Peripatetic Ponderings...

Vegan Speed Dating - Abbotsford Convent, Melbourne

2009-10-31T22:35:00.118+11:00

In the 18 months since I was last inspired to post to this blog a lot has changed. Not only have I finished my degree, moved cities and landed a new job, but after nearly 4 years of coupledom I find myself once again a single woman! So, when a friend posted me a book on the art of freelance writing with a scrawled note encouraging me to pursue my literary endeavours, I decided it would be apt to take their advice and revive Peripatetic Ponderings with a post about my recent foray into the travails of speed dating...

Now I know that no one really likes to admit that they are a speed dater (people might think that one is desperate and lonely) and I certainly never would have envisaged myself partaking in such a sanitised courting activity. However, when I stumbled across a poster for World Vegan Day celebrations at Abbotsford Convent and noticed the heading 'Vegan Speed Dating', I just couldn't resist!

So it was on Sunday 1st November, World Vegan Day, that I found myself cycling towards the old nunnery, trying to quell my nerves as I mulled over the irony of speed dating in such an incongruous location. As I pedalled along the bike path, following the winding course of the muddy Yarra closer and closer to my destination, I felt increasingly anxious. Disturbing visions of pale, weedy vegan guys spluttering on their soy chai lattes in their moment of realisation that they were in fact sitting opposite a 'lapsed' (gasp!) vegan, flashed before of my eyes. I envisioned the excruciating minutes that would follow as hardline vegan males sanctimoniously stared down their pasty white noses at me, grilling me on my eating history, habits and vegan failure! Tempted to turn around and abandon the whole endeavour then and there, I forced myself onward. Even if only as an exercise in investigative journalism, I reasoned, I had to go through with it.

Steeling my nerves I chained up my bike and strode into the convent, congratulating myself on having had the foresight to ditch my leather boots in favour of synthetic sandals. The first step, it turned out, was to select an age category. Being 24, I was technically in the 18-25 group, but the prospect of dating 18 year olds didn't thrill me, so I quickly put myself in the 25-35 bracket, hoping that no one would check my ID. What I found, much to my relief, when I entered the 25-35 speed dating room and no ID check eventuated, was a row 20 or so surprisingly normal looking guys on one side of a long table, sitting opposite around 15 or so girls - the odds were in my favour!

Having arrived a little late, no sooner had I sat down than the dating started. The premise was simple - chat with the guy opposite you until the organiser yelled for the girls to move one place along. If you were interested in the guy you wrote down his name and if he was also interested in you and had written down your name, the organisers would later email through each person the other's contact details. No uncomfortable goodbyes, guilty "sure you can have my (*fake*) number" exchanges or awkward cheek kisses required!

My first 'date' was surprisingly enjoyable, and I quickly relaxed into the whole speed dating process. Although I wasn't romantically interested in my first charge we had a pleasant enough conversation and I did happen to glance around the table and catch a glimpse of a rather attractive guy a couple of places up. Throughout the next couple of 'dates' all I was thinking about was what it would be like when it was my turn to chat to this handsome guy.

Ivan, unfortunately, turned out to be a valuable lesson in the perils of judging a book by its cover. Or maybe just testament to my seemingly infallible ability to find myself physically attracted to the most incompatible of guys. Upon learning that I was no longer vegan (which occurred no more than 20 seconds into our conversation) Ivan abruptly folded his arms across his chest and looked away. I smiled meekly as the five excruciating minutes that I had been visualising on my ride in to the convent materialised and I was forced to make tepid small talk with a man who looked down his nose at me, smiled condescendingly and made no bones of the fact that as an ex-vegan he thought that I was pretty much scum.

Larry was another colourful character, who seemed more interested in himself than any of the women who were there to talk with him. As soon as I sat down opposite him, he launched into a breathless monologue about the various intricacies of his dietary habits. "How long had he been a raw food vegan?" I asked when I finally managed to get a word in (thinking of my 5 or so year stint as a vegan)... "oh, nearly 3 weeks" was his enthusiastic reply!

I had a handful of interesting conversations and a lot more dull and repetitive ones. The interesting ones, somewhat predictably, were all with guys who I wasn't really attracted to. By the end of the hour I was hungry and exhausted, hadn't found the love of my life (or even anyone I was interested in dating) and had nearly lost my voice, so dismissing the whole thing as a failure I went to grab some food at Lentil as Anything.

As I sat down to my meal, a guy that I vaguely recognised from speed dating came up to my table and asked if I wanted to go along to see a band at the Blue Diamond. I didn't know the band or the venue, but seeing as I didn't have any other plans for the evening I thought I may as well tag along and check it out.

The Blue Diamond turned out to be a beautiful 15th floor establishment with amazing views, a friendly crowd and a band that had most people up on the dance floor. Suddenly I found myself having much more fun than I had had at speed dating. As the evening progressed, I noticed a very tall, very attractive, very good dancer amongst the group of people I was with. Later on he came up and introduced himself. To my surprise I found myself engaged in the most interesting conversation that I had had all day. And as luck would have it - not only was my conversationalist very single, but perhaps most importantly, he was very non-vegan!

The Rental Resume - Neutral Bay, Sydney

2008-03-26T18:09:00.008+11:00

A month of house hunting and still no cigar. It all seemed terribly hopeless. We were even starting to make friends with the other 'one bedroom under $300 close to the city' desperados, who like ourselves crammed expectantly into the same claustrophobic apartments each weekend. One afternoon it would be in a dingy dwelling in Glebe, the next morning, we'd be exchanging pleasantries again in Neutral Bay. It seemed like we were catching up with our fellow house hunters more often than with our actual friends. It was hard to know, each time we recognised their now all too familiar faces, whether to laugh or cry.

Enter the rental resume.

Yes, that's right the RENTAL resume. A term that is fast entering the common vernacular as rent prices in Sydney spiral crazily and ever upwards. I first found out about the phenomena reading a Daily Telegraph that was lying abandoned on a city train. Inside was an article that talked about the growing need for prospective renters to front up to inspections armed with such a document. The rental resume, it suggested should include photos, rental history and references, as well as a cover letter stressing interests such as reading quietly, being responsible and not having any parties! At the time I doubted that you needed to be quite so competitive just in order to pay rent, but a month of rejected applications later, I suddenly realised that the article wasn't kidding after all.

Being new to the whole rental resume concept myself, I wondered if there was anywhere I could go to get some tips. I googled the term and found only a blog post written by a woman in San Francisco who mentioned the impossibility of renting a place without one. That was it. So I went to good old Microsoft Word Resume Wizard, changed some of the headings, fudged some employment and rental history details and inserted a couple of photos of Tom and I playing the happy couple, looking as nice and quiet and generally respectable as we could.

The next day Tom went to an inspection armed with a glossy colour print out. Unfazed by the North Shore women stepping out of their shiny new cars and the smartly dressed professional couple, all there to see the same place, he produced the rental resume. That was all it took. The real estate agent was suitably impressed and within less than 24 hours we got the call to say that we had the place.

So what is the point of this story? To our former friends who are still out there hunting for that elusive one bedroom apartment close to the city at under $300 a week, sorry that we were the one's responsible for yet another rejected application. But take heart and aim high. It doesn't matter that you're an unemployed student with a questionable rental history and a passion for drumming. As long as you can produce a couple of nice photos, some obliging referees and a convincing cover letter, with your new rental resume you're set. I think you'll find yourself paying ridiculously high rent in no time!

