Admittedly calling my visit to Boston and New York a "tour" is stretching the meaning of that word a little far! After my previously recounted slightly nightmarish flight to Boston, I managed to get almost all I wanted from that city- delicious food, time to hang out with my sister and SNOW! It wasn't the huge storm that has been forcasted, it wasn't even a reason for the local schools to close (which they did anyway), but it was snow. Pretty flakes wandering their way down to the ground and not even sticking until the late afternoon. I suggested a walk and an excursion to find me some shoes that were not so Chinese (read: marginally practical and sequin-free) so my sister and I armed ourselves with warm clothing and rode the T down to Downtown Crossing, an area I fondly remember from many previous visits. We stopped into almost every other store, as much to shop as to stay slightly dry. We walked for a long time and eventually the snow did start coming down a little faster and actually staying on the ground so that by the time we made it across the Commons it actually did look like winter. I'm pretty sure I embarrassed my sister by randomly raising my arms and exclaiming "Snow!" every so often, but, why not, eh?
The snow basically just made me want to stay here. I imagine myself in a small apartment, somewhere in New England, toasty warm, sipping some warm beverage (my sister's friend's suggestion of hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps possibly) and watching the snow fall. Quite the departure from my recent praises of the life I lead in Shantou, no? But somehow this image is much more pleasant than "sitting on the last cool tile in the apartment trying to find a way not to sweat to death, occasionally dragging myself to the water cooler, but not wanting to stray too far from the fan/ A/C combo".
I had originally worried that the impending snowstorm would delay my departure for NYC, but when I saw that lack of blizzard, I went ahead with my original plan. The bus ride was smooth and short (you know you've been in China too long when 4.5 hours on a bus counts as a short trip!) and while I immediately found "The City" to be giant and a little overwhelming, I dragged myself and my suitcase to my cousins' place without any problems. I had been a little apprehensive about staying with said cousins as I don't actually know them very well, they have a 10-month old and I never know how to deal with small children. Turns out, as usual, I needn't have worried. My cousin's wife was very welcoming and easy-going, we picked up their offspring and he kept us entertained until dinner and bedtime. I have to admit to jetlag making it very difficult for me to stay up past 9pm but somehow that worked out fine too.
After much more chatting the next day, I discovered that pre-school teachers love to make their charges decorate things with colorful handprints when we picked up Mathias and he made a Valentine's card for his parents by sticking 2 very pink handprints onto a construction paper heart. This is apparently destined to go with the handprint turkey from Thanksgiving, the handprint reindeer from Xmas, the handprint mess from some other holiday and the footprint circle, possibly from Labour Day... pre-school teacher is a career I can cross off my list!
That is, in fact, the only one I have crossed off, by the way. I just took a typing break to re-read a past post and am pretty sure that I change my mind about next year approximately every time I blog. In November I was "definitely leaving", a couple of weeks ago I was "pretty much staying put" and now I'm "What am I doing with my life?! I have no idea what to do next year!!" This brand new change of tune comes from a discussion with my cousin about change and new opportunities. Her husband, who works for the UN, has been offered a chance to move to Geneva. She was telling me about the different aspects of the move she was looking forward to and also about the activities she hopes to engage in there. I'm not saying I'd live in Geneva (although, why not?) but the realisation struck me that they have "a life". In NYC, she gets to take yoga and samba classes, meet up with friends, have a routine and, if she wants to go and do something cultural, she's only a subway ride away. Maybe most importantly though, she is "home". It's not that I don't feel at home in Shantou, I do; it's that I'm perpetually in the situation of having to make decisions about what I want to have with me and what I can "live without". I accumulate a lot, but there are plenty of things I don't get or have that I could do with, because I know that eventually I will have to find a way to take everything with me. It takes time to dismantle 4 years of a life and it's going to take a lot of boxes to ship the results of said time. Yesterday I was trying to figure out how I'd get all my stuff back to wherever I end up next and what I'd leave behind. I'm a self-avowed packrat so I know that whenever I head out of Shantou, there will be several boxes following me by slow-boat. My current flight out of Chinaland gives me a luggage allowance of 20kg... I'm pretty sure that I could use triple that and still need to ship quite a lot. If I decide to leave, I may have to see if I can change flights or if buying a whole new ticket with a more reasonable airline ends up being cheaper and more convenient than boxing things up and trusting the postal service. And, anyway, where do I ship things? Just one more thing to consider... If I spent as much time working as I do angsting, my plans for the semester would already be done!
