all kinds of tall

Visiting LeShan’s giant Buddha is all well and good until you have to climb down the steps.

I know what you’re thinking, what sort of bozo complains about going down steps? Especially when there’s so much to complain about when it comes to the going up part? I would usually agree but I’m increasingly finding that the worldview we use in other places often hits some snags here in China. And thus we reach the part of the story in which I complain about going down the steps at the world’s largest Buddha.

We waited a fair amount of time before it was our turn to enjoy the Stairway of Nine Turns. This one-way staircase is cut into the same cliffs as the Buddha and offers fantastic views as you wind your way down to his toes. It's the only way down the cliffs and as we waited in an amusement park-style line we played boredom-cure for the rest of the crowd who seemed mystified and delighted by the fact that we weren't from around there. Note the little girl who can't take her eyes off of the tan-sweatered Shi-wen.  

Before getting in line for the stairs we'd explored other parts of the park and Shi-wen was asked by several young Chinese if they could have their photos taken with him. I asked one of the girls why she chose Shi-wen out of our group of three (we were there with a friend) and she said it was because she thought he was very tall. But then etiquette took hold and she extended her invitation to the two of us as well. This was after our friend had used a hotdog on a stick to singe the roof of his mouth but I don’t think it affected his smile for the photo.

But back to waiting for the steps… once it's your turn you realize there's no shade and since this is the one day the sun decided to make an appearance you're now roasting hot and burning off your first layer of skin. But thanks to a fairly widespread aversion to tanning in China there is no shame in using an umbrella or anything else to protect you from the fiery rays. 

All I had were the clothes on my back so I opted to hang my sweater off of my head. It sounded like a fine idea at the time and I was further buoyed up by people catching my eye with an “I hate the sun too” kind of look. Then again it could have been a “you foreigners are messy and weird” kind of look, but I was peering out from under a sweater so it's hard to know for sure.

Just when we were finally heading down the numerous flights of uneven steps (one of us with a sweater on their head) and feeling like at any moment we might pick up speed, we were forced to remember that China is the world’s most populous country and going anywhere, let alone a tourist attraction, can be a slow-moving process.

It wasn't that we were moving down the stairs so much as we were clumping down them. It was one step, wait a while, another step, dead stop. And although each step brought with it a little bit of joy, it also carried a lump of frustration because the people swarming behind us seemed quite focused on climbing up and over our backs. The main offenders were an insistent elderly man with a cane, his wife and her knack for full-body shoving, and an unrelated kid who brought an oversized wooden sword to the park.

It was like pouring people through a funnel except the funnel was already clogged with sunblind tourists trying to protect themselves from aggressive elders and medieval weapons. On the plus side the slow pace gave us a lot of time to look at the Buddha. And it was awesome.

At 233 feet high Le Shan’s Dafo is literally the world’s largest Buddhist sculpture and it just happens to be two hours from our house by bus. Taking a car would probably be quicker, but driving doesn’t give as great a view of the yellow rapeseed flowers that take over the Chinese countryside this time of year. Plus, to drive somewhere you kind of need a car, which we don't have. What we did have was the new issue of Vanity Fair, which our friend brought from New York, and that in itself is pretty special for Chengdu.

When we were taking the bus I tried not to think about how it makes my legs feel trapped and crushed at the same time, and instead focused on how the world’s largest Buddha was waiting at the end of the line. Or more accurately, at the end of the line there is a city bus that takes you to the world’s largest Buddha. But after having seen the giant Buddha you should not take that city bus again. You should take a cab to the bus station because it will be a lot quicker and it will also result in fewer passengers falling on the floor when the driver stops short.

The cabbie you find in front of the park will likely refuse to use the meter and he'll try to get you to pay double or triple the fare, so after you get in his cab just keep saying a number that is less than the number he says. No matter what he says, just repeat your number.

It’s a good strategy especially when you don't quite know what he's saying. Bargaining aside, when he asked where we were from we could understand him, so we said we were from America. He said we were all very tall, and that Americans are tall in general, which was the second time that day someone had commented on our height.

The day's most joyful moment came after we'd visited the Buddha and boarded the bus back to Chengdu. It was so hot on the bus that passengers started to remove layers of clothing as soon as they stepped on, which is a serious heat indicator because Chinese people are a lot like Italians in terms of their willingness to bear extreme temps. So if they're taking off their clothes you know it's hot. I also knew I couldn’t sit on that bus for two hours.