Rage Against Women's Toilets - Melbourne CBD

2008-02-08T01:34:00.005+11:00

You've no doubt already heard plenty of horror stories about toilets in Asia. So although I do have a few tales of my own to tell, I won't bore you with them here. I would instead like to direct your attention to a disturbing bathroom situation that lies much closer to home. One that isn't quite as confronting, but is nonetheless, the cause of much suffering. Namely, the dysfunctional state of womens toilets in Australia.

For years I have been railing against what I see as the woefully inadequate restroom facilities that women have to put up with. I usually emerge from toilets angry, and muttering things about ridiculously long queues, too few cubicles, and ignorant male architects. A woman's life is blighted by such inconvenience. Whereas men (thanks to the urinal) can be in and out of a public toilet in a flash, women are routinely forced to spend long periods of time waiting around in bathroom queues. There are lines to some female toilets so long that no reasonable person could be expected to wait. Women walk away literally busting and unable to relieve themselves. It is, quite frankly incredibly frustrating, and thanks to the impractical design of female toilets, an everyday part of women's lives.

Short of becoming an architect myself, I didn't know what I could do. I had all but given up. But yesterday, right in the heart of Melbourne's CBD I entered a public toilet and had an epiphany. I had unwittingly stumbled upon the prototype of a functional, efficient women's bathroom. I had finally found, in the new QV retail precinct, a real life model of how female toilets could and should be designed.

If you are lucky enough to pay a visit to the QV facilities, don't be surprised if at first you feel underwhelmed. These toilets are probably not what you have been told you want in a good bathroom. There are no edgy decorations or high tech flushing functions. You won't find marble wash basins, or mood lighting. But what these toilets are is wonderfully practical. And that is why Melbourne women are actually going out of their way to use them.

The design of the QV toilets is almost disappointingly simple. It is just a large, clean and well-lit room fitted out with heaps of cubicles, plenty of hand washing basins and somewhere to sit. It begs the question... why aren't all women's restrooms like this?

The sheer number of cubicles alone, and there were something like twenty-six, yes TWENTY -SIX, makes QV a unique and wonderful bathroom experience. Naturally, with that many toilets there are no queues. There is also a comfy red couch where women can sit and put down their belongings, and the room feels clean and safe. It is a place that women want to visit.

It was refreshing and strangely liberating to find myself walking in and out of these toilets swiftly and without hassle. They were a pleasure to use. I can only hope that one day rather than the exception, this type of bathroom experience becomes the norm. To me the benefits are obvious. More satisfied women. More custom for businesses nearby. It's win win.

In Melbourne the word is spreading. Let's hope that the right ears are listening.

Scamming Chinese Tourists - Harbin, China

2008-01-07T22:07:00.002+11:00

Anyone who has been to China will be familiar with the phenomenon that is the Chinese tour group. A uniform mass, found in all the country’s top tourist spots, dressed in identical hats and T-shirts, snapping photos, madly scurrying after a flustered flag-waving guide with an annoyingly loud megaphone. It is a sight to behold, and one that will turn the stomach of any independent minded traveller. So it was somewhat surprising to find myself, lured in by an amazingly low price, and signing up for a tour to Yabuli Ski Village with China's main travel agency CITS.

Half fearing that this was going to be the worst day of my life, but consoling myself with the fact that it was cheap and at least I could write it off as anthropological research into the genuine Chinese tourist experience, I fronted up. To my great relief there was not a hat, t-shirt, or flag in sight. I was directed onto a bus, and scoring a window seat, breathed a little easier. Cautiously glancing around at my fellow travelling companions I could detect nothing more sinister than a growing excitement, like the expectation that builds at the beginning of a much anticipated school excursion.

Our bus had a very enthusiastic guide, Miss Xu. Who at 8am in the morning, before the bus's engine had even started was already up the front of the vehicle, microphone in hand. 30 minutes later, she had barely taken a breath and was still talking. I thought it a little strange, as she waxed lyrical, and cited, for the second time, the total area of Yabuli Ski Village plus the exact altitude of every single mountain that lay within it, that she was investing so much effort in getting us keyed up about our destination. As she talked, her exaggerated facial expressions continuously flickered between pride and awe at her beautiful motherland. At the time I just put it down to the 'authentic tour experience' and the weird passionate sense of patriotism most Chinese feel. It wasn't until we arrived at our destination that I realised it was all a scam.

As it turned out, our guide was no ordinary tour leader. She was a skilled actor. Every word, every expression had been coldly calculated to manipulate us into handing over, without hesitation, a sizable sum of money. Supposedly the fee for an extra cost that apparently wasn’t included in the package. This 'small fee' as she called it, was needed to actually visit the ski village itself and turned out to be more than we had paid for the original tour!

Our guide's oration was very skillful and it had worked a treat. Everyone on the bus (except for me and Tom, the two Westerners) handed over their money willingly. Of course Tom, not having understood a single word the guide had said, but highly amused by her facial expressions nonetheless, was naturally immune. Myself, skeptical at the best of times and especially on guard today, found I was unmoved by her patriotic pleas and rather angry at the fact that such a large cost had been sprung on us without warning en route.

Miss Xu manipulated the Chinese tourists so well, and had them handing over their money with so little effort, that is worth retelling just how she was able to achieve such a feat. The first step, it appeared, was to make sure that everyone felt like part of a big group. Miss Xu knew that if she could play up the tour group bond, no one would dare to be different. "You will do a lot of things together today, and become close to your new friends..." she began.

Five minutes later came the tribute to China. Stirring up patriotic pride, she turned our attention to how wonderful and how privileged we were to be seeing one of China's most magnificent sights. "This is an internationally acclaimed ski resort " Miss Xu said smiling with pleasure, "in 1996 it hosted the Asian Winter Games." You could see that the people on the bus felt really happy to be Chinese. And even more proud now that they knew that they had one the world's 'top' ski resorts in their country.

After this she moved on to explain in detail, the cocktail of emotions we were going to feel at witnessing such a magnificent sight. "You'll feel a unique sense of excitement and happiness" she said when you visit Yabuli. She then ran through a range of other emotions, which she assured us would be stirred up in the process of riding a chair lift, feeling the cold fresh air, and seeing the "glorious" snow covered mountains. People in the bus started talking excitedly.

Next followed the story of Mr Wang, possibly the most powerful section of her speech. Mr Wang was a man who, Miss Xu informed us, wasn’t nearly as modern or wise as ourselves. He attended one of her tours, but failing to be moved by her powerful narrative, was too stingy to pay the ‘small fee’ and see the ski village. "You’ll find it laughable," she said "that he spent half the day sitting in the restaurant at the base of the ski resort, using his mobile phone to call his friends and tell them where he was". People tittered at what a silly man Mr Wang must have been. "Don’t you be like Mr Wang" she warned us.

After narrating this little fable, Miss Xu became much more pragmatic and explained what the tour actually included. "The cost of skiing alone", she said "is 120 yuan, the price you paid for this tour. Your fee also pays for the bus we are on, which would normally cost 3000 yuan per day. We also provide you with lunch and cover your entry fee to the village." You could see people on the bus, thrilled by the great bargain they had just scored, visibly swelling with smug self congratulation.

