Another Day Not Worth Writing About

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After spending the greater part of the morning catching up with my sister, Gene and I gathered the strength to battle commuter traffic and caught a train over to the French Concession. Despite its name, 90%!o(MISSING)f the residents in the concession were Chinese, with the majority of its foreigners Russian.

We consulted our favorite loner, the Lonely Planet, for a little background information on the area and were eager to explore “some of the best old architecture, from old Art-Deco apartment complexes to neoclassical mansions and villas with quaint balconies and doorways.” Instead, we arrived to find the architecture less than interesting and the majority of food establishments closed until dinnertime.

Gene, having persuaded me to wear my new flip flops on our half-day excursion - “You have to break them in some time” - was now left to pick up the pieces as I burned through an entire box of Band-Aids and continued to whine. As I gimped along, we came across a Chinese Muslim hole in the wall, with kebabs being grilled over a built-in barbecue along the building’s façade.

After gorging down chicken stew and lamb and beef kebabs, I wobbled far enough to make it to the closest Irish pub where we passed the next few hours throwing darts and consuming Guinness and girly libations. Having lost the first two games, I forfeited the third and threw a hissy fit when Gene began performing touchdown charades after scoring a bull’s-eye.

Sadly, the highlight of our day was hitting up the little old wrinkled Chinese woman near our hotel for her $0.50 containers of pork dumplings until we made ourselves sick. As though that wasn’t enough, we ordered in two pizzas for dinner and, together, counted down the minutes until our final rendezvous in China.

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Comments

[darby]

i think i noted...
that dumplings had become the new mcdonalds for you... are they better in china than in japan?

[Tort]

Gina's 2nd husband
Gina, I always say that my next husband will be normal!