floorpie

Let me ammend what I said about Huizho yesterday: Huizho is a dirty dirty city… and I love it. I can’t say anymore, but I’m definitely on the short list for hell.

[EDIT] I will say more. That’s what this forum is for, after all. Also, mom, stop reading.

As I said, Huizho is poor, industrial, and not at all cosmpolitan. The majority of the people seem to work (and live) in factories like I’ve been visiting where they work double-shifts and 7 days a week. There is, understandably, a lot of steam to blow off. And so, in the name of fun, my hosts took me out for some of the local “flavor”.

Nightclubs in Huizho are not the electronica-fueled, dark rooms, flashy lights, sweating dancers kind of places I was expecting. Nightclubs in Huizho are private rooms with couches and a big TV and sound system for karaoke. There are tables with dice in cups, not unlike in backgammon, so that you can play what is apparently the favorite CHinese drinking game. Akin, somewhat to poker, each player rolls 5 dice and tries to make the best hand (which is really just pairs, 3 of a kind, 4 of a kind, or a flush… no straights). The loser? The loser, of course drinks.

This part is pretty normal.

The not so normal part is when the door opens and 10 beautiful CHinese girls walk in. You pick one, or you don’t… it doesn’t matter. If you don’t like this 10, another 10 will be brought in in a few minutes… and another.. and another… and twins, etc etc. Eventually, you get the drift and there’s no stopping the parade until you acquiesce.

Once you do, congratulations(!) you’ve made a new best friend. You, shockingly, are very very handsome, and hilarious (even with the language barrier!). You are special. You are wonderful. It is all. about. you.

And this is not a bad thing. This is a beautiful girl, who has the softest skin you have honestly ever felt, and must assuredly have ideas about life and love and the world around you. This is a girl of the world. This is, clearly, your future wife.

Of course you know where this is going, and I did, too. Nothing could have been clearer even if she had been wearing a price-tag. What’s interesting, though, is that you wrestle with the moral dilemma the whole night. Prostitution is obviously not taboo here, so why not? She’s hot, right? You’re in a foreign country far away from home, and your hosts are trying to show you a good time. It would be almost rude to not partake.

But, alas, I didn’t. And as Tony pointed out to me when I drunkenly wrote to him seeking his sage advice:

id have pass too
i dont pay for it
plus my little fella needs to remain clean
plus you never know whose gonna jump you when youre at your most vulnerable

you did the right thing

i know the temptation was mighty

good work
tp

Truer words were never spoken…
It woulda been cool though.

Let’s be honest, Huizho, China is… not a beautiful city. It has beautiful parts, much like an extremely ugly guy most likely has OK ears. This is an economically depressed area (at least based on sight) that is mostly industrial based. There are definite signs that it is trying to cater to Western money (or any money, most likely), based on the 2-months old 5-star hotel my hosts have put me up in. It is a city trying to be better than it is, and I admire that.

Having said that, if I can offer a description of what I see around me as I drive down the streets: building upon building that looks as if they are completely deserted, yet clearly have occupants. I am fairly certain, and would not be surprised, if I was able to buy a whole building here with what I have in my pocket… which, let me tall you, ain’t much. I would live there briefly, until I got fed-up with the lack of reliable power and city pollution wafting in through the cracks around the windows. I would figure out quickly that if I didn’t start selling bananas, or my body, I wouldn’t be able to survive here long. I would sell my building for the same $50US I bought it for and roll it over into 3 months at the 5-star hotel.

But I was saying… None of the stores seem to have doors, and all of the shop owners work primarily while squatting on the ground.

There are goats.
There are not as many bikes as you probably think.
There is dirt…everywhere. Piles of bricks. Bamboo scaffolding that I know is lighter, stronger, and more convenient than the metal we use.
There are no Westerners.
There is rampant and unabated smoking.

There are signs everywhere of people trying to achieve, to break out of the economic slump hey were born into. Travelling down a dirty, destroyed road, lines of shops selling really nothing go on forever. Every now and again, the rows of stores are broken up by what looks like a tiny machine shop, with one sad manual milling machine, the owner obviously trying to achieve success where the real money is: manufacturing. I don’t know it, but I feel that he is very skilled, with big dreams, and yet no idea of the scale of the challenge he has in front of him. I wish him luck.

I think part of the reason that it feels like people are staring at me is because they are. It’s a funny cultural difference where it doesn’t seem to be considered rude to unabashadly stare at someone odd. I don’t think this happens as much in the US, as we’re the purported racial “melting pot”… which, in comparison to much of Asia, is true.

I also think part of the reason that it feels like people are staring at me is because I’m paranoid and self-conscious. For whatever reason, I seem to be overly concerned with not being conspicuous (as if it matters), like the few other Westerners I’ve seen (only in the hotel, though… which is my usual experience). They are too big, They move to quickly and without grace, They look loud and for some reason always southern. I wonder if I look the same, or if I’m just kidding myself into thinking I’m doing a slightly better job of fitting in.

I’m not sure what my ultimate goal in gaining the trust and confidence of these really-by-definition-total-strangers-which-I-will-never-ever-see-again is. It’s as if I think the locals will all look around, someone will say, “All clear?”, and then a huge party will break out or something.

Sweet sweet enging

The Kande International Hotel (where I am staying in Huizhou) is the first 5-star hotel in the region, according to Echo Hu, the Guest Service Manager. It is a brand new hotel, and has only been opened for a month, so they are still working some of the kinks out.

