VCarr in Mexico: No job. No Money. Will Travel…. Regardless.

Many of you are probably wondering “VCarr what the ---- (you choose the expletive) are you doing going to Mexico?”  My parents asked the same thing, minus the naughty language. As a wise mentor once told me, “right now you are long on time, and short on money. When you get a job, it will be the reverse. So live it up now and pay for it later.”  Many of you probably are thinking, didn’t you already live it up, VCarr? Wasn’t that what Hong Kong was for?” Ummm, clearly my study abroad in Hong Kong was for exactly that… studying. My trip to Mexico is for a va-ca-tion(!)—a very cheap vacation. So there is an obvious difference here.

Now you are probably asking yourself, well, I suppose after graduating from business school and working all summer with 2^nd graders (more on that later), VCarr does deserve a vacation. But why not make it a stay-cation? Why go all the way to Mexico when you could do it cheaper in say… Minneapolis?  Yes, Minneapolis is in the state of a thousand lakes, and it does have lovely nature things to do, and the shopping at the mall of America, and some great family and friends living there. But does it have margaritas? Real ones? And sombreros? And Aztec ruins to explore? Does it have CANCUN????  Clearly not. So when my dear partner in crime from my study abroad in HK asked me if I wanted to join her when she visits her homeland of Meh-he-CO, I said, “No. I have no money. I can’t go.”  A week went by. A check from my summer school work came in. My friend said I could stay with her for pretty much free. And for those of you who don’t know “stay for free” are the words that eclipse the fiscally responsible side of my brain (sorry ‘nanan) and send me into a blind frenzy of online travel booking!   And there you have it. I finally get to go to Mexico…. With a real live Mexican to show me around! I need not worry about my Spanish language barrier or the drug cartels and random kidnappings…. I have Super Mexican (nickname still pending) to take care of it all! J

Really this is all my parents’ fault. They basically forced me into this. I had no choice. They refused to let me go with them on their road trip East. Oh, dear East coast friends, I tried to persuade them that I would stay with you and not make a peep in the car as we drove the 1000 some odd miles. But they said “No! This is a couple’s trip. No kids allowed.” I didn’t know parents could still be couples after 30 years of marriage, but apparently it helps them keep the spark alive… or something. So with the cheap option eliminated because of parental alone time, I was forced to go south… very far south.

Et voila! I will be in Mexico for 10 days starting Aug 16th. And it won’t be all fun. Clearly, I’m going to continue my job search (really!)—that’s what the  laptop is for (… and for movies on the beach)! J

Last Day in Hong Kong!

*** This never got officially posted. So here it is!****


So Blog is on the fritz, and I want to send one last HK Blog while I am in HK....

After a great night out, everyone gets a little bumped and bruised from being on the dance floor. But when you get a black eye and you don’t know where it came from, you know it’s time to leave Hong Kong. It is time to leave Hong Kong. I am not the only MBA exchange student that feels this way. After months of over self-indulgence, you start to realize that this isn’t the real world. I guess we knew that all along. Hong Kong MBA exchange is the fake world. I took fake classes with fake professors. Took fake exams and wrote fake papers. I ate fake dinners out. I partying like a fake rock star. The only thing real thing about the experience was the friendships that I made. We played pretend together in this fake world. And now, well, now it’s time to go back to the reality, with real classes, real apartments, real job search, real everything. Sometimes it’s good to have a dose of carefree fun, though. And that is what Hong Kong has been for me: one big play-cation! Oh, and I learned some stuff, too.

This experience has changed me for the better. I will take some of the carefree mentality with me. As I joke with friends, Hong Kong’s motto should really be: “Hong Kong: sure, why not?”

I will miss you Hong Kong and I will miss you Hong Kong Family! But as they say, “You can take the VCarr out of Hong Kong, but you can’t take the Hong Kong out of VCarr!” 

The Fast & The Furious: HK Friendships

When I was young and impressionable, a good family friend gave me a very important piece of advice.  He told me “VCarr, if you ever have the choice between a million dollars and making a new friend. Choose the friend…. Every. Single. Time.”  And at the moment, the advice seemed obvious: people over money. Got it.  But as I have gotten older, the simple directive has become words that I live by. I’m not saying I get offered a million dollars on the regular, but I have discovered that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, quite like discovering that the people you just met, have become friends worth treasuring.

