Holy Macau!

It was off to Macau yesterday to get a look at the former Portuguese colony that is now Asia's answer to Las Vegas.

Macau, like Hong Kong, is a special administrative region of China with its own currency, postal service and nominally independent government. It is located about an hour south of HK across the water.

Purchasing trip tickets at train stations or ferry terminals in HK is different than it is in the U.S. Dozens of travel agencies have offices set up in these locations and all of them can sell you transportation tickets, and so can the official transportation outlet's agents. Not wanting to worry about which one to use, I headed straight for a ticket machine promising direct purchase. I took out my credit card, punched in the necessary information and found that I had no choice in the matter: I was booked into the select service (1st class) section of the Turbo Jet boat. Oops. Good thing the difference in price wasn't exorbitant.

The trip turned out to be quite pleasant. I love being on the water, even when I'm hemmed indoors, and I was lucky enough to have a window seat. I ended up sitting with a young man from South Africa who is working for Prudential (that Jersey connection again!) in London and was in HK on business. We had a lively chat and the time passed quickly.

At customs, I've discovered a bit of good news: my work visa allows me to stand in the line with Hong Kong nationals, and it's usually a much quicker line. In Macau, I ending up standing with some young medical students who had all lived in Canada at some time in their lives, so another lively chat ensued. They were off to enjoy some gambling, as young men are wont to do, they informed me -- although they had set limits, since it was an outing for fun, not profit.

As for me, I was more interested in the Portuguese architecture and history than the gambling, so I caught a bus to a square downtown and followed a walking tour set out by my trusty Lonely Planet guide (Wow, do these folks know their territory!). The Portuguese buildings are lovely: low-rise stucco with balconies and porticoes, all painted in pastel colours. In many areas, street signs are imbedded into the corner buildings in blue and white tile. The city's downtown layout also reflects its Portuguese past, with circles and squares for stopping and sitting in the shade of large trees and enjoying landscaped flower beds.

My walk led me to one of the old forts overlooking Macau -- what a climb in the heat and humidity -- and at the top, I could see the city spread out in all directions. Dominating the skyline nearby is the huge, floral-shaped Casino Lisboa, all gleaming golden glass.

The fort is home to the Macau Museum, so I learned more about the city's history and culture. Among typical jobs in Macau centuries ago: a pillow seller who hawked cane pillows and a frog catcher who sold his wares to cooks of all kinds. Afterward, it was off to see the ruins of St. Paul's Cathedral, an island icon. Only the facade of the old church still stands after it was ravaged by fire 150 years ago.

Crowds on a summer Saturday -- wow! As I walked away from the church ruins, I looked downhill and saw a huge wave of people walking to and from the site. It reminded me of the mobs of tourists gathered in Venice's Piazza San Marco last summer, and whenever I saw them, I fled in another direction. Unfortunately, dodging this crowd wasn't as easy, but I did manage to find an alternate route.

I finally turned my feet in the direction of Casino Lisboa -- after all, no visit to Vegas East would be complete without a glimpse. OMG. I'd forgotten how ostentatious these places can be, and this one was all gold and light. Crystals dripped from chandeliers and golden walls added richness to the effect. Placed throughout the lobby were large-scale pieces of beautiful Asian art: vases, ivory carving, brush painting ... Wow!

Once I stepped onto the gaming floor, however, I could have been in any casino anywhere. Slot machines blinked and whirred and beeped; bettors surrounded dealers and shouts of joy or mumbles of rose above the click of tokens. I decided that gambling would have to wait for another day and headed towards the ferry terminal.

However, I'm sure it will be worth a look during another visit. Big casinos abound and the names of many are familiar from Vegas: The Sands, Wynn, MGM ... So, penny slots, brace yourselves.

I managed to get a window seat again for the ride home and darkness settled as we travelled toward HK, allowing me a lovely view of Kowloon's lighted skyline as we approached. I whizzed through customs, jumped on the subway and was in my apartment in no time at all, savoring my delightful day.

On Chinese soil

I had to pinch myself this weekend to make sure I wasn’t dreaming: Friday saw me crossing the border from the Hong Kong Special Administrative Republic to the People’s Republic of China. Yes, I was really there in mainland China, Red China, Communist China, whatever you might call it. Who would have thought it at this time last year?

