It has been a busy week. I went to visit a man in prison. While doing such is not new, there were aspects to the visit which had been hitherto untried.
The prisoner had asked some time ago for a hymnal so that he could sing some during his confinement. I saw that he got one. Then when I went on Monday to visit, he brought the church hymnal to the visiting room. We sat on either side of a thick glass barrier. He had a microphone and speakers on his side. On mine was a receiver. During our time there, I would switch the phone receiver from ear to ear so as not to weary myself into an asymmetrical state. About 15 minutes into the allotted half hour, he said that there were several hymns, the pages of which he had marked, that he did not know. At this juncture, he held the open book to the thick glass and asked me to sing to him. I looked up at the video monitor camera and thought of the Candid Camera program that I thought had died. And the song service/special music began. There were about 15 other visitors around me at different windows, but who were not giving the poor prisoners their full attention, wondering ...
Some rather grand days have passed this week. Two of those who take Bible studies from me have decided to be baptized. It is to be on June 21. This posed a bit of a problem. I had brought a baptismal robe with me from the US which I wear when I baptize people. But I have been a bit uncomfortable wearing white while those to be baptized wear black. Not only that, but the black robes which have been here for a long time (even though they are not as bad as the poor man at Port Augusta in Australia, who came out of the dressing room wearing someone's dress which I shall never know how he got his hands on it) are not attractive in the least. And so, I decided this Friday the 13th, to order 2 new robes. I took mine as a pattern and headed off. It was pouring down rain, so I wore my yellow rubber rain coat. It is an hour train ride, so I took a good book to read, and SARS isn't gone completely from the horizon, so I wore my face mask.
When I arrived at Lohwu, the border town, I left the train and went to the immigration counter. The Hong Kong agent checked my passport. I lowered my face mask and he compared my younger photograph with my older face and decided that they were still related. My passport was stamped appropriately and I headed across the foot bridge into China and the Chinese immigration desks.
I have been impressed over the last few months with the apparati that have been attached to the ceilings at the border crossings for the purpose of taking the traveler's temperature while he stands in line. The last thing that happens to the border-crosser before he hands his passport to the immigration officer is that this wonder of modern science that moves up and down scanning for hot necks takes the temperature through the medium of infrared light. I stood there in the long line, wondering if I had chosen the wrong line because mine seemed to move so slowly. Finally I would be next and I stood in the spot where one's temp is taken. I looked up at this piece of equipment and it's green and red light. The green flashes to signify that the person being assessed is not so hot after all. I wondered what happens if the mechanism determines that the person below is fevered.
To my horror, this metal box that beams the infrared not only takes temperatures, but also reads minds. It immediately began to beep loudly resentful of my questioning attitude, while a red light flashed directly over my head. Within moments I stood alone in line. In my back pack was my baptismal robe and in my hand my passport and necessary papers to cross the border into China where I would purchase material and secure the services of cheap labor to tailor two robes. A guard appeared from nowhere. Pointing towards Hong Kong, he motioned for me walk. I was making a hasty retreat when he pointed to a door at the side of the immigration hall. I was to enter. Dirty chairs lined the dirty walls of this dirty room where a dirty man sat looking across a cluttered desk at 3 nurses and a doctor. They had little glass holders full of glass thermometers. And they told me to take a seat. I declined. My Friday afternoon was ebbing away, and I needed to order robes and hurry back to Hong Kong. I told them I had decided not to go to China and if they would excuse me, I was just going to be moving along. I was stopped as if I were a suicide bomber heading out for my last job. I was obviously going nowhere.
The dirty man who sat on the dirty chair over by the dirty wall looked quite ill. He coughed and snorted germs about and answered their questions. Again they told me to sit. I suggested to them that this was all a mistake, I was fine and really needed to be going. And, since there were four of them and two of us, maybe they could split up and one or two of them could take my temperature. They thought this might not be a bad idea and sent one of the nurses to gather a glass thermometer from the antique glass holder. She walked towards me and told me to put it in my arm pit. Considering the options, I was somewhat relieved. For 10 minutes I stood there trying to be cool.
Finally, they escorted the dirty man out and asked me to sit down. I said I felt so healthy that I just wanted to stand. The thermometer was removed, revealing a temperature of 37.4, which is about as normal as it gets. "Can I go?" No, of course not, the paper work had to be done, and I must explain things like how long I had been suffering from my cough and the many other symptoms of SARS, none of which I have.. I danced a little jig, showing them that not only was everything cool, but that I also felt pretty good. OK. Just give them my passport. Before thinking, I did so. Then I looked at their hands. They wore the same kind of gloves that food handlers wear at places like Subway Sandwich shops in the US. And their worn gloves looked like they'd been doing a lot of work for a long time without changing gloves. Maybe even making sandwiches. But obviously not a lot of cleaning. I complained bitterly to them of their contaminated gloves and my thusly contaminated passport. I suggested that these were substandard and unsafe medical procedures which needed attention. They looked with total bewilderment at their filthy gloves. I assured them that their appearance was not in the least reassuring, and that neither did I appreciate being held in the room where those suspected of being infected with deadly SARS were also interviewed and spent time in practicing spitting and hacking, leaving fever-produced droplets of death on every surface. Especially in light of the fact that they had determined that I did not have a fever.
Convinced of the infallibility of their temperature-taking/mind-reading machine, they asked me how I had gotten my temperature to fall so rapidly. So, to save them face I told them that I had lowered my mask for identity purposes and at that time, the hot air escaping from my lungs had set off the machine. This seemed to please them and they escorted me back to the immigration point.
The robes are ordered and I am rejoicing this evening in such a quick recovery. Only 20 minutes of my life were spent in the sick room, giving me a glimpse of the workings of Chinese medicine and a story. I am also wondering what time spent in that dirty room will reveal in the next 2 weeks about my immune system.
Doug
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Monday, May 26, 2003
Criminal Activity
This morning I rode on the Tram to the Star Ferry. The windows open and make the traveling seem cleaner. I thought I'd sneak a picture of the woman across from me. Aren't you glad I wasn't sitting across from you?!
I rode the Ferry across the harbor to the Kowloon side and walked the several blocks to the Conference Office. When I had finished my business, I decided to catch the MTR (subway) back to Hong Kong. Then it happened. While waiting for the train, a man sitting on a bench nearby spat a big mouthful all over in front of himself. A few days ago I stood in a market buying some fruit when a woman came and stood beside me eating cooked crab from a Styrofoam tray. The portions she did not wish to eat (shell and claws, antennae etc.) she was spitting on my foot. But this man was grosser than she had been. When he saw me staring at him, which I was doing most likely because there are signs all over the city telling people how to spit, and he obviously didn't know how to follow directions, he said in perfect unslurred English, "don't mind me, I'm drunk". I reported his spit to the station attendant so that it could be cleaned up before someone got it on them. The "drunk" took off on a run and boarded a leaving train. The station attendant called to the next station to report a spit -and - run. While he was doing this, a woman came and sat in the area where the spit-and-run had taken place. This was not to last long. The attendant rushed to tell her of her peril. She lunged away and began to examine herself, her clothing, and her backpack.
I boarded the Hong Kong bound train and hurried back to my densely populated island. So, read the sign on the garage door in the picture. Clean Hong Kong. Some remain unconvinced.