But it was too late. The bus had already pulled out of the station and begun its slow crawl for Chengdu. Except that then in a beautiful and wholly unexpected turn of events the air conditioning switched on and cold air was blowing all around us. It was pure magic and that bus ride was worth every yuan that we paid for the tickets.

The same can be said for the world’s largest Buddha… which, even when compared to a bunch of Americans, was pretty damn tall.

amalfi coast'n

The Costiera Amalfitana is one long, gorgeous stretch of aquamarine and green, and is touted as one of Europe's finest coastlines. It runs along the southern side of Sorrento's peninsula and is identified with the towns of Positano, Amalfi and Ravello among others. Speaking from recent experience I would also mention that it seems to be one of Europe's sheerest coastlines. As in cliffs. Cliffs that the bus hugs, throttling its way down the winding and motorcycle-clogged Italian road.

Naples is a short train ride away from Sorrento and from Sorrento you can take the bus to towns along the Amalfi coast. There are also excellent pastry and promenade opportunities in Sorrento. Before catching our bus we hit the streets with the rest of the town and rolled up to a great café.



The baristas all wore dapper almond-shaped caps and resembled something between short-order cooks in an American diner and flight attendants of the 1960's. And not only did they have great little hats (as did many of the baristas in Napoli) but they also dust your macchiato with a cocoa powder smiley face.

When we got on the bus there was a sign above the driver that basically said "whatever you do, don't bother this guy - he's driving." In fact, there were two signs saying this. One went so far as to say it was "prohibited." And there was a picture of a saint. We should have known.



We'd received advice to sit on the right side of the bus and at the beginning of the ride we didn't quite understand the significance. There were a few good views but there were also a lot of views of olive and orange trees. Nice, yes, but not something you need to sit on a certain side of the bus to see. But, wait. As the bus wound its way up and over the peninsula we go to the side with the views. And the cliffs. And the drama.

It was stunning. Aqua water as far as the eye could see. Cliffs so sheer you couldn't see their faces. And tiny pebbled beaches in nooks and crannies. There were small colorful towns clinging to steep slopes and others perched high above the sea. There were islands dotting the turquoise horizon and sun riding the water like shocks of glitter. It was marvelous.

And it made me nauseous.

So nauseous that I had to move to the other side of the bus. The wrong side of the bus. And Stefano said I turned green. We had opted to go all the way to Amalfi, bypassing Positano with plans to return to it on the way back. This meant an hour-long ride which sounded great when we'd made the plans.

However, in practice, it didn't sound very good at all. It sounded awful. Apparently the cold I had was impacting my equilibrium and this was impacting my ability to ride a bus without feeling so nauseous I could cry. The good news is that I didn't cry. And I didn't throw up.

And as requested, I didn't talk to the driver.

When we got to Amalfi I peeled myself from the bus seat I'd been laying on and Stefano, in a moment of utter brilliance and perfect understanding of Italy, made a beeline to the pharmacy. It was not only Sunday (egads!) but it was one o'clock (heavens, no!) in the afternoon. The fact that it was open at all was something of a miracle. No sooner had Stefano bought me a package of Travel Gum and stepped out the front door, then the pharmacy closed up tight.



As I chewed my magical gum and started to feel much better we went on a hunt to find food in the off-season. Amalfi is a beachside town and so it wasn't exactly hopping in early February. We did find an Italian version of grilled cheese, several pieces of pizza, and a pastry or two. I was feeling better and it was a beautiful place. So many colorful buildings, the nook and crannies Italian towns are known for, and of the course the laundry drying outside. Even from the entrance of a church with signs reminding visitors of the dignity of the place, you could see someone's towels and aprons flapping in the breeze. If you don't love that, you don't love Italy.

We went to the shore and walked the beach. You can easily imagine the summer there. What were open spreads of beach for us, would become strangled with beach umbrellas and towels, chairs and sunbathers. We preferred it as it was - empty, quiet, and a touch too crisp. It was perfect.



We took the bus back to Positano and followed gravity down to the shoreline there. It was the same sort of quiet, and the same turquoise waters. Churches and homes clung to the steep grades and teens played soccer on the deserted beach. A scraggy artist painted the seashore and older people watched kids chase dogs.

