Day 5: Dawn of the ice age and more alarming events

Mission: Second Honeymoon

Day 5:  Dawn of the ice age and more alarming events

 

I hate those 7 am wakeup calls.  I’m not a morning person, but if I let myself sleep in, I’m unlikely to drag myself out of bed before lunch.  From the first beep of the alarm to me being online and checking my work takes 6 minutes or less (the average is about 4 minutes) most mornings.   I find this puts me in the proper frame of mind to deal with people in a kind and compassionate way. 

I was hard at work dealing with the usual online craziness when my lovely wife told me the bad news.

Not only was it raining, but it was also only 11 degrees C (52 F for the metrically challenged) outside.   

 

 

I’d packed for 25 degree lows (so much for the honeymoon weather predictions).  Shorts, short sleeve golf shirts, and sandals.  No shoes.  No socks.  No pants.  No jackets. 

My thought was, “Ah well, I’m glued to my computer until lunchtime.  It should warm up some by then.”  It did.  All the way to 12 degrees (and it was still raining).   

For some reason, taxis in Feng Huang don’t seem to bother with meters.  Before dark, a ride from our hotel to the nearest gate into the old town is 5 RMB.  If we come back before dark, it’s 5.  If after dark, it’s 10.  For some reason, there seems to be a cold weather surtax.  All the taxis wanted 10 RMB even though it was daytime.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t get my attack wife properly muzzled, and even though we were ready to pay 10, she kept wanting to discuss why it was 10 instead of 5 with drivers before we got in – resulting in the drivers zooming off without us. 

I want to be in charge of taxi policy in China for 1 day.  That’s all I’ll need to make a lasting impression – on the surviving drivers. 

We finally got a taxi that would take us to town for 5 RMB. 

On Monday, my darling wife bought some painfully bright yellow rubber shoes, only to later in the day buy some green rubber boots.  Chinese footwear ranges from sexy to silly, but at least it’s seldom boring.   Since it was cold and raining even harder than on Monday, my darling wife added a blue plastic body condom rain poncho to her fashion ensemble.  That and the green boots made it look like she was ready to join a hazmat cleanup team. 

 

 

Being averse to shoving myself into a plastic bag, I settled for hiding beneath my new umbrella and consigning the camera to its own camera condom Ziplock bag. (Yes, a real genuine Made-In-The-USA freezer-grade Ziplock bag.  Super high quality plastic zipper bags are a little hard to come by here, so I usually buy some when I’m visiting the USA.)  I was slowly succumbing to hypothermia.  Even so, the looks of surprise on the faces of people seeing me strolling around in shorts and sandals while they were dressed for a blizzard was enough to make it worth the chill. 

We spend much of the day exploring.  We ended up in an alley where tour groups (always led by a guide with a portable public address system set on maximum volume) seemed to like to hang out when my lovely wife’s phone rang.  It was Sensor #28371-92r/d, which either is an external sensor in one of the side alleys at ground level or else is the imminent volcanic eruption alarm.   This was a little more worrisome, since the alleys to either side at ground level are a very logical place to try breaking in.  She asked the alarm company to have village security take a quick look and then called the system to reset the alarm.

Moments later her phone rang again.  This time it was good old sensor #19832-74K/x (the one on the 3rd floor that had previously woken us up).  I was wondering if the wind was strong enough to not only throw things into the alley, but also to have broken a window.  Just after resetting the system to perimeter only, the alarm company called back and said that security reported nothing suspicious.  My wife then called the maid and asked if she was nearby, while I explained my secret emergency method of dealing with a defective motion sensor over the sound of yet another tour guide shouting into his PA system.  Removing the battery should be easier, but the batteries these things take are very hard to extract.  Instead, the trick is to demount the sensor, then wrap it in several layers of aluminum foil to block any signals it tries to send.  Then, shove it in the microwave to shield it even more thoroughly (just don’t turn on the microwave).

The maid arrived and reported that she’d closed one of the two sliding panels of the 3rd floor window, but had missed closing the panel next to sensor #19832-74K/x. 

Ah well, at least that finally put a final end to the alarm silliness.  I’m chalking up the ground floor sensor alarm to random windblown debris, or else maybe an imminent volcanic eruption. 

We finally got back to the hotel – where I spent about 30 minutes taking a hot shower to thaw myself out.  For the third honeymoon, I need to have a chat with the Bureau of Weather Control about what sort of honeymoon weather to expect.

 

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