Masquerading as a normal person day after day is exhausting

Cave Mandarin

So, we'll be in China soon, and -- more importantly -- we will have a daughter who speaks no English. Really, there's only so far pointing and grunting and crazy gesticulating is going to get me. 

Clearly, I need to learn some Mandarin.

I started with Rosetta Stone, which was a big mistake. After the first level of lessons, I could  tell you that the girl is swimming, the women are eating rice, and the man is reading a newspaper, but I couldn't say things like "please" or "thank you" or "where's the bathroom" or "I love you" or  "Don't cry" or "I want to...". You know -- those little phrases that I actually NEED? (Especially the bathroom one, if you know me and my bladder.) I'm sure the method behind the learning is solid, but it's one I'm not used to; nothing is ever explained so you're left to guess at what the words mean or the sentences are saying based on pictures.

Yeah, notsomuch for me. Next up: Chinesepod.com. 

This stuff? Is awesome. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Little podcasts with useful dialog (I can ask for a beer now! And tell Beatrix Nan Yu to behave!), explanation of the grammar and lots of opportunity to practice pronunciation, which believe me, I need. And vocabulary. YAY, vocabulary!

I actually got up the nerve to bust out some Cave Mandarin the other night when we went to dinner at what might be the best Chinese restaurant I've been to. It's one of those that has two menus: One in English, and the other in Chinese. We ordered from the Chinese menu and oh, the yum. Real mapo tofu, a whole fish with spicy bean curd, some sort of flaming dish of mushrooms and other, uh, items... Sichuan, so it was all spicy. The owner could not have been nicer - he spent a ton of time talking about the menu and helping us choose some good stuff. He didn't even laugh when I told him in my horrible Chinese that the food was delicious, and thanked him. (Well, not to my face. Who knows what he said once we left...)

It's been a long time since I've felt so worried about being able to communicate. I know we'll have guides and translators with us a lot of the time, but I'm really thankful to be learning at least some basic stuff. I think we'll be using it for a while with Beatrix Nan Yu, and I'm pretty sure I can't smuggle home one of those translators in my suitcase. *taps chin thoughtfully*

 

Beautifully creepy

While making my family pedal 27 miles along the Heritage Trail up north, I noticed a teeny tiny little cemetery tucked back in the trees that line the trail.

Being a fan of the gruesome and the gothic and the old, I screeched (okay, fine, sloooowly coasted, given the speed of certain other riders *ahem*) to a stop and tromped off to investigate.

What I found was beautifully creepy in that way that only 150-year-old abandoned cemeteries can be.

 

 

Tents and wildlife and bikes... oh my!

After years of hemming and hawing and being thwarted by pouring rain and being pestered by the small child, we finally got it together and went camping this weekend.

Did you know Pennsylvania has its own Grand Canyon? Well, it does, and that's where we headed. It's actually quite lovely up there and there is a great 70ish-mile bike trail that runs along the creek in the bottom of the gorge - one of those rails-to-trails deals with lots of scenery and no hills. If you ask me, that's the ideal combination...

We were one of the few tent campers there (hello? these people not only have RVs and trailers, they have DECKS and WELCOME MATS and LANDSCAPING in front of them) and our site was right next to the creek. Peaceful, but also prone to making me wake up in the middle of the night and navigate my way in the cold pitch darkness to pee.

It rained Friday night and we woke up to damp sleeping bags (mmmm) and the Biggest Millipede You've Ever Seen hanging out in front of our tent. I am still shuddering involuntarily when I think of him... *pauses to shudder AGAIN*

Because I was not spending the whole day in a damp tent, we packed anoraks and zip-locked food and headed off on the bike trail Five hours, 27 miles, and some pelting rain later, we made it back to camp. We saw bear poop (but no bear), cranes, deer, and a cemetery from the 1800s along the way, and no one complained (very much) about the distance.  I am shocked (SHOCKED) that O biked all that way without balking. Kinda makes you wonder how much further we could have made her go...

Saturday night we woke up to the sound of something rustling around outside the tent. Turns out that the trash hadn't gotten taken to the dumpster and it was now singing its siren song to some form of wildlife. "I think it's an opposum," DH said. I had visions of my brother waging war against his opposum visitors and glumly informed DH that we were without cinder blocks or a trash can. "Oh. Hey, waitaminute, it's not! It's a skunk..." And in fact it was. It was a skunk that had eaten the last half of O's Clif Builder Bar. That sucker? 22 grams of protein. Mr. Skunk should have some ripped muscles in his near future.

Sunday we biked another 12 miles before packing everything up and heading back home. Never fear that we will miss camping, however, as we managed to also bring home the smell of campfire. Just when I think I've washed it out of every last blanket, towel, sock, or pair of unnerwears, I get a whiff again.

A study in contrasts

Because honestly, nothing says "sweet, delicate princess" like brandishing a firearm with obvious delight:

We were wandering through Adventureland in Disney when Miss O spotted the rack of guns. It was like a crow to a shiny quarter...

Pinchy did Paris...

...and then Paris did in Pinchy. The Eiffel Tower, to be more precise.

We went back today because it wasn't pouring and 40 degrees, and DH had promised Miss O a trip to the top. Of course, Pinchy the Lobster came with us. By this point, I've become inordinately fond of this red stuffed thing -- he's like a second kid.

Suffice it to say, Pinchy did not leave the Eiffel Tower with us. Miss O lost him in line for the elevator to the tippy-top, and he was not found. Poor DH had half the staff on a Pinchy Hunt.

Of course, neither of us could remember the word for lobster, so I was forced to resort to l'angostine (which translates literally into 'big shrimp'). Imagine textbook French, if you will (read: overly polite and somewhat stilted), and the three of us in the Eiffel Tower security office.

"Please, my daughter has lost her toy. I am looking for it. It is a... um... like a l'angostine. It's red. It says 'Boston' on the side. Do you have the giant shrimp here, please?"

The guy told me to call tomorrow, though I am not hopeful. I'm guessing he just wanted the Weird Americans out of his nice quiet office. Poor Miss O. Poor me; I think I might miss this stupid lobster more than she does...

We decided to tell O that Pinchy wanted to live in Paris for a while; we're going to bring back a postcard of the Eiffel Tower and send it to her from Pinchy, telling her how he loves his new home. Yes, we're warped. ;-)

     

    

Pinchy's final days

[Edited to add: I have found a replacement for Pinchy! Granted, the shipping costs more than the stupid crustacean, but I'm okay with that. Vive l'internet. He is now winging his way to our house and should be there right after we get home.]