Posts Tagged With: Shanghai

Never Say Never: Except if it’s China

Last night we watched Years of Living Dangerously, an intelligent Nat Geo series that showcases the ugly mug of climate change. Guest host Sigourney Weaver chatted with notorious bigwigs in Hong Kong about China and its irrevocable reputation as “the dirty factory of the world.” With over a thousand coal plants, the juxtaposition is this: China was the world’s biggest investor in clean, renewable energy last year.

But in that same (gasping) breath, a tiny blurb in today’s Toronto Star: SMOG FORCES SCHOOLS, FACTORIES TO CLOSE. A national “red alert” forced 700 companies to stop production in Beijing, dozens of cities closed schools from Friday night until today (Wednesday) to reduce air pollution.

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Truth: If Beijing were a disease, landing at their airport is like touching down in jaundice. You feel your lungs collapse a little. Everything has a sepia tone—though the visibility of the smog blister surrounding the city is limited. We could barely see the incoming planes on the runway.

China was never on our wish list for two giant reasons: pollution and populace. But, somehow a dynamic deal ($3460 bucks each—15 nights in China and a 7 night extension in Phuket, Thailand) sucked us in like turkey stuffing-flavoured potato chips (yes, there is such a thing! And this is where you should funnel your money).

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Kim and I agreed to group travel even! Surely we were drugged, hypothermic (we booked in February) or we had a weak seat sale moment. The notion of future group travel was quickly cemented early on: we would NEVER do group travel again, or China. Or, Chinese food—which we didn’t even partake in before. Not even a single pineapple chicken ball in day-glo sweet and sour sauce in our seven years together.

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Earlier in the year, in dutiful preparation, I read Lost on Planet China: One Man’s Attempt to Understand the World’s Most Mystifying Nation (J. Maarten Troost).  I dictated most of it aloud to Kim, kinda in that wavering voice you get when you tell a ghost story by a bonfire. Lost on Planet China was like a Stephen King ripper. What had we done?

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Our local guide, Cathy, said two things (on day one) that set the tone:

“You need to wear your name tags, people. Because, you all look the same to me.”

“And, Mr. Hu is our second best bus driver. Our first is in the hospital.”

Kim and I learned these two things immediately:

“Bu Yao”—which means “I don’t want it.” But, with the wrong inflection, it can also mean “Don’t bite me” or, worse, “Stay with me!”

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“You can’t drink the food good here.” (Quote: Kim Kenny, after round 12 of bok choy and fish oil-slicked pork and slimy oyster mushrooms). Despite serious caution from Cathy about the thousand Chinese that went blind from drinking fake booze, we had to test the waters. There are startling legit numbers suggesting that 30% of alcohol in China is fake, thanks to bathtub booze productions that fill hooch in brand name bottles (with cocktails of antifreeze and methanol). Of the two group members we found genuine kinship with, one was a retired pharmacist. And, he was buying blended whiskey, so, we rationally thought, if the pharmacist is buying potential bathtub whiskey, then this Absolut vodka must be fine for us. (*Note: I did awake a few times the first night to train my eye on the only light in the hotel room—the green dot on the flat screen TV, to ensure that I wasn’t blind from booze). Also, March 1, Consumption Day in China, commemorates China’s changes to food inspection and booze legislation. Cheers to that.

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We’re not picky or snobby Western eaters (disclaimer: I’ve voluntarily eaten goat testicles and grasshoppers). We weren’t expecting the Mandarin or Canadianized Chinese food. But—where’s that great Peking duck? Those spicy sticky pork buns that I buy in Toronto’s Chinatown?

I was sharply reminded of my brother’s comment years ago, about Tim Horton’s French Cruller donuts. He said, “I’m surprised you like those. Don’t you find they leave an oil slick on the roof of your mouth?”