"You’ll probably be feeling," Miss Xu conjectured, "that what you have paid us is such a small amount. Not nearly enough." People grinned

"Well, in actual fact there is one small thing that we haven't included in the cost."

And after spending 30 minutes on Miss Xu's emotional roller coaster we hit the peak and started falling, as she hit us with the cost: 180 yuan, to see the ski village and ride a chairlift.

I was confused. Around me people were pulling out their wallets and eagerly thrusting money into her hands. I grabbed Mrs Xu as she walked past me and queried whether we had to buy the tickets if we didn’t want to ride the chairlift. She ignored me, shoved two tickets in my hand saying, "I'll come back and get the money later". Then she rushed back to the front of the bus, picked up the microphone and reiterated the story of Mr Wang. "Don't be like Mr Wang" she repeated. The people behind us laughed.

I turned to Tom, everything suddenly crystal clear, "I don't believe it, she’s trying to shame us."
While people laughed, I quickly filled Tom in on our tour guide's underhanded tactics. Given the fact that Chinese people seem to find pretty much whatever we do a source of amusement, we weren't too phased by the snickering behind us. So unfortunately for Miss Xu, her attempt to manipulate and shame two independent minded foreigners who had no sense of a group bond, failed miserably.

Later, off the bus and away from the ears of the other tourists we reached an agreement. Instead of paying 180 yuan to ride a chairlift up an unremarkable mountain, we spent an extra 2 hours skiing for 100 yuan.

The sad thing is that the tourists on the bus had no idea they had been scammed. I feel comforted knowing, however, that the Chinese are not above ripping off their own. I often hear Chinese people laughing about the prices ignorant foreigners pay in their country. But I am now more convinced than ever that many foreigners, painfully aware of the fact that they are targets, and constantly on guard, often end up getting the better deal!

"Protecting" China's Siberian Tigers - Harbin, China

2008-01-05T13:39:00.002+11:00

When I was younger I dreamed of being a veterinarian. Most people realise at some point, usually before embarking on a vet degree, that a love of animals does not in itself mean that they will be happy spending the rest of their lives castrating cats and dogs. I wasn't that quick, however, and it took a full year of veterinary science along with a weekend job as a vet nurse to sap my veterinary ambitions. But despite my abortive attempt at entering the profession, I still like to think that I maintain a special interest in animals and their protection. So it was with anticipation that I trekked out to the world's largest Siberian tiger breeding and research institute in Harbin, China.

Admittedly, being an Asian zoo I wasn't really expecting much in terms of facilities or animal welfare, but still, I wasn't prepared for the condition of the first animal I saw. Upon my arrival at the zoo, and before I had gotten anywhere near a live tiger, I was swiftly shunted into a supposed 'Tourist Information Centre' that sold all manner of stuffed tiger toys and merchandise. Within this shop, which is the tourist's introduction to the worlds biggest Siberian tiger conservation centre, guests get to see their first real tiger. There it lies, in a big glass tank, its skeleton dismembered and immersed in a huge quantity of alcohol. The price tag on the glass is 500 yuan (80 Australian dollars) per 500grams and visitors can buy the 'tiger wine', which is scooped out of the tank, in bulk to drink.

It is an odd first taste (pun intended) of what is purportedly a facility aimed at conserving rather than consuming the Siberian tiger. In fact, as Tom pointed out at the time, the very reason that the tigers are threatened in the first place is the fact that their bodies are valued by humans as items of food, medicine or clothing. So it is odd to find that a zoo which is supposedly set up to protect the tigers encourages this type of consumerism and even sells tiger products itself.

In communist China, this is a zoo with a decidedly capitalist twist. Not only can you buy 'Tiger Wine' to drink. But you can satiate the tigers themselves by buying live animals with which to feed them. On top of this you get the added fun of throwing the aforementioned prey out the safari bus and witnessing its tragic end. See price list below.

Even more worryingly, judging by the size of the tigers we saw waddling by, there doesn't seem to be any limit to the number of animals, or times a day that tourists can feed them. It really does appear that feeding of the tigers isn't regulated and I couldn't help but wonder how such incredibly fat animals, could ever possibly be fit to be released back into the wild.

The Siberian Tiger Park is rated as an AAA Tourist Attraction and as such is on most people's itineraries when they visit Harbin. Consequently the tigers are subject to an endless assault of minibuses packed with tourists that drive straight through the enclosures, safari style, and try to get as close to the animals as possible. Tourists who are not satisfied with that experience alone are then able to stroll through a covered walk way which runs over a series of smaller cages. The Chinese tourists I saw, seemed to think that it to get better photos, it was a great idea to yell as loud as they could through the metal bars at the tigers and try to attract their attention.

The liger I thought, was a very intelligent creature. When it heard us coming it promptly turned around in it's tiny concrete cage so we couldn't see its face, and ignored us completely. Ligers, which are a cross between a lion and a tiger are rare creatures. This one, it seems, lucked out. There are only 10 ligers in the world and it ended up here, in Harbin China sitting all alone in a tiny cage in front of screaming Chinese tourists.

Siberian Tigers are beautiful creatures that are counted amongst the worlds top 10 most endangered animals. As the world's biggest Siberian tiger breeding and conservation centre, the Harbin Siberian Tiger Park boasts that it is at the forefront of protecting China's Siberian tigers. But after visiting the facility, I am not really sure that conservation is the zoo's ultimate goal. In reality it seems to be geared much more toward satisfying the whims of tourists and making money than releasing the animals back into the wild. China Lonely Planet sums the situation up perfectly.

"Conservationists stress the need for minimal human contact with tigers, and for the centres to emulate as much as possible the life that tigers will face once released. China's centres, which see busloads of tourists snapping photos of big cats munching on cows and chickens, may instead produce tigers with a taste for livestock who will associate people with feeding time. Until the first captive tiger is set free, the long term fate of China's Manchurian tigers remains unknown."

Desperate Dancing - Shanghai, China

2008-01-04T00:11:00.001+11:00

The other night I was at a rather chilled out Shanghai bar celebrating a friend's birthday when the generally jovial atmosphere of the night was disturbed by a pair of patrons. Two undeniably attractive Chinese girls dressed to the point, in identical short frilly black skirts, knee high boots and low cut singlet tops, that it was difficult to tell them apart, tried to make a scene. Shaking their bodies so frighteningly vigorously in what I could only assume was an attempt to evoke some type of titillating lesbian liaison on the empty dance floor, I was actually impressed that they didn't fall over. The whole act was done with such desperation, energy and such obvious intent, that it was nothing short of hilarious. As it turned out, the girls, who had picked the wrong bar and the wrong night were pretty much ignored by everyone, and upon realising this, stopped their close body jiggling rather abruptly.

In bars and clubs all over Shanghai, acts of dance desperation, the likes of which I have never seen anywhere else in the world are being committed. That's not to say that the dancers that grace Shanghai's sticky floors are any more crude than others, in fact they are, if anything more restrained. But take your eyes off their mesmerising moves for a second and look into their eyes, and you can actually see the long, hard hours put in in front of the mirror. It is an entertaining spectacle, and many of the women dance so seamlessly and with such innovativeness, you really do feel like you've been transported live, into a choreographed music video.

These acts of impassioned dancing are usually done with the hope of attracting a Western guy, and unlike the other night, they almost unfailingly result in success. That is to say the less than average-looking Western man of any age approaches the young, nubile, gorgeously gyrating Chinese girl (disbelievingly if he is new to the city, with a smug grin if he isn't), and is welcomed, seemingly without discrimination. It is such an over the top, exaggerated ritual that even those not directly involved, can be guaranteed an entertaining and amusing evening simply as fly on the wall spectators!