A girl went to Beijing. She returned to Hangzhou, the city where Ben and Bess are living and teaching English at Sir Run Run Shaw Hospital. Her family and she all now have SARS. They were diagnosed last Sunday. The number of persons in Hangzhou has not yet changed from that. I trust those numbers since Dr. David McFadden works at SRRS, and is very on top of things in Hangzhou. But, two of the 3 infected, are not doing well. They have been intubated, and the third will most likely require the same shortly. Their names I don't know, but pray for them. Pray for China and Hong Kong
Doug
Monday, May 19, 2003
Lip Reading
This morning I went early to the Wanchai Tower. It is the headquarters for the Hong Kong Correctional Services Department. Or, Department of Prisons. After being interviewed by a number of persons, a Mr. Ko was very helpful and told me exactly what I will need to do in order to be installed as a Chaplain in the Prison System of Hong Kong.
My reason for endeavoring to do this is because of the difficulties in visiting inmates as a visitor. Today, for example:
One of our church members has been incarcerated for immigration problems. He was actually quite ignorant that anything was wrong, and was arrested at the airport when re-entering the country from China. I went to visit him last Monday, and it went well. But then I went earlier in the morning.
To begin with, Getting there isn't easy. I catch a bus to the Central Bus terminus. There I walk about 10 minutes to the ferry piers for ferries to other Islands, as opposed to taking a ferry to the New Territories. There I catch a ferry to Peng Hau Island. Upon arrival there I normally just walk over to another ferry that leaves from there to the prison Island. This morning, however, I needed to run to the grocery store on the first Island and buy some items that Daniel (our Adventist inmate) needed. A towel and some butter. Daniel didn't really want butter at all, but English is not his first language. He comes from an African nation, and he is often close to the word he wishes to use, but not always right there. He had told me last Monday that he needed some butter so that he could shave. I decided that his wish was for Shaving Cream. So, when he said butter, I thought to myself that I should get him some cream. In my cholesteroled condition, the two are very closely linked. Kind of like... "What is the first thing that comes into your mind when I say 'Butter'?" So, I finally, and it is fortunate, said to Daniel, "you mean Shaving Cream?" He did not. With much discussion, we both eventually realized that what he wanted was batteries.
And so this morning I ran to the store and bought the towel (a size and brand that is allowed by the prison system) and the batteries. I am not sure why I didn't question in my mind if the prison system was particular about batteries as they were about towels. Then I ran for the ferry that goes to the prison island. It was leaving. The first mate (mate really, since there are only two crew members on board) remembering me, signaled for the captain to return to the wharf and allow me to board. Thankfully I jumped a little span of salt water just before the boat touched dock again, and we were on our way.
At the prison island, we leave the boat and go into a reception area. There they ask us the prisoner's number. I had forgotten to bring the number with me today. But, they don't seem to have many visitors the likes of myself, and they remembered who I was coming to visit. They showed me his photograph, just to be sure, and all was in readiness. I then showed them the articles that I wished given to Daniel. The towel, they took and, approving of the brand, but not the size, cut it in half. The half not allowed to go to prison is in my briefcase for future reference. Then I showed them the batteries. Their English, being like my Chinese, does not lend itself to a lot of explaining, but rather tends towards specific injunctions. So, they looked at the batteries and said, "NO!" I decided that double A was not the right size, seeing a whole box of AAA batteries sitting on the counter. I asked if I could buy a package. No. But, the mate on the little ferry would sell me batteries. I ran back to the ferry, which was for my second approach today, getting ready to leave. They returned, I jumped on board and asked if I could buy batteries. The mate tried to sell me AA batteries. I told him through much sign language that I needed AAA batteries. He tried to dissuade me (possibly having known the workings of prison razors from some previous experience), but I insisted and he handed me the AAA "butter". I jumped ship and ran back to the reception area. The ship sailed and the receptionist told me I had the wrong size, I needed AA. I showed her that those I already had in my possession from the first time I had to jump on board a moving object. Ah, she showed me by much gesticulation, that the brand was not allowed. I had not brought the permissible "Ever Ready" but rather held in my guilty hand "Dura Cell". I tried again to buy batteries from her, but she explained that she sold only AAA, and I needed AA. However, when the ferry returned to take us away from Sing Sing, I could trade the batteries with the mate.
Eventually our sad group of visitors was ushered in to visit with the inmates. We were in a fairly small cement room. There were 6 visitors and 5 inmates. Two of the visitors were husband and wife there to visit their son. And all 11 persons and the two guards who kept watch over our visit began speaking at once. The curtainless, carpetless, non-upholstered room, refused to absorb one word of what was being said, and there we sat shouting in an echo chamber. All of us were required to wear masks to prevent infecting either inmate or guest with SARS. And it was impossible to know what Daniel was saying to me.
Daniel has a very muscular neck. I realized the physical exercise that has provided him with this pillar-like muscle connecting his head and torso when I tried to listen to him speak today. Not being able to hear him clearly through the muffler that was his mask and the only thing in the room that was absorbing any of the many sounds, I thought I might be able to read his lips. But alas, they were hidden by the mask. I thought, however, that just his body language might help to some extent. It was not to be. Daniel bobbed his head around relentlessly as he spoke. It went from side to side, then up and down, and sometimes in a circular undulating motion. It was like he was dancing and sitting down at the same time. My neck too would be grand, allowing me to lift barbells with my chin, if I kept my head in motion like that whenever I wished to speak. I could only try to remain focused on his mask. His eyes opened and closed as he described prison life. Now and then there might be a lull in the bedlam coming from right and left and I would hear Daniel tell me that the guards were good to him. He told me in a quiet moment that they like to practice their English with him. And I could envision having to bring a couple of cows to the island to furnish enough butter for everyone's' razors. I tried to just watch his mask. Maybe I could read his lips through the mask. No, it was like trying to figure out what was being said by watching the vibrations on an eardrum. But Daniel was so happy that I was there to visit him, and I told him I was sorry for being old and deaf. He assured me that I was loved and forgiven. What an inspiration Daniel always is when I visit him.
He is learning to use the computer. He is so excited. He told me once that the view and the food are both wonderful, and he has so many nice friends.
Visiting hours ended and I hurried back to reception. It would be another 30 minutes before the arrival of the boat. I waited, holding the AAA butter in one hand and the Dura Cells in the other. When the boat that I would take (since there seem to be some for other lonely islands also leaving from the same pier) finally arrived, I was given the nod by the officer in charge of batteries and half-towels, to go and make my exchange. I rushed out and ran the length of the pier. I found the salty mate and showed him what he had tried to tell me at the time I got the batteries... I had the wrong size. He gave me the correct size and I ran back, delivered the approved Ever Readys and then ran back to the boat. Of course, I was late for the third time that day. Many people lined both sides of the stairs that went down into the briny deep. The tide was out, so the stairs were long and covered with barnacles below the high-water mark.
I will probably never know if it was intentional, but one of the young ladies near the top of the stairs stuck out her foot just enough to stop mine as I passed. I was hurrying, however, so as not to miss the boat, and even though my foot stopped, my upper body (actually everything from my ankles on up) kept on moving. I was being hurled down the steps, much to the enjoyment of the 25 or so bystanders. Their amusement was short-lived, however, as I flailed towards my salt bath. My waving arms and legs were snagging innocent and guilty on-lookers, and a good-sized group of us were headed towards a watery grave. Three stout men near the bottom step, managed to spread themselves across the path and stop the wall of humanity that was accompanying the komakazi pastor from America. I jumped on the waiting boat and we left. Even though I was too shamed to look those left on land in the eye, I did get out my camera and snap a couple of photos of the sober little gathering that were wondering if they might be safer if I were behind bars. I already have a regulation towel.
