African Tour:Cape Town part 1

Cape Town International Airport
Cape Town, South Africa
The flight from Durban to Cape Town took a little over two hours and was the opposite of eventful. As with Durban, we were all driven by car to different apartments/houses. The biggest difference was the size.

King Shaka International Airport is in the suburbs of Durban, outside of the city limits, but no more than a half hour drive from downtown. Cape Town International Airport is smack dab in the middle of the city, but it took us over an hour to get to our house. Not only is Cape Town ten times larger than Durban, but our house was in Simon's Town, about as far south as you can go on the Cape Peninsula without hitting protected wilderness. Getting to the house from the airport required three different freeways. When we finally got off the freeway, we were on a long street along the coast. The street got noticeably smaller as we passed through downtown Simon's Town. With most of the city behind us, we turned onto a smaller road that went gradually uphill and then dramatically uphill. We turned onto a tiny lane that looked more suitable for Taiwanese scooters than South African pickup trucks. From scooter lane, we turned onto a slightly wider road that went even further uphill. An hour and twenty minutes after we left the airport, we turned onto a dead end alley. Had this happened in the middle of the night, and had our driver been even close to menacing, this could have been a spooky ride. But we left the airport at ten in the morning, the drive along the coast was cheery, and our driver could not have been friendlier.

From the alley, it looked like we would all be staying in a tiny cottage not nearly large enough for seven people. The house was on a slope, so we had to go indoors before we fully understood its size. The top floor was a two car garage that could only fit small cars. The garage interior was large enough for an American SUV, but the separate garage doors were barely wide enough to fit a Volkswagen. Half a floor down was the tiniest front yard, the front door, a half bathroom, and what could only be described as the mudroom. They probably call it something else in South Africa. The next floor down was somehow four times larger than the floor above. What we came to call the second floor had a large living room, an enormous kitchen, a decent sized dining room, and a full bathroom. There was also a balcony across the entire rear of the house. The bottom floor had three bedrooms and four full bathrooms. The large backyard could be reached by a sliding glass door from each of the bedrooms. Beyond the backyard was a plot of empty land not quite large enough to build another house. Without the fence between the yard and empty land, we would have assumed the entire thing was the backyard. From the street, the back of the house looked like it should have been the front, except there was no front door and the address was posted on the alley side. All of the houses on the street were similar, with inviting backyards on the larger street and small entrances on the alley.

The bedrooms were nothing like what I expected. Instead of a master bedroom, the largest looked like a dorm room. It had four bunk beds, enough for eight people. We only had seven staying at the house, so the four youngest shared that room. At first, we thought the house only had four and a half bathrooms. Then someone opened one of the closets in the largest bedroom and discovered the door to another bathroom. It was an odd design. From the room, it looked like a wall of closets. If you opened the doors on the left and right, you got closet. If you opened the middle door, there was a tiny hallway that led to a full sized bathroom behind all the closets.

The medium sized room looked like any other bedroom with its own bathroom. Two of our more senior dancers shared that one. As the highest ranking person in the house, I took the single room. It was pretty small, but it had its own bathroom. I never really cared about the size of the room since most of the time I spent in the house was either in the kitchen or on that large balcony.

I liked the Durban kitchen better. It was smaller and felt more like a home. The Cape Town kitchen was large and had every appliance we could ever need, except a rice cooker. The kitchen was fully loaded with a stainless steel refrigerator, oven, stove, dishwasher, toaster oven, toaster, microwave, blenders, mixers, pots and pans, dishes and utensils. But it was all western style. There was not a single chopstick in the house and we all missed not having a rice cooker. The Cape Town kitchen was larger, fancier, and obviously more expensive. It felt like it was designed for entertaining guests. I liked the Durban kitchen better because it was designed for making a quiet dinner at home.

The balcony was the best feature of the house. The view from the front yard was the house across the alley. The view from the backyard was the house across the street. Since all the houses were on a slope, they all had a balcony facing northeast. We had an unobstructed view of the northern tip of False Bay. The sunsets were nice, but the sun went down the other side of the Cape Peninsula. Sunrises were spectacular. Since I generally wake up before the dawn, I watched the sun come up over the mountains that surround Cape Town and reflect off the water in the bay almost every morning. Most of my roommates missed it.

Not the actual balcony, but pretty close.
I also saw a whale one day. I was standing on the balcony minding my own business when a whale just popped out of the water. It was too far away for me to even guess what kind of whale it was, but it was definitely a whale. There were more than a few dolphins in False Bay, but any movement from them just looked like waves at that distance. This was clearly a whale jumping halfway out of the water and crashing onto its back. My roommates spent a lot of time looking for their own whales, but none of us ever saw another one. At least not from that balcony.

Artscape Theatre Centre
Transportation in Cape Town was similar to Durban in that we were all picked up and driven to work. That was convenient, especially since we worked more in Cape Town than anywhere else. In other cities, we introduced a few traditional Chinese dance styles to the locals, everyone mostly got a kick out of it, and we moved on. In Cape Town, we learned a traditional African dance, a variation of the Makhibo. That required extra work on our part. Every other show was full of routines everyone knew backward and forward. The Makhibo was brand new to all of us.

Fortunately, we had some free time in between all the rehearsing, though finding our own transportation was more complicated. Since Durban is ten times smaller than Cape Town, it was much easier to get around. I could walk to the beach in less than half an hour, and walk the entire promenade in less than an hour. Cape Town was a harder city to walk around. Boulders Beach was only a few hundred meters away, but with all the winding hill roads, it took a good ten minutes. Downtown Cape Town was more than 40 kilometers from the house. I have no idea how long that would have taken to walk. When we arrived, it looked like staying in Simon's Town was going to be inconvenient.

Local transportation in Cape Town is not exactly admired the world over. The bus lines were convoluted and never really went where we wanted to go. The Metrorail's Simonstown Line went from the main station to Simon's Town. People rave about the view from the train, but that is only during the 20 minute stretch along False Bay. The rest of the ride is an hour in the suburbs. Since Cape Town was designed for cars, taxis were our primary ride off the clock.

And we had plenty of places to go. Cape Town has pretty much everything you need in a single city. You can climb a mountain, swim in the ocean, ogle birds, keep at least one eye on baboons, and run away from an ostrich all in one day. As long as you have transportation.

African Tour:Durban

Lanseria International Airport
Johannesburg, South Africa

King Shaka International Airport
Durban, South Africa
Our flight to Durban was short and easy. We spent more time in the terminal than on the plane, though there were no delays this time. Rather than fly out of OR Tambo International Airport, we left Johannesburg from Lanseria International Airport, a much smaller airport. It has international in its name, but I only saw signs for flights to other cities in South Africa.

The drive to the hotel was also faster. At least for four of us. Instead of piling everyone into a business hotel, we all stayed at apartments and B&Bs around town. I have no idea if that was a better arrangement, and I doubt it was more efficient, but I liked it a lot more. There was nothing wrong with the hotel in Johannesburg. It was a clean place to sleep and close to major thoroughfares. In Durban, I stayed with three other dancers in a nice little apartment in the Morningside neighborhood. We were an easy walk to Mitchell Park, a Spar grocery store, Florida Road, and Battery Beach.

The grocery store was convenient since we were in an apartment instead of a hotel. The apartment's kitchen was more than adequate and was even stocked with a few staples right before we arrived. The husband and wife owners lived close by and were happy to help out with pretty much anything we needed. Caroline brought us homemade rusks every morning, which we all appreciated even if we never ate them until later in the day. She even drove us to the grocery store when we made our biggest run. There was a washer and dryer directly below the apartment, but we found the washer difficult to use. Betty, the housekeeper, did all of our laundry for most of our stay. I felt a little bad about having an older black woman wash my clothes, especially in a South African apartment owned by a white couple, but she did an incredible job. Whenever we put anything in the laundry bags, it came back cleaned, ironed, and neatly folded. No one ever charged us anything for the laundry, so we left Betty a decent tip before we checked out. My Taiwanese roommates thought that everyone should do the best job they could regardless of their pay, but I convinced them that in tipping cultures, it is always a good idea to tip well for exceptional service. I had the same conversation every time any of us went to a restaurant.

Betty was the highlight of Durban. She probably had a fascinating life story, but was reluctant to talk about herself, so I never pushed her. Something she loved to talk about were her grandchildren, which made my roommates feel bad that she was cleaning up after us. The cultural differences were interesting. Where I had white guilt and never really thought about her age, they had generation guilt and never thought about her race. For her part, Betty seemed to have the meaning of life sorted out. I would not mind spending a day as content as she always was.