There were no sunbathers. No sunhat sellers. Rowboats sat on the shore, upended and waiting for the season. It was perfect and verging on solitary. Except when we wove our way back up to the bus stop. Suddenly we had found a crowd and we all waited at the side of the road. Everyone had their own way of passing the time, mainly griping about the bus not arriving and/or smoking. We just sat there hoping our toes would not fall victim to the next fast car zipping along the coastal path.

Apparently we were lucky. When the bus arrived we were all able to board and there were seats for all. In peak season, we've since heard, you're often left waiting for several buses before you find an opening. All the better for the off-season. And more the better because I didn't get nauseous on the ride back. I just kept chewing that magical gum.

And not talking to the driver.

drinks for due

After a Saturday afternoon exploring Palermo we were walking along minding our own business. Enjoying the sidewalk (there actually was one), keeping an eye out for when the sidewalk might unexpectedly cease to exist, and doing our best to ignore Palermo's most heavily-used communication method: the car horn.

We were feeling a bit worn as we'd woken up in Milan at 3:30am that morning. That's early enough that you can call your family back in the States and they won't have gone to bed yet. I know this because I called my Mom. And she hadn't gone to bed.

At 4:30am the cab came and dropped us off at the train station. We had to catch a bus to the airport because the train wasn't running yet. Too early for the train is definitely too early for humans. So we waited for the 5:00am bus to Malpensa. Sure, we could pop for an 80 euro cab ride but that means we'd have to feel equally good about similarly wise uses of money such as dental floss made of gold and 6 inch crocodile stilettos.

When the bus finally decided to stop taunting us from a block away - where it had been parked for a good ten minutes - and drive on over, we boarded. I should point out that the ragazzo (young man) driving the bus was listening to dance music. Very rapid dance music. And it was still pitch black out. It really felt like we were going to a dance club along with a busload of our newest friends and all of our suitcases.



Once on the road we realized that the layer of fog we awaken to every morning in gray Milan ain't nothin'. It's but a sad little sheet of air that needs a diet so it hangs low. On the highway to the airport we saw real fog. Fog so thick you couldn't see anything more than a few feet in front of you. Nothing. And this is a few feet in front of a bus driving on the highway...

Luckily we got off the highway for a few miles and instead tried our luck with winding roads and fewer street lights. And as soon as we'd gotten back on the highway - dance music still thumping - we got caught in a traffic jam. Nothing like a 5am traffic jam in dense fog to drench you with positive feelings and excitement for the weekend. And the cherry on top? That was the 5 car pile-up we drove past along the side of the road.

But rest assured we made it to Malpensa on time. Only had two Italians cut in front of us in line and they made the rare gesture of asking if it was okay as they did so. Our plane had understandable problems taking-off on time but once in the air it was but a mere hour and a half to Palermo.

We landed on Sicilia (Sicily) under a golden sun, amidst palm trees and blue sky. What a gorgeous difference - it felt like summer with spring temperatures.

But after a day of exploring wild Palermo (more entries to follow) our early morning wake-up was dragging us down.

That's when we passed the pictured vendor across from the Duomo. We'd not have noticed it except for the sharp and enticing scent of lemons that wrapped around us both as we walked by. It was the scent of a field of lemons split open, lemony goodness absolutely everywhere.

But it was really just in this little stand. And more importantly, it was in what the two people standing in front of it were drinking.



We ordered two. Immediately. And watched the barman craft them. There were fresh lemons and fresh oranges. Seltzer and syrup. The whole thing was shaken and stirred until it developed a froth and all the bits of lemon pulp had floated to the top.

It was a wild ride, this drink. Tart beyond tart. Biting and fizzy. Great and unbearable all at once. Hallelujah for a challenge. And I feel no less a woman for asking for a bit of sugar. And then some more.

I can't tell you what the drink was called. But I can tell you where to go. Across the street from the Palermo Duomo. It's in an alley nook of sorts and it's manned by one guy. Unless he has to step away for a minute and then his friend covers for him. Don't ask his friend what the drink is called, he doesn't know.

And neither do we. We just know that it tastes like Palermo in the early evening after a long day of travel and sun. And car horns. In Palermo you just can't escape the car horns.