On sale now at Wal-Mart

Best sellers here are rice and 绿豆 (lü dou, mung beans). In Chinese medicine, mung beans are used to 清肺和肠胃 (loosely, clear out the respiratory and digestive systems). A porridge of rice and mung beans is a staple of the Chinese diet, eaten for breakfast and comfort--the equivalent of cornflakes, chicken noodle soup, and cold medicine that actually works, rolled into one.

This gigantic Wal-Mart has eels and snow globes, but for some reason, only had a selection of three cameras in its Electronics Department (3rd floor, by the entrance escalator). 5 Quancheng Lu, Jinan, Shandong.

Almost everyone is happy at the park

Jinan has relied on the fresh water flowing from its 700 natural mountain springs for millennia. 五龙潭公园, Wulongtan Gongyuan, Five Dragon Pool Park. Jinan, Shandong.

The hazards of living near KTV (a karaoke bar)

 

 "Do not poo or pee here!" Posted in an alley off of Tongyuanju Qian Jie, Jinan, Shandong.

200 feet of meat

The scene last night on 银虎池街 (Yinhuchi Jie, "the pool where the lion drinks street") in the heart of the Hui neighborhood in Jinan, Shandong China.
 
This guy had a good three hundred skewers of lamb with garlic and peppers, seasoned with turmeric and cumin, roasting over hot coals (2 RMB each). I am a sucker for lamb kidney on a stick (1 RMB each).

Research time in Jinan, Shandong Province

Taxi driver picking up other fares along the way, piping hot orange juice, a kind stranger offering me a bite of his chicken sandwich on the super-fast train. I am in China.

Time for a new pack?

The Bolinas, a sweet 30-liter daypack.

My boot came untied in the middle of scrambling over a boulder field. It was probably mile 25 of a 60-mile expedition and my right arm was already numb from the weight of the boulder strapped to my back. I went to plant a knee to get to my laces, but with the sudden shift in my center of gravity, I tipped to the left, causing my pack to slide widely to the left, and suddenly I was falling toward a wide crag, the bottom of which I couldn't see. Fortunately, my pack was bulky enough that it wedged itself between me and the abyss, and so I was able to unhitch myself from my 50-pound burden and crawl to safety. It was the one good thing that pack did for me on that trip.

Two lessons I took from this: Tie double knots. Go ultralight.

The fantastic folks at Boreas, a boutique outdoor gear design shop in San Francisco make gorgeous streamlined packs, which are comfortable to wear, built to last, and do just what their told. Their 60-liter Lost Coast and 55-liter Buttermilks packs are perfect for multi-day trips and heavier loads. Backpacker made them both their 2012 Editors' Choice picks.

Best of all, Boreas gave me a pro deal to share with all of you intrepid travelers. Just shoot me an email, and I'll send you a code, which gets you 55% off!

Massage as medicine

Panda does not want any of it.

I went to see my neighborhood Chinese medicine doctor the other day after a bad run-in with some cockles (little bivalves that are currently very hard to come by in Singapore).

The doctor asked me a lot of questions, looked carefully at my tongue and eyes, held my wrist between his thumb and forefinger for a few minutes, and noted the yellow-green pallor of my skin. Diagnosis: I am not getting enough rest (true), under a lot of stress (sure), and my liver and lungs (and everything connected to them in the Chinese medicine sense) haven't had a chance to recover from the food poisoning because of all of the above plus the Cipro I tried initially. He prescribed bed before 11pm (livers apparently rest best between 11pm and 2am) and four herbal medicines in pill and potion form.

He gave my prescription to an elderly lady in a lab coat at the front of the clinic, and I watched as she pulled various roots and seeds from the tiny drawers lining the walls, ground them into powder, and threw them into a little terracotta pot to boil. While I was waiting for my concoction to brew, I wandered around the rest of the clinic and found myself suddenly in a room full of silent babies. They were getting massages.

Some sat upright and others lay on their backs, but one lay on his side like a tiny dictator--hand extended out for servicing by his attendant. The nurse masseuses carefully kneaded their backs, scratched their heads, and rubbed tiny circles into their palms. The babies drooled (more than usual) in ecstasy.

Baby massage seems awfully decadent, but I can say, four days of bitter herbal brew and my tummy is feeling much better.