Mrs. Stevo and Baby Stevo a week later.

It happened like this:

Monday, June 7: We went to the hospital. Knowing someone that knew someone, as well as a giant basket of fruit to bribe the floor nurses, secured Mrs. Stevo a nice room and attentive care. After checking in and meeting with the doctor it was off to the labour room. A bag of IV fluid, labour-inducing medication, and five hours later, Baby Stevo had yet to arrive. Baby Stevo was stubborn. Back to the room and a night sleep for Mrs. Stevo – back home for moi.

Tuesday, June 8: Back to the labour room. Unlike the day before, the medication kindled a fire. Just after lunch a stronger medication was introduced. Mrs. Stevo’s contractions went from winces to bed-sheet clawing near-convulsions. Our temp Nanny arrived, a sentinel over Mrs. and yet-to-be born Baby Stevo. By early evening Mrs. Stevo was in agony. No epidural until she was dilated enough, said the doctor. “I’m going to die,” she said, again and again. Because things were progressing slowly she was moved back to her room. The baby would come tomorrow, they said. I returned home, to be called when Mrs. Stevo returned  to the labor room.

Wednesday June 9: 1 am – The nanny said “Guo Lai!” when I picked up the phone. I dressed, found a taxi and headed back to the hospital. Mrs. Stevo was in the labour room again, pale, sweaty, and grimly facing her fate. No epidural yet. “I’m going to die” was her mantra. A doctor appeared and I was ushered out. When I returned Mrs. Stevo was roses and rainbows – an IV line snaked from under the sheets to a stand above the bed. She was able to get some sleep, as did I, outside the mosquito net, eaten alive. Three other women arrived in the labour room, they were quickly taken into the delivery room. Baby Stevo was still stubborn. By 5 am the doctor suggested Mrs. Stevo drink Red Bull and eat chocolate. They took her away and the orderly showed me the door. Husbands don’t routinely go into the delivery room in China.

I anxiously sat until an entire extended family arrived to wait. Quiet is not ever a word I would use to describe China. I roamed the corridors, coming back every 10 minutes to see if a nurse had appeared. Tired of walking I stood by the waiting room window and listened to my iPod (with noise excluding headphones) to drown out the unquiet family.

The door to the labour room had been dead-bolted – I had tried to get back in earlier. As I took a break from my musical escape I heard the bolt scrape open. A doctor emerged. All I caught of her statement was “… nu hai.” A  girl. What I wanted. I was excited, but exhausted. No where near as exhausted as Mrs. Stevo must have been. After another hour I was allowed in to visit.

Mrs. Stevo was radiant and angelic, like a renaissance painting. A bundle of blankets was held in the crook of her arm. Babies aren’t bathed their first day in China. Even with a mucky head, Baby Stevo was beautiful. The nanny fawned over them both. I sat a spell and returned home.

I returned mid-afternoon, after sleeping and packing. Baby Stevo and Mrs. Stevo were back in their room. I held my daughter for the first time and walked about the room with her in my arms. It was a brief first meeting – I was headed for Beijing. It would be a week before we spent more time together. (In Beijing I did not get to take any Great Wall Tours – for the second year in a row. One day Great Wall, I will climb you).

Welcome Baby Stevo.

I like to avoid Hong Kong hotels, so I only do day trips to Fragrant Harbour, the city’s name translated to English. Quite a few day trips in past couple of weeks, in fact. Hanging with the Hong Kong strobists, or at the very cool PASM Workshop, or working away at my HK office: There’s always something to do and photos to be made.

The Man Mo Temple in Sheung Wan, Hong Kong Island is a gem that I visit as often as I can. I stumbled across it when walking along Hollywood Road a few years back. It’s famous – being used in television and movies, as well as a popular religious facility for both police officer and gangsters. The ceiling of the temple is covered in coils of incense. Visitors are warned of the burning dangers over head. The temple is a dark and sweet-scented escape: Quiet in a hectic city.  If I’m at a loss as to what to do while on Hong Kong Island, I drop by.

Built in 1847, the temple is now owned by the Tung Wa Hospital Group. Tung Wa owns a few temples in Hong Kong – a strange acquisition. The temples prohibit photography, but the volume of tourists has made the posted signs a paper tiger. I once looking into getting a media pass – I think my China visa application was less complicated.

This photo was shot with a Canon EF 50mm f/1.4 lens on my now persnickety 40D.  I used AV mode set to f/1.4 at ISO 400. Canon’s 50mm lenses, the f/1.8 and f/1.4 are a bargain – quality images for those on a budget. I vow to use mine more. A vow of necessity actually – my walk-around lens, a 24-105 f/4L, is with the Canon doctors, being treated for an unknown ailment.

I once said I hate Hong Kong. My stance has softened since my early days. I still don’t like hotels in Hong Kong – way to expensive. Guest houses are a gamble. The major ones are unsavory: A mixed bag of backpackers, illegal immigrants, drug dealers, and prostitutes. I don’t have a problem with illegal immigrants, drug dealers or prostitutes.

Turpan Night Market by Static6

I’m ready to call it a night, but across the street from my hotel room the party is just getting started.  Yellow light bulbs barely cut through the thick grill smoke hanging over the Turpan night market and even though the sun has already set the sky is still radiating a deep, vibrant blue.  The conversation is lively and young children are playing but from where I’m sitting it all blends into a relaxing mumble.

Closing my eyes I try to replay the trip so far.  I arrived in Turpan yesterday after a couple hours travel from the Xinjiang capital of Urumqi and I was immediately struck by the color contrast of the yellow desert and the lush green oasis.  This area is part of the northern route of the historic Silk Road and it’s not hard to imagine this city 1,000 years ago.  Donkey carts and street side markets can still be found everywhere.

Today I took my time exploring Jiaohe, a spectacular ancient city that sits on top of a small plateau a few kilometers west of Turpan.  The ruins are unique in that instead of being built up, they were dug out of the ground by its early inhabitants.  For hours I had walked through the streets that still remain and stared at crumbling mud buildings that were abandoned in the 14th century.

Turpan is known as one of the hottest places in China, though, and that heat zapped the energy right out of me.  On my way back to the city I had the opportunity to visit the old town to the west of Turpan where I caught a glimpse of the karez, a unique underground canal system, as well as the city mosque.  By the time I reached the hotel room I was beat.

Now I am faced with a choice: heed the advice of my weary body to go to sleep early or head across the street to enjoy the Turpan nightlife.  It doesn’t help that the savory smell of meat on the grill is finding its way to my window, or that my parched throat is begging for a cold drink.

I slowly open my eyes and catch a glimpse of some Uyghur men bursting into laughter after one of the little kids inadvertently runs into a donkey’s hindquarters.   It’s not a significant moment, but that’s all it takes to help me decide to leave the comfort of the nearby bed.  I won’t be here long and this Uyghur culture is something I desperately want to be a part of.

AUTHOR BIO
Josh lived and traveled all through Xinjiang, China for almost 4 years, chronically much of his journey on his website.  He used this particular Turpan trip to research and write his Turpan travel guide, which you can now download for free..

Image: Statix6 published under Creative Common License