Suzhou and Wuxi — you got Wǒ ài nǐ

Subtitle: Becky’s revenge

Wǒ ài nǐ means I love you, but it sounds like ‘what I need’ so by virtue of pronunciation, that title makes sense.

The rolling tub of goo set its course West to two ‘smaller’ cities in the Yangzhee River Delta (Wuxi is the source of the river and the river divides China, although I’d argue a few other things might be contributing to the division.) By smaller I mean just a handful of millions of people pushing and shoving (and spitting) their way through life. It is downright gorgeous in these 2 cities. Cautionary tale: do not let Beijing set your judgement of this country. Beijing is like 7 Houstons strung together with trash heaps, emissions, and a 70s LA smog cloud bubbling the entire thing. By comparison, Suzhou (pronounced Sue-Joe) and Wuxi (Woo-She) are a Hawaiian garden paradise. Without the chickens. Well the live chickens anyway.

Our day started with Kelly yelling at us. And we liked her so much! It took us a while to realize it since she is very earnest in her delivery. What I gathered through her exasperated fifth grade teacher tirade was that the tour guide reviews we all dutifully filled out for Rebecca the day before did not sit well with the tour company. Kelly is pissed off as the now designated spokesperson to say, in summary, “You paid $399 jackasses! Shut your pie holes and be grateful.” Duly noted. (At one point while Kelly was spewing dragon fire…not a good time to rub her butt — Clare assessed Kelly was being a bit ‘nazi-ish’ – when in Rome, right?)

After a stern dressing down, our captivity brought us to a Silk Factory. Suzhou is the silk capital of the world, certainly made so by the financial influx of tourists dropped off in waves, bursting with discretionary income and bacon grease. We were greeted by “Jessica” the Margaret Cho of the silk factory circuit. She was sincerely joyful and self-depricatingly funny. She showed us how to tell real silk from polyester. Silk doesn’t burn. Good to know. Learning time: the pre-silk worm ant-like insects eat the leaves of a mulberry-like tree with leaves bigger than Jessica’s face (her words, not mine.) After about a month of non-stop leaf eating (those pre-pupa-cents should be on our bus, but replace ‘leaf’ with ‘Oreos and churros’) like a college Freshman, they projectile vomit a single string of silk about 2km in length. Then they wrap themselves into a cocoon for the eventuality of becoming a moth. Now here’s where the sucky lives of silk worms begins. Imagine getting ready for the prom. You’re wrapped in a beautiful silk gown you spun yourself. You’re Cinder-freaking-Ella. The warmth of the pumpkin carriage makes you forget your miserable existence. Then mere moments before you get to spread your wings and fly into the arms of the monarch of your dreams, you’re thrust into a boiling pot of water so that your fancy duds can be harvested and turned into silk underwear for the rich and famous. Thanks Stadium Pal!

This is where Jessica went full-on Home Shopping Network. She *actually* said the words “Have I got deal for you!” It was a special price created for the G20 summit. Two years ago. When Obama was still in office. I guess before that the special was the Gettysburg deal — a complete bed set and a peace treaty. If you buy today, you get mattress pad, comforter, duvet, 2 pillow case and sheet — all 100% pupa puke silk for the low low American sucker price of $499 for a queen set. (OK. It was a pretty hot deal.) AND today only – TWO FREE PILLOWS. These aren’t just any pillows. No, these pillows each contain a medicinal pouch that is the cure for headaches and allergies. Filling the pouch? Pupa poop. Because the vomit wasn’t enough. I’m guessing ‘cure’ is a mistranslation for “dead from poop inhalation.'” All of this shrink wrapped for your convenience. BUT WAIT! That’s not all! FREE SHIPPING! And if you don’t want to wait for literally the slow boat from China, you get a free rolly bag (upon touching it, the bag is clearly made in China.) If that’s not enough to push this Kind Mart blue light special crew over the edge, the first 5 to buy the G20 special gets a free scarf and the second child of an out-of-compliance family. Well, if you put it that way. Despite Clare goading me on, I decided a floral and Phoenix adorned bed linens (or silks as it were) in pinks and blues just wasn’t my style.

