The eagle has landed. Actually, we landed a week ago but I anyone who knows me knows that under the effects of jet lag I become a lobotomized lump of what used to be me. Now, well recovered, I am back in China and doing a lot of reminiscing, such as walking into a grocery store and remembering the brand of soupy fat free yoghurt I used to buy in Da Qing. I am also trying to absorb a lot of new information about where places and landmarks in the city live and how close in accordance we would like to live with them.
No matter how many times I leave a place and start up new somewhere else, relearning my surroundings is always the hardest part. It took the better part of two years to learn where everything was and how to get to it in London and now it feels as though I was never there at all. The only souvenir I have is the English guy sleeping next to me (sorry mom) on the air bed in his brothers apartment.
My Chinese is coming back so quickly and my iron stomach is once again being put to the test with the many weird, wonderful and appalling foods I've been offered. Ever wondered what a fart actually tastes like? I don't have to anymore. I've tasted one in the form of a food actually named "Stinky Tofu." Other oddities I have sampled and actually though decent are dried jellyfish, salty bamboo, and wet peanuts. Yum. Good thing Shanghai also has a plentiful array of western restaurants. I might have jellied noodles for breakfast but at least I can have a Greek salad with garlic bread for lunch.
Today is serious apartment hunting day. Previous attempts have sent us into a bit of an emotional trauma as the places we visited looked like they were being used to hold midnight dog fighting sessions and smelled like stinky tofu. Fingers crossed we find some better prospects today or else we may end up having to camp in the public park.
I officially have one job. In September I will be teaching English to 6 year olds for four hours a week. I am going to start looking for something else to supplement the hours but it's a start at least, and the pay is good.
Things are kinda sorta coming together and as our first week in China comes to a close, I can kinda sorta start seeing what kind of life we can put together for ourselves here. Of course, being China, it could all change tomorrow. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.
Here are some photos of our trip to the gardens in Hangzhou.
It's today. After all of the anticipation, discussion, debates over what to pack, vacuum sealing (SO FUN!), cleaning and preparation, we are leaving! At 11pm we will depart Heathrow Airport and with a quick stop-over in Mousekawitz Russian(not it's real name) aiport, arrive at 11pm the following evening in Shanghai.
Last time I left to work in China, I brought a backpack with exactly two shirts, one pair of shorts, a toothbrush and my camera. I was calm and confident and strong. This time I am packing two suitcases full of "just-in-case" clothes, respectable interview uniforms, kitchen supplies, and binders full of boring papers regarding various boring elements of my life. Essentially, I am traveling like a bag lady, sans empty soda cans. I am traveling like an old woman.
Well, I guess with old age comes a sense of clarity about how I want my life to be. I want Tony with me, I want us to be happy and secure, to never lose the sense of adventure and look back on all of this one day and smile. I think we're off on the right track with this China business.
So we're going to get off the plane in Pudong and start searching for my job and our apartment. That is step one. Wish us luck. I have never had experience dealing with a Chinese rental company, and I think we will need lots of it, and patience...and a few bottles of alchohol.
The first few years of my twenties was spent in a pretty dark place. I had seen friends die or have their lives damaged by horrific accidents, I was suffering from chronic depression and anxiety, and was living with someone who couldn't handle or support how heavy I had become while juggling his own issues. In those circumstances, some people break down but I ran...to the other side of the world. For a long time I believed only the first part of that title sentence to be true.
One night I was in the hostel bar in Beijing with a bunch of people from everywhere in the world, and I had had more than my fair share of drinks. Someone I was sitting with started getting all metaphysical (as you might do after copious amounts of booze) and asked that age old question "What is the meaning of life?" I responded with "There is none." This brought on a ton of questions about God, purpose, the afterlife etc.... Then is old Dutch man pulled me aside and asked me what I was doing right now and what plans I had for the future. He told me that he very much agreed with me. There was no purpose to life, but I was failing to see the freedom in that. He asked me if I still felt rewarded for doing great things and hurt when I was upset. If I did, I should live selfishly, humanly, and find the rewards in life before I lost my emotions. It was a bit like a chapter out of a Paulo Cohelo novel. I look back now at that hazy, boozy night and that conversation is the only part I remember with any clarity.
It seems that lately, everyone I know is in a flux of change. People are moving across the country or world, traveling, having children, buying houses, losing weight, getting new jobs, getting married, finding themselves in a far, far away part of the Amazon.
I hope they are all happy in their choices and finding their rewards as I am finding mine. I still maintain that there is no point to living, but I don't say it with a dark cloud looming over my head. I say it because to me, that sentence means freedom, choice, happiness, and endless possibilities. There is no point, so make one.