It is this ridiculous scene, replayed nightly over and over across the city's myriad nightspots which has earned Shanghai's bars and clubs (nothing special in themselves) international recognition. And I think you'll find, if you look beyond the city's neon lights and cosmopolitan image, that it is upon these acts of dance desperation, that the legend of Shanghai's vibrant nightlife is really built.

Cynics and the Jaded Need Not Apply - Shanghai, China

2007-12-12T14:49:00.002+11:00

Recently I came across an advertisment on a local expat website soliciting freelance writers and photographers living in China. It invited submissions of 1000-2000 words in length, that would "open the reader's eye to China's amazing endowments and heritage." Sandwiched in between unnecessary adjectives and over the top literary flourishes, one sentence jumped out and stopped me short.

"Cynics and the jaded need not apply."

The ad, posted by a UK publication, SL Magazine, who's self proclaimed "visionary mission" is to enhance the understanding and relationship between China and the UK by providing an "interactive channel of communication", was clearly a call for puff pieces. Still, that the magazine felt it necessary to make such a statement, hints at the fact that the 'cynics and the jaded' in China are not a small few.

The advertisement got me thinking... what exactly does it mean to be a cynic, and to be jaded about China? I can't help but suspect, that those skeptics so rudely discriminated against by SL Magazine, are simply those of us who are unable to ignore the devastating poverty, human rights abuses, environmental degredation and hugely corrupt single party political system that exists in China, simply because the country boasts a booming economy.

With China's growing clout on the world stage and an increasing media interest, a lot of effort it seems, is going into presenting China as the new land of economic opportunity. People have little time for the 'cynics and the jaded'. They want to hear about the rapidly developing cities, skyrocketing share market and expanding business opportunities. Pointing out that things here are not quite as rosy as they seem from across the other side of the world, pulls everyone down.

Needless to say, after reading the ad, I didn't apply.

Mooncup: The Best Invention Ever

2007-11-28T21:35:00.001+11:00

I haven't put up a post for over three months, so I'd be surprised if anyone is still reading my blog at this point. Nevertheless, a belated post;

Yesterday I got my period, which reminded me just how much I love my Mooncup...

First of all I'd better make it clear that I am not ashamed of the bloody tissue that seeps from my body every 28 days or so. I see no reason why the words menstruation or period should make people squirm. I do not feel dirty when I bleed, or disgusted, although I realise that there are misogynistic views in other cultures as well as my own that do make women feel this way. Because I don't feel any sense of shame when it comes to my period, when my period comes it doesn't stop me from having sex if I'm in the mood, or doing other things that I would normally do. I think that it is important that women should be able to talk freely about their periods, not only with other women, but with men as well, and openly share the ways in which menstruation influences and often inconveniences their daily lives.

Which brings me to the point of this post; my Mooncup. My wonderful wonderful Mooncup.

This beautifully simple device has changed my life, and greatly eased the inconvenience of menstruation. It is good for my body, good for the environment and I cannot sing its praises highly enough. I only wish that I had discovered it earlier, and that it had been presented to me when I first got my period, as a much safer and ethical alternative to ubiquitous pads and tampons.

The Mooncup is a small, reusable silicone cup that is inserted into the vagina and gently presses up against the vaginal walls, catching menstrual blood. It is easy to insert and remove, and the blood it holds can be tipped out into the toilet. It can be rinsed in water and washed with soap. Most women choose to sterilise their Mooncup in between periods in boiling water. It is usable for up to ten years and it was invented by a woman for women.

Because the Mooncup is reusable, it not only eliminates the cost of ten years worth of pads or tampons, which is no small sum. But it also relieves our environment of the extra burden of all those disposable sanitary products and their packaging.

The Mooncup is worn internally, and as such is very comfortable. It does not protrude externally and is not bulky like pads, or vi sable like a tampon string. It does not put women at increased risk of bacterial and yeast infections by creating a warm, moist environment around the outside of the vagina like a pad. And it does not absorb fluids from the vaginal walls like a tampon, drying out the vagina.

Being an internal blood catching device, in terms of both aesthetics and ease of use the Mooncup has the all the advantages of a tampon, except that it is safe. Not only is there no risk of Toxic Shock Syndrome, but the Mooncup, which is made of medical grade silicone, does not contain the dangerous chemicals used in tampons (and pads).

Unfortunately, as the Mooncup is still considered a medical device, it is not available to women in Australia. For more information on why this is so I suggest reading the following website http://labyrinth.net.au/~obsidian/clothpads/Cups_aus.html. All I can say is that if men had to deal with periods on a monthly basis, I highly doubt that the Mooncup would still be withheld from Australian citizens. Fortunately though, for Australian women, it is legal to purchase a Mooncup online for personal use and have it shipped.

The Mooncup is a safe, easy, cost effective, environmentally friendly menstrual product. As such, it should be available to all women, everywhere. Women should be educated about its benefits and offered it as a choice.

The Mooncup has made my periods much more manageable, much less of an ordeal, much cheaper and much more environmentally friendly. Oh, how I love my wonderful wonderful Mooncup. Women and men, spread the word!

For more info;

http://www.mooncup.co.uk/

http://labyrinth.net.au/~obsidian/clothpads/Cups.html

The Antidote

2007-08-15T03:07:00.001+10:00

Having been subjected to the sickeningly saccharine, maddeningly formulaic strains of mando-pop for the past seven months I had all but given up hope of finding any listenable, locally produced music. Thankfully, my recent discovery of the wonders of p2p service verycd has plunged me headfirst into the world of weird and wonderful Chinese indie music. For the time being though, it seems that I am stuck in the realm of hard to find mp3's rather than obscure bars and unknown bands. Pretty much all the good groups are either from Hong Kong or Taiwan and the only live music scene on the mainland showing any signs of a pulse is in Beijing. The often spoken truism "Shanghai is the economic centre of China but Beijing is the cultural heart" rings in my ears!

Because I'm too lazy to write individual reviews here is a list a few of the Chinese, Hong Kong and Taiwanese indie groups that I'm listening to at the moment. Hopefully it will provide some form of relief to those living in this country who find themselves slowly being driven insane by mainstream Chinese pop!

1976

From Taiwan, sing in Mandarine
website

929
From China, sing in English and Mandarin
website

at17 雁石分天
From Hong Kong, sing in Cantonese
website

Hopscotch 跳房子
From China, sing in English
website

This Wife 这位太太
From Taiwan, sing in Mandarin
website

My Little Airport
From Hong Kong, Sing in English
website

Nature Q 自然卷
From China, sing in Mandarin
website

The Marshmallow Kisses
From Hong Kong, sing in English
website

Torte Bus 拖特巴士
From China, sing in English
website

Redecorating

2007-08-04T18:21:00.000+10:00

Anyone who has lived in Shanghai for any period of time knows that in essence this city is just a giant construction site. From week to week the cityscape changes drastically as buildings are put up and pulled down, roads dug up and diverted and hordes of cranes shift their position against a dusty and polluted sky. Its even difficult to tell, that is until my fifth floor apartment starts shaking, whether its thundering outside or just another building tumbling down. Nothing is permanent here, least of all concrete.

