We just received an e-mail from the apartment landlord in Hong Kong, but it turns out that the place is booked up for a year.
So we turned to booking.com.
Needless to say, I jumped out of my skin laughing when I saw that $97.21 will get one a three night stay at the local YWCA, located on:
5 Man Fuk Road
Proof: http://www.booking.com/hotel/hk/the-anne-black-ywca.html?sid=2b0b1c4d0c862b5a63d15855e73acc25;checkin=2009-06-21;checkout=2009-06-24
Kiara doesn't want to stay there, though.
-L
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
SUCCESS!
Lucas and I have effectively reserved all of our living spaces (except Hong Kong) and planned our train trips! I am so super excited, I can't even sit still! Booking.com is AMAZING!
Huzzah!
-K.
Huzzah!
-K.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Oh? Great Service? Well, we didn't notice, 'cause we were face-deep in the food of our lives.
This morning, we woke up at 12:00am. I was annoyed because I didn't think we should wake up that early, but Lucas's hair took precedent over my sleepy, so I complied.
Slow going getting out - 'round 1:40. Had to double back when we spaced on whether we locked the door; we had. There were teenagers hanging out at the post-office looking LSD'd, and practicing sign-flipping, the useless advertising scheme used throughout the US now.
So anyway, we set out on the journey back to LA, and actually, it wasn't too bad. No real traffic to contend with, only cargo trucks and such. The only tough thing was seeing the tipped truck. It looked like a dead beetle on the side of the road and I felt so worried about the person driving it; it had flipped on his side! There were six or seven highway patrolmen directing traffic away from it. That was pretty horrible. But we made great time.
To reiterate, 1:40 we hit the Phoenix I-10, and 6:55 we pull into the 24-hour IHOP on Shatto Pl. and 6th St. in Koreatown, LA. This level of success typically involves divine intervention, or a stuffed four-year-old behind the wheel going a flat-80mph the whole way:
Lionel is also a great navigator and helped translate the Google map so that I could communicate the directions to Lucas:
Nicest woman in LA rang us up at IHOP - Claudia. Two things: first, the layout was more like a shotgun house than any 'normal' AZ IHOP; second, when I cut my egg, it fit perfectly upon my sourdough toast slice. These two things were highly entertaining to me.
It was really funny going to the IHOP because I got scared I'd gone through the back door accidentally or something. The door opens right into the front of the kitchen, and the place is like, long and narrow. Very disOrienting. No pun intended. I had the Swedish crepes. We left the restaurant and got to the consulate building (500 Shatto Pl.) at 7:30-ish. We were about the third group in line, followed by...NUMBER TWO!
I'd had a feeling that we were to run into this man again. He, too, was picking up his visa, and turned out to be very nice. He remembered my stupidity at taking the stairs.
After our slight disgrutled-ness against Mr. Number Two, it so happens that he is actually a much better person than we'd initially thought. Funnier too. We never exchanged names, but he revealed to us that he is a clergyman, married to a German woman, living in Ventura. We chuckled about the last meeting and wished each other success on the visas. Then Little Miss Squeamish-and-Intolerant arrived. The line was growing away from the building and she thought she would have better luck opening the locked door than we'd had. After a huffy sigh, she decided to take her rightful place: at the back of the line. It was really funny when she started going around asking people if they had "any change, like, coins." Nobody had any, or wanted to give it to her, so she asked Mr. Number Two if he'd watch her stuff. He agreed, but when she left he said, "I might drink her Coke though," which really made me laugh. The wait went by pretty swiftly this time.
The actual consulate experience was smooth: there is a separate line for pick-ups, and it goes quickly. You hand the attendant your pink-slip, she digs for your passport among a sea of others, says "hundred-thirty," which means '$$$,' and you get the fuck out of line before she says anything else. Pie. We sat on the bench to share excitement, and genuinely ponder whether a visa/money exchange had just occurred; it had. We were out at 9:02.
SO, we decided to go Venice Beach and eat...well, I guess it had to be breakfast, which we packed. It was chilly. We LOVED it.
