And now for someting completely different: Number One. Kunming. Kunming.

I must be tired. Eight hour bus journey completed today, from Dali to here. Kunming. I must be getting to be an old hand at the busses, as I was almost glad when The Angry Guy made himself known on this journey, if only becouse it proves my theory (or at least helps substantiate it) that for each bus in China, there must be one Angry Guy. So, for x busses, x Angry Guys.

To elaborate: On each and every bus I have taken in this country, save a very few which I hold to be the exceptions that prove the rule, there has been some guy who gets all puffed up about something, and has a heated argument with someone. Could be the driver, the attendant, another passenger. The subject of the dissagrement is immaterial. Sometimes, the person is thrown off the bus. Sometimes a fight ensues. Sometimes, as today, nothing comes of it, which was probably for the best, as the argument was between some lady, The Angry Guy, and his girlfriend. God knows where that would have led. They ended up staring at each other for the remainder of the journey, so everyone was happy.

I think it has something to do with "face".

Spent the last few days in Dali, hiking around the mountains above the patchwork tourist city and the lake it lies near, and reading Calvino's Invisible Cities. Which is a wonderfull book. I found it on the shelves at a guesthouse called the "Higherland Inn", which Matt reccommended to me. The guesthouse is accessable only by hiking or Chairlift, and sits alone, almost, among the cloudy peaks of the Jade mountains above Dali. On finding the book and examining it's back cover, I found that it was left there by Matt, just some ten days previous. I decided that it was my fate to read the book at that place, as it could not be removed, and so dedicated a day to it, where I did nothing but read, from my waking to one in the morning, the wonderful stories that I found between the title page and that inscription which led me them.

Wouldn't it be cool to travel around, and follow someone's trail, left at guesthouses and bus stops, at train stations and bathroom walls? All the while making your own messages to be found.

When I was a kid I tied a piece of paper to a balloon, with my name and address writ on it, and let it go. I often thought of it afterwards, and wondered what fate became of it, and if anyone ever recieved my message.

***

Seen: Trucks here that spray the roads with water play "Happy Birthday" through ice cream truck loudspeakers.

Santa Claus is everywhere, and christmas themes are played on pianos in upscale hotels. Restaurants often have "Merry Christmas" banners hanging. Also seen in bus stops, etc.

A woman walking backwards at night accross a parking lot, checking over her shoulder for traffic. When she reaches the other end, she turns around.

A family sits down for dinner at a street side restaurant. Mother, father, young child. The father picks up a small crab from a container where they wait to be cooked, and places it on the table, where it scuttles clumsily about to the horrified delight of the child. The crab stays on the table throughout dinner.