Friendship in HK, is a bit like a roller coaster ride. It ramps up very fast. There are very intense fun and crazy times, and before you know it, it’s over: someone has left the city. But I have been blessed enough to have found some truly amazing people to share in this ride that is Hong Kong. And as I see the last couple of twists and turns ahead (including 2 final exams, and only a few days left to par-tay, I mean study). I want to make sure that I share some of their amazing-ness with all of you. In every instance, my faith in humanity has been doubly restored: people are inherently good and I love them.

A friend is chivalrous…. They carry heavy stuff. They make sure you get home ok, even if they have to walk you all the way there themselves.

A friend is committed… They stay out with you until the wee hours and dance with you at even the emptiest of bars…. And they always go with you to the diner after.

A friend is nice…. They take you to buy a cell phone when you first get to Hong Kong! They pick up your tailor made clothing (It fits!).

A friend networks…. They resuscitate your job search for you by giving you the name of someone that they thought you might like to meet.

A friend is smart… They sit with you for 2 hours and spoonfeed you the basics of corporate finance out of the goodness of their heart. (Sometimes daddies do that too! Hi Daddy! Miss you!)

A friend is multilingual… They speak Mandarin or Cantonese on your behalf so that the cab driver takes you where you want to go.

A friend is indulgent… They let you arrange them in funny poses so that your millionth touristy photo is not boring.

A friend helps you achieve your dreams…  They point out the bar. They remind you that you wanted to dance on it before turning 30.  They take pictures of you dancing on the bar. They stand shocked when you fall off of the bar, and they play along when you pop up and say you’re fine. But really good friends, I mean, really really good friends, well, they make you smile and take pictures of your bruises (read: badges of honor) the next day.  And they remind you that it wasn’t just a bar you were dancing on, there was a pole too!

But most importantly, friends can be from anywhere. You can meet them at anytime…. and you are always happy that you did.

If you are looking for particularly good friends may I recommend the ones at McCombs, LBS, & HKUST’s MBA Exchange Program! (They may not be Boothies, but they come pretty close). J  

Confessions of an HK Party Animal

Ah, partying in Hong Kong.  I write those words with a twinkle in my eye, and a longing in my heart.  I will admit it…

Hello. My name is VCarr.  And I am an HK party animal.

Suffice it to say that Hong Kong will bring out the party animal in anyone.  Many of you reading this will say, “but VCarr, you, a party animal? NOooo!” And all I can say is, yes, Yes, YES! While studying here in Hong Kong, I have become well versed in the ways of the crazy expat party animals. And I am going to share those with you now.

Location: LKF

Lan Kwai Fong, better known as LKF, is the Disneyland of partying. Within a three block radius is a land of bars, pubs, and clubs. From beer to jello shots, and martinis, to hefty 7-11 paper bags, everyone finds their drink of choice here. The heart of LKF, D’Aguliar Street, is lined with open terrace bars where people spill out into what looks like one big block party. And party do they! Music floods the streets and fills your soul as you approach this Ex-pat party zone. People of all ages and walks of life will be there, but most locals steer clear of the crazy foreigners and their “I’m on vacation” behavior.

Timing: ‘til sunrise

LKF is 24-7. You can party there “Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Saturday and Sunday.”  An early night ends at 1am, and a great night has you in the diner eating HK style French toast by 5am.  If you haven’t shut down at least 2 places before you head home, you’ve doing something wrong. The beauty of LKF is that bars are literally next door to each other. So answering the question “where to next?” is easy. Just roll next door.

Music: Tonight’s Gonna Be a good night

LKF music might be stuck on repeat (and stuck in ‘09), but that doesn’t stop a party animal from dancing it up.  Here is a short list of all the songs one must hear AND DANCE TO in order for it to be a “good night”…

Empire State of Mind, Alicia Keys & Jay-Z

You Know You Want Me, Pitbull

I Gotta Felling, Black Eyed Peas (HK MBA Exchange Anthem)

Single Ladies, Beyonce (my personal favorite)

Bad Romance, Lady Ga Ga

Poker Face, Lady Ga Ga

If you didn’t hear ALL those songs when you were out, then you weren’t partying HK-style.

