Woeful In Wuhan

From Xi’an, our next port of call was the grim, smoggy manufacturing city of Wuhan, in central China’s Hebei province. With ever-popular Yangtze River cruises departing five hours and several hundred kilometers west out of Yichang, we were at a loss to explain why our Chinese travel agent chose to route us through Wuhan, a city best known for its unbearable summer heat. Adding further insult to injury, the agent proceeded to book us for a four-night hotel stay in a setting that even the blitheringly-saccharine Rough Guide to China damns with faint praise. The whole fiasco will likely remain a head-scratching mystery and a colorful bit of Banerjee and Murthy family folklore for the ages, especially because our forty-eight hours in town inspired us to begin using the word “Wuhan” as a pejorative term. In all fairness to Wuhan, circumstances soured our mood on the place considerably. One bright spot, however, was our hotel – the Shangri-La (insert your own irony here) – which proved to be almost as good a place as any for Vik to fully rehabilitate his balky ankles. During our stay, we also enlisted the diligent Shangri-La front office managers to truncate without penalty our stay by two nights, reserve a cabin on the next suitable Yangtze River cruise and, upon learning that Yangtze River excursions terminated much closer to Chengdu than to Wuhan, cancel our Wuhan to Chengdu flight scheduled for four days later. Limited availability of berthings rendered our plans to neatly fit a Yangtze River cruise into our existing itinerary moot. Despite the hotel staff’s best efforts, they were only able to secure a spot for us on a 5-night sailing (which required an unsettling full cash prepayment). This posed a more vexing problem in that it cut short our time in Chengdu by one and a half days, potentially interfering with our ability to secure entry permits to Tibet in time for our scheduled departure to the Dalai Lama’s homeland ten days hence. Nevertheless, the unflappable Shangri-La staff modified our Chengdu hotel reservation and ascertained that the Chengdu hotel’s in-house travel agency could secure Tibetan travel permits (for a substantial premium, of course) provided that we fax over copies of our U.S. passports and Chinese visas within the next 24 hours. Breathing a sigh of relief to finally have formulated a viable plan, we retired to our room to enjoy a much-needed break from itinerary-planning. Little did we know that our efforts would prove fruitless so soon. Upon confirming receipt of our fax with the Chengdu hotel, our Wuhan hotel concierge informed us that the travel agent in Chengdu had stopped issuing Tibetan entry permits. Flustered and dismayed, we appealed to the general manager in Chengdu. From his assistant, we learned that the Chinese government had suddenly stopped issuing Tibet travel permits altogether to unaccompanied American travelers because of a recent political incident. Kaberi’s subsequent Google search yielded a terse Reuters India article indicating that five American college students had been deported the day before for posting a “Free Tibet!” banner at Mount Everest’s base camp. Sympathetic to their sentiments but not to their tactics, Vik’s suggested that we fly back to the States and personally visit each of the 5 protesters with a “Dumbass!” banner. Kaberi’s suggested banner employed slightly more colorful language. Crestfallen and decidedly more ill-tempered, we were forced to cancel our onward flights to and from Tibet. Subsequent hours poring over the Internet for alternative destinations proved equally frustrating. Flights to Nepal were prohibitively expensive and invariably connected through Lhasa, Tibet’s largest city. Bhutan presented another option, but the thought of backtracking through India (flights connected through Calcutta) seemed less than ideal. After a restless night of tossing and turning, we woke up in particularly-foul moods. As we made our way that afternoon to Wuhan’s cramped and third world-caliber bus station, we still had no idea where we would end up after two nights in Chengdu. A five hour journey to Yichang awaited us, after which we were to find our way to the passenger reception center for Victoria Cruise Lines, an American operator. While we did not know what to expect from the 5-day excursion, it certainly appeared that our travel fortunes had taken a rather significant turn for the worse.

Terracotta Heartland

A sunny afternoon brought us to the dusty city of Xi'an, once a dynastic capital whose fortunes as a national seat of power had since moved inversely with those of Beijing. From the window of the airport bus transporting us to the city center, we watched rolling green, crop-filled fields slowly give way to smokestacked factories and charmless apartment complexes.

After disembarking near the distinctive and central Bell Tower, we navigated a maze of underground walkways before successfully hailing a cab to our hotel. Upon checking in, we were pleasantly surprised to find an American front office manager standing across from us. Although we have enjoyed meeting many warmhearted local denizens during our travels, we were somewhat relieved to have one conversation where we didn't have to worry about something getting lost in translation. We dropped our bags off at our plush $100/night suite and quickly made our way upstairs to enjoy the happy hour spread at the Club Lounge. After loading up on canapes and Diet Cokes, we were only too happy to skip eating dinner out for one night, and, instead, returned to our suite to relax.

We arose early the next morning to see Xian's most famous tourist destination in the form of 8,000 life-sized terracotta warriors. Built by the first Qin Emperor as an army to protect his soul's ascension into his next life, the Terracotta Army remained underground and undiscovered until 1974 when it was happened upon by local farmers drilling for water. We couldn't help smirking after seeing no fewer than three different little old men separately designated as the original discoverer of the site, each stationed in a different book store to sign copies of tourist books readily made available for sale. Nevertheless, the actual archeological site was something to behold.

