Prolific Immigrant

After work, I said a last goodbye to the harbour, and sent a large hug across its body to Luna Park in return for the warm embrace it gave me last weekend.

Before heading home for the night, I spent my evening locals-watching, in hushed tones hearing …we are now looking at what in many parts of the world is known as an Investment Banker. The IB is recognizable by its dark suit, cuff-links and crisp tie, often found pecking at the savings carcasses of others, while their bellies only expand. They are to be approached with the greatest caution, and some argue better left alone as their extinction could lead to global recovery…, and sharing my food with a homeless man who sits ignored by most.

If you have time, food, and / or change to spare, please find him at the beginning of the pedestrian only area of Pitt Street. He has a small red blanket on which you may place anything you would like to share.

This evening was my favourite of all.

Thank you, Australia.

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Thank you all for your amazing tips, tricks and concern re my puff, my favourite remedy that of rubbing tomatoes on my person to alleviate the sunburn. The overdosing on antihistamines has done the trick. I no longer look as though I am gunning to replace either the Gerber Baby or the Michelin Man.

My skin is also no longer lobster red, but rather almond. This morning, I peeled off my forehead (yum!) as I worked. Honestly, at the risk of taunting skin cancer, my burnt off and peeled skin has given way to new baby smooth skin.

And FYI: I am now clinically terrified of the sun. Like, I see the sunshine and experience an immediate gag reflex when considering the recent pain of my sunburn. All I can think is once reading that the most painful way to die is to be burnt alive. (Hi there, Gag Reflex.)

Enough about this, and back to Sydney. After work today, I enjoyed an early evening stroll along both George and Pitt streets (with umbrella and dodging the sun’s rays, performing wild zigzags across streets to hide behind shade). There is a portion of Pitt St which is for pedestrians only and it is filled with live musicians; strong rec that you stop in if in Sydney, and find the drummer. Follow the beat to be mesmerised. I have taken a short video which I will upload upon my return home.

Every single person – including toddlers and premie babies – in Australia engages in happy hour / after work drinking. All pubs and restos past which I ran (with my umbrella) were overflowing with folks enjoying a drink. Why have we classified the poor Irish as drunks, when clearly, it’s the Aussies who will run over their grandmother for a pint?

Maybe this is why I have dubbed them the nicest people on earth…that they are drunk?

No matter. What matters is tonight I watched a performance of Carmen at the Sydney Opera House, and was afforded the opportunity to learn one very critical bit of info about myself: I do not like opera. Nor do I like live theatre which is being surtitled on a jumbotron above the stage.

However, I do love it when a man and a woman opera at the same time and overlap. There’s an official word for this, but I don’t care enough to Google, and so have decided that opera is now a verb. Honestly, if one of the genders rang through a “kaakaa” while the other boomed a “poopoo” into my ears, I (a) wouldn’t understand what they were opera-ing; and, (b) would love it.

Tomorrow: more sun dodging and Saturday travel to Taipei for the last leg of this trip.

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Canberra,
where the streets are pristine and the lawns manicured;
Canberra,
where there’s nothing much to do.

(At least not in terms of what I like to do while visiting a new spot.)

I return to Sydney later this evening, after another day at the High Commission in Canberra.

My Sunday in Sydney placed me on the earliest bus to Bondi, and woke me by a swim in the waters. My rest of day was spent at the Bondi outdoor market purchasing art work, noshing on pasta salad, and drowning myself in fresh fruit smoothies. I also had the pleasure of wandering around the houses in both Double Bay and Rose Bay neighbourhoods.

Creepy or exploratory? You decide.

I went to sleep in Canberra that night, and woke up to eyes the size of eggs; tuesday, the size of watermelons; and this morning, the size of small infants.

I have developed allergies to something. Possibly the sun, or its rays or the weather, the heat, people, oxygen, pillows, dunno…

To these sudden and severe allergies someone yesterday observed how the swelling made me look of a different nationality.

Offensive or imaginative? You decide.

A lovely colleague this morning bounced me over to a pharmacy where the Pharmacist cleverly said “The puffy swollen eyes are not due to the sun. You are puffy because of water retention. Maybe. Maybe you are having an allergic reaction. Canberra is good for that. Maybe. I dunno. G’Day. Take some antihistamines.”

Antihistamines I took; 50 mg of the behind-the-counter drowsy sort. First 30 mg, and then 20 mg.
Essentially, I am high and drowsy while typing.