Doug
My reason for endeavoring to do this is because of the difficulties in visiting inmates as a visitor. Today, for example:
One of our church members has been incarcerated for immigration problems. He was actually quite ignorant that anything was wrong, and was arrested at the airport when re-entering the country from China. I went to visit him last Monday, and it went well. But then I went earlier in the morning.
To begin with, Getting there isn't easy. I catch a bus to the Central Bus terminus. There I walk about 10 minutes to the ferry piers for ferries to other Islands, as opposed to taking a ferry to the New Territories. There I catch a ferry to Peng Hau Island. Upon arrival there I normally just walk over to another ferry that leaves from there to the prison Island. This morning, however, I needed to run to the grocery store on the first Island and buy some items that Daniel (our Adventist inmate) needed. A towel and some butter. Daniel didn't really want butter at all, but English is not his first language. He comes from an African nation, and he is often close to the word he wishes to use, but not always right there. He had told me last Monday that he needed some butter so that he could shave. I decided that his wish was for Shaving Cream. So, when he said butter, I thought to myself that I should get him some cream. In my cholesteroled condition, the two are very closely linked. Kind of like... "What is the first thing that comes into your mind when I say 'Butter'?" So, I finally, and it is fortunate, said to Daniel, "you mean Shaving Cream?" He did not. With much discussion, we both eventually realized that what he wanted was batteries.
And so this morning I ran to the store and bought the towel (a size and brand that is allowed by the prison system) and the batteries. I am not sure why I didn't question in my mind if the prison system was particular about batteries as they were about towels. Then I ran for the ferry that goes to the prison island. It was leaving. The first mate (mate really, since there are only two crew members on board) remembering me, signaled for the captain to return to the wharf and allow me to board. Thankfully I jumped a little span of salt water just before the boat touched dock again, and we were on our way.
At the prison island, we leave the boat and go into a reception area. There they ask us the prisoner's number. I had forgotten to bring the number with me today. But, they don't seem to have many visitors the likes of myself, and they remembered who I was coming to visit. They showed me his photograph, just to be sure, and all was in readiness. I then showed them the articles that I wished given to Daniel. The towel, they took and, approving of the brand, but not the size, cut it in half. The half not allowed to go to prison is in my briefcase for future reference. Then I showed them the batteries. Their English, being like my Chinese, does not lend itself to a lot of explaining, but rather tends towards specific injunctions. So, they looked at the batteries and said, "NO!" I decided that double A was not the right size, seeing a whole box of AAA batteries sitting on the counter. I asked if I could buy a package. No. But, the mate on the little ferry would sell me batteries. I ran back to the ferry, which was for my second approach today, getting ready to leave. They returned, I jumped on board and asked if I could buy batteries. The mate tried to sell me AA batteries. I told him through much sign language that I needed AAA batteries. He tried to dissuade me (possibly having known the workings of prison razors from some previous experience), but I insisted and he handed me the AAA "butter". I jumped ship and ran back to the reception area. The ship sailed and the receptionist told me I had the wrong size, I needed AA. I showed her that those I already had in my possession from the first time I had to jump on board a moving object. Ah, she showed me by much gesticulation, that the brand was not allowed. I had not brought the permissible "Ever Ready" but rather held in my guilty hand "Dura Cell". I tried again to buy batteries from her, but she explained that she sold only AAA, and I needed AA. However, when the ferry returned to take us away from Sing Sing, I could trade the batteries with the mate.
Eventually our sad group of visitors was ushered in to visit with the inmates. We were in a fairly small cement room. There were 6 visitors and 5 inmates. Two of the visitors were husband and wife there to visit their son. And all 11 persons and the two guards who kept watch over our visit began speaking at once. The curtainless, carpetless, non-upholstered room, refused to absorb one word of what was being said, and there we sat shouting in an echo chamber. All of us were required to wear masks to prevent infecting either inmate or guest with SARS. And it was impossible to know what Daniel was saying to me.
Daniel has a very muscular neck. I realized the physical exercise that has provided him with this pillar-like muscle connecting his head and torso when I tried to listen to him speak today. Not being able to hear him clearly through the muffler that was his mask and the only thing in the room that was absorbing any of the many sounds, I thought I might be able to read his lips. But alas, they were hidden by the mask. I thought, however, that just his body language might help to some extent. It was not to be. Daniel bobbed his head around relentlessly as he spoke. It went from side to side, then up and down, and sometimes in a circular undulating motion. It was like he was dancing and sitting down at the same time. My neck too would be grand, allowing me to lift barbells with my chin, if I kept my head in motion like that whenever I wished to speak. I could only try to remain focused on his mask. His eyes opened and closed as he described prison life. Now and then there might be a lull in the bedlam coming from right and left and I would hear Daniel tell me that the guards were good to him. He told me in a quiet moment that they like to practice their English with him. And I could envision having to bring a couple of cows to the island to furnish enough butter for everyone's' razors. I tried to just watch his mask. Maybe I could read his lips through the mask. No, it was like trying to figure out what was being said by watching the vibrations on an eardrum. But Daniel was so happy that I was there to visit him, and I told him I was sorry for being old and deaf. He assured me that I was loved and forgiven. What an inspiration Daniel always is when I visit him.
He is learning to use the computer. He is so excited. He told me once that the view and the food are both wonderful, and he has so many nice friends.
Visiting hours ended and I hurried back to reception. It would be another 30 minutes before the arrival of the boat. I waited, holding the AAA butter in one hand and the Dura Cells in the other. When the boat that I would take (since there seem to be some for other lonely islands also leaving from the same pier) finally arrived, I was given the nod by the officer in charge of batteries and half-towels, to go and make my exchange. I rushed out and ran the length of the pier. I found the salty mate and showed him what he had tried to tell me at the time I got the batteries... I had the wrong size. He gave me the correct size and I ran back, delivered the approved Ever Readys and then ran back to the boat. Of course, I was late for the third time that day. Many people lined both sides of the stairs that went down into the briny deep. The tide was out, so the stairs were long and covered with barnacles below the high-water mark.
I will probably never know if it was intentional, but one of the young ladies near the top of the stairs stuck out her foot just enough to stop mine as I passed. I was hurrying, however, so as not to miss the boat, and even though my foot stopped, my upper body (actually everything from my ankles on up) kept on moving. I was being hurled down the steps, much to the enjoyment of the 25 or so bystanders. Their amusement was short-lived, however, as I flailed towards my salt bath. My waving arms and legs were snagging innocent and guilty on-lookers, and a good-sized group of us were headed towards a watery grave. Three stout men near the bottom step, managed to spread themselves across the path and stop the wall of humanity that was accompanying the komakazi pastor from America. I jumped on the waiting boat and we left. Even though I was too shamed to look those left on land in the eye, I did get out my camera and snap a couple of photos of the sober little gathering that were wondering if they might be safer if I were behind bars. I already have a regulation towel.
Doug
Wednesday, April 30, 2003
The Explosion
In an effort to clear out the excesses of life, Ben and Bess will need to eat a lot of goodies that have been in their cupboards. Rare and exotic foodstuffs like hot chocolate, Cranberry Sauce, canned vegetarian products, etc., are too heavy to carry away, and too wonderful to leave. So, gourmet meals must be endured during their final days in China. Last night it was to be mashed potatoes, Vegetarian steaks, some Macaroni Salad with real cheese, cranberry sauce, and a vegetable. I would have to go to the market and buy a vegetable. While at the market I also bought 4 pounds of fresh beautiful strawberries for 75 cents to make some Jam to take back to Hong Kong. The strawberries were too cheap to leave in the market. On the way back to the hospital, I walked down the street with my heavy load. I of course had to buy something to put the jam in to take it home, sugar to make the jam healthy and delicious, and even saw a little ceramic jam pot that Jeri would like. (If the Airlines only knew!)