We opted to head first to the on-site museum to see the bronze chariots on display. Deluged by Chinese tourists (we love the Chinese people, but they aren't exactly a patient, respectful bunch when organized into crowds or tour groups), we subsequently fled to Pit 2. Pit 2 was still in the process of being excavated and we found it quite surreal to consider that we were standing upon an active archaeological site. We saw a number of broken terracotta soldiers scattered throughout the pit, but were more fascinated by the scale of the project (housed in a building roughly the size of the Toronto Skydome). In Pit 2, we also learned that the process of chrome-plating objects to imbue them with greater strength -- commonly thought to be developed by the Americans or British in the 20th century -- was actually implemented by Chinese weapons forgers roughly 2,000 years ago.

Pit 1, however, was the piece de resistance of the complex. As the largest of the three pits with the greatest concentration of discoveries, it was in a class of its own in terms of grandeur. In a closed arena roughly twice as long as Texas Stadium stood endless terracotta soldiers aligned in strict military formation below ground level. Until we walked into the excavation site, the scope of the Terracotta Warriors was difficult for us to comprehend. Hundreds upon hundreds of statues of cavalry, infantry and militia gathered as far as the eye could see made us pause in awe. Even more stunning was the artisanship and attention to detail in the faces of the statues and in the attendant uniforms depicting military rank. Every face was uniquely fashioned and every set of hands perfectly chiseled to bear arms.

Our visit concluded with stops at the much smaller Pit 3 and an amphitheater boasting a cheesy, 360-degree motion picture reenactment of the creation of the Terracotta Army.

Afterwards, we headed back towards Xi'an proper, stopping along the way at the Banpo Museum, a Neolithic settlement dating back to about 4,000 BC. While interesting in theory, the museum's dearth of English signage and a tasteless reenactmment of an ancient village area (closer to a Flintstones-esque rest area than a bona fide anthropological site) left a bad taste in our mouths. Kaberi was especially disappointed as the Banpo settlements had been based on matriarchial lineage, and she had been keen to learn more about that unique organizing principle (her hardline and chauvinist patriarchal sentiments notwitstanding).

Xi'an managed to redeem itself with the Dacien Si temples and the Big Goose Pagoda. Built in 652 AD during the Tang Dynasty, the 7-story pagoda is 64 meters tall and offers fantastic views of the city from all sides. We especially enjoyed strolling through the gardens of the Dacien Si temple complex and appreciated the meticulously-landscaped gardens with singing birds in bamboo cages. It was a full day by the time we returned to our hotel for yet another round of free hors d'ourves and red wine at the Club Lounge. To this point, our Chinese travels had give us little to complain about.

Induction Into The Wall Of Fame

Upon arriving in Beijing, our first and most pressing priority was to formulate a plan for visiting the much-hallowed Great Wall. With the benefit of our friend Suvarna's Beijing Luxe guide and a little perseverance, we managed to make our own independent arrangements in a manner that avoided the touristy, over-trafficked parts of the Wall and afforded us complete autonomy over our schedule.

We opted to hire a car and driver for the day from a reputable local chauffeur service to ferry us three hours out of town to a remote stretch of the Wall called Jin Shan Ling. From Jin Shan Ling, we planned to hike four hours east over rugged, unrestored sections to the outpost of Simatai. Our driver, having already gone ahead, would meet up with us there and return us to our hotel for a hot shower and a much-deserved celebratory drink.

After an elevator-music-filled three-hour journey (may Lionel Ritchie and Kenny G. forever burn in hell) in the plush back seat of a Hyundai Sonata, we were chomping at the bit for some outdoor activity. When we arrived at Jin Shan Ling, courtesy of a rickety cable car, we found that the initial section of the Great Wall was in very good condition. As we progressed a bit further, however, making our way slowly toward Simatai, conditions quickly deteriorated. Some of the passes looming before us left us in disbelief with their vertigo-inducing height, uneven, crumbled footsteps and treacherous descents.

Despite the considerable exertion required over the course of the 10-kilometer plus journey, the views from the Wall to the surrounding countryside were quite simply divine and awe-inspiring. The Simatai section of the Great Wall has been justifiably designated as a UNESCO World Cultural Heritage. We were especially fortunate to embark upon our excursion on an uncharacteristically-clear and temperate spring day. Bright blue skies provided vivid contrast to the ruins stretching before us and the 70 degree temperatures allowed us to truly enjoy the open air and sweeping sightlines of the route. It was surreal to consider that the remote towers appearing in the distance would be standing directly before us within an hour or two.

Reputed to stretch over 3,000 miles from the Gobi Desert to the East China Sea, the Great Wall should serve as a conspicuous historical example of the futility of using a physical barrier, however imposing, to blockade unwanted immigrants (Colorado congressman Tom Tancredo, he of Mexican border fence fame, should take particular note). Primarily designed to keep out Mongolian invaders (the Wall often abuts hills on the southern Mongolian plains), its defenses proved vulnerable to good old-fashioned corruption (Genghis Khan apparently just bribed Chinese sentries to gain access). Originally constructed in parts, the Wall's unification was overseen by the first Chinese emperor during the Qin dynasty over 2,000 years ago. Major construction and fortification work leading to the development of the modern Wall occurred during the Ming Dynasty some 400-600 years ago.

