Traveling Jones

Another Move

Huh. I thought I told everyone this already, but I've moved again to trvlngjns.blogspot.com. (That's Traveling Jones, but without any vowels.)

No wonder it sounds like crickets around here.

Back in the U.S.A.

Some initial thoughts on arriving back in the States after 10 months in Beijng (with only a slight break in Thailand and Cambodia).

The flight attendant gave me monster pours of white wine on my flight. (Maybe not "monster", but after the tiny Chinese pours, it was most welcome. She even offered and poured me an extra glass while I was waiting for the bathroom.

Yes, it is good to be home.

The inspectors at Border Control and Customs were polite. They said hello and asked how I was doing. There's something I'm not used to anymore.

The Seattle airport is a little confusing. I rode three different trains to get to my terminal. Not sure I had to. Still, I could understand everything that was said and printed! At one point, I had a train car all to myself! Although, the trains are remotely operated; it's a little disconcerting to look out the front window and not see anyone driving the train.

I had breakfast at the Alaska Brewery. Why? Because I am very tired of shit beer, and depending on which clock you feel like following, it might be evening for me. I had the IPA. It was awesome. I also had the smoked salmon bagel. Mmmmmmm. Bagels.

The sky is blue and the Cascades are lovely. The mountains look like home.

Yay for throwing toilet paper in the toilet! (My apologies if I forget myself and end up throwing it in your trash can.)

Horizon provides free coffee at the gate. It was dark and rich and bitter. Oh Seattle, I love your love of dark roasts. That was the easiest to obtain and maybe the best cup of coffee I've had in 10 months.

It was a little tough to smell the fresh air over the smell of jet fuel while getting on the plane, but I knew it was there. But the temperature! Crisp and cool at 7:30 am is lovely. Low humidity is even better.

I kept on thinking I could hear my colleagues' chatting, but it's really just that I could understand everything that was said around me. Whoa.

It's nice to be home.

Slip Slidin' Away

My morning began with a conundrum:

To slide, or not to slide: that is the question.
Whether tis nobler to suffer in my bed
the slings and arrows of outrageous sickness,
or to take a mo-ped to a sea of water slides,
and by riding, have fun.  To ride; to sleep;
And by sleep to say we end
The throat ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to in sickness. 

We had been planning a trip to the local (!?!?) water park for a MONTH. We had mapped out this week as the perfect moment for our inaugural visit to the brand-spanking-new park. School is over. The weather is hot. What else does one need?

Nigel first saw it while cruising in the 'hood on his mo-ped. A water park? In the Yuquan Lu? But this neighborhood is lame. Not anymore, it would seem. He came sauntering into my office and poked me in the shoulder with the news. "I found a water park. We have to go."

And there you have it. We have to go. Screw the sore throat. Screw my annual summer vacation cold. I've sucked it up for far less fun events. So go I did.

There were four of us this time, Nigel and Paddy, who also slid down the Great Wall with me and went to the amusement park with me, as well as my Canadian, who was out of town when we went to the amusement park, much to his chagrin. I hopped on the back of the mo-ped while my Candian and Paddy farted around looking for taxi.

A 10-minute ride later, and there they were: brightly colored slides stretching towards the sky. Nigel pointed out "the orange one". Once I got his shoulder out of my line of sight, I saw it stretching towards the sky in a near-vertical angle. Shiiiiiiiiiiit... 

It cost 200 kuai to get in the park, and that included unlimited rides (unlike the amusement park that was 20 kuai to get in, but you had to buy separate tickets for each ride). Once inside, we paid another 100 kuai for a locker (the woman was nice enough to insist that the four of us only needed 2 lockers). They said something about 80 kuai (I assumed that's the deposit we got back at the end). I got a nice plastic locker bracelet, but we had to figure out how to open the lockers. Fortunately, another nice woman took my bracelet and held it up to a little keypad, and *bing* our locker popped open. Cool. 

Next: the plan of attack. I refused to do the Orange Giant first; I needed to warm up with a smaller slide (or 12). So we went to one of the racers. You take a neoprene sled to the top, and after an enclosed loop-di-loop, the slide drops you down a couple of times before the run-out. The best part might have been the Chinese lifeguard at the top who made sure (in pretty good English) that we understood that we had to brace our arms, keep our necks up, and point our toes with our legs straight. His pantomine helped, too. I managed to slide between Nigel and my Canadian, and the overspray was killer. I couldn't see a thing. 