A group of men gathered around a cell phone. They looked as if this were a new object to them. I wanted to take a picture. Even though I never got it, I did manage to take several shots of people passing by or stopping to pose and then look at their likeness in the viewer on the back of the camera. Suddenly there was a shout and loud explosion. No one seemed to notice. I looked across the street towards the source of the bang. A man was frantically working with a piece of his equipment that had obviously malfunctioned and exploded. I couldn't tell exactly what his work was, but he had set up a little business at the side of the road, and judging from his blackened face, hands and clothing, he worked with dirt, or he had suffered terribly during the explosion. I wondered why no one was willing to go to his aid. One woman stood nearby the catastrophic scene casually watching as he struggled with charred piece of equipment.
I finally went over. A fire still smoldered and he was sitting in front of it now, having recovered from his mechanical set-back. He worked with two hands. One pumped bellows that sent jets of air into the hot coals beneath a round cylinder which he turned with the other hand. This blackened cylindrical canister appeared to me to be the very object which had previously exploded. Maybe he had fixed it and could resume his business. What his business was, I could not imagine. I asked if I could take his picture. Absolutely Not! A man stopped and asked if I spoke English. He then began to translate between myself the the sooty camera-shy laborer. My translator had lived in Boston for 20 years, and spoke both languages flawlessly. He said that the picture could be taken for a high price. I declined., but since watching is not only allowed but a favorite pastime in China, I watched. When he removed the rotating canister from the flame the crowd scattered. Some hid behind trees, others took cover beyond parked vehicles. Our little, blackened, and shrewd business man put the canister into a type of cage. The end where he placed the canister was open. Opposite the opening, the cage narrowed down into a long piece of fabric that looked similar to a windsock at rural small-craft airport. The end of this filthy fabric which was about 6 feet long, was tied in a dirty knot. When all was in place, little man gave a shout of warning. Then worked at the lid of the canister. It was obviously pressurized from its time over the flame, and when the clamps which held it in place had been jarred loose, a great report was heard. A couple of ladies came from behind a parked van and strolled casually towards Mr. Grime. He had taken the hot pressure cooker out of the cage and now held up the cage with attached windsock, shaking the spent ammunition which had shot out of the little sealed canon into the windsock, down towards the dirty knot. One of the ladies opened her purse and took out some small change. He now opened a plastic bag with his black hands and then untying the knot, emptied the contents of windsock into plastic bag.
POPCORN!
The microwave stuff is pretty blah, really. I wonder if the guy has ever made strawberry jam.
Doug
A group of men gathered around a cell phone. They looked as if this were a new object to them. I wanted to take a picture. Even though I never got it, I did manage to take several shots of people passing by or stopping to pose and then look at their likeness in the viewer on the back of the camera. Suddenly there was a shout and loud explosion. No one seemed to notice. I looked across the street towards the source of the bang. A man was frantically working with a piece of his equipment that had obviously malfunctioned and exploded. I couldn't tell exactly what his work was, but he had set up a little business at the side of the road, and judging from his blackened face, hands and clothing, he worked with dirt, or he had suffered terribly during the explosion. I wondered why no one was willing to go to his aid. One woman stood nearby the catastrophic scene casually watching as he struggled with charred piece of equipment.
I finally went over. A fire still smoldered and he was sitting in front of it now, having recovered from his mechanical set-back. He worked with two hands. One pumped bellows that sent jets of air into the hot coals beneath a round cylinder which he turned with the other hand. This blackened cylindrical canister appeared to me to be the very object which had previously exploded. Maybe he had fixed it and could resume his business. What his business was, I could not imagine. I asked if I could take his picture. Absolutely Not! A man stopped and asked if I spoke English. He then began to translate between myself the the sooty camera-shy laborer. My translator had lived in Boston for 20 years, and spoke both languages flawlessly. He said that the picture could be taken for a high price. I declined., but since watching is not only allowed but a favorite pastime in China, I watched. When he removed the rotating canister from the flame the crowd scattered. Some hid behind trees, others took cover beyond parked vehicles. Our little, blackened, and shrewd business man put the canister into a type of cage. The end where he placed the canister was open. Opposite the opening, the cage narrowed down into a long piece of fabric that looked similar to a windsock at rural small-craft airport. The end of this filthy fabric which was about 6 feet long, was tied in a dirty knot. When all was in place, little man gave a shout of warning. Then worked at the lid of the canister. It was obviously pressurized from its time over the flame, and when the clamps which held it in place had been jarred loose, a great report was heard. A couple of ladies came from behind a parked van and strolled casually towards Mr. Grime. He had taken the hot pressure cooker out of the cage and now held up the cage with attached windsock, shaking the spent ammunition which had shot out of the little sealed canon into the windsock, down towards the dirty knot. One of the ladies opened her purse and took out some small change. He now opened a plastic bag with his black hands and then untying the knot, emptied the contents of windsock into plastic bag.
POPCORN!
The microwave stuff is pretty blah, really. I wonder if the guy has ever made strawberry jam.
Doug
Tuesday, April 22, 2003
Beautiful Day
When Jeri and I flew to Hangzhou last Thursday afternoon, maybe 10 persons on a completely filled aircraft wore face masks. Today, on the return flight, every passenger and flight attendant wears a mask. The attendants wear plastic gloves as well.
It is a beautiful day. I woke up this morning and saw a cloudless sky. About 8 am I went for a walk to the grocery store and bought some bread for sandwiches on the flight back to Shenzhen and then by Ferry back to Hong Kong. Beautiful Beautiful Day! Yesterday saw Hangzhou transformed from one city to another. On Sunday it was found that 3 persons, then 4 had SARS in Hangzhou. Previous to this time, the province had been SARS-free. Within an hour people (just a few) were wearing masks. Then on this beautiful morning I saw vendors along the street selling masks. People stopped to bargain for a cheap price.
But what about 4 men I met yesterday?
The first was the driver of one of the little motorcycle-powered get-alongs. I don't know what they are called, or to what they can be compared. It is a little taxi that is built around a motorcycle. The driver sits in the front and two (or if you are small three) passengers can sit on a seat behind. Built on the same principle as a tricycle, it is a great mode of transportation. I rode one back from the cloth market. Jeri had a suit made, and I didn't have enough money to pick it up, so had to return to Ben and Bess's to get more money. I rode in such a little contraption as I have described. The driver was a happy and very pleasant fellow probably in his late 20's. I wanted him to wait for me at the apartment and take me back. I invited him to wait in the lobby. He smiled and said he couldn't, then pointing to his legs indicated that he was crippled. It seemed from the withered appearance of his that he had been a victim of polio. I don't know what his expenses for rent/upkeep or gasoline of his taxi are, but I am guessing that on a really good day he maybe can make 100 Yuan (around $12.50) before expenses. I am just guessing, I don't know. But he gets 5 Yuan per fare taken, as they don't do long hauls.
The second was Wei Bing, a guy who takes occasional Bible studies and will now and then teach some Chinese to Ben or Bess. He works at a health spa, and likes to come and just hang out at the kids apartment. He lives in a single room with 4 sets of bunk beds. However, he is fortunate in that only the bottom bunks are occupied by persons. The upper bunks can be used for personal belongings. Wei Bing has told me that he earns 20 Yuan a day, or about $2.50.