The first few of the 25 or so towers marking the hike were crowded with tourists and vendors alike. In an effort to evade the advances of locals eager to befriend us in exchange for financial remuneration down the line, we rushed to continue along on our way. Unfortunately, Vik's haste to create some distance between us and a particularly-persistent hawker led to his twisting his right ankle. After grimacing in pain and holding his shin for a few moments, Vik was persuaded to continue through a cocktail of shame, stubborn pride and the realization that`he really had no viable alternative but to continue. After passing through another tower, Vik's efforts were rewarded by the subsequent twisting of his left ankle. After a few more moments of writhing in pain and conspicuous cursing, Vik gingerly continued. This time, he managed to make it through two more towers before retwisting his right ankle. It was going to be a long day.

With the necessity of watching our footing every step along the way sufficiently impressed upon us by this point, we continued tentatively. As we slowly advanced, we found each of the intermittent towers to be well-preserved for the most part. The footpaths and barrier walls were an altogether different story. Steps presented multiple challenges; some of them barely offered enough space for a toe-hold while others were more than a foot in height. In some stretches, agonizingly slow and careful foot placement was required so as to avoid slipping off unbalanced or crumbling landings. Winded and exhausted, we occasionally (and potentially foolishly) opted to jog down slopes steep enough to bring gravity into play.

After three hours had come and gone, we crossed the suspension bridge to Simatai. With the end in sight. Kaberi enjoyed a sudden jolt of adrenaline, and quickly scrambled up the last tower. Vik, in comparison, limped along at a snail's pace and considered the placement of the hike's last obstacle to be a cruel joke. By his way of thinking, only a sadist would locate an exit at the top of a tower instead of at the bottom. Nevertheless, we had both succeeded in completing the adventure. Sweaty and dehydrated, but simultaneously jublilant, we walked the last fifteen minutes downhill to meet our driver (who thoughtfully had two bottles of water waiting for us). During the ride back to Beijing, Kaberi napped while Vik watched helplessly as his ankles swelled up. The hot shower couldn't come fast enough. Nevertheless, there was no doubt in either of our minds that the experience of scaling such a man-made wonder was fully worth the sacrifice to limb and limb.

