floorpie

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… probably

4 years ago today I wrote the following:

Merry Christmas!

One more thing before I go: I got my first Christmas card of the holiday season tonight! It was easily recognizeable with its red envelope and hand-scrawled address.

The fact that it was actually addressed to someone else is hardly the point.

Christmas-time in China is a confusing time. Let’s face it, 99% of the citizens here are Buddhist so it’s really all about the gifts (you know, just like it is for the rest of us). Hong Kong was beginning ot look spectacular, with many of the high-rises sporting impressive displays. Dongguan is a bit less impressive, but there is still a 40-foot tree down in the lobby. Nice.

It’s that time of year again, and, as usual, I got nothin’. I sadly have no girlfriend to shop for, and my friends and I don’t do the gift-swapping thing. That leaves mom and dad and I’m pretty much clueless. Every year it’s the same thing. I ask for a list or some ideas, they are promised, and they never come. Or, if they do come, they’re boring things like perfume and new ties. Granted, that’s probalby what they want, but it sounds suspiciously more like things they need.

I really enjoy the whole gift-giving concept, too. Or, more correctly, the idea of making people happy, whatever the method.

Also, for the record, after spending the last couple of weeks absorbing Chinese television, the following sports are now awesome:
.: football (the real one… I am immediately buying cleats upon my return to the US)
.: badminton (I am also turning Beach Volleyball Day into Beach Badminton Day)
.: ping pong (with toil and sweat, I shall challenge the office champion)

Not to belabor a point, but there are a few easy ways to spot an American in Asia. Not a Westerner mind you, as that’s an even easier game to play:

1. Look for a non-Asian
2. Ummm, you win.

American-spotting is slightly more challenging, and a little depressing:

Top 10 7 Ways to Spot the American
1. Look in the McDonald’s
2. Listen carefully. The loudest noise you hear? American!
3. When confronted by several Westerners, look for the worst-dressed one.
4. Beer-themed baseball hats
5. In fact, themed anything
6. Confused looks on faces. Huddled in family masses in the middle of the sidewalk.
7. Without doubt or fail, the American is the fat one.

For as much as we have a bad reputation as being a boorish, boisterous, overweight lot… I can’t say I disagree. It’s actually fairly alarming how spot-on some of the generalizations are. It doesn’t help matters that everyone here, especially the women, seem to be in spectacularly good shape. I don’t know if it’s the food (which every time I’ve gone out with my hosts there seems to be a lot of) or if everyone is furtively throwing up into their neatly-kept Buddhist temples when I’m not looking, but the bodies on even the most ordinary of women here are incredible.

.: I haven't participated in the usual blog practice of linking lately, so here goes: Check out enter whining and her new (to me) page layout. Not only is she gorgeous, but she also lives in what is, technically, my hometown. How can you argue with a stunning endorsement like that?

It’s weird waking up in a hotel room every night. It’s even weirder when that hotel room is in a foreign, non-English speaking country. Every morning I wake up in that absolutely pitch black darkness that only hotels are able to create; and, in those first few moments of bleary wakefulness, I plan my day. Where I’m going to eat lunch today, who I want to call or e-mail, the work I have to do, and the ladeez I hope to run into… and then I remember I’m in China.

As fun and exciting as that is, I still die a little bit inside every time I realize it. “Oh, so I’m not going to get the chance to be shot down by _____ today. Damn.”

I think the whole thing is even more mentally crippling because I don’t even have a home to miss right now (everything is still pretty much burned to a crisp, but slowly being repaired). I get temporarily excited about getting back to my home, but then realize that that is entirely unlikely to happen any time soon considering that my S.O.B. insurance adjuster returns e-mails in time scales measured in weeks. Ridiculous.

I’m venting.