Florida Road is this week's trendy restaurant street. We saw plenty of tip jars. It had Spiga, a vaguely Italian café with a lot of penne dishes; Glamwich, a haven for avocado toast and bunny chow; Times Square, which always seemed more popular at drinking time than at eating time; Bird & Co, a chicken and pizza place that looked like fast food at restaurant prices; Paul's Homemade Ice Cream, which had confusing flavors, like the vegan “No Cow and Chicken”. I understand the no cow part, but never knew ice cream had chicken in it; House of Curries, with the largest bunny chow menu; the Firehouse, a pizza place with trendy toppings like avocado, toasted coconut, cashews, and teriyaki sauce; Sofra Istanbul, a Turkish restaurant with frozen french fries; Sabroso, with its generic Mexican menu; Fired Up Pizzeria, with pizzas so ugly, I did not even want to step inside; Flamin' Wok, a vaguely Thai restaurant with fortune cookies; and Tommy's Sushi, with “Chinese takeaway”. It was not Chinese. There were even more restaurants on the next block. The entire street was wall to wall restaurants. We could have eaten at a different place every day, even without going to other parts of the city.

The Thai place was noteworthy, even though no one thought it tasted like Thai food. They had fortune cookies, which I had to explain to my Taiwanese colleagues, who had never heard of such a thing. There is something surreal about sitting in a Thai restaurant in South Africa and describing American Chinese food to Chinese people. My colleagues were flabbergasted when I told them that everyone in the United States thinks Chinese people eat fortune cookies.

Bunny chow had to be explained to all of us. It is a loaf of white bread stuffed with curry. A quarter bunny is more than large enough for one person. Rabbits are not involved in any way. It was invented by Indian immigrants as an explicitly vegetarian dish. There are disputed theories about why they are called bunnies and which restaurant in Durban, if any, has the original. Fortunately, we asked what bunny chow was early in the trip. We would see it on more than a few menus throughout Durban.

Transportation in Durban was a little more complicated than Johannesburg. Rather than pick everyone up from one hotel in a charter bus, our drivers went to all of our different apartments and drove us around in cars. That meant we never all arrived at rehearsals at the same time, which meant more time in transit despite driving shorter distances. Guided tours were also more complicated. Everyone was driven by car to a meeting point and then driven as a group by bus to whatever tourist trap was on the agenda that day. I mostly avoided all of that, with a few exceptions.

Gateway Theatre of Shopping
Umhlanga, South Africa
When everyone else went to the Gateway Theatre Of Shopping in Umhlanga, a few of us took the bus and went to Umhlanga Beach. The Gateway Theatre Of Shopping claims to be the “largest shopping mall in the Southern Hemisphere”. Umhlanga Beach is famous for its lighthouse and rocky coast just beyond the soft sandy beach. With a long promenade right next to the beach, it is a great place to walk on sand or pavement, though a lousy spot for surfing or swimming. There was no way any of my colleagues would want to swim in an ocean anyway.

Umhlanga Beach
Photograph by LC Swart
When everyone took a bus to the Pavilion Shopping Centre in Westville, I walked down the Golden Mile. From the pictures I saw, the Pavilion looked a little like the Taipei 101 mall. One of the stores at the mall is a Christian bookstore called CUM Books. Being immature, this caught my attention. I was disappointed to learn that CUM stands for Christelike Uitgewers Maatskappy, which means Christian Publishing Company in Afrikaans. The Golden Mile is both a beach and several beaches along a seven kilometer stretch from Blue Lagoon Beach to the North Pier. It has none of the famous rocks of Umhlanga Beach up the coast, which makes it a much better place for surfing and swimming. It has the “longest beachfront promenade in sub-Saharan Africa”, which only made me curious where the longest promenade in North Africa was. The promenade and beaches were an easy walk from our apartment, so I went there more than a few times. The first time I went into the water, I thought it was my first time in the Indian Ocean. Then I remembered that I did some beach swimming in Bali almost ten years ago.

Not that I avoided all the guided tours. I went with the group to the Durban Botanic Gardens, which was far more botanic than the Walter Sisulu Botanical Gardens in Johannesburg. It had more flowers, which is probably a good thing. There was even a separate orchid house, the “largest orchid collection in South Africa”, naturally. It was closed that day. The butterfly habitat was open, and a great place to look at butterflies, if you are into that sort of thing. The garden was especially proud of its tree collection. They bragged about their palm trees, which are not so impressive for those of us who live on a tropical island. They also had a lot of jacaranda trees, which are common in South Africa and not something we ever see at home. Even though we were there while the flowers were in bloom, the locals did not seem to care. What we found different, they found ordinary, and vice versa. The best part of the gardens was probably the small lake, where we saw more than a few birds I could never identify.

The Durban Natural Science Museum is inside city hall rather than its own dedicated building. It might be the smallest natural science museum I have ever been to, but all the children we saw loved it. That is really all that matters. If you can get them interested when they are still young and care about things, maybe they will care when they get older.

The Umgeni River Bird Park near the mouth of the Umgeni River had even more birds I could never hope to name. I recognized the flamingos, pelicans, swans, owls, toucans, peacocks, macaws, vultures, and those little Australian birds that got Men At Work sued. If they have over 300 species, that means I barely knew any of them. The bird park is essentially a zoo, which is never my favorite place to go. I was in a part of Africa where you can see animals in their natural habitat. Gawking at them in cages is the last thing I want to do, but the Umgeni River Bird Park breeds 17 different endangered species. That has to count for something. It was also free.

The worst guided tour was to the Japanese Gardens, which is a waste of time for anyone who has been to Japan or a garden. It is a park with a few generic Japanese decorations here and there. The only interesting aspect to the Japanese Gardens are the monkeys that wander around. Something we were warned about before we left Taiwan, besides crime, were the baboons in South Africa. Apparently, they are even bigger troublemakers than macaques. The monkeys we saw in the park were smaller and much calmer. Though not at all afraid of us, they never tried to steal anything from anyone.

Next to the Japanese Gardens was Sun Sun Supermarket. Billed as an Asian grocery store “With Everything Asian Under the Sun”, some of my colleagues were excited to check it out. I was more than a little skeptical. Outside of Asia, “Asian” usually means dry noodles and soy sauce. Surprisingly, it looked a lot like a Chinese grocery store, only with far more signs in English. They even had Super Supau, which I have never seen outside of Taiwan. Everyone in the building except me could have been from East Asia, which is what most people outside of Asia mean when they talk about Asia. Nothing west of India ever counts. Though their inventory was much smaller than everything under the sun, my colleagues walked out with full bags.

Watching Taiwanese people shop is an odd experience. We were in a part of the world none of us had ever been to before. Yet instead of buying ceramic giraffes and zebra keychains, they mostly bought clothes made in China and Vietnam from stores similar or exactly the same as what we have at home. When it came to food, the less exotic the better. Even though I could never taste anything, I wanted to try the local dishes. I have no idea what bunny chow tastes like, but I have eaten it in a few different places. They could taste everything, and wanted the most familiar food they could find. Taiwanese would have been preferable, but Chinese would have to do. There was nothing in all those Sun Sun bags they could not buy at home.

The Playhouse Company Theatre
We also did some work with the Siwela Sonke Dance Theatre, who were all fantastic.
September to November is spring in South Africa, so I came prepared. Most of my Taiwanese colleagues did not bring bathing suits because we started in October. Several people pointed out the difference between the Southern and Northern Hemisphere, but to the Taiwanese, October is not bathing suit season. I am often baffled by their insistence on dressing for the season rather than the weather. If it is 30 degrees and humid in July, they wear t-shirts and sandals. If it is 30 degrees and humid in December, they wear coats and boots. I thought that being in a different country at a much lower latitude would change that. I was wrong. Almost everyone dressed for Taiwan October, not South Africa October.

We arrived in Durban at the tail end of a storm. You could tell it had been raining for a while, though it took a break before our plane landed. The next few days had scattered thunderstorms and the threat of rain around the corner. Then we woke up to sunny and warm almost every other day. There was one full rainy day in Durban and one day where it rained off and on. Otherwise, it was spring sun and clouds. Every night was colder than a Taiwan winter, but none of the days were nearly as hot. Even on the hottest days, which were always below 30 degrees, there was usually a nice breeze coming from the ocean.