Mainland Metropolitan

Our arrival into Beijing began auspiciously enough. The flight from Hangzhou was uneventful, the capital welcomed us with marvelously-clear skies (belying its reputation for ceaseless smog) and we efficiently dispatched with an airport hustler trying to charge us six times the going-market-rate for a ride into town. At first blush, the city defied our expectation of a Chinese version of a dreary Soviet bloc enclave. Extensively wide and squat as compared to the awesome verticality of Hong Kong or Shanghai, Beijing had the feel of an American Sun Belt boomtown with a skyline of ubiquitous construction cranes and endless half-built commercial buildings. Our arriving confidence and poise began to wane, however, when our cab driver's tentative and circuitous approach toward our boutique hotel finally deposited us in a small, cramped alley seemingly miles removed from any semblance of modernity. As we stared at the nondescript and claustrophobia-inducing gray walls penning us in on both sides, we began to reconsider our choice of accommodation. The hotel's aesthetics had looked sufficiently stylish during a cursory review of its website, but our current vantage point suggested liberal artistic license by a fast-and-loose-with-the-truth graphic designer. Our mounting apprehension checked briefly upon locating a preening fire red door flanked by two red and gold hanging Chinese lanterns. As the door opened, it became quite obvious that our fears were entirely unfounded. Crossing the threshold was for us akin to Alice's experience with the rabbit hole. In seconds, we found ourselves quite literally transported into a new world. We discovered that our boutique hotel -- an oasis of traditional Chinese decor and exquisite western taste -- was fashioned out of a restored hutong, a historic Beijing neighborhood of stone-walled houses encircling an interior courtyard. And in a stark indictment of our real estate sense, we learned that we were very much in Beijing's high-rent district, with several posh hotels and shops within walking distance and the CEO of one of China's largest companies living down the street. The hotel was just beginning its soft launch, making the two of us the first couple to visit its confines. As we wandered around our new surroundings, we couldn't help but boast self-congratulatory grins over our find. Perhaps we were really hipsters after all. Minutes later, after we finished thoroughly patting ourselves on the back, we settled in to plan our time in Beijing. The hotel's amazingly-helpful assistant manager Michael (who was at our beck and call for the duration of our stay) secured a prime Saturday night dinner reservation for us at the acclaimed Made In China restaurant at Beijing's swanky Grand Hyatt hotel. We would later come to find out that the owner of our hotel, an amazing woman named Shauna, had interceded on our behalf and used her personal connections to guarantee us a seating. Shauna had even gone so far as to pre-order Made In China's in-short-supply, house special Peking Duck for Kaberi. Dinner easily lived up to its billing, and not just because of the delicious food. We enjoyed a vantage point strategically overlooking a glass-enclosed dumpling cooking station and found ourselves seated near two friendly American businessmen. Our animated conversation centered around world travel exploits and amusing stories from the road. We were intrigued to learn that American executives in certain key industries routinely had their hotel rooms in China bugged and that Tiananmen Square was often crawling with undercover policemen. The evening passed quickly and enjoyably, especially as we caught up on news from back home. Before we realized it, it was 11 p.m. and time to exchange handshakes and good wishes. The next afternoon, we met up with Shauna and a fellow hotel guest to explore Beijing's up-and-coming 798 Dashanzi Arts District, the third largest area of its kind in the world, after Berlin and Manhattan's SoHo. Unbenownst to us when we accepted her invitation to join her, Shauna is a mover-and-shaker in Beijing's artist community. Attending several gallery showings as Shauna's guests allowed us to enjoy a unique glimpse into the contemporay Chinese art scene. And with the galleries gearing up for the International Arts Exhibition starting the following week, we had a chance to see several avant-garde works in unique settings, including a converted state-run beer factory (still brandishing a 'Long Live Chairman Mao' tribute on its walls). We were both quite surprised by the relative degree of artistic freedom throughout the complex as evidenced by liberal depictions of full-frontal nudity. Shauna did concede, however, that the artists' political messages had to more subtlely portrayed here than in the West. That evening, we were invited to join Shauna and her friends at a dinner to congratulate one of the featured artists, a talented photographer who cleverly incorporated real-life incarnations of a famous Chinese animated character into various modern, urban settings. Over a traditional Chinese banquent-style meal (complete with a 10-person lazy Susan), we basked in the charming company of Shauna and her friend PaungPaung (literally translated as "fatty-fatty"), a slim, elegantly-dressed 60-year-old expectant grandmother who looked to be no more than 40. Afterward, the five of us went back to Shauna's spectacularly-sprawling penthouse apartment, allowing us a peek into high-society Beijing life. Over the course of the evening in Shauna's exquisitely self-designed digs, we came to learn about her former lives as an Elle model and as a high-powered San Francisco investment banker. The next morning, Vik enjoyed some much-needed R&R while Shanua took Kaberi to some of her favorite shops in Beijing's Ritan Park neighborhood. With the benefit of Shauna's local negotiating skills, Kaberi returned beaming with a considerably-discounted cordoury jacket and Shanghai Tang sweater. That afternoon, we made our way to the extensive, walled Forgotten City, which proved to be a disappointment with a majority of the complex under renovation. After investing 50 yuan, Vik was especially dismayed to learn that Roger Moore had been replaced as narrator of the self-guided audio tour. After leaving the Forbidden City, we walked south to Beijing's imposing Tienanmen Square where we self-consciously walked in close proximity to one uniformed policeman after another. Standing out among the grim, almost-Soviet architecture was a prominent digital clock counting down to the 2008 Olympic opening ceremonies. Beijing seems well prepared to play host, with pollution and traffic controls in place and construction underway on an impressive bird's nest-latticed national stadium. City authorities have also started making locals sign pledges to dispense with the dual national pastimes of spitting in public and cutting in line. From Tienanmen Square, we walked further southwest to Liu Lichang, a street of restored houses featuring sundry stationery stores. On our last evening in Beijing, Shauna encouraged us to have dinner at one of her favorite spots, People 8. Shauna's guidance was once again impeccable. People 8 was easily the hippest restaurant we've ever patronized, as it featured a hidden door between a grove of bamboo trees that only opens with a step on a pressure-sensitive stone at the end of an inconspicuous walkway. Once inside, the modern decor is enveloped in pitch black darkness with intermittent spotlights positioned in such a way to highlight only the the table surfaces. The restaurant affords diners both a sense of privacy and intrigue as patrons at the surrounding tables are not easily discernible. Suffice it to say that the Japanese-inspired cuisine -- which included miso cod and spicy togarishi chicken -- was first-class. After dinner, we walked to the nearby Lan Club in Beijing's Twin Tower office building. The club was a gaudy, smoke-filled, over-the-top $30 million nightspot that cemented in our minds Philippe Starck's reputation as an unprincipled commercial sellout. We had trouble reconciling the club's "see-and-be-seen" reputation with its choice of decor and musical talent. Ten minutes into our visit, we were tormented by the screechy babbling of what could have been the world's worst lounge singer (think 2 parts Eartha Kitt and 3 parts Jackie Chan). While a hasty exit was unavoidable, we had to admit that, even when Beijing was bad, it was marvelously bad. As we drove to the airport the next morning, we were sad to leave. We regretted not having more time to spend in this fascinating city. Beijing had completely charmed us during our brief stay. It definitely deserved much more than just three days.