Then, my Canadian went off to the lockers, so the three of us grabbed inner tubes for the next slide. It was a two-man inner tube, but hey. Nigel and I chose the purple slide (I'm not kidding about the bright colors) and went down. You shoot down a drop and into a giant whirlpool, skidding around the edge three times before going down the exit... backwards. eeeeeeeeeeeee!!!

We got to the bottom and looked around for Paddy, but didn't see him. We walked back to get our flippy-floppies, only to see Paddy heading back down the stairs dejectedly. Turns out you really do need two people to ride the ride. oops. And then Paddy's brand-new flip-flops were gone. Gone! Stolen! (This is the same man who has lost four cell phones, two jackets, and an ATM card.)

But we were distracted. There is was. Looming ahead of us: the Orange Giant. There was no stopping us. I stopped, er — paused to read the sign: "Imagine free-falling and experiencing weighlessness and then landing in 6" of water. Now don't imagine it, because that's what you'll be doing." Or something like that (my English is probably too good). 

Eep!

Let me say that again: Eep!

We began the climb, but not before I was stopped again (is three times the charm?) to take off my earrings. And I climebed. And climbed. And climbed. By the time I got to the top, Nigel was already at the bottom. My Canadian said he'd probably be screaming on the way down: these slides always freak him out. I've never done one before. My Canadian went: he gave some whoops on the way down. Paddy went. It was my turn.

I was noticably nervous. A nice Chinese youth behind me was very supportive and told me it was fun — and then he wished me luck. Luck! Luck?! Cross legs. Lean back. Push off and cross arms over chest. And

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" 

No, more in the back of the throat, in surprise and alarm. And sheer terror. I was falling down the slide. Oh sure, the slide was under me, but it was just barely pushing me away from myself. Barely. Then it levels out and splash.

I was visibly shaking. "Let's go again! Let's go again!" they all said.

I showed them my still-shaking hands and cried, "Not until my hands stop shaking!"

Nigel allowed how that his hands were shaking when he got off, too.

"But, I do want to try that curlicue slide," I said. (It's on the same tower, but is one (whole) flight of stairs lower.) I went down the curly slide, and besides swallowing half the water on the ride, it was pretty cool. It starts out slow, but quickly picks up speed in two tight turns followed by a reversal. Just when you think you can't take anymore, it's a short (but straight) drop followed by the final drop into the (6" pool). I was still a littly shaky though.

Off we went to the lazy river. After a couple of loops stretched out on a float we stopped in for some hot dogs (what else do you eat on the 4th of July?). Too bad they sucked. The buns were huge and stale and the "dog" was small, cold, and made of starch. The ketchup tasted real, though! And the coolest part is that the key to the locker also paid for food! That 80 kuai the woman was talking about was stored on the key and could be used to purchase food. Why didn't I think of that?

Then, it was more two-man slides. There was one with four curly slides. Nigel and I chose pink. Pinkie was awesome. Pinkie was so awesome, we almost (almost) flipped the tube over. My Candian and Paddy took green. We went again, changing slides this time. Green wasn't as good as Pinkie. 

But the wave pool was on! It claims to be the largest wave pool in the world, and they turn it on for half an hour a day. The worst part is the man dancing to horrible techno on the stage. The waves were pretty big, and the pool floor was pretty slick... not good. I didn't spend too much time getting bashed around by the waves. 

Then, we headed to the other side of the park. There were two four-man slides. Now we're talking. On the way up the first one, we saw that its parner slide was a little, um, broken. As in: big sections of the slide were not attached. I guess we wouldn't be taking that one. 

We got to the top and climbed on the raft. You sit facing the middle and cross legs. Then the man pushes you and off you go. Some of you are going backwards and some of you are going forwards. If you do end up going backwards, all you can see are the looks of terror on the faces of your compatriot expatriates. We did that one twice.

Then, it was the "Vortex". It was another four-man ride, so more of the forwards/backwards bet. I ended up backwards. I had hit the part of the day where screaming was no longer necessary. Just deep breaths (or as deep as my stuffy lungs will allow) and a huge, shit-eating grin. The raft runs up the side of a giant cone, until a jet of water pushes it back to the other side. After two or three see-saws up the cone, you finally drop through the center, down another shoot, and into the pool below. We did that one twice, too.