Our apartment did not have a swimming pool, but the house next door did. I mentioned something about how much I like to swim to Caroline during a random conversation and the next day she told me we could use the swimming pool next door. I have to assume they had some kind of previous arrangement with their neighbors to let tenants use it. It seems almost impossible that we were let into a stranger's pool just because I happened to mention it in passing. Regardless of whatever went on behind the scenes, none of my roommates brought bathing suits. That meant I got the swimming pool to myself. The owners of the house with the pool were much older. I got the impression they had not used it in years. Eventually, my roommates wised up and bought bathing suits, even though it was almost November. One afternoon, some of Betty's grandchildren joined us. It did not seem like their first time in that pool. Though Betty never donned a bathing suit, she kept an eye on those children like a meerkat. I wondered what it must have been like for her to watch a white woman, a few Chinese women, and her black grandchildren all swimming in the same water together, and then to know that it would never be an issue for the children.

Johannesburg is much bigger than Durban and probably has more to see and do. I preferred Durban for a few reasons. Our apartment was in a quiet residential neighborhood instead of in the middle of a shopping mall. The people we worked with in both cities were friendly, but the people of Durban were less big city uptight and more small town relaxed. Durban is on the Indian Ocean and has several beautiful beaches. Johannesburg is nowhere near a large body of water. We spent twice as much time in Durban, so I had more opportunity to wander around and explore on my own without any tour guides. I usually wake up before sunrise at home. After adjusting to the time difference in Johannesburg, I did the same most days in Durban. Since Durban is on the east coast, the beaches are an excellent place to watch the sun rise over the Indian Ocean. Simply walking down the Durban promenade was a better day than any of the scheduled tourist stops in Johannesburg.

Photograph by Liesel Muhl

African Tour:Johannesburg

Taoyuan International Airport
Taipei, Taiwan

Suvarnabhumi Airport
Bangkok, Thailand

Hamad International Airport
Doha, Qatar

OR Tambo International Airport
Johannesburg, South Africa

Flying from Taiwan to South Africa is pretty simple. We took Thai Airways from Taipei to Bangkok, then Qatar Airways from Bangkok to Doha and a separate flight from Doha to Johannesburg. It was supposed to take 24 hours.

Our first delay was in Bangkok. We spent nine hours at Suvarnabhumi Airport. They never told us why. As other passengers were put onto other flights, we waited. We were a larger group, so it was probably more difficult to find something for us. I am not normally a fan of waiting in airports for nine hours, but something interesting came out of it. Our original Bangkok to Doha flight was supposed to be on a Boeing 777, which I have flown on plenty of times. Our new flight was on an Airbus A380, which I had never flown before. The A380 is that double decker plane that was supposed to revolutionize air travel and replace the 747. Except it never did. Airbus built fewer than 300 planes in 18 years, compared to more than 1,500 planes in 50 years for the 747. Airbus lost money on the A380. Boeing made a fortune on the 747.

We finally left Bangkok at three in the morning. Because of time zones and that whole spinning of the Earth thing, our seven hour flight landed just before six in the morning. Hamad International Airport in Doha seems to be pretty popular. It wins awards from organizations that hand out awards to airports. The first time I went to Hamad International Airport was on my way to Barcelona. That flight was also delayed, so I spent ten hours in the award-winning airport in the middle of the night when all of the things that won the awards were closed.

This time, we spent almost 15 hours at the airport, starting at six in the morning when everything was closed. The advantage to being in a larger group was that the airline put us up in one of the airport hotels. The last thing they wanted was for any of us to leave the airport, not that we had any visas for Qatar. I was the only one in our group with a passport that could get me out of the airport without any extra paperwork. Since I only had 15 hours, and I am not wild about spending money in a country where being gay is a capital offense, I thought it best to stay with my group and take a break in that free hotel.

After dinner, we took an eight and a half hour flight to Johannesburg on a Boeing 777. Our 24 hour trip from Taipei took 44 hours.

Melrose Arch
We arrived in Johannesburg at four in the morning and were at our hotel before six. Another good thing about being in a larger group was that we could check into the hotel as soon as we got there. Solo travelers usually have to wait until the normal check in time, which is nowhere close to six in the morning. The Johannesburg Marriott Hotel Melrose Arch was a standard business hotel just like every Marriott I have ever seen anywhere in the world. For some reason, I assumed all of our hotels on this trip would be similar. They were not.

Melrose is a more upscale neighborhood of Johannesburg. The Melrose Arch is a new office/retail development that looks absolutely nothing like most of the city. It is how business leaders want Johannesburg to look and how community leaders know Johannesburg will never look. I do not and should not have a dog in this race, but if I had a vote, I would say the city should try to keep its traditional feel and not look like a pedestrian shopping mall. The entire Melrose Arch area reminded me of the outdoor pedestrian part of the Southpoint Mall in Durham, though only in appearance. Johannesburg feels nothing like North Carolina.

One of the first things I noticed about the Melrose Arch was the overt security presence. One thing we had been warned about before leaving Taiwan was the high crime rates in South Africa, especially Johannesburg. From what I could tell, it was all private security. That did nothing to make me feel safe. I know nothing about South African police training, but anywhere else I have ever been, private security companies do not generally hire the best of the best. In Jerusalem's Old City, you sometimes see armed soldiers. If you want safety, they are the way to go. Their training is some of the best in the world. Any job that pays the bills is something to be proud of, but mall cops are not going to take a bullet for you.

Not that we ever needed anything that extreme. Johannesburg was like New York or Los Angeles. There are some neighborhoods you might want to avoid at night and some you should probably stay out of altogether. Most of the city is perfectly safe for anyone not walking down the street waving large wads of cash. To the Taiwanese, none of that made any sense. You can walk any street in Taiwan at any time with the Hope Diamond in your gold crown and no one will look at you twice. Unless you are a foreigner. Then they will stare at you all day, without any violent intent. I never noticed anyone staring at us in South Africa. Then again, Johannesburg has the largest Chinese population in all of Africa, and people who look like me are nothing special.

We were two to a room in the hotel, which was not a problem at all since we spent most of our time either at work or visiting some tourist trap. I can barely remember what the room looked like. There was a lot of gray and beige. I suppose those are the fashionable colors right now. By South Africans standards, it was exceptionally dull and lacked the vibrant colors we saw all over the country.

The biggest disadvantage to traveling with a large group of Taiwanese is that they love guided tours. The larger the group, the better. When I go somewhere new, I want to wander around and get a little lost. The things I have accidentally stumbled across are far more interesting than anything some stranger booked in advance. When Taiwanese go somewhere, they want to shop, see the most popular sights in the travel guides, and eat at mostly Chinese restaurants that have been approved by previous Taiwanese tourists.

Since Johannesburg was our first stop on this African Tour, and I am a supervisor of sorts, I chose to stay with the group more than I wanted. In between rehearsals, shows, and all the driving back and forth, we piled into a charter bus when we had some time off and saw tiny slivers of Johannesburg that taught us almost nothing about the culture or its people.

Walter Sisulu Botanical Gardens
We went to the Walter Sisulu Botanical Gardens, which looked more like a park than a botanical garden. Apparently, they used to have a nursery, but it closed a few years ago. Its biggest selling point is a small waterfall that flows from a hill where some eagles live. I never saw any eagles, but we were in South Africa. Plenty of animals were right around the corner.

We went to the Old Kromdraai Gold Mine, one of the mines during South Africa's gold rush that put Johannesburg on the map. They still call Johannesburg the City of Gold, but only on brochures. No one actually called it that in person. While the history is important to South Africans, no one in our group was especially impressed by rusty old mine carts and the dirt entrance of a tunnel.

We took a walking tour of Sophiatown, a cultural and artistic haven at the beginning of the 20th century, much like Montmartre in Paris or Dashijie in Shanghai. At the time, artists of all races and backgrounds could mingle, drink too much, and discuss all the vast intricacies of life. Unfortunately, most of the original buildings were bulldozed when it became a white neighborhood and the black population was violently relocated to the Soweto township.

One of the better guided tours was the Alexandra bicycle tour. We rode bicycles around the Alexandra township, which is one of the poorest neighborhoods in Johannesburg and borders Sandton, one of the richest. There was a bit of a history lesson, but our guide mostly ignored the poverty around us and the fact that what we paid to ride bicycles could have bought books for a few families.

