Today, at 10:05 in the evening, three hours from now, we will finally fly to Beijing. From the moment I got up this morning, fourteen hours before the flight, I didn't know what to do with myself. I showered, got dressed, and realized our morning affirmations had been left unsaid, our daily meditation not done.
It was as if I were looking forward, living in the future, from the first rays of sunlight that illuminated our hotel room, rather than that we had a day of leisure, to do with as we pleased, with nowhere to be until after dinner. There has been such anticipation for this trip to begin that the last few weeks, let alone days, have flowed by like molasses, and I have found myself in the state of suspended animation I wrote about in my last entry.
The real trip doesn't actually even begin for another week, once we arrive in Xi'an, unpack the bicycles, and set out on the road west. The Beijing visit will be interesting, but not too much of an adventure, as we spent about a week there five years ago, at the beginning of our last cycling trip in China. We know how to manage a city trip fairly well, with all of the Asian cities we've visited in the last decade. So there will be unexpected pleasures, surely, but I already have a feeling for the contexts in which those pleasures might appear. The totally unknown bits will begin on my birthday, May 12, at the start of the Silk Road on the outskirts of Xi'an, on two wheels.
Today, I managed breakfast, a cafe with Internet, and a visit to the Auckland Art Gallery, before Tali and I looked at each other, even though it was only 2:30 in the afternoon, and decided that we might as well wait at the Airport, as long as today was going to be a day of waiting, rather than a day of leisure. All went well and speedily with our check-in, and here I am in the Koru Club Lounge, passing the hours, living less and less in the future, as the present approaches, preparing to claim my full attention.
Wednesday 4 May 2011
Monday 2 May 2011
A State of Suspended Animation
Another in the seemingly interminable rainy days we've had, at first in the Hokianga, and now in Auckland, at least a week straight of stormy days so far. Everywhere I've traveled in New Zealand feels as if the lights don't come on, on rainy days - just a dull, grey twilight all day. And then, when the sun does make an appearance, it's as if Someone has turned on the lights, and all looks new, bright and charming. But not today...
I am sitting in a Gloria Jean's Cafe, right off Queen Street, a regular stop for us on our walks up and down the CBD. The restroom here is still not working...I think it's been "Temporarily Out Of Order" for more than a month now...in a State of Suspended Animation...just the same, no sign of any progress.
I have a tendency to live in a State of Suspended Animation, too. No progress, waiting for repair...in anticipation of something that's going to happen, but hasn't happened yet. In this case, the cycling adventure in China, which begins with the flight to Beijing tomorrow evening, hangs over both Tali and I, a lot like these storm clouds are hanging over Auckland. Independently of one another, we both find ourselves looking at travelogues on the Internet, written by previous cyclists on the Silk Road and in Tibet, to get a context, a feel for the trip we are about to undertake. Just how challenging will it be? What condition will the rural roads be in? Like a gravel washboard, as I read in one account?
Looking ahead or glancing behind all the time, I find that too often the present, which is the only time I can actually experience, seems to get lost. Ruminating about things I could have done better, or looking ahead to things that haven't happened yet, I don't derive enough pleasure from my moment to moment living. For example, the past two nights' restaurant dinners have been dreadful, because I didn't feel like putting in the energy needed to get to an excellent place to eat...too tired, it was raining, not that hungry anyway, and so on, through the litany of excuses that allows me to take the positive edge off my present. We've at least put some effort into tonight's dinner, so maybe we'll break that pattern, at the least!
I'm hoping that the upcoming two months of travel will keep me focused on living in and really feeling the present moment. Wait...the sun is starting to come out here...maybe it's time to get going!
I am sitting in a Gloria Jean's Cafe, right off Queen Street, a regular stop for us on our walks up and down the CBD. The restroom here is still not working...I think it's been "Temporarily Out Of Order" for more than a month now...in a State of Suspended Animation...just the same, no sign of any progress.
I have a tendency to live in a State of Suspended Animation, too. No progress, waiting for repair...in anticipation of something that's going to happen, but hasn't happened yet. In this case, the cycling adventure in China, which begins with the flight to Beijing tomorrow evening, hangs over both Tali and I, a lot like these storm clouds are hanging over Auckland. Independently of one another, we both find ourselves looking at travelogues on the Internet, written by previous cyclists on the Silk Road and in Tibet, to get a context, a feel for the trip we are about to undertake. Just how challenging will it be? What condition will the rural roads be in? Like a gravel washboard, as I read in one account?
Looking ahead or glancing behind all the time, I find that too often the present, which is the only time I can actually experience, seems to get lost. Ruminating about things I could have done better, or looking ahead to things that haven't happened yet, I don't derive enough pleasure from my moment to moment living. For example, the past two nights' restaurant dinners have been dreadful, because I didn't feel like putting in the energy needed to get to an excellent place to eat...too tired, it was raining, not that hungry anyway, and so on, through the litany of excuses that allows me to take the positive edge off my present. We've at least put some effort into tonight's dinner, so maybe we'll break that pattern, at the least!