On a last note before I try to pack up all I've acquired on this trip into the bag I arrived with, the rest of the weekend didn't do too much to encourage me to remain in China for too much longer, if only because of the many pounds of brownies, the other delicious foods, the amateur opera singer in the subway serenading passengers with Ave Maria and Panis Angelicus (my two favourite pieces- coincidence?) and, of course, the snow! Getting covered in snow and possibly getting sick can't dampen (pun intended) my enthusiasm for cold flakes of water... masochist?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Smooth flying?
Advice to travelers: when you are informed that a flight will be delayed, but not by how long or why exactly the delay occurred and you have a connection to make, don't check in anyway assuming that the check-in desk clerk knows what he's doing. If you do, you may find yourself sitting in the terminal, waiting by the gate, checking the little all-knowing screen to find out that the flight status is "flight delayed" and the only consolation is the offer of complimentary snacks and drinks... for an unspecified amount of time.
The problem with yesterday's situation wasn't that I don't know that if I have an hour and ten minutes to catch a connecting flight and that my first one is delayed by more than an hour and a half a miracle would have to occur for me to make it to the appropriate gate in time. The problem was that I trusted the little man behind the desk when he told me that I'd just be moved onto a later flight without any problems. I was calm, I figured that since I was traveling for fun I wouldn't make his life a living hell or complain unnecessarily. I went through customs, got my bag searched and sat down to wait. Then I waited until I called my mother and after some search discovered that the only later flight I could connect to in Reykjavik (could have been an exciting stop) was 5 minutes after the one I was scheduled to be on. After that, it would be an overnight wait until at least 10 a.m. Fanta-freakin'-tastic... Feeling a little sheepish for having to get travel advice from my mom when I consider myself fairly well-versed in the ways of airlines, I took her advice to go to the check-in desk and ask to be rebooked onto another airline to get me to the US sometime in the next 12 hours, possibly under the guise of having a job interview or some such.
I ran back and forth and calmly explained that I did not want to sleep in Reykjavik to which the lady behind the counter very accommodatingly replied that I could be transferred without any problems, that the people at the desks didn't always know what they were doing and that I never should have been checked-in anyway... Thanks for telling me something I already knew. I grabbed my flight coupons and marched upstairs to the arrivals gate and over to yet another counter to retrieve my luggage which she had erroneously told me would be done in 15 minutes... The guys there disagreed, guessed at 1 hour and sent me off to the terminal at the other end of the airport to check in for my shiny new American Airlines flight to New York... only to be sent right back to get my luggage since I couldn't check my body in without doing the same for my bag (at this point, please note that I had ridden the little train across the airport 4 times already).
I did eventually get the bag and myself all checked-in through to New York and found out that my Boston connection was full already and I would possibly not be able to get to said city the same night. They did make sure that they asked as many dumb questions about my bags as possible in the process however and I now know all the announcements on the airport shuttle by heart.
The flight itself was very empty, to the point where basically every passenger had 3 seats and we were all able to lie down to ignore the very dumb movies being forced on us. In NYC, the lines for the border were tiny and I got checked in through to Boston without any (more) hiccups. The flight to Boston (after much time spent wandering around the airport with my new friend Joowon- who had had the same nightmarish experience as me after also checking-in for the Icelandair flight) occurred in what I'd like to refer to as a toy plane- 13 rows, 3 seats per row and so little head-room that even I banged mine on the overhead bins... can 45 minutes in the air in a tin can really be called a flight? We wobbled our way over the perfectly crossing streetlights of New York- amazing how beautiful night-time planned cities look from the air. We kept wavering all the way until we got over the Cape and my "other hometown". The landing was smoother than our turbulent flight had announced and I was soon experiencing the coldest weather I've been in since my last winter in college. Quite a shock to the system, but sisterly hugs and a warm shower made up for it admirably.
Today, I'm in sunny Boston, awaiting a snow storm and making theoretical plans as to how I can make this home.
Too bad I'll have to attempt to fly Icelandair in 10 days! Either I'll finally get to see the Reykjavik airport or I'll have more travel rambles to post here!
Sorry for the long post, you know how it is!
The problem with yesterday's situation wasn't that I don't know that if I have an hour and ten minutes to catch a connecting flight and that my first one is delayed by more than an hour and a half a miracle would have to occur for me to make it to the appropriate gate in time. The problem was that I trusted the little man behind the desk when he told me that I'd just be moved onto a later flight without any problems. I was calm, I figured that since I was traveling for fun I wouldn't make his life a living hell or complain unnecessarily. I went through customs, got my bag searched and sat down to wait. Then I waited until I called my mother and after some search discovered that the only later flight I could connect to in Reykjavik (could have been an exciting stop) was 5 minutes after the one I was scheduled to be on. After that, it would be an overnight wait until at least 10 a.m. Fanta-freakin'-tastic... Feeling a little sheepish for having to get travel advice from my mom when I consider myself fairly well-versed in the ways of airlines, I took her advice to go to the check-in desk and ask to be rebooked onto another airline to get me to the US sometime in the next 12 hours, possibly under the guise of having a job interview or some such.
I ran back and forth and calmly explained that I did not want to sleep in Reykjavik to which the lady behind the counter very accommodatingly replied that I could be transferred without any problems, that the people at the desks didn't always know what they were doing and that I never should have been checked-in anyway... Thanks for telling me something I already knew. I grabbed my flight coupons and marched upstairs to the arrivals gate and over to yet another counter to retrieve my luggage which she had erroneously told me would be done in 15 minutes... The guys there disagreed, guessed at 1 hour and sent me off to the terminal at the other end of the airport to check in for my shiny new American Airlines flight to New York... only to be sent right back to get my luggage since I couldn't check my body in without doing the same for my bag (at this point, please note that I had ridden the little train across the airport 4 times already).
I did eventually get the bag and myself all checked-in through to New York and found out that my Boston connection was full already and I would possibly not be able to get to said city the same night. They did make sure that they asked as many dumb questions about my bags as possible in the process however and I now know all the announcements on the airport shuttle by heart.
The flight itself was very empty, to the point where basically every passenger had 3 seats and we were all able to lie down to ignore the very dumb movies being forced on us. In NYC, the lines for the border were tiny and I got checked in through to Boston without any (more) hiccups. The flight to Boston (after much time spent wandering around the airport with my new friend Joowon- who had had the same nightmarish experience as me after also checking-in for the Icelandair flight) occurred in what I'd like to refer to as a toy plane- 13 rows, 3 seats per row and so little head-room that even I banged mine on the overhead bins... can 45 minutes in the air in a tin can really be called a flight? We wobbled our way over the perfectly crossing streetlights of New York- amazing how beautiful night-time planned cities look from the air. We kept wavering all the way until we got over the Cape and my "other hometown". The landing was smoother than our turbulent flight had announced and I was soon experiencing the coldest weather I've been in since my last winter in college. Quite a shock to the system, but sisterly hugs and a warm shower made up for it admirably.
Today, I'm in sunny Boston, awaiting a snow storm and making theoretical plans as to how I can make this home.
Too bad I'll have to attempt to fly Icelandair in 10 days! Either I'll finally get to see the Reykjavik airport or I'll have more travel rambles to post here!
Sorry for the long post, you know how it is!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Cold and happy about it because there's food!
Currently on my Spring Festival break from STU and spending it quite happily wandering around the streets of Paris, occasionally not feeling my nose or toes (and accidentally rhyming), but making up for it by eating everything that I can't get in China. I imported a friend from Shantou as I don't have any here and it's a little weird that she's done more touristy things here than I have. She took me to the Eiffel Tower and we climbed it (on foot, up to the second floor where we found traces of snow, no less) and this week sometime we intend to go to Versailles (she's kind of appalled I haven't been there yet). We're both enjoying the cold weather and aside from the constant worry of being able to layer up enough not to lose appendages, the cold is a wonderful predictable break from Shantou's crazy one-day-sweating-one-day-freezing weather. Right now, I know that even if the sun is peeking out past the clouds, it's going to be a "two pairs of pants" kind of day for my little temperature-challenged self.
Our culinary tour of Paris has thus far featured such delicacies as crepes and cider, which I really could live on. Food is a big thing with me since the options in Shantou are so limited, so forgive me for giving it such a major place in my ranting about life and travels. The street of Paris really just make me want to eat... well, not the actual streets themselves, since they are not so delicious-looking, but there is so much variety in food options that it's a little overwhelming.
Quick pause to mention that as I write it just started to snow and it's very exciting- last time I saw snow, it was 4 years ago.
