My bed in the hotel is giving me premature, makes-you-feel-like-a-decrepit-old-woman, backpain. So yesterday Jim and I went to get a massage, you know, the 2-hour, $9 kind. And yes, that's even with the exchange rate sinking faster than an elephant in quicksand, but not as funny. My masseuse could not have been more than 14 years old, and weighed maybe 0.85 nelson reveley's. A shining moment was when Jim's masseuse leaned over and hacked a big one into a trashcan. I wonder if China is the only place where hacking phlegm out of your throat is acceptable no matter what the circumstance. Meals, formal occasions, massages...
Also, I've been making plans to go to see Ben Shell in Mongolia. And I can't even tell you how worried I am about freezing to death. I went and bought long underwear yesterday, even though we all know, long underwear is just plain ridiculous. I'm going to land in Mongolia in full Arctic trekwear. And then Ben can roll me back to his apartment/Mongolian ger where I will sit next to a heat source, not move, and not see any of Mongolia.
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