Beijing, October 7, 2008, Tuesday
Trip Start
Sep 26, 2008
1
13
31
Trip End
Oct 18, 2008
Beijing,
China
Saturday, April 4, 2009
01 Beijing
. I had done my Internet research thoroughly and come up with some conflicting telephone numbers allegedly belonging to the Burkinabe Embassy in Bĕijīng, but at least the address was consistent. As PingPing had placed a few calls to the numbers I had found even before my arrival in China, and her attempts bore no fruit, there was no other way than go to the Embassy in person. Which I would have had to do anyway. After all, without showing up there and giving them my passport, no one would ever give me a permit to enter their country. Besides, very close in Sanlitun area, which is where most of the embassies to China in Bĕijīng are located, there is the Koryo Tours office, as well. As I had the briefing there tomorrow afternoon before the trip to North Korea on Thursday, I wanted to see where it was located, so I wouldn't have to waste my time looking for it and maybe getting lost in the process. So PingPing and I met at the Nongyezhanlanguan station, an impossible tongue-twister of the name, at nine o'clock, exit A, because she decided it was the most convenient spot to start my search from. Some way off the city centre, neither a business nor a tourist hub, the area we emerged out on was by Bĕijīng's standards unexpectedly calm. Even the traffic was less than heavy and the explanation for it probably lies in the fact that all embassy areas, in most big cities I've seen so far, tend to be quieter and less congested than the rest of the city
02 Beijing
. Maybe for security reasons. We had another sunny day and it all promised to make for some more pleasant time.Armed with the address I had on me, we set out on search for the Burkinabe Embassy. The address read Dong Liu Jiē and we assumed that in this leafy district it shouldn't take us too long to locate the street and then the building itself. As the sun rose higher in the sky, it grew more pleasant to walk about in the shadows of the trees which here really seemed to be in abundance. And as opposed to those trees, people were remarkably few.
We walked about for a while, and it was evident that we were in the embassy row. All the streets were lined on either side with low buildings, heavy metal fences and guarded compounds, often hedged, proudly flying an array of assorted national flags on long poles. Embassies, of course. And each one of them had their own Chinese soldier, standing ramrod-straight in front of the entrance gate whose duty was to clear potential visitors. However, much as it was obvious that we were in the right place, for some reason we just couldn't locate Dong Liu Jiē. PingPing, never shy to ask around, and preferably police or soldiers themselves, addressed one of them and he sternly and yet at the same time politely directed us to where we should go.
Dong Liu Jiē was just one of many small streets, looking almost like a backstreet, were it not for the fact that almost all of the streets there looked just like backstreets
03 Beijing
. It didn't run longer than just a few house numbers, probably not even twenty. It shouldn't be much of a trouble finding the number nine. It started off nicely, with Serbian Embassy leading the count at number one. However, at number nine, a Burkina Faso flag was nowhere to be seen. Instead, behind the soldier who guarded access to that particular gate flew the sky-blue flag of Kazakhstan. Next to it, at number eleven, there was the blue-and-yellow flag of Ukraine. But no Burkina Faso. We were confused.PingPing went up to the soldier again. She even showed him the address I had found on Internet. However, it didn't help much. In short, the address was right, but the embassy wrong. Yet, he told her that not far from there, there was a tower block which housed a number of small embassies, consular and other representative offices, so he assumed that it might be the place to look for the Burkinabe Embassy.
Following his directions, we went up north, came upon a canal and, going along its bank, soon spotted the tower block the guard had told us about. Once inside, in the lobby, we went up to a reception desk and PingPing told the uniformed lady who was sitting there what we were looking for. To begin with, the lady was genuinely surprised that there was such a place in this world as called Burkina Faso at all. It took us two or three spellings until she got the name even remotely right
04 Beijing
. Visibly amused by what she had just learned, she started leafing through some thick reference book and dialling some phone numbers. But to no avail. Minutes passed and we didn't seem to get any closer to solving the mystery of Burkinabe Embassy whereabouts. And then another guy appeared, a clerk there or something, and took the matters over. He was very nice and helpful, but the solution to the puzzle he finally came up with didn't make things any simpler for me. It turned out that, contrary to general trend all over the world, Burkina Faso seemed to be one of the very few hold-outs - or converts - who opted for diplomatic ties with Taiwan instead of mainland China. In translation, in spite of the information I had found on Internet, there was no Burkinabe Embassy in Bĕijīng at all. Because, as Chinese state policy demanded, it was an either-or proposition. You either have diplomatic ties with China or with Taiwan. For all the known reasons, Chinese money and newly-established economic power, countries all over the world flocked to China. Burkina Faso for one, being the third-poorest country in the world, if the sources I'd read it from were not wrong, turned to Taiwan. And so here I was now, virtually certain that there would be no easy way for me to get Burkinabe tourist visa.
