings.

It has the original Otis elevator that can take a maximum of four passengers, and a sign on the wall that says “no horseplay inside the elevator” which is a rather interesting expression that only someone of my vintage would understand.  And, for those without a sense of humor, you definitely couldn’t fit a horse in it to play with.

The thing is, how do you find a balance between keeping the old world charm with modern day expectations.  You can’t.  Some hotels try valiantly to get that balance.  Here, it is simply old world charm, which I guess we should be grateful for because sooner rather than later it’s going to disappear forever.

In my writer’s mind, given the importance of the railways, this was probably a thriving place for travelers and once upon a time, there were a lot more hotels like this one.

Searching for locations: Ice hockey in Newark, New Jersey

That meant we had to make the journey from New York to New Jersey, by train. It involved the underground, or as New Yorkers call it, the subway, from Columbus Circle which by any other name was really, 80th street, to 34th street which apparently was the New Jersey jump-off point for us to get overground, well a lot of it was overground.
So, were we going uptown or downtown?

Apparently, it was downtown, and to 34th Street on the A train.

You would not think this to be a difficult task, but for people not used to the subway, and where they were going other than some internet derived instructions, but without the help of a man at the station, just getting tickets may have stopped us dead in our tracks. With his help, we determined the return fare for three of us and then get through the turnstile onto the platform.

We get on the A train, but soon discover it was not stopping at all stations. There was for a few minutes, a little apprehension we might just simply bypass our station. Luckily we did not.

Now, finding your way to the New Jersey transit part of Penn station might appear to be easy, on paper, but once there, on the ground, and mingling with the other passengers which all seemed to be purpose going somewhere, it took a few moments to realize we had to follow the New Jersey transit signs.

This led to a booking hall where luckily we realized we needed to buy more tickets, then find the appropriate platform, and then get on the right train, all of which, in the end, was not difficult at all.

Maybe on the return trip, it might be.

At Newark Penn station it was momentarily confusing because the exit was not readily in sight, so it was a case of following the majority of other passengers who’d got off the train.

This led us to exit onto the street under the train tracks. Luckily, having been before to Prudential Stadium to buy the tickets, we knew what the stadium looked like and roughly where it was, so it was a simple task to walk towards it.

We were early, so it was a case of finding a restaurant to get dinner before the game.
So was a great many others, and we passed about 6 different restaurants that looked full to overflowing before we stopped at one called Novelty Burger and Bar.

It looked inviting, and it was not crowded.

It was yet another excuse to have a hamburger and beer, both of which seemed to be a specialty in American. I could not fault either.

And soon after we arrived, this restaurant too was full to overflowing. Thankfully there were other Maple Leaf fans there because being in a room full of opposition teams supports can be quite harrowing.

That was yet to come when we finally got to the stadium. I was not expecting a lot of Maple Leaf fans.

We went to this game with high hopes. New Jersey Devils were not exactly at the top of the leader board, and coming off the loss in Toronto, this was make or break for whether we would ever go to another game.

It’s remarkable in that all the Ice Hockey stadiums are the same. Everyone has an excellent view of the game, the sound systems are loud, and the fans passionate.
Here it seems to be a thing to ride on the Zambonis.

At the front door they were handing out figurines of a Devil’s past player, and it seems a thing that you get a handout of some sort at each game. At Toronto we got towels.
And, finally, we were in luck

The Maple Leafs won.

And it was an odd feeling to know that even though their team lost, there did not seem to be any rancor amount the fans and that any expectation of being assaulted by losing fans was totally unfounded, unlike some sporting events I’ve been to.

Perhaps soccer should take a leaf out of the ice hockey playbook.

That also went for taking public transport late at night. I did not have any fears about doing so, which is more than I can say about traveling at night on our own transport system back home.

Oh, and by the way, there are train conductors who still come to every passenger to collect or stamp their tickets. No trusting the passenger has paid for his trip here. And, if you don’t have a ticket, I have it on good authority they throw you off the train and into the swamp. Good thing then, we had tickets.

It was, all in all, a really great day.

A grandparents job is never done

It’s not for the faint-hearted, so that’s why we took the grandchildren skating.

Unless you are a skater of the roller variety there is little for the guardians to except sit back relax and listen to the head banging music that is luckily for us, of our era.

ACDC, ‘Thunderstruck’, over the loudspeaker system is just like being at a rock concert.

Little by little the floor starts to fill with skaters of all types of skill level from the side wall huggers to the almost falling over, and of course, the experts who glide effortlessly in and out of the novices.

First game of the night for anyone who can actually skate, collect little red witches hats, those that get one stay in, those that don’t, well, you know how this works

Fewer and fewer witches hats each time leads to an eventual winner, a youthful skater of considerable skill.

Now we have Queen.  Not exactly headbanging but a classic, ‘We Are The Champions’.  This cuts to a track by The Vapors.  How do I know this?  We have a video screen.  I’m just surprised some of these songs had a video made of them.

Well, there is always Shazam.

The second game of the night; I think only the organizers know what it is about.  I try to get the gist and instead wished music would come back.

Ok, those that couldn’t skate still can’t, and after an hour there is attrition.  More room for those who can.

But wait there’s more, the doors are still open and more people are arriving.

And thankfully we’re back to ACDC.

I have three grandchildren out on the floor each with a varying grade of skill.  They don’t do this very often so each session begins a little rusty and by the time they go home, it’s too soon to go.  At least they can stay on their feet and not, as some do, crash into the walls, thinking that is the best way to stop.

Bring on the music!  Next is the Divinyls.

Forget that, we now have Men At Work. ‘I Live in a Land Downunder’.  I’m missing the full effect of the stadium sound because one of my charges had decided to practice in the baby pen, a small area set aside for beginner skaters to get their bearings, or practice before they go out on the main floor.

I suspect this is a ploy for her to get me to buy a slushy without the other two.  Sadly that will not work.  We’ll have to wait and see till after the session.  Only an hour to go.

The sad pleading eyes are meant to weaken my resolve.

An exhibition of speed skating in different directions give our charges a chance to rest, relax, and have their slushies. A timely break before the last session.

But what the heck, we’ve got ‘you got nothing I want you’ve got nothing I need’.  Good old head banging music.   Then I’m in seventh heaven, with Michael Jackson blasting through the stadium.  It’s not hard to imagine his ensemble dancing on the floor, ‘don’t stop till you get enough’.

Bring on the kaleidoscope lighting.

No, forget that just bring back ACDc.  Oh, they just have.  ‘Highway to hell’!

Last game of the night, just when the three girls are just about out of steam.  Red Rover.  They sit this one out, and as the skaters get fewer and fewer, the speed and evasiveness of those left is breathtaking, and end up with a few collisions with the floor.

What do they say, no pain no gain?

That’s why I’m the chauffeur.

To round out the night, INXS and Midnight Oil.

A great night out?  Hell yeah!