Happy Father's Day

This post is a tribute to my dad who is, in some ways, largely responsible for the existence of this blog. There's a reason why me and my sisters all have an insatiable wanderlust, and I think it traces back to the family vacations we used to take together, criss-crossing much of North America and racking up hundreds of thousands of kilometres on our trusty dodge caravan. Every summer my dad planned to take us somewhere different. Sometimes the kids were allowed to have some input (Disneyworld!) and sometimes we were not (Dayton, Ohio).

Getting there was half the adventure, of course, especially when we did the 24 hour drives to Florida. It was those trips that instilled my love of road trips today. Sleeping in the airport because we left the car keys in another suitcase, getting food poisoning in the car and throwing up all over my sister's Berenstein Bears books, locking the keys in the van a thousand kilometres away from home, all of these instances were the beginning of my disaster travels.

We learned a lot of life lessons while we were on the road. Traveling with a family of five is expensive - I now see the logic in my father having us choose whether to stay in a motel or have a nice breakfast (breakfast won and we slept in the parking lot of Walmart). Traveling also builds character. We always had a full itinerary for every city which we covered mostly on foot, often walking for hours each day. Taxis and other forms of transport that required paying were not an option. Sometime we were allowed to bring friends on these trips - friends that wore platform thong sandals - and they learned this the hard way. I also learned about the logistics of traveling. Even at the ages of 5, 7 and 10, respectively, my father had us converting US to CDN currencies to see if activities we wanted to do fit into a pre-determined budget.



Gradually though, as we grew up, got summer jobs, moved to different cities, the trips became less and less frequent. Dad discovered sailing, and soon every possible weekend, weather permitting, he and my mom were either at 'the cottage' where we stored the family sailboat or exploring nearby lakes. But there are only so many bodies of water in southern Ontario and the opportunity for sailing has maximum a 5 month window each year. My father wanted to do more, he wanted something bigger, more of a challenge.

Which brings me to this post. About a month ago, my parents packed up their belongings, purchased a 46 ft ocean-going sailboat and started a journey around the world.

How cool is that?

They started in Turkey, then continued to Cyprus and the last I heard they had arrived safe and sound in sunny Syria. My parents are giving blogging a try, and you can follow their travels at http://3riverscruising.blogspot.com/

Happy fathers day! To my dad, who continues to inspire me everyday :)

Beijing, the original Chinatown

After experiencing delays in takeoff, landing and layovers, I finally arrived in Beijing at 2am. The airport is some distance from the city centre, so I expected the city to be asleep as my taxi drove the 40 minutes to reach my hostel. What I found is true of every Chinatown I've ever visited. The city never sleeps. We passed by fields with kids playing soccer, brightly lit restaurants filled with families still eating and vendors hawking their wares on the streets. It was a stark contrast to Brisbane, where the city shuts down when the sun sets at 5pm, and banks close their doors in the late afternoon.

I opted to stay at Happy Dragon Hostel, not to be confused with the nearby New Dragon Hostel and International Dragon Hostel nearby. The Chinese hospitality industry is not the most creative when it comes to names. The next day I wandered around the Dongcheng district, the historic inner area of the city where my hostel was located. One of the first things I noticed was how the Old World integrated with modern conveniences and new structures. Wide city streets crowded with taxis, cars and buses share the road with a steady stream of bicycles. China was once known as the Kingdom of Bicycles, and today Beijing still has 4 million cyclists.

The fastest way to get around the city is underground. The subway system is clean and efficient, and rediculously cheap. At 2 RMB, the equivalent of 30 cents, anyone can afford to take transport in Beijing. The subways here are infinitely better than the TTC in every way. They're frequent. They're on time. They make sense, meaning there are signs that tell you what stop you're at and which stop you will be heading to next. Also, there are no drunk people yelling at fellow passengers, sleeping or defecating in the subway. All of which I have had the good fortune to witness in Toronto.

Beijing: proof that cleanliness and promptness can coexist in a subway system

The next-to-nothing subway fare also meant that I could visit any of the attractions spread through the city, and some I revisited several times. One of my favorite places is Wangfujing, a buzzing street in the heart of the city that representative of the clash between old and new that I see throughout Beijing. Noodle stalls and spice stores are crowded between giant department stores with huge flashing billboards. Established stores selling jade jewelry and fancy oriental rugs share entryways with tacky souvenir shops. Barely visible in a sea of massive gleaming new storefronts is the entrance to Wangfujing market, an old-fashioned pedestrian alley remnant from the Ming Dynasty era. Although it is crowded and noisy (what Chinatown isn't?) the offerings of countless vendors make this spot a delight for all the senses. Food stalls offer everything from fried crickets to sea horses to candied fruit on skewers. Regular fare like steamed pork buns, sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaves and crispy tofu attract the less adventurous tourists.

Wangfujing alley

Dumplings, buns and pineapple rice

Vendor pulling dragon floss candy

After having our fill of sweets and dumplings, some new travelling companions and I decided to try some tantalizing new dishes. First on the menu was deep fried scorpion. My friend selected a healthy looking specimen 4 inches long with huge pincers. It tasted like popcorn. Then we tried the silkworm. After debating the best way to approach the bulbous cocoon, I went and bit it in the centre. The innards squirted all over my glasses. That's when I decided to call it a day.

Tasty offerings at the night market

Deep fried scorpion

Fried silkworm
Didn't go over so well.

Identity Crisis

I recently paid a brief visit to the homeland to take part in a wedding. No, not Canada (which, unfortunately, looks like it won't happen in the near future due to my family being scattered across the world), but China. China had never been at the top of my list of travel destinations. It seemed too vast, too congested, too intimidating, with too many people. But when my friend Yuanyuan told me she needed me to be in her wedding party, I jumped at the opportunity. When else would I get to take part in a Chinese traditional wedding?

Despite the fact that both of my parents were the first in their families to emigrate from Hong Kong, and enrolled me in Chinese school for 8 years, I know embarassingly little about Chinese history and culture. This played a large factor in my hesitation in seriously considering visiting the country. I guess what I was really afraid of was the frustration and humiliation of not being able to navigate in my own home country. My Cantonese is conversational at best, and my spoken and comprehension of Mandarin is nonexistent. My Chinese writing is atrocious. For some reason, both of my sisters are much more fluent than I am. Although I find written Chinese characters are beautiful, the language is awkward and difficult to learn. The subtle inflections of each syllable means that one word can have five different meanings. I think my difficulties began when I was four years old, my grandma asked me to fetch her oranges for her and her friends. I misunderstood and instead brought her a dust pan, and the image of her and her friends bent over with laughter still haunts me.

Determined not to let it happen again, I tried to teach myself Mandarin and learn as much about Chinese culture as possible in the weeks leading up to my China trip. However, starting a new masters program this year with a 40 hour work week made it difficult. In the end, I thought I had learned enough phrases to get by, and boarded by flight from Sydney to Beijing filled with confidence. The air hostess examined my boarding pass and asked me a question containing three words in Mandarin. I gave her a blank stare, and it felt like admitting defeat when I told her I didn't speak Mandarin. This was the first of a thousand similar interactions throughout the duration of my trip. The following posts will be about my observations of what it feels like to be a foreigner of Chinese descent traveling through China.

Air China's mystery lunch. Top 3 worst airplane meals ever.