The third was the man who gave me a ride home last night in his pedal cab. He wore shabby clothes and was old and tired. I don't know how much he earns in a day, but it can't be much.
And then the 4th. He carried a little saw horse on his shoulder with a hand powered grinding wheel on it. He walked down the street calling out that he would sharpen scissors or knives. I didn't note anyone eager to use his services. How much could he earn in a day?
Last night Wei Bing called me. Did I have any hand sanitizer. Yes, of course. Could he and a friend please each have one bottle. One bottle costs about 40 Yuan. Two days wages for Wei Bing.
A new hospital, not yet finished, had the 10th floor rushed to completion. This floor will be used to care for any foreigners who get SARS in Hangzhou. Some friends went to tour the facility and see if it was suitable. The report was glowing. All private rooms and private baths. TV's and phones for each patient. And if 5 people contract SARS and one is a foreigner, where will the other four go?
Doug
It is a beautiful day. I woke up this morning and saw a cloudless sky. About 8 am I went for a walk to the grocery store and bought some bread for sandwiches on the flight back to Shenzhen and then by Ferry back to Hong Kong. Beautiful Beautiful Day! Yesterday saw Hangzhou transformed from one city to another. On Sunday it was found that 3 persons, then 4 had SARS in Hangzhou. Previous to this time, the province had been SARS-free. Within an hour people (just a few) were wearing masks. Then on this beautiful morning I saw vendors along the street selling masks. People stopped to bargain for a cheap price.
But what about 4 men I met yesterday?
The first was the driver of one of the little motorcycle-powered get-alongs. I don't know what they are called, or to what they can be compared. It is a little taxi that is built around a motorcycle. The driver sits in the front and two (or if you are small three) passengers can sit on a seat behind. Built on the same principle as a tricycle, it is a great mode of transportation. I rode one back from the cloth market. Jeri had a suit made, and I didn't have enough money to pick it up, so had to return to Ben and Bess's to get more money. I rode in such a little contraption as I have described. The driver was a happy and very pleasant fellow probably in his late 20's. I wanted him to wait for me at the apartment and take me back. I invited him to wait in the lobby. He smiled and said he couldn't, then pointing to his legs indicated that he was crippled. It seemed from the withered appearance of his that he had been a victim of polio. I don't know what his expenses for rent/upkeep or gasoline of his taxi are, but I am guessing that on a really good day he maybe can make 100 Yuan (around $12.50) before expenses. I am just guessing, I don't know. But he gets 5 Yuan per fare taken, as they don't do long hauls.
The second was Wei Bing, a guy who takes occasional Bible studies and will now and then teach some Chinese to Ben or Bess. He works at a health spa, and likes to come and just hang out at the kids apartment. He lives in a single room with 4 sets of bunk beds. However, he is fortunate in that only the bottom bunks are occupied by persons. The upper bunks can be used for personal belongings. Wei Bing has told me that he earns 20 Yuan a day, or about $2.50.
The third was the man who gave me a ride home last night in his pedal cab. He wore shabby clothes and was old and tired. I don't know how much he earns in a day, but it can't be much.
And then the 4th. He carried a little saw horse on his shoulder with a hand powered grinding wheel on it. He walked down the street calling out that he would sharpen scissors or knives. I didn't note anyone eager to use his services. How much could he earn in a day?
Last night Wei Bing called me. Did I have any hand sanitizer. Yes, of course. Could he and a friend please each have one bottle. One bottle costs about 40 Yuan. Two days wages for Wei Bing.
A new hospital, not yet finished, had the 10th floor rushed to completion. This floor will be used to care for any foreigners who get SARS in Hangzhou. Some friends went to tour the facility and see if it was suitable. The report was glowing. All private rooms and private baths. TV's and phones for each patient. And if 5 people contract SARS and one is a foreigner, where will the other four go?
Doug
Sunday, April 20, 2003
Road Block
I am not certain yet as to what he did wrong. I don't even know his name. But he drove a little pedal taxi that I was in. It's like a surrey, but rather than a horse pulling it, it is powered by a man on a bicycle. I had been riding with Ben and Bess in one such vehicle. We'd come from the cloth market to the wet market. Picked up some soy beans at the wet market and went to the bank, changed money and then to the grocery store. Stopped after the grocery store at the travel agent and then to the hospital. All of this was done in a cold rain.
The driver looked like a young man who could have been a physician or a banker if things had happened differently in his life. But for whatever reason, he was our transportation. I watched him from the back as he took us around. He had a few holes in the legs of his trousers. He wore the Chinese black cloth shoes, and he just looked cold. This was especially true after the chain came off the bike and he worked on it in the rain while we shopped in the grocery store. We had bought charcoal and lighter fluid, since we wanted to barbecue some things for our lunch. When we came out of the store he had just finished putting the chain right, and he washed his hands in a mud puddle and took us to our next stop. We paid him well and asked him to come again at 4 o'clock. He came to take me for a hair cut.
As we crossed a main intersection, he did whatever it was. A policeman came from nowhere and told him to stop. The officer was anything but polite. The driver on the other hand, was groveling. He was bowing and scraping. All but kowtowing. Then I was seen. The police (reinforcements had been beckoned) told me to get out. It was obvious that whatever they had in mind to do to the driver, couldn't be done with me right there watching. I knew what they wanted, but must admit that I did not understand 100% of their sentence. The meaning was obvious, but so were the consequences. So I smiled and told them that I did not understand. Now the first officer told me in English to get out. I thanked him but pointed down a side street and said that I wished to go there, and if I got out here, I wouldn't be at my destination. They argued with me, but I, remembering that it takes two to tango, said nothing, but just smiled at them. The driver, knowing that this was his chance, tried to excuse himself as he began a U-turn. The second officer grabbed the handle bars and tried to keep him from turning. The driver now became very afraid, but his fear was not of disobeying the officer, but of obeying. It looked as if we were going to loose whatever the battle was.
I sat there thinking about the day as these two were wrestling over control of the direction we should take.. Twelve persons had died in Hong Kong of SARS today. Highest number in one day yet. And today SARS had officially entered Hangzhou. Three persons returned from Beijing, bringing it with them. And now here I was with this poor driver who was the victim of a couple of officers who didn't have justice in mind. Why not get involved. I could do more than just sit. So, I shouted at the officer. "Let Him GO!" For some reason, this was not only unexpected, but also unwanted. Lots of bikes stopped and everyone was now watching the policeman. I shouted once again. And then the first officer shouted in Chinese and the second officer let him go and we took off (in the wrong direction).
It took longer to get to the barber than expected, since we had to go the long way, but I think the driver is a friend for life.
Doug
The driver looked like a young man who could have been a physician or a banker if things had happened differently in his life. But for whatever reason, he was our transportation. I watched him from the back as he took us around. He had a few holes in the legs of his trousers. He wore the Chinese black cloth shoes, and he just looked cold. This was especially true after the chain came off the bike and he worked on it in the rain while we shopped in the grocery store. We had bought charcoal and lighter fluid, since we wanted to barbecue some things for our lunch. When we came out of the store he had just finished putting the chain right, and he washed his hands in a mud puddle and took us to our next stop. We paid him well and asked him to come again at 4 o'clock. He came to take me for a hair cut.