However, the friendly guy offered another possibility. It probably stood no more than just an outside chance, but since we were already there, why not? He said that some of the neighbouring countries to Burkina Faso might sometimes handle such relatively simple matters like issuance of tourist visas
05 Beijing
. He offered that those things were not unheard of and maybe we could check out on Ivorian Embassy, for instance. Maybe they could help.Well, why not? As he said, we were already there, so all we could lose was a bit more time. Which we had in abundant quantities anyway. So he directed us to the Embassy of Ivory Coast, or Cote d'Ivoire, which was just around the corner and we went out.
This embassy was there all right. We found it easily and in front of the gate there was one more immaculately dressed soldier boy. PingPing told him what we had come for, he asked me for my passport, checked it and then made a phone call from the gate. A moment later the gates slid open, we entered the compound and then the building itself.
Inside we were greeted by an African guy who asked us how he could help us.
"I need a tourist visa for Burkina Faso," I said. "And I was told that Ivorian Embassy might help me since there is no Burkinabe Embassy in Bĕijīng."
"I don't know if we can do it," he said. "You will have to wait for my boss. He'll know."
He offered us a seat in a small waiting room and went about his own business.
06 Beijing
The embassy building was nothing special. Certainly nothing on the scale of edifices those bigger and richer countries tend to occupy. It was just a two-storey block, probably spacious and functional enough for the affairs a country like Ivory Coast usually runs abroad. There was most likely no need to splash out on space you can go on without anyway. Its interior, well, the small lobby, the waiting room and the corridor section I could see from the spot we were at, was decorated in usual way. Two large flags, an orange-white-and-green Ivorian and the red Chinese, a framed photo of Ivorian current President on the wall, whatever his name was right now, and a few motives from the country itself, folk craft and landscape photos. Things like that.And one more thing that probably very few other countries put on as a decoration in their embassy buildings. Dominating it all, there was a nature-size cardboard portrait of probably most renowned Ivorian citizen today. Didier Drogba, of course. Right by the drinking water machine, impossible to miss when you enter, there he stood, his arms folded, left foot on the ball, all in orange - jersey, shorts and stockings - Ivorian national team colours, the one guy from Cote d'Ivoire who majority of the people in the world have heard about. At least football fans. And they were not an endangered species in today's world. That was for sure. Ask anyone you want who the current Ivorian President is. I'd bet my bottom dollar that almost no one will know
07 Beijing
. Take out journalists and political scholars, whose job it is to know names of such obscure characters, and there will be hardly anyone left who would answer your question correctly. Even on a "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire" quiz show. But ask who Didier Drogba is, and you'll run into percentage probably easily higher than fifty.Other than PingPing and me, there was just another young Chinese guy in the waiting room. The African guy that greeted us processed the Chinese immediately. In Chinese.
"He speaks excellent Chinese," PingPing told me.
Well, he did sound fluent to me, that was for sure.
"Almost without an accent," she added.
Accent or no accent, the guy spoke English, as well, as I could witness myself. He had to speak French, too. I was sure about that because French was an official language in Ivory Coast. And add to it the fact that he had to speak at least one of local, African tribal languages - I am sure he does - you had a guy who was a polyglot in several, grammatically mostly unrelated languages. Hat off to that.
We were waiting for some time when finally another bloke came down. Taller, his suit darker, in short, the boss
08 Beijing
. He addressed us, asking what we wanted. I repeated again."I am sorry," he answered. "I just checked and we can't help you in your case."
I nodded.
"Do you know if some other Embassy may do it? Like Malian or some other?"
"I don't know. But you can try. Malian Embassy is just down the street."
We thanked him. The Chinese guy stayed behind, not done with whatever he was there for yet, and we left the Ivorian Embassy.
"Do you want to go to the Malian Embassy?" PingPing asked.