Happy moving Justin! I will miss you! Pleaseremember that one of the purposes of your life is to make me delicious Christmas Coffee!
My sister has just booked a flight to Shanghai. It will be her first time in Asia and it has me thinking about places I will take her to see when she is over. It also has me thinking about how in a country like China, day to day observations are as important as The Great Wall. There is some fairly amusing stuff going on in that place, which deserves at least an amusing shake of the head.
My friend Kevin, who still lives in China, wrote on his Facebook page "watched a woman wearing very tall platform stiletto heels, on rather uneven paving, playing badminton...clearly the common sense jar was empty when she was made!" This sparked me to compile a few memories of things that made me snicker, and things that, to me, made China a bit more...China.
At the top of my list, the most obvious one is driving. People in China drive like kids playing Micro Machines on the carpet. Cars coming from every direction. Beep! Beep! Crash! Bang! Carry on... . It's just because in China, there are no real road regulations. You get a car, buy a license (maybe take a test?) and GO! It's funny to watch until you need to cross the road (or someone gets smushed).
Discovering "Chinglish (Chinese-English)" is one of the best parts of shopping or ordering off a menu. Foreign people actually have websites devoted to topping each other with their finds. One of my favorite moments is when I was in a park in Shanghai reading park rules, to find that "DO NOT FRATERNIZE WITH THE SQUIRRELS" was sternly bolded and underlined. Damn those evil, plotting squirrels... I don't know if they just have really crap translators or are using Google Translate and getting the direct meanings, but I hope it never stops.
Other gems discovered in my travels:
"Hot Oily Bacteria (stir-fried mushrooms)" on a menu
"Mix my Welt" on a random shirt
"Hospital for Cunt" You can guess...
These aren't mine, but will give you a general idea of the possibilities for discovery
Have you ever walked down the street and fantasied that everyone would break out into some kind of massive, public choreographed dance? Well in China, all of your High School Musical dreams can come true. Just go to any public square at around 6 or 7pm, and behold a bunch of people doing something perhaps a little less punchy and a little more traditional, but still entertaining. It's actually quite nice when they get the fans and costumes out. Because Chinese people work A LOT, they use their evenings as down time to go to the public squares to socialize, play badminton, eat red bean ice pops, and boogie down. It's like yard time in a low security prison.
I am pretty sure that any sub-par health standards would have a restaurant shut down in minutes in the Western world. That's the wrong attitude in China, where every restaurant gets a chance and every hungry patron gets a choice. A night of stomach wrenching cramps and watery poo is not on the shoulders of the place where you ate, because you should have looked at the little sign with the face stuck to the window. Think what you will, but I think this system is genius, compellingly honest, and equals cheap eats if you have a cast iron stomach like me!
:) = Probably okay to eat here
: | = Take your chances
:( = It might be cheap, but you will pay in other ways
I can't wait for my sister to see this stuff in person. I also can't wait for her to point out to me all of the things I might walk past everyday which don't seem odd/hilarious anymore. You tend to get a bit accustomed to things after a while and they lose their entertainment value until someone points them out to you again. But don't worry sneester, we will only eat at places with a happy face in the window. :)
We've had a good run. I have laughed with you, cried with you, sang, danced, cried some more, and passed out on the gentle caress of your sidewalks. I have minded your gaps and played in your parks, and have memories which will entertain and haunt me for life.
I also excuse a lot of your misconducts. You are a big city, full of bodies and noise and smog and traffic. I get it, but I can no longer abide some of your crooked ways. This is is me venting.
This is me listing 5 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU:
1. Chavs:
For the male population, think Jerry Springer guests dressed in Adidas, knifing each other in broad daylight in public parks and on buses. The ones that work, work at supermarkets or sell drugs, and the ones that don't work live off government benefits and degrade society. The female population is generally the same save for most don't work and instead pop out babies because the more kids you have, the bigger the house that the gov't will give you. Most are racist. They all talk funny. I don't usually care who does what in this world, but they are not all confined to one place...like Surrey. They are on my train to work, at the park where I take the kids, and gathered on street corners when I walk home. I am afraid I am coming off like an elitist here so I have included a short film to help you get a better sense of the everyday nature of the chav.
2. People Who Talk Like Adele:
It came out of the blue, uninvited. This accent that is nothing like Angela Landsbury. Nothing like Colin Firth. Nothing like I was promised. When I first moved here, I moved to East London and did not bring a phrasebook, which they should advise you to purchase at the airport. I don't mind this accent in small spoonfuls throughout the day, but ALL DAY and I have to turn on reruns of "How I Met Your Mother" at the end of a workday, the equivalent of washing my cochlea. Another video for you because if I try to imitate it, it just turns "Poppins".