As we crossed a main intersection, he did whatever it was. A policeman came from nowhere and told him to stop. The officer was anything but polite. The driver on the other hand, was groveling. He was bowing and scraping. All but kowtowing. Then I was seen. The police (reinforcements had been beckoned) told me to get out. It was obvious that whatever they had in mind to do to the driver, couldn't be done with me right there watching. I knew what they wanted, but must admit that I did not understand 100% of their sentence. The meaning was obvious, but so were the consequences. So I smiled and told them that I did not understand. Now the first officer told me in English to get out. I thanked him but pointed down a side street and said that I wished to go there, and if I got out here, I wouldn't be at my destination. They argued with me, but I, remembering that it takes two to tango, said nothing, but just smiled at them. The driver, knowing that this was his chance, tried to excuse himself as he began a U-turn. The second officer grabbed the handle bars and tried to keep him from turning. The driver now became very afraid, but his fear was not of disobeying the officer, but of obeying. It looked as if we were going to loose whatever the battle was.
I sat there thinking about the day as these two were wrestling over control of the direction we should take.. Twelve persons had died in Hong Kong of SARS today. Highest number in one day yet. And today SARS had officially entered Hangzhou. Three persons returned from Beijing, bringing it with them. And now here I was with this poor driver who was the victim of a couple of officers who didn't have justice in mind. Why not get involved. I could do more than just sit. So, I shouted at the officer. "Let Him GO!" For some reason, this was not only unexpected, but also unwanted. Lots of bikes stopped and everyone was now watching the policeman. I shouted once again. And then the first officer shouted in Chinese and the second officer let him go and we took off (in the wrong direction).
It took longer to get to the barber than expected, since we had to go the long way, but I think the driver is a friend for life.
Doug
Saturday, April 19, 2003
Quarentine thought for the day
When a patient is suspected of having SARS in Hong Kong, they are put in a large ward where it will be determined if they actually have SARS or not. The ward is shaped like the letter H. The center cross beam of the H is where the nurses station is located. The two upright sections of the H are where the patients are located. These 4 branches each hold 12 patients (this is what I observed in the Ruttongee Hospital, Hong Kong). That is up to 48 patients. All of this area is enclosed. The nurses do not go in and out of the infected area, but rather are trapped with the patients for their 8 or 12 hour shift, whatever the case may be. Some of the patients have SARS, some did not. But by the time it is over, all have been exposed. A man came in with a broken leg, and died of SARS before his hospital stay was over.
This is the reason that 1/3 of all SARS cases are in Hong Kong, and 1/3 of all of those are medical personel.
Doug
This is the reason that 1/3 of all SARS cases are in Hong Kong, and 1/3 of all of those are medical personel.
Doug
The Ward
As I write this, there have not yet been any deaths in the United States, while in Hong Kong, there have been scores. On the elevator leaving our apartment building this morning I met one of the men who work in Maintainence. He was not his usual happy self. "SARS is getting serious", he murmured. Then he said that in his apartment building, seven have come down with the plague.
Several months ago, when only odors made one reluctant to take a breath while walking down the streets of Hong Kong, I woke up in the middle of the night with chest pains. I got out of bed and went down to the entrance to the apartment building and caught a taxi to the Ruttongee Hospital. Being a Hong Kong resident, I "enjoy" the benefits of the government health system. It costs me less than USD$8.00 per day to be admitted to and receive treatment in any government hospital. This can include any treatment necessary, be it open-heart surgery, physical therapy, MRI, you name it. Same low price.
In the ER, they examined me, gave me a EKG, and immediately gave me nitro glycerin and started an IV. I was admitted. It all seemed pretty decent. Into the elevator I was taken and up to the 7th floor. I am still not certain what ailment my captors had decided was mine, but I was taken to a ward (24 beds) of aged men, all suffering from lung maladies and sleeplessness. It was 3:30 AM. The nurse turned on all the lights and around my bed in this giant ward, men were coughing up great productions. It was not difficult to tell when the results had reached an opening. There was a pause followed by the efforts of the throat rather than the entire upper torso. Then.... I slept as a condemned man.
In the morning my breakfast was brought. It was a bowl of rice gruel. Nothing more, nothing less. No fruit, no real nourishment, just a bowl of starch. Then it was time to take my blood pressure. The nurse, walking like one who has finished the Boston Marathon just moments before and now told to do rounds in the TB ward at Ruttongee hospital, Hong Kong, dragged not only herself through the ward, but also dragged the blood pressure cuff along the floor. I watched in disbelief as it caught the lint and grime from a seldom-mopped floor in this large public. The nurse was able to snap back to consciousness when she approached my bed and I told her not to touch me with her filthy cuff. "What You Say?" She demanded. I, through a series of sign language and facial disapproval, mingled with terms of disgust, explained to her that her methods were not hygenically sound.
When I asked if I could bathe, I was regarded with astonishment. This unheard-of request was not to be granted. The communal toilets were a great revelation of the depths to which humanity can plunge when mankind is not aware of cleansers or cleaning tools. There was not only nothing around with which to clean the toilets, there was nothing with which to clean the poor soul who had used the toilet.
As the day wore on, I felt more and more grime building up on my usually twice-daily-bathed body. Finally I strolled to the bathroom as if I were going to just have a casual look around. On the way I found a cart full of pajamas. I nabbed a pair (adequate for a dwarf) as I passed and sauntered into the washroom. I locked myself in a slimy shower stall and washed my poor greasy body. There was no bath soap, but I had managed to put some handsoap from the dispenser into a paper cup I had brought with me for the purpose and scrubbed myself from head to foot with soap and lots of water.
When I emerged in my shortie pj's and wet hair, having dried with my other pj's, I was met by the angry nurse with the groddy blood pressure cuff. She had only been more angry when she saw Jeri and I looking at my chart that hung on the foot of my bed. There was no giving of information to me as to my condition. But when the Doctors and nurses gathered around my bed, the spoke at length in Chinese to the other patients giving great explanations to their many questions.
I was seen as unfit to be a proper patient, and discharged early the following morning.
One of the reasons I think that there have been so many deaths from SARS in the hospitals in Hong Kong, as opposed to the US, is the dirt!
Doug
Several months ago, when only odors made one reluctant to take a breath while walking down the streets of Hong Kong, I woke up in the middle of the night with chest pains. I got out of bed and went down to the entrance to the apartment building and caught a taxi to the Ruttongee Hospital. Being a Hong Kong resident, I "enjoy" the benefits of the government health system. It costs me less than USD$8.00 per day to be admitted to and receive treatment in any government hospital. This can include any treatment necessary, be it open-heart surgery, physical therapy, MRI, you name it. Same low price.
In the ER, they examined me, gave me a EKG, and immediately gave me nitro glycerin and started an IV. I was admitted. It all seemed pretty decent. Into the elevator I was taken and up to the 7th floor. I am still not certain what ailment my captors had decided was mine, but I was taken to a ward (24 beds) of aged men, all suffering from lung maladies and sleeplessness. It was 3:30 AM. The nurse turned on all the lights and around my bed in this giant ward, men were coughing up great productions. It was not difficult to tell when the results had reached an opening. There was a pause followed by the efforts of the throat rather than the entire upper torso. Then.... I slept as a condemned man.
In the morning my breakfast was brought. It was a bowl of rice gruel. Nothing more, nothing less. No fruit, no real nourishment, just a bowl of starch. Then it was time to take my blood pressure. The nurse, walking like one who has finished the Boston Marathon just moments before and now told to do rounds in the TB ward at Ruttongee hospital, Hong Kong, dragged not only herself through the ward, but also dragged the blood pressure cuff along the floor. I watched in disbelief as it caught the lint and grime from a seldom-mopped floor in this large public. The nurse was able to snap back to consciousness when she approached my bed and I told her not to touch me with her filthy cuff. "What You Say?" She demanded. I, through a series of sign language and facial disapproval, mingled with terms of disgust, explained to her that her methods were not hygenically sound.
