Taking out my list I decided to start this morning with the Bridge Market Victoria told me about. She went with one of her students last year and was impressed with the variety of goods or to be more specific a special ingredient for family soups, opium pods. Her student had informed her it was illegal to add more then two to any dish but it was perfectly legal to add one or two. Victoria asked what would happen if someone added three. The student grew confused and said “but that’s against the law. Why would they do that?” Victoria just chuckled. “You’re right why would they do that?” The market is a large out door market that is located beneath five consecutive bridges. It has been held daily for decades And increases in size on the 7th and 9th of the lunar calendar. I went to find the market with high anticipation.

I caught the 363 out to the middle of nowhere and quickly found the steep stairs I’d been warned about. I descended into the market via the seafood section and was assaulted with the accompanying aromas. I must admit I still giggle when I get hit by spitting clams, I’ll never say the same for spitting men though. A drawback of traveling alone is there is no one to make the best of dashed expectations with. The market lacked the unique old oriental atmosphere I had anticipated. I walked to the end rather quickly as without friends I’m no shopper and really had only gone for the atmosphere. Ah well. I did find the more interesting sections on my return trip on the far side. The meat stalls are always fascinating for one. I think I’ve seen my first skinned dog. I tried to take a picture discreetly but got q few laughs all the same. I only managed to stumble across the spice stalls at the end. I don’t know exactly what the pods looked like but I think I found them. I wish I knew my spices I wanted to buy some just fir the sake of it. I caught the bus back and decided to take. Break at the hostel before heading out for the afternoon.

I was having a hard time getting directions to the Governor’s Mansion unilateral I realized I’d been referring to it incorrectly. Only foreigners call it by that, the Chinese call it the Qingdao Guesthouse. It was officially changed by The Party soon after it had been confiscated by the “occupying German forces”. The Guesthouse was nestled on the side of Signal Hill deep within the German Quarter. It was used as a guesthouse for visiting Party officials throughout much of it’s history until it was turned into a museum and opened to the public in1999. It was constructed around 1907 and was turn into the Party’s guesthouse in the late 30’s.

The museum is an empty house containing a sprinkling of European furniture and an abundance of placards commemorating the various Party officials who resided there. As it was designed and constructed for German residents one is almost transported to a European residence then inevitably you are drawn back to China with the following commotion. Now only in China would a mother have the audacity to wave off a museum guard insisting her bare bummed child was justified in lounging on the roped off leather sofa for a photo-op. The guard obviously didn’t feel the photo-op worth his job but as he went for the child she darted around the room before crossing back over the rope to her mother. I had to stifle a laugh as the mother was leaning over the “Do Not Touch” sign. The poor guard was having a day and a half as only minutes later he was forced to approach a couple who having grown curious about a German made bureau were thoroughly examining it’s compartments. Ropes and signs have no sway with the Chinese tourist as again the “Do Not Touch the Cultural Relics” sign was inches from her head. Maybe we’ve been wrong all this time regarding the Chinglish signs. Maybe they are just as ambiguous and poorly worded in Chinese thus the general confusion and lack of observance on the part of the Chinese. That’s not to say it’s not terribly frustrating when a disobedient Chinese Tourist goes unnoticed while the offending foreigner seconds later is thoroughly castigated for not following the unintelligible signage.

As I left the mansion I couldn’t help but feel the same forced effort at remembrance and immortalizing of the glorious beginning when I visit Party sites.

As I had overestimated the time for visiting I found myself with practically an entire afternoon to spare. As I was already near the entrance to Signal Hill Park I decided to go. It had begun to sprinkle but soon stopped. As I ascended the Hill I enjoyed the breathtaking harbor views and gorgeous German Quarter that surrounds it. I found a secluded bench at the top to rest on until it started to rain. I rushed to the observatory to escape the rain, unfortunately I was just behind a group of Chinese Tourist. There are few things worse then being stuck behind heir tour group. They are always loud pushy impolite and never even try to hide the fact that you the foreigner are what they are taking a picture of. Really, come on at least I angle my camera towards the scenery I don’t point and laugh as if I’m at the zoo photographing the wildlife. The observation tower rotated so I sate through two rotations hoping to outlast the rain. I finally gave up and headed back down the hill.

As the rain only continued to fall harder I sought refuge in the Protestant Church down the block. I climbed the bell tower in time to hear the bell strike five. As I walked the grounds I came across this sign and just had to laugh. What exactly it’s suppose to mean I don’t know but what it brings to my mind is not very pleasant “Religious activities were rehabilitated here in November 1980”.

The rain finally began to subside so I headed downtown for dinner.
I went to my favorite restaurant for dinner, the Diner. I had a more than obliging waitress, Michelle, who called to confirm directions to an Indian restaurant for tomorrow evening for me. She even gave me explicit directions to the Golden Beach I have been told so much about. Dinner was delicious as always. Pasta carbonara with a side of French fries. I know pasta and French fries aren’t exactly kosher but their French fries are gourmet and I just couldn’t resist. I caught a bus back and turned in early yet again. I did manage to make an acquaintance. The occupant of the bunk opposite me asked to borrow my iPod charger. I suppose the rest all think I’m mute as I keep to myself.