Zhou So Crazy

Our plans to arrive at Hangzhou to see the pictureque West Lake by sunset faded abruptly when our one hour and forty minute train ride from Shanghai turned into a three and a half hour one. With none of the almost-exclusively Chinese occupants of our compartment appearing troubled by the delay, we focused our attention on the passing scenery. Factory parking lots full of bicycles, small towns abutting dirty canals and several seemingly-endless developments of cookie-cutter homes passed by our window. In time, high-rise apartment blocks began to amble past, marking our arrival into the outskirts of our destination.

When we finally arrived in Hangzhou's sober central railway station, we walked down a long, dark and cramped passageway to join a queue of 300 others awaiting transport from all-too-scarce taxis. Instantaneously, we found ourselves privy to one of the daily rigors of China's billion-person middle and lower classes as we were pushed and shoved in all directions while trying to hold our place in a vague semblance of a line. To our surprise, many of the travellers introducing their forearms and elbows into our personal space did so while simultaneously offering us friendly smiles or curious stares. There was absolutely no malice directed at us in line, just a bit of expedient impatience.

After the wait, a mercifully-brief cab ride delivered us to our hotel, and we took an evening stroll around West Lake. Tiny, white lights scattered amongst the trees illuminated our path while captivating examples of traditional Chinese architecture beckoned. After taking a few minutes to get our bearings, we decided to escape the tourist-heavy strip directly on the lakeshore, and ventured into the maze of streets a few blocks away. Soon, we happenstanced upon a discreet establishment serving decent pasta in a trendy lounge setting.

After sleeping in until 8:30 AM the next morning (an act which rendered Kaberi livid over such a lackadaisical approach to sightseeing), we made our way back to the lakefront. We hopped onto a ferry shuttling tourists across the lake and enjoyed riveting views of temples nestled into a backdrop of misty, green hills. Disembarking from the ferry at both the Mid-Lake Pavilion and the Three Pools Mirroring the Moon, we took semi-tranquil walks where temporary refuge from hordes of similarly-minded tourists was offered by waterfront weeping willows and lined bamboo trees. Given her stubborn perfectionism defying logic, Kaberi was befuddled by the many Chinese tourists willing to blissfully snap photos of themselves with a sea of strangers crowded into the background. In stark comparison, Kaberi was quite content to wait an eternity for the crowds to clear in order to capture an absolutely-unimpeded shot.

When the Nikon was finally put away, we managed to enjoy the impeccably landscaped surroundings a little too well. We soon lost track of time. Upon finally realizing that we had a mere 90 minutes to return to the hotel to collect our bags and catch our onward flight to Beijing, we quickened our pace. Unfortunately, we mistakenly took a ferry even further away from our original entry point. We had no choice but to walk the picturesque, tree-lined, three-mile Su Causeway back to the shoreline where, to our chagrin, vacant taxis were nowhere to be seen. After a harried jog back to the hotel, we had only an hour before our flight was scheduled to depart with a 40-minute ride to the airport still awaiting us.

Bathed in sweat, we hurriedly checked out of the hotel, jumped into a nearby taxi and theatrically pantomimed urgency to the driver. With the benefit of light traffic, we made it to the airport with a few minutes to spare. We managed to make the check-in deadline at the domestic airline counter by the skin of our teeth. Boarding the plane, we undoubtedly made a distinct and not-particularly pleasant olfactory impression upon the unfortunate passengers sitting nearby. Fortunately for all of us, the flight to Beijing was only two hours long.

Shang-High

We bid Hong Kong au revoir on a gloriously-sunny day and enjoyed clear, unfettered sightlines from the plane window as we made our way two hours northeast towards Shanghai. Our descent into Shanghai, in contrast, was marred by a dense, gray haze that largely obscured our view. Given the reputation of mainland China's cities for harboring significant amounts of airborne pollution, we grew concerned about our ability to enjoy our brief time in the city. As it turned out, our fears were entirely unfounded. Shanghai's many charms were soon impressed upon us, and the air quality proved to be merely a minor nuisance.

Given Vik's fervent insistence on the matter, we ended up taking Shanghai's zero-resistance Maglev (magnetic levitation) train into town without fully having a sense of where our hotel was located. The ride from the airport to Shanghai's eastern border involved reaching a top speed of 430 km/hr (250+ mph) and took exactly eight minutes. But that was just the tip of the iceberg of our journey. Forty-five minutes later, armed with only a vague Shanghai city map and an American kindergartener's command of Mandarin, we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of a busy Shanghai subway station at rush hour scratching our collective heads like a couple of overwraught chimpanzees. It was only after sheepishly approaching a very official-looking military policewoman that our luck began to turn, and the astonishing kindness of Shanghai's locals became clear to us.

A passing commuter noticed the two of us feebly trying to communicate via a combination of slow-motion English and wildly-exaggerated hand gestures and took pity on us. He then proceeded to escort us from one subway line to another and then onto the correct train in the midst of a very crowded rush hour, all the while offering to carry Kaberi's rolling backpack for her. Fifteen minutes later, above ground, another gentleman sprinted across the street past oncoming traffic to ask for directions on our behalf when he didn't recognize our hotel's address. Two minutes later, a shopkeeper literally walked right out of her store's front door onto the street to guide us to the right turnoff in an elaborate six-lane intersection. Then, around the corner, two smartly-dressed young guys accompanied us for five blocks to confirm that we were in fact walking in the right direction.