And then, it was back to the beginning. We raced the sleds. At the bottom, Paddy was feeling poorly (he had had a late night), and decided to leave. (I'm the sick one, but he couldn't hang.) So, I had to do double-duty on the remaining two-man slides on our list. I'm good like that. Once (twice for me) more with the two-man whirlpool and once (twice) more on Pinkie. 

We arrived at noon and left at four. My Canadian and I caught a cab back. He got off at the corner and the taxi took me to the grocery store where I bought fixin's for chicken soup. 

Hamlet could never decide, but sometimes you have to go for the slide.

Hug it Out

The school regularly organizes trips for students in foreign countries. Nothing new there. What is new is that the places my students go are the places I'm most familiar with.

A couple of weeks ago, one of my favorite students (we'll call her Keen because she is so darn keen to learn everything, all wide-eyed and leaning forward in her chair) told me that she'd be going to the U.S. this summer and she wanted some food recommendations. (By now, they all know just how much I love food.)

I compiled a list for her and gave it to her. It covered a full sheet of paper. I had broken it down regionally with things to eat and an occasional restaurant to look for. I went over it with her, all the while she was grinning and her eyes were shining.

I should mention, this is the first time that she is traveling to the United States. It's the first time that she's leaving China. She is very, very excited.

Then she leaned forward and gave me the most spontaneous, heartfelt hug ever. I know, I know: You should never hug a student. But to be fair, I didn't hug her, she hugged me. 

Here's my list:

***

First, avoid fast food restaurants. They're everywhere and not that special.

Boston:

• New England clam chowder (in a bread bowl, if you can get it)
• Lobster roll

New York:

• Hotdogs (topped with chilli, cheese, and onions; Nathan's is a chain, but makes a reputable dog)
• Pizza (thin crust; fold it in half to eat)
• Bagels and cream cheese (for breakfast; I like everything bagels with scallion/onion cream cheese; Brueggar's makes a decent bagel)

D.C.:

• Sweet tea (it's a little far north, but if you see it, order it)
• Biscuits (breakfast; NOT cookies; egg and cheese, sausage, or chicken)

Los Angeles:

• Mexican food (especially tacos and burritos; carne asada is sliced beef; carnitas is pork; green chili anything is great; chips and salsa or chips and guacamole)
• Pizza (with crazy toppings just like they do in Beijing)

Cheeseburgers: if you see a 5 Guys or an In 'n Out Burger, stop for a burger.

***

When I was writing this post, I realized I forgot the most important part about eating in DC, so I sent her an email with this addendum:

***

When you are in D.C., you will go the Smithsonian, and you will eat in a cafeteria. It will be expensive and crappy. So insist on eating in the Native American Museum cafeteria. The food is arranged geographically. It's still expensive, but the selection is incredible and you can see (and eat) the types of food that were typical in various regions. (Mad props to Shannon for that tip.)

***

Anyone else feel the need to spontaneously hug me now?

Peaches

When I worked in a kitchen, I noticed that there are some smells that just don't go together. Usually, when you work at home, you are making food that is designed to go together: the turkey, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce are all meant to complement each other. In a professional kitchen (especially a fancy one), there are a myriad of different things going on, all at the same time. So while the freshly-baked bread might smell delicious, it competes with the fish stock on the stove. And then there are the chocolate cookies or the cranberry tart. And parsley/basil oil. And suddenly, things don't smell as good anymore. And just when you think you can't take anymore, you smell the rogar, aka: roasted garlic. Oh sure, it might taste good, but an entire bain marie of rogar is about as powerful (and disgusting) as it comes.

Today, I was walking down my street and I noticed that the cherries have given way to peaches on the local fruit carts. Hmm. I do like peaches, but I am so often disappointed in them. Peaches don't ever taste like the tree-ripened glories of summer that I remember from my youth (unless you're really lucky and somewhere near Georgia or South Carolina). No, they are typically hard, force-ripened, fuzzy bits of generic fruit.

I saw the peaches. They looked a little bland. I walked on.

And then I got a whiff of the peaches. Wait, that is real peach smell! Eau du peach from five feet away! Marvelous. Fantastic! But I've got to meet the HVAC repair man. Maybe I'll come back.

Oh, sniff. What's that new smell?

The sewer.

Makes me long for the days of rogar.

Another Plate, Please

In Qingdao, while ordering dinner, my friend said that she'd rather just have her own meal.

