“Do you think they’ll recognize us?” I whispered to Manfriend. “Well, I haven’t seen too many other towering foreigners walking about,” he mumbled back. He was right. While exploring...
Alexandra Sieh writes The China Monologues, which prints in the Colorado Daily every other Tuesday.
I was fairly confident I could tackle what was advertised as a lovely bicycle ride along the Yulong River.
As he rolled up his sleeves, Manfriend told the guard, “I’ll guess … 35 degrees (Celsius).” Chuckling, the guard held the thermometer over his arm and waited. Close, - 35.5...
We’re living and working in a city with millions of others, in one of the biggest travel hubs in the country. That’s millions of reasons to still play it safe.
“But what about pupu*?” our driver asked in Mandarin. I looked over at Manfriend. His face was taut. Childish laughter was imminent.
Every textbook to teach adults Mandarin has the basics for sicknesses — the primary ailment taught, for whatever reason, being “la duzi,” or, um, loose bowels.
Bobbing and weaving through the crowds, we were off to our second of two light shows. The first had been, well … “incredible” just didn’t seem to do it justice.
Dressed in what I can only describe as “weary traveler chic,” I was shocked to have been allowed inside.
And while I feel better now, this latest bout of illness made me realize how hard it can be to be sick abroad.
After five minutes of trying to explain his idea, Manfriend threw up the white flag.