Despite our fatigue, we found ourselves amazed by the generosity of spirit we encountered upon arriving in this bustling city. As a result of the experience, Vik vowed to henceforth help any disoriented visitor crossing his path back in the States. By her estimation, Kaberi regarded this as a nice, but potentially misguided, gesture as it would very much be a case of the blind leading the blind. Vik has chosen not to dignify this characterization with a response (a rarity for him).

Upon finally reaching our hotel after first navigating a narrow, dark alleyway teeming with working-class flats and then passing through a large, imposing gate, we took inventory of an authentic five-room, 1920's Art Deco mansion profiled in both the New York Times and the Shanghai Luxe guide. We found ourselves quite content to sleep in a living museum with art prominently featured in the lobby and antiques gracing guestrooms and common spaces. The uniqueness of the space went a long way in making up for the out-of-the-way location in the western edge of Shanghai's French Concession neighborhood, the lack of English-language customer service and the draftiness of our second-floor room (which apparently gave Kaberi carte blanche to steal much of her husband's precious body heat).

Thereafter, we headed northeast into the French Concession. The so-called French Concession resulted in the 1840's from the aftermath of the Opium Wars. Over the next 100 years (until the point when communist revolutionaries rose to power), the area's corrupt law enforcement helped to transform it into a den of ill-repute overrun by gangsters and prostitutes. Ironically enough, China's earliest communist organizers took advantage of the lax oversight of the French authorities to hatch the beginnings of their movement here.

We soon arrived at Shanghai's historic Xintiandi district where a farsighted Hong Kong developer restored and renovated traditional Shanghai middle-class Shikumen houses (characterized by gray and red stone exteriors and prominent front gates) to house high-end boutiques and restaurants. The attention to detail in the restoration was exceptional and we were thrilled to see a part of Old Shanghai retained for contemporary use (the local Starbucks was particularly striking). Nearby, we stopped in for a delicious gourmet Chinese dim sum meal at the highly-touted Ye Shanghai restaurant where we scarfed down the amazing lotus root and sweet-fried sunflower appetizers. We were so taken with the area that we returned the following afternoon to visit the Open House Museum, a traditional Shikumen house morphed into a turn-of-the-20th-century time portal.

On our second day in the city, we made our way to the Taikang Lu arts district to sample more restored Shikumen architecture. Kaberi especially enjoyed window-shopping and people-watching at the sundry boutiques, cafes and artisan shops of Lane 248. We had a brief moment of deep national regret, however, upon encountering a smug American woman loudly singing Broadway showtunes as she walked in and out of shopfronts. Suffice it to say that the Chinese tolerance for visitor boorishness appears to be nearly limitless. Noise pollution aside, the Takang Lu area represented a nice contrast to the endless high rises dominating the Pudong (eastern) side of the Huangpu River, to which we had relocated for a night at the tony Shangri-La Hotel. Before returning to the hotel, we stopped at Shanghai's acclaimed Bund on the west bank of the river where we partook in sunset views and bellinis atop the Three On The Bund building. A rather full day concluded with a meal at the hotel's in-house Japanese restaurant and a chance to watch the city light up below us from our 27th floor room.

The next morning, we returned to the Bund to appreciate the vivid Art Deco architecural detail of several prominent buildings fronting the river. Created in Shanghai's then-financial and cultural heydey in what was the British Concession, the architecture of the Bund stands surreally frozen in time at the point of the communist takeover in 1949. Walking around with our heads on a swivel, we were particularly impressed with the marble lobby of the HSBC Bank (where Kaberi surreptitiously and illicitly took a picture of a scene commemorating her beloved Calcutta) and the mosaic murals of the Customs House. Our visit concluded with lunch at the illustrious M On The Bund rooftop terrace capped off with a sinful pavlova.

Before rushing off to Shanghai's South Station to catch an afternoon train to Hangzhou, we took in one final attraction: the unartfully-named Urban Planning Exhibition Hall. Despite the uninspired branding, the UPEH made for a truly-remarkable sight. Comprising five floors, the exhibition hall has as its centerpiece a vast model of Shanghai as envisioned in 2010. In yet another amazing testament to Chinese engineering, city planners have managed to miniaturize the entirety of this dynamic city into the width of half a city block. Our trip to the UPEH neatly summed up our entire Shanghai visit, leaving us both completely enthralled by that which unfolded before us and craving much more time to fully savor all of it.

On The Doorstep Of The Dragon

The tail end of our Southeast Asia circuit -- largely spent lazing in the southern Thailand beach locales of Krabi and Ko Samui -- was decidedly unadventurous, but enjoyable nevertheless (particularly so for Vik who delighted in reading Red Sox and stock market message boards when he should have been assiduously updating this blog). After passing the week by reading frivolous paperbacks and dining al fresco, we bid the tropical weather farewell and made the two-hour plane journey from Bangkok to Hong Kong.