I finally had two consecutive days off – a rarity here – and decided to take advantage of them by making my first foray into terra incognita. I was excited and nervous at the same time, since it was my first real venture into the unknown alone. But, I had my trusty Lonely Planet Guide, bless those folks, and I had my passport with valid visa, so what the heck?

A trip, like the course of true love, never runs smoothly, and it’s best to remember that in advance. I arrived in Guangzhou (Canton) after a two-hour train ride and had no problems getting through customs. Getting to where I wanted to be was another story altogether in this massive city of 12 million.

My plan was to find a hotel along the Pearl River for the night, because a view of the water is always a treat. I got aboard a subway train – thank heavens for directions in both Chinese and English – and started towards my destination. Little did I realize that the train trip terminated one station before the one I wanted. When I found myself back where I started, I had a blinding flash of insight.

I eventually made it to a station that I thought was within shouting distance of the river, only to emerge from the underworld to see nothing but land. Cars, busy streets, shops, pedestrians, but no signs of water, not even from an overpass above the street. I tried to ask two policemen which way to go, but they spoke no English and didn’t seem to understand, even when I mimed swimming for them. I finally found two teens who spoke some English and they told me that it was waaaay too far to walk to the river. I ended up back at the subway station where I’d exited, bound for a spot that was definitely near the water. An hour later, after two line changes, I emerged victorious. (Is that a hint to take a taxi next time?)

The riverside has both walkway and bicycle path, and many people still use bicycles to get around, despite all the car traffic. I saw all kinds of goods being transported on the backs of bikes, and people of all ages were pedalling away, some with friends clinging to their waists from behind.

The path along the water is also a hub of activity after dark, perhaps because of the hotels, perhaps because it’s a pleasant place to walk. Wandering from my hotel towards the pier for an evening river cruise, I encountered vendors hawking ripe red cherries, tempting chunks of pink watermelon, ripe bananas and coconut water sipped from the whole coconut. Many offered their produce from baskets tied to bamboo poles and slung across their shoulders like the scales of justice – a reminder that China is an interesting mix of old and new.

Tourism Guangzho – if there is such an institution – has created a wonderful enhancement for evening river cruises. Buildings along the water are colourfully lit, some with lights, others with neon. The warm breeze makes it pleasant to sit atop the deck and watch the play of reflections on the water and the interesting architecture lining the banks. There’s even a light show: columns of tiny LEDs creating pictures that change from minute to minute.

Serendipitously, I encountered a university student from Nanjing who was delighted at the opportunity to practice English. We chatted during the cruise, and she used her smartphone app to look up words she can’t remember. (Technology is amazing!) Afterwards, she invited me to join her for breakfast at a renowned dim sum eatery. Even though she wanted to set off at 7:30 a.m. – ugh! – I agreed.

We met again the next morning at the appointed spot, and we hailed a cab to take us to Tao Tao Ju, the restaurant. In a city where few people speak English, I was lucky to have a tour guide who is fluent in Mandarin.

We arrived at the restaurant by 8 and the place was jam-packed. Xinran, my new friend, informed me that older Chinese often arrive at these places at 6:30 or 7 a.m. and spend the morning sipping tea, eating slowly and chatting with friends.

I looked around, and it was not only the elderly, but entire families who were out for Saturday breakfast. Although I always think of dim sum as more of a brunch item, it’s clear that I was in the minority here.

We were escorted to a table and wander down to the food counters. There was a table with hot and cold dishes displayed. I passed up the chicken feat in sauce and the cubes of congealed blood, but the spring rolls and sesame taro balls were tempting.

Moving on to a grill, we ordered some noodles. It was evident the cooks take great pride in their work, stir-frying each portion separately with care and focus. Nearby, cooks did the same with kettles of steaming soup, placing a bundle of homemade noodles in a bowl before ladling out the aromatic creation. A waitress armed with scissors snipped the noodles into smaller sections and the dish was ready.

Finally, we headed to the table displaying the types of dim sum I recognized as traditional, contained in bamboo steamers. There were more than a half-dozen varieties, but Xinran settled on the hargow (shrimp) and we were done. We returned to our table to mimic the elderly patrons: we talked, ate and drank cups and cups of jasmine tea.