Take for example my apartment block. My neighbours tell me it is almost 10 years old. This I have recently discovered happens to be the exact age at which most Chinese consider it time to redecorate. Redecoration is a long and laborious processes which seems to take about three months. It involves completely gutting a dwelling; floorboards, tiles, internal walls, plastered roofs and all until it is an empty box, then starting again from scratch.

First the owners move out of their apartment, considerately leaving every other resident in the complex to be inconvenienced by at least 12 weeks of industrial level noise, hazardous dust and building materials clogging up the stairwell. Then a couple of migrant workers move in and are paid a pittance to work 7 days a week, 12 hours a day completely tearing apart and rebuilding the apartment. They work from 7am - 7pm every day and seem to do an awful lot of hammering. Every noise they make is effectively transmitted throughout the entire internal structure of the building . This creates the remarkably realistic acoustic illusion of having it seem like builders are inside my very own apartment all day long knocking out my internal walls. Their favourite time to do ear piercing, furniture shaking drilling it seems, is first thing in the morning.

As I pay my rent in three month blocks and exactly one week after I paid my last installment 201 decided to redecorate, it looks like I am stuck here over the summer holidays with another 11 weeks of construction to look forward to. I survived a similar stint earlier in the year when 301 refitted, so at least I know what I'm in for. Having long ago given up all concept of having any sort of rights in China I have stopped whingeing. Indeed, even if I wanted to complain, there is no-one to complain to. Ask any foreigner who has lived in this city and they'll have a similar story to tell. What can I say? This is Shanghai and in my suffering, I am not alone!

Germany and China (德国和中国）

2007-07-11T19:15:00.001+10:00

Here is an interesting stylistic representation of some of the differences between China and Germany by Chinese artist Yang Liu (刘扬). Although binary comparisons on the whole have a tendency to be limiting and reductive, I think that this work skilfully utilises them to make some interesting points. For those who don't read German or Chinese, I have provided a translation (from the Chinese).

Opinions

Lifestyle

Punctuality

Interpersonal Relationships

Handeling Anger

Lining Up

The Self

Weekday Street Scene

Party

In Restuarants

Drinks for when Your Stomache Aches

Travel

Beauty Standards

Dealing With Problems

3 Meals

Transport

Old People's Everyday Life

Shower Time

Mood and Weather

Leader

Fashion

Children

Handeling New Things

Imagining The Other

Crazy Guy on a Bike

2007-07-07T01:48:00.001+10:00

Every since my father, a Penny Farthing enthusiast signed me up to Joff's email list, I've been following his progress quite closely. Clocking up 14,825 km on his third attempt to ride a Penny Farthing bike around the world, Joff just happens to be in China at the moment and is pushing his way up towards the Tibetan capital, Lhasa. As well as a running travel log he posts some amazing pictures on his website, providing a glimpse into lesser travelled areas of China and a very unique travel style;

http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/page/?o=1gci&page_id=54119&amp;amp;amp;v=1K

A Walk in the Park

2007-07-05T17:43:00.000+10:00

On the weekend, during a leisurely Sunday afternoon stroll I happened to stumble across an open air matchmaking club. Located in a picturesque, shaded area of People's Park along side a lake full of blooming lotus flowers, older Shanghainese men and women sat holding handwritten signs. Each sign, printed in characters small enough that meant you had get uncomfortably close to the holder in order to read its content, listed a candidate's sex, age, stature, educational level, salary and assets, followed by what were often rather extensive lists of demands. Behind the sign, sat Mum or Dad.

Apparently in booming Shanghai, more and more people are becoming too busy to find a marriage partner themselves. As women, often focused on study or their careers creep toward 30 and men enter their 40's unhitched, Mum and Dad get increasingly nervous. Recognising that their 'children' don't have the time/ability/desire to find a partner themselves, Mum and Dad take matters into their own hands. Because it is difficult to talk with strangers about such personal affairs, people make signs, go and sit in the park and wait for other parents with potentially compatible 'children' to approach them.

Amused to find such a public marriage service, I started chatting with some lingering locals. These Shanghainese were interested to learn that in my country such personal ads are common both in newspapers and online, but definitely not in parks. I for my part learnt, that rather than minding their parents interfering in their personal lives as I had expected, many 'children' were actually rather relieved! Needless to say, there is huge societal pressure to marry in China.

Studies have shown that when it comes to marriage Shanghainese women typically marry up (and men down). Women look for partners who are older, taller, better educated and more wealthy than themselves. The only aspect where this upward trend falls flat, it seems, is when it comes to looks! Consequently, many women are unwilling to pursue postgraduate study for fear of reducing their marriage prospects. It is generally accepted by people here that a 3 or 4 year bachelor degree provides just the right amount of learning to position a woman as a prime marriage candidate. She will still be young and attractive, have enough education to find a partner, but not so much that she scares him away!

Those women that do pursue further study and later want to marry, find themselves in a rather difficult position. Most of the equally educated men that they could have married have already married down. Few men want to marry up. It is not surprising then, that educated Shanghainese women were well represented at the matchmaking event I stumbled upon in People's Park.

The presence of these type of matchmaking groups in contemporary Shanghai highlights the great importance which is placed on timely and conventional marriage in Chinese society. The different pressures this places upon men and women directly limits their respective educational and life choices. Hopefully, as China continues to open up not only the inequalities, but the actual value of the institution of marriage itself will begin to be questioned.

Lost in Translation

2007-07-05T01:51:00.001+10:00

Sexy Beijing - Lost in Translation -Danwei Tv

This short clip uncovers some of the amusing mistakes that occur when people translate names across language and culture. Taking off 'Sex in the City' in true Beijing style, it is part of a series produced by Danwei TV which takes a candid look at some of China's modern day cultural peculiarities. For other episodes check out YouTube. My favourite misnomer; Susan.

...

2007-05-01T17:05:00.000+10:00

....so anyway, there I am standing in a room full of Japanese women, stark naked and more shocked by the fact that I'm not feeling embarrassed or self conscious than I am at actually being in the situation itself, when a smiling old woman approaches me and motions for me to follow. She leads me from the change rooms into the steamy baths, hands me a tiny plastic stool and basin, and motions for me to sit down at a wash station.

As I sit down she sits down beside me and patiently demonstrates how to work the taps, filling my basin with warm water and then making sure I understand how to operate the shower head to rinse my hair. Following her lead I proceed to wash, soaping up and then tipping basins of water over my body. Feeling that as a foreigner it might be prudent to do an extra good job, just in case the locals don't think my washing style measures up and leave the baths en-mass, I spend quite a while cleaning. By the time I actually dare set foot in a bath, my new friend is already in.

I step into the tub. It is the size of a small swimming pool, scalding hot and has several individual sections. I move toward a vacant one and feel the entire lower half of my body become numb. Just as I am registering this strange new sensation my friend starts shaking her hands and shaking her head. I see the characters on the sign, characters which in Chinese mean electricity. Suddenly I understand! I quickly move out of the jarring electric field and into the section of the tub to which she is now motioning. This area is much more relaxing, and I sink down into the water and let the jets massage my tired back and shoulders.

After a while my friend leaves the baths, but before she exits she makes sure that I am aware that there is another room. It isn't long before the heat is too much for me, so I venture onward into the next room ...