I'm hoping that the upcoming two months of travel will keep me focused on living in and really feeling the present moment. Wait...the sun is starting to come out here...maybe it's time to get going!
Monday, May 2 - the adventure starts off a bit damply
Auckland is a wonderful gateway city for travelers. It sits right on the water, and many of its main avenues, like Queen Street, run from the hills on the outskirts of the CBD right down to the harbor's edge. When the wind is blowing fiercely in Auckland, as it is today, it feels like the whole city might just sail away, along with the hundreds of vessels moored in the harbor.
Because so many tourists come into town on boats and cruise ships, the restaurants, bars and coffeehouses situated at the water's edge, on Custom Street, for example, are packed with tour groups speaking German, French, or U.K.-accented English. They enter these small shops en masse, temporarily wreaking chaos with dozens of orders, their suitcases and backpacks everywhere...and then, just moments later, their group leader gives the signal, and they are all gone, leaving only tables-full of empty cups, saucers and glasses. If you're not a tour group member, as we are not, it's like swimming in the ocean...a wave comes in, washes over us, then recedes, leaving us in relative peace and quiet.
We are here today, the first of a couple of days in Auckland, before we take our flight to Beijing. We left our home in the Hokianga during a storm with gale-force winds and driving rain, and here, almost five hours by car south, the storm is just as powerful. No matter, we are officially on our way on a two-month journey that just begins in Beijing, and I confess to being excited... in fact, wicked excited.
Today, wet and chilled from the storm, it's easy to remember our biking trip through the Connemara, in Ireland, several years ago. We were there for about two weeks, and it rained, sometimes gently and more often rather violently, for all but three days. There were times the winds off the waters, as we biked along the coastal roads, were so powerful that it was a challenge just to stay upright on the bike, let alone to make any progress. Several times, we were forced to give up the struggle, and call for a taxi to pick us up and drive us to our hotel for the night. After a good meal and a rest, we would get going the next morning, in the rain, once again.
For our China trip, we will have a back-up vehicle, so we won't have to call for a cab...he will be there, behind us by no more than an hour or so, most likely smoking hacking, and spitting, to pass the (for him) boring days waiting for us to reach our biking limits, so he can pick us up and take us to our evening's destination, where dinner and a stiff drink of the local liquor await all of us. But what makes it easy to remember Ireland today is that the challenge of these months of biking is largely unknown at this time, as we've never biked in Northern China before. Will the trials come from the air pollution and haze, or from steep mountain roads, or hot and dusty deserts? Tali has just told me that the worst sandstorm in nine years has just hit Lanzhou, Xinjiang Province, which is directly on our route, destroying over five hundred houses. So I know it won't be easy, however the conditions are when we arrive there, and I just hope that I will be able to participate joyously in the task at hand.
Because so many tourists come into town on boats and cruise ships, the restaurants, bars and coffeehouses situated at the water's edge, on Custom Street, for example, are packed with tour groups speaking German, French, or U.K.-accented English. They enter these small shops en masse, temporarily wreaking chaos with dozens of orders, their suitcases and backpacks everywhere...and then, just moments later, their group leader gives the signal, and they are all gone, leaving only tables-full of empty cups, saucers and glasses. If you're not a tour group member, as we are not, it's like swimming in the ocean...a wave comes in, washes over us, then recedes, leaving us in relative peace and quiet.
We are here today, the first of a couple of days in Auckland, before we take our flight to Beijing. We left our home in the Hokianga during a storm with gale-force winds and driving rain, and here, almost five hours by car south, the storm is just as powerful. No matter, we are officially on our way on a two-month journey that just begins in Beijing, and I confess to being excited... in fact, wicked excited.
Today, wet and chilled from the storm, it's easy to remember our biking trip through the Connemara, in Ireland, several years ago. We were there for about two weeks, and it rained, sometimes gently and more often rather violently, for all but three days. There were times the winds off the waters, as we biked along the coastal roads, were so powerful that it was a challenge just to stay upright on the bike, let alone to make any progress. Several times, we were forced to give up the struggle, and call for a taxi to pick us up and drive us to our hotel for the night. After a good meal and a rest, we would get going the next morning, in the rain, once again.
For our China trip, we will have a back-up vehicle, so we won't have to call for a cab...he will be there, behind us by no more than an hour or so, most likely smoking hacking, and spitting, to pass the (for him) boring days waiting for us to reach our biking limits, so he can pick us up and take us to our evening's destination, where dinner and a stiff drink of the local liquor await all of us. But what makes it easy to remember Ireland today is that the challenge of these months of biking is largely unknown at this time, as we've never biked in Northern China before. Will the trials come from the air pollution and haze, or from steep mountain roads, or hot and dusty deserts? Tali has just told me that the worst sandstorm in nine years has just hit Lanzhou, Xinjiang Province, which is directly on our route, destroying over five hundred houses. So I know it won't be easy, however the conditions are when we arrive there, and I just hope that I will be able to participate joyously in the task at hand.
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