We left Tao Tao Ju and make our way to the Museum of Folk Art. There on the grounds of an old Chen clan ancestral hall, we visited exhibits showing life and craft in ancient china. The buildings and grounds themselves were a living example. The tile roof was adorned with hundreds of creatures, including dragons and other beasts, all painted in bright colours. The heavy wooden doors were festooned with paintings of fierce gods designed to keep evil spirits and intruders away. Many of the rooms and much of the furniture was wood, lovingly carved with intricate designs. Light filtered through stained glass crafted with care and lanterns of painted glass colour the space above our heads.

It was a treat to have a “guide” steeped in the culture; I learned so much more than I would have on my own.

Afterwards, alas, it was time to go our separate ways. Xinran was off to Chengdu for a few days, while I planned to visit one of the other city museums before catching a train home. I bade her a fond farewell; she made me feel very welcome in China.

Since I was now a pro at using the Guangzhou subway system, I hopped aboard to head to the Mausoleum of the Nanyue King, a museum that Lonely Planet calls one of the best in China. When I arrived, I was floored by the stunning building that confronted me: red sandstone walls stood only a few stories high, decorated with a seal featuring a dragon and a phoenix. I ascended the stairs to the entry and found that once inside, I must climb higher to a square courtyard ringed with benches, grass and trees. In the center was the entrance to the tomb of a king who reigned in about 111 BC; it was discovered accidentally in the 1980s in the midst of the hillside where it is on display. The contents were all in place, giving historians, archaeologists and us a window into life in Canton 2,000 years ago.

It was almost like a page lifted out of the story of an Egyptian pharaoh, sans pyramid. A tomb, its entrance hidden to foil raiders, holds a king, his riches and goods that he’ll need for the afterlife, and the bodies of those who were sacrificed to join him: four concubines, his secretary, his guards and other soldiers. Even pets met their fate.

The display cases held treasures that bore witness to the advanced civilization of the time: trade with other countries, a system of waterways, glass making, woodworking tools and fishing lures. The king himself was buried in a shroud made of jade pieces sewn together with silk thread. Objects were wrapped in silk before burial, and twenty-odd types of silk were unearthed. Not bad for ancient times, eh?

After wandering the tomb exhibition, I enjoyed the somewhat whimsical contrast of the building’s other large collection: ceramic bed pillows through the ages! I was more grateful than ever for down.

Time marched on, so I marched along, too, and head for the train station and my home-away-from-home, but not before China had cast a spell on me. I’ll be back.

The sounds and sights of daily life

Did I say that my Hong Kong neighborhood was relatively quiet? What was I thinking? Quiet, relative to the hordes of people chattering in the street outside the nearby Times Square Mall, yes. But quiet, relative to absolute silence? No way!

At night, there are the gleeful shouts of party people as the bars downstairs reach last call, or the occasional dust-up in the street. A while later, there's the metallic death rattle of the steel garage doors that shelter shops at night. Much too soon after that, it's the noise of morning delivery trucks and the construction workers across the street beginning their day before it gets too hot to bear. (Bare-chested construction workers, ladies, I might add!) But I must be tired, because I no longer let it prevent me from getting to sleep!

Life in Hong Kong moves smoothly and it's easy to be lulled, for a moment into forgetting that I am in a country outside North America. But then, I'll look around and realize that there are differences. There are men and women with hand trucks carting huge bags of rice and boxes of vegetables along the sidewalk. Workers are putting up a scaffolding by lashing bamboo poles together. People are standing on the street corners all day holding signs advertising their restaurants. Schools are all at least four floors high -- in a city of skyscrapers where land is at a premium, what else would I expect?

And of course, there's the language barrier. Smiles go a long way, but sometimes, knowing Cantonese would be helpful. Luckily,  people speak enough English to assist me. When I ask the mini-bus driver to stop, using a few words of Cantonese that a colleague taught me, and he then asks me for further direction, I have absolutely no idea how to respond. Thank heavens, there's generally someone else on the bus who can translate for me. It will be interesting to see what happens when I visit mainland China and try to get around!

Then there are the Olympics. I am on the Olympics editing team at work, so I eat, breathe and sleep the Games. When I come home from work, I turn on the TV and watch the local broadcast. I have the option of listening either in Cantonese or English -- not French or English! -- and when I opt for the latter, I get a commentator with an Australian or South African accent. Now, I am certain that I am no longer in North America. This is further confirmed by the mix of sports I watch. Would the CBC cut away from the men's gymnastics all-around final to show a gold-medal table tennis match? I doubt it!

