“NYC is not safe at night.” Said Saeko. She seemed very worried 11 pm at a midtown lounge before heading back to the hotel. 

“Where on mars did you get that idea from? I hang out in the city 5 am between dancing and breakfast.” I defied her.

“It is not safe unless you pretend to be a New Yorker, the guide book says, in Japanese.” She insisted.

“How does your guide book suggest to pretend to be a New Yorker?” I bit my lower lip tight to hold back my laugh.

She frowned, “It doesn’t say. Maybe you can show me how?”

I stared at millions of city lights that dimmed the Milky Way and shrugged, “I can’t.”

I can’t because one is either a New Yorker or one is not, no one can fake it. You know the day you arrived whether you belong here or you don’t, whether you love it or hate it: those who love it spend the whole life here and still talk about it with freshness and sensation; those who hate it have moved away and swear never to come back. Yet neither is able to give a full definition to the name.

Be it a silent look that says “Hi there, I am friendly but could you leave me alone?”

Be it a smirk that states “Yes. I know what you meant but I just don’t have time to chat.”

Be it a one sided grin that hints “You must think you are a smart ass but I just don’t give a damn.”

Be it a no teeth showing smile that speaks “All right. I’ve got your point. Maybe we can have a conversation later.”

Be it a shining smile that invites “Give it a shot. I maybe impressed.”

New Yorkers simply don’t have the urge to express themselves explicitly but rather leave it to others’ interpretation.  If you happen to hear three American women screaming “my god” in the interval of 3 minutes, I bet you that they are not from NYC.  To survive and enjoy this infamous rotten apple, one learns to be subtle, to take cue and to talk intelligently, phony or genuine.

Wedding party is the one we hear or attend often but a divorce ceremony is rare. When I learned of such concept, the extreme civilization and sophistication behind it fascinated me. 

Wedding is joyous as it should be but why shouldn’t divorce be a celebrated event? Splitting up is as much intelligent and sensible of a resolution, if no more, as getting married. Families and friends ought to be summoned to witness both events. It is a courteous way to bade farewell to the in-laws and thank them for their kindness and understanding. 

RJ and I agree, one day for some reason, if we decide to part, we will have a divorce ceremony, with same set of guests, same officiant, at same good old Tavern on the Green in Central Park, on same beautiful spring day of May. We will return the rings, have our last dance to “greensleeves”, and kiss each other goodbye. No regrets but gratefulness. No embarassment but graciousness. 

“I would have married you if you were a man”was my sentimental outburst when GG presented me three pairs of delicious evening dress shoes and three breathtaking Lalique rings in the quiet reserved corner of Novita in Chelsea. While being away from NYC, she was one of the few on whom I counted to stay in the loop of fashion and style. 

“Really? You would have dumped RJ, that ideal husband of yours, for me?” She laughed, with a sparkle in her eyes.

“Bien Sur! Pourquoi pas?”  I gave her my best flirtatious wink.

Then I remembered Em had said the exact same thing to me on more than one occasion except I confessed to her that I would have been a big time playboy if I were a man and she would be better off without me. Though homosexuality never appeals to me, I can see why some are falling for it. After all, who understands women more than women? And it is often the compliments from the same sex that is more truthful and heart felt.

Later at dinner, Mike handed me the beautiful new skis he got for me. The long forgotten sensation of skiing washed over me: the sweetness of the powder, the rhythm of the moguls and the whispers of the glades. 

Being overwhelmed, I promised to find him a wife since I have already given myself to GG during lunch.

很久已来，“中国制造”都是劣祸品的代名词。这不是中国的错，也与中国人的聪明才智无关。之能说明的只是经济强国们的贪婪与自私。 一件件廉价物品堆成某上市公司年终报表上数不完的零，筑成肥头大脑的西方游客们在中国土地上叫嚣嘲笑中国制造商品的后盾，而中国得到的是稀薄利润和灰色天空。

Domaine Chandon 香槟庄园Etoile 餐厅里，端襟而坐的是二十位平均年龄60岁专来参予庄园一年一度晚宴的客人，主人是庄园资深酿酒师。酒过几巡，话题自酿酒细节转入体育潮流文化最终至时事经济。斜对面一南部来的中年女子开始吹嘘环球化如何造福于第三世界国家，美国人多伟大慈悲，怒极转笑，气定神闲地说，“In case you have any illusions, globalization is all about cheap labor.” 女人瞳孔放大，嘴半天合不拢，打量良久这年纪偏轻，穿戴入时的东方女子，终于退步道，“How interesting that people can have such different opinions！”