Thankfully, the 50mg are doing the trick and my forehead is no longer looking like that of Nicole Kidman’s.
I once more have facial expressions extending beyond the oft used sad and confused bloat face.

As a treat to my sorry and sad puffed self, I have a ticket to and will be tomorrow attending Carmen at the Sydney Opera House. (Hurrah!)

Note 1: Aussies are, quite possibly, the friendliest and warmest people in the world. It appears that they were placed on this earth to provide the rest of us with warmth and kindness. Except for those among them who would like to see a return to Australia’s White Policy.

Note 2: Approaching the High Commission (HC) on Monday, I noted that the fence around the HC was engraved with maple leafs, and I was over the moon (though under my umbrella) to see Canada represented. This is a recurring reaction when I am abroad and see my home. Missing you very much, Canada. Even your shitty shitty shitty cold weather.

Note 3: Koalas are fkn scary and creepy. Additionally, they are not bears, but rather they are a marsupial. If I were smart, I would know what that means.

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Happy Chinese New Year (of the Rabbit)!

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Though to post later, I currently type this while seated on the ledge of the pier alongside Luna (amusement) Park. After breakfasting at Kings Cross organic market, lunching at the The Rocks market (where amazingly, I ran into someone I knew), hanging with koalas and kangaroos, visiting the Sydney Opera House, and all day feasting on fresh figs and mango fruit, I decided to spend the rest of my day among children.

And children I found at the Luna Park amusement spectacular. Of note, four year old twins Eva and Lily, with whom I rode the ferris wheel. Chestnut skin, hazel eyes and long golden brown hair they have. Eva is the cautious one who kept requesting that we “don’t look down, please. It’s very far…”, while ensuring that her minnie mouse doll was sitting properly as Lily jumped and climbed over the seats and bars (their father was with), repeatedly sitting on minnie, much to the upset of Eva. The difference illustrated further when their father pointed out a kayak in the middle of the harbour, the sight of which had Eva declaring “he shouldn’t be doing that”, and Lily instead standing, jumping, clapping and requesting “Can I? Can I, dad?”

Beneath a blue sky, along the harbor, amidst a heat wave, a late afternoon of ferry crossings, carousel, roller coaster, and ferris wheel rides feels wonderful on the skin; watching the sky darken across the harbour wonderful on the heart.

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Having decided to completely nerd it out yesterday, I took The Big Bus Tour of Stanley Market and sat on the upper deck where I almost fell into a state of hypothermia, making a new friend named Baden.

Baden is an 85 year old Australian, residing in the Phillipines for the last 22 years. When we exchanged names, he said to mine “…like Maharena”, and so I became Maharena for the duration of the two hour ride. Role playing with an 85 year old Australian man in Hong Kong; who knew?

My favourite part of the ride was when Baden yelled “MOON!” and pointed at the sky. He was truly lovely, and when he yawned, he finished with a flourish of “OH OHH AWWWOOOHHH”s.

Must recommend that for anyone coming to Hong Kong, they really spend as much time as possible out at Repulse Bay. The water is a beautiful shade of azure, and it sits quietly at the bottom of these massive mountains / rocks / cliffs / islands. (This photo I did not take.)

A particularly interesting site yesterday was of the terraced slopes of the Aberdeen cemetery. I love cemeteries and am fascinated by how different worlds enshrine their dead, so this was an incredible site. Although I couldn’t manage a proper photo, the one to which I here link does not do the cemetery justice because it must be seen in full, and from atop so that one takes in the thousands and thousands of grave stones dropping down along the cliff. (Again, not my photo.)

Today is my last day in Hong Kong and I managed to hop on the Star Ferry to cross over to work (landing at the Consulate at 8 am, a full hour before my expected arrival…and that of anyone else’s, hence my ability to deliver this entry before beginning work). While boarding the ferry, I giggled and photographed the warning about safewalking across the gangplank, which to me sounded dirty and left me wondering is this like the time they asked me to recycle my “cum”? (Chill. I have a photo of the recycle box on which it was written “litter, cum, plastic, paper” and am not here mocking anyone’s enunciation. I often default into a language all my own, and so would not trespass that line of rude.)