As we approached the sprawling metropolis during our descent, we were mesmerized by the unabashed verticality of myriad skyscrapers alongside mountainous topography. To Kaberi, the images below looked like Lego creations from the sky, almost as if a child had constructed the tallest possible configurations with all of the blocks in the set. We were both embarrassed to admit that our preconceived mental images of Hong Kong had completely omitted hills -- perhaps the second most conspicuous feature (after skyscrapers) of any competent description of the city.

While we queued up in a lengthy, albeit crisply-efficient, line for immigration, Kaberi conducted a running play-by-play commentary on the conspicuous luxury brands proudly worn by fellow travelers: Hermes purse, Tod shoes, Burberry shirt, Bulgari scarf, Prada slacks (and that was all on one lady -- no kidding -- Kaberi would never joke about such a serious topic). The incident served as a reasonable preview of Hong Kong's affluence and materialism. In our faded, well-worn North Face jackets, we were a bit underdressed in relative terms. Fortunately, our obvious fashion deficiencies did not preclude our securing a Hong Kong visa (after passing from British to Chinese control in 1997, Hong Kong became a special administrative jurisdiction). In short order we found ourselves on a sleek Airport Express train heading toward the city center.

After a twenty-minute cab ride up laughably-steep inclines, we finally arrived at the panoramic penthouse abode of our friends, Shiv and Suvarna, high atop Hong Kong's Midlevels neighborhood. Nestled below the grandiose Victoria Peak and above the commercial district of Central, Midlevels boasts, among other things, its own neighborhood escalator. Upon walking through the front door, we were greeted by a tall stone Chinese warrior standing watch over an expansive flat with sweeping views of the waterfront and a huge, private rooftop terrace (complete with a large daybed where Shiv regularly serenades Suvarna with Hindi film songs and vice versa).

On our first night, the four of us headed to nearby SoHo (South of Hollywood) for an excellent, authentic Chinese meal, complete with Tsingtao beers served in shallow bowls. Aside from the unlevel grade, Hong Kong's SoHo strongly resembled its Manhattan counterpart with an artsy energy and international vibe. After dinner, we checked out the expat bar scene, and stopped in at a vodka bar where the room temperature was literally kept at 20 degrees Fahrenheit (the group picture features Shiv showing off his cool breath in this unique backdrop). We capped the night off with dessert on Hollywood Street before making our way back to higher ground.

The next day we tagged along to a barbeque hosted by one of Shiv's colleagues. There, we met several Americans posted locally (hearing a chorus of genuine American accents after two and a half months abroad was music to our ears). Many of our new acquaintances had traveled extensively and offered helpful advice on a monthlong China and Tibet excursion. They managed to do so as knowledgably and effortlessly as if recommending a brunch spot or pizza joint back home. This experience impressed upon us that the circle of people with access to an international lifestyle was much wider than we ever imagined.

As nightfall approached, Shiv and Suvarna whisked us across the harbor to Kowloon via the Star Ferry. During the barely 10-minute, 1-mile voyage, we watched as Hong Kong's skyscrapers came alive with a distinctive light show that bathed both the night sky and the waters beneath us in brilliant technicolor. Once comfortably settled on the Kowloon side of the harbor, we made a beeline for the Peninsula Hotel's Spring Moon restaurant, where Shiv and Suvarna treated us to a scrumptuous meal featuring decadent jasmine tea and Peking duck, among other dishes.

On our third day in Hong Kong, we took a respite from the cosmopolitan glam and drove to the more tranquil southern side of Hong Kong island. Our journey took us over high outcrops with tantalizing views of the water unfolding around us. After brunching with one of Vik's old Stanford roommates, the two of us strolled around Victoria's Peak, the highest point in Hong Kong. The pleasant contours, shady foliage, easy foot paths, and total escape from the nearby city greatly reminded us of Frederick Law Olmsted's park atop Mont Royal in Montreal. After making the one-hour loop, we scaled the terrace for unobstructed city views and then made our descent to the city below via the backpedaling Peak Tram.

On Monday, we continued our tourist exploits. We started the day with dim sum at a downtown hotel vaguely reminiscent of the lair of a 1970's James Bond villain. Afterward, we explored the boutique-heavy corridors of Central and SoHo before dinner. With the benefit of Suvarna's Hong Kong Luxe guide, we stumbled upon Shui Hu Ju, an amazing SoHo restaurant featuring painfully-spicy Northern Chinese cuisine and carafes of chilled lychee wine. Our evening concluded with chocolush martins and chocolate ganache meringues at a nearby street cafe, an indulgence mostly rationalized by thoughts of the 140-stair uphill walk home at the end of the escalator.

On our last full day in HK, the ominous storm clouds looming overhead derailed our plans to cruise the harbor in a traditional Chinese junk or take a ferry to one of Hong Kong's outlying islands. With the weather forcing us indoors, we finalized our China travel plans through the help of Shiv's office manager and Kaberi's personal archive of New York Times travel articles. With our farflung travels abroad finally coming to fruition, the reality has finally begun to sink in. Within 24 hours, we will have made landfall in mainland China. First stop ... Shanghai.