3.National Health Care: The NHS. Yikes. I know we complain back in Canada about the quality and speed of our health care system. I think the citizens of every country, in every universe complain about healthcare. But here is an eye opener. If you think you are deprived of possessions, go to a village in Ethiopia. If you think your healthcare system is poor, get sick or broken in London. My doctor is the one I have to go to because he works in my catchment area. My doctor is an old Indian Man who does not "deal with lady issues", employs a nurse who cannot speak English, and a receptionist who speaks like Adele. He has yet to give me proper treatment or advice for anything I have seen him for and sent me to the free clinic like a tramp to get birth control. Friends who have gone to their doctors have seen similar circumstances, doctors who refuse to test them, treat them, and don't believe they are in pain. This is because in London, NOBODY practices preventative medicine. They won't test you for anything unless they are sure that you have it and it is too expensive to refer you to anyone unless you have a bulbous growth expanding from your hairline. Nobody even gets their teeth cleaned, which explains this:
Kidding!
4. People Who Act Like Cro Magnon Man In Transit: Trains were invented about a hundred years ago, inspiring other such forms of transit such as cars, buses, trams, etc. There is a certain set of guidelines for using each which pertain to the comfort and safety of each passenger/pedestrian. In London, all bets are off. The bus drivers will see you coming and shut the doors in your face. People on trains will not rearrange themselves to create more space for you to get on. The pregnant, elderly, and disabled are just as much at odds with the rest of us when it comes to finding a seat. You will be pushed, groped, sneezed and sweated and coughed on, and scowled at if you need to be birthed through a vaginal canal of bodies to get off and on the tube. I was once actually pushed back onto the platform after I started shouting "They do it in India (I was talking about how many people they cram onto buses there)!" You are an inconvenience and other people start to inconvenience you. Drivers turn without using blinkers, will not brake for babies or animals, and you cross the road at your own peril. I can take bad driving in China...that's kinda their "thing," isn't it? But I cannot tolerate it in a country which is supposed to be developed. SUPPOSED TO BE.
5. Everything is Wrong All The Time: And lastly, I HATE, absolutely HATE that I have come to refer to London as the perpetual city of "No." I think generally, Londonese people need to be sold on everything. The mentality is " No, I think this is going to be shit, if you can prove otherwise, you will be gratified by my mild attitude change. Because it's never good, it's just not bad". I am waiting for the day when something is amazing, without a hint of sarcasm. Subsequently, the people of London love saying "no." "No you can't do that, No, you can't register here, No, you can't return it." Only after 10 minutes of controlled argument do I find that I usually can do what ever it was I wanted. They just wanted to assert themselves first before letting me be a special exception, for which I should be grateful. This goes hand in hand with a Londoner's love of moaning. These people love to complain about everything, which makes me want to complain about them, which causes them to complain about bloody immigrants who can go back to their own country if they don't like it, which makes me think that negativity is a vicious, inescapable, an very apparent part of the culture of London. It is ingrained in the people and makes them a part of this city. Understanding it had made me feel a part of it too. I guess I am a little Londoner now. Thanks for including me, you big rainy smog-hole.
Never in my life have I ever been cash strapped. It put it down to luck. Lucky that I had parents who could indulge my childhood whims, lucky that I grasped the concept of saving quite early and managed to put quite a bit away during high school, lucky I got hit by that car on Blue Mountain Road(thank you ICBC) and lucky that I was able to save during my sentence in Northern China. All of those little pools of cash acted as my launch pads and got me from place to place until I ended up here. In London. Where money get's hurled into a vacuous black hole before you even get to wave a tearful goodbye.
I cant actually blame it all on London. I was doing alright in my moldy little basement suite, eating nuts and seeds and walking twenty feet to work every morning. Then I wanted to move in with my boyfriend and he had slightly higher expectations of our living conditions. Ha. Now not only do we eat proper food three times a day and sleep in a bedroom where you can't squish the walls, but I have to use public transit everyday. All of those things are expensive.
Also, we both like to travel. My idea of traveling is to stay in the cheapest hostel, only do things that are free/cheap and eat from market stalls. Maybe you'll get diarrhea but maybe you'll still feel satisfied knowing you have saved enough on your trip for the train ride home from the airport. My lover does not like to do any of those things. The things he likes to do are much nicer and and also cost more money.
What I am saying here people, is that being in a relationship has played it's part in making me poor. I am not blaming Tony at all. Actually the opposite. I blame myself for nesting all over the place. Maybe it's my inner Italian mama, but I get this strange sense of satisfaction from giving him a meal consisting of all the food groups in proper portions. I love the IKEA show room we have assembled together in our flat. I love indulging him in organic bath products and seeing how excited he gets over the shower nozzles when we stay in a nice hotel. Some of you may ask what the hell is wrong with me and I don't really know. Maybe I'm in love?