Anyway, there are two things that have happened on a regular basis as I continue to meet the locals. Both of them are comments:

1. (While sitting at a table having lunch or dinner with a group of people from the factory, there is muttering in Chinese to each other while glancing at me. Eventually, the best English speaker amongst them catches my eye and explains):

“She says [ed. note: in much the same way it is always “good morning” no matter what time it is, it is always “she” no matter the sex of the person referenced. In Chinese, the sex of the speaker is based on context, and not actually from a “he” or “she” word] that you are very good with chopstick!”

2. “You are very young, yes? 23? 24? (and then everyone starts guessing)

In regards to the age guessing, I’m not sure if they are all being extremely polite, or if they are sincere, but no one has guessed anything remotely close to my actual age, and 25 is so far the highest (and this literally is from at least 15 people guessing… this seems to be the favorite ice breaker, followed quickly by, “Do you have Chinese girlfriend?”).

This is, of course, flattering, as I’m approaching ancient, but also puzzling to me as I think I might look a little young for my age, but I’m fairly sure that’s my own vanity. I wonder, then, if this is the reverse of the common Western feeling that all Asians look very young well into old age. I know already that Asians are guilty of the same faux pas of thinking all Westerners look alike. The vendor’s driver, in fact, rattled something off in Chinese to my host that basically amounted to, “I’ve seen this guy before!”… which is entirely impossible.

As for the chopstick thing, like I said I always hear this, and it admittedly inflates my ego a dispraportionate amount. When I was 5 or 6, my family and I would always take my aunt to Benihana when she visited. In fact, aside from my grandfather’s flipino cooking, Benihana was my first experience with Asian cuisine food (for some reason, I hate it when people use the word “cuisine”… I have no idea why).

I loved Benihana. The show, the food, the atmosphere. I was all about it. Selfishly, I looked forward to my aunt’s visits for the Benihana experience more than the familial visiting. I even tried to get my mom and dad to go there on non-special occassions, but they never did.

As I’m sure you know, you have the option of a fork or chopsticks at Benihana… and for intrepid learners like myself training-sticks. I attacked these with a vengeance, and I absolutely refused to use the fork no matter how little I ended up eating. After my first try at them, I took them home and used them every day. At some point, I was confident enough to untether them from each other (which presented a whole new set of challenges) and continued from there.

Eventually, Daniel-san had nothing on me.

The next time my aunt visited, and we went to Benihana, I got the first of many compliments that would eventually swell my head to today’s gigantic proportions. The Japanese waitress, after staring at me for a solid two minutes, turned to my mother and said with surprise, “Your son… he’s very good with chopsticks!” My mom, fumbling with her fork replied, “Yes… (looking at me oddly, her voice rising in a question) yes he is?”

I think what freaks me out fascinates me the most is that pretty much every single one of these guys is married. With kids. Sometimes multiple kids. Or relatively new kids. And they talk about them proudly, and mention their wives fondly, and lament how hard it is sometimes to have to stay at teh factory for weeks on end and not go home.

And then they take me to a karaoke club or pub and we meet up with their girlfriends. Or, in the case of the karaoke clubs, they “meet” new girlfriends for the night for $200RMB ($25US). And this is expensive to them, from what I undestand, but obviously worth it in their eyes. There are no furtive glances, or shamed looks, this is the way things are here. In fact, many of them say as much:

“Dave, Dave. We work very hard. Usually 10 to 14 hours per day. And you have to relax. This is the way things are here.”

And, of course, I nod, and smile and say “yeah yeah. Hao hao hao.”

Most of these seem to be actual girlfriends, too, not paid for, though that certainly happens. And their wives must know, they must have been the girlfriend of someone once… or perhaps are even now.

All of them are surprised that I am not married, at 31, or that I don’t have a Chinese girlfriend, yet. They promise to find me one… and I can’t say I disagree with them. I only wish.

At dinner, in mixed company, they say that it will be very “dangerous” for me to be in China. That I will surely attract many girls with my American money good looks. Apparently, I am handsome to the Chinese girls. If only I spoke more of the language than the basics. I’m not sure how far I can get with “Hello, thank you, and you? Excuse me, please sit down, goodbye.”