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This was our experience with the daily Chinese buffet of duck clavicle and gluey congee (porridge’s weird Chinese cousin) and limp veg. After I tried the Sichuan numb & spicy pork dish in Wuhan my adventures in eating skidded to a halt. My tongue tingled and then went into a terrifying numbed state for a solid 20 minutes. This dish was like party drugs for your mouth. We bellied up to so many disappointing My Big Fat Chinese Wedding (*not a real movie. I don’t think.) white-riced lazy Susan meals that by day three, Kim and I looked at each other with that knowing face, “Clif bar?”

Our guide (hands on hips) was disappointed that we didn’t try the “boiling pork with charlies.” (*’Charlies’ are chilies, it took a while to figure this one out). Soundtrack: if it wasn’t Celine Dion it was Zamfir: Scarborough Fair, Chariots of Fire—all were given the pan flute treatment.

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Despite all that (and because we found great international Lays potato chips with flavours like grilled squid, buttery scallops with garlic, finger-lickin’ braised pork and Italian red meat sauce) we still agree. It’s important to travel to places that challenge your palate and patience.

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Asthma-inducing particulate aside…if you could helicopter into the Great Wall (and not the Badaling portion 80km northwest of Beijing where all the tourist buses barf out passengers like ourselves), that would be the highlight. It’s a true marvel—over 6,000 km of actual wall remains (though archaeologists will champion the wall to be nearly 22,000km with all its branches. The great snake is built of brick, stone, branches, rice and possibly even human remains. On the day we were dumped off it was a shocking -10 C. Worming our way through all the selfie sticks was a feat of its own—another was remaining upright on the black ice and preventing a domino effect of taking out 100 people with a wipeout on the sketchy stairs.

*Parts I’m skipping over but places that we responsibly visited: Tiananmen Square (where student-led protests in 1989 ended in the death of several hundreds, possibly thousands.

The Forbidden City and Summer Palace. Fact: The Last Emperor is the only Hollywood film that has been granted access to the City. It’s also the first film I remember that had an intermission at the theatre. The Imperial Palace consists of over 9,900 rooms. Two only seemed to be open and it was unbearably cold, windswept and not a highlight due to frozen _______(insert any body part here).

Oh, and the panda sanctuary in Chongqing which ended up being a zoo–but, if we had to be zoo animals, this would be the one we would choose. It’s lovely, in zoo-speak. But, being on a group tour meant we had to rush to our grandma-hour 4pm dinner and only had 20 minutes to see the pandas.

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*Other parts glossed over: an agonizing stop for far too long at the pearl factory AND jade factory despite our guide’s unbridled enthusiasm: “And now we stop for two hours and help the Chinese economy!”

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Fast forward to the Yangtze (and if you could, hop back in that helicopter and skip the dreary endless apartment-stacked skyline of Beijing. It’s like a never-ending Scarborough. Laundry flaps off every balcony like prayer flags. Mopeds with entire families squeezed in like club sandwiches putt along.) Finally, the glut of housing gives way to some green—sycamores! Gingko and camphor trees! Lotus fields! Chinese line dancers (yes, there is such a thing—and they do it in broad daylight in the parks) and legions of Tai Chi ambassadors jockey for green space, most wearing face masks and parkas.

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The Yangtze is the third largest river in the world. China sunk $45B US into the Three Gorges Project. Of that price tag, 45% was funneled into relocation efforts for the 1.3 million ‘migrants’ whose villages are now submerged. It seems privileged and snotty to float over the lives and ancestry of so many. The relics are witnessed in the hanging tombs—wooden coffins that are suspended high in the crevasses of the gorges. Few remain, and as the river opens up from the dam to the main channel, the industrial marine highway creates exhibit #35 for Chinese juxtapositions.

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We had reveled in a full day of hot November sun, lounging on the upper deck of the river boat, necks craned back as we passed through the verdant gorges. All was right with the world. We were floating through a postcard and thinking, “wish you were here.”

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But on the very next day—we wished we weren’t there. We couldn’t even step outside. The sulphur was in choking amounts. Steamers and barges (over 200 of them) queued up with coal, sulphur and hundreds of shiny new white cars. Smoke stacks lining the river burped up effluent. Nuclear reactors sent their plumes skyward too. It was gross. And then? Oddly, a woman standing on the banks in a long ivory wool coat, waving slowly, her arm extended above her head. As though to warn about sharks in the water. She sang gospel into a microphone, with a little amp at her side. Waving and singing to no particular audience.

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We found a few markets to walk through (childhood flashback of always wanting to go poke the shrink-wrapped cow tongue’s at Calbecks’ grocery store). Skinned ducks, live eels, pig knuckles, still-flipping fish, pickled chicken’s feet and all sorts of organs were on gruesome display. On the flip side, massive melons and neatly lined up greens and spices were presented like fine art.

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Fast forward to the high speed train to Shanghai (again, insert endless landscape of utilitarian high rise apartments and condos). And by high speed, we’re talking upwards of 250km/hour. The train is efficient and the menu is a curious one. We were torn between “smell strictosidine” (they were out of this anyway), drunk fish, grinding corn beverage, crispy duck wing root, squid silk and “alcoholic peanuts.” Massive solar fields were a blur as we whizzed through the rural areas, rice paddies, haphazard graveyards and bony-backed cattle.

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I think this is where Kim and I designed our own group tour and left the group. We navigated the spaghetti lines of the Shanghai metro system as our group hotel was an hour from the action, Nanjing Road, the bund and all the glittery fracas. It would be like booking a room in Ajax, thinking you were going to be ‘close’ to Toronto. (Though the hotel did have a heated toilet seat and a TV screen embedded in the bathroom mirror).

We supported the fake market industry (North Face jackets! Superdry! Salomon shoes! Mammut!) until we couldn’t handle the aggression. “LADY! WATCHES! Hello! Belts! LADY! COME. BUY JACKET.” Many vendors would latch on with python grips and pull you into their stores. Simply looking at a hoodie you’d hear, “WHAT SIZE? HOW MUCH?” Walking away was like leaving a 10-year relationship. “Why you leave? Come on special friend. Special price!”

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We happened upon a German ice bar (over 120 kinds of vodka and a -3C room to drink them in. Parka provided.) called Kafer but opted for a Shangri La hotel happy hour.

It was a civilized moment of calm after the hyper retail gong show of the AP Market. We sat in the Treasury Room eating salty mixed nuts, snootily drinking Australian craft beer, listening to David Bowie while watching snooker. Juxtapositions in Shanghai, yes.

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We pass trees with i.v. bags. In a place that pumps out the pollutants to the demise of the human population, trees get loving attention to help conquer disease processes. We make our way to Cloud 9, the tallest bar in the world with a sky-high view and equally sky-high prices.

 

I get the expat love affair with Shanghai. It’s cosmo. It’s metro. All the big hotel chains are there and you can smoke cigars and drink cognac at the Fairmont Peace Hotel as though you are in Chicago. Shanghai is touted to be “the Chicago of the Orient” with a river winding along the Bund and all the Mink Mile stores. It’s immaculate. It’s pedestrian-centric. Kim felt like we’d walked onto a Jetsons set at dusk.

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The entire city pulsates and vibrates. The skyline dances with neon. Outdoor escalators whisk starry-eyed couples to pedestrian causeways, KFC, Dairy Queen, Subway and the like.

China. It’s backwards. Its forwards. We endured it with Phuket dangling like a GMO-enhanced carrot at the end. But that’s another blog.

dscf6142Lesson learned: When we say “never” (and despite other people saying “never say never”), we now mean it. So, this means: We will never go on a cruise, go to China (again), Cuba (again), Vegas, India or Scarborough for that matter. Also, we will never do group travel again.

 

 

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Categories: Passport Please, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment

China? Us? What? The Fortune Cookie didn’t mention that.

As Kim will readily attest, it’s dangerous leaving me idle with a nearby laptop on a snow-pounded day. First, as per routine, I will scour the real estate listings in Prince Edward County and surrounds like a public health nurse armed with a nit comb. In the event of a search with no immediate house crushes, I default to enticing emails promising seat sales and last minute escapes.

I always say never say never—but, Kim and I had already said, in bold and fine print, that we’d never go to Vegas, India or China. So, I’m full of blog baloney. I’d like to retract the last crossed off destination and cheerlead it for a few reasons.

The deal was too good not to go. The clincher was the add-on flight and seven nights at a beachfront Le Meridien property in Phuket for $599 each. A hotel AND a flight for $599? The only place you can do that is Sudbury (no offence, Sudbury).

So, because I couldn’t find a house for us to buy in the County, I found a three week trip to China and Thailand instead. We were anti-China for obvious reasons: pollution, a bazillion people and that niggling exotic animal trade and aphrodisiac thing that is decimating rhino, dolphin, tiger (insert any animal) populations. Oh, and the hawking and spitting at every turn. I’ve skidded on a few globs on Spadina’s sidewalks in my urban past.

But, on the flip side: The Yangtze River. Oh yeah, we said we’d never go on a cruise either. But, but, but…this is a river cruise, just 140 cabins, not a floating small city with a 18-hole golf course, IMAX movie theatre, rock climbing wall, waterslides and casino aboard.

Ironically, I had just researched the most enticing bits of China for an article on 10 luxury trips of a lifetime for Grand magazine (on newsstands now!). I knew zilch about China except the sneering-with-disapproval above smog-smacked opinions. As I read about the must-dos of Beijing alone, I felt a slight tug of responsibility. The marvel of the Great Wall seemed like something every human should see.

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China promised a solid dose of the unfamiliar, cuisine, dynasty lore, neon cities and emerald landscapes. Hell, the Great Wall can be seen from outer space (which makes me wonder—what’s faster? Space shuttle or 15 hour direct flight from Toronto?). The 20,000 km snaking wonder of manmade toil and ambition can be accessed from many points. The most visited entry is Badaling, which was the first part of the wall to open to tourists in 1957. Thatcher, Gorbachev, Queen Elizabeth left their mark here. Recently renovated, Mutianyu is easily accessible from Beijing and appeals to families with a cable car, chairlift and even a toboggan ride. No, that’s not a typo. Tobogganing. At the Great Wall.

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The Forbidden City, protected by a 52m moat around the heart of Beijing is where China’s largest collection of ancient buildings are found. Known as the Palace Museum, previous uninvited visitors were executed (now you can safely pay $9-13 entry). The Chinese Imperial Palace from the Ming Dynasty houses 5,000 years and 8,700 rooms of heritage: marble bridges, a calligraphy gallery, bronze elephant statues and classical gardens.

My mother is already researching these things in tandem. It’s probably the first time she’s ever said, “I want to come too!” when I told her we had booked China. Her excitement over the river cruise to Gorge Wu and Qutang and the panda sanctuary does not compare to her held-breath and knuckle-whitening as witnessed when I announced we were going to Uganda or Zanzibar or the Congo or Kenya.

“They have any bugs there?” was my dad’s concern. My parents should work for WHO with their memorized mapping of the Zika outbreak and dengue scares. My mom later emailed, “What do they think of gays there? Never mind, I probably don’t want to know.”

 

sex livesI’ve been reading J. Maarten Troost’s Lost on Planet China as preliminary research. I’ve read his other two brilliant travel memoirs, Getting Stoned With Savages and The Sex Lives of Cannibals. This guy has lived on remote atolls in the South Pacific. He’s no Accidental Tourist a la William Hurt. But, his expose of China at ground zero and the lung-collapsing pollution has left me panting a little.

What terrifies me most is probably the karaoke. Other things—like the government’s attempt to overcome increased rates of childhood obesity with a mandate that kids learn to waltz also makes me quiver. A place that loves to waltz and karaoke—that’s pretty much my nightmare in black and white.

planet chinaCourtesy of Troost I’ve also learned:

  1. The only four-legged thing they don’t eat in China is a table.
  2. “Death Vans” are the solution to messy firing squads. The mobile execution trucks visit jails, perform injections as necessary and then harvest viable organs for transplants.
  3. The swastika symbol is visible everywhere–but it is the Buddhist symbol for love and peace.
  4. China has the world’s highest suicide rate among women–and they do so by swallowing pesticides.
  5. It’s illegal to carry a photo of the Dalai Lama in Tibet.
  6. To corner the market on grain export, Mao ordered the death of every sparrow in China (because they ate grain seeds). He didn’t predict the locust plague and starvation that would follow.
  7. You can buy watermelons the size of oranges.
  8. At the Yuyuan market (which requires a flashlight to visit), one can find tiger paws, mammoth tusks and monkey skeletons
  9. A typical menu might offer fried swan, boiled frog in radish soup and stewed pig lung
  10. Driving in China is “one long cardiac event.”

In China we will also be privy to the cardiac event that is the high speed train from Wuhan to Shanghai (topping out at some 330km per hour). We can experience reverse vertigo at the Grand Hyatt Shanghai in the Bund while taking in the optical roller coaster of the 30 storey atrium. Maybe have a cocktail at the Fairmont Peace Hotel where Charlie Chaplin used to hang.

Maybe we’ll see the rare-as-a-unicorn Baiji Yangtze river dolphin. Prior to the construction of the behemoth Three Gorges Dam, the river was just a few feet deep. It’s now a swollen vein with 450 feet depths. Shades of the Aswan Dam in Egypt cloud my mind. The mile long and 610 foot dam buried many villages and temples in its path in an underwater grave. The government has kindly reintroduced macaque monkeys to the region and trained them to beg for food from the tourists (I’m sure you’ve seen the images of the demanding troops, robbing starry-eyed visitors of their sunglasses and even flip flops). All to ensure visitors have a good time. Better yet—if the wonder of the limestone gorge isn’t impressive enough, there are acrobats in Hubei Province that ride MOTORCYCLES on wires suspended across the river. Acrobats jockey for attention as this is also the area where 2000-year-old wooden coffins are tucked among the rocky outcrops and caves. They were once a thousand feet above the river, but thanks to the damn dam, they are even closer. And, who doesn’t love a little Cirque de Soleil while passing through an ancient burial ground? Cue up Michael Jackson’s “Beat It!” on the karaoke machine.

It’s all so perplexing. Toboggan rides down the Great Wall. Acrobats in the Gorge. Prostitutes. Phone calls in the night offering special massage at the hotels. Hello Kitty! Hopefully cheap tiger balm. And, fried everything (insert: seahorse, scorpion, duck heads, flying lizards–http://www.goatsontheroad.com/7-seriously-strange-street-foods-in-china/).

Reading Lost on Planet China probably wasn’t the most fabulous introduction. However, we are expecting mass confusion, eye rolling, sky-high frustration and big gobs of spit but also, sheer wonder and startling scenery. Plus, this trip is for investigative purposes. China is actually hiring panda wranglers or “Panda Nannies” at the Giant Panda Protection and Research Centre in Ya’an. $35,000US to cuddle pandas and Instagram the cuteness!

Homework, continued…

The Last Emperor (I think was the first movie I went to that had an intermission! The 1987 flick is 2 hours and 43 minutes long). Based on the true story of Pu Yi, the last Emperor of Imperial China.

The Beach—because we will be in Phuket for a week, and Thailand is the setting of Alex Garland’s backpacker fantasy novel about finding nirvana and cheap banana pancakes

Up the Yangzte—troubling 2007 documentary about the impact of the Three Gorges Dam on rural China

Last Train Home—the human cost of China’s economic success

Kung Fu Panda—for obvious reasons. Po the overweight Panda works at his father’s noodle bar but dreams of being a kung fu warrior. Referencing this movie might help in the Panda Nanny job interview.

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Beer Baths, Barbie Spa and Biblical Snakes

I’ve always had a near-fatal attraction towards weird things: Venus flytraps, naked mole rats, the steamy sex lives of chimps, Salvador Dali, Grapples (apples infused with a grape scent to make them more appealing to kids), Bjork, Inuit throat singers, Anthony Bourdain’s lunch box of bovine penis and wildebeest entrails—these things tickle my fancy.

Alternative to the Czech beer bath

Alternative to the Czech beer bath

Imagine my thrill when I came across the adverts for bird dropping facials and cat crap coffee.  My thrill meter reached roller coaster ride-levels when I read this “Beer: It’s not just for drinking.” I was skimming Healing Lifestyles and Spas magazine, when I felt my testosterone spike. A beer spa? The Chodovar Brewery in Czechoslovakia has become every man’s wet dream. In the vaulted cellars of Chodovar, you can indulge in a beer bath of live yeast and steep in the molasses-coloured depths. The one-two punch of Vitamin B and crushed hops helps nourish neglected skin, hair, nails and even aids in battling anxiety. Iron and carbon dioxide bubbles increase the skin’s circulation as the beer brew boils your joints at an intense 34 degrees. Fan club members boast that the beer bubble bath soothes psoriasis, acne and joint pain.

Rules are that while soaking you must sip a pint of beer to aid digestion. When you and your liver reach a prune-like state, the spa attendants wrap you in sheepskin and let you snooze on a bed of barley hay. When you regain consciousness you can stumble to the onsite Ve Skale restaurant for a smoked beef tongue with horseradish and mustard. I’ve already decided on the fried carp and knuckle of pork. However, I’d be willing to share a bowl of the tripe soup and another pint of non-bath water with my fellow spa-goers to discuss whether the “overall modulation of dermatic problems and mental disharmonies” (as advertised on the Chodovar website) were resolved.

If the beer bath proved to be all talk no action and I still suffered from dermatic problems and mental disharmony, I’d have to check out the Channings Day Spa in Chicago. My friend Jules lives there—and I’m certain she’d be game for a caviar facial after a catch-up over a Chicago-style deep dish pizza. The freeze-dried caviar is imported from Switzerland, and for $185 US, the 90-minute treatment promises to combat wrinkles. Because caviar has the same composition as human skin (70% amino acids and trace minerals), this somehow works. While $185 might seem outrageous, a top of the foot wax at Channings is only $3.

While visiting Channings, it would only make sense that Jules and I opt for one of the special spa services catering to “the young woman just starting out with make-up.” Here we could “learn the fundamentals of proper skin care and how to coordinate wardrobe selection with make-up colour for a stunning effect!” Sixty dollars is a small price to pay to learn which eye shadow to pair with camo cargos and Haviana flip flops.

After fishing for compliments on my caviar complexion, the Euphoria Spa in Detroit would be my next pit stop to buff my bum for the leather chaps-wearing season. Booking the “Sweet Cheeks Derriere Facial” would probably make me the butt of every joke, but  this cheeky facial is seriously technical. After a cleanse and exfoliation, a masque is applied and the grand finale comes in the form of a butt wax with warm paraffin. Like a nice bum candle.

Maybe I’d skip the hot cross buns for a soak in green tea or sake at the Hakone Kowakien Yunessun Spa in Japan, which is oddly a spa and amusement park. After a day at the Rodeo Mountain heated waterslides, guests can choose from a variety of soaks.  The coffee spa is intended to revive fatigued muscles (real coffee made with hot spring water). Word has it that the Queen of Egypt, Cleopatra, preferred a red wine bath. Obviously she never looked in the mirror after a night of drinking merlot. If a nice bottle of red can turn your teeth clay grey and your tongue as black as a Chow dog’s after a single glass—what would a half-hour soak result in? The green tea spa treatment sounds safest with the promise of powerful anti-oxidant and tumor-fighting catechin, which is also good for one’s complexion.

Anti-bowling shoe but pro-Barbie pedi feet

Anti-bowling shoe but pro-Barbie pedi feet

At Yunnesun, the Mori No Yu zone is a tranquil bathing space where you can experience onsen Japanese-style. The website advises “you can enjoy the bathing experience without a bathing suit. Remember, the bathing experience in Japan means enjoying in Japanese-style for relaxation and pleasure and is not a place to wash your body with soap.” Swimsuits are available for rent at 1,000 yen. I wonder what I’d rather subject myself to—bowling alley bowling shoes or a rental swimsuit that’s probably seen more pee than green tea.

For those wanting to channel Cleopatra beyond the wine bath, rumour has it that the vain dame also liked to sleep with a gold mask on every night. At Yunnesun you can have 24 karat gold sheets applied to your face which will undoubtedly leave your skin feeling like a piñata.

Bently, wishing he was having a ramen noodle bath instead

Bently, wishing he was having a ramen noodle bath instead

A seasonal treat, much like pumpkin pie, Christmas cake and a June strawberry social is Yunnesun’s Ramen Soup bath. Bathers can share “a steaming broth of pepper, garlic extract and collagen to help boost metabolism and nourish the skin.”  Men sweating in a bowl of soup makes me lean towards prettier and pinker options like the Barbie Spa in Shanghai where it’s sugar and spice and everything nice. Barbie must have sold her mobile home and snazzy pink Corvette to afford this splashy Shanghai spa.  There’s a posh hair salon where you can no doubt get Barbie bangs, estheticians offer Barbie manis & pedis (did she even have fingernails and toenails on that smooth, supple body?) and you can also take in an afternoon tea if you aren’t worried about keeping Barbie doll dimensions.

Even sweeter is the list of treatments available at the Hotel Hershey in Hershey, Pennsylvania. The spa packages read like the very best food porn: exfoliations of cocoa bean husks and walnut shells, foaming chocolate milk baths, chocolate sugar scrubs and a chocolate fondue wrap of warmed Moor mud and essence of cocoa.

When Willy Wonka’s arch enemy, Milton Hershey, travelled to Cuba in 1916, he was so smitten that he bought several sugar plantations and mills there so he could refine sugar for his chocolate factory in the states. The Hershey spa pays tribute to Milton’s Cuban love affair by offering equally sumptuous indulgences like the Mojito Sugar Scrub and a Coffee Body Polish with Dead Sea Salts and Arabic coffee.

If, like me, you find yourself torn between the ramen noodle hot tub and the Cleopatra lifestyle, there’s one more option that will split your decision. Ada Barak, who owns the Carnivorous Plant Farm and Barak Snake Spa in Northern Israel, has become a media darling. The introduction of snakes as a therapeutic treatment was only natural to her, even “biblical” as Barak explained to Reuters. Women and snakes came together in the Garden of Eden, ‘nuff said. When an elderly woman told her that the snake coiled around her felt like a cold compress, the idea for opening a snake spa instantly slithered into Barak’s mind.

So, tell me. Will it be an hour with the biblical snakes, caviar in your crack or a beer bath followed by a beef tongue with horseradish?

Chodovar Beer Spa: http://www.chodovar.cz/id216en-beer-wellness-land.htm

Caviar at Channings: http://channings.com/

Wine soaks at Yunessun: http://www.yunessun.com/english/yunessun.html

Barbie Bangs and Barbie-tinis: http://www.barbieshanghai.com/en/SPA.html

The Hotel Hershey: http://www.chocolatespa.com/index.php

Ada Barak talkin’ about her biblical snakes: http://www.reuters.com/news/video?videoId=11749

Categories: All Things Spa-like, Passport Please | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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