"Not really."
"Why not? You can try."
"I don't think they can do it. I'll do it in Europe."
And that was it as far as Burkinabe visa went. We decided to now find the Koryo Tours so I wouldn't have to look for it tomorrow for the "orientation meeting" and maybe get late. Leaving the Embassy Row, we passed by several more High Commissions, most notable among them the German Embassy with a long queue of Chinese people waiting to enter
09 Beijing
."They all want to go to Germany," PingPing laughed.
"For a visit or for a chance to stay?" I asked.
"At least some would like to stay, I guess."
In theory, Koryo Tours was supposed to be an easy find. It was in the neighbourhood, and not only by standards of a huge city like Bĕijīng, but in more down-to-earth relations, too. However, this Sanlitun area was evidently much more confusing than a first-time visitor would have it. Full of backstreets and small side alleys, going in and out of each other at most unexpected spots, you can easily get confused. So it first took us quite a lot wandering around without much success. We bumped into things like Italian and Persian rastaurants and Baskin Robbins ice-cream outlets, but it didn't help us much. After a while, PingPing got rather desperate.
"Maybe they are not even here. You should call them."
"They must be here," I said. "I saw their address on Interent and even a small map."
Which judging by the experience we'd just had with the Burkina Faso fictional embassy was not much of a guarantee. I had a feeling that was exactly what PingPing was thinking
10 Beijing
. But I was determined to find them. Whereas I could afford to have another go somewhere in Europe at getting a Burkinabe visa, I didn't have that luxury in this case. I simply had to find them, one way or another."But you can call them," PingPing tried to press on.
"Let's try a bit more," I held my own. "Since we are already here."
Somewhat reluctantly, PingPing agreed. Walking was no problem for her. I could attest to that. Obsessed with her invisible belly, she wouldn't mind walking. Only, she seemed to mind aimless walking. Anyway, I bought us some more wandering time.
Still in an area with remarkably few people, you'd even think you were in Denmark or Croatia were it not for almond-eyed faces around you. That meant there were not many people around to ask. And even those PingPing asked seemed more confused than sure. Eventually, though, more by luck than by direction, we stumbled into an enclosed area, tucked among some rather tall residential buildings, which looked almost like a large courtyard. And there, almost unexpectedly, I noticed this small, almost shy and at the same glaring board advertising Koryo Tours.
"There we are," I said pointing at the board, painted yellow, picturing a widely smiling worker, his right fist raised high up, almost touching a huge red five-pointed star
11 Beijing
. There could be no mistake.We entered, found ourselves in a small open passage, running along a low house at whose end there was the entrance door to the Koryo Tours. Our search was over. Inside, in one - or maybe only - office there was a young, pretty Chinese lady. She looked up at us, smiled and in perfect English asked if she could help. It was clear to me that she was an invaluable asset there. Speaking English as if educated in England - which she probably was - and undoubtedly speaking Chinese as a true Chinese - which she obviously was - I would bet that she was at home in both cultures. I knew from Internet that she was Emily. The only one Koryo Tours web site mentioned, but didn't show a photo of.
I introduced myself and said I'd just come by to see where Koryo Tours was located, so I could know where to come tomorrow afternoon. Emily welcomed me and treated me to a short run-down of preliminaries regarding the trip once again.
"You are more difficult to find that getting a visa to North Korea," I said.
"Oh, no!" she replied. "It's very easy to find us."
"Well, yes, if you already know where you are."
Then she drew again a short map for me, just in case, I thanked her and PingPing and I left
12 Beijing
. Our mission in Sanlitun area was accomplished for today.Next on schedule was Lama Temple. We jumped back aboard the metro and took a ride to the Yōnghé Gōng Station. Which was basically the Lama Temple Station in English. And as soon as we were again in the street, it took no detective to deduce where we were.
The street leading up to the temple was spilling over with shops and stands attempting to cash in on this largest and most famous Tibetan Buddhist Temple in Bĕijīng, selling all sorts of everything, from incense sticks to burn to Buddha statues and various keepsakes to keep off the fire.
"I often come here to pray," PingPing said.
And judging by the size of the crowd around the Yōnghé Gōng on this beautiful Bĕijīng day, PingPing was not alone. If there was one area of public life where communist authorities of China seem to have failed to score a resounding success, it was in their attempt to turn their huge population into a sea of atheists.