"What? Is there something you'd rather have instead? What do you want?"

"No, what we're getting is fine; I just want my own dish."

At first, I didn't quite get it. I've long been a "plate sharer": one of those people who go to a restaurant (usually fancy) and agree on a set number of dishes as long as the diners can all try some of each. Some of my fondest memories are from "shared dish"dinners. There was the meal where we could not order too much shelfish, and the meal where my friend ordered the (scrumptious) pork because I was boycotting the inhumane treatment of pigs on farms. (But was that a good bite of pork.)

But one of the critical elements of plate sharing is that you put your name on a specific plate. Rarely (although it happens) do you agree to split everything 50-50. You usually order your favorite, your friend orders his favorite, and you agree to give up a couple of forkfuls at an appropriate moment (aka: after you've eaten the best bits). 

In China, there is no such thing as a personal meal. (Well, a few places have "bento bowls" and there are Western restaurants, but they are few and far between.) You order a meal for a table, and every person at the table dips his or her chopsticks into the central bowl.

(Forget, if you will, the implications on hygiene. I choose to ignore such things; otherwise, I'd starve.)

I noticed it most, first, in Zhangbei a few weeks ago. Oh, I've eaten with Chinese people in Chinese restaurants before, but I was still largely shell-shocked. While eating at my Colleague's Husband's Assistant's Mother's house (how many posessives can one person fit in a sentance?), everyone kept on shoving food in my bowl. Not a general, "Eat, eat, you're wasting away to nothing!" with a shove of the bowl of pasta in your direction, but a definitive placing of food in your bowl by another person('s chopsticks).

So, you like fish, and you make a move for the fish dish. You try the fish and realize it's a really bad fish. The preparation might be nice, but the thing tastes like the bottom of the ocean after 10 days. Except, Mom noticed you tried the fish once, so she keeps on scooping heaps of it into your bowl. And she cooked it, so you can't quite tell her to stop. (Face being so important.) But you DON'T WANT ANY MORE NASTY-ASS-TASTING FISH. Tough shit. Suck it up; imagine you're 10; push the bits of fish and bone to the edge of your bowl pretending you've eaten more than you have.

We went to a brunch buffet on Sunday, after a night in a Chinese hotel. The local schnazzy hotel does a very nice Western/Chinese buffet (it's owned by a French hotel chain). We each went for our own plates. I had a system, and I was sitting at the end, so I was largely immune to the rest of the table. And then the Chinese girlfriend (who is fantabulously lovely, do not get me wrong) of my Partner-in-Crime said she'd get something for him, and he said, "No, don't. The joy of the buffet is that you get to eat at your own pace."

But with her influence, soon, everyone was sharing from the buffet.

Which is OK when you all share the same tastes.

For the June birthday dinner (the school takes the teachers out to dinner on the month of their birthday), we went to a mall buffet. (Oooh, yum.) My Partner-in-Crime and I sussed it out, and figured out what we wanted to eat (and how much time we had to get drunk in -- it's been REALLY rough at work). 

And then some guy (the school photography teacher) came back with some things he wanted us to try. Oh. Nice. He didn't ask if we wanted them; he just put them on our plates.

Some soup. OK. Tasted like miso. Didn't want it, but OK.

And this deep-fried thing -- which I recognized from the buffet as a deep-fried cicada.

I know I said I'd try scary food, but I draw a limit at some things. I certainly draw a limit at my fucking birthday dinner. This is supposed to be a nice, happy celebration of my birthday, not a dare to eat something gross. And cicadas rank right up there with cockroaches and grasshoppers. I do not (for now) live in a famine society. I do my best to recycle and buy organic and support the environment. And if Soilent Green is people, I hope I've done my best to stave off that day.

Both my Partner-in-Crime and I refused to eat it. The AP Handler tried it; the look on her face told me we'd made the right decision.

And then some man came around with dishes of ice cream and insisted we each take one. Not a choice of all the ice creams, just peach or pistachio. Even though I was still eating my steak.

"Oh, the people in the school are so nice," said the AP Handler.

Nice, or pushy.

I took it. Because I had to. But I was NOT happy about it. And I did eventually eat some non-soupy bits, but I would have probably had the toffee had I not had the dish of pistachio lying on the table. And it would have been a lot colder, too.

But what do I know? It was only my dinner.

Characters

On Friday, I walked into my office to my Handler's vehement complaints. 

