Open Letter to the United States

Dear U.S.,

I’m not from the United States (though I love your beautiful country), but I can’t say as though I’m a completely impartial bystander with this whole election business.  I had a clear favourite and I’m pleased with the outcome (as pleased as one can be when only given two choices).  I am, however, going to try to remain impartial here because I have a message for the people of the United States that transcends a four or eight year term in office.

Overall, I’ve been absolutely disgusted with some of the behavior I’ve seen both before and after the election.  (Did we really make fried chicken and Oreos into a political bargaining tool?!  For the record, I don’t eat fried chicken because I’m a vegetarian.  I do, however, eat Oreos because they’re pretty darn awesome.)  

There have been downright vicious arguments and attacks all over Facebook.  Someone writes in their status “I’m happy Obama won” and that status garners responses that are so atrocious I won’t repeat them here.  Um, don’t you have freedom of speech?  I don’t think it’s a crime to be happy about the outcome of an election and to voice your opinion.  I even saw a few people’s profile pictures flying an inverted flag: a sign of distress. Clever way to show how you feel, but you are not in distress.  If you live in the United States, were able to make it to the voting polls and then post about it on Facebook via your iPhone, you are NOT in distress.  Get some perspective. 

There has, however, been some comic relief. 

“Obama won.  I’m just going to leave this country… maybe go to Alaska.”  Please pick up an atlas or map.  Did you know that U.S. citizens’ geography knowledge is a joke worldwide?

“If Obama wins, I’m just going to give up on America and move to Canada.”  You are in the United States, we are in Canada.  Together, we are both part of America.  And need I remind you that in Canada we have socialized medicine (and it’s awesome), gay marriage and marijuana. 

It’s easy to point fingers at Republicans for poor behaviour right now, but before you do, look in the mirror and admit to yourselves that had Romney won, you’d be doing the same thing.

Please research the health care reform before judging it.  Many developing countries have subsidized health care.  It’s really wonderful to have your appendix out or have a baby without taking out a loan.  Imagine the burden removed from a family struggling with a loved one’s cancer treatment if they didn’t have to remortgage their house.  I understand there are a few clauses in the health reform that some people aren’t fond of.  That’s fine, I don’t like the wording either… but look at the big picture and the greater good for everyone.  Catch up to the rest of the free world.  If you do some research and still don’t like it, that’s fine.  Be glad you have that freedom to openly disagree, to protest, or to petition your government.

I would like to echo Obama’s sentiments from his victory speech.  The fact is, neither candidate is evil.  They are both men who want what is best for you.  They may have slightly different ideas as to what is best or how to achieve it, but they really do have the best interests of the nation at heart.  Unlike some past presidents, neither of these men seems hell-bent on destruction.  Obama had quite the mess to clean up and he’s done well with what he was given.  It’s time to accept that these are the election results and move forward together.  You, the people, have spoken.   So Democrats, stop gloating.  Republicans, stop whining.    I'm not saying you shouldn't celebrate or complain, but do it with class.  It’s time to unite and make your world, and the world at large, a better place.

And be grateful you can exercise your democratic right to vote.   Be thankful you have that choice. 

Lots of love,

Canada

Me, 4 years ago.  (I know I said I was trying to be impartial, but, so what, I failed.)

The Wonderful World of... Toilets

I’d never thought about doing a blog on toilets before, but the other day, my toilet in my apartment decided to overflow from a stupidly placed escape valve on the side of the tank and flood the whole bathroom.  Thankfully it was clean water.  Initially, I freaked out because I keep boxes of supplies from Canada under the sink and everything was drenched.  How was I going to survive two years without a bottle of Tums or my Neti Pot sinus rinse solution?!  Luckily, I was able to salvage everything.  This lead to a conversation with my uncle about toilets which then lead me to believe that perhaps toilets are, indeed, something to “write home about”.  It should be noted that I don’t really have a lot in the way of toilet photos, but I feel that visuals are necessary in the post so I'm going to use other people’s pictures from the internet.