Left the beach for Chinatown, where we planned to stay. Found the Royal Pagoda...circa $76 a night, post-tax. The slideshow at the bottom of the post includes pictures of Chinatown and the hotel. I should add that the proprietor is a 'Park-Nazi' of sorts, which is a desirable quality in my mind, since I've always hated poor parkers. Hence the irony when he got on my ass about my line-hugging. The room is quaint, the light-bulbs energy-efficient, the closet spacious, the shower low-pressure, and the door-gap large - reminiscent for us of 100 W. Nopal Pl., our trusty first apartment together. In short, we recommend the Royal Pagoda to any LA visitor (995 N. Broadway; 90012).
Lastly, we decided to tour the Sunset Strip and then return to Chinatown for dinner.
Sunset Strip is a series of tattoo parlors, strip clubs, adult video stores, and liquor establishments - bars, stores, and clubs (pictures are all in the slideshow). I should add here that though Santa Monica/Beverly Hills are all pretty and green, and the ocean air is thick with that salinity that melts the smog away, Kiara and I prefer the sapien-issued salt of Downtown. What is interesting about Sunset is that it is a clash of the two: crazies, strung-outers, and punk-kids walk, while a safe bet places 50-60% of all vehicles on the road are 2005 or later model Lexus, BMW, or Mercedes vehicles, with the occasional Rolls-Royce, Bentley, or Maserati gracing the pavement. The drivers all look the same, but my description of them is probably unfit for most readership, so I'll refrain (this excludes the Saudi Arabian-looking fellows who drove the cream RR I had to cut in front of slickly). We stopped in Amoeba Music, and saw the notorious Viper Room and Whiskey-a-Go-Go clubs. Then we turned around, and made our way back to the stranger side of town.
Slinking our way back into Chinatown, we went looking about the shops in the square. There were some pretty charming-looking jade bracelets for a very nice price in one of them, but once I heard what the owners were saying about Americans, I promptly left, whisking a bewildered Lucas away with me. My feelings about going to China are somewhat shaken up, and I realize they were just speaking aloud in what they thought was a private conversation (in their native language), but it really bugs me that people assume that everyone is stupid and doesn't understand, and specifically that many Chinese do not give Westerners the benefit of the doubt that there is actually a good chance that we can learn to understand them. I was so upset that I waltzed into the plainest-looking restaurant in the square and ordered up a sizzling rice soup and lobster with ginger and green onions hot pot. THEY WERE DELICIOUS. Now I can't wait to go to China. Everybody: if you have to go to lame-ass LA Chinatown, at least go to the little restaurant at the very end of the left arm of the square. You'll know it because it doesn't have any of that silly Romanization of Cantonese sounds on its sign. And it will be the only restaurant with a full menu posted in the window that sounds even half-edible.
Boom-boom kitty. The bed is hard, the slideshow will follow, as well as pictures left out of the previous posts. Good night.
Slow going getting out - 'round 1:40. Had to double back when we spaced on whether we locked the door; we had. There were teenagers hanging out at the post-office looking LSD'd, and practicing sign-flipping, the useless advertising scheme used throughout the US now.
So anyway, we set out on the journey back to LA, and actually, it wasn't too bad. No real traffic to contend with, only cargo trucks and such. The only tough thing was seeing the tipped truck. It looked like a dead beetle on the side of the road and I felt so worried about the person driving it; it had flipped on his side! There were six or seven highway patrolmen directing traffic away from it. That was pretty horrible. But we made great time.
To reiterate, 1:40 we hit the Phoenix I-10, and 6:55 we pull into the 24-hour IHOP on Shatto Pl. and 6th St. in Koreatown, LA. This level of success typically involves divine intervention, or a stuffed four-year-old behind the wheel going a flat-80mph the whole way:
Lionel is also a great navigator and helped translate the Google map so that I could communicate the directions to Lucas: 
Nicest woman in LA rang us up at IHOP - Claudia. Two things: first, the layout was more like a shotgun house than any 'normal' AZ IHOP; second, when I cut my egg, it fit perfectly upon my sourdough toast slice. These two things were highly entertaining to me.
It was really funny going to the IHOP because I got scared I'd gone through the back door accidentally or something. The door opens right into the front of the kitchen, and the place is like, long and narrow. Very disOrienting. No pun intended. I had the Swedish crepes. We left the restaurant and got to the consulate building (500 Shatto Pl.) at 7:30-ish. We were about the third group in line, followed by...NUMBER TWO!
I'd had a feeling that we were to run into this man again. He, too, was picking up his visa, and turned out to be very nice. He remembered my stupidity at taking the stairs.