Soweto
The best and worst guided tour we took in Johannesburg was in Soweto. With a population of over one million people in two hundred square kilometers, it is by far the largest township in South Africa. The tour covered a small area while the tour guide tried to cram a lot of history into a short presentation. Most of my Taiwanese colleagues were completely unaware of South Africa's history. Apartheid was never something they studied in school, but it was a word they heard a lot in South Africa.

Our tour guide told us that Soweto was essentially a ghetto for black people, many of whom were evicted from their homes and forced to live in the township. They could only legally leave when going to work in the mines or other parts of Johannesburg. Someone in our group asked how the white people could control the black population that outnumbered them six to one. The convoluted answer was a long history of colonization and oppression by my ancestors. By the time Apartheid was the law of the land, the black majority was used to being treated like criminals. As the only white person on the bus, I did what my people have always done. I oversimplified a complicated situation for my Taiwanese colleagues and told them the whites had all the money.

As the only person on our tour group who knew anything about the history of South Africa, albeit not nearly enough, I was not at all surprised by anything our tour guide told us in Soweto. What surprised me were the living conditions. I expected a Hooverville of tin shacks with dirt floors, which do indeed exist. I thought Soweto would look more like Alexandra. But there were also plenty of paved roads, wood framed houses with tile roofs, lots of garages for all the cars, and ample electricity and indoor plumbing. At least in the daytime. Nelson Mandela's house is a small but sturdy brick and mortar building.

When I saw a tour group of white people strolling through the township, I wondered if their tour guide was showing them the real Soweto or the tourist version we were seeing. I never felt guilty while I was with Taiwanese people who had nothing to do with Apartheid. Had they lived in South Africa at the time, they would have been classified as Coloured, which sounds terrible where I come from and was even worse in 20th century South Africa. I could not help but look disapprovingly at the white tourists who were treating this home to a million people as some kind of tourist attraction, even though I was doing the same thing. My internal defense was that I never wanted to go there. I wanted to explore Johannesburg's vibrant present, not learn even more about its appalling past. When I go to Hiroshima, I visit the Peace Park, but I spend most of my time in the mix of near future and distant past.

In Johannesburg's present, we ate a great deal of food. That is unavoidable if you travel with a large group of Taiwanese. If they love anything more than shopping during their travels, it is easting. The food in South Africa was something I was not looking forward to at all. Most of the time, in my daily life, I can ignore the fact that I have no sense of smell and cannot taste flavors. When I go somewhere I have never been, especially somewhere as famous for its cuisine as South Africa, that reality hits me in the face at every meal. Had I been able to taste anything, I probably would have eaten like a Taiwanese.

Most of my colleagues wanted to try the local Chinese food. There was a basic, all over the place “Chinese” restaurant near the hotel. None of their dishes were familiar and no one was impressed. It never stood a chance anyway because it was not in the travel guides. Not the most adventurous people in the world, my traveling companions were really only interested in eating pre-approved food.

Oriental Plaza
Luckily for them, not so much for me, Johannesburg has more than a few shopping malls. They reminded me of every shopping mall everywhere in the world, except for the metal detectors at the door and private security guards checking bags before anyone could get in. The one mall I might remember in years to come was the Oriental Plaza, just down the M1 from our hotel. I thought the name was interesting because where I come from, it would be seen as insulting to the Chinese. The Chinese shoppers I was with could not have cared less. They were there for deals. Unlike most malls, shoppers could haggle on prices at the Oriental Plaza. Taiwanese love to haggle, even though prices are set at all malls in Taiwan. As for a taste of the Orient, nothing in the mall reminded anyone of home. They were mostly disappointed that it was run down and looked like it had seen better days.

Further east is China Town, several blocks of restaurants and shops that did not look the least bit Chinese. But there were Chinese signs all over the place, which I found strangely comforting, and most of the shops were owned and operated by Chinese immigrants. My colleagues loved it because they could speak to people in their language and eat food that was far more authentic than any of the upscale “Chinese” restaurants in town.

There were plenty of extremes in Johannesburg. We went to the poorest neighborhoods and some of the richest. We drove past car dealerships selling Maseratis and young men standing on the side of the road selling cell phone cases and plastic toys. There are roadside stalls selling fruit in Taiwan, but usually in rural areas. The most you will see in the city is someone selling flowers. In Johannesburg, larger than any city in Taiwan, you can buy anything at a stop light. Which are called robots, for some reason.

We also did some work here and there, but Johannesburg was more about adjusting and adapting. The work was nothing new. The audiences were, and they seemed to enjoy a look into a culture very different from theirs. Johannesburg will always be my gateway into Africa, which is probably not the best position to be in. I vividly remember my first visit to Tokyo, but the Ginza was sensory overload. There was too much to take in all at once. I get the feeling Johannesburg will feel the same way a few years down the road.

Johannesburg

---

I took thousands of photographs in South Africa. It is going to take a while to sort through them all. But since I will be describing some photogenic places, it feels wrong to not show any pictures. I will use placeholder photographs until I can replace them with my own, and give credit to the photographers when I know who they are.

African Tour

My dance company is going on tour in Africa. That is something I never really expected to say, but always wanted to. That is also an incredibly vague thing to say, like “Let's eat Asian food”. Africa is an enormous continent with at least 54 countries, thousands of different cultures, more than one thousand languages, and hundreds of religions. I will see almost none of it. We are scheduled to perform in Johannesburg, Pretoria, Durban, Cape Town, Nairobi, Mombasa, and Dar es Salaam. Three countries out of 54, in the far east and deep south. Calling it an African tour sounds disingenuous, like when rock stars go on a “world tour” to the United States, a few cities in Western Europe, and Tokyo.

The people planning this tour have been planning it for years. It would have happened earlier if not for a plague that killed some travel plans in North America and Europe. Fortunately, this was the one plague that was relatively kind to Africa. The total deaths in Kenya are about the same as Idaho. It barely touched Tanzania at all.

We leave on Tuesday. Despite how much I enjoy going to other places, especially places I have never been, and despite how much I have wanted to see bits of Africa for a long time, I am not looking forward to Tuesday. We have a four hour flight from Taipei to Bangkok, which is not so bad. But then we get on a different airline and fly Bangkok to Doha for seven hours. Extra airlines means extra people handling your luggage. The more it changes hands, the more likely it will get lost. We are bringing costumes, sets, and props. Losing those would ruin the entire trip. From Doha, we have an eight and a half hour flight to Johannesburg. Getting from here to there should take a little over 24 hours. After a night off, we get to work.

The tour ends in Dar es Salaam, but we have to fly back to Nairobi, from which we will fly five and a half hours to Doha, six and a half hours to Bangkok, and three and a half hours to Taipei. It is practically the same route back, except we arrive on the continent in Johannesburg and depart from Nairobi. Despite all the different airports in different countries, my only real concern is that I have an Israeli work visa in my passport and I have to fly through Qatar. They are not exactly best friends, though Qatar has less of a death to Israel stance than some of its neighbors.

According to the schedule, we will have some free time in Cape Town. I need to figure out if there is enough time to visit Kruger National Park. It is on the opposite side of the country from Cape Town, but it is one of the top places on my list. We will not have nearly as much free time in Johannesburg or Durban, which are much closer. Dar es Salaam is right next to Zanzibar, which I would love to go to, but there is probably not enough time. The trickiest part will be trying to extend my stay and hitting a national park or two in Kenya while everyone else flies home. If at all possible, I would really like to see the Serengeti in Tanzania, which is not unrealistically far from Nairobi. Cape Town to Kruger is more of a pipe dream than Nairobi to the Serengeti.

Whatever happens, I predict this will be an exceptional trip. We are cramming far too many places into far too short a time, so who knows how much I will really learn about anything, but it should be a unique experience. If nothing else, I should discover which places I need to go back to off the clock.

Fat Camp part 5The part about traveling

When I first came to the fat camp, it was supposed to be two weeks, with the option to add two more. I have chosen that option.

I have gained 1.5kg. That might not sound like a lot, and it's not, but after trying unsuccessfully to gain weight for two years, anything is an improvement. Maybe I have learned enough to gain a little more on my own, but I have no doubt that staying here another two weeks will be better for me than going home and falling back into my old routine. Medically, staying here is the right thing to do.

More importantly, I love the basic training aspect. The obstacle course is fun, but the self-defense classes are life changing. My krav maga instructor lives in Taiwan, so I will have to leave him sooner or later, but he recommended a class in Hong Kong. I don't doubt that I will continued for some time. The lessons are useful and great exercise.

I'm also taking advantage of how easy it is to travel from Taipei. Hong Kong is an easy city to fly in and out of. The airport is enormous and there are direct flights to at least 146 cities in 48 countries on 5 continents. Taipei's international airport is not as big, but I was more than a little surprised to learn that they have flights to over 100 cities in at least two dozen countries. Whether flying from Hong Kong or Taipei, most of the destinations seem to be the same. Not surprisingly, both airports have more flights to China than any other country. What I find interesting is that Taipei goes to far more cities in China. Obviously, there are no flights to Hong Kong from Hong Kong, but Taipei gets you to almost every city you can fly to from Hong Kong, with an additional 20 cities you can only reach from Taipei. Shenzhen, Macau and Jieyang are too close to warrant an international flight from Hong Kong, but cities like Harbin, Shenyang, Xuzhou, Hefei, Lanzhou and Lijiang are very far from Hong Kong, yet cannot be reached directly by plane.

You can get to roughly the same number of Japanese cities from Hong Kong or Taipei, but mostly not the same cities, other than the largest – Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, Fukuoka, Sapporo, Hiroshima.

Outside of China and Japan, Hong Kong is the better airport. You can only get to one city in the Middle East from Taipei – Dubai – while there are eight different options from Hong Kong. Europe is overwhelmingly in Hong Kong's favor. Every city available from Taipei is also an option from Hong Kong, except Vienna, while Hong Kong has an additional 10 European cities. For whatever reason, neither Hong Kong nor Taipei is the best airport for flights to North America. You can fly to Toronto and Vancouver from either, but less than a dozen American cities from both airports combined. Only Hong Kong has flights to Africa. Neither have any flights to South America.

Currently, it makes no difference whether I fly out of Hong Kong or Taipei. A large chunk of the world is unavailable at the moment, and most of the countries that are open have a long list of restrictions. Large parts of Europe are closed to all visitors. A few airports are only blocking flights from certain countries. I can still go to Prague, Athens and more than a few eastern European cities. Most of the Middle East is completely shut off, but I can go to Jordan, Bahrain and Turkey. Iran is open, oddly enough, but there were never flights from Hong Kong or Taipei. A large number of South American and Central American countries would let me in, but my airports don't fly to that part of the world. Maybe that is why they will let me in. I can always go to the United States, legally, but I can't think of any reason I would want to go there right now.

Maybe this is the best time to finally take a trip to Africa. More than a few African countries are open to all, or at least some of us. One of the worst parts about traveling to crowded places is how crowded it gets. This might be the best time to avoid all of that.

Then again, I am not at the fat camp to fly around the world. Maybe I should stick to day trips around Taiwan. Fortunately, I can reach anywhere in the country by train, bus or boat.

Romance In the Air

I just got back from Amsterdam, and once again, I went during a holiday and there was no snow. It never dipped below zero at night or below 10 degrees in the daytime. Even if it had been cold enough, it was simply too dry. There was some fog one day, but it was mostly sunny. The holiday part is a stretch.

My last visit to Amsterdam was during Christmas. That is a major holiday in that part of the world, and where I come from. It was nice to spend Christmas in a place that actually celebrates Christmas. This time, it was Valentine's Day, which is not a real holiday anywhere in the world. China has two Valentine's Days, the chocolate and greeting card day and a real festival on the 7th day of the 7th month, called Qixi. Neither is a national holiday.

I spent Valentine's Day at Hong Kong Airport. My flight left in the afternoon, so I had to be there in the morning. No matter what I do to make everything faster, it still takes all day. If I have to check in at the airport, I try to use the self check-in machines, but that is not always an option, depending on the airline. More often than not, I check in at the Airport Express. That is simply easier than checking in at the airport, and the lines are always shorter. Plus, if you have luggage, you can drop it off at the station and not drag it around on the train or through the airport. Unfortunately, I could never use that when I worked in Tel Aviv because I always flew El Al, and they have their own procedure. With Amsterdam, I should always be able to check in at Kowloon Station.

Getting through immigration is the easiest thing in the world since I use the e-channel, but even in the traditional giant snake line, it never really takes that long. It always moves, no matter how long the line is. That might be the most organized part of Hong Kong Airport.

No matter what steps you take to get to security and how quickly you move through the process, you will always come to a dead stop as soon as you stand in line to get your bags x-rayed. Part of the problem is that every single bag has to be scanned. An even bigger part of the problem is that no one in 2019, after all these years, seems to know that they are waiting in line to get their crap x-rayed. Whether waiting in line for ten minutes or an hour, no one in front of me is ever prepared to put their crap in the bins that go on the conveyor belt, and they all have to be told not to cram through the metal detector in flocks. It baffles me. Can it possibly be everyone's first time at an airport every time I go? I can only imagine how tedious it is for security to constantly remind people all day, every day about the same things they should already know by now.

Waiting for the plane is easy because I try to get to the airport as late as I possibly can without getting there too late. Getting on the plane is even easier since I usually fly business class for work. Economy is a nightmare. In Hong Kong, they never load everyone in zones. Instead, they announce that it is time to board and 300 people all stampede to be the first on the plane, as if it is going to leave without them if they come in second. Business class is always treated better by the airlines. If you can get someone else to pay the bill, all the better.

But even on business class, through the e-channel, with a local ID and checking in off site, spending less than a day at the airport seems impossible. While some people spent Valentine's Day at restaurants, in bed, with chocolate or too much alcohol, I spent it at the airport. For my Valentine's Day dinner, I had microwaved rice and vegetables in douchi sauce. But since it was business class, they served their slop in porcelain bowls instead of plastic.

A Invicta Cidade do Porto

While I was struggling with Spanish, made harder by the fact that the language of Barcelona is Catalan, we went to Portugal. Catalan feels like a dialect of Spanish, but I'm told it branched out of Latin, independent of Spanish. In writing, Catalan looks similar to French, but the pronunciation sounds slightly more Italian. Not that it ever really mattered. Everyone I met spoke Spanish. If you grew up in Catalunya, you learned Spanish in school. Older people were even forbidden to learn Catalan when they were younger. And a lot of people in Barcelona speak English. Except at Tim Hortons, for some reason. No one who works there spoke English. Fortunately, I know how to say, “Diez timbits para llevar, por favor.” What flavors? That is why pointing was invented. Even if everyone in the donut shop speaks the same language, you point at what you want. Except at Krispy Kreme. Then you only have to tell them how many boxes of glazed donuts you want.

Portuguese is a horse of a different color (un caballo de un color diferente, probably something diferente em portugues). In writing, it looks similar to Spanish, but nothing sounds the same. Read something aloud in Portugal the way you would read it in Spain and the person you are speaking to will have no idea what you are talking about. Let them read the paper and they will understand it completely. It reminded me of Chinese, except that Portuguese and Spanish are entirely different languages while Chinese and Chinese are region specific.

We spent a week in Portugal, in the small coastal city of Porto. By Portuguese standards, Porto is considered a large city. It has about as many people as Richmond, Virginia, so I consider it a small city. When you live in China, anything with fewer than 5 million people is a small city. Under 500,000 is a tiny village. Porto is one of those little European villages that likes to think it is an old city. As an American, I'm supposed to be impressed by how old it is. Porto was founded almost one thousand years before my home state. But again, living in China changes your perspective. By the time Porto got its own flag, China had already had a hundred civil wars, rebellions, insurrections, uprisings, insurgencies and revolutions. One hundred might sound like embellishment or hyperbole, but I'm probably low balling it.

We flew to Porto even though there are plenty of trains to and from Barcelona. The idea was that planes are faster. But with a train, you buy your ticket and get on the train. You can arrive at the station five minutes before your train leaves. There are probably restrictions on what you can bring in your luggage. Bombs and rocket launchers might not be allowed. But no one ever checks. Bring whatever you want on the train. Airports are a little more strict. Water, of all things, is forbidden. You can bring water on the plane, but you have to buy the $10 bottle from the airport. A two hour flight takes seven hours, at least. Then you have to get from the airport to wherever you are going. Airports are rarely anywhere near the city center. Train stations are mostly downtown.