Lao And Behold

From Chiang Mai, we returned to Bangkok to collect Kaberi’s temperamental camera from the Sukhothai’s camera-savvy concierge and indulge in a 2-hour, full body Thai message. After being kneaded and prodded by our diligent masseuses, we found ourselves more limber than at any time in recent memory as we boarded a regional flight bound for Luang Prabang, Laos.

In making this journey, we were setting foot in the country where Kaberi’s father – in his previous life as a globetrotting civil engineer – narrowly averted an attempt on his life by local rebels some 40 years ago. We didn’t quite know what to expect from Laos, the first communist stop on our itinerary. We looked out the window of our turbo-propeller plane with a mixture of curiosity and fascination as the red roofs of Luang Prabang sprung out of the hazy contours below.

Located in verdant green hills in north-central Laos, and nestled between the Mekong and Nam Khan rivers, Luang Prabang may be the best-preserved example of French colonial architecture in all of Southeast Asia. This distinction largely stems from a thorough lack of road access to the area until 10 years ago and accords the town UNESCO World Heritage status. Walking the one square mile town center entirely devoid of cars and taxis, save for the occasional lone antique Mercedes sedan, we felt ourselves transported back in time.

We quickly found our way to The Apsara, a colorful oasis one street from Luang Prabang’s main thoroughfare, with tasteful rooms overlooking the Nam Khan river. Our second floor room featured a veranda for people-watching in the balmy evenings and air-conditioning to provide much-needed climactic refuge during the day. With daytime temperatures eclipsing 100 degrees by noon, we spent the mid-day hours in the shady reception/lounge/restaurant area in the company of free, but slow, wireless internet access and old-fashioned fans hungry for stray fingers.

Wandering the peninsula of land making up the town center, we stumbled upon one Buddhist wat after another. Unlike the temples we had seen in Thailand and Cambodia, the Lao wats served as functioning monasteries filled with young men and boys (some as young as 9 or 10) in vivid saffron robes. In fact, Luang Prabang’s largely-peripatetic populace seemed almost evenly divided between monks and monk-seeking tourists with cameras in tow. Invariably, the monks kept themselves occupied with various chores such as tending to the gardens, hanging robes out to dry, and ringing the bell to herald evening prayers. They also seemed to maintain remarkable restraint and good cheer in the face of the tourist paparazzi following closely in their wake.

In subsequent mornings and afternoons, we scaled Luang Prabang’s sacred Chomsi hill, viewed the Floating Buddha photographic exhibit at the National Museum, and walked through a Sisavangvong Road Night Market brimming with Hmong quilts and BeerLao tank tops. We also enjoyed a 25-kilometer ride on a long-tailed boat -- captained by the Laotian Jimmy Page (minus the occult fascination and the nasty heroine habit) -- down the murky Mekong. After a brief transfer in a pickup truck cum tuk tuk, we found ourselves immersed in the brisk clearwater pools of the 200-foot Kuang Si waterfall.

In Luang Prabang, Kaberi’s internal clock steadfastly remained impervious to her surroundings. This afforded her the opportunity to watch the 6:00 am procession of the monks who receive their daily alms from the townspeople. Careful not to make eye contact with their benefactors, hundreds of monks proceed single file down the town's main street as the villagers tak bat (give alms) by individually placing food into each of the monks’ bowls.

Before arriving in Luang Prabang, we had read in the Bangkok Post that the tourist boom here was increasingly pricing local townspeople out of the market, and threatening the ritual morning feeding of the monks. The obtrusive tourist presence during the proceedings indeed made Kaberi question her own presence as an observer. While she made sure to stay back, using her telephoto lens to discreetly capture the beauty of the scene, she took only minor comfort in being more respectful than a nearby American couple triumphantly announcing “We fed the monks!” as if they were at the local petting zoo or various Japanese tourists taking turns posing beside uncomfortable, hemmed-in supplicants. Vik managed to avoid this ethical dilemma by using the time for an alternative purpose … catching up on his beauty sleep.

During our brief stay in Luang Prabang, our encounters with Lao townspeople were marked with sincerity, gentleness and respect, representing a nice change of pace from the ceaseless, in-your-face hucksterism of well-trafficked Thailand. This experience was all the more remarkable to us considering Laos’ unfortunate status as the most bombed country in the world on a per capita basis, a status thoughtlessly bestowed during a secret war orchestrated by the Nixon Administration’s witless Henry Kissinger. Our stay was also characterized by rapidly-diminishing air quality. A permanent smoky haze descended upon the city, seemingly overnight, as a result of widespread Laotian slash-and-burn agricultural practices (similar to those near Chiang Mai).

As we waited in the airport for our departure flight, Kaberi recognized herself in a Canadian traveler seated nearby who was also completely absorbed with her passport. In tandem, Kaberi and the young Canadian woman scanned their passport pages battle-scarred with visas and arrival and departure stamps and painstakingly removed staples binding departure papers in place. With only three months on the road, half of Kaberi’s new passport pages are already filled, leaving her to wonder if there will be enough pages to last the entire trip. Only time will tell.