After learning about the health benefits of silk sheets and poop pillows, we were released into the wild of the showroom. I am not one for the mayhem of Black Friday and today was proof as to why. Busloads and caravans of people who complain on normal days that everything in the US comes from China could not WAIT to get their hands on stuff that was OMG MADE IN CHINA! It’s original and authentic! Buy buy buy! Before they’re gone or before we have to wait 3.6 seconds for them to open one of thousands of boxes of the same scarf or hanky carefully constructed by a roomful of willing adults (wink wink.)

Piles and piles of Burberry, Chanel, LV, and Fendi scarves cheap cheap for you. There’s no tags because that would be illegal. Buddha forbid! GRAB THAT! But it’s 100% pashmina. Isn’t that from India? THAT’S STILL ASIAN! I DON’T CARE! THE POOR AIR QUALITY HAS HAD AN IMPACT ON MY FISCAL RESPONSIBILITY AND REASON! (Shut up. I bought one. It was cheap and cute. And I’m *certain* I never would have found one on the streets of New York.)

Luckily, they confiscated my matches at the airport (not kidding — all good Italians travel with matches out of respect for their roommates) otherwise I would have pyro-ed that place checking for the real silk pieces. We soon realized about 3 hours had passed in our shopping coma. What the actual heck. (This Chinese tourism thing is really starting to work out. For China.)

Off to the Lingering Gardens, originally the private gardens of the Emperors. I’m not quite sure why they call it Lingering since our experience was more like the rush you’re ungrateful asses though gardens. It really was quite tranquil. I imagined a Jane Austin-worthy stroll through the bonsai courtyard near the koi fish pond. I had to imagine it because the rapid pace across the cobble stones threatened a twisted kankle (there’s a lot of salt in this food – we all have them) and a dreaded timber! of this noodle-filled America. GF we are not. And it would all be caught on video because the locals are FASCINATED by us.

A note on that. We knew that we would be stared at — in general, there aren’t a lot of white folk here. We expected that a few would snap a shot or two since we all look like we belong in a carnival. Instead, it’s more like this bus is the train filled with exotic, well-fed zoo animals. As we move from place to place in a cluster, the Chinese stand to the side, iPhones in hand, capturing video as we walk by. They fluctuate between being bold and terrified of us. (It’s likely because of the humidity filled hair. I’ve gone from Howard Stern to Rosanne Rosanna Danna in a matter of hours. Neither of which is a desired look.) At the gardens, one older man in particular was frozen, smiling and laughing as he gazed upon ‘this.’ Perhaps it’s my Buddha-like belly that has developed from breakfast noodles. I am to be revered, dammit. He followed us around, asking us to pose in different places to capture the specimens of capitalism. Clare rewarded him with a (partial) headstand by the lily pad pond.

From here we went to another government sponsored excursion. The embroidery camp. OK. In all seriousness, this was completely impressive. Intricate details in pieces of all shapes and sizes. Two-sided artwork that only magic could produce.

Whole new appreciation for the embroidery field. Props. I’m going home to raid dad’s house for potential masterpieces. (DIBS!)

With no more options to supplement the Chinese economy, we were finally ushered out in time time to visit what Suzhou is famous for: its canals. They say Suzhou is the Venice of China. At least they smell similar. This is where we see how the Rosanne’s among us live. As Kelly has taught us, China means “Cheaper House Is Not Available.” The cruise through the canals was calm and educational. The homes were what you would expect of structures built on the water. Dilapidated and run down. Generations on generations live in these homes and do their laundry in the less-than-pleasant smelling canal water. But they don’t leave. The cost to get into one of these hovels is literally about a million dollars. A 1000 square foot apartment in Shanghai is about $725,000. (Hong Kong is about 3x more expense.) I just can’t find anything funny about that. But it explains a lot. Regardless, the people seems cheerful and content, playing cards, chatting with friends, and strolling along the ‘boardwalk.’