There is something different about the women here, though, from what I have been able to ascertain in my limited experience. For all the oppression and demure sexuality, they are much more open here, much quicker, and do not (as far as I can tell) play games. It seems you can fall in love forever in one night in China. And this is all without the benefit of a common language. If only we could all be so open back in the States…

And now I write to you from Chang An, outside of Dongguan, China. I am staying in what is hilariously named the Haiyatt Garden Hotel. Not “Hyatt”, “Haiyatt”. It sounds the same when said out loud, but believe me they blink at you funny when you try to hand them your Super Travel Special Guy Hyatt Card. This is, I think, the ultimate testament to the brand copying so endemic in China. In three words: I love it.

Crossing the border from Hong Kong, I realized that I’m garnering a fairly respectable amount of passport stamps. Nothing like Jimbo, I’m sure, but more than maybe the average American-born American with family as far away as… the East Coast. I hope to add to it this year for an actual vacation, instead of business. Of course, I would prefer it if I had someone to go with me. *cough*

Speaking of borders, I find it bewildering why the border is still controlled between Hong Kong and China-proper, given that The Handover is old news by now. Actually, I don’t find it bewildering, I understand completely, as one side is communist, and the other is more socio-capitalist.

It’s still quite the song and dance crossing the border, though. Basically, you have forms to fill out to leave one side, and then forms to fill out to enter the other (no matter which way you are going), and go through immigration twice. In between, you reside in some sort of quasi-non-existant state where you are part of nothing for no one. And the difference between the two sides is as striking as looking over at Tijuana from San Diego.

On the Hong Kong side, everything is sunshine, lollipos, and rainbows, everywhere. English-friendly, and beautiful. The other side is… communist. Which must be why I feel right at home. Every political quiz I’ve ever taken pegs me square in the socialist camp. I am apparently just. that. liberal.

Yes, this is the second post in a row that has bored me to tears, too.

.: Cool World Factbook that taught me that China is 91.9% Han Chinese, and 8.1% other.
.: Fascinating postcards made from real photos. The result of a Kodak promotion in 1907 (via kottke)

I thought for sure that the post about the Chinese prostitutes would generate more comments (where by “more” I mean greater than zero). It just goes to show how little I realize what you people are used to. Freaks.

I’ve been in Hong Kong the last few days. It’s one of the most technologically advanced cities in China, yet ironically doesn’t make internet access terribly easy to come by. It’s been incredibly frustrating (and expensive) to not be in a room that was internet enabled. I’d have to do my work, transfer it to a thumb drive I’m dorky enough to carry with me, go down to the “business center” (one lonely computer in a closet), and answer e-mails and transfer files as quickly as humanly possible, as the privilege was costing me US$10 per 15 minutes!

Bleh.

I am currently in an internet cafe with free access, but a rather ingenious queue system in which you can use the computers for free as long as you want… until someone comes by and pushes the button on a timer next to you. After 15 minutes, you give up your seat and get back in line.

“Queue”, by the way, is a word that I have to look up every. single. time. I use it. Somehow, I can never remember how to spell it.

I trust that was just as boring to read as it was to write… possibly more.

I leave Hong Kong for DOngguan today, which, from all accounts, is a lot like Huizho in that it is industrial and harsh. I will most likely, though, have an extremely nice, extremely cheap, room with uninterrupted internet acces. Here’s hoping.

I’ve been in Hong Kong for the last few days… which is the exact polar opposite of Huizho. It is a beautiful city, accessible to foreigners (of which I see many more of [Actually, “”more”foreigners isn’t correct as that implies that I saw any while I was deeper in China.]), with plenty to see and do.

It is also expensive, as the small room I have for HK$2000/night attests (about US$260). While in Huizho, I stayed in a 5-star hotel for 3 nights for all of something like US$250. The room I’m in now has… character.