"Parents should not give their children names that aren't in the dictionary!"

I looked over at what he was doing. He had a stack of paper hand-written (in Chinese) and he was trying to type the names into an Excel spreadsheet.

"At least with weird English names, I know how to spell them. I just copy what it says, but that doesn't work in Chinese! If I can't figure out how to pronounce the name, then I can't find the character. And I can't look it up in the dictionary!"

All of which brings out a very interesting point about written Chinese: it's incredibly difficult to organize. English has an alphabet, and the order of the alphabet has been long established by convention. ("A" doesn't have to come before "B", but we all agree that it does.) If you see a word you've never seen before, you can find it in the dictionary by looking it up. You don't need to know the word, you just need to know the alphabet. The dictionary  will tell you how to pronounce the word and what it means: it's a phenomenal invention.

However, Chinese is written with characters, not words or letters. Characters, or combinations of characters (for example, "alcohol" is a combination of "water" and "fermentation") represent ideas; whole words, if you will. In order to understand a word, you have to already know what the word means. (While characters were orginially pictograms — a picture of the thing it represented — they have evolved, taken on symbolic meanings, and changed forms and so are no longer so easy to recognize as the pictures they once were.)

Furthermore, unless you know one character used in a word, you have to know how to pronouce a word in order to look it up. And here's why.

Here's how Chinese children learn how to read and write.

First, they learn how to speak (as do we all), but they really work on learning how the words sound. Then, they learn a system of writing called pinyin, which you all recognize as the way you spell Chinese words with the Latin alphabet. Pinyin looks a lot like the English alphabet, but it does have its quirks. "X" sounds a lot like "sh" and "q" sounds a lot like "ch" and "zh" sounds a lot like "j", and of course, the use of accents describe the tone used for the syllable (high, rising, "swoop", and falling — or the "karate chop" tone). 

Once they've learned how to spell the words in pinyin, they learn how to write the actual characters. Most people then forget the pinyin and only write in characters. Many adults will stumble over pinyin, not really remembering how to read it or write it.

So, words can be alphabetized based on the pinyin alphabet. But, if you don't know how to pronounce the word, then you don't know where to look it up in the dictionary. And before pinyin, it would take Chinese scholars years to learn how to read and write. It required a lot of memorization; no wonder the Chinese are so keen to learn languages through memorization.

Technology is changing everything. While students do learn characters, they also still use pinyin far more than they used to. It would be a bit unwieldy to have a keyboard with 250 characters on it, so there are programs that translate the pinyin you type into a choice of characters. I suspect that my students will be far better at pinyin than their parents are. And if anything wrests characters out of Chinese culture, it will be the Internet.

A few months ago, one of my students told me about the Chinese book he was reading (in English class). It was a book about the 100 family names used in China. (Yup, according to all accounts, there are a mere 100 family names for all the people in China.) One of the things that all Chinese students do in middle school is memorize the names for all the families in the country. 

Otherwise, how will you know how to spell them?

You Say It's Your Birthday

As many of you know, I believe my birthday is too big to be contained by one day. I prefer to spread my birthday out over a number of days, celebrating the (at least) 12 Days of Carolinimas instead of just International Caroline Day.

My plan was to fly to Qingdao on Friday evening for a long weekend. Since Friday was my birthday, I would have to have birthday with my colleagues on Thursday. What better way to celebrate a birthday than some margaritas on the patio and curry, all in the fancy-pants parts of town?

I had the afternoon off lessons, so we made it happy hour right around 4:00 and the buy-one, get-one margaritas started to flow. People showed up as their schedules allowed. By the end, there were about 11 people, 7 of whom moved on to dinner. 

And dinner was smashing. The best part about curry is the variety, and with 7 people, we could order quite a few dishes to share. My palak paneer and channa masala were wonderful, but the best part was being surrounded by friends who were all laughing and enjoying themselves. I can think of few things that are better than being the excuse for people to have a wonderful time. We managed to stop the festivities at a fairly reasonable hour for a school night, and even managed to secure cab rides home (not always easy from that side of the city).

On Fridays, we usually do some sort of "lunch" — pizza, curry. For Nigel's birthday last month, we took a trip to the Holiday Inn for burgers at the Western restaurant. So on Friday, my Partner-in-Crime looked at me and asked what we were doing for lunch. Well. Pizza Hut or McDonald's just don't seem fancy enough for a birthday, and there aren't many other options... so we went back to the Holiday Inn. (It was good enough the first time that the Boys were more than willing to go again.)