As I am neither pirate nor sailor, I didn’t know that a gangplank is, according to Google, a board or ramp used as a removable footway between a ship and a pier. Something I know now, but not at 7.30 this morning when I was standing dangerously close to the gangplank, on the wrong side of the gangplank, attempting to take a picture of my pretty coloured ferry while the gangplank nearly made off with my toes.

The official who was ushering us on to the ferry came over and said “危险！移动!”, which I – judging by his expression and gesticulating – am pretty sure translates to Are you kidding me? We have twenty seven warnings in English for dumbasses like you and STILL? STILL! You ignore the damn signs and stand all over the place in danger of being hurt by THE GANGPLANK! MOVE!

Needless to say, I made it to work safely and without further incident, and will be heading back to the hotel at noon in order to wrap up, have lunch and get ready for the airport as it is a nine hour flight to Sydney.

Inshallah, I will one day return to Hong Kong (in either May or June) to visit the following, missed this time:
- Ocean Park, where there are Pandas. PANDAS!
- Big Buddha.
- The Peak, for the view.
- Lamma Island, where the preferred means of transportation is foot or bicycle.

Note 1: I have been eating myself into a state of coma. Daily, I ingest enough soya and linseed bread, teeny tiny roasted peanuts, dragon fruit, and apple / cucumber / mint drink to nourish a small colony of ogres.

Note 2: Whenever I look up into the sky, there are several massive birds circling, with very long wing-spans. I don’t know what these are, but suspect they may be dragons.

Note 3: Dear Hong Kong: Thank you for your warm welcome and your incredible food. You are Janey’s favourite City outside of Halifax. As such, you are by extension a favourite of mine. xox m

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Last night, my cousin’s girlfriend – Mingchao, who resides in Hong Kong – and I tumbled through the SoHo district, though it was only I who on several occasions nearly pitched head first into unnoticed ditches and drainage ways. (Ultimately somehow remaining upright.)

For the above to make sense, I wish I could for you spin a web made of ice, copious amounts of local liquor, ramen noodles, and discussions of communism as religion.

Sadly, I have no such tale to hand you. Rather, the reality that I was merely jet-lagged in an area where ‘Beware. Street uneven’ should in fact be expressed as ‘Achtung! Falling off pavement highly probable’.

We visited Man Mo Temple, and storefront peeked at the gorgeous antique and art galleries across SoHo on Hollywood Rd, finishing our evening at Lil’ Siam (a place I highly recommend, as it is among the top three Thai restaurants I have experienced). I had pomelo salad with sliced shallots and dried coconut, while Mingchao feasted on a tofu peanut salad and a drink the size of her head. It was an entire fresh coconut, the inside of which had been shaved and crushed into a drink mixture; they leave a thick enough layer which you can work through with a spoon, in order to eat whole fresh chunks of coconut. The logistics of this drink are very complex, but well worth the effort. Have it at street address G/F, 38 Elgin Street, SoHo, Central.

Last Mingchao and I hung out was in Tunis, and so it was quite a wonderful night filled with the warmth of friendship and distant family.

Tonight brought visits to both an absolutely stunning Buddhist Temple, inside of which I said a little prayer and planted some incense, and the largest Masjid (mosque) in Hong Kong.

The Temple was breathtaking in its attention to detail, and fun as it was surrounded by over 70 stalls of fortune tellers (none of whom I stopped to visit, as I am entirely disinterested in knowing anything beyond what is present).

What was most interesting, however, were the multitude of deities I saw inside of the Temple, some of whom were animals. As I had always understood (in my own little way) that Buddhism was essentially a tradition of monotheism, with Buddha at the acme, I wasn’t certain what I was seeing.

For those of you who are regular readers, you already know that I attempt to see connections and similarities rather than differences; this is a key part of how I approach faith traditions, and so I was excited to learn that the represented deities were in fact different representations of the one Buddha; for me then, monotheism stands.

Kowloon Masjid, on the other hand, was nowhere near as ornate, but it was beautiful to me. I performed a small prayer – something which I have not done in months, sadly – and then made my way down to the harbor front to watch Hong Kong’s famed Symphony of Lights Show, before capping the night off with spicy kimchi and green tea ice-cream (the former I loved, the later too bitter for me).

Tomorrow evening, I am hoping to find a panda…or four.

Note 1: “Hai”, pronounced as the English “Hi, hello!” means “yes”, something I did not know until earlier today. Suffice it to say that my late discovery of this word’s meaning has made for a multitude of interesting, warm for me, creepy for others, and relatively confusing moments over the course of the last five days.