Japanese Bath House Culture

2007-04-11T19:57:00.001+10:00

Since arriving in Japan I have acquired a new and rather surprising addiction; Japanese bath houses. At the moment I am averaging one a day, although this is requiring a great degree of self control. My curiosity was initially piqued by a step by step poster that was displayed in the lobby the Tokyo guest house at which I was staying. Designed to teach ignorant foreigners bath house etiquette, it explained in great detail the myriad steps involved in a visit, complete with photographic inserts (see below).

After carefully studying the poster, I ventured out into the cold night air and headed toward the local Senso, a small local bath house which was tucked away in a tiny Tokyo alley. With the pictures from the poster foremost in my mind I entered the bath house; slid off my shoes, put them into a locker, walked up to the vending machine and after some agonizing, pressed a button and purchased a ticket. Moving through into the reception I presented my ticket to the attendant, who then handed me a bag containing a towel, toothbrush, razor, soap and shampoo, and pointed me in the direction of the women's section. Upon entering the female changing rooms I selected a locker and proceeded to undress.

Suddenly, for the first time in my adult life I was completely naked in a room full of strangers. Uncertain as to how a non-shaven, non-airbrushed western woman might be received at such a venue I glanced around apprehensively. Women young and old were busily drying and dressing, preening and de-robing. There was sagging skin and wrinkles, tight skin covered with whitening cream, patches of pubic hair of different form and coarseness and breasts and bottoms of various shapes and sizes. No-one batted an eyelid. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was incredibly refreshing to see the female form in all its variation, and realise just how far removed it is from the sexualised, idealised images we are bombarded with.

An old Japanese woman, who was obviously a regular patron noticed me in the midst of my moment of realisation and promptly took me under her wing.

To be continued.....

Unfortunately I have to go and catch an overnight bus from Mt Fuji to Osaka. I will continue this post at the next available opportunity. In the meantime if you're interested in learning more about Japanese bath houses check out this wikipedia article; http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sento

Foreigners in China

2007-04-02T17:34:00.000+10:00

Today my Chinese teacher set an essay, the topic of which is to be 'Foreigners in China'. As the weeks go by it is becoming increasingly apparent that this teacher has a tendency to set rather provocative questions and I'm starting to wonder whether he is actually encouraging controversial answers.

Last weeks essay, for instance was to be entitled 'my first time'. Unfortunately not only did I lack the requisite vocabulary necessary to provide the most stimulating answer, but I doubted that I would be able to find all the words I needed in my dictionary. Disappointingly what could have been quite an amusing essay, turned out to be a complete bore.

This weeks essay, however should be quite different. My level of Chinese will hopefully allow me to relate the reality of being a foreigner in China. Its quite an interesting experience to suddenly find yourself positioned as 'the other. All of a sudden, as a foreigner you are a highly visable minority, confronted with all sorts of amusing and often unpleasant stereotypes. Western women, for instance are considered kailang or promiscuous while men are assumed to be rich and in China for business purposes. It is also expected that while in China foreign men will avail themselves of the myriad opportunities to have sexual relations with women far younger and more sexually attractive than themselves.

There is an interesting blog on this issue that is gaining a fair bit attention in China at the moment. Called 'China Dirt' http://chinadirt.blogspot.com/ it encourages foreign women living in China, to dish the dirt on the disreputable behaviour of foreign men, particularly in regard to dating. With the title 'Could the men living in China get any more retarded? Here are the horror stories from the front lines' it is obviously designed to amuse rather than provide critical analysis of social phenomena. It is, however, well worth a read simply because it is a tool which foreign women in China are currently using to connect with each other and to negotiate the difficulties of living and dating in China. In its own unique way, China Dirt is an attempt to confront the way in which western women are de-sexualised and even disrespected by their male counterparts through juxtaposition against the ubiquitous and highly visible sexualised, submissive Asian woman.

Ironically while western women may be considered too independent and consequently unattractive by some western men living in China, in they eyes of many Chinese, western women are extremely sexual and promiscuous. Personally, I find that walking the Shanghai streets as a western woman my consequent kailang reputation often attracts unwelcome male attention. I am pleased to report though that things have improved since my first visit to China in 1999 when everywhere I went I was accosted by hordes of locals wanting a photo. Initially it was difficult to refuse. Then I reflected on why so many people (particularly men) wanted my picture. When I realised that it was most likely for boasting rights "look, this is me and my foreign friend/girlfriend/one night stand etc." I quickly imposed a no photo rule. Fortunately nowadays, being a tall light haired foreign woman in China is no longer novelty enough to warrant a picture.

Oh well, I guess I should stop procrastinating and go and write this essay in Chinese. If you're looking for another procrastination tool I suggest checking out China Dirt;

http://chinadirt.blogspot.com/

Banned

2007-03-31T11:26:00.000+10:00

Breaking News; a highly subversive website has just been caught by China's mighty firewall... my blog. Yes, it seems that as of yesterday, Blogspot blogs can no longer be accessed from within China.

China has been attracting a lot of international attention recently, partly because of a booming economy and increasing international investment. It pays to remember, however that China is neither a capitalist society nor a democratic one and that it does not afford its citizens or its investors even the most basic right; that of free speech.

Open Minded

2007-03-27T18:47:00.000+10:00

Today I learned that a classmate of mine is writing her thesis on AIDS prevention in Shanghai. She is having a difficult time. The books and research materials she orders in from the US are systematically opened and checked before they arrive in her mail box. She is also finding it hard to persuade people to talk to her. Not long after beginning her research she discovered that the people she interviews are investigated by the Public Security Bureau shortly afterward.

Aids is a touchy subject in China, cloaked in prejudice and fear. The recent safe sex campaign that has seen condom vending machines installed on nearly every street corner in Shanghai has failed in its efforts to make condoms accepted and more accessible. The installation of street machines was intended to offer a 'less shameful' means of purchasing condoms, however in China there are eyes everywhere. My classmate reports that not all of the machines work, and that over the course of a year she has only observed the condom vending machine in her street being used twice. She also questions how much this campaign benefits women, given that in their sexual relationships they may not have the power to insist on using condoms.

When conducting her research, my classmate is frequently referred to as 'kailang' . 'Kailang' is usually translated as open minded, however when it is used to refer to a western women it takes on a far more degrading tone, implying that she is promiscuous and immoral. I have been called 'kailang' myself, and it is amazing how many Chinese people assume that western women always cheat on their partners. My classmate and I can only assume that they have got this impression from the movies. Interestingly, living in Shanghai we have got the impression that it is actually Chinese men who are rather 'kailang'. In China, sex (for heterosexual men) is a cheap and unregulated service that is offered in massage parlours, hairdressers, karaoke centres, bars and clubs everywhere. It is accepted for men to have mistresses and for women to be the 'third person' in a relationship. There is a whole range of vocabulary that has come into use to describe women in such relationships. The way in which these new words are used to establish the rights of women within a multi-person relationship is eerily resembled of the way labels were once used to make clear the hierarchical order of women within households when concubinage and polygamy was the norm.

AIDS prevention is an urgent and crucial area of study and I wish my classmate every luck with her research. Current attitudes toward sex and sexuality in China are different, although not unrelated to those in the West. I'll do my best to keep you posted.

A brief update on the content of my flickr gallery;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/nomadkel/

At the moment there are pictures from Brunei, Hong Kong, Macau and Beijing. I am hoping to post photo's from my upcoming trip to Japan (April) as well as a photographic expose of my everyday life in Shanghai soon!