Dancing: You gotta!

I believe there are two types of people in HK, and in the world: those that dance and those that won’t. I try to be the former. And for those of you that “don’t know how,” here’s a little secret… none of us know how. But an HK party animal knows that dancing is just waaay more fun! “So just dance. It will be ok… ”

One does not Equal One

This lesson usually takes trial and error to discover, but let me spare you the pain with this piece of advice: there is no such thing as “just one drink” in HK.  One drink will always lead to more, and more… so beforewarned.

Friends by day; Party People by night

No one likes to party alone.  And in HK you are never alone.  It is a prerequisite that you have some sort of “crew” when partying here. And an MBA exchange provides an instant crew of friends and rebel rousers.  The beauty of HK partying is that it can accommodate a small twosome or a large lumbering group. The more the merrier, I say. And LKF’s small size means if you need to split up you can always meet up later.

Within one’s crew of friends there are some key party animal players needed for a fun night out:

• The Camera Snapper: usually there is more than one of these documenting the evening from first drink to last call. Their camera-ing ability tends to decline over the evening moving from smiling group shots to blurry photos of unsuspecting rear ends and the like. A necessary evil for how else would we relive the night on facebook? (Thank you photographers!)
• The Baller: usually the friend of a friend of a friend who likes to buy everyone shots. (And they usually know a lot about the HK “bottles and models” scene). We like them!
• The Hook-up: there is always someone who knows someone who can get you in somewhere. An important skill when you want to hit a club and avoid the annoyingness that is rude bouncers and long lines.
• The Girl/Guy that gets all the Guys/Girls: you always find this friend off dancing with some new person. You just hope you can find her/him at the end of the night. (wink wink, nudge nudge).
• The Never-go-outer: there is always one of them: the friend that only makes an appearance once in a blue moon.  And we are always glad they came.
•  The Last Man/Woman Standing: the friend that won’t be out partied by anyone and will stay out until the break of dawn or the music gets bad, which ever comes first.

There might be variety in types of party animals, but they all abide by one golden rule: a place doesn’t make the party, you do! So bring the party wherever you go!

Secrets secrets are no fun… but gossip is!

As previously stated, LKF is small. And people run into each other over and over. So when party animals have a love connection, however fleeting, they know that unless that special someone is getting on a plane the next morning, they will be seen again. And friends will always make sure to point out the suspect in question when spotted in LKF. Why? Because everyone’s a chatty cathy when it comes to affairs of the heart… especially party animals.

So, my friends, there you have it: all that I have learned and observed. I hope these words were encouraging, so that you, too can party like a rockstar in Hong Kong or where ever you are! 

Shopping Hong Kong Style

Instead of doing homework, I’ve decided to write another blog.  Yep, that’s right, Hong Kong Carr doesn’t doooo homework. (Well, I really should because there is a final in two weeks and I need to pass it and I have no idea what I am doing…. Oh, wait that was Chicago Carr talking. Hold on…. SMACK…. I took care of her).

Today’s Topics is shopping one of the things Hong Kong is known for.

Malls & Malls & Malls & Malls

There are Malls everywhere here.  In fact I am capitalizing the word “Mall” because I feel like here Malls are really proper nouns. And they are EVERYWHERE! Not just little Malls, I’m talking big ass Malls that you would find in the suburbs of America squeezed into every space imaginable. There are mini-Malls in every subway station. There are gigantic Malls on top of subway stations. What do they put in these Malls? Everything! Hundreds of stores sell everything. Not American everything. I’m talking Hong Kong everything, which literally means every major brand, label, style, gadget, whatever, on earth is available in some Mall. And the Mall, is probably right around the corner from where you are standing. For my PhD friends, an interesting study would be to determine how far away a person is from a Mall at any given moment in Hong Kong. My guess… well, actually Hong Kong is probably just one big outdoor Mall.

