I don’t know if it’s the jet lag or if my next genius idea is an alarm clock that sounds like a scooter, but I found myself awake at 6:00 again. The day started off with the familiar, shi fan. It’s a great breakfast that’s kind of like rice pudding but thinner and without the sweetness. I guess it’s more like a rice porridge. You eat it as a base with other foods, fried gluten and peanuts, slices of picked cucumbers, and something new, a species similar to bamboo, but smaller and sweeter. My dad said that my mom really likes it and I can see why. Sorry, no pictures, too busy eating.
After breakfast, we took the train/subway to see my aunt Ellen, a relative from my mom’s side. She lives in the more expensive side of town, surrounded by high end stores and boutiques. While her building looks fairly non-descript from the outside, her front door belies the value of the apartments. A heavy steel frame door surrounds a plexi-glass clad, barred security door with a key that looks like it came from a medieval castle. Behind that, a solid wood door with a similar locking mechanism plus a deadbolt for added measure. Her apartment is nice, but it’s difficult to imagine it being so expensive. I suppose if you have any experience with high-demand city properties, the sticker shock wouldn’t faze you. Suffice it to say, it’s about two times the value of my dad’s place.
Unfortunately, the visit to my Aunt Ellen wasn’t all pleasantries as serious business demanded attention. We were to visit the mausoleum of my maternal grandparents and one of my uncles. I can’t claim to be a tough guy. I’ll admit that I cried at the end of the movie “Marley and Me”, (you’d have to be a robot not to cry). One of the kryptonites to my emotional Superman is witnessing my dad cry and I’m not too proud to say that my tear ducts got a work out today. The mausoleum isn’t the same as a western one. It’s a large, multi-storied building on the top of mountain that houses both the places to store ashes, and an altar at which you can leave offerings for your dearly departed. The surroundings and rituals that take place are more in the Buddist tradition. One advantage of not having any theological belief is that I can adapt to any religious situation with equal prejudice. As much as I don’t share the belief, I can still respect the tradition. Offerings of food and paper money were placed on a table in front of the doorway to the mausoleum proper. Incense is first burned and placed in an urn as an offering for the Budda seen above, then another offering is made and placed near the physical offerings. It’s then proper to enter the mausoleum and visit the dead. 
First we visited my grandparents, whose ashes are housed together. Since I’m not great with the language, my father greeted them on behalf of himself and I and said a few words to them. After that, we visited my uncle Moses and repeated the service. I apologize for being vague, but I only do it out of respect. After that, we collected the offerings and went outside to a series of small furnaces to burn the paper money so that the deceased can come and collect it to purchase things in the afterlife.
After that, it was back to my Aunt Ellen’s for lunch. I’m starting to see a growing trend on this trip; food. I’m not complaining at all about the qualify of all my meals. I’ve tried more new foods in these past three days than I’ve been to exposed to in years. I did promise myself and Tanja that would try everything that came across my plate and so far in that I have a flawless record. However, there’s on mannerism that a good host will exhibit, and it’s to force as much food upon their guest as possible. If you’re not eating, then you should be eating and they’re going to tell you to eat. Prior to this trip, I carefully changed my eating habits so that I eat until satisfied, but not full. That is an impossible practice to enforce since it takes at least over three times of saying “I’m full” to satiate the demands of your host. What’s worse, I only know one way to say it, so I feel rude repeating myself, having no way to express with more emphasis that I really am full. I’ll have hit up Google Translate and memorize some more phrases. Dessert consisted of persimmons and a large sweet citrus fruit, which was really quite good, if not for the fact that Ellen gave us two for me to carry around in my backpack for the rest of the day.
My camera and two lenses weight a good amount. Add to that two citrus fruits the size of a child’s small ball and the dress shoes I wore to the mausoleum and you have the makings of a painfully disastrous day. The rest of the day consisted of walking everywhere so my feet are really killing me right now. Despite the aches, I soldiered on and took more pictures of our next destination.
We met up with my Uncle and uncle Shin and headed off to the Lungshan Temple. It was founded in 1738 and it’s dedicated to the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. The air was filled with the familiar smoke of incense and the unfamiliar sound of clattering. Some visitors were kneeling in front of the altar throwing small banana shaped red pieces of wood. I guess the belief is that you can’t stop throwing them until a particular configuration lands, telling you that the person you’re praying for has release you from your duties. As with many of the other temples I’ve seen, this one was decorated in intricate stone carvings but had the addition of a small shop that sold religious items. It was a very dynamic environment with tons of photographic potential if not for the cumulative 30 pounds on my back. Thankfully, dinner was the last destination for the night, but my feet needed to pay the price with a trek and a subway ride.
We met up with friends again at a restaurant that served personal hot pots. For those of you who haven’t had a holiday meal with my family, it’s kind of like fondue, but with broth instead of cheese, and lots of (usually) good food instead of whatever you eat in a cheese fondue. I say usually because I fell into the trap of trusting my dad’s judgment about my eating habits. Actually, I don’t think I can place all the blame on him because I think it was a conspiracy by my hosts to see what the limits of my palette are. Here’s how it went down. Lots of rapid fire Chinese with some gesturing in my direction while pointing at a menu. My dad nodding in acknowledgement, THEN saying: you like oysters, clams, and cuttlefish right? Great. Not only that, but the Chinese dinner rule came into effect and I had to learn to like it, or at least eat it, really fast. Needless to say, by the end of the meal, at the end of the day, I was full and tired, much like the night before. They mistake my dried-contact eye rubbing with sleepiness and the exhaustion from carrying around a small child all day with the need to eat more food for energy. I think they think I’m a lightweight since the only time I see them is after a long day. Despite my suppressed crabbiness, dinner was pretty good and the end of it rewarded me with a trip home… by foot and subway… during rush hour.
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