Note 2: The FKN escalators here function at break neck speed. A speed so high that it’s in fact nauseating, and ACHTUNG! worthy. If I suddenly stop updating, please note it is because an escalator ate me.

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I had an hour and twenty minutes yesterday between the workday and then an evening work dinner. Juiced on perhaps 18 coffee and tea combinations, I decided to MTR myself over to the goldfish, flower, and bird markets.

First, let me state that the MTR system is by far the easiest underground train system I have navigated amongst all others (on which I have been lost) the world over.

Don’t get me started on France’s “press a button and look for the (world’s smallest) light on a map (the size of a Great Lake)” or the UK’s ass-backwards visual representation of a specific line which has always – without fail – seen me lost in the tunnels, elbowing past the giant crowd mumbling mean things about The Tube. Like, if you’re going East to West, the map should be a horizontal line moving from right to left, no? NO! The British instead make it a VERTICAL line going from TOP to BOTTOM. Honestly, how is it possible that these people occupied so much of the world over the course of history?

While we’re on the subject – if you have to spray paint at every pedestrian crossing in which direction said pedestrian should look in order to avoid being flattened by moving vehicles, you should consider changing the system, no? You British. Seriously. (Hi Hannah! Missing you and Chaaaaarl something terrible.)

Back to Hong Kong.
People around yesterday’s markets were stare-y, which I found surprising as there are a bazillion of us non locals (by appearance). I was being stared at by nine out of ten passerbys, and when I would make eye contact, they did not look away. I was making a lot of eye contact, and so almost broke out my awesomely choreographed dance routine to All Night Long. (Janey! Eye contact begets excellent dance routine finishes. I remember!)

The staring was neither hostile nor creepy, but rather of genuine curiosity; as this did not happen tonight in the SoHo district, nor has it happened in the area in which I am staying, it was quite registering on my radar. No rhyme or reason to it, but it was interesting.

I have two large Canadian flags on my backpack for the obvious reason of being identified as thus while international, eh. (Poutine! Snow! Beavers!) While being stared at, I had a very clear image of a friend’s tale from ago: she was here at a fruit market and her head collided with an apple. And by collided, I mean someone threw an apple at her while yelling YANKEE GO HOME.

To my smile, most people were very responsive. To my generally being lost (a lot), most people were also very helpful, the most impressive of whom was one woman who refused to make any eye contact, and instead literally physically – with head down and a lot of Cantonese – pushed me over to a young business-like gentleman in front of us. She ordered him to help me, which he did.

The flower market was gorgeous both on the eyes and on the nose. It looked as though God took all of His unused paint mixtures and dumped them all across this street. And variety! So much of which I have never before seen; so much of which I worried could eat me.

The goldfish market was fascinating yet bizarre, because each fish is in a bag and these thousands of bags are hung next to, above and below one another. It is a maze of fishies.

I found the turtles. This, not figurative. I actually found the turtles and jumped with delight as they are among my favorite animals. (If I lived in a warm climate, I would have a pet turtle and keep it out in the yard.)

I also found the crickets while attempting to catch an avian disease in the bird garden. A disease which would no doubt be worth the songbird experience of visiting this particular garden and birdcage market. Approaching, I assumed they were merely bags of grass for the birds until my eye detected movement in one – then suddenly all – of the bags. I stood ramrod, worried they would see me and attack. Look, there were thousands of them, my worst night terrors come alive if escaped.

After quieting my gag reflex, I crept quietly away and out of the garden to start making my way back to the train station, only to stumble upon (what I can only think to call) Street Meat On A Stick. There was a lot of boiling, steaming and frying going on and it smelled heavenly, and in my suddenly broken English I requested “one. No pig. No pig. No insides. No ecoli. Thank you.” and I left it to the lady to hand me a skewer, any skewer. I was heavily praying it wouldn’t have anything from the fat brown squid which lay steaming with its insides falling out of its ass.

She gave me octopus on a stick. I said a prayer and ate it. It was chewy. I am sure it was hallal. Ha ha.

Note 1: Upon first attempted entry into the turn-stall to the train, I was standing too close and so couldn’t see that I had to insert my card on the vertical side. I kept trying to jam the pass into another slot (maybe a key slot?) until two little girls – with knee-high socks, plaid short skirts, backpacks and pigtails – approached and gently pointed at the correct place for the card.