When I asked if I could bathe, I was regarded with astonishment. This unheard-of request was not to be granted. The communal toilets were a great revelation of the depths to which humanity can plunge when mankind is not aware of cleansers or cleaning tools. There was not only nothing around with which to clean the toilets, there was nothing with which to clean the poor soul who had used the toilet.
As the day wore on, I felt more and more grime building up on my usually twice-daily-bathed body. Finally I strolled to the bathroom as if I were going to just have a casual look around. On the way I found a cart full of pajamas. I nabbed a pair (adequate for a dwarf) as I passed and sauntered into the washroom. I locked myself in a slimy shower stall and washed my poor greasy body. There was no bath soap, but I had managed to put some handsoap from the dispenser into a paper cup I had brought with me for the purpose and scrubbed myself from head to foot with soap and lots of water.
When I emerged in my shortie pj's and wet hair, having dried with my other pj's, I was met by the angry nurse with the groddy blood pressure cuff. She had only been more angry when she saw Jeri and I looking at my chart that hung on the foot of my bed. There was no giving of information to me as to my condition. But when the Doctors and nurses gathered around my bed, the spoke at length in Chinese to the other patients giving great explanations to their many questions.
I was seen as unfit to be a proper patient, and discharged early the following morning.
One of the reasons I think that there have been so many deaths from SARS in the hospitals in Hong Kong, as opposed to the US, is the dirt!
Doug
The Marmite Bomb
Jeri and I are on a boat this morning. It actually is a fast boat this time, rather unlike the promised 4-hour ride from Siem Reap to Battambang in Cambodia 3 weeks ago. That ended ride, advertised here and there with attractive posters and zippy write-ups in "Lonely Planet" was endured by our group for 11 hours. This ride is to be a short 60 minutes. There is airconditioning, and other speeding vessels pass us returning to Hongkong. This Turbojet will whisk us to Shenzhen.
We wear surgical masks, we passengers. The numbers are few. A general cloud of apprehension has settled over Hong Kong. There were bright days with optomistic reports and encouraging numbers. "Today only 42 persons contracted SARS". And then came yesterday's headlines. The highest number of deaths in a single day since the discovery of the disease.
Later:
We arrived in Shenzhen and then flew on to Hangzhou where we will spend the easter vacation with Ben and Bess. But the security in Shenzhen at the airport was a new chapter in airport security.
When we checked in at the counter, our first problem encountered was that our tickets did not give our full names. No middle names were included. There were 5 of us traveling together. We had 3 different last names between us, and the girl at the counter, seeing longer names in the passports than on the tickets, was convinced that we could easily be imposters. She asked us to stand aside and let the other passengers check in. I refused and asked for her supervisor. The stand off lasted a few minutes, but finally the supervisor appeared. He took the passports and wrote our full names on the tickets.
When the luggage was x-rayed, new problems arrose. Mrs. Faull's suitcase was selected. Now in all of the luggage there were food stuffs. Cans of food, frozen foods for the kids, corn chips, flour, etc. etc. etc. But Mrs. Faull had a bottle of Marmite. If you have never experienced Marmite, your life and sense of taste have been spared. It is a thick paste made from a yeast extract. It looks like chocolate spread and tastes like concentrated soy sauce.
The security guard pointed to this black mass in the suitcase and called Mrs. Faull to explain its presence. The suitcase was opened and the Marmite was examined. Then, in the midst of SARS panic, this unmasked stranger began to open everything in her suitcase and stick his nose in for a sniff. When he was convinced that nothing had escaped his nasal examination, he told her to close the suitcase and we were free to go to Security.
The woman at security was certain that we schemed to smuggle danger on board through the medium of drinking water in sealed evian bottles. She broke the seals and demanded of us, after placing her unmasked nasal openings directly over the now vunerable water bottles, sniffing, yet not smelling anything (since it didn't smell like the sea or a dirty river) that we must drink from our water bottles to prove to her that it was actually water. She then opened my carry-on and was about to poke her hands inside when I stopped her. Her rubber gloves looked as if she had worn them for about 3 weeks. These filthy gloves had been in every piece of luggage available. This woman who represented security made me very insecure as she was about to spread whatever it was on her gloves throughout my carry-on. After I made a demand in sign language that no one could mistake, she changed gloves and put on a new pair. The search ended and we have flown to Hangzhou.
Upon arrival, the State Department sent us an email (since we are registered with the US cousulate in Hong Kong) that we should not go to Hong Kong.
We will most likely return as planned on Monday.
Doug
We wear surgical masks, we passengers. The numbers are few. A general cloud of apprehension has settled over Hong Kong. There were bright days with optomistic reports and encouraging numbers. "Today only 42 persons contracted SARS". And then came yesterday's headlines. The highest number of deaths in a single day since the discovery of the disease.
Later:
We arrived in Shenzhen and then flew on to Hangzhou where we will spend the easter vacation with Ben and Bess. But the security in Shenzhen at the airport was a new chapter in airport security.
When we checked in at the counter, our first problem encountered was that our tickets did not give our full names. No middle names were included. There were 5 of us traveling together. We had 3 different last names between us, and the girl at the counter, seeing longer names in the passports than on the tickets, was convinced that we could easily be imposters. She asked us to stand aside and let the other passengers check in. I refused and asked for her supervisor. The stand off lasted a few minutes, but finally the supervisor appeared. He took the passports and wrote our full names on the tickets.
When the luggage was x-rayed, new problems arrose. Mrs. Faull's suitcase was selected. Now in all of the luggage there were food stuffs. Cans of food, frozen foods for the kids, corn chips, flour, etc. etc. etc. But Mrs. Faull had a bottle of Marmite. If you have never experienced Marmite, your life and sense of taste have been spared. It is a thick paste made from a yeast extract. It looks like chocolate spread and tastes like concentrated soy sauce.
The security guard pointed to this black mass in the suitcase and called Mrs. Faull to explain its presence. The suitcase was opened and the Marmite was examined. Then, in the midst of SARS panic, this unmasked stranger began to open everything in her suitcase and stick his nose in for a sniff. When he was convinced that nothing had escaped his nasal examination, he told her to close the suitcase and we were free to go to Security.
The woman at security was certain that we schemed to smuggle danger on board through the medium of drinking water in sealed evian bottles. She broke the seals and demanded of us, after placing her unmasked nasal openings directly over the now vunerable water bottles, sniffing, yet not smelling anything (since it didn't smell like the sea or a dirty river) that we must drink from our water bottles to prove to her that it was actually water. She then opened my carry-on and was about to poke her hands inside when I stopped her. Her rubber gloves looked as if she had worn them for about 3 weeks. These filthy gloves had been in every piece of luggage available. This woman who represented security made me very insecure as she was about to spread whatever it was on her gloves throughout my carry-on. After I made a demand in sign language that no one could mistake, she changed gloves and put on a new pair. The search ended and we have flown to Hangzhou.
Upon arrival, the State Department sent us an email (since we are registered with the US cousulate in Hong Kong) that we should not go to Hong Kong.
We will most likely return as planned on Monday.
