After the end of an exhausting week, we were excited to take a trip to Macau. Ashlyn’s cousin had been living there for seven years and was happy to have some family make their way to “her neck of the woods.” She herself would be heading to the states on Monday, and so could not show us around the city herself. Instead, she arranged for a tour van and then instructed us to meet her for dinner
To get to Macau, we first had to take the ferry. For a little over an hour, we enjoyed the gentle waves and strange cartoons on the screens. And then the bags started coming out. You know which ones. The ones you always hope the person next to you on the long plane ride won’t need. The ones you yourself deny in hopes that ignoring any sea sickness will make you tougher. Our six member clan was doing well, but one by one the other passengers on the ferry began to surrender their breakfast with full sound effects. Without shame, we plugged our ears and closed our eyes and willed the ferry to dock.
Thirty minutes later and still with no accidents of our own, we unscrewed our fingers from our ears and stepped on to land where Kara was promptly vomited on by a child.
The tour we were expecting was a double decker bus with rushed tour stops, crackling microphone history facts, and crowded seats. Instead, we were met at the terminal by vivacious Vivian, our driver for the day. Her hair was streaked with green which she explained covered the grey. After a cheery introduction and the dispersion of water bottles, maps, and informational packets, we boarded our stylish van—all to ourselves!
Vivian: I take you wherever you want to go. You just tell me. We go wherever.
Knowing nothing of Macau, we placed our tourist agendas into Vivian’s hands and off we went. She talked even faster than she drove, with the word “actually” thrown in to every sentence whether needed or not:
Actually, these ruins were not there when….
Actually, I pick you up.
Actually, we go to lunch at this time.
Our first stop was the lobby of one of the dozens of casinos in Macau. Actually, Macau is the Chinese version of Las Vegas. Or maybe Las Vegas is the American version of Macau since for every dollar Las Vegas makes, Macau makes seven times that amount. Eiffel tower replicas, hotels shaped like figure eights, full lakes, indoor lagoons with gondola rides, Tiffany stores— this city was equipped.
As we stepped out of the vehicle, Vivian handed us a bag of small coins to throw at the tree for good luck.
Vivian: Don’t worry, you will find the tree. Okay pick you up in ten minutes.
And we did find the tree. When it rose out of a golden half globe under a ceiling of artfully crafted Chinese new year symbols that also opened, spun around, and lowered a giant chandelier. All this to a soundtrack resemblant of a Disney Park ride. There was a light show, moving ceilings, opening floors and then it was over. Impressed by the grandeur, however redundant and commercialized, we skipped back to Vivian waiting on the road.
The next portion of the day contained a visit to the ruins of a Portuguese fort, the remains of the St. Paul Cathedral, a stroll down the hill through bakeries (fresh jerky, sample trays everywhere, cookies oh my!). That took us to lunch. As part of the tour cost, we were fed a five course meal in an air conditioned Portuguese cafe—everything we had been ready for after about the first ten minutes outside.
Another casino lobby show (this one with water and an even bigger chandelier), another bakery, a visit to a temple and a statue of Buddhist Mother Mary (the cities attempt at cross cultural religion), and it was time to eat again! We waved goodbye to Vivian, thanking her for all her help and kindness until her car was just another in the long line of traffic. Then we turned our thoughts back to food.
This time, we would not be eating Portuguese style. Ashlyn’s cousin ordered fifteen dishes that passed around the table over and over again until we couldn’t possibly fit anymore. The cuisine included:
Noodles made right next to our table
Rice noodles
Dumplings
Kung Pow Chicken
Crab, which was shot straight across the restaurant by a novice cracker (me, it was me)
Fried green beens with ham
Spare ribs
Soups
Green Tea pastries
And other things I don’t know how to spell, though our tastebuds will remember them forever
We are all enjoying this style of eating where you are not forced to commit to one dish, but rather eat your way across all of the options.
After rolling out of the restaurant (much like Violet in Willie Wonka, just to give you a visual), we waited in a queue for a taxi and inch by inch made our way through the line while looking anxiously at the time. The ferry would be departing at 8pm. We would need to first take a taxi, then rush through customs, and make it to the boarding area before they shut the gates ten minutes before departure. The accelerated heart rates and shallow breathing weren’t just from our recently clogged arteries.
As usual, our trips would really be nothing if not for a little close call. Through the line, off the taxis, through the triple takes in the passport line, and off to our gate. Our ferry was late anyways. So much for our sprints.