I call them “little girls”, but they were probably closer to 83. No one here looks a day older than 19. They are all beautiful, with faces of unmarked alabaster (though, interestingly, with tattoos for eyebrows).

(Not spell-checking. Am exhausted. Good night.)

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I flew into Hong Kong on the back of a monsoon. Or perhaps a typhoon. Or just really hard rain.

Air Canada lost my luggage; I am work traveling for the coming three weeks, beginning tomorrow, and Air Canada lost only one bag on a flight from Toronto to Hong Kong.

Come to think of it, I believe I flew in on the back of heavy tears and the hiccups.

I arrived yesterday; it’s currently 4.30 am local time. I, in my hotel room, wearing a very thick bathrobe, overlooking one of the main streets of Hong Kong, and drinking coffee from fine bone china. The useless stress of the last 48 hours is lifting along with the fog which covers this City’s harbour.

Notwithstanding the wardrobe malfunction, Hong Kong itself has welcomed me in a most surprising manner. The drive in from the airport (to Kowloon’s The Langham Place Hotel) was above water, and so most everywhere I looked I saw either large apartment buildings by the waves, the cleanest and most organized shipping docks, and sheer rock cliffs drowning themselves in the water. Beautiful massive, green covered sheers which I only imagined owned with copyright by the UK.

Of what I have seen so far, the City is massive with excellent infrastructure. We are in the heart of Kowloon and it is extremely clean, the fashion know-how of most locals far trumping that of a visitor’s.

Note 1: The driver sits on the right side of the car. Hias, British occupation!

Note 2: The airport is the size of Ottawa. When I enquired about an ATM, I was told it was an approximate 15 minute walk, up on the 6th floor.

Note 3: It’s true! People wear pointed hats so the rain drips off. I didn’t bring a poncho; am without luggage; will buy pointy rain hat, and stay dry.

Note 4: In above Note 3, “people” = 2.

Note 5: “Arcade” here means something very different than in Canada, either “very large building” or “spend money here”. Will let you know as soon as I find out which.

Note 6: Upon entry into the hotel, we were greeted with live violin music and the scent of fresh roses. That made up for the missing luggage.

There is a painting in the main hall which I would like to thieve. It is a breathtaking allusion to modern China meets traditional China, rolled up in the strength and pride of both. (Of course a photo is going to be taken and posted. Speaking of which, your requests re NYC and Berlin photos has not fallen on deaf ears. All forthcoming.)

Note 7: I watched a Buddhist monk emerge from a Mont Blanc store with a large bag. Are there different rules on this continent?

Note 8: Everyone here is shopping for either makeup or perfume. Everyone here also smokes. What is unmentioned in the brochure is that being in Hong Kong is like being in Dubai, only with different facial recognition requirements.

Note 9: My favourite site so far were (what appeared to be) the broken piers, legs without bodies found next to the sheer cliffs on the drive into the City. They have all been replaced by state of the art highways and bridges, so they stand looking crippled and haunted. There is more beauty in them than anything sold inside of the plethora of fashion houses across this City.

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.1. A well-known fact to the US Government: Omar Suleiman is not a man who will lead democracy.

He is, however, pretty awesome at torture. Hurrah for America’s once again “honest broker”-ship.

.2. I had promised you a wrap-up of NYC, but I have neither the energy nor the patience to write more about the fckery by which I was surrounded while there.

Instead, I am here copying for your reading pleasure an abridged version of the email I just sent to one of my friends: …in the Waldorf Astoria so every morning I had the misfortune of seeing the money people of the City…

NY used to be one of my favorite cities in the US, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there…

Everywhere I looked, I saw coagulated the blood of the poor – in the Fendi handbags and the SUV trucks and the mercedes and the Harry Winston adornments of the very people who took the bailout money so they could maintain their eccentric lifestyle. The same people who remain the reason the rest of your country (and devastatingly, the world) bleeds to death.

I was crawling out of my own skin in NYC, nauseas most of the entire time. Leaving couldn’t have come soon enough.

We are entrusted with His money, and we have to exercise that with kindness and humility. But more importantly, with humanity.

Not the case.”

As the days progressed, the more my vision blurred; while looking at these people, I instead began to see the faces of those who lost their homes and their health, their families and their well-being…and in much too many cases, their lives.

I should have stayed with my cousin in Queens Jamaica, where I would have felt more comfortable and not such a fraud.