PingPing dutifully stopped by at one of the small shops, bought herself a bundle of incense sticks which she aimed to burn inside and then we entered the temple premises.
13 Beijing
In fact, the Lama Temple was initially conceived as the mansion for the prince of China of the time and it all came to existence in 1694. Then for a short stint it even served as an imperial palace, only to finally get converted into a lamasery fifty years after its construction. So this architectural complex is endowed with the style of an imperial palace, making it somewhat unique among its own kind.At the gate of the temple you first come upon three graceful memorial archways and two quite large metal burners. A number of people gathered around them, setting their incense sticks on fire and waving them to all four sides of the world, spreading the pungent smell all around. PingPing immediately joined the ritual and while she was at it amidst the billowing smoke, I wandered around taking pictures of everything in sight - gates, statues of guardian lions, bells, people and ritual itself. When the smoking part was over, we passed through one of the archways and entered some sort of courtyard.
The Yōnghé Gōng complex is composed of six main halls, each one of them with its own name, then a number of east and west side halls, and two exhibition halls with cultural relics on display. Each of them enshrines numerous Buddhist statues and even some rare cultural relics, out of which three made it into the "Guinness Book of Records". So you can safely claim that by visiting the Lama Temple, you are seeing yet another master-piece of Chinese architecture and culture on the whole
14 Beijing
.However, I realised I had a problem. Which was no big surprise after all. This was my twelfth day in Bĕijīng and ever since I had arrived, most of my time was steeped in Chinese culture and history one way or another. At first you are wide-eyed and your jaw drops virtually whichever way you turn. You can't stop being in awe of all those magnificent buildings, spectacular architecture, grand scale that everything had been constructed on, and the sheer exotics of its looks in the eyes of a western tourist like me. And then after a few days you are still aware of the splendour you are witnessing all around, but the novelty of it has worn off a bit and you do take it more in stride. What at first looked like a wonder, humbled you and affected you in such a profound way, suddenly grows smaller - or you grow larger - and you adapt to its scale and get accustomed to the sight of yet another temple or historical building, with some more upturned eaves and similar hues of gold and vermillion. And on your twelfth day you start noticing the first signs of mental wear and feeling the saturation with entire spectacle. You come to a point where you are intellectually aware that this Lama Temple is so grandiose that in most of other places in the world, or on your first days in Bĕijīng, it would have impressed you as much as anything else that you saw then. But now, on the twelfth day, in spite of that knowledge, you just realise it is enough for you
15 Beijing
.Here in the Lama Temple I cottoned on to the fact that now was the time to stop soaking things in and rather let them settle in. Of course, you don't go out if you're inside when you realise that. It's not what you do. Instead, I followed PingPing like a sheep and whenever she stopped to perform another bit of her praying ritual, I stopped to take pictures around, hoping at least that as I would review them back at home, I would also be able to invoke some belated admiration on emotional level, as well, for the things they would depict. It was much easier to watch the people, with particular interest in those who were here to practice religion. And so that's what I mostly did.
However, it would be utterly unfair to claim that, even if I was in such a state of mind - or spirit - the Temple completely failed to impress me. No matter how overwhelmed your brain may be with all this cultural and historic heritage, you can't fail to admire, for example, three Buddhas, or the Buddhas of the Three Ages - of the Present, the Past and the Future - in the Hall of Harmony and Peace, the main building of the Lama Temple. And then also, no matter what you saw before, another Buddha, towering at 26-metre height, carved out of sandalwood, this time in the Pavilion of Infinite Happiness, the highest hall of this temple, wakes you up from your torpor and you immediately know why this guy was one of the three things from here that has made it into the "Guinness Book of Records".
They say the Lama Temple, already in ruins before the founding of the People's Republic of China in 1949, wouldn't have made it through the intellectual purge and attempts at a clean slate in the turmoil of cultural revolution had it not been for the then Premier Zhou Enlai. It was probably true. According to what little we in the West believe to know about that chapter of Chinese history, you either had to be so low profile that no one really noticed you or you had to have a backing of someone powerful up there on the high wire. Being anywhere in between, you fell through the cracks of revolutionary society. The Lama Temple seemed to have the old Zhou.