One thing, that I find simultaneously frustrating and funny, is the staff’s grasp of the English. I don’t expect to come fairly deep into China and find that everyone speaks English, or anything… if the situation were reveresed, I would have even fewer phrases in Mandarin to talk with (made even worse by the fact that I’m deep in Cantonese country). Having said that, it seems like most of the people know some basic English phrases like:

.: Good morning – used as a greeting to an obvious gwai lo… no matter what time it is. I also noticed this in Taipei.
.: Would you like, yes? – which seems to be just some gibberish English to fill space. I honestly do the same thing in the US when I’m expected to comment about something but don’t really have anything to say. “Umm, yeah, well that’s the thing.” or something like that.
.: etc, etc

The funny part to me is that it seems like most everyone knows what to say, just not how to react to the answer. I’m not sure my waitress knew why I was stifling laughter when I came back from the breakfast buffet to find a cup of coffee… despite the fact that I had answered, “No thank you,” to her question, “Would you like coffee or tea?”

To their credit, my hosts are certainly doing a good job of dealing with my ignorance. They’ve yet to accidentally kill me by horribly misunderstanding some request for water, and I’ve only embarrassed myself as much as they probably expect from a stupid American.

Postscript to the below: My frequent flyer card was waiting for me as I went through the gate at LAX. Y’all got yer stuff t’gether!

Much later…

I’ve been in CKS International Airport for all of 15 minutes and I’ve already embarrassed myself through my inability to recognize that the faucet in the men’s restroom had to be actually and physically brushed against to activate, as opposed to waved under like I’m used to. My hands waited dumbly for water that never came until a local peered around my shoulder, shoved his hands into the thin gap between the faucet and my own, and said, “You have to touch it like this (he demonstrates, lightly touching my hands in the process… which I find strangely familiar at first, and the slightly demeaning later, as if he’s trying to teach a small, dumb child).” He continues, “It’s different from…(looks at me)… from, uh, the U.S.” He said it kindly, and with a beatific smile on his face, but I still felt like an idiot.

Despite spending something approaching three months in Taiwan last year, I fail to remember encountering anything like this faucet. Hopefully, I can sit here quietly and without incident for an hour, until my plane to Hong Kong leaves.

Traveling alone makes you me very introspective. I just made a number of calls/text messages that I now immediately regret as I am afforded the time to actually think about them. It’s not that I said/wrote anything particularly scandalous or embarrassing, it’s just that I now realize that all of my statements will have fallen on deaf ears.

This is four calls we’re talking about.

Yes, they were all girls.

Also, either the guy next to me or the woman behind me, here at Gate 105, reeks. I want to get up and move next to the semi-attractive woman in the middle of the terminal; but, I am too tired and too conscious of myself to do so without self-imposed scrutiny and scorn. It takes a lot of energy to start something like that up, you know… especially when small-talk could potentially last 15 hours in this case.

Also, I left my frequent flyer card at the check-in desk. I have an hour to walk all the way out of the boarding area, retrieve it, and come back through security. Now, if I can’t be troubled to chat-up a pretty girl, you know I can’t be bothered to do that.

Today’s embarrassing admission:

I’m taking the red-eye to China; and, as such, I’ve been pretty much vamping all day long waiting to go the airport. Aside from doing chores around my adopted house, this has largely consisted of watching what turned out to be a The Surreal Life, 5 marathon on VH1. I’ve never before watched a single show, and I most likely never will again… but today I’ve watched like 10.

I have two things to say about this:

1. I am slightly more than a little pathetic, and
2. Caprice is the best-looking, most down to earth and genuine, biggest sport, and coolest chick evAH. I must remember to have my people contact her people.

So let’s recap:

.: My precious apartment (this apartment in fact) burned not to the ground, but somewhere slightly above it. There was much rejoicing.
.: I am leaving for China tomorrow.
.: For a month.
.: With no place to live when I get back, and no insurance money waiting for me. Both of these are what I call The Open Issues.

Despite all of the pressures at home, I am stoked that I’m going to be in China… tomorrow! [editor’s note: given the time differences and flight time, I won’t be there tomorrow now that I think about it. I’ll be there Monday morning.]

Which reminds me: should you be in or around Hong Kong during the next 3 weeks, drop me a line.

Happy Thanksgiving my lovelies. Please feel free to commence with the fire-related cooking jokes at this time. “Roasting a turkey in your…living room, this year?” *ba-dum-dum-CHING!*

Let me ask you something, because certainly you would know: what, exactly, do insurance adjusters actually do? The reason I ask is because, near as I can tell, mine doesn’t do anything. A typical conversation goes something like this:

me So… where are we on my claim?

Insurance Adjuster Oh… you know… once we get an inventory… we can cut you a check

me Ah… so do I need to put together that inventory between the stuff the smoke restoration people took, and the list I’ve been creating independently?

IA …yes

me Um, OK. And so what’s the process, do I put prices for everything and then you double-check it?

IA …yes

me Ah… and do I need to take pictures or find records for everything I own, or if I say I had a fondue pot do you just take my word for it?

IA err…yes

me I assume [inner dialogue: [I “ASSUME” BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT TELLING ME ANYTHING!] that there’s some kind of limit to that though, right?

IA …yes

me And that limit is what then?

And our conversations go on and on and on like this. I suggest what, based on my own limited understanding of the insurance industry, I would think sounds like a reasonable procedure, and the insurance adjuster either confirms or denies it. There’s just no offering of information.

It took me three conversations to actually get her fax number, because I would foolishly wait expectantly on her to expand from what I thought was an opening statement, “When everything’s completed, you can fax the inventory to me…”. I thought that would be followed by, “…at 310-123-4567”, but instead she just trailed off and drifted away on a breeze.

It would be frustrating if it weren’t so entertaining.