Downtown Porto was a nice looking city. I can't say it was the best looking city in Europe. There is too much competition for that title. But it was nice to look at, especially at night. The lights along the river and across Ponte de Dom Luis I were far more subtle than anything I see every day in Hong Kong. When you are in Porto, you have to walk across the bridge. It's like going up the Eiffel Tower. You never see the locals doing it, but it is always packed full of people.

We rarely used the metro, but it looked like your typically efficient European public transportation. And it has to be. Porto is a hilly city. It's like San Francisco on steroids, with cobblestones instead of smooth pavement. And more hills. San Francisco has the Embarcadero and Golden Gate Park. I never saw any flat areas in Porto. Even the riverbanks went from water to hills. Walking around the city counts as a daily workout. There are a couple of streetcars, so you can get around and still see the city, but they are overpriced and don't really go anywhere. I think they are strictly for the tourists.

When I walked around, I saw construction. Everywhere. I don't know if it is always like this because of all the old buildings or I came at the wrong time, but it felt like every corner I turned led to more scaffolding and large machines making heavy noises. Mercado do Bolhao, easily the most famous market in the city, was completely closed for renovation. There was a temporary market a block away, but it was much smaller and had absolutely no charm.

It was also impossible to walk anywhere without a busker around the corner. I only saw one or two in Barcelona, but they were out in force in Porto. I can only imagine what it is like at the height of tourist season. Most of them were not especially good, but they all played songs I recognized. One busker at the Ribeira stood with his back to the river and sang “Tiny Dancer”, “Imagine” and REM's “Nightswimming”. He only had an acoustic guitar and a weak voice, but he obviously loved what he sang. Hearing familiar songs in public is becoming increasingly rare the further I grow out of touch with today's music. The buskers of Porto, at least, were as stuck in the past as I am.

Just outside the city, at the mouth of the Douro River, is the Atlantic Ocean. As oceans go, it was a nice change of pace. There were long beaches along the Foz do Douro, but it was still not good beach weather. It was a sunnier day than when I went to the Barcelona beach, but it was still October. I'm sure the Atlantic Ocean is colder than the Mediterranean. I have nothing to back that up. It's just an assumption.

In Porto, we stayed in a hotel that called itself an apartment. The Barcelona apartment was an actual apartment. It looked and felt like an apartment, and had obviously been around a while. The Porto “apartment” was shiny and new. It had a tiny kitchen and separate living room/bedrooms, but it felt nothing like an apartment. Since we were only there for a week, it never really mattered. A week in a hotel can be a nice break. For a month or two, a genuine apartment is always better. Hotels can get old pretty fast, and you always feel like a visitor. In an apartment, you can pretend you actually live there. The funny thing is, I spent twice as much time in Barcelona as I did in Paris a few years ago, but I felt more like I was living in Paris. Maybe it was a greater familiarity with the language and culture. Or maybe I just like Paris better. Barcelona seems like a good place, but I never felt any real connection. Maybe I have to go back some day.

Trapped in Qatar

In August, I was offered a job in Barcelona. I took it because I had nothing else lined up and, free trip to Barcelona. It took a few months to work out the logistics, but in October, I flew the million miles across the globe. It is closer to 6,000 miles, but it felt like longer. I did not fly directly from Hong Kong to Barcelona. I know those flights exist because I have seen their boarding gates at the airport. Instead, I flew Hong Kong to Doha, Qatar. That's 10 hours.

Then came my favorite part. The flight landed in Doha at 23:30 and the flight to Barcelona left at 09:00 the next day. When I saw these numbers, I knew there would be two options. Either I would be stuck in an airport when everything is closed in the middle of the night for 9 hours or I would be stuck in a shopping mall in the middle of the night for 9 hours. Either choice sounds hellish to me.

It turns out Hamad International Airport has a hotel you can stay in without going through immigration and leaving the airport. They even have special rates for people staying 5 hours or more. That sounded great to me. Until I went to the reception counter and found out the price. Their special short term rate was US$600. For 9 hours. I don't want to know the full day rate.

Actually leaving the airport might have been an option, but how much of Doha is awake in the middle of the night? I know pretty much nothing about Qatar, but I know that the Mediterranean side of the Middle East is not exactly Las Vegas. Jerusalem's streets are beautifully harrowing at three in the morning. The fact that I know that made me hesitate to even look into leaving the airport. As a transfer passenger, no one in Doha looked at my passport. Had I left the airport, someone might have noticed the Israeli visa. Would they care? I don't really know. I suppose it would depend on what was happening in the news that week. I'm willing to bet that most of the people in most of the Persian Gulf region only buy into the propaganda when they are forced to. But I only had 9 hours. Dealing with repressive governments that hate women usually takes longer.

The airport was fully open in the middle of the night. There was more than enough food and shopping available at 03:00. I found a relatively comfortable chair near a children's play area and, since I traveled alone, did not sleep a wink.

After waiting 10 hours for my flight, since it was delayed, I flew from Doha to Barcelona. That's another 8 hours.

At Barcelona Airport, someone was waiting for me. That was pretty good since I was staying at an apartment rather than a hotel and telling a taxi driver where it was would have been difficult. The person who picked me up talked non-stop the entire 45 minute drive. I have no idea what he said. I think he was speaking English. After 33 hours on planes and at airports, he could have been speaking Klingon for all I know. Fortunately, the apartment was ready for me and the bed sheets were clean.

The point of this trip was to work in Barcelona, which I did. What I knew nothing about beforehand was that I would also be going to Amsterdam and two different cities in Portugal. Barcelona took months to plan. Everything else just happened.

High School Reunion8. When Bellyfeel Leads to Goodthink

I had almost no time in Minneapolis on my last day, so I spent the morning at my ex-boyfriend's mother's house. I don't know when we will see each other again. It was six years between the last visits. She is always welcome to come out to me, but it is easier for me to go to her.

My flight to Chicago left just after noon. It is only a 90 minute flight, but since it left from an American airport, I had to be there entirely too early. A 90 minute flight out of Hong Kong would board about 15-30 minutes before takeoff. There are other places to check in besides the airport check in counter, but if you go that route, you should get there about an hour before the flight time. Once you have your boarding pass, however you get it, getting through the x-ray machines and immigration can take up to 30 minutes, if it is crowded.

None of that would fly in the United States. The politicians want the people to fear everything and everyone. Paranoia leads to the illusion of security. Actual security would take too much effort. It is far easier to pay some people slightly more than minimum wage and give them a week of half-assed training. The consequence of Americans living in fear, and their elected leaders feeding into it all, is that American airports are the most cumbersome and least efficient of any I have ever seen anywhere in the world. Everyone puts up with it because that's the way people are. You don't like what your government is doing? Oh, well. What can you do? That is not only an American attitude. That is all over the world. Maybe some day people will realize that they vastly outnumber those who claim to rule over them. But for now, I have to spend the afternoon in a shopping mall/airport just to fly 300 miles. If you include airport bureaucracy, flying takes the same amount of time as driving. What can I do?

There was more bullshit at O'Hare to keep the world safe from democracy, but eventually, I was on a Chinese plane headed to China. I felt a sense of relief once that plane took off. Let's think about that for a second. I was glad to get out from under the blunt force trauma of American bureaucracy and felt at peace when I knew I was going into China. The People's Republic of Bloody Communist China. There is more than enough bullshit bureaucracy in China. Far more than enough. But I would rather go through a Chinese airport than an American airport any day of the week.

When I was growing up, we were constantly told that the United States was the greatest country in the history of countries. God himself pointed down at the good part of North America and said, “Let this land have the best systems of education, justice, science and government in the entire universe. It will have superior athletes and better sports than those pesky Europeans. And it will be a shining beacon of freedom for everyone, except black people, women, brown immigrants, poor people, anyone who sleeps with the wrong person … Hell, in the beginning, they will even hate the Irish. Imagine that.”

In my teen years, I realized that the United States had a few flaws, but that was ok. “Are education ain't perfect, but it be the most best in the world,” they told us. “The judicial system is not perfect, but it is the best in the world.” “The (whatever is broken) is not perfect, but it is the best in the world.” For several generations, Americans were told that we have the best of everything in the world. Just like the people of North Korea or Saudi Arabia, we believed whatever they told us. Americans are mostly pretty ignorant of the outside world, so how would we know what they are doing in other countries. And people from other countries are always trying to move to the United States. We must be the best, right?