After our slight disgrutled-ness against Mr. Number Two, it so happens that he is actually a much better person than we'd initially thought. Funnier too. We never exchanged names, but he revealed to us that he is a clergyman, married to a German woman, living in Ventura. We chuckled about the last meeting and wished each other success on the visas. Then Little Miss Squeamish-and-Intolerant arrived. The line was growing away from the building and she thought she would have better luck opening the locked door than we'd had. After a huffy sigh, she decided to take her rightful place: at the back of the line. It was really funny when she started going around asking people if they had "any change, like, coins." Nobody had any, or wanted to give it to her, so she asked Mr. Number Two if he'd watch her stuff. He agreed, but when she left he said, "I might drink her Coke though," which really made me laugh. The wait went by pretty swiftly this time.
The actual consulate experience was smooth: there is a separate line for pick-ups, and it goes quickly. You hand the attendant your pink-slip, she digs for your passport among a sea of others, says "hundred-thirty," which means '$$$,' and you get the fuck out of line before she says anything else. Pie. We sat on the bench to share excitement, and genuinely ponder whether a visa/money exchange had just occurred; it had. We were out at 9:02.
SO, we decided to go Venice Beach and eat...well, I guess it had to be breakfast, which we packed. It was chilly. We LOVED it.
Left the beach for Chinatown, where we planned to stay. Found the Royal Pagoda...circa $76 a night, post-tax. The slideshow at the bottom of the post includes pictures of Chinatown and the hotel. I should add that the proprietor is a 'Park-Nazi' of sorts, which is a desirable quality in my mind, since I've always hated poor parkers. Hence the irony when he got on my ass about my line-hugging. The room is quaint, the light-bulbs energy-efficient, the closet spacious, the shower low-pressure, and the door-gap large - reminiscent for us of 100 W. Nopal Pl., our trusty first apartment together. In short, we recommend the Royal Pagoda to any LA visitor (995 N. Broadway; 90012).Lastly, we decided to tour the Sunset Strip and then return to Chinatown for dinner.
Sunset Strip is a series of tattoo parlors, strip clubs, adult video stores, and liquor establishments - bars, stores, and clubs (pictures are all in the slideshow). I should add here that though Santa Monica/Beverly Hills are all pretty and green, and the ocean air is thick with that salinity that melts the smog away, Kiara and I prefer the sapien-issued salt of Downtown. What is interesting about Sunset is that it is a clash of the two: crazies, strung-outers, and punk-kids walk, while a safe bet places 50-60% of all vehicles on the road are 2005 or later model Lexus, BMW, or Mercedes vehicles, with the occasional Rolls-Royce, Bentley, or Maserati gracing the pavement. The drivers all look the same, but my description of them is probably unfit for most readership, so I'll refrain (this excludes the Saudi Arabian-looking fellows who drove the cream RR I had to cut in front of slickly). We stopped in Amoeba Music, and saw the notorious Viper Room and Whiskey-a-Go-Go clubs. Then we turned around, and made our way back to the stranger side of town.
Slinking our way back into Chinatown, we went looking about the shops in the square. There were some pretty charming-looking jade bracelets for a very nice price in one of them, but once I heard what the owners were saying about Americans, I promptly left, whisking a bewildered Lucas away with me. My feelings about going to China are somewhat shaken up, and I realize they were just speaking aloud in what they thought was a private conversation (in their native language), but it really bugs me that people assume that everyone is stupid and doesn't understand, and specifically that many Chinese do not give Westerners the benefit of the doubt that there is actually a good chance that we can learn to understand them. I was so upset that I waltzed into the plainest-looking restaurant in the square and ordered up a sizzling rice soup and lobster with ginger and green onions hot pot. THEY WERE DELICIOUS. Now I can't wait to go to China. Everybody: if you have to go to lame-ass LA Chinatown, at least go to the little restaurant at the very end of the left arm of the square. You'll know it because it doesn't have any of that silly Romanization of Cantonese sounds on its sign. And it will be the only restaurant with a full menu posted in the window that sounds even half-edible.
Boom-boom kitty. The bed is hard, the slideshow will follow, as well as pictures left out of the previous posts. Good night.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Shots.