Don't take this as complaint -- it's simply different, which is what makes this adventure interesting. Vive la difference!

Tackling the Typhoon

Such drama! Such excitement! Such rain!

Yes, it’s typhoon time here in Hong Kong and I have now been through my first official typhoon. Vicente – they name typhoons the way hurricanes are named, apparently – has been and gone, leaving bits of damage in his wake.

The excitement began Saturday, when the government posted T1 signs around the city and announced the warning in the media. T is the level of the storm’s intensity as it approaches, and T1 signals a mere tropical depression. T8 is a full-blown typhoon, a tropical hurricane with wind speeds of 74 kilometers per hour or more. They’re quite common here in the summer, since warm water and high humidity are among the necessary conditions for them to form.

 

I saw the signs, but thought nothing of them, since the last typhoon warning led to a storm that passed through at midnight and was gone an hour later. When I left for work on Sunday, I briefly considered taking my Gore-tex jacket, but discarded the idea, because it’s sooooo hot here. However, I tugged on my rubber boots and made sure my ever-present umbrella was at the ready, since it had rained on and off during the morning.

At work, I got busy editing, but as the sky darkened over the harbor, my colleagues became more and more obsessed with the weather. I was reminded of Toronto on the day preceding a snowstorm forecast – fascination with and anticipation over the weather is a universal phenomenon!

As we worked away, people gave continuing updates on the weather and soon the rains came, pelting the windows, a steady drumbeat of sound. Management decided that we’d crunch out the edition as quickly as possible and not think too much about breaking news unless it was significant. We raced through stories and page design and layout as if the hounds of hell were at our heels.

As the storm battered our windows, word spread that the government would hoist the official T8 flag at 6 p.m. and we were given permission to go immediately if we needed to catch a ferry or feared commuting in the storm.  

I finished my work at 6:30 p.m., and with the storm officially raging, I prepared to leave, expecting to get drenched. One of my colleagues had gone for take-out food and got caught when the skies opened, so I assumed I’d arrive home dripping. After all, the rains were pounding down.

Oddly enough, power here is not threatened by a typhoon – they know enough to bury cables in this part of the world! So, the elevator took me down to the lobby with no problem, and miraculously, one of the building’s shuttles to the subway was just leaving. I ran, the driver waited, and I had no need to even raise my umbrella! I could see the choppy water in the harbor nearby, but the rain quieted to a mere shower.

We’d seen photos online of mad scrambles to get onto the subway and I was prepared to wait, get squashed, whatever. But I work east of the downtown core, and either the traffic was going west, or they’d all left much earlier, because I even got a seat on the train, something that NEVER happens!  

I rode my three stops and emerged into the mall, where stores were closed tightly. I came out onto street level to find that the rain was, once again, pouring down. My flimsy, folding umbrella came out and I prayed that it wouldn’t blow away in the wind. Luck prevailed and I walked the few blocks home through streets that are normally bustling; most businesses were shuttered. At the nearby 7-11, they were trying to sweep away water that had flooded the floor. I reached the door of my building basically dry. What a surprise!

Vicente didn’t leave quite that quickly, however. During the night, I could hear the wind whipping and things crashing as they were blown around. When I went outside early in the morning, I could see signs that he’d been by: trees listing, branches scattered, tiles that were loosened from rooftops lying on the ground and the mall’s decorative little English village, part of a display for the Queen’s Jubilee, uprooted and in pieces. My path may have been charmed, but property owners weren’t all so lucky.

I had an appointment for an early haircut downtown, so I made my way there in the much-lighter rain. The subway wasn’t nearly as busy as it should have been early in the morning. Unlike me, determined to be prepared now in my Gore-tex,  the commuters who were out and about had made no serious concessions to the weather, other than carrying sturdy umbrellas. No one had rain gear on, since the storm had abated and they didn’t want to roast in the hot, humid weather.

When I reached the salon, I found that my hairdresser lived on one of the other islands and couldn’t get here because there was no ferry service. No wonder my colleagues suggested that I live on Hong Kong Island!

Never fear, someone else cut my hair, and when I came outside, the rain had stopped and the cleanup had begun. Stores opened, people were heading to work, street sweepers were at work – by hand, as below -- and the streets were busy again. I made my way home with a stop at the store for – you guessed it – a sturdier umbrella!