There is a Mall for everyone in Hong Kong, but many of the Malls and stores here are for the uber rich (read: not poor starving MBA students. Do MBA students starve…. ? Well, this one does).  Most Malls are filled with every designer brand you can imagine and brands that I’m not wealthy enough to recognize. And I guess people buy this stuff, because they have tons of high-end stores. Hong Kong has the highest concentration of Luis Vuitton stores in the world. Some brands even have outlets within walking distance of each other. Using your wealth to be able to wear one’s exclusivity is incredibly “in” here (?!?).  But the one thing that is not in here… is American sizes.

The land of Big & Tall meets the world of extra-small

Have you ever wondered what they do with all of the extra-small sizes that no one buys in the US?  They don’t just send them to the Salvation Army. They ship them all over to Hong Kong. Clothing is very cool here, but you can be sure, the more that I salivate over some fun new item, the more I am certain that the hundreds stacked before me will only have XS’s. WHY??? Is it because I am fat? Well, apparently that is what the sales people think….but not in a mean way.

My lovely roommate, here to forth known as Roomie, and I spontaneously found ourselves on the hunt for jackets in Causeway Bay—the land of neon lights and malls malls malls.  I have been trying to find a light jacket since I arrived in Hong Kong two months ago.  I desperately want to stop wearing the only jacket that I have: my stupid red raincoat.  It is ruining all of my touristy pictures! There is me in Macau with my stupid red rain coat; there is me on a harbor ferry in my stupid red rain coat; there is me celebrating Chinese new year in my stupid red rain coat.  It’s driving me crazy, but I am a perfectionist and I still haven’t found the perfect jacket yet. 

On this occasion in question, I roped Roomie into making a quick random stop to stores that displayed potential jackets purchases. We first made one stop to buy jeans. (I needed those too). And I was blown away by the fact that I fit my round little self into some very narrow jeans. “I am not fat! I fit Asian clothing. What are all these people complaining about!,” were the thoughts that puffed my chest out with pride. I almost bought the jeans, until I looked down and decided that unlike my other pants these new Asian jeans did not cover my ankles. So I put them back. Defeat number one.

Roomie was nice enough to indulge me on my shopping quest and we meandered our way through the billions of people flooding the streets, until we came upon another store with lots of perfect jacket potential. Roomie got really into the expedition and started trying on jackets too. It should be noted that Roomie is tall, blond and beautiful (and smart)*, and I hold none of this against her. She is the bestest roomie ever. But you can imagine the pair of us, tall blond, and short frizzy brunett, trying on jackets in the middle of the store, chatting about the merits of this one, the price of that one. Roomie and I debated the prospect of a jacket she admired, concluding that since it could be worn two very different ways and it was on sale, then she must get it.

My jacket search was looking hopeful. I stumbled on something that had a lot of perfect potential. Granted it wasn’t my size, but it almost worked. And sometimes when something is on sale, “almost working” equals good enough. The sales woman was very attentive and saw me fidgeting with the jacket.  She came over and styled me properly in the mirror.  She wrapped the belt around my waist and adjusted the big bold collars. “This way. Hmmm, you see. Here. It makes you look…. Fat. But if we do it this way,” she loosens the belt and ties it behind me. “This way is better.” Did she just call me fat? In public? In the most vulnerable of places for a woman? That being in front of a mirror under horrible florescent lighting in the middle of a clothing store… while I am standing next to, for all intents and purposes, Roomie, the image of a perfect Barbie Doll? WHAT did she just say? AGHHHHHH!!! Somebody hold me back. HOLD ME BAAAAAAAaaaaaack…

But I didn’t actually say that.  Instead, I coolly and calmly held it in, both literally and figuratively. I can roll with this, I thought. I know there was just a lack of vocabulary for this sales woman. She wasn’t trying to be mean. I’m not fat. There was just a cultural difference here. Apparently the Chinese are very straight forward. They tell it like it is. I’m down with that. I’m a straight talker. That’s fine. NO PROBLEM.