Yesterday, Lucas and I went to get our immunizations for the trip. Your family doctor probably doesn't do this and the only places that are reliable for them are state-run clinics. Honestly, getting this done was almost as harrowing as trying to figure out where the damned consulate is, so if you're in Arizona (Phx Met area):
1. Call (602)-506-6909. Hopefully you won't get a dummy like we did and have to call back.
2. Getting the shots for foreign travel is APPOINTMENT ONLY.
3. The Maricopa County State Health Office is on 1645 E. Roosevelt St., PHX, 85006. It's Ste. 3.
4. BRING YOUR ITINERARY. The doctor will discuss with you all the immunizations that might be useful for your destination. Most of them are just precautionary and therefore recommended, not required.
5. If you do decide to get shots, be prepared to PAY MONEY. Between the two of us, we got two Hepatitis B and two Typhoid vaccinations, and then I was behind on my Tetanus shot. Altogether, that was US$530. Seriously. We will be submitting these to our respective insurance companies shortly for reimbursement (hopefully). We'll let you know what happens.
It went pretty smoothly, except that I (and I can't speak for Lucas) felt kind of slighted when we waited a half-hour to get in but some random Spanish-speaking woman came in and got through within ten minutes of being there. If you need help from someone, it really greases the wheels if you can speak their language. Oh. I forgot. We're still in America.
I had to get shots in both arms and they are finally feeling better. The shots knocked us both out as soon as we got home and we both felt a little bit ill after. They inject you with dead or half-alive specimens of whatever you're trying to avoid, so if you pass out, it's totally normal.
Thursday or Fly-day (I dunno, ask Lucas) we're off again to California to pick up our visas. Wish us luck.
-K.
1. Call (602)-506-6909. Hopefully you won't get a dummy like we did and have to call back.
2. Getting the shots for foreign travel is APPOINTMENT ONLY.
3. The Maricopa County State Health Office is on 1645 E. Roosevelt St., PHX, 85006. It's Ste. 3.
4. BRING YOUR ITINERARY. The doctor will discuss with you all the immunizations that might be useful for your destination. Most of them are just precautionary and therefore recommended, not required.
5. If you do decide to get shots, be prepared to PAY MONEY. Between the two of us, we got two Hepatitis B and two Typhoid vaccinations, and then I was behind on my Tetanus shot. Altogether, that was US$530. Seriously. We will be submitting these to our respective insurance companies shortly for reimbursement (hopefully). We'll let you know what happens.
It went pretty smoothly, except that I (and I can't speak for Lucas) felt kind of slighted when we waited a half-hour to get in but some random Spanish-speaking woman came in and got through within ten minutes of being there. If you need help from someone, it really greases the wheels if you can speak their language. Oh. I forgot. We're still in America.
I had to get shots in both arms and they are finally feeling better. The shots knocked us both out as soon as we got home and we both felt a little bit ill after. They inject you with dead or half-alive specimens of whatever you're trying to avoid, so if you pass out, it's totally normal.
Thursday or Fly-day (I dunno, ask Lucas) we're off again to California to pick up our visas. Wish us luck.
-K.
Friday, May 15, 2009
A couple of small anecdotes.
First of all, I hate Cracker Jack apartheid; the popcorn is always on top, the peanuts always on the bottom. Even when you shake it to make sure you get a good mix, it never fails to separate, which makes me anxious.
Also, when we went to the consulate this morning, there was this pushy woman (from China) with her husband (from Australia) who kept wanting to skip us in line while we were outside waiting for the doors to the building to open.
Woman, Standing directly in front of the locked doors: I wait here.
Man: Oh, no, we have all day.
Well, they didn't need all day, because they ended up taking Number Two's place in line while we were hung up in the stairwell. Besides, they were just picking up their completed visas, and there's a separate, considerably shorter line for that.
-K.
Also, when we went to the consulate this morning, there was this pushy woman (from China) with her husband (from Australia) who kept wanting to skip us in line while we were outside waiting for the doors to the building to open.
Woman, Standing directly in front of the locked doors: I wait here.
Man: Oh, no, we have all day.
Well, they didn't need all day, because they ended up taking Number Two's place in line while we were hung up in the stairwell. Besides, they were just picking up their completed visas, and there's a separate, considerably shorter line for that.
-K.
Chinese Consulate Dos and Don'ts
This is a joint bitch session.