Vodka, mudflats and the Big Buddha

What, you might ask, could these three things possibly have in common? It's a good question with a simple answer: they were all part of my day yesterday.

The Big Buddha is a well-known giant statue of the Buddha build near the Lo-Pin monastery on nearby Lantau Island. I don't have stats on its dimensions, but it is cast bronze that had to be trucked up the mountain in three pieces and assembled on site. To reach it -- and see what all the fuss was about -- involved taking the subway to the end of one of the lines and making my way to Ngong Ping Village. Rather than getting aboard a bus, I took the pricier option: a cable car ride over the hills. With no disrespect to the Buddha, it was the highlight of the afternoon.

I chose to ride in a Crystal Car, which meant that the floor was glass. Not only could the six of us in the car see out the windows, we were able to look below us at the lush vegetation, the hiking path meandering up and down the hills and the graves of ancestors buried on slopes here and there. En route, I enjoyed the company of two young Chinese women, one a reporter for the China Daily, an English language paper.

Once in Ngong Ping, I made my way through the village to the impressive gates that led to an alley of stone warriors, each representing a sign on the Chinese calendar. Beyond the alley were the 250 steps leading up to the enormous statue of the Buddha. Clutching my water bottle in the hot sun, I made the trek.

From the bottom of the stairway, he looks majestic, seated calmly upon his lotus leaf. Up close, he's equally impressive for the size, the artistry and the symbolism of his pose and his garb. It was a lovely feeling standing at the base of the statue looking out over the lush valley and nearby hills as the chants from the nearby monastery wafted through the air.

The cable car ride back from Ngong Ping put me in the company of a lively Australian couple, an enjoyable extra. As the car prepared to cross the water, we could see that the tide was out. The mudflats below were exposed and speckled with what turned out to be people digging for shellfish. They would put their finds in strainers, then store the catch in what looked like white coolers. The brown flats were lined with the diggers, some going knee deep in muddy water for their bounty.

I returned to dry land and made my way home by train with only an hour or so to spare before it was time to turn around and go out to a party. One of my co-workers got married this week in a small ceremony and invited the work crew to celebrate Saturday night. The event was held at a bar in Soho (South of Hollywood Rd., the antiques district), the upscale nightlife area of town -- as opposed to the drunken bar scene area of town, which isn't too far way! I hadn't been there before, so I hopped into a cab and set off. Cabs are very inexpensive here -- the ride cost me about seven dollars, plus tip -- so it's a great option.

The party venue was a vodka bar called V13, and it could easily have been a trendy bar in any city in the world. However, I had a lovely time chatting with co-workers and their spouses, including the bride, who is from Thailand. My colleague doesn't get off easily with the civil ceremony -- this fall, he'll be off to Thailand with his wife for a traditional ceremony there.

So, thus ended a lovely day off, and now, it's back to editing.

Here and there in Hong Kong

My travels continued this past week with a foray into the New Territories (adjacent to mainland China) and a trip to one of the oldest settled areas on HK island, Sheung Wan.

The New Territories are home to the Hong Kong Heritage Museum, which, just like Toronto, has a Picasso exhibition running at present. It also has exhibits about Chinese culture, which were really what drew me. (Hey, Picasso paintings are on display in NYC regularly!) Getting there, however, required three changes of subway line, and I ended up in a mall in one of the many New Towns (planned suburbs with green space, industry, transit and highrises galore), trying to follow the directions a mall attendant had given me. Luckily, I happened upon a hotel and knew someone there would speak English. Bingo! A nice, young man escorted me outdoors and pointed the way. I was close ...

The Picasso exhibition was ostensibly sold out, but the young man at the ticket window told me that I could purchase a month's pass that would ensure entry. The pass cost a "whopping" $50 -- or about $7 Canadian! What is the AGO charging for its exhbition -- $20? In any case, by doing so, I can return any time and I was able to enter the exhibition without waiting in line. Not too tough to take.

I have never been a huge Picasso fan, but after reading the commentary here and seeing the selection of paintings and sculpture, I may have to change my mind. Some of his work now makes much more sense, given what was going on in his life and in the world, and I even discovered that Picasso had a sense of humor. One of his takes on a classic medieval painting actually had me chuckling out loud. What a nice surprise!