<3 Tony <3
Well, screw you love. Stop stealing my money.
So as it happens, I don't actually want to screw love, and as it also happens, we are moving across the world in 44 days and we have to do life all over again when we get there. This requires a supple amount of start up money. So we are now on cash lock down. No unnecessary spending is allowed. Our food budget is slashed and our entertainment budget is nill (Canada Day is the only exception). So to refer you back to the title of this post, I need a hobby. I have 44 days left here and that is a long time to be sat around twiddling my thumbs and there is only so many times I can clean the house before my windpipe starts to corrode from all of the household cleaners. I need a hobby which does not make me poor or fat. I am currently open to (serious) suggestions. Here is a list of things I greatly enjoy doing but make me poor/fat, so please do not suggest them:
Baking and decorating cakes: fat and poor
Watching "Four Weddings","One Born Every Minute", and "Come Dine with Me": fat (and broody)
Scrapbooking: very poor
Seeing awesome/amazing/life and perspective changing things in London: poor
Reading: It doesn't make me fat or poor but I already read loads.
Thank you in advance for your suggestions and for looking out for me because in the words of the guy who wrote "Fight Club": All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring.
Getting ready and gearing up for the voyage to Asia-land, I am once more forced to be reminded of how few possessions I actually...possess. I have started taking inventory in my brain of things that must be sold, donated, given to others, trashed, burned, and forgotten.
It seems only yesterday I left for Thailand with Jess. The contents of my bag included two tank tops, one pair of shorts, toothbrush, camera, Malaria pills, a bikini and a bunch of underwear. For the sake of measurement, I call this level zero (the bare essentials for life as a stinky, hairy travel rat). Then onto China where a bikini would not be choicest item to wear in -30 degrees, and seeing as how clothes were so cheap and sparkly, I couldn't help but amass a wardrobe full by the time I had to leave. This is when the first round of my ownership awareness took place. EVERYTHING I owned was not going to fit in my little Thailand backpack, nor the cheapo Chinese suitcase I bought for the occasion. I had gone beyond level zero to at least a healthy level 5 (The stuff I brought with me, plus winter essentials and many pairs of jeans...mostly sequined with some sort of grammatically incorrect message sewn into the butt pockets). I have a bit of a shopping problem.
It's at times like this when I think back to my teenage years, my closet vomiting clothes on itself, a sea of t-shirts and jeans so deep that it disguises the colour of the carpet. I remember my mom tearing into my room like a wild bison, two horns prodding each pile of clothes, bringing them up to my nose so close I am afraid she will gore me. "DO YOU USE THIS?! DO YOU NEED THIS?! WHY DID YOU EVEN BUY THIS?!"
Thank you Mom. Unwittingly, these violent moments have bestowed me with one of your greatest seeds of wisdom, how to get rid of your shit.
"Do you need this?" is probably the most helpful phrase in history when it comes time to part with possessions. It didn't mean "I NEED this blazer, it goes with those grey pants I have." To me, it meant "I NEED this winter coat. It's fucking cold and I will get pneumonia if I don't have this."Using need as a gauge, I was ruthless and I fit everything important inside my bag, with room to spare. If I could implement this philosophy into my eating habits, I'd be a rake.
Having done this once before, I am quite happy to part with a large trash bag full of clothes long forgotten, books, nicknacks...etc but what I am realizing as I go along and make this inventory list is that now I have a lot of memories in the form of stuff. A little elephant from Thailand, photos and notes from my kids in China, the little light that Tony bought me from IKEA, the wooden fish I got for the kitchen as our first house decoration. I was in the midst of trying to find a balance between being ruthless, sentimental and practical. I couldn't bring myself to cast away kilos and kilos of the stuff I want to treasure. "Need" was starting to take on a different meaning and it is no longer a fail safe method for packing a bag.What I NEEDED was a different approach.
I told all of this to someone recently and she replied "the things you own end up owning you." I know she meant it in a negative way, but I couldn't help but think "genius." We've got 6 weeks to go before we need to pack our bags, and it's going to be a pain in the ass, but every little thing we bring is going to count. It's going to travel with us and tell our story and then tell it to us again one day when we've forgotten. Our memories are going to own us and represent us, even it means many painstaking hours of folding everything mini sized and vacuum sealing our underwear to fit it all in the suitcase. And when the check-in clerk at the airport asks me if I packed my bag myself, I'm going to think of a really, very witty response.
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