by ANN MARIE FLEMING Okay, wait- ing to get to Xian. Finally sick sick sick. Yesterday, a tour of the forest of Steeples and the Shaolin’ Temple after 2 1/2 hours bump bump bumping over the Chinese country- side. Beautiful, green, efficient. A dramatic contrast to the bubbling bile of the cities. Luo Yan almost like a uni- versity town. The smooth, reflective marble floors we skated over in the lobby of the Friendship Hotel. On the way back from the temple I had to pee so bad—worse than any time I can re- member except that time when Kevin drove me back from the Pitt, I was so drunk, I told him I loved him and then peed my pants. Eight years ago. Same thing. Made it to the bathroom this time — barely. Bruise marks on my thighs from me grabbing them. Oh, and the goodnews. Bought two squeal- ing cats...great lunch...oh, right, we found Colin. Fantastic. Cindy, Roberta, Sharon, Eva, casualties in the sicko department. Some people are really Starting to grate on my nerves. Bought some scrolls. Chery] fell in love witha man from Rhode Island after 2 1/2 minutes. What else? Boring trave- logue stuff. After such a wonderful train berth the first time, no one was ready for the gunge that met us last night. I was so sick. So sore throated-out. Romance between ‘Rob and Cindy. Nov. 8 Another day. Watching a dusky red sun burn it’s way through the pop- lars, row upon row. I never realized those stunning effects came from a combination of 10,000 years of dust and 100 years of coal pollution. Another sickly night on the train. 7:00 a.m. Ready to alight at Luo Yan. Everything about this country is capti- vating — it’s “oh” “oh” “oh” left right and centre. So many highs, so many lows. I wonder if it will teach us all to look again at things that were so famil- iar at home... or perhaps it will only serve to reiterate their mundanity. Oh, how profound... Nothing that much to report, since I’ve switched into survival mode. Never really feel like writing when I have a spare moment to myself. You should see this sunrise. Just like com- ing into Brindisi. Except no garbage dumps full of unwanted auto parts. The same colours, power lines, etc. The same tracks, that, I imagine, go all the way around the world. The same trees. Fuck, this really could be Italy. Did the toilets smell this bad there? I don’ tremember, so probably not. And the windows opened wider. Youdidn’t have to crank them open. David Rimmer, Dennis and Mike etc. went to this closed-by-ten Guy Lombardo disco last night and sat in. Danced. Ate snake on the street. They’re full of these little macho-he- roic stories. Dave seems to be having the best time of us all on this trip. Snapping film every second on the second, waiting for that Michael Snow experience. There sure can be a lot of joy in documentation. And a lot of re- dundancy. We'll never all compare slides, I hope. Nov.9 (or is it 10?) On the train to Shanghai. This country is really so beautiful. I just love train travel. Even though it makes writing a bit hard... Lastnight was a bit ofa blowout. Lots of fun, but, unfortu- nately there was a little late night video documentation going on, whichI don’t think I shall appreciate later on in life. VOL.4NO.6 lunch was surpris- ingly good. Fresh fish. Chilled vege- tables. When you stick your head outside the win- dow, wet droplets hityou. So, bestto keep your mouth closed. Evawastrain sick all night yes- terday. Veda is doing a little bet- ter. Someone thought Darrell had actually died this morning. I bought some wonder- ful stuff at the Grotto yesterday...that let me in on some Chinese marketeer- ing. We are such babes in the woods. Oh yeah, the Grotto. Limestone bud- dhas carved in every way shape and size over an entire side of a mountain. This is a land of wonders. Some de- faced by the Japanese, the Cultural revolutionaries, the weather. What does modern China have to do with all this legacy? Icons to a forbidden, forgot- ten, past. No more sacred places here. And I don’t mean that in a purely relig- ious sense. A feeling of loss... of quiet green patches of cabbage. The only place there is no one. The only place to be alone, but only alone with your Vivaldi blasting through your ears so you don’t have to listen to the train Noises. Shanghai: the Park Hotel. Dusty Rose coverslips. Old old dark wood things. Ah. So what if the shower doesn’t work. The tap pours out at 100 mph. ra é 4 — er eee jasese' perm THE SEAMIER SIDE OF BEING Ih First off, let me say that I really had a wonderful, once in a thrill of a lifetime chance kind of time in the People’s Republic of China. [have to say this at the onset of this story be- cause if I did not you would end up thinking that I was some type of masochist or, worse, one of those whining package-tour tourist types who should stay home and watch Na- tional Geographic specials. I would like to say that I am neither. Ihave spent most of my life travel- ling around the globe, first as an “army brat” (though technically my dad was in the air force, and we were all well be- haved) and then as one of those back- pack/Eurail/youth hostel student-dis- count types. So the angle I decided to take in this Exotic Article is that of travelling to a foreign country, and get- ting sick. What was so special about getting sick in Shanghai was not only how it hit me so fast, but how my body reacted in a way that bordered on the nightmarish. When I backpacked around Europe I caught a cold from getting my feet wet on the Cote d’ Azur, but it was just a typical cold with a French sniffle. What I got in Shanghai is a completely differ- ent story. And here it is. by ANN MARIE FLEMING Nov. 6 Okay, wait. ing wo getto Xian. Finally sicksicksick. Yesterday, tour of the forest of Steeples and the Shaolin ‘Temple ater 2 1/2 hours bump bump bumping over the Chinese county side. Beautiful, green, efficient. A