May 21st: Suzhou deux

Day 247

Woke at 5:30, had some coffee and Bailey's. We all piled in a cab, boarded the bus to Suzhou. I slept most of the way there and it seemed a different person was in the jump seat next to me whenever I stirred. Once in Suzhou, we walked the familiar route (familiar to me from Erin and I visiting in October) down over the bridge, past the pagoda, then caught a cab not likely to put a "near the station Anglo surcharge" and went to the creatively named Suzhou Hotel.

Since my last stay, they had raised the quality by one star, and thus the room rates by half. We four got a double room and Rhys napped while I and the girls had dumplings at the place where I originally broke my dumpling hymen. Tasty, although I think the tree place has outodne them.

We went back, woke Rhys and caught a cab to Tiger Hill to meet Llinos, a Welsh lass Rhys and I had befriended on myspace. It's crazy to converse with someone, know what they look like and establish rapport all before meeting them in the flesh, which seems like a formality. It illustrates how trivial physical interaction has to do with getting to know someone. The advent of blogs, of accessible profiles and photos, globalization in general, has made it possible to forge friendships through a satellite handshake. To the haters who see the internet as contributing to society's alienation, reality-fleeing and porn cataloguing, I present the following pros: Rhys, Jeni, Llinos, Chris (all well met in real life) and the cornucopia of other pals I have yet to meet upon my return to the 'nati.

We chatted each other up while touring the number 1 (lucky best favorite) sight in Suzhou. I confess I'm starting to get "templed out." The leaning tower was interesting because of its slightly Arabic design (and leaningness) but you were not permitted to climb it. An amusement park-esque queue for one floor of nothing of interest? Stupid.

We stopped and had tea, took in the view of treetops and the multitude of cranes that filled the sky like autonomous kites. Afterwards, we strolled past bonsai gardens, past the incidental "sword pond" and took refuge under a pagoda to observe the cranes, who seemed bent on painting the foliage and pathways below with white spatters of feces. We escaped unstained, but also unsettled.

The favorite piece of Chinglish of the day was a posting for "temple for the chevishing moonlight." We theorized a definition for chevishing as we tried to escape and seek nourishment. The exit led us past a series of booths, carnival barkers trying to hook you by the arm to sell you a tiny clay child statue that urinates when you pour water over it; a joyless parade of awful trinkety stuff, winding and turning through narrow streets.

We hopped a bus to god-knows and we had to walk through a KFC-sponsored promenade to get back to the tree-lined old town. A guy named Aaron rode his bike alongside us, practicing his English and leading us back. We dined at The Pub Bar, the place Erin and I went before with Tomer and Patzik, shot pool and tuned the house guitar. The UKers gorged themselves on cottage pie, while we yankees opted for sandwiches.

We shot pool upstairs, which was uncomfortably warm. My "Over the Rainrow" shirt doesn't breathe very well, so I doffed it. We were the only ones up there, so who cares? Pint followed pint and we somehow found ourselves down at the abhorrent Dream Hollywood with two Dutch fellas in tow. It was the only place I could secure a martini. We could only stomach one drink before the loud awfulness sent us out. Frank and Stan, our new holland mates, bailed out for massage. We went other places (it's a bit fuzzy) and I had forgotten to drink coffee to keep awake. I nearly passed out on a tabletop and returned to the hotel, thoroughly exhausted and spent.