Suffice it to say. I didn’t buy the jacket.

Defeated… again!

*Roomie, I hope you take no offense to this superficial characterization of you. It’s in the name of literature!

Thanks for the Encouragement!

I just want to do a quick “shout out” to all my fans out there (yes, I’m calling you fans) . You know who you are. You send fan (e)mail and make me feel all special. Thank you for reading. I will try to keep writing. I don’t know if I can top the last post, but I promise to continue my ramblings both the funny and those that lack it.

Shenzhen: Mainland, Tailor, Massage

My mother wants me to tell you all about how I got my boobs rubbed in a spa in Shenzen. It is shocking to me too!! Both that I have such a story, and that my mother would like me to publish it on the Internet so she can tell it to all of her close family and friends. I don’t know about your family, but in mine, Mama gets what Mama wants…. even if it is mortifyingly embarrassing to her offspring. But the writer in me tends to agree that this story is too good to go untold.  And so I will tell it (for you Mom) in more detail than I usually do.

The purpose of a trip to Shenzhen is threefold: 1. You get to go to “mainland China,” via the subway 2. You can go to a tailor and have cheap custom clothing made 3. Massages!

Now I was able to do all three of these things.

#1.The ride to mainland China via the subway was fairly uneventful except for the following two things:

I almost starved to death on the hour ride there because you are not allowed eat or drink on the subway. As a foreigner, I don’t want to be deported or, worse thrown into Chinese jail and forced to become a Communist, so I follow the letter of the law. Well, at least until I couldn’t take it anymore, and with a “I live here it’s fine” endorsement from my HK Friend I subtly shoveled a couple of rolls into my mouth while trying to stifle the noise of a crinkly bag. I didn’t dare open the bottle of water I brought for fear of spilling. You can’t hide a spill. Crumbs maybe, spill definitely not.

The other thing that happened was the surprising need for me to defend my decision to go to business school. My HK friend, the leader of our little Shenzhen expedition, brought his neighbor along, who I will call Mean Guy. Mean Guy was quite the opposite of HK Friend, he was… mean.  It was a sad meanness stemming from a deep-seated insecurity about not finishing college and not having an MBA. And to make himself feel less intimidated by the three MBAs on the trip he proceeded to berate us for our decision to spend thousands of dollars on an empty education. Why would we do that when we could just do what he was doing and start a real business. Suffice it to say that I didn’t make the situation any better when I offered the fact that MBAs have a higher success rate in entrepreneurship than those without business degrees. (Take that, Mean Guy!)

#2. Going to a tailor to get custom clothing was quite an experience.  Things of note:

You literally can bring in a picture of an item and get a tailor to replicate it. You can even go pick the fabric from the fabric “market.”  They will take your measurements right on the spot. Interestingly, my measurements were the same as my petite Chinese American Friend. Now unless I magically dropped 20 lbs from starving myself on the subway ride, I’m not quite sure the measurements were accurate. Which brings me to the gamble of the custom made clothing. For some reason I thought they would take the picture of the dress and jacket I had picked out and attach it to my file for reference for the seamstress. Oh, no. The sales girl simply drew (and she obviously didn’t have an MFA) the jacket and dress on to the receipt with instructions. Now, this made me slightly wary because how will they know what I am looking for if they don’t ever look at what I picked out. But when in Rome… Here’s hoping my clothes come back looking like what I had chosen, and actually fitting the medium height African American woman that I am.

#3. Now on to the spa….

Ah, the spa…. This ain’t your haughty-taughty spa where you eat cucumbers sandwiches and chant Ohm.  The best way I can describe this place is a lazy-Saturday-afternoon resort.  We changed into “pajamas” and left our cares and cell phones in our lockers. The spa had 5 floors of relaxation options (think office building floors). There were hundreds of lazy-boy recliner chairs with personal TVs, blankets, and service buttons. You could have food brought to your own lazy-boy island. You didn’t have to move for anything.  If you wanted a head massage or a pedicure, they came to you! There were movies, internet, MTV, and all sorts of Chinese language television to be had. In fact, I’m thinking this might be what heaven is like:  one leather recliner with a service button. Oh, and there was free ice cream! There was also free fruit, but there was FREE ICE CREAM! And later you could go to the restaurant and have dinner… while wearing your pajamas!!! You could even stay for 24 hours straight, more if you wanted. For those of you who don’t believe in heaven on earth: http://www.queenspa.cn/en/queen_en.html .

