Gas Lines

For some reason I don't quite yet understand, there is a distinct difference between 'gas stations' and the Sinopec that sits on a corner three blocks away. Does it really have to do with what type of gas the Sino offers? Anywho... everyday a line of cars, trucks (and by trucks I mean TRUCKS), motorbikes, some san-lin-ches (my heinous 'sound it out' spelling of the terrifying Chinese version of pedicabs), and the occasional government vehicle queues for gasoline- or whatever it is they are really peddling at the Sinopec. And the queue wraps, quite literally, around the corner... in fact it wraps around three corners. Sometimes the end of the line is stretched to the beginning; sometimes it goes past the beginning to form a second ring around the block.

Again I ponder what is actually sold here. And why it is that I rarely see cabs (real yellow ones!) queued? Ah- that's right. Cab drivers wouldn't actually make any money or have any sort of gainful employment if they had to wait for the Sinopec... I mean the people who do line up often fall asleep, or get into arguments with policemen about how far out their vehicles are sitting (not that it realistically matters- roads are not exactly set in stone around here)... the cabbies must have somewhere else to fill up.

But I digress. Of course this is a perfect example of the urban/technological/industrial explosion that is China. We are all familiar with the statistics. But the literal number of cars on the road here is never so obvious as when they are just sitting- still except for the noise of their horns, and waiting for gas. Because driving is a contact sport in China, it is interesting to see drivers at rest. And I get the feeling that they only do rest when in that epically serpentine queue.

An interesting book to read, if you want an easy, funny, and brutally honest introduction to Chinese culture is J. Maarten Troost's "Lost on Planet China." He too, like myself and every other writer, blogger, or casual spectator of China, deals with cars, traffic, traffic jams and the power of the automobile in this potentially soon-to-be outstandingly wealthy (monetary) nation. I worry that most of these posts will be overly influenced by Troost as I read the book... oh... weeks before I got here. Meh. You'll get used to it. And if you never take my advice to peruse it, you'll think me that much more original and witty. Cheers.

Meanwhile... because gas lines can mean oh so many things....

If you ever make it to Sichaun, get hot pot. But get it with the knowledge that your mouth with alternately throb and go numb; that your tummy will rumble; that your gas lines will indeed become inflamed. Friday night began a weekend long eat-fest that culminated in homemade pizza last night. But Friday, oh Friday, saw us sitting down on food street off of Shuhan Lu (the food street with the giant statue of- I kid you not- a hand holding chopsticks. That's right, erupting from the ground is a writs, with a hand, and some chopsticks. I love China) and ordering more food that you should be able to fit into the human body. That food, which included an array of mushrooms, two different versions of tofu, seaweed, cauliflower, meatballs, some other raw meat and oh (yeah, it's a vege called 'oh'), amongst other tasty items, would eventually be thrown into either a boiling vat of hot spiced oil or a boiling vat of considerably milder broth. Either way. So delicious. Once the meat is no longer raw (in theory) you just stick your chopsticks into that pot of hotness, swirl them around until you hit something solid, pluck it out, close your eyes, and eat. Hot is one of the regional specialties of Sichuan and rightly so. It's like comfort food but with the unfortunate side-effect that you know you will likely regret eating it as soon as the tingling starts in your lips.

But hot damn, it's worth it.