Burned out from our full day, we hardly noticed the man relinquishing his innards on the ride home. Hardly.
To get to Macau, we first had to take the ferry. For a little over an hour, we enjoyed the gentle waves and strange cartoons on the screens. And then the bags started coming out. You know which ones. The ones you always hope the person next to you on the long plane ride won’t need. The ones you yourself deny in hopes that ignoring any sea sickness will make you tougher. Our six member clan was doing well, but one by one the other passengers on the ferry began to surrender their breakfast with full sound effects. Without shame, we plugged our ears and closed our eyes and willed the ferry to dock.
Thirty minutes later and still with no accidents of our own, we unscrewed our fingers from our ears and stepped on to land where Kara was promptly vomited on by a child.
The tour we were expecting was a double decker bus with rushed tour stops, crackling microphone history facts, and crowded seats. Instead, we were met at the terminal by vivacious Vivian, our driver for the day. Her hair was streaked with green which she explained covered the grey. After a cheery introduction and the dispersion of water bottles, maps, and informational packets, we boarded our stylish van—all to ourselves!
Vivian: I take you wherever you want to go. You just tell me. We go wherever.
Knowing nothing of Macau, we placed our tourist agendas into Vivian’s hands and off we went. She talked even faster than she drove, with the word “actually” thrown in to every sentence whether needed or not:
Actually, these ruins were not there when….
Actually, I pick you up.
Actually, we go to lunch at this time.
Our first stop was the lobby of one of the dozens of casinos in Macau. Actually, Macau is the Chinese version of Las Vegas. Or maybe Las Vegas is the American version of Macau since for every dollar Las Vegas makes, Macau makes seven times that amount. Eiffel tower replicas, hotels shaped like figure eights, full lakes, indoor lagoons with gondola rides, Tiffany stores— this city was equipped.
As we stepped out of the vehicle, Vivian handed us a bag of small coins to throw at the tree for good luck.
Vivian: Don’t worry, you will find the tree. Okay pick you up in ten minutes.
And we did find the tree. When it rose out of a golden half globe under a ceiling of artfully crafted Chinese new year symbols that also opened, spun around, and lowered a giant chandelier. All this to a soundtrack resemblant of a Disney Park ride. There was a light show, moving ceilings, opening floors and then it was over. Impressed by the grandeur, however redundant and commercialized, we skipped back to Vivian waiting on the road.
The next portion of the day contained a visit to the ruins of a Portuguese fort, the remains of the St. Paul Cathedral, a stroll down the hill through bakeries (fresh jerky, sample trays everywhere, cookies oh my!). That took us to lunch. As part of the tour cost, we were fed a five course meal in an air conditioned Portuguese cafe—everything we had been ready for after about the first ten minutes outside.
Another casino lobby show (this one with water and an even bigger chandelier), another bakery, a visit to a temple and a statue of Buddhist Mother Mary (the cities attempt at cross cultural religion), and it was time to eat again! We waved goodbye to Vivian, thanking her for all her help and kindness until her car was just another in the long line of traffic. Then we turned our thoughts back to food.
This time, we would not be eating Portuguese style. Ashlyn’s cousin ordered fifteen dishes that passed around the table over and over again until we couldn’t possibly fit anymore. The cuisine included:
Noodles made right next to our table
Rice noodles
Dumplings
Kung Pow Chicken
Crab, which was shot straight across the restaurant by a novice cracker (me, it was me)
Fried green beens with ham
Spare ribs
Soups
Green Tea pastries
And other things I don’t know how to spell, though our tastebuds will remember them forever
We are all enjoying this style of eating where you are not forced to commit to one dish, but rather eat your way across all of the options.
After rolling out of the restaurant (much like Violet in Willie Wonka, just to give you a visual), we waited in a queue for a taxi and inch by inch made our way through the line while looking anxiously at the time. The ferry would be departing at 8pm. We would need to first take a taxi, then rush through customs, and make it to the boarding area before they shut the gates ten minutes before departure. The accelerated heart rates and shallow breathing weren’t just from our recently clogged arteries.
As usual, our trips would really be nothing if not for a little close call. Through the line, off the taxis, through the triple takes in the passport line, and off to our gate. Our ferry was late anyways. So much for our sprints.
Burned out from our full day, we hardly noticed the man relinquishing his innards on the ride home. Hardly.