Back to my food thoughts, it's amazing to me that you can walk down a small unassuming street and get Lebanese, Italian, Greek, Mexican and French food as well as pub stand-bys, sandwiches, crepes and pastries. Why do I remain in China, land of chaofan and jiaozi? Don't get me wrong, I like noodles, dumplings and all the rest as much as the next expat, but it doesn't quite compare, does it? (or "it doesn't quite compare, can they?" as students would say) I am constantly wondering what to eat next and how to prioritize my cravings. I'm pretty sure there's a very fat person inside me trying to break out and just eat everything in sight.
So, as it turns out, what will eventually drive me from China won't be the language or my inability to fit in; it won't be teaching or family; it will be food. I feel like I'm finally acultured to life in Shantou and deal better and better with my isolation from the Western world. I'm finally actually serious about studying Chinese (got a tutor and everything), I don't need to import quite so much foreign food every time I hop the border to HK and the bad traffic is just something to deal with rather than a permanent drain on my life. But when I come back here, when I smell the croissants or the pizza, when I get dizzy from looking at the dessert options at the patisseries, when I get overwhelmed by the supermarket aisles and just want to sit down on the floor and rock back and forth, I know that it's just a matter of time before the "West" wins out and I leave China. I'm considering staying one more year (ain't that always the way?) but know that, happy as I am there (and I'm actually happy), it's not permanent. Whenever the time comes that I pack up my apartment and move on from STU, I'll just have to put "variety of foods" at the top of my must-have list for a new home. I think only that will make up for what I'll leave behind.
Until I decide to leave Shantou, though, I'm going to allow myself to take food-centric vacations. I won't feel guilty about eating my way through the cities I visit. I'll happily order crepes and cider for one meal then indulge in pizza and rose for the next one. I can worry about being healthy later, when I'm back to jiaozi and milk tea and the occasional trip to sushi and Il Santo. Right now, I have 3 weeks left before I return to the Middle Kingdom... what cuisines will I fill them with? That's my only worry!
Our culinary tour of Paris has thus far featured such delicacies as crepes and cider, which I really could live on. Food is a big thing with me since the options in Shantou are so limited, so forgive me for giving it such a major place in my ranting about life and travels. The street of Paris really just make me want to eat... well, not the actual streets themselves, since they are not so delicious-looking, but there is so much variety in food options that it's a little overwhelming.
Quick pause to mention that as I write it just started to snow and it's very exciting- last time I saw snow, it was 4 years ago.
Back to my food thoughts, it's amazing to me that you can walk down a small unassuming street and get Lebanese, Italian, Greek, Mexican and French food as well as pub stand-bys, sandwiches, crepes and pastries. Why do I remain in China, land of chaofan and jiaozi? Don't get me wrong, I like noodles, dumplings and all the rest as much as the next expat, but it doesn't quite compare, does it? (or "it doesn't quite compare, can they?" as students would say) I am constantly wondering what to eat next and how to prioritize my cravings. I'm pretty sure there's a very fat person inside me trying to break out and just eat everything in sight.
So, as it turns out, what will eventually drive me from China won't be the language or my inability to fit in; it won't be teaching or family; it will be food. I feel like I'm finally acultured to life in Shantou and deal better and better with my isolation from the Western world. I'm finally actually serious about studying Chinese (got a tutor and everything), I don't need to import quite so much foreign food every time I hop the border to HK and the bad traffic is just something to deal with rather than a permanent drain on my life. But when I come back here, when I smell the croissants or the pizza, when I get dizzy from looking at the dessert options at the patisseries, when I get overwhelmed by the supermarket aisles and just want to sit down on the floor and rock back and forth, I know that it's just a matter of time before the "West" wins out and I leave China. I'm considering staying one more year (ain't that always the way?) but know that, happy as I am there (and I'm actually happy), it's not permanent. Whenever the time comes that I pack up my apartment and move on from STU, I'll just have to put "variety of foods" at the top of my must-have list for a new home. I think only that will make up for what I'll leave behind.
Until I decide to leave Shantou, though, I'm going to allow myself to take food-centric vacations. I won't feel guilty about eating my way through the cities I visit. I'll happily order crepes and cider for one meal then indulge in pizza and rose for the next one. I can worry about being healthy later, when I'm back to jiaozi and milk tea and the occasional trip to sushi and Il Santo. Right now, I have 3 weeks left before I return to the Middle Kingdom... what cuisines will I fill them with? That's my only worry!
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