HONG KONG: EAST MEETS WEST IN THE WASHROOM

My biggest fear in moving to Asia was the toilet situation.  I’d heard such horror stories (and now I do have some of my own, but it no longer terrifies me.  Actually, it doesn't bother me at all.)  I stepped off the plane in Hong Kong and had to pee.  It was bound to happen sooner or later but I was hoping to at least get through immigration first.  Nonetheless, I cautiously approached the bathroom, expecting the worst, and was relieved to find that there were stalls upon stalls of that old familiar porcelain.  Ok, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. 

Depending on where you go in Hong Kong, you will have no problem finding a western toilet.  In fact, it’s very common for hotels, restaurants and malls to have very fancy washrooms with attendants who clean the porcelain throne the very second you are done using it.  Just last night, I used the washroom in the Peninsula Hotel and was greeted by a 60 year old lady in a French maid uniform.  Interesting, but not terrifying in the least.  (Well, maybe terrifying for her… that can’t be a good job.)   Western toilets are a common but relatively new thing in Hong Kong so some people prefer to use them as they would squatters.  It’s not entirely uncommon to see footprints on the toilet seat as someone perches 2.5 feet above the ground to do their business.  This even happens at work. 

So what about squatters?  We have plenty of those too.  Public washrooms in Hong Kong (ones on street corners, in parks, at beaches) usually have a choice between squatter and western.  Hong Kong squatters are actually fairly nice.  There is a standing platform made of porcelain or stainless steel.  They also have grating to prevent you from standing in your own, um, missed aims.  Using a squatty potty is an act of delicate balance and precise coordination.  You have to hold your clothes up and out of harm’s way (particularly pant legs!), balance your bags on your legs or across your shoulders, and have one hand ready with Kleenex as this is not a supplied thing and you won’t be able to dig through your bag for it afterwards.  Never go anywhere in Asia without your own stash of tissue in your purse! 

Well, that’s in Hong Kong, arguably the most westernized place in Asia.  Not every place has the choice.  It all sounds awful, and the first few times it really was… but now I'm so used to it, it honestly doesn't faze me at all.    

Typical squatty potty as found in Hong Kong

THAILAND: NOZZLE TOWN

Our first trip away from Hong Kong was to mystical Thailand… land of coconuts, pad Thai, elephants and the spray nozzle.  You can imagine our surprise when we found our hotel didn’t supply toilet paper.  A few days in, they started leaving the tiniest rolls ever on our sink counter, but that was worth one, maybe two, trips to the washroom.  Instead, beside the (western) toilet, was a hose.  We thought it was part of the shower, but it turns out, it was in lieu of toilet paper.  Didn’t use this… just bought Kleenex.  At this point, I should explain our confusion about thinking it was part of the shower.  In most parts of Asia that I’ve been to, it is very common to have an open shower head near the toilet… no tub or stall… you just move your stuff out of the way, shower, and eventually the bathroom will dry off.  (We have a separate bathtub in our apartment and consider ourselves very lucky.)  I soon learned that this spray nozzle was a luxury.

Toilet/shower combo in our hotel

Spray nozzle in a public washroom in Thailand

CHINA: NOT ALL WALLS ARE SO GREAT

China is a fascinating place (and I have the privilege to return in 22 days).  It is ancient, red and grey, with a touch of magic.  It’s a place where time has truly stood still; their culture is deeply rooted in traditions that have been steadfast for centuries.  This is also true when it comes to toilets.  Most toilets I've encountered in China are little more than holes in the ground.  If you are lucky, these holes are surrounded by enough grey bricks to give you some privacy.  (This is obviously a bring your own tissue sort of situation.) 

Small villages have community washrooms.  These are open-air brick houses that everyone shares.  These are not pleasant places… the stench is unbelievable and it’s often quite cold, but when you've gotta go…
  

So, what happens if you have to go but the community bathroom is full?  You just go anywhere.  This starts from a very young age (there are no diapers... just a flap in the back of your pants) and doesn't seem to stop.  They will do their business on the sidewalk and just keep on going about their day.

This behaviour then leaves the villages, migrates to the city and even makes its way to Hong Kong by way of tourists.  And I don’t just mean a discrete Number 1 by night in a dark alley.  I mean full drop your trousers Number 2 at midday in Tiananmen Square.  No shame.

This is my photo from outside the community washroom in the small village of Xingping.