Doug
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Carpet Salesman
One of our Sabbath School teacher answered the phone when I called his house. It was my mistake not to identify myself immediately. I simply assumed that he knew my strange and singular voice in this city with so many accents different from my own. I asked instead, how he was. He would not answer. Finally he asked WHO I was. When I told him, he said he was fine. His confession was then that he had thought I was a carpet salesman.
Our son Richard was admitted to a hospital in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, on Wednesday of this week with SARS. He was immediately quaranteened, and his clothes whisked away in a red bag. His girlfriend was also isolated, eventhough as of yet she showed no symptoms of this atypical pneumonia. When Geoff went to visit (the hospital had already called the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia) he was also immediately sequestered in a room by himself.
Richard called us that night from his room. He was, naturally, distressed with worry for a now uncertain future. I tried to calm him by telling him that he left Hong Kong from his brief visit here in mid-February, nearly 1 month before SARS arrived in Hong Kong. I assured him that he could not have SARS unless he had invented it.
On Thursday, Richard was released. Apologies came in great abundance. I am not sure if his clothing was returned or if is being tested in Atlanta. When I asked what the diagnosis was, he said it sounded to him something like RSVP.
Blessings are wished to each of you from the carpet salesman in Hong Kong.
Doug
Our son Richard was admitted to a hospital in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, on Wednesday of this week with SARS. He was immediately quaranteened, and his clothes whisked away in a red bag. His girlfriend was also isolated, eventhough as of yet she showed no symptoms of this atypical pneumonia. When Geoff went to visit (the hospital had already called the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia) he was also immediately sequestered in a room by himself.
Richard called us that night from his room. He was, naturally, distressed with worry for a now uncertain future. I tried to calm him by telling him that he left Hong Kong from his brief visit here in mid-February, nearly 1 month before SARS arrived in Hong Kong. I assured him that he could not have SARS unless he had invented it.
On Thursday, Richard was released. Apologies came in great abundance. I am not sure if his clothing was returned or if is being tested in Atlanta. When I asked what the diagnosis was, he said it sounded to him something like RSVP.
Blessings are wished to each of you from the carpet salesman in Hong Kong.
Doug
Thursday, April 10, 2003
The American
Date: Wednesday, April 09, 2003 11:25 AM
When Jeri and I were in Thailand for 3 weeks, we had a weekend off from our classes. We decided that we would go to Cambodia for the weekend. It was fantastic. We visited Ankor Wat, that ancient Buddhist Temple. We visited the Jungle Temple, and then we decided to take the 4-hour trip from Siem Reap to Battambang. We got up early in the morning and had a taxi take us to the boat landing for this cruise. Jungle Cruise, the brochure had called it. There were 35 of us on the cruise ship. It was about 6 feet wide and maybe 40 feet long. It was described as Air-conditioned and non-smoking. It turned out to be non-air-conditioned and smoking.
The 35 were tourists, and the 4-hour trip took 11. That was because the propeller had fallen off and took some searching for. Plus, the "captain" explained, it was the dry season, and it takes longer when there is less water. I must admit that does make sense if one is talking of a boat trip, doesn't it?
But I want to tell you about the French family. There were 3 of them. They had a very well behaved son. He spent these 11 hours on the boat, this 3-year old boy. He didn't fuss, and he couldn't run around. He just slept or talked to his parents. They told me that they lived in Shenzhen. Shenzhen is a city of 6 million or so (it depends on who is asked), right across the border from Hong Kong in China. This French couple teaches English and French in Shenzhen.
When the boat trip finally ended, they vanished into dry relief, just happy to be off the boat and on terra firma again. But I have thought about them this week. I thought about them when they said on the news that Shenzhen is also suffering from SARS.What does one do to protect oneself from these germs? I honestly do not know. I see some people with masks, and others without. I see those who do not understand the function of the mask. Rather, they see only some kind of magic. They were Europeans. He had just gotten off the tram, and she stood at the entrance to the apartment building waiting for him. She kissed him on the mask. Right where his mouth would be underneath the mask. I thought of the mask. It is a filter. All of the invisible germs that he has hoped would not enter his lungs are stopped on the outside of the mask. And I watched as she kissed the spot.
There is so little information given. They say that so many have been admitted each day. Then they say how many have died. Then they say how many more they think will be admitted and how many more will die. But they never tell us on the news what those who were admitted or died did wrong. They never tell if they wore masks or seat belts or stayed home or rode the subways. They tell us nothing, and 7.5 million Hong Kong residents face another day just guessing what to do, and who to do it with.
It is pretty frightening. I am thankful for my great big nose. It is kind of an anchor to hang the mask on. I drape the mask over the nose and put the elastic behind the ears, and out I go. But then I see so many different kinds of faces in Hong Kong. There are the children who wear little masks. Little masks that look too little, and so useless. There are the people who wear their masks just over their mouths as if the virus is something that they might be tempted to eat, and so they have covered their lips and teeth so as to deny themselves the lethal taste. There are others who walk down the street with the mask hanging from one ear, beside their neck. And others who do not have the nose that I have. Their faces are quite broad and flat, and I am reminded of a dinner napkin lying casually on a dinner plate. I don't know what good such masks will do. Women sell designer masks from pushcarts that they roam the streets with. I saw one such mask today that had snoopy on the top of his doghouse. I didn't like it. He lay on his back, and looked too lifeless for my mood. Persons, who a month ago knew nothing of surgical masks, are today experts and sell a great variety of these bits of defense against an unknown enemy. They tell of all the benefits of each style that they display.
And so as I have thought of the Frenchman and his wife and child, I heard tonight that an American who lived in Shenzhen, the Chinese city just over the border from Hong Kong, died of SARS today. He had been trying to get into Hong Kong for treatment. He was 51 years old. His 6-year old son now has SARS.
Pray for us in Hong Kong. The city under siege by an invisible enemy. Pray for these people in Hong Kong who live in sky scraper apartment buildings and who ride elevators with strangers and who must touch elevator buttons and have no idea who else has touched them or coughed on them, and can't figure out how to touch those same buttons safely. Pray for us as we ride busses and taxies, subways and trams, all the while realizing that we ride where thousands of persons who we no neither them nor their conditions ride every day. Pray for those who have inhaled or touched or whatever they do with the virus so that they became infected. Pray for them as they lie down in the 24-bed wards of government hospitals and pretend that they are in Isolation, yet with 23 other infected persons. And pray for the Doctors and nurses who treat this contagious nightmare. Pray that they will not pay with their lives for their mercy.
And so, I know what happened to the American. I heard it on the news. I wonder about the French family, I wonder about their good little boy.
Doug
When Jeri and I were in Thailand for 3 weeks, we had a weekend off from our classes. We decided that we would go to Cambodia for the weekend. It was fantastic. We visited Ankor Wat, that ancient Buddhist Temple. We visited the Jungle Temple, and then we decided to take the 4-hour trip from Siem Reap to Battambang. We got up early in the morning and had a taxi take us to the boat landing for this cruise. Jungle Cruise, the brochure had called it. There were 35 of us on the cruise ship. It was about 6 feet wide and maybe 40 feet long. It was described as Air-conditioned and non-smoking. It turned out to be non-air-conditioned and smoking.
The 35 were tourists, and the 4-hour trip took 11. That was because the propeller had fallen off and took some searching for. Plus, the "captain" explained, it was the dry season, and it takes longer when there is less water. I must admit that does make sense if one is talking of a boat trip, doesn't it?
But I want to tell you about the French family. There were 3 of them. They had a very well behaved son. He spent these 11 hours on the boat, this 3-year old boy. He didn't fuss, and he couldