My Grandma, bless her heart, always had the messiest fridge.
Part of the problem was that the light in the back had burned out years ago – and no one had the nerve to attempt replacing it. That would require emptying the fridge.
It was packed tightly with nameless and unidentifiable morsels from meals gone by, stacked on top of each other. To reach in the back for a snack was to risk spilling some outdated gravy haphazardly stored in an uncovered bowl. The only thing fresh was the curious smell that would smack you in the face when opening the refrigerator door. I literally spent years never looking inside.
(At some point, the refrigerator was replaced entirely. I like to think all the leftovers were carried off with it to the junkyard.)
Now back in Beijing, I realize I have my own Chinese leftovers. Not enough for a meal – or even really a good snack. But for fear of them spoiling, I’m posting them now.
I spent one afternoon exploring The General’s neighborhood. After wandering around aimlessly, I planted myself in front of this surreal red urban piece of art. I pulled out my book and started reading. At some point, I hear something behind me and turn around. And I see this dude on his bike doing tricks.
Random. Random and Red.
The next day I hung out with Chinese families in an apartment complex park. Of course, there was pong.
Almost all of the courtyards have brightly-painted exercise equipment that in The States we’d assume is just for the kids. Of course, it’s largely for the adults, who are always staying active regardless of age. In fact, I’d say the older they are, the more they work out.
Seemed like everyone was wearing orange on this day. (I didn’t get the memo.) One boy enjoyed having his photo taken. At one point, he grabs my hat and puts it on. Cute kid, but I feel bad for him. Because that hat is the stinkiest thing I own. Dare I say, it’s nearly as smelly as my Grandma’s fridge…?