We had made an ill-advised decision to enjoy the canals with a Tsingtao roadie (or canalie as it were.) It was lovely to sip on a Chinese beer while taking in the sites. What wasn’t so pleasant was the bus ride to the Grand Buddha – about 90 minutes of bladder bursting fun. When the back half of the bus asked Kelly for a bathroom break, she looked at us and said, ‘Oh. You been drinking? Yeah I know you been drinking. No bathroom. You wait til Three Kingdoms.’ Now, there are two things wrong with that. First, there were 8 people with “yellow fever” begging for mercy with every jolt of the bus. Second, WTF is Three Kingdoms? This is where our captivity goes south. Many if not all of us were looking forward to the Grand Buddha of Wuxi. Kelly explained the Grand Buddha no longer included in our trip. Just ‘cuz. They’re crazy like that. There were enough Buddhas on the bus anyway.

Instead, we were taken to a fabricated amusement park and movie set. Pure confusion on the faces of all. I think it was a punishment for the bad reviews. Becky’s revenge. With the promise of extra time in Wuxi and a 5-star hotel, we obediently cruised around on the tram and tried to understand what just happened to us.

We arrive in Wuxi, a thriving metropolis (not being sarcastic.) When the itinerary said “Days Inn” we were looking the least forward to these accommodations. Ironically, it was a legit 5-star hotel with a hair dryer with enough promise to fill my soul and hair follicles with hope of straightness. It was late enough when we arrived at the same time as the other 15 luxury buses filled with weary and confused travelers. Looking across the sea of American ingrates waiting in line for the elevators, we decided to check our bags and venture out into the night.

With the excitement of 16 year olds on a solo drive for the fist time, we braved the lack of recognizable characters on store fronts and plethora of ‘what’s up with these crazy bitches’ gazes (and often glares — we blame Trump) and went in search of authentic food. Clare tried to buy skewers from a women grilling outside — outside a restaurant she was cooking them for. No dice, you one-language rubes. We considered a few options, rejected the ones with shirtless old men reminiscent of the first time you see your grandpa topless, and opted for a place that had enough locals to convince us of it’s quality. On the menu: buffet-style selections running the gamut and stares. Stares were their speciality. We chose something beef-like, sweet and sour-ish, vegetable-y and bok choi. For all that, and a bottle of water, 40 Yuan which is about 6 bucks. Our first thought — holy crud that’s cheap. Second thought – waaaiiiit a minute. Our “optional” lunch cost could support a family of 5 for a month, except that there are no families of 5.

Some people sat and gaped full on for our entire meal. We recognized that everyone had at least 3x as many plates of food on their table. The rice is free (we took one bowl vs. two much to their amusement.) No one takes credit cards — and when Clare flashed it like the entitled American that she is, she got the WWE smack down of looks from the cashier. When the 2 policemen came in we wondered if the threat alert had been raised when these two fluffy-haired vixens entered the establishment. When one woman left, the glare she gave us made me check that I checked to make sure my organs hadn’t been harvested without my knowledge. I haven’t had a woman look at me like that since I pushed her out of the way at the silk factory. Again, Trump. Regardless, we reveled in the experience and suffered none gastronomically for the adventure.

We ended the night enjoying green tea ice cream from KFC, sitting in the open square with a post-rain storm breeze wafting through, watching the roller bladers and line dancers on display. Oh yeah. Line dancing. Like jade, it’s a thing here. Someone shows up with a speaker and people just jump in. Hordes of them. The first night we arrived, we thought it was a skating rink. Nope. Just hundreds of people, moving in sync, in a circle for hours on end. Nope. Not terrifying at all. What was terrifying was the man who oddly did the kissy kissy smack smack face to Clare. No construction area in sight. It was the oddest thing.

We did a lot today. It was all a considerable blur. We still have cash and ATM failure. 3 days to go! We just might make it out of here with our bank accounts and lower GIs in order.

Final thought. We totally have the girl from Monsters Inc on our bus.

Parting shot: