New thing #47: Bunco bunch brunch

Anyone who knows me well finds it hilarious that a non-game player like me is in a bunco club. Part of the reason I participate is that "bunco" is code for "get together to eat, drink, gossip, and occasionally toss a pair of dice". But the main reason is the group of women with whom I play.

A job transfer brought us to Michigan ten years ago. We landed in an upscale neighborhood, and I wondered how we would fit in. Senior's hair was longer than mine, I had a couple tattoos, The Girl was in her Goth phase and The Boy hadn't quite grown into his front teeth. We were the only house on the street with resin chairs on the deck and a Harley in the garage. But the neighbors seemed friendly, so when I was invited to fill in as a sub in their bunco club, I decided to give it a try. I remember being intimidated with these women at first. One of them owned a plane, for crying out loud. Another lived in a castle. All were confident, successful and bright. And welcoming. And fun. I've been playing every month since then. If I need to know the name of a good contractor or a recommendation for a great restaurant, I call one of the bunco girls. When I had back surgery, they all pitched in and brought dinner to my family every other night for weeks. We celebrate each others's successes and support each other in hard times, so I really wanted to share a New Thing with my bunco babes.

There is a beautiful venue nearby called the Pine Knob Mansion. It's a popular spot for weddings, and they also host a Sunday brunch. Most of us had never been there, so we decided it would be fun to visit. Since none of us are planning to get remarried, we went for the brunch. We set out on a chilly fall day, only getting lost once on the labyrinth of roads winding up to the Mansion. This English Manor residence was built in 1927 by Colonel Sidney Waldon, who served as VP of the Cadillac Motor Company and was also responsible for creating the landing field now known as Selfridge Air Force Base. Only a few of the rooms are open to the public, but they are all impressive. There is a library straight ahead of the foyer, a beautiful paneled bar and ballroom to the left and the Great Hall to the right, where brunch is served. A stone terrace stretches across the back of the home, anchored by a gazebo and bordered by a serpentine wall. The house and surrounding gardens are located on the highest point in Southeast Michigan, literally right next to Pine Knob ski hill, and offer the best views in town.

The Great Hall has a beautiful arched ceiling, huge windows accented with stained glass, and ornate wood trim. The brunch buffet is laid out with a selection of traditional breakfast foods (including an omelette station) and a variety of heavier lunch selections. I felt it was my duty to sample just about everything they had to offer, even managing to nab pieces off a pyramid of fresh fruit without starting an avalanche across the white tablecloth. The attentive staff made sure our glasses were full and our empty plates were removed promptly. (It could be that they were just trying to stay warm, since there was a cold draft through the hall that lowered the temperature to almost unbearable proportions). After stuffing myself, I noticed that people were coming out of the bar with plates piled with cake and chocolate covered strawberries. Always up for a challenge, I uncorked my hollow leg and went to check it out. You could make your own ice cream sundaes, or help yourself to an array of desserts that I'm pretty sure came straight out of Costco's freezer case. They even had chocolate covered bacon, which of course we all tried. It was very salty and pretty disgusting.

Brunch at Pine Knob Mansion was a lovely, relaxing experience and I recommend it to anyone. But if you want to book a wedding there, I suggest you check the concert schedule at nearby DTE music theater first, or don't bother hiring a band. And wear a jacket. And stay away from the dessert bacon.

New thing #46: Bikini boot camp

I've been hearing about Bikini Boot Camp at my local gym for almost two years. It's tough enough that some people enroll in a conditioning class just to work their way up to this one. It's run by a petite blond dynamo who just returned from maternity leave and can still bounce a quarter on her stomach. My best friend is one of her recruits.

Just to clarify - you don't wear a bikini to this class; it's supposed to whip you into bikini shape. My current shape is somewhere between pear and starfruit, and I knew one class wasn't going to do the trick. But if I don't challenge myself, who will? So I put on my big-girl pants (the ones with the built in sports diaper, just in case jumping was involved - I am fifty, after all) and headed to the gym.

We warmed up on the elliptical for about fifteen minutes before going to meet our instructor, Jessica. [Note: Jessica is actually a friendly, soft-spoken professional who took time to explain each move and correct our form, all while giving us useful tips like how to avoid stressful eating and how to reduce water retention bloat. But in the interest of artistic license, I will refer to her as the Drill Sergeant (Sarge) for the rest of this post.] 

Sarge handed us tonight's program, a full page of exercises focusing on upper body and core moves. Most of the moves would be done on something called the Tower, a tall, sleek torture rack with adjustable straps attached to a vertical sliding mechanism. Our training was broken into four sections. Each section had two different exercises that targeted opposing muscle groups. I can never remember the names of the muscles, so I just related each section to my problem areas:

     Group 1 - Back Fat/Armpit Bulge
     Group 2 - Batwings/Popeye Arms
     Group 3 - Droopy Shoulders/Humpback
     Group 4 - Beer Belly/Plank Butt

For the first group, Sarge said to move the slide up to the top of the Tower and put the weight between 15 and 25 pounds. Naturally I set mine at 12. We did fifteen reps of Back Fat with each arm, then segued immediately into fifteen reps of Armpit Bulge with each arm. I finished and was feeling pretty good until Sarge told us that we were repeating the entire set three more times. And get this, the last set didn't stop at fifteen reps - after you finished those, you rested for a few seconds then repeated reps until you reached the point of muscle failure. May I say, this was not the most motivating instruction I've ever received. 

I made it through the whole routine, using the counting technique I learned as a kid. "1, 2, skip a few, 44, skip some more, 99, 100." When I finished, I looked at Sarge like a happy puppy. She pointed to the door and said "Laps!" Two of them around the track; a mix of jogging and sprinting. By the end of the second lap I was composing my last will and testament in my head.

We were expected to repeat this whole routine for all four muscle groups. All the other Brunhildas quickly lowered the slide on their Tower to chest level and got to work on their Batwings. I gamely reached up to release the lever on my Tower, but since my arms were now jelly I couldn't get it to budge. I ended up standing on the base of the Tower, pulling with both arms in short, jerky motions accompanied by short, jerky grunts, until I finally wiggled the lever out far enough to set the slide into the correct position. After this everything became kind of a blur. We moved on through endless sets of Batwings and Popeye Arms, around the track twice more, then endless sets of Droopy Shoulders and Humpback. At this point I hit the figurative wall. Light headed and nauseous, I sipped water and took wobbly walking laps around the track until I felt better. I did return and try a set of Beer Belly/Plank Butts, but only made it through one before common sense took over and I headed down to the locker room.

I took Sarge's advice and stretched out my throbbing muscles, then grabbed my gym bag and headed to my car. I had to use my knees during the drive home because I couldn't get my arms to move the steering wheel. I was sore the next day (week), but not as bad as I had feared. I even heard a tiny voice deep inside me that said I should go back and keep trying until I make it through the whole class without skimping on any moves.  But I was able to drown it out with a nice glass of red wine from the comfort of my couch.

New thing #45: Disc golf

I'm counting down my final few New Things, and with less than a month to the deadline, my family is pitching right in to make sure I reach my goal. Today they took me to play disc golf. There are a lot of courses around here, some easy and some more challenging. We went to Seymour Lake Park and played the back nine; a nice course that winds through the woods before coming out into the open near the ball fields. 

Disc golf is played by tossing flying discs down a course, aiming for the chains and basket of the target pole. You'd think you could just grab a Frisbee from the garage to play. But no, you have to go out and buy official disc golf discs, which are basically Frisbees with a thick beveled edge. They have putters and drivers and mid-range discs, all with different degrees of loft and speed. I tried a few different kinds, and every one I threw went about six feet and landed in a bush. 

I was having too much fun to get discouraged. The Boy showed me how to wind up on the tee (like pull-starting a motor) and Senior taught me to keep the disc level during release. The Girl and The Boyfriend kept us laughing and helped retrieve my wayward discs. I did get better as we moved through the course, despite the fact it took me two turns to cover as much ground as any of the boys did in a single throw. And even though I had a hard time zeroing in on the target, I managed a direct hit on The Girl with my disc. Twice.

I played real golf once, about thirty years ago. I made it to the second green before throwing my clubs down in disgust and swearing that I'd never play the game again. I've matured a lot since then. I haven't improved, but I've definitely matured. I'm a long way from the LPDGA, but I had a really fun afternoon with my family and I will play this game again.

New thing #44: This one sounds more elegant in Haiku

Why yes, that IS two women on a giant inflatable Hot Dog.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tubing seemed like fun;
But I had never tried it.
Sounds like a New Thing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Inflate the Wiener!
And we shall conquer the waves.
But the lake says no.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Flying in the wake.
A moment later, airborne.
A nose enema.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Determination.
Mermaids of the frankfurter
Regain the saddle.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ * ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

New thing #43: Stand Up Paddling

 What's SUP!

Stand up paddling (SUP) is one of the fastest growing water sports, probably because it's not hard and you don't need a ton of equipment. I've been noticing people out on our lake with paddle boards and thought it looked like fun. Old men, pregnant women and dogs have all glided past our dock with ease. It wasn't long before my buddies at Groupon made me an offer I couldn't refuse - a paddle board lesson for three people taught by Urban Wave SUP. Sarah and Chani started the business earlier this year, and they'll bring everything you need to get the fun started.

Senior and The Girl joined me for our early morning lesson. The air was cool; the lake was calm and quiet. Chani showed up right on time and unloaded a variety of boards. She has a fun surfer vibe and set us right at ease. The 90-minute lesson starts on land, where you learn some basic rules and practice holding the paddle correctly. Before long we were in the water and ready to practice what we'd learned. 

We attached leashes to our ankles and The Girl bungeed a lobster to the front of her board for luck. You start out on your knees, and then push yourself up to a standing position. I thought this would be the hardest part, but it was actually pretty easy and we all popped right up. Chani continued to give us tips as she led us out into the lake, like how to brace yourself to shift your weight so your toes don't fall asleep from the death grip they have on the board. The stroke you use while paddling is different than propelling a kayak or a canoe. You keep your arms straighter and use your core to gain momentum. If you do it right it's a great workout.

After a few minutes, both Senior and The Girl really got the hang of it. I, on the other hand, couldn't get rid of my jelly legs. They both skimmed around the lake, executing turns and slicing through the shallows, while I continued to wobble and paddle around in circles, cursing all those old men and pregnant women and their dogs. I only fell once, somehow managing to end up sitting on the board instead of touching the icky lake bottom, but I never felt relaxed and was getting pretty frustrated. Then Chani suggested I trade boards with Senior, who had been paddling a longer, heavier board. Eureka! It made a world of difference and I immediately began to enjoy myself. SUP frees you from the confines of the canoe or kayak. You can turn on a dime or in a lazy circles, skip over the wake of a passing boat, streak across the bay or pause to watch the Bluegills swimming beneath you. You can stand, sit, kneel or just lie down and float. It's about the most versatile water toy I've ever tried.

By the end of the lesson we were considering buying boards and starting our own SUP community. But a good board isn't cheap, and you have to have a place to store it. Renting will work better for us for now, especially since the girls at Urban Wave will deliver the rental boards to our door. So keep your eyes open, we might be cruising by your dock one of these days.

New thing #42: Hot air ballooning

“Well, one day I went up in a balloon and the ropes got twisted, so that I couldn’t come down again. It went way up above the clouds, so far that a current of air struck it and carried it many, many miles away. For a day and a night I traveled through the air, and on the morning of the second day I awoke and found the balloon floating over a strange and beautiful country."                                                                 ― L. Frank Baum, Oz: The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz

If you ever get the opportunity to experience balloon flight, you might find yourself wishing to be in Professor Marvel's shoes. It's a unique adventure that begins when your pilot snaps a tracer up into the sky to check the wind, and ends with a traditional champagne toast after you land.

I often see Sky Adventures hot air balloons floating in the sky over Oxford, so I decided to book a ride with them. At first I thought I might be flying solo, but then my fearless friend Marie agreed to join me. It took three tries before the weather and our schedules aligned in ballooning harmony, but we finally got to meet the crew and our fellow passengers. Marie and I were assigned to the Mini Phee, the smallest of four balloons that would be lifting off that evening. One of the pilots released a small latex balloon into the sky to check the prevailing winds, which determines the launch site.  The boy scout camp in Metamora was chosen, so we headed there in a caravan of trucks and trailers and watched the crew set up. It was remarkable how quickly the baskets and frames were unloaded and assembled. The balloons, which were stored in large canvas bags inside the trailers, are unloaded by slowly driving the trailer ahead while crew members dole it out on the ground, foot by foot. A flame-retardant skirt is attached to the end of the balloon envelope and then strung onto the basket frame. Now came the really clever part: diesel-powered industrial fans were wheeled out and used to inflate the balloons. It was fascinating to see the long tubes of nylon grow into colorful elongated spheres while crew members held firmly onto the skirts. Once the balloons were fully inflated, the pilot crawled inside the basket.  His crew slowly tipped the basket upright while the pilot fired up the burners. This heated up the air enough to keep the envelope inflated until we were ready to board.

A small portable ladder makes climbing into the basket quite easy. In no time we were rising up into the air, more smoothly than any elevator. It's very peaceful but not as quiet as I expected. There is a steady hiss from the fuel line, and when the burner comes on it erupts in a noisy burst. It's also quite warm, most likely from the huge deadly plume of fire hovering just over your head. The balloon rotates slowly as you drift through the sky, so sometimes you see where you're going and sometimes you see where you've been. The view is phenomenal, so clear that we could see the Detroit skyline over 40 miles away, and so much better than peering through an airplane's dirty plexiglas window. I think anyone who rides a motorcycle can relate to the wonder of actually being able to see and taste and smell the scenery as it goes by.

We meandered over the countryside at an average speed of about 6.5 mph, alternating between rising up then gradually dipping low enough to let the trees brush the dust off the bottom of the basket. At our highest altitude we reached 1400 feet. Neither Marie nor I felt any fear, even when hanging out over the side of the basket to take pictures of our reflection in a lake, or trying to grab pinecones out of the treetops. Great Blue herons glided below us, deer paused in the woods before dashing under the trees, and livestock paced in their fields, perhaps unsettled by the strange sound of the balloon above them. Most of the ride was over rural countryside, where the house-to-chicken ration leaned heavily in favor of the chickens. We waved and called to people out working in their yards or sitting on their front porch enjoying the soft evening air.

After about 45 minutes the tanks ran low and it was time to land. Our pilot picked out a suitable landing place in an undeveloped double lot of a country club subdivision, about 10 miles from our lift off point. There is a vent at the top of the balloon that he can manipulate by pulling on a cord, and that helps him regulate our speed and loft. He told us to hold on and keep our knees springy in case the landing was rough, then expertly steered us towards a 'Chaser' who had followed us on the ground. When we got close enough, our Chaser reached up and guided the basket down to a smooth gentle landing. We climbed out of the basket and helped tip it on one side to be dismantled, then waited as the crew walked the length of the balloon, squeezing out the air and securing it with straps before rolling it up. We helped them return it to the canvas bag while carefully shooing away the many curious grasshoppers that inhabited the empty lot. Apparently a grasshopper trapped in the nylon of the balloon will eat its way out.

We drove back to our meeting point and joined the other balloonists to swap stories and pop open some champagne (or sparkling juice). We toasted our successful flights and agreed that they ended all too soon, and we should do it again. Maybe next time we'll get all the way to Oz.

New thing #41: Paint Creek Trail

At the trail head

One of my friends inspired this New Thing by asking me if I'd ever been on the Paint Creek Trail. Since this was another spot I've always meant to visit, I was glad to meet her there one evening after work. We found great parking spots next to a big hedge behind a restaurant at the north end of the trail, which starts out in the heart of the Village of Lake Orion. I was a little surprised at how many homes back right up to the trail at this point. We might have given off a little Creeper vibe as we passed by and checked out their back yards, noticing if they had mowed their lawns or if they needed new kitchen curtains. But soon the paved trail gave way to dirt and we had left the village behind. We finished our warm-up and started running at an easy pace. This is a great path to run on - narrow but well maintained, hard packed and level, very scenic as it follows Paint Creek - and bonus! There are bathrooms along the way! The only problem is the trail is really busy, with a steady stream of kamikaze bicycles that whizz past you at full speed. Happily, most of the riders yelled "On your left!", which provided enough warning for us to get out of their way. There is also a spot with a big warning sign telling you to watch for wayward arrows from the nearby archery range. Interestingly, I only noticed the warning signs posted for people heading south. I guess you northward-bound hikers are expendable.

We ran for nearly 3 miles, feeling pretty athletic until we realized that the whole way had been down hill. So we walked the return, allowing us to really enjoy the natural surroundings. We passed fields of wildflowers going to seed and crossed over mossy ravines. The creek criss-crossed the path several times, with sets of steps that invited you down to splash in the shallow water before it meandered out of sight. Benches were strategically placed for those who wanted to rest and watch the birds. At one point we noticed two new-century hippie chicks exiting one of the many side paths running perpendicular to the trail and figured we must be near a party spot. I couldn't see anything through the trees, but eagle-eye Kim noticed some graffiti. We decided to check it out so we turned down the next side path and found this fun and funky art explosion sharing the space with Mother Nature:


We made our way back to the main trail and continued towards the village. I was busy casting one eye to the sky in case any disgruntled Archers were hiding in the woods, when we heard a really strange noise coming down the trail behind us. It was a girl cruising by on an Elliptigo, one of the coolest things I've seen in a while. I have got to find a place that rents these!

Dusk was approaching by the time we got back to our cars, but there were very few bugs and the weather was so perfect that it didn't seem possible that an hour and a half had gone by. The Paint Creek trail is definitely a place to visit again.  

New thing #40: Voilà! Soufflé

One of the things on my short list when I started this project was to channel my inner Julia Child and make a soufflé. I really want to be a better cook than I am, and this seemed like a nice challenge. I was tempted to make a chocolate soufflé, but I decided to stick to the classics instead. I had this recipe, and what better way to honor a traditional French dish than with a mixture of Italian and Swiss cheeses?

Senior was out of town, but both The Boy and The Girl were home on a weekday night. This is a rare occurrence and deserving of a special occasion meal. Unfortunately I didn’t have most of the key ingredients. I headed out to the grocery store, but I don’t seem to be physically able to enter a Kroger without filling a cart. By the time I got home it was after 8:00 pm and both had eaten. Undeterred, I got out my utensils, put on a fancy polka-dotted apron (really) and pre-heated the oven.

Soufflés are actually pretty easy to make! It’s basically a white sauce with cheese and eggs. My Food Network addiction finally paid off as I had no problem thickening my sauce, grating the cheese, separating and tempering egg yolks and beating egg whites into beautiful tall foamy peaks. Everything folded together nicely, and in less than 20 minutes I had six ramekins ready to go in the oven.

I reminisced while I cooked. My mother’s mother was a home economics teacher, but she was not the warm fuzzy type that liked to cook with her grandchildren. My strongest memory of her is being told to get my hair out of my face. Mom cooked to please my father, who felt that salt was the only necessary seasoning. Spaghetti sauce was a can of undiluted condensed tomato soup, salad dressing was defrosted lemonade concentrate, and casseroles were barely tolerated. Now, sometimes meals were more exciting. At least once a summer my dad would bring home live lobsters and we’d feast. On occasion we ate stuffed beef heart, venison stew, and roast duck. But a typical dinner at our house was plain meat, boiled potatoes and frozen vegetables all cooked into submission and served swimming in butter and salt. It's no wonder that exotic foods would become a passion in my adult life.

My creation

Since I’ve never eaten a soufflé, I had no idea how they should look on the inside or how they should taste. When the timer went off, I took one out of the oven to check for doneness. The Girl and I dug in our spoons, but the middle hadn’t set. She accused me of trying to give them salmonella, and The Boy refused to even try it. But after another five minutes they were done and beautifully tall. We admired the golden brown crust. We poked them and watched them deflate. We entertained ourselves by calling out "Ermahgerd! Serfler!!" The only part we didn’t really enjoy was eating them. 

Basically, a soufflé tastes like eggs. Hot, cheesy, kinda wet scrambled eggs. It would be a great choice for a Sunday brunch or as a light dinner with a salad and a glass of wine. It was not a great choice for college-age kids who had already filled up on cereal and Sweetarts, and were on their way out for the evening. Nevertheless, my inner Julia was satisfied.

New thing #39: Fit body wrap

Fit body wrap review from an actual consumer: A month or so ago I snapped up a Groupon offer for a 60-minute Fit body-wrap session, where "clients cloak themselves in a soothing wrap that aims to burn up to 1,400 calories while administering infrared heat to quell aches, relieve pains, and detoxify the body". Sounds awesome, right? I pictured myself in a beautiful spa-like setting, sipping Chardonnay and listening to soothing music while attentive spa boys swathed me in soft linens that had been soaked in aromatic herbal concoctions.

The "spa" had a funny name - it was a "Hair and Skin Center". This probably should have been my first clue. I arrived for my appointment in a driving rainstorm. The office was located in one of those cozy brick office parks that looks like a condo association, complete with decorative window shutters and trendy landscaping. I was the only sucker client in the waiting room. A friendly receptionist had me fill out a short, intrusive medical form then led me to a small beige room to wait for the expert staff who would begin my treatment. There was an exam table along the far wall, which was covered with what I can only describe as a human-size insulated lunch bag. The rest of the room was pure doctor's office decor. The only spa-like touches were a calla lily print in a gold frame and two fluffy pillows covered with a blue towel . A big white floor fan was set up near the exam table. 

The "expert staff" turned out to be the receptionist, who had now donned a white lab coat. She handed me a package containing a giant plastic bodysuit complete with attached booties. I shook it out and held it up. Made from a flimsy, transparent waxed-papery material, it would have been a perfect fit if I was seven feet tall. Next she gave me a small can of iFit spray.  I was supposed to apply it liberally to my 'problem areas' before the treatment to jumpstart the fat-burning process . I looked dubiously at the tiny little can, then at the size of my problem areas, then back at the can.  Meanwhile she set the controls on a monitor that was attached to the exam table. The system would pre-heat the human-size insulated lunch bag to optimal temperature, and then hold the heat during the 60-minute session. She ran through a short list of instructions and left, promising to be back in ten minutes to see how I was doing.

I quickly stripped down and doused myself with the contents of the can of iFit spray, about enough to cover my kneecaps.  It smelled exactly like Febreeze. Then I dressed in the giant sandwich bag suit, slid my arms into a pair of insulated cuffs, and crawled into the giant lunch bag. There were two flaps at the top of the bag that I never could quite figure out. I put one over my shoulder and stuck the other somewhere by my right ear, then laid back and waited for something to happen. It didn't take long for the lunch bag to reach optimum roasting temperature. After a few minutes I noticed a faint, vaguely familiar rubbery smell. I realized that I had forgotten to take a Band-Aid off my heel, which was now melting into a permanent blister barrier.

Where is my spa boy?

Thirty minutes later the tech stuck her head in the room, apologizing for forgetting about me. By now I was feeling really sweaty and quite relaxed. I handed her my cell phone and asked her to take a picture for my blog. Then she shut off the lights and left me to finish roasting. Just as I was feeling woozy enough to start hallucinating, the monitor beeped and I was done. I climbed out of the lunch bag and stripped off the now-sticky sandwich bag suit. They didn't have shower facilities so my only option was to stand in front of the fan while using the towel to dry off. They did offer a much-appreciated array of deodorant and body spray (a choice between two scents, Monkey Chow or Fermented Soy), and bottled water to drink. I got dressed and fluffed my sweaty hair in the reflection of the glass covering the calla lily print.  Back in the lobby the receptionist/technician was busy with a pharmaceutical salesman, so I waved and headed out to my car. 

On the positive side, my skin felt flushed and was a flattering rosy tone, which lasted until I stepped outside back into the rain. I also felt really relaxed and flexible thanks to all that moist heat. And although I didn't feel any more fit or toned, I did see a change when I stepped on the scale. I had gained two pounds. 

So, the moral of this story? Be open to New Things, but always read the fine print on a Groupon.

New thing #38: Zhujiajiao neighborhood

My co-workers took me to the town of Zhujiajiao, a beautiful, ancient river town and popular tourist spot on the outskirts of Shanghai. It was a great trip and we got to experience a lot of fun things - riding a canal gondola, burning incense in a temple, watching a paper cutting demonstration, releasing tiny fish into the river for luck and strolling through a market full of strange sights and smells. But the thing that made this trip most memorable was when we missed a turn and ended up wandering in a small old neighborhood bordering the river.

We were on our way to take a tour of a historical old post office, but since we couldn't read the Chinese symbols on the signs, we walked right on by. The shops and businesses gave way to a residential area that seemed to be lost in time. Every few hundred yards an ancient stone bridge arched high over the water. I hiked up to take some photographs from the crest of one bridge, pausing to let a woman pass by. She was returning from the market and was loaded down with three large plastic bags stuffed with goods, a short walking stick and a bright yellow box from the bakery. She was dressed in a straw hat and layers of clothes, inconceivable in the 98-degree heat and humidity, and bright pink sneakers without laces. She marched up and down the narrow stone steps cut into the bridge, around a corner and out of sight in the time it took me to snap a couple pictures.

We passed several people busily going about their chores. A boy, about ten years old and in need of a haircut, was standing on one of the many access steps on the other side of the river, lifting a homemade net out of the water. It was made of a large blue piece of cheesecloth attached to bamboo crosspieces, and tied to a long pole with a shiny ribbon. I think he was catching small fish for the tourists.  A little further along we saw two women sitting on another set of steps. One had slipped off her sandals and was relaxing. Her small gold earrings glinted in the sun, and her hair was held in place with bobby pins. Everything about her was neat and tidy except that both her knees appeared to be scraped. The other woman was rinsing out towels that she had carried down to the water in a big red bowl. She was one of the few women we saw wearing pants, allowing her to squat so low towards the water that her knees were the same height as her shoulders. She wore a wide brimmed straw hat tied under her chin that completely hid her features, and worked quickly and efficiently. Nearby, a third woman in a loose brown blouse was sweeping the sidewalk with an old straw broom. Like most of the people we passed by, they ignored us, perhaps used to Westerners prying into their lives. 

As the river bent away from the neighborhood the streets got narrower and more crooked. Two-story houses with simple furnishings stood with the front door propped open to attract a breeze or a neighbor in the mood for a cup of tea. Cheery paint on the windows almost camouflaged the bars stretched across the openings to prevent unwanted visitors. In one house an old woman sat just inside the faded red doorway. She had fallen asleep in her wide wicker chair while reading, still clutching two or three sheets of white paper in her hand. Several more sheets rested on a low wooden bench in front of her, held in place by a small pink paperweight. A sheer white curtain blocked the rest of the cluttered room from our view as we tiptoed by. We continued on past short, narrow alleys leading back between the houses to paved courtyards choked with grass. Two chairs sat side by side in one alley, facing in opposite directions. An elderly woman seeking respite from the sun occupied the chair closest to us. Her weathered arms and legs led me to believe that she was used to working outside. She was wearing a blouse and skirt in contrasting floral patterns, a typical fashion choice for the area. She appeared to be staring blankly at the wall in front of her as she leaned on her cane. I thought she might also be asleep, but as we passed by she tapped her cane impatiently on the ground between her feet. 

Once we reached the main road we knew we had gone too far. Nearby, two men relaxed at a street side cafe beneath a small iron windowsill that wept rust stains down the whitewashed wall. The older gentleman had a happy gap-toothed grin. He was dressed comfortably in a white undershirt and plain gray shorts, and his feet were bare. His companion had just finished telling a story and was sitting with his hands clasped in front, his quiet demeanor offset by the loud mismatched floral shirt and shorts he wore. They sat in sturdy chairs made of bamboo lashed together with cloth, resting their tea and bok choy on a small table while they shared a laugh. We paused to show them our tourist map, pointing out where we wanted to go. In a short time we had directions back to the marketplace, delivered in the universal language of pantomime and smiles.