Walking to China

We parked the car at 5 pm and began walking east, away from the bay. The sun was still high and warm enough on our backs as we walked to force a sweat. The road we walked paralleled the railroad tracks, elevated, aged, paint flaking off in chunks. The road rose as we started over the bridge, and the walking was a bit harder. To our left, and beneath us, the cars moved quickly along the good highway, but the water in the drainage ditch bordering it was brown and brackish. A few people passed us as we moved along, some walking, some on beat-up bikes. They said nothing.

We could see debris beneath us, too, mostly old tires or broken auto parts. The rusted chain link fences we passed were topped with curling razor wires, protecting the cars within, obviously valuable commodities. The signs atop the buildings were all written in characters, but the businesses were certainly related to the cars housed there, tire shops maybe, or repair shops.

We passed an open lot. The road at the rear lead to a large 3 story building, similar in size and shape to a warehouse, but from the evidence of the many signs and opening, housing multiple shops and stores. I pointed it out, but Jon said, "We're not going there. Keep walking straight."

I did, and within a block we came to a busy street, loaded with cars and bikes and people. We crossed, walked one more block and turned the corner onto a new street and into a different world. Its side were lined with shops, each one small, but packed with goods, which spilled out into street displays. Strange plants, fruits, herbs, vegetables. I recognized only a few.

The stores, most of them, were unfamiliar, and their signs were all in characters, too. I recognized a few by their wares - a florist, a bakery. Some were instantly familiar - McDonalds and Starbucks, their trademarks and color schemes recognizable anywhere in the world, even though their signs and menus were, of course, written in characters.

Outside some of the shops, old women stood with stacks of menus, also written in characters, handing them to each passerby, except us. We, obviously, were not from around those parts. Jon however, reached for some of these menus, and accepted them from the somewhat puzzled distributors. He speaks, reads and writes Mandarin.

The sidewalks were teaming with people, hundreds, thousands, shoulder to shoulder, in both directions somehow sliding past each other. At 6'1" with long legs and a familiarity and ease with the crowds, Jon moved easily and quickly through them, getting ahead of Kiera and me. A full head taller than most of the people around him, his height, pale skin and red hair made him easy to see. Kiera moved to catch up, but still trailed him. I lagged them both, a familiar position for me, but could pick out Kiera's orange shirt just ahead of me, and Jon's red hair, farther ahead.

He crossed another street, stopped and turned to us.

"Here it is" he said. "The 100 stalls of mystery!"

He turned to an open door, and went down a flight of stairs. The smells of sesame oil and frying shrimp instantly identified this as a food court, Chinese style. A dozen or so small stall, each 12 x 12 or so, lined the hallway. Each had a table or three, and each had a different cuisine.

Jon sat us at the first table in the stall on the left, and stood to study the menu. He summoned the owner and she came over to him and discussed the menu with him - in Mandarin. He asked about a few things, pointed to some others, and then expressed disappointment.

He turned to us and said, "They are out of chicken."

He quickly turned back to her and placed an order for food, got us three waters for the table, and then slipped down the hallway and disappeared. He reappeared a few minutes later and said, "I order some more food from another stall."

We drank our waters and talked for a few minutes, until a small Chinese woman came up to him and said in halting English, "They want you over there."

He followed her and soon returned with a rectangular aluminum container with a clear plastic top.

"Cold noodles, with sprouts and cucumber slivers, with a thin vinegar based sauce and a hint of red peppers. And some small waffles of bean curd. The noodles are fat and thick, very authentic and very good. Shaanxi style. Not too much heat."

"The bun is stuffed with shredded lamb and spices, also very good."

And they were very good indeed.

When we finished, the first women, whose table we were sitting at, brought over two dishes for us, and three small bowls of sticky white rice.. She didn't seem to mind that we had started on something from another stall.

"Twice cooked pork, with two kinds of peppers. Green peppers, which are native to South America and not China, and small round Szechuan peppers, like berries, which are. This pork is exellent. A little more heat in this dish."

The second back had squares of what looked like bacon. It was.

"It's the special today," he said.

It was smoky and rich, but a little undercooked for my taste. I had only a few pieces, and wished it had been cooked just bit more.

We ate the twice cooked pork with the white rice, using chop sticks. We ate heartily and finished nearly everything. Except the bacon.

Jon guided us down the hallway and past the other stalls, noting their menus and explaining their specialties.

As we turned back up the hallway, a middle aged Chinese man said something in English to Jon, and neither his voice nor expression was pleasant.

Jon said, "Oh, he's harmless. He just doesn't think non-Chinese should be eating here. Best to just ignore him." Which we did.

We exited the stalls and crossed the street, where we ducked into a bakery. Jon pointed out the softball sized sesame buns, stuffed with red bean paste and said, "I like sesame bun, but I prefer the smaller ones."

He ignored the pastries, and just ordered some cold lemon tea.

By now it was after 6 pm, and we began to head back to meet Pat. We returned the way we came, and soon crossed the bridge and headed down the hill and across the street into the parking lot, to Gate C, where we found Pat, who was early, too. After all, we were very excited about seeing the Mets, and getting to Shea in this the last year of its existence.

That's right - Shea Stadium. We had not crossed into mainland China at all - we had crossed the Roosevelt Avenue bridge, and walked by the El where the 7 train brings Met fans to the ballpark and turned down Main Street to its intersection with 41 Rd, in Flushing, one of the largest China Towns in the world. Much bigger and much more authentic than the famous China Town in Manhattan.

If you are Fitlinxx'ing it, it was a mile and a half, a leisurely 30 minute walk for us - an easy 12 minute jog for Kelly the Quick if she had been with us - that took us from an American institution to the heart of China, and we had our very own personal guide with us. Very cool experience, indeed.

The Mets, by the way, came from a run down in the bottom of the 12th, and won on a walk off two-run double by Fernando Tatis - that was pretty cool, too.

See you out there.