DO:
-Go to Bob's Café on Wilshire Blvd. and Shatto Pl. You will not only get delicious coffee, but he may greet you by your true title as "King" or "Queen." Happy Friday.
DON'T:
-Show up at 7:17a at 500 Shatto Pl.; it's too early.
DO:
-Show up at 7:30a. You will be first in line.
DON'T:
-Take the stairs. The door from them is still locked and the people you beat to the consulate will beat you to the visa-room (even if you take the stairs four at a time like Lucas did).
DO:
-Kick Lucas.
DON'T:
-Forget something to do for and hour and a half.
DO:
-Bring your PASSPORT, VISA APPLICATION, and DECLARATION FORM.
DON'T:
-Bring money or try to consolidate all your documents in one folder if there are two or more of you. The little Chinese ladies in SARS masks and blue plastic gloves will ask you to "Please hurry, sir!"
DO:
-Plan on being ticket A004. Remember, Number Two in line has ticket A001, and the woman who got off the elevator at 9:03a cut you in line, and is now A002, ahead of about 40 or 50 other people who showed up between 7:30a and 9a.
DON'T:
-Be surprised when they keep your passport, don't accept your money, hand you a pink slip, and tell you to "Come back, pick up next Fly-day."
DO:
-Bring cash, not a cashier's check. Your American sensibility of safety doesn't apply here.
DON'T:
-Buy the envelopes and stamps from the post; they no longer do mail out service.
DO:
-Plan to stay until "next Fly-day" or make another trip in a week. Alternately, plan to pay a courier and make sure you do that a month or two ahead of time. We're not sure whether they can pick up your stuff or just send it back, because our dumb asses did it indie-style.
DON'T:
-Get mad when people aren't polite to you, just blame it on a culture gap.
DO:
-Make sure you have the mental and spiritual patience of a monk, or at least a fun trip buddy if you do decide to handle this process yourself.
We're going to Kinko's now to print out our super-discounted Six Flags tickets so we can vomit out all this frustration. We may also be investigating a courier service to see if we can get someone to pick our stuff up "next Fly-day." If not, you'll see a re-iteration of this blog sans stop in Quartzite and the breakfast "biscuit."
Love, L and K.
DO:
-Go to Bob's Café on Wilshire Blvd. and Shatto Pl. You will not only get delicious coffee, but he may greet you by your true title as "King" or "Queen." Happy Friday.
DON'T:
-Show up at 7:17a at 500 Shatto Pl.; it's too early.
DO:
-Show up at 7:30a. You will be first in line.
DON'T:
-Take the stairs. The door from them is still locked and the people you beat to the consulate will beat you to the visa-room (even if you take the stairs four at a time like Lucas did).
DO:
-Kick Lucas.
DON'T:
-Forget something to do for and hour and a half.
DO:
-Bring your PASSPORT, VISA APPLICATION, and DECLARATION FORM.
DON'T:
-Bring money or try to consolidate all your documents in one folder if there are two or more of you. The little Chinese ladies in SARS masks and blue plastic gloves will ask you to "Please hurry, sir!"
DO:
-Plan on being ticket A004. Remember, Number Two in line has ticket A001, and the woman who got off the elevator at 9:03a cut you in line, and is now A002, ahead of about 40 or 50 other people who showed up between 7:30a and 9a.
DON'T:
-Be surprised when they keep your passport, don't accept your money, hand you a pink slip, and tell you to "Come back, pick up next Fly-day."
DO:
-Bring cash, not a cashier's check. Your American sensibility of safety doesn't apply here.
DON'T:
-Buy the envelopes and stamps from the post; they no longer do mail out service.
DO:
-Plan to stay until "next Fly-day" or make another trip in a week. Alternately, plan to pay a courier and make sure you do that a month or two ahead of time. We're not sure whether they can pick up your stuff or just send it back, because our dumb asses did it indie-style.
DON'T:
-Get mad when people aren't polite to you, just blame it on a culture gap.
DO:
-Make sure you have the mental and spiritual patience of a monk, or at least a fun trip buddy if you do decide to handle this process yourself.
We're going to Kinko's now to print out our super-discounted Six Flags tickets so we can vomit out all this frustration. We may also be investigating a courier service to see if we can get someone to pick our stuff up "next Fly-day." If not, you'll see a re-iteration of this blog sans stop in Quartzite and the breakfast "biscuit."
Love, L and K.
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