Luckily, for those who are a little more reserved, there are plenty easily accessible public washrooms in Chinese cities.  My experiences in Chinese public washrooms have been less than stellar.  Once, I was in a very grey hutong (alley) in Beijing (I really can’t believe what a grey place it is) when the urge hit.  I found a hutong public toilet and, to my utter horror, found that the wall between each of the basic squatters was about 2 feet high.  I walked in and took my place towards the end of the row of holes, placed about a foot apart, and began the nearly comical balancing act required by squatting in the winter.  An elderly lady was to my right (how do old people squat like that?!) and a young teen, blaring music on her iPhone, was to my left.  At least the music was a distraction.  I finished, while avoiding eye contact in such close proximity and declared to my husband that it had easily been the worst washroom experience of my life.  That stands true to this day, even after having travelled through India last year.

A public washroom in Beijing.  This one looks comparatively spacious and bright.

INDIA: LEFTY WASHY, RIGHTY EATY

India, in some ways, wasn't as bad as China, but in other ways it was oh so much worse. 

The pros: there is more privacy in India.  Each public toilet is in its own stall with adequate walls around it.  Um, I guess that’s really the only ‘pro’ but I find it to be so important that it outweighs the cons.

The cons: Again, I stress, when in Asia, B.Y.O.TP.  In India, one uses their left hand (that's right, HAND)…and some water from a conveniently placed jug or trough, if you are so lucky.  I didn't do this.  Being well-travelled by this point, I knew enough to bring ample rolls.  And sanitizer.  Another ‘con’ in India was the smell of the stall.  Take a Chinese village community toilet, raise the temperature by 82 degrees Fahrenheit (I'm not even kidding, I just did the math) and you've got yourself an Indian public toilet.  And then there are the bugs.  Everywhere.  And then there was the added difficulty of wearing extremely large legged (modest) pants and a long, flowy head cover.  That’s a whole lot of stuff to keep wrapped up in your arms while you squat precariously above a very filthy trench (no porcelain grating to protect your feet here!)

Well, this is a particularly nice Indian toilet.  I never saw one this nice.  You can see the jug for water and appreciate the door for privacy.

However, India was such a friendly and mesmerizing country that it really just didn't seem that bad at the time.  I'm pretty positive there were much worse toilets in India, but we had hired a driver and I think he went out of his way to bring us to the most acceptable ones.  I guess I've become a bit of a veteran squatter at this point.  I’d be surprised if anything could shock me, toilet-wise, in this whole world now.  I feel like I've seen and done the worst of it, and that won’t stop me from coming back for more.

Does It Really Smell As Sweet?

This blog post will be little more than a list, but I just thought I should share some of my students’ “English names” with you.  Some are hilarious.  Some (though not particularly funny) are unexpectedly popular.  And others are just plain bizarre or even cool.  Chinese people typically have 3 names.  The last name (surname) is listed first, followed by the first and middle name.  And most now have an unofficial English name that is sometimes changed frequently.  So a student named Wong Sze Man with an English name of Kim becomes Kim Wong.  It should be noted that Sze Man is pronounced “semen” and is a very popular Chinese name that I can’t say without blushing.  Oh, my western sensitivities…

Ok, here’s the list:

Kinda Cool

-Rix
-Neo
-Bosco

-Nash

Strangely Popular

-Enoch
-Dick
-Apple
-Cherry
-Esther

Just Odd

-Pinky, Winky and Minky (sisters)
-Yoyo (at least it’s not YOLO?  Give it a few years…)
-Wammy
-Medy
-Anner
-Cardi
-Carwan
-So-So
-Andfield
-Isaddei
-Elodie
-Packo and Parko (I think one is a mispronunciation of the other)
-Hendry
-Noddy
-Sily

Random Spanglishese (?!)

-Lolita (who is pretty much the cutest kid ever)
-Hugo
-Sonia Santana Alamo (Well, that's a mouthful!)

Misspellings and Misunderstandings

-Arron (Aaron)
-Cocoa/Seventeen (As if Cocoa isn’t already an unfortunate name for a 12 year old, somewhere along the line, her student number -17- got placed in the name column on a list and now all the teachers call her that.  She’s too shy to correct them.)
-Candy (This is a boy.  I convinced him to change it to Kenny.)
-Merlin (This is a girl.  I convinced her to change it to Marilyn last year, but now she is going by Merlyn again, this time with a ‘y’, at least.)
-Twinkle (A boy… but he is very young so it’s still cute.  I’ll talk to him about a name change in a few years.)

Let's Talk About the Weather

(Disclaimer:  Having grown up on the Canadian/U.S. border in the 80’s, I talk about temperature in Fahrenheit.  My apologies to the rest of the world.)

Everyone loves a nice pumpkin space latté (decaf with soy milk for me, please) to ring in the fall.  Wishful thinking.  We all know that pumpkin spice lattés only happen when the leaves turn crunchy, you’re wearing a sweater, and the air turns sweet and crisp.  So, what happens if you live in the tropics and it’s still 90 degrees half-way through October?  No pumpkin spice lattés here!  If you’re a Canadian transplant, you rent a boat for your October 18th birthday and spend the day splashing in the water and basking in the sun with friends.  If you’re a local, you put on your parka and batten down the hatches; you’re in for a long winter.

I guess tolerance of hot and cold weather largely depends on where you’ve grown up and what you’re acclimatized to.  Quite a few years ago, I spent a snowy, beautiful winter in Québec.  (I won’t say how many years ago because, with my birthday tomorrow, I’m feeling quite old!)  Even though there was more snow piled on my lawn than I’d seen in my whole life leading up to that winter, I didn’t feel particularly cold because I was very used to freezing winters, with the bitter lake-effect of the Great Lakes.  My roommate, on the other hand, was from temperate Vancouver Island.  When discussing our experience with Canadian winters, she famously stated about Vancouver Island that “a puddle froze once”.  A few years later (ok, it was a decade later!), I fell toque over boots for the North American west coast and moved to Vancouver Island.  I found I didn’t need a coat all winter (in fact, I hadn’t even bothered to bring one).  Meanwhile, the islanders flocked to the grocery store in droves to stock up on toilet paper and canned beans if there was even mention that the mercury would dip below 40 degrees.  You can never be too prepared.

In Hong Kong, it’s a different story altogether and I must admit that I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around some of it.  Differing tolerances and ideas of hot and cold go so far beyond the outdoor temperature. 

  

Let’s start with summer.  The temperature here is unrecognizabley hot.  I’m not sure how hot it gets but with the humidity (which must be pushing 90%) and air pollution, I basically feel like I’m swimming in a cauldron of creamy soup from around May till, let’s say, two days ago.  Now that the temperature has dropped to a more comfortable 88 degrees, the doorman in my building has started wearing a jacket and my students turn into little icicles if I so much as turn on the ceiling fan.  Not to be unsympathetic, but I told them they need to bring their sweaters to class because if I have to teach in a sauna, I will melt into a puddle of Miss Stephanie.  And puddles can’t teach phonics.

The other problem with summer is that the second I sneeze, people around me clamour to turn off the air conditioners and fans.  I sneeze a lot!  I have a dust allergy!  Even if I did have a cold, I wish cab drivers, shop owners and my co-workers would all realize that being cold doesn’t CAUSE a cold.  The fear of cold air and drafts is unfounded.  All turning off the air does is make me get super hot and miserable.  A few weeks back, I was co-teaching a class.  I started the class with a sneeze and this set into motion a 75 minute comedy routine between the other teacher and myself whereby we would take turns walking across the room to turn on (in my case) or off the ceiling fan and air conditioner.

Then there’s winter.  Yes, we actually do have a winter here… it gets down to about 50.  That’s quite pleasant but not when you work an 8 hour day with every window wide open!  This time, at least, the reason does make sense (I think).  Rather than be cooped up with everyone’s germs, you get a constant flow of fresh air.  This is great in theory, and I think it works in my much more rural school, but the people who work in the densely populated areas can’t actually be getting fresh air by this method.  It doesn’t bother me at all…. I get to wear my cute winter toques and countdown to my next warm vacation. (53 days until Cambodia!)

The air in Hong Kong is dirty.  So dirty, in fact, that it has taken me two years to adjust to breathing it.  I can’t count the amount of times I’ve been sick since I’ve been here!  Surely, more times than in my entire life leading up to our move here.  I guess they expect people to have trouble adjusting because English teachers here get more paid sick days than we could ever possibly need.  I’m fairly sure my being sick is from the air quality and just being around so many children.  My co-workers are convinced it’s because I eat cold salad for lunch.  This is the same theory as with the air conditioning… cold begets colds.  I'm going to stick with my beliefs that raw veggies are good for me and just learn to accept the looks of "She sneezed earlier and now she's eating a carrot... she has it coming."     

P.S.  I know it’s not real fall here, but if anyone can tell me where to get a pumpkin spice latté in Hong Kong, I’d be eternally grateful.

There Are No Words....

Beaches, hiking and fireworks celebrations… for many in Hong Kong, what should have been a fun holiday weekend turned tragic in one horrible moment.  Two passenger ferries collided in the ocean off the shore of Lamma Island.  One was taking holiday travelers to Lamma Island, a tropical oasis just 3km from the hustle and bustle of the city.  The other was taking families towards the city for a spectacular downtown fireworks display in the harbour.  It is still not known exactly what caused this crash, but a mere 20 minutes later, the badly damaged Lamma-bound ferry arrived at the docks with a load of shaken passengers while the ferry full of families sank, Titanic-style, in the dark ocean. 

My friends and I were there.  Like, right there.  We were having a girls’ night away and had rented some rooms in a little hotel right past the docks.  We spent the better part of Monday night on the restaurant patio in our hotel, refreshing the news on our smartphones while watching the island’s mini-ambulance make steady rounds between the dock and the hospital.  The ambulance (and a dedicated team of rescue workers) continued all through the night and the next morning.  Luckily, many were rescued, but 38 people have died.  The search efforts for survivors are still ongoing. 

Facts of the story aside, I’m having trouble putting into words exactly how I feel about this.  I really can’t wrap my head around such a surreal tragedy hitting this close to home.  This is the sort of thing you hear about on the news, but it’s just so different when it’s your own city and community that are affected. It's no longer an abstraction.  My heart, thoughts and prayers are with all the families whose lives have been forever changed.  I can’t begin to comprehend what they are going through right now.  This is all just so sad.

You Can’t Go Home Again

Heraclitus of Ephesus said, “You can never step into the same river; for new waters are always flowing on to you.”  (I believe Disney’s Pocahontas also echoed this sentiment.) 

I remember studying this notion in a university philosophy class, but this summer, I experienced it first hand as I tried to jump into the deep watering hole of my youth only to find a murky creek of adulthood and aging in its place.  Not the same river at all!  When did I grow up?  When did things change? 

Of course time moves on… why was I surprised by this?  Well, I thought Father Time and I had an unspoken agreement to wait for each other.  Living abroad has been one big joyride so far; it doesn’t feel like real life or real time passing. My job, my house, my fancy-free blonde hair… it’s all temporary. There is no career, no down payment and mortgage, no end to the dark roots creeping in (and let me tell you, staying blonde in Asia is no cakewalk!)  Luckily, I call the shots… my life in Hong Kong is as secure and permanent as I want it to be.  

Nonetheless, I feel like I’m on pause over here in Asia.  I guess it’s a sort of relativity.  My world of play rotates quickly with so much going on around me, I feel like I’m standing still.  That same world is turning, changing and aging others.  I know these changes happen for everyone, but for me, when I go home, it’s like pushing the remote button to skip to the next scene in a movie… I miss all the intermediate action while I’m away and then wonder how we got from scene 1 to scene 5 so quickly.  

What has changed?

My Parents

They still look young as ever (for some reason, they are caught at 30 and 33 in my mind… but now I’m 30 and that’s just weird) but some things have changed. The people who introduced me to Windsor’s late night karaoke scene, but a few short years ago, now go to bed at 10.  Job changes, shift changes, lifestyle changes, becoming grandparents… life presses on.  With retirement on the near horizon, they look forward to an entirely new stage of life… one that will hopefully afford them some much deserved relaxation and travel.

Grandparents

I have memories that seem like yesterday of my stoic grandfather lording over his museum of a house while my grandma and I spent summer days frolicking in fields.  Now, age has softened my grandpa as his eyes become misty with sentiment while my grandma battles neurofibrillary tangles in order to cling to her fleeting memories. 

Pets

My dog is an old man.  He’s 88 in human years.  He has cataracts, arthritis, and no bark.  He is all weathered bones and matted fur.  But underneath it all, he’s still my puppy.  When I left home, despite his age, he was still a playful, agile dog.  Seeing him this time shocked me.  When I said goodbye to him this August, I knew it was goodbye forever. 

My Sister

Wow!  My sister is a beautiful woman now.  She’s not just my little sister anymore.  She’s very much her own woman with her own precious baby to look after.  She is a mother, and a wonderful mother, at that.  But still, that’s a change.  There are schedules, feedings, bedtimes, and naptimes.  Amazingly, my sister still had time to throw me a Christmas in July party fit for a partridge in a pear tree.  The tree, gifts, cookie decorating and slightly tacky garden angel on the porch gave me all the joy of three missed Christmases in just one evening. 

My City

I left for a reason and that reason was there were no prospects left.  That’s not an exaggeration… I refused to be unemployed any longer.  Apparently I wasn’t the only one.  Now, my city feels like a ghost town.  There are more “Out of Business” signs than west-end rats.  Small businesses have boarded up their windows and the downtown scene is all but gone.  Actually, I enjoyed the space and silence… but still, it used to thrive, so this is very sad.  The music has died in Motown and the once famous assembly lines have been put out to pasture. 

Letting Go of Time... 

We’re still young.  But now I’ve learned it can’t last.  Youth wanes like the moon and governs the tides of our lives.  It doesn’t have to be all crotchet needles and bifocals though.  Aging can be sweet and beautiful.  As we all grow older (because I suppose I can accept that even I am aging), travel or stay put, retire, have babies, and start or end every imaginable stage of life, let’s all remember one thing: Between wrinkles, boarded up windows and the ideals of yesteryear… despite miles and decades, some things remain the same: love, connections and fond memories.  In the distant future, I look forward to reminiscing with my husband about our full and glorious life together.  But it feels like we have an eternity to get to that point… so let’s live it up and create all those stories we’ll tell our grandchildren some day!

A Journey of a Thousand Miles...

Home
In less than 24 hours, I'll be boarding another plane.  This time though, it won't be a globe-trotting adventure, but a journey to my own past: Windsor.  Those of you who knew me as a teen or young adult know how much I hated Windsor.  I complained about the air pollution (but Hong Kong has that beat), the public transit (ok, that was justified) and anything else I could think about.  But now, I just can't wait to get back there.  I will walk the same streets I did for the first 27 years of my life, eat at all my favourite restaurants and, most importantly, reconnect with my family and friends.   


It is funny how travelling the world can change a person.  As it turns out, my way is not the only way... often, not even the best way.  With each new place I explore, I find myself taking my mental travel photos with a wider lens.  The contrasts between different cultures, communities and countries make for a beautiful world photo.  The past two years abroad have been fascinating... beyond my wildest dreams.


The Highlights Reel
-getting married to the love of my life
-watching a Great White breech on the side of our shark diving boat in Gansbaai, South Africa
-sleeping in the desert under the stars with Kaitlin and camels on the India/Pakistan border
-waking up at 4am to climb a sand dune and watch the sunrise
-watching the sunrise on the way home after long nights out in Lan Kwai Fung
-getting hopelessly lost in Yangshuo, China and wandering through tiny villages and trails as night closed in
-going on safari in Mosselbaai, South Africa with my dear husband for our honeymoon
-getting my scuba diving license
-having a beer at the highest bar in the world for Kate's birthday
-food everywhere (always with the food, right?)
-flying to Taiwan for a girls' weekend with Shannon, Elaine and Susan
-eating pad Thai and drinking coconut shakes on the beach in Thailand
-diving in the predator tank at the Cape Town Aquarium
-riding an elephant through the jungles of Thailand
-seeing the amazing shows in Macau
-the countless junk trips (with sharks!), girls' nights and karaoke sessions in Hong Kong


The Heart 
They say home is where your heart is.  I feel like I've left a little piece of my heart every place I've been.  But, in place of my heart, I take something from each destination: joy, humility, discovery... My heart has become a patchwork globe.     

For five glorious weeks, I will be home in Windsor.  Then I'll fly back home to Hong Kong.  And then onwards to see the other places I might call home.  I love my nomadic life.  I may not have put down roots anywhere in particular, but I'm rooted within myself and growing strong.