When PingPing was done with her worshipping rituals, adding some sightseeing along the way, we left the Yōnghé Gōng and decided we might have a bite somewhere. As I could have expected, PingPing knew another good restaurant, and conveniently near at that. I'm not entirely sure if this was another one run, or owned, by some of her friends, but she certainly knew exactly where she was taking me to. We crossed the Yōnghé Gōng Bridge and found ourselves in front of a large, four-storey building which went around by the name of "Yinding Xuan". Even if PingPing hadn't chosen it as a place to have lunch in, by its numerous red lanterns and fiercely-looking but - as I now knew - really tame bronze lions guarding the door, I would've known what it was by now. This thing was open round the clock and the business obviously was so brisk there that they could afford to keep it going on several storeys, without ever locking the door up.
This one was not a vegetarian-only facility. It catered to everyone's tastes, and as majority of people are carnivores, it also meant that majority of dishes listed in menu were prepared with meat. Along the walls they had water tanks - I don't think I can really call them aquariums - with living fish. I suspected that fish was not there just for fun and to make people happy. Unless it ended up on their plates, that is. That probably made them rather happy. Anyway, I didn't ask, but I am convinced that the fish there is basically for people to pick in case they want it in their meal. Which isn't exactly what you may call a steady gig. For the fish, I mean. But that's what being a fish in a restaurant is all about, I guess.
But such a restaurant, huge as it is, was bound to have a thing or two for vegetarians, as well. Basically, I had no problems choosing a lunch for myself, either. Or to be precise, PingPing had no problems choosing a lunch for me as, not entirely unexpectedly, the English section of the menu had fallen by the wayside and no one in sight had any clue any more as to where it could be found. But at least every dish in the menu was accompanied with a photo, so eventually I did have some say in what would end up on my plate.
Having eaten and had some rest, we thought we were now ready to move on. Shoulder to shoulder with the "Yinding Xuan" restaurant there was the Ditán Park. So since we were already there, we decided to have a look at it and nose around a bit. They charge you five yuan if you want to go in, but once inside, I wasn't entirely sure the visit was worth even that little. OK, I must once again repeat that I was clearly more than full when it came to the diet consisting of historical monuments, so my feeling was hardly relevant at that moment. Also, the park itself was a fairly-sized construction site in preparation for the upcoming book fair that was, according to PingPing's words, annually held there and due to begin next weekend. Or week. So a large chunk of it was fenced off and we couldn't see it. Eventually, we had to settle for what little there was left to roam freely. And as no one at the ticket booth or entrance had bothered to warn us about all this, and we had paid already, what else there was to do?
Other than that, the Ditán Park is Bĕijīng's Temple of Earth. OK, the park itself is not the temple. The temple is rather inside. Anyway, Bĕijīng has four or five of them, like one for Heaven - which I saw - then Sun, Moon and Earth each. Ditán was the Temple of Earth. Today one of the key historic sites under national protection, it once was the place where the emperors of the Ming and Qing Dynasties offered sacrifices to the Earth. And those guys did it right up to the eventual fall of the Qing Dynasty in 1912. In 1949 the Mao gang reopened it as a public park.
Of lately, the authorities have been giving it a face-lift, adding new gardens, renovating existing buildings and polishing its overall looks. Also, for more than twenty years now, a cultural fair has been held in the park when they seek to revive those old rituals in sacrifice-offering performances as it was done in the Qing Dynasty times. But of course, I doubt there's anyone there seriously offering anything to Earth any more. It's just become one of those folk festivals out to preserve some distinctive national features and traditions, and hoping to gain some artistic reputation along the way.
After we had taken a stroll around and saw what there was to see, we took a seat at one of the benches in the park. There were oddly few people around and it was clear the Ditán Park was no attraction on the scale of the Lama Temple. Just a few geezers taking a lazy stroll around, one or two kite flyers and one married couple slowly pushing a pram on this by now very warm afternoon. That was the whole cast of this not precisely suspense thriller unfolding before our eyes. Well, the plot hovering about some of its low points and sun rolling quite high up above, it all must've got to my head. It suddenly hit me and I couldn't keep my eyes open any more. After twelve fast-paced days, I was plainly tired. The demand for benches was not at its all-time ever, so no one was short-changed when I took one for myself and stretched on it. I just needed a nap. So I put my small backpack under my head, closed my eyes and dozed off.