所幸的是中国产品已移入中档销费市场，Bergdorf Goodman, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bloomingdale 里中价位的服饰多来自中国。偏爱的Elie Tahari, Nanette Lepore, Diane von Furstenburg也不例外。希望有朝中国能造出像Dolce & Gabbana, Roberto Cavalli, Versace 等的精致货物，且挂的是中文品牌，而不是不知所云没人知道如何发音的四不象名字。

 不久前在某CCTV频道看到一广告，不安。 葛优看到两年轻男子随手扔垃圾，便想办法让他们捡起来并说了大约如下的话: 让我们都讲文明，为了08 年奥运。然而葛爷是否想过讲文明本该也应该是为了环保，为了自身的修养，与08 年奥运无关，与他人如何看中国无关？

中国对08 奥运的重视可以说是到了诚惶诚恐的地步。皆以为能主持该会是天大的荣耀，颇有贾府盖大观园迎元春的味道，来不及地倒数，来不及地去旧立新，来不及地迎合西方文化。我却以为太把奥运当一回事说明的是中国的自卑。 一个自信的国家会认为举办奥运是理所当然的事，一切自然要打点得周全，礼节也不能疏忽，但应不卑不亢，才是大国风范。

与Nancy 再聚于Napa Valley时，左一口Pinot Noir， 右一啖Shiraz, 话题总离不开中国。伊生于长于美国中部，在嘉兴一大学教了两年英文。 去夏和伊相逢于程阳风雨桥边，对同一片土地的爱与恨很快让两人行影不离。 伊非常困惑，“为什麽当一座高楼在北京竖起时，新闻总要说这是依照西方标准而建？ 何为西方标准？”我只有苦笑的份。当四合院成为稀品或某达官贵人的渡假屋而平民阶层一窝蜂挤进依西方标准建成的高楼时，中国或许是世界强国，但中国是否还是中国？

 和YX 在The View Lounge里把酒聊天，极干的马提尼，旋转的地板加速两人的争论。YX 连连批判我的不平不羁。“你完全是以一个外国人的角度看中国。”伊说。“我希望如此但不幸我不是。我或许苛刻些但如果我当自己是外国人，我会把一切当笑话，会不痛不痒，而不会觉得悲哀。” 

看似再简单不过的问题，却让很多人措手不及。日出日落，花开花谢，人们按着划好了的框框跳，学习，工作，结婚，生子。不断地定下目标，努力地冲刺，然而当一切都得到时，一却都已不再重要。 于是我们困惑，迷失，寻觅。

浏览中国古今文献，发觉极少涉及快乐二字，提得多的是英雄豪杰，忠孝节义。快乐似乎是避讳的字眼。 走过安徽棠樾牌坊群，只觉整个人被魅住，重重石门压得人透不过气来。 炙热的阳光驱不走哀怨的精魂，原来活了一生为的是他人的认可，后世的景仰，自身快乐是不应求不可求的神话。 

记得有年夏日晌午在渡假屋面对大西洋的露台上，和婆婆各端一杯冰过的Sauvignon Blanc, 半躺在摇椅里，听着潮起潮落，闲话家常。总劝伊儿孙只有儿孙福，不要太多担忧，该纵容自己时尽量纵容。一个人只有先让自己快乐后，才能把快乐感染给周围的人。一味委曲求全看似顾全大局，然人是常人，日久终会觉得压抑怨忿，而一个压抑怨忿的人是不可能令别人快乐的。婆婆思索良久道言之有理，两人间的理解又深一层。

近来常和友谈起父母辈的生活，都不免叹气。对他们来说，没有个人，只有家庭，没有权利，只有责任。不是不对，只是不妥。不免又说了如上的话，友大笑，“你这番绕口的理论，不要说你我父母，连我都一时间转不过脑筋来。”我也不禁大笑，又不禁黯然。和许多陌生或不陌生的人沟通没有任何困难，却始终无法让自己母亲明白我的所想所思。可以逗很多人欢笑，却不能让母亲快乐。人生不如意事常八九，此其一也。

纵观新疆历史，十世纪前盛行佛教，鸠摩罗什和陈玄奘是探索传播大小承教的主力，而高昌，龟兹古国周围的千佛洞更是佛教繁荣昌盛的见证。 直至喀喇汗王子萨图克偶然间发现穆斯林教徒的虔诚和纪律可成为其野心夺位的道具，并开始一系列的圣战，伊斯兰教逐暂取代佛教在新疆的地位。 这多少也归根于佛教哲学性太强，领悟者不多，“你不说我到还明白，你越说我越糊涂了” 想必是佛教徒们听禅时的困惑。而伊斯兰教则大众化些，只要能遵守五大教规便是好教徒。

