Day 18 :
After eight long, emphysema symptom-filled days in Beijing, it’s time to move on. I’m not one to give a bad plug, but the Park Plaza is a complete shithole. Maybe it was the 200+ geriatric American tourists wheeling their way around every morning, filling the non-smoking section by 6:45 am, forcing the rest of us into the smoking hall whilst they quabble with non-English speaking attendants about the difference between milk and cream, regular and decaf. Or maybe it was the overbearing staff that stood over your shoulder, just waiting for the chance to refill your coffee, take your plate, or wrestle away your luggage.
I know I should be more patient with our elders. I cherish them. I really do. But among all these 40 – 50 year olds, not one single couple brought along a child for me to play with. Papa need a playmate.
Speaking of playmates, I’ve had to get a lung biopsy. The pollution here has left me a dying man. If you’re one of my many Kenyan readers headed to Beijing for your marathon games, you had better be training appropriately. If you’re not running behind a bus everyday to and fro the next town for bread and rice, forget about it.
Nonetheless, we are headed to Southern China, where incidentally, the first Typhoon of the season is approaching. And should anything happen, I want to get a few things off my chest.
First. My Beijing escorts. It’s true. Tall white men can pretty much get anything they want in China. And it was getting to the point where I would ask a local colleague to walk me home. I’m finding out that I can only be so nice for so long. You have an agenda. And you’re not cute enough for me to want to find out what’s on it.
Second. There were dudes escorting me from Point A to Point B too. There. I said it.
Third. I’m developing a new habit. Over the last few months I’ve started noticing that when I come home or into my hotel room and no matter HOW bad I need to use the restroom, I can’t use it until I take off all of my clothes. I can’t really explain this one. Sometimes I think it’s kinda funny. Then sometimes I’m in a suit and I can’t get my dress shoes untied. I’ve developed this psychological barrier. Listen, if you’ve had this problem and have overcome it, I’d love to hear your suggestions. I’m afraid things may get awkward at the office.
After eight long, emphysema symptom-filled days in Beijing, it’s time to move on. I’m not one to give a bad plug, but the Park Plaza is a complete shithole. Maybe it was the 200+ geriatric American tourists wheeling their way around every morning, filling the non-smoking section by 6:45 am, forcing the rest of us into the smoking hall whilst they quabble with non-English speaking attendants about the difference between milk and cream, regular and decaf. Or maybe it was the overbearing staff that stood over your shoulder, just waiting for the chance to refill your coffee, take your plate, or wrestle away your luggage.
I know I should be more patient with our elders. I cherish them. I really do. But among all these 40 – 50 year olds, not one single couple brought along a child for me to play with. Papa need a playmate.
Speaking of playmates, I’ve had to get a lung biopsy. The pollution here has left me a dying man. If you’re one of my many Kenyan readers headed to Beijing for your marathon games, you had better be training appropriately. If you’re not running behind a bus everyday to and fro the next town for bread and rice, forget about it.
Nonetheless, we are headed to Southern China, where incidentally, the first Typhoon of the season is approaching. And should anything happen, I want to get a few things off my chest.
First. My Beijing escorts. It’s true. Tall white men can pretty much get anything they want in China. And it was getting to the point where I would ask a local colleague to walk me home. I’m finding out that I can only be so nice for so long. You have an agenda. And you’re not cute enough for me to want to find out what’s on it.
Second. There were dudes escorting me from Point A to Point B too. There. I said it.
Third. I’m developing a new habit. Over the last few months I’ve started noticing that when I come home or into my hotel room and no matter HOW bad I need to use the restroom, I can’t use it until I take off all of my clothes. I can’t really explain this one. Sometimes I think it’s kinda funny. Then sometimes I’m in a suit and I can’t get my dress shoes untied. I’ve developed this psychological barrier. Listen, if you’ve had this problem and have overcome it, I’d love to hear your suggestions. I’m afraid things may get awkward at the office.