Not for long. Fifteen minutes maybe. Half an hour at most. Probably fifteen minutes. But more than enough to dispel the sleepiness and for the crisis to go. PingPing had probably entertained herself by taking pictures around while I nodded off. Not that there was much to take pictures of, but anyway. Once I opened my eyes, I was again as good as new.
We now headed back to my hotel. On foot, of course, as there was no need to hurry and use public transport. After all, there was a thing or two to see along the way, so why skip them since they were on our route anyway? We crossed back the Yōnghé Gōng Bridge, went down the Yōnghé Gōng Jiē for a while and then turned right into the Guózĭjiàn Jiē for the Confucius Temple and the Imperial College, or Kŏng Miào and Guózĭjiàn, as the Chinese call it. Quite honestly, in spite of my bench sleep, this one was a chore. If I had had a week or two more in Bĕijīng, I would've left it for some later point. Only the fact that I hadn't, and my sense of duty where what sent me in.
Let me not be misunderstood. The Temple and the College look great from the inside. Short of those few world class attractions, this was as good as anything you could see in town. Definitely a thing not to be missed. But it's better to go in when you go in because you really want it and not only because you just think you need to strike it off the list.
This was another place not exactly brimming with visitors. The only thing that brought some wimpy semblance of the crowd was a group of ten or fifteen Czech tourists who after so many days full of Chinese cultural monuments and relics were probably more of an attraction in my mind now than the Temple itself. If I had seen ten Americans or fifteen Germans or Japanese, I wouldn't have popped an eyelid. But Czechs were newcomers in these parts. At least as groups. Same as Croats would be.
Anyway, the Confucian Temple was, naturally, built in memory of Confucius, probably the most famous Chinese philosopher, thinker, politician, educator and, of course, the founder of Confucianism. It's another complex with a fair number of halls, gates, drums and bells, pavilions and lanes, each of them with some of those colourful and meaningful Chinese names, all aiming high both in physical and moral terms, shooting at heavens, virtues and everlasting happiness.
Following the ancient architectural rules of "temple on the left and school on the right," the same complex contains the ancient, more than seven centuries old Imperial College, the highest official institution throughout three dynasties, up until the fall of the Qing, the last one. Starting out from a relatively modest institution, then expanding to a respectable large-size facility with not only learning buildings, but also archery fields and dorms for students, it has now shrunk considerably, giving over space to residential areas. But enough is left to rate it an important sightseeing site.
We had a leisurely walk around, checked some pavilions, crossed some bridges and took a number of pictures. We also saw a statue of the big man himself, by the looks of it out of white marble. And then the sun went down considerably and we decided to start wrapping the day gradually up. The Czechs took shorter inside than we did. So the premises were going empty. We left a few local tourists inside and went to the Houhai Lake.
If something's relatively close in Bĕijīng, it still doesn't mean it's right behind the corner. So the same was with Houhai Lake and farther on by now ubiquitous stretch to the Jishuitan metro station. It was almost an hour longer before we reached it. There I saw PingPing off and after another long day went back to the hotel.
Of course, just as on most days, I met Maggie again after her work. This time I was too tired to go out much. Instead, we stayed in the hotel and spent time in the courtyard, which sheltered as it was, was more pleasant than any place outside anyway. I had an impression that she too didn't mind taking it easy.
And when she went home at her usual time, I finally made a phone call to Juan. This time she was in Bĕijīng at last. It was, of course, too late for both of us to meet now. She had just arrived after a long train ride and I was simply exhausted. No matter what I pretended to be - or not to be - if nothing else, the nap in the Ditán Park said it all.
"What do you do tomorrow?" Juan asked me.
" I plan to see the Mao Mausoleum. That's all," I said. "In the afternoon I need to attend the meeting in the travel agency before the trip to North Korea. So my day after that is effectively closed as I have no idea how long it would take."
Juan spoke a good English. Obviously, marriage in Australia, if nothing else, helped her acquire a good command of the language, something she would have hardly been capable of in China.
"So when can we meet?" she asked.
"If it's not too early for you, I can meet you in the morning, before I go to the Mausoleum."
She said she would be there. What time?
"What time do you wake up?" she asked.
"Whenever it suits you."
We settled for seven.
"Are you sure it's not too early for you?"
"No, I am fine. Are you sure you're fine with that?"
She claimed she was. And so, my schedule for tomorrow was complete.