Fragrant Harbour

2007-03-14T21:27:00.001+11:00

Have a close look at this picture...

It was taken inside Hong Kong's famous Man Mo Temple. At first I thought that an attendant had left their lunch on the table while they popped out of the room. Then I looked again and realised that along with the apples and oranges, it was simply another offering to the ancestors. Although there was a no photography sign in the temple, I figured that if the spirits weren't offended by a fillet o' fish meal, they certainly wouldn't mind me taking a discreet picture. While many religions the world over are making attempts to modernise and actively engage with contemporary social issues, I was surprised to find such an extraneous marriage of capitalism and ritual. Surely Confucious wouldn't approve!

Over the Chinese New Year, Tom and I spent a week in Hong Kong. I find Hong Kong much more liveable than Shanghai and it was quite refreshing to return to such a fast, efficient, organised city. As a bartender in Lang Kwai Fung (Hong Kong's premiere drinking sector) put it; Hong Kong is a modern city, while Shanghai is still undergoing modernisation and is in a state of total chaos as a result!

The Chinese name for Hong Kong, Xianggang (香港) literally translates as fragrant harbour. Along with it's mind boggling efficiency (what other city has escalators on its hills to take workers to and from work?), it is the beautiful harbour that endears me so much to this metropolis. Away from the claustrophobic maze of shopping centres lie clusters of islands with private beaches, wild forests and small villages. Tragically though, few people seem to realise that Hong Kong is so much more than a shopper's paradise, and that all this natural beauty is less than a 20 minute ferry ride away.

Each island has it's own character and charm, my personal favourite being Lamma for it's nice beaches, interesting walks, eclectic expat community, caves built by occupying Japanese forces during World War II and the incredible vegetarian cafe/bookstore in Yung Shue Wan. Next time you visit Hong Kong, I challenge you to venture beyond Kowloon and Central, and explore at least one of the city's remarkable islands.

Another interesting and lesser known aspect of Hong Kong is the large female migrant population. There are currently 240,000 foreign domestic workers in Hong Kong, 65% of whom are Filipina. The majority are women who come to work as amah's (domestic servants) in middle and upper class households. During my visit I read 'Maid to Order in Hong Kong', a study of Filipina migrant workers by Rachel Constable. It was fascinating to glean deeper insight into the gendered, class and racial exploitation of these women, and learn the ways in which the government, employers and recruitment companies all manipulate and disempower workers.

I was particularly interested to learn that some Hong Kong women employ amah's simply so that they themselves can have careers. They pay their amah's only slightly less than what they themselves earn, effectively displacing gender restrictions onto another, lower class woman. The extent to which these women have to go to simply to shrug their "feminine" responsibilities and enter the workforce is confronting, and gives rise to a whole range of ethical questions. This is definately an area which I will research more in the future.

I will put photographs from this recent trip up on my flickr account soon. Hong Kong is such a fascinating city, which is now only two hours away by plane and I am really looking forward to returning in the near future.

Travel Photos

2007-03-14T00:02:00.000+11:00

Today has been an extremely productive day. As well as changing classes at university (not an easy task in China) I have purchased my textbooks, paid my bills, restocked the kitchen, done the laundry, watered the plants, finished last week's homework and created a new flickr account. Could I be missing someone I wonder???

As a result of my little domestic binge you can go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/nomadkel/ and check out some of my recent travel photos. At the moment there are pictures from Brunei with shots from Shanghai, Hong Kong, Macau and Beijing pending.

High Class Society

2007-03-03T14:55:00.001+11:00

The other day I bought a packet of plastic spoons. Upon returning home and reading the label, I was somewhat surprised to discover that they were 'high class toothpicks'. When I saw that an ugly floral shower cap purchased for the grand price of 4RMB (less than $1AUD) shared the same 'high class' tag, I began to notice a worrying trend.

It seems that advertisers will slap 'high class' on almost anything in order to encourage sales. The more incongruous, the better!

In communist China, class matters.

What class is, however, appears less certain.

As China embraces 'market socialism', a new and rapidly growing middle class are struggling to define class for themselves. While I suspect that what they are searching for does not lie in cheap disposable plastic products, it is interesting to see how the ideals of this new consumer culture relate to those of the West.

Certainly Western food, products and lifestyle are purchased as symbols of sophistication and success. And in the realm of feminine beauty 'Westernism' is the ideal. But taste is fickle and as any traveller who has visited China will tell you, vexing examples of cultural misappropriation are everywhere. From french fries covered in sugar to fruit salad served with mayonnaise, not everything translates smoothly. Who knows what will emerge out of this discordant mix of products and ideals.

In southern China, for example there has been a recent surge in errand running companies.

A recent article in the South China Morning Post, entitled 'Doing Chores for Wealthy Big Business for the Poor' (http://archive.scmp.com/showarticles.php) stated that as well as paying for your standard cleaning and shopping, you can pay;

8-15 yuan an hr for queuing

50-100 yuan for saying sorry or professing love

100-200 yuan to deliver a rebuke

It seems that words, at least for now, are cheap.

Happy New Year!

2007-02-19T14:18:00.001+11:00

On Chinese New Years Eve Tom and I flew from Shanghai to Hong Kong, where we are currently holidaying. It was a crisp, clear night and as we looked down at China from on high, thousands of bright, colourful fireworks were leaping up toward us with beautiful sparkling patterns exploding everywhere. It was truly the most spectacuar fireworks display I have ever seen and a wonderful way to bring in the new year (again!).

I will write more soon, but in the meantime here are a couple of Hong Kong happy snaps;

This notice is posted below the nameplate to our guesthouse;

Some pertinent graffiti Tom and I stumbled across in one of the island's many alleyways;

Head Hunted

2007-02-13T03:30:00.000+11:00

The other day I picked up the phone, only to be asked immediately if I was a foreigner.

"Yes" I answered in Mandarin, wondering who I was speaking to, how they had my number and how they knew that I wasn't Chinese.

"We heard that you are looking for part time work teaching English" the stranger said.

'No I'm not', I thought...

"Yes I am", I said.

"How about you come to our school now to talk?"

"Ok", I said.

15 minutes later I was an English teacher with;

4 classes
3 textbooks
1 timetable
a 120RMB per hour wage (roughly $20AUD)

and without;

a degree
a TEFL certificate
experience of any kind

As it turns out the Korean man who used to live in my apartment owns an English school. I met him for a couple of minutes when I inspected the place.

He's back in Korea with his family now, but the school needed a new teacher and instead of using conventional channels, he just asked his staff to call his old home phone and offer me a job!

I had heard that it was relatively easy to find teaching jobs here, but I didn't think I'd get offers when I wasn't even looking.

Anyone want to pack up and come to Shanghai...I'll find you a job!

Ms Brown

Brunei - Kingdom of Unexpected Treasures

2007-02-09T17:37:00.001+11:00

Beyond vague visions of a tiny oil-rich country with an egotistic Sultan, most people seem to know very little about Brunei. Googling the kingdom produces a cluster of websites with the standard spiel and happy snaps, and an official website with rather a regal bent. In order to avoid boring you with the 'beautiful country, such friendly people' anecdotes, I though I'd share some of my own more trifling observations of Bandar Seri Begawan.

Firstly,

Brunei is a dry country...

so I was a little amused to find this kitchy shot glass in a tourist store.

Luckily, non-Muslim tourists are permitted to bring 2 bottles of alcohol (wine or spirits) and 12 cans of beer into the country. Certain hotels seem to reconcile their religious beliefs with a duty of care and also manage to keep tourists discretely watered.

Secondly, Bandar Seri Begawan is tiny. Tom and I picked up a map of the CBD and planned an afternoon of sightseeing. Less than a minute later we had walked from one side of the city to the other and realised we had better make other plans.

One place we visited that afternoon was the Royal Museum. I learnt from this is that the Sultan is a very rich man, who has a lot of very rich friends, who have given him a lot of very expensive presents, that he doesn't like enough to keep in his palace.

Before stepping off the plane, an introductory tourist video politely reminded us (or more specifically female tourists) that because Brunei was a Muslim country, we should 'observe the local dress code and dress modestly'. After stepping off the plane, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my jeans and three-quarter length top were more than suitable and that the attire of local women failed to reveal any coherent dress code, Muslim or otherwise.

I did however, think it was of note that on the various public notice boards scattered around the CBD there were black and white home-made advertisements for male masseuses with tear off phone numbers and pixelated pictures of muscly guys using penis pumps. I sensed a strong homosexual undercurrent.

The aforementioned advertisements were amusing, but Tom and I tired of the tiny CBD pretty quickly and decided to explore the area where the majority of Banda Seri Begwan's citizens live; the water village. By far the most interesting part of the capital, houses and restaurants, schools and shops, gardens and chicken coups all sit on stilts in the middle of the river. We hired a speed boat, and spent the better part of the afternoon (and the following morning) exploring this fascinating area with the wind in our hair (see following pic).

Even the lonely planet admits that a day in Brunei is more than enough time to see the sights. In terms of the capital's CBD I couldn't agree more. But personally, I'm really looking forward to going back. I can't wait to learn more about life in the water village. Who knows, maybe there's a hotel sitting there somewhere in the middle of the river, in the maze of buildings on stilts.

Toilet Men

2007-02-09T01:48:00.001+11:00

Most of us, I think it is safe to say, have hesitated akwardly when confronted with ambiguously labeled bathrooms at a club.

When you don't identify with either symbol on the door it is confronting. What do you do?

One of the first essays I read for gender studies was about the difficulties posed by public bathrooms. The author was a woman of androgynous appearance who felt uncomfortable using the men's bathroom, but found herself even more uncomfortable when women in the female toilets called security. Critiquing the binary organization of gender and society at large, the article made it painfully clear that if you don't fit the image of either gender, getting on in society becomes rather difficult.

I was reminded of this recently when attempting to use a local resturant's bathroom. At the best of times Chinese toilets are fraught with all sorts of unpleasantness. Whether western or squat (and today China has a mix) they all seem to be covered with stray urine. Universally bad plumming means that toilet paper cannot be flushed and is instead disposed of in open topped bins, leaving a less than pleasant odour.

The offending party at this resturant, however was not the dirty toilets. It was the signs.

The ridiculousness of the labels above the two doors made me laugh, attract the attention of some very confused wait-staff by taking a picture, and then think.

Often it is only when you are on the outside that you can see the absurdity of what lies within.

The Importance of Context

2007-02-08T02:31:00.001+11:00

or 'WHY I ERRONEOUSLY TOLD THE LANDLADY THAT I HAD AIDS'

Mandarin is a tonal language. There are a limited number of sounds, each of which can be spoken in four different ways. The challenge then, to the non-native (or tone deaf) speaker, is to decipher, from the same sound, its different meanings. To those who are unfamiliar with the nature of the language, paying attention to the context in which words are spoken is often the only possible way to understand Mandarin. Context, interestingly is also what fluent speakers of Mandarin rely upon when listening to Chinese music, as the only tonal variation in sung mandarin is in the tune.

Unsurprisingly, new Mandarin speakers often have a hard a time making themselves understood. The majority of beginners start their speaking days with confidence. Assured that Chinese listeners will, with patience and ingenuity, use context as a way of untangling intended meaning from the web of words they accidentally and inevitably create. Upon finding that this is not the case (and that their audience is often less than charitable in this regard), new speakers will usually turn to one of the following devices. One common technique is the incorporation of random tonal variation into speech patterns, on chance that such vocal fluctuation will add meaning*. Another method is to talk in a monotone voice, ignoring the tonal aspect of Mandarin language altogether and conveniently dislocating the problems it poses. A final, very natural, technique is for learners to revert to the comfortable intonation of their mother language. English speakers, for example, will often lift their tone (and in the process absent mindedly drop the requisite mandarin particle) when asking a question. It is, of course, understandable that learners, when faced with such a challenging and unfamiliar language, resort to such measures. All the aforementioned approaches, however, it must be stressed test the relationship between speaker and audience, butcher the Mandarin language and further obscure the speaker’s original meaning.

Despite the impediments that tones pose to learners of Mandarin, it is important to remember that they are a very powerful and complex linguistic device. In fact it is the manipulation of similar sounds (as well as related characters) that imbues Chinese literature with such rich and ultimately untranslatable meaning. It is also why unexpected phone calls in China are so excruciatingly difficult and why, upon moving into my new apartment with my partner Tom, I accidentally and erroneously told the landlady that we had AIDS.

I had called the landlady because one of the doors in the apartment needed fixing.

My apartment is on the 5th floor of an old style Chinese compound.

There is no lift.

At the bottom of the stairs the landlady and I were talking about height.

“I’m short and fat” the landlady said, using the word ai for short. “You’re tall and skinny. Are all people this tall in Australia?”

“No, not all people” I said.

All the way up the stairs I thought we were talking about height.

The landlady kept repeating the word for short, ai, ai and motioning with her hands. Even though we were rapidly exhausting the scope of both the topic and my language skills I continued to make polite small talk about stature.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m very tall” I said.

We reached the fifth level and went inside my apartment. Still, the landlady continued to talk about height. Her sentences were smattered with ai, the Mandarin word for short.

She looked at my face and realized that I wasn’t understanding exactly the point that she was trying to make. She grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down a word.

I looked at the first character she had written. It was ai, the character for love. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a condom lying carelessly on the desk. I looked at her facial expression. Then at my dictionary.

Ai zi bing - AIDS.

“Do you have AIDS in Australia?” she was saying.

Slightly thrown by my complete misinterpretation of the entire stairwell conversation I managed to stutter “yes, yes we do.”

She looked horrified.

I thought about what she had just said. About what I had just said.

Shit, I had just told her that I had AIDS.

I thought about the Chinese government’s attitude towards HIV sufferers. I realized that her understanding of AIDS might be radically different to mine. I realized that at best I was about to get kicked out of my apartment, (at worst out of China) less than twenty four hours after moving in.

I grabbed a copy of the physical examination form for foreigners that I had submitted with my university application documents. I frantically pointed at my test results.

“Look, look. I don’t have AIDS.”

She looked at me critically.

I realized that it was all written in English.

“You don’t have AIDS?” she said.

“No. Australia does, but I don’t” I clarified.

“What about your boyfriend” she said.

“No we’re both very healthy."

“Very healthy and very tall” she said.

* My Chinese teacher would be horrified to learn that practicing random tonal variation when attempting to speak Mandarin is not, as you might imagine, entirely futile. This technique once won me a place in a statewide Chinese reading competition. Once at the competition, however, I failed to advance!