The museum also had an exhibition about the history of the New Territories and one about traditional Chinese opera and its gaudy costumes, both of which were very interesting and illuminating. So much to learn here, so little time!

Instead of taking the train home, I found a bus that made a stop in Causeway Bay -- a double-decker -- and was able to sit up on top, at the front, to watch the scenery. The landscape looks similar wherever I go in HK: lovely green hills punctuated by highrise complexes galore. Talk about condo canyons!

Saturday found me in Sheung Wan, the part of town where the British first planted their flag in 1841. The winding streets have a distinct flavor: they're full of herbalists; antique shops displaying sleek jade carvings, intricate bone scrimshaw work and colorful pottery in various traditional styles; fabric wholesalers (quilters, take note!) and shops creating distinctive name stamps. I also came across a lovely park -- the city is full of small islands of green tucked away in unexpected spots -- that was once the site of a care facility for victims of bubonic plague, and a couple of Buddhist temples, one large and one small. It always seems incongruous to me: the temples are rife with tourist, but there are also people praying, lighting incense and making offerings. I suppose one gets accustomed to the tourists and blocks them out, but it seems disruptive to me. Yet, I can certainly understand the desire to visit these temples; they're so full of color!

I took the tram back home -- it's a streetcar that runs on tracks, but it, too, is double-decker, so I had a good view of the neighborhoods between Sheung Wan and Causeway Bay. I even recognized the stop where I needed to alight, something that wasn't possible two days into my stay here. I'm getting closer to being a native!

Now, it's back to work and the click-clack of keys as we edit and correct. I am learning more about Asian politics and diplomacy every day, which is fun. Perhaps I'll magically acquire some language skill, too!

City Living

Greetings! Most of my blog posts have focused on the wonderful sights and tastes of Hong Kong, so today, I thought offer a glimpse into daily life in the city. Here are some of the lessons I've learned about living in Hong Kong:

1. Don't be in a hurry when you're on foot. As busy and crowded as parts of Hong Kong may be, the pace of the pedestrians is a relaxed one. Unlike NYC, for instance, no one seem to be in a hurry to get to a destination. People walk, look around, text as they walk, walk three abreast -- so unless your entire focus is on dodging and weaving, it's not worth the energy to rush. Just leave home a few minutes earlier and join the stroll.

2. Revere the Octopus! The Octopus card is the transit card that is ubiquitous here. A swipe of this credit-cardlike item will give you entree to the subway, buses, minibuses and ferries that take you around Hong Kong Island or to Kowloon, the New Territories and the outer islands (TTC and Go Transit, take note); you can also use it to visit one of the many 24-hour 7-11 stores or to purchase groceries at some of the chains. You simply load it up with money and watch it trickle away, then load it again. Awesome!

3. Buckle up. In addition to the buses and streetcars that flood the city streets, there are fleets of 16-seat minibuses that also serve the public. The drivers of these minibuses are wild men, roaring down the street, dodging in and out of traffic, then slamming on the brakes at a stoplight. No wonder it takes me less time to get to work by minibus than by subway! However, I'm not surprised to see that the minibuses come equipped with seatbelts. You can be sure that I use mine.

4. Language skill is helpful, but not mandatory. Since the British handover of HK to the Chinese government 15 years ago, the English language isn't as prevalent here. Cantonese is the dominant language of Hong Kong, since it's adjacent to Canton (Guangzhong) province, and Mandarin, which is the universal Chinese dialect, is being taught in the schools, with English falling to third in importance. Although I don't hear much English spoken when I'm out and about, signs are still generally in both Chinese and English, and many people have a rudimentary knowledge of English. No matter. You can go a long way with smiles and hand gestures. I had my nails done in a salon where the manicurist knew virtually no English. We gestured, signalled and pointed and everything worked out well. And when I needed a hammer and nails, I simply drew a crude picture and brought it to the hardware store. Minutes later, I had what I'd requested.

5. A smile goes a long way. It was true in Toronto and it's equally true in Hong Kong. People respond to smiles; they speak of goodwill. Even though my Cantonese is non-existent, I can make contact with people on the subway, on the street or in shops. As in most cities, people are focused on other things, but they generally aren't too busy to return a smile. My favourite response to date: a tot on the subway who blew me kisses. Now there's a picture that's worth a thousand words!