Now when we first arrived at the spa, we had no idea what a large magnificent place it was. And the three MBAs had to split up according to gender to get massages. The two ladies, and among them the only Mandarin speaker, went to left, and the guy was on his own. Our parting words, “we’ll find each other in what, two hours?” This was at 3:30pm.  We did not leave the spa until 10:00pm. What did we do for all that time? Well, the ladies got a massage among other things.

The massage started out as all massages do with a quick room relocation because of a cockroach spotting.  (“No biggie” is the newly minted attitude of Hong Kong Carr. I can get massages where cockroaches live no problem at all… L ).

Once settled into our new (hopefully cockroach free) room my Chinese American Friend and I were instructed to strip and get under the sheets by the two masseuses who were doing our side-by-side massages. Like good little Americans we kindly waited for the masseuses to exit so that we could have some privacy. However, they just stared us down until my CAF asked in Mandarin if they could at least dim the lights (geeze!). We turned our backs, closed our eyes and pretended we had all the privacy in the world as we jumped under the covers.

Now I have had a total of two massages prior to this experience. So I am by no means an expert, but they generally do the same routine. Rub your limbs, your back, and maybe your neck/head. Usually in that order. The room is usually dark and filled with some “relaxation” music allowing you to drift off into a calm and peaceful state.  Well, there was no relaxation here. The two massuses wouldn’t let my friend have a moment of peace. They kept peppering her with questions about the US and the room had a constant Mandarin buzz for 90 minutes.  

The chatting really took off around the time we got to the head massage.  I will admit that I wasn’t having the best hair day (I could devote an entire post to the woes of humidity in Hong Kong), but I didn’t think it was that bad until my friend informed me that my masseuse thought my hair was fake.   So like any good racial ambassador I volunteered  “she can touch it if she wants.”  And I lifted my head and yanked on my hair to show her it was real. Then she yanked on a little piece hair and the other masseuse ran over and yanked on a little piece and we all yanked and laughed and yanked and laughed (‘cuz what else are you going to do in that situation?).

As my friend kindly translated during the massage, I found out that I continued to occasionally be the topic of conversation. My friend learned that the masseuses normally felt like foreigners had a funny smell, but according to them, I didn’t have that smell (thank goodness). It was also revealed that I had a very light complexion for being African American. And finally, there was the issue with my rubbing oil running out, which apparently is only an issue if you are a Chinese customer because they don’t make foreigners pay for refills. And I think I know why. Because if they had asked me to pay for oil in the middle of my massage I would have pitched a fit and in that state it would have been a half naked fit and no one wants to see that.

At the massage midway point we flipped on to our tummies and a few minutes in, my friend nervously translated “I think they are going to massage our boobs.”

“Oh, yeah, one of my friends lived in Taiwan and she said they did that,” was my half asleep, but very culturally aware reply.

“Well, what do we do?” came my friend’s voice an octave higher.

“Ohhh, well, I mean, I don’t know…” I started to put the pieces together of what was really happening. And then I was caught between wanting to be Hong Kong Carr, someone who could be comfortable with all types of cultural experiences, and regular VCarr who doesn’t want her boobs touched by some random masseuse in China! I decided it couldn’t really be that bad. “It’s probably like getting a breast exam at the doctor,” I said. “We’ve done that.”

“OK, close your eyes,” said my friend.

“Um, I’m not opening my eyes again until this is all over, maybe never ,” was my reply.  And before I knew it the masseuse had pulled down the sheet and was sweeping over my chest in circles. And then she started laughing. “What is she saying?” I asked because no one wants their boobs laughed at.

“Your masseuse says your boobs are huge and they feel like big rubber balls,” my friend kindly translated. And we all laughed, because what else are you going to do? I mean, the Chinese are not known for having large chested women, so I’m sure this was just as new to my masseuse as it was to me and my friend.

And then the laughing stopped and the swooshing stopped. Mandarin chattering started again. And the other masseuse came over. And my friend started talking.

“Umm,” said my friend. “Your masseuse thinks she feels something hard.”

“WHAT?!?” was my response. And I look up and the masseuse is pointing and I’m pointing. “She is diagnosing me with breast cancer in the middle of a massage in the middle of China!?!”

“She says you should get that checked out.”

And I just started laughing and laughing. “Thank God I am a bit of a hypochondriac and I’ve already had it check out. The doctor actually told me they are just “lumpy." It’s fine.”

And with the medical situation resolved the massage ended shortly there after. The masseuses handed us back our clothing and left so that we could get dressed in peace.

So all in all, I survived the massage, and we spent the rest of our time lazing around the spa looking for our guy MBA who had been waiting for us for 3 hours (bless him). I guess boob massages take longer than regular ones.

(Happy now, Mom?  I haven't had anyone read this over so it could be horribly funny or just plain horrible. But we all know that Moms don't believe their children do anything horribly. J )

A Question of Race

 The reality of race is that whether consciously or unconsciously we are all thinking about it.  I am just forced to think about a lot more than most, especially when I travel abroad. I have recently gotten it into my head that I must be some kind of  Johnny Appleseed. For where ever I travel, I spread the curious topic of race around me. Not because I go around pontificating about such deep subjects while on vacation, but because I have been given a burden, or perhaps a gift, of having at times a racially ambiguous appearance.  And when I am out of context, that context being the US of A, my appearance always begs the following questions: “Do you speak Spanish?” [No.] “Where are you from? [The US.] “Where are your parents from?” [The US.] “No, where are they from originally?” Here I could respond truthfully, and continue saying the US, but experience has taught me that that response would only leave my questioner confused, and both of us frustrated. So I help him along by giving him the answer to the question that he does not know how to ask, “I am African-American. I’m black.” In response I get a puzzled look and I continue to provide answers for questions that only linger in the air… “My father is biracial which means my grandmother is white and my grandfather was black. And my mother is an African American with a light complexion.” I find stating the facts to be the simplest way to clarify things and I leave the analysis up to the questioner. Because after all, “race is a social construct,” which means, just like beauty, it is in the eyes of the beholder.

Now it is only when I am in a new context and meeting new people that I even remember that to some people I don’t immediately look “African American” or “black.”  At first when I get some where new, I am actually always surprised that I have to play the above question and answer game multiple times . And no matter who I meet, eventually, they will ask me. And sometimes that gets annoying and I just want to get the explanation out of the way. So I will try to be proactive about it. People ask me, “Vanessa, what time it is?” And I say, “Well, as an African American I believe it is 2 o’clock.” Ok, not really.  More like, “Vanessa, do you want to go to a movie?” And I say  “Sure, but I’ll probably be the only black person for miles...” To which my new acquaintances just smile. Talking about race is never exactly subtle, but I try. And sometimes I don’t.

Most recently I was out to drinks with some new friends when, yet again, someone asked me about my background. I started to say, “My father is biracial which means…” And then I stopped abruptly.   I interrupted the friends chattering near me and gathered them close by, and with a small attentive group, I resumed, “Just so I don’t have to keep repeating myself … My father is biracial which means my grandmother is white and my grandfather was black.  And my mother is African American with a light complexion.”

“She’s an albino?” came a questioning voice from the crowd.  We erupted in laughter.

“No, stupid, it just means she has a light complexion, like Vanessa,” someone clarified.

And so it goes…

[Please note that this may be the first, but it is certainly not the last time that the topic of race will come up].

Eating Fresh or Aquarium Eating

As an American I like my food to look like food. That means I don’t want to see tails, eyes, fins, heads, necks, ears, feet, skin or anything else that might make me realize that I am not eating food, but dead animal. The Chinese on the other hand, like their food to be fresh. Not freshly flown in from somewhere. I’m talking freshly-head-chopped-off-two-seconds-before-cooking FRESH. This means that they like to eat out of aquariums. I personally, have some unresolved childhood issues concerning aquariums. After a mop hit the kitchen table and made my first pet (and only goldfish, Daisy) flop on to the floor and suffocate one morning, I have never trusted aquariums since the tender age of 5. And I have had an overwhelming empathy (and strange fascination) for the fish and other sea creatures that are forced to live in these precarious glass boxes. They should be safe in there, but as Daisy demonstrated, aquarium life is fragile. There are many things that could go wrong, but least of which should be the chance to be eaten by a human.  

So you can understand that I find it wildly uncomfortable to see fish tanks outside of restaurants all over Hong Kong filled with sea creatures that are swimming along minding their own business, unaware of the horrible fate that awaits them when someone comes and taps on the glass.   

Now I am aware of the fact that lobsters also await this fate in the US, but as with all things cultural, I grew up with that phenomenon so it doesn’t bother me. But what I have seen in Hong Kong goes far beyond the occasional tank of 10 lobsters in a fancy seafood restaurant. These tanks are everywhere here, including the grocery store. Just like in the US there is a seafood section in large grocery stores. While ours is filled only with fish on ice, theirs is also filled with tanks of live fish and other small slimy things that come with or without shells. Don't think shells are protecting these animals. Most recently I saw a few little turtles swimming around in tank outside of a restaurant. All I could think when I saw them was “run little turtles… RUN!!” 

Similarities & Differences

Blog you have said. So I am blogging. Emailing you all back individually is starting to take up too much time anyways. And it’s about time that I start. I have been putting this off for the last week and I fear my perfectionist tendencies will continue to prevent me from writing unless I am up front about the following:  there will be typos, misspelled words, incoherent sentences, and the occasional incoherent thought.  And that’s all this little blog aims to be, a collection of my random observations on living, working and playing in Hong Kong. I will try to keep my entries short and do my best to make them entertaining (at least entertaining to me).

For my first week I will describe the top 10 similarities and differences that I have found between Hong Kong and my home, Chicago/USA.

One

Similarity: It is winter so many people wear puffy coats, scarves, and the occasional hat
Difference: The average high temperature today is 65; average low is 56. I wear a spring jacket.

Two

2.     Similarity: There is an (extensive) subway system

Difference: The subway stations and cars are immaculate. And instead of homeless people walking through cars asking for money, I saw an official train person walking through the train… (wait for it…) CLEANING the train car!  (If that isn’t an idea that needs to be exported to Chicago, I don’t know what is. Mayor Daley, please take note: you wanna create jobs… then get to cleaning the L!)

Three

1.     Similarity: There are traffic cops

Difference: They directing the insane flow of pedestrians coming in and out of the subway… and elevators. (People wait in line for elevators too. No milling around here).

Four

4.     Similarity: People walk here.

Difference: People walk soooooooooo slowly! I don’t know if it’s a height issue… or what. But they could pick up the pace… a lot.  

Five

5.     Similarity: People love designer bags.

Difference: There must be some sort of Louis Vuitton bag law or something because everyone carries those puppies like they bought them on the cheap… oh, wait… they can in Shenzhen (a market area known for the cheap designer bags).

Six

6.     Similarity: I still don’t speak Chinese (Cantonese or Mandarin)

Difference: Everyone already knows I don’t speak Chinese based solely on my appearance. So everyone immediately addresses me in English, and I am thankful for it.  And for that reason, I am turning over a new leaf: generalizations are correct and warmly accepted.

Seven

7.     Similarity: There is Chinese food.

Difference: There is Chinese food ALL the time. J  But as a cheese lover… all I can say is that the Chinese don’t know how to do cheese.

Eight

8.     Similarity: There are black people.

Difference: Ignoring glances in the mirror, I’ve seen maybe 5 African Americans… in the last 11 days. :( If you include Africans… maybe we can bump it up to 9.

Nine

9.     Similarity: There are apartments here.

Difference: They are the size of American walk-in closets.

Ten

10 Similarity: My height: 5.6

Di Difference: I AM TALL! I know what it is to look across the tops of heads in a crowd!