31 July, Action-Man, Shanghai, China

Just got back from breakfast downstairs. In the lobby was the old man from Australia. He was posing with the receptionist for a photo "You leaving today?" I asked him. "I'm leavin' now!" he answered. I can never tell if he's enjoying his vacation to China or not. "Going to Xi'an， then Beijing," he continued. "Well don't get too lonesome," I told him. "Oh no," his speech is so garbled that, at first glance, it sounds like he's speakin Chinese, "You go down this main street out here and all the ladies invite you for coffee. And they got other things up their sleeves, too."

Out hotel is north of downtown Shanghai and sits on the border of town, where English isn't spoken and the dirty streets are third-worldish. Air conditioners drip puddles on the sidewalks and drops land on your head and neck. The women wear big tinted visers. The old men roll up their pant legs and unbutton their shirts. Men and women dig deep in their throats for loogies and spit and snort. In the nooks and corners of the streets are diners where men chew their noodles and dumplings with sickened faces.

This Australian man was the first white man I saw at this hidden hotel and one of the first white people in this whole part of town. We met him a week ago before we went to Beijing. He always wears a baseball cap and boots and pants up to his ribs. His accent is so thick and his mouth opens so little and and he talks so fast--I thought he was just a burly Chinese man. He always misses the part of his beard above his lip when he shaves. We've caught him wandering listlessly down the street--on vacation in China, not sure if he likes it, not sure where he's going.

Sam