喀什老城让人想起法国南部小城。虽然几百年前泥土筑成的屋子截然不同于St-Remy中古时期的石头房子，虽然低随的门帘上各式花纹不像Arles 木门上典雅的雕刻，虽然路边嬉戏的顽童有异于Les Baux 咖啡厅里的优雅妇人，喀什却赋予人同样时光到流的梦幻。乍乍的巷，直直的街交织着永恒的爱与恨。

本想继续往尼雅，楼兰，米兰等古城遗址，终究舍不得离开。整日漫无目的地穿街走巷和小孩们厮混，时不时跟着Matel 在清真寺外晒太阳闲扯。Matel在喀什已呆了一星期，仍无离开的打算。身高六尺五的他，穿着在巴国买的棕色长衫，围着一黑白小格子的方巾，即使在遍地是来自世界各地背包客的喀什，还是招来无数好奇目光。有时和Teppei 到人民广场练杂耍，三人各自把小圆球抛得满天飞，路人驻足分享几人的欢笑。

喀什让人迷失，在这里时间没有意义，世俗不再重要。喀什又让人清醒，更加明白快乐与百万豪宅，六位数年薪无关。商业世界加于人的浮躁在这里慢慢沉淀，原始的宁静逐渐归位。

中东北疆游荡了一个多月，到了喀什，住进色满宾馆，碰上了来自英国的Richard 和其未婚妻 Karen。 多时未讲英文， 些许陌生，久未沾唇的咖啡和久别的煎蛋火腿带回记忆，不自觉地跟着他俩操起了牛津口音。暗笑回纽约后又要让小弟困惑了- 他往往凭姐姐最新的口音来猜测伊近来行踪。

当天是Richard 三十二岁生日，想找个维吾尔餐厅喝酒吃饭庆祝。找吃饭地方简单，但找既能吃饭又能喝酒的馆子在伊斯兰教盛行的喀什却不容易。Richard 和 M 看过几家场地后，挑了色满宾馆后面一装璜典雅兼有民族歌舞表演的音乐餐厅. 和经理一番交涉，终于让他同意可以自带酒水。

M把在新疆每天喝红酒的心得传授众人：25 块的新天玛纳斯可当Merlot 喝，记得价钱要压至20 块；某家小超市的新天雪莲标价比其他地方少百份之三十，味道不亚于加州多数庄园的Cabernet Sauvignon;  能找到40 元的乡都干红（La Champ d’Or）最妙 – 法国酿酒技术，新疆戈壁滩葡萄，合成东方的Bodeaux. 一群人看着水壶里装着红酒，随手从邮差包里掏出专业启瓶器的M, 只有瞪眼点头的份。

于是乎那天晚上，十四个来自十个国家的人，拎着十几瓶红酒，点了各式菜肴，各说各的故事。以色列的男生掏出一大袋晒干了的大麻，说是在北京附近某郊外野地里摘的。来自瑞士的女孩扬扬得意地说起她如何把中国产伏特加装进雪碧瓶子走私入巴基斯坦（该国不许卖酒）；又道中国保险套在巴国颇受欢迎（中国计划生育的成功是该产品最佳广告）。

只是这伏特加实在不好喝，幸好在座有人带了椰汁奶，M当仁不让地当起调酒师，并美其名曰“迷失喀什 ”(Lost in Kashgar). 印尼华裔陈掏出一瓶白色酒，一排人尝过后，个个脸上打着问号。 M 看看瓶子，噗哧一声, “ It is fermented from horse’s milk.” （马奶酒）一句话让人人抱头伏桌作呕吐状。

Karen 和 M 瞒着 Richard 设计定做的生日蛋糕端上来，龙像征中国，虎则是他生肖， Richard 没想到流浪途中还有如此温情，一时间竟说不出话来。Karen 朝 M 投来感激眼神，M 笑笑，过生日是再俗不过的一件事，但假如能使别人快乐，为什麽不? 毕竟我们都渴望亲情友情，那怕是短暂的，浮面的.

闹至餐厅打徉，过半数人意犹未尽，闯进一家又一家的酒吧，走出了一家又一家的俱乐部，我们所要的不过是舞动的节奏，入耳的音乐。终于来到一处地方，DJ 还好，舞台嫌小，中间有一钢管，让人联想起脱衣女郎的狂野。Richard 率先跳上舞台绕着钢管舞动，米兰的Matel 和日本的 Teppei不甘示弱，随后而上。Karen, M 几个女子掩面大笑，终于也被拖上舞台。M略施小技，把一群坐着喝酒，想跳而不敢跳的当地男女引上舞台，气氛更是热闹。

奇怪的是第二天没人记得那家舞厅的名字和地点，仿佛是聊斋里碰到狐仙的故事。