On the way there, Paddy asked if he could take my 7th period class to do some chemistry review. "Wait. You want to take the only other class I have to teach this afternoon which means I can get a nice mid-afternoon buzz on at lunch? Um. OK. If I have to." After a nice two-hour lunch (with pi ju), we wandered back to campus. My American friend had joined us (she was getting her teeth cleaned up the road), so we took a few minutes at home, changed, and prepared for the evening. 

Due to some last-minute arrangements (as in, no arrangements were attempted until the last minute), we weren't actually flying to Qingdao that evening, meaning I'd have to have another birthday gathering. The plan was to have a few beers down on the Pavement and then go bowling.

What is that about the best laid plans?

Bowling never happeend. However, we had a smash-up evening. There was a lot of beer. There was bai jio (yes, the stuff that is made from the Devil's spit). There were shenanigins involving an electric scooter. There were scooter/bicycle races. There was a big bowl of noodles that I had to eat (for longevity) and then a bowl to wear on my head. Nigel kept cursing us because we didn't leave to go bowling, and he had to get up early in the morning. But he didn't leave, either.

There was more laughter. More fun. More talking. More jokes and kidding and taking the piss. It was a fantastic way to spend any birthday, and certainly the best way to spend your first birthday on the other side of the globe.

When we finally stumbled back to my apartment, I checked my Facebook page... where I was greeted by 32 birthday posts. By morning, the number had grown to 48. To say I was blown away by the birthday extravanza would be putting it mildly.

We're gonna have a good time.

Busy Town

There is a reason why I've been so quiet on the blog lately: I've been incredibly busy.

Starting with my trip to Xi'an, I've since been camping, to an amusement park, and Qingdao. This weekend we're going to Wulingshan Mountain. The weekend after that we're thinking of going camping again. We want to check out the new water park and the newer amusement park. I've also been to the Temple of Heaven and the Beijing Zoo. And, I've taught a few classes here and there and had some spectacular birthday celebrations.

Tonight I'm going out for another birthday dinner.

At least some of my friends are moving away next year, so I might get a break.

Maybe...

Zhangbei Chic

One of the best things about Zhangbei was the shopping.

On Sunday morning, we wandered down to the local market to get some veggies for the Ag. You'd have thought that the circus had come to town, but not because of the people selling things. Oh no, we were the star attraction. They'd never seen whitefolk shopping in a market before, let alone doing it with really bad Chinese. 

We bought apples and fruit and stuff.

We also found the brightly-colored head scarves that all the local women wear when working in the fields. My Colleague wanted to know why they wore such bright scarves. I contend that it's because the only brightly colored thing they own. Their clothes  mostly consist of many layers of drab olive and grey and black, so why not wear a bright pink or blue scarf? The Ag says it's also a bit safer, since the man driving the tractor is less likely to mistake you for a stone and and run you over.

And then we found the bicycle seat covered. I had seen these gems on the street.

From Zhangbei

Oh yes. Those are knit. In pink, fuzzy yarn. If I can find a pattern online (that I can also read), you know I'll be knitting up some of these. In the meantime, we had to settle for the printed fabric seat covered with the gold tassles hanging off of them. No photo, but when I get a bike, I'll be sure to show you just how fabulous they are. It wouldn't look out of place in Zhangbei or Little Mexico; take your pick.

And then we went to the department store for really exciting things like matress toppers. While there, I saw some other delightful scarves. I don't think they're real silk, but they look nice and only cost five kuai. One is a perfect match for my still-imaginary cigarette dress.

But that was all nothing compared to my finest purchase of the day: a cell phone tassle. They came as a pair (most were of the his-and-hers/true-love-always genre) and consisted of a metal capsule with a cup dangling next to it. On the ring around the top of the capsule is a band printed with a cross and what I think is the Lord's Prayer — in Spanish.

Why?

Why? Oh why?

Why not, I guess.

I'm not sure what you're supposed to put in the capsule (Holy water? Communion wine?). I have no idea why the Lord's Prayer is in Spanish. (Maybe the shipment was intended for Mexico?)  What I really don't get is why one of them has a chalice and the other one has a martini glass.

Maybe you're supposed to put bijou in one of them? One for God and one for the Devil?

From Zhangbei

Some things can not be explained. But they can be purchased.