Then came the internet. Now, you can talk to people who live in other countries while they are sitting in those countries. The funny thing is, the world is not all jealous of us. Many of them know they got a much better education. A few of them live in countries where the police and courts treat everyone equally, regardless of race, gender or income. Most of them have passports and travel around the world. They see what foreign countries are like rather than rely on government propaganda.

Apologists will say there are places worse than the United States. That is absolutely true. There are still countries where it is illegal to be gay or where women are property or minorities are second class citizens. At least in the United States, women, homosexuals and minorities are treated with dignity and respect, right?

So now we have gone from the United States is the greatest country in the world to the United States is not the absolute worst. How did that happen? Is it the president's fault? Is it the media's fault? Maybe it's those damn video games. Or, here's a thought, maybe the United States never had the best of everything. Maybe the United States has always been a paradise for a select few, a nightmare for marginalized groups and an above average society for everyone in between. Maybe it has not really gone to hell in a handbasket. In many ways, the country is better than it has ever been, certainly for most minorities. There is enormous room for improvement, especially if you want to catch up with some of those northern European countries, Japan or New Zealand. There is also plenty of room to slip further behind. Many of our leaders want to go backward, mostly to a point where they could skim more money without getting arrested. A tiny few want to move forward for everyone's benefit. Most just want to cling onto their jobs for as long as they can.

When I lived in the United States, none of these thoughts used to cross my mind while waiting at the airport. I was a good citizen. I did nothing to upset the Party. But back then, going through an airport was quick and easy. It's funny how authoritarianism makes you think about things.

High School Reunion1. The Great Suburban Showdown

Flying east on a plane
Drinking all that free champagne
I guess I saw this coming down the line
And I know it should be fun
But I think I should've packed my gun
Got that old suburban showdown in my mind

Sit around with the folks
Tell the same old tired jokes
Bored to death on Sunday afternoon
Mom and Dad, me and you
And the outdoor barbecue
Think I'm gonna hide out in my room

I've been gone for a while
Made some changes in my style
And they say you can't go home anymore
Well the streets all look the same
And I'll have to play the game
We'll all sit around in the kitchen chairs
With the TV on with the neighbors there

Out in the yard
Where my Daddy worked so hard
He never lets the crab grass grow too high
Oh, the place hasn't changed
And that's why I'm gonna feel so strange
But I'll have to face the music by and by

I've been gone for a while
Made some changes in my style
And they say you can't go home anymore
Well the streets all look the same
And I'll have to play the game
We'll all sit around in the kitchen chairs
With the TV on with the neighbors there

We'll drive into town
When this big bird touches down
I'm only coming home to say goodbye
Then I'm gone with the wind
And I won't be seen again
Till that great suburban showdown in the sky

© 1974 Billy Joel


I was thinking about that Billy Joel song a lot before I left for Minnesota. The details are different in my situation, but the spirit is the same.

I flew east, but flying west would have only been a couple thousand more miles. There was no free champagne. I think they only do that in first class, and first class from Hong Kong to Minneapolis is beyond my budget. But I splurged a little and flew business class on the Hong Kong to Chicago leg. My last flight before this trip was on a private plane, so 15 hours in economy would have been unbearable. I flew the Chicago to Minneapolis leg in economy because it is only an hour and a half, and since it was on an American airline, the business class price was absurd.

Naturally, dealing with two different flight classes on the same trip made it more complicated than it should have been. Ordinarily, I probably would have flown on Delta from Tokyo to Minneapolis. Minneapolis-Saint Paul International is one of Delta's largest hubs and they have flights spreading out all over the place, just not to Hong Kong. But Delta's business class rate was too high. Cathay Pacific was far more reasonable, but a different airline handled the Chicago-Minneapolis leg. I'm the one who wanted to do things a little differently, so I guess all the unnecessary complications were my fault. I need to learn how to just do what the giant corporations tell me to do.

I did not pack a gun on the flight, obviously, but I did bring my international driver's permit, just in case the opportunity to borrow someone's car presented itself, and my Hong Kong driver's license, because the international permit is only valid with a home license. On the flight from Hong Kong to Chicago, no one cared what kind of documents I had with me, as long as I had my passport. At O'Hare, they searched my bags like it was going out of style. All the Chinese must have confused them.

My Hong Kong driver's license looks like a library card. It would be ridiculously easy to counterfeit. Since we have a separate ID card, no one uses their driver's license as ID, so all that matters are that the names and numbers match. My international driver's permit looks harder to fake, but it has a lot of Chinese writing, as well as English. My Hong Kong ID is more high tech, and probably difficult to counterfeit, but it also has Chinese writing all over the place. The reason that confused the undertrained TSA agents in Chicago was because I do not look the least bit Chinese. Telling them that I live in China meant nothing. The first agent asked me if I was there on business. Apparently, that is the only way an American would ever live in China. The fact that I was taking a domestic flight from Chicago to Minneapolis probably did not help. Maybe it would have been easier with the international terminal TSA agents. I only dealt with them on the flight home, and they were not at all confused that I was going to China. They probably assumed it was for business. Of course, it would have been easier if they simply kept their dirty mitts out of my purse, but you know how dangerous ID cards are.

I suppose I should be happy that I was not strip searched or got to do one of those fancy full body cavity searches. “Better safe than sorry”, Americans say to rationalize their loss of liberty. But it is not safer. Getting x-rayed six ways to Sunday does not make you safe. Throwing away your $1 bottle of water so you can buy a $10 bottle of water inside the airport is not about safety. Four ounces of shampoo is not more dangerous than 3.4 ounces. Taking off your shoes does not make you safe. Profiling little old ladies so you can pretend you do not profile certain ethnic groups does absolutely nothing to make anyone safe. Making mothers drink bottled breast milk to prove it is not a super spy potion is not better safe than sorry. It is stupid. An argument can be made that wasting time on people who are highly unlikely to be terrorists takes time away from people who might need more scrutiny. It is not racist to realize that a 20-year-old man flying alone is more likely to do damage than an 80-year-old woman with her family.

Since moving to Hong Kong, I have flown to a few countries in Europe, East Asia, Canada, Israel, Mainland China and the United States. None of those flights presented any particular security challenge. Even the flights into the United States went relatively smoothly, probably because they all left from Hong Kong. It was always the airports within the United States that caused the most trouble. The Roman Empire was also unusually paranoid right before it fell.

Dating Underwater9. Serenity Now

I woke up early in the morning after sleeping more soundly than I have in a long time. A small inn in the mountains on an island is nothing like my apartment in the middle of Hong Kong. The last time I went out of town was Beijing, and I did not sleep well on that trip at all.

Hisoka was already in Tokyo for his big meeting. The plane that got me to Hiroshima was going back to Hong Kong in the afternoon. If I wanted to leave later or spend another night, I would have to book a commercial flight. I thought about finding a hotel in Hiroshima and spending some time there, but I have not had a real job since September. A free flight home was probably a good idea.

Miyajima was just as deserted in the early morning as it was at night, but far sunnier. The hotel gave me a ride into the village and I wandered around what looked like a ghost town. Itsukushima Shrine was practically resting on the water at high tide the day before. The reflection off the water made the torii look like it was floating. In the early morning low tide, the shrine sat on solid ground. The torii was in mud and tiny puddles.

Having already seen the village, I went in the only direction I could go without a boat. I walked uphill until the street became a path. It only took a few minutes for the village to dissolve into woods. As I walked up a gradual incline, the stream near my path casually ran downhill. The woods were completely deserted, except for a few deer who were neither impressed nor offended by my presence.

The quiet was amazing. The island was asleep. Even the birds were not yet awake. I heard almost none in the hours when they usually make the most noise. The deer were awake, but they make so little noise, they can sneak up on you without warning.

Every time the path crossed one stream or another, there was a small wooden bridge with red railings. The paths went from pavement to dirt to stone steps, but each bridge was built with pride and purpose. The temples and shrines were small enough to blink and miss. I only noticed a few because they had bright red torii out front. Even when the shrines were camouflaged by the woods, the torii stood out.

With no tourists in sight, I felt like I was experiencing the island the way it was meant to be. I was a tourist, but I was not part of a group, making noise, throwing trash on the ground or complaining that my surroundings were not like home. Miyajima is a sacred island, and in the peaceful early morning hours, I could see why. When people wandered onto the island thousands of years before tourist gift shops were invented, they must have thought they were in heaven. I wanted nothing more than to stay there all day, but when the ferries starting arriving, there would be backpackers and selfie sticks. Sooner or later, a Chinese tour group would arrive. I love a lot of things about Chinese culture, but Chinese tour groups are anything but silent and serene. My private holy site could not remain private for long. I also had a plane to catch if I wanted to go home for free.

Getting from Hong Kong to Miyajima would have been difficult without Hisoka, mostly because I did absolutely no research before I left. Getting back was easy. The hotel happily drove me to the Miyajima pier. The ferry to Hiroshima was straightforward. Getting a taxi at the Hiroshima pier was effortless. There were more than enough waiting around. It was a long taxi ride without anyone to talk to, since the driver did not speak English, but I had music.

Checking in at the airport was a little complicated. I was taking a private flight and everything inside the airport was designed for commercial flights. After asking a few people at information booths, with varying degrees of information, I found myself where I needed to be. They were expecting me. Getting on the plane in Hiroshima was just as easy as it had been in Hong Kong, even without a dozen Japanese businessmen.

The flight was empty. I'm pretty sure that every flight I have ever taken out of Hong Kong was fully booked. I can't remember the last time I was on a plane with several empty seats. This was definitely the first time I was the only passenger. I'm sure the service is always first class on a private flight, but when the entire crew only has one passenger, they pay attention to you.

When I asked the purser why they did not simply cancel the flight, she explained that the plane had to go back to Hong Kong. That flight was going to happen whether I was there or not. Had I stayed in Hiroshima and taken a commercial flight back, the private plane would have flown empty. At least the crew could have relaxed. With me there, they had very little to do, but they were all on the clock.

Back at home, I had time to contemplate the strangest first date I have ever had. I want a second date, and I know Hisoka does too, since we have spoken on the phone, but I doubt he has enough free time to date anyone. I cannot go to Tokyo every time I want to see him and he cannot come to Hong Kong just to see me. The private plane is not his personal property. Using it to shuttle us back and forth is not always going to be an option.

And if we do have a second date, it will be hard to top the first one. He would have to take me to Bora Bora or somewhere ridiculously amazing. We will be lucky if he can find the time for dinner and a walk in the park. But whatever happens, we will always have Miyajima.

Dating Underwater3. Flight 22

I wanted to meet Hisoka at the airport. I have been to Hong Kong International Airport I don't know how many times. Almost every time I leave the city is by plane, even going into Mainland China. The boating exception was the ferry to Macau. Hong Kong Airport is huge, but easy to navigate. It is one of the easiest airports in the world to get to from downtown, but the Airport Express goes to the passenger terminals. We were flying out of the Business Aviation Centre, which is on the south end of the island. Apparently, getting from one section of the airport to another is difficult. In China, if you want to do something different from what a billion other people do, no one knows how. Hisoka said he was taking a taxi to the airport and they should pick me up on the way.

I don't have a lot of rules about dating, but one of them is to avoid letting a first date know where I live, if at all possible. You always take a risk when you go out with a strange man for the first time. That is why dates are usually at restaurants or other crowded places. On the other hand, I was going out of the country with this guy, but that has never come up before.

Hisoka was staying at the Harbour Grand Kowloon on the Hung Hom Promenade, next to that shopping boat. Whatever that thing is. I knew his hotel was a quick MTR ride away, so we met there. When I walked into the lobby, he was ready to go. That was a good sign. I like people who are punctual. He was also talking to a few Japanese businessmen wearing similar suits as his. He introduced me to his friends, who eagerly shook my hand and bowed politely. Everyone looked Hisoka's age or slightly older, but there was one man who was clearly the boss. Within any group of Japanese businessmen, you can always tell who holds seniority. They worked for a software company, but they were not Silicon Valley casual. I was starting to wonder what kind of date this was going to be.

Hisoka told me that we were waiting for a few more people. When they arrived, they apologized to everyone, especially the boss, met me and apologized to me. I waited less than five minutes, but I have no idea how long everyone else was waiting for these slugabeds. When everyone was ready, a dozen of us piled into two black passenger vans. I was expecting a red and white taxi with Hisoka. This was not how dates usually go. I took comfort in the fact that Hisoka was the most handsome man in this group. They all wore the same uniform and were clearly on the same team, but he stood out.

I realized why going to his hotel was better than meeting at the airport as soon as we drove off the freeway and took a different bridge from Lantau to Chek Lap Kok. While the freeway ends right in front of the terminals, the small road we were on hugged the coast and veered away from all of the passenger buildings. We drove almost the length of the island until we turned into a tiny but fortified parking lot. In a structure infinitely smaller than Terminal 1, we were greeted by a woman in a uniform who knew we were coming.

The Business Aviation Centre is what I imagine airports used to be like back when everyone dressed up to go anywhere and carried small suitcases and hat boxes. Or at least the simplicity of the airport in the “Room for one more, honey” Twilight Zone episode. The Business Centre had a check-in counter and passport control, but it was on a much smaller, faster and simpler scale. Everyone in the building knew what flight we were on and passports were stamped without inspection or interrogation. Except mine. Since I have a Hong Kong ID, they never stamp my passport. I scan it on departure and arrival and the computers keep track of everything.

Hisoka and his friends found that terribly convenient. They asked the woman who stamped their passports if they could use the e-channel without a Hong Kong ID. And of course, they can. Hong Kong has a frequent visitor card for people who come often. I was surprised that Hisoka never knew about it, considering how often he flies to Hong Kong. While I waited in the Business Centre lounge, which was like any airport first class lounge, they all filled out paperwork for next time.

I brought an overnight bag, just in case, but I had not made up my mind about spending the night. I wanted to, mostly because I had never been to Hiroshima, but I was still wrapping my mind around how strange this all was. Everyone had luggage, but they were all going home while I was going somewhere new. The plane had more than enough room for all of us.

So far, there was nothing about this first date that reminded me of a first date.

When everyone was ready, which was hours faster than any commercial flight, we were escorted outdoors where two men in uniforms were standing next to the staircase that led into the plane. There was even a tiny red carpet, for some reason. It was about the size of a beach towel, so it served no real purpose. Between the building and plane, we still had to walk on the pavement like the common folk.

Since I knew we were taking a private flight, I was expecting a small plane that holds four to eight people, like a Gulfstream or Learjet. Our plane was larger, maybe a Boeing 727 or Airbus A318. There were too many of us for a tiny plane, but this plane looked too big. Inside, it was much smaller. Instead of a hundred tiny seats all crammed together, it was decorated to make business executives feel important. The interior looked like some CEO's office. There were still more seats than passengers, but there were also sofas, tables and desks. Beyond the bathroom, which was larger and cleaner than any airplane bathroom I have ever seen, there was a private office. This was nothing like economy class.

It was a short flight to Hiroshima, but for Hisoka, it was a business meeting. Everyone in a suit huddled around a desk and talked shop the entire flight. I sat in a reclining lounge chair and listened to music. It never seemed to bother anyone that I was there. If it did, they were too polite to let me know.

The plane was about this size.

The Great Wall of China26. Going Home

Beijing to Hong Kong is only a four hour flight, but after eight days in an uncomfortable hospital bed, I was not looking forward to cramming into a tiny economy seat. Air China was nice enough to upgrade us to business class.

Amy and I flew into Beijing on Hong Kong Airlines, but we never made the return flight. Hong Kong Airlines had no interest in returning our money for the missed flight or even giving us a reduced rate, so Lily booked a flight with Air China. Not only did they give her last minute tickets at a deep discount, but they provided the best customer service I have ever seen from an airline in China. The wheelchair and obvious head wound probably helped. Bumping us to business class was icing on the cake.

Kevin suggested getting another wheelchair at Hong Kong Airport. Arriving in Hong Kong is quick and easy when you have a Hong Kong ID, but the airport is pretty big and the arrival gate could be far from passport control. A flight attendant reminded us that the airport has little electric golf carts that people can ride for HK$50. Anyone who has been to Hong Kong Airport has seen these things racing around, but none of us had ever used them. Terminal 1 is the third largest airport terminal in the world, right behind Beijing Capitol. Walking from one end to the other can take a while, but the golf carts can do it in a few minutes.

The first thing I did when we got home was take a nap. Our flight landed at 22:00, so I knew my nap was going to last all night, especially when I lay down on the most comfortable bed in the history of the world. I was still supposed to sleep with my head elevated, but that is why Gustave Pillot de Chambre invented the pillow. That was the best unsedated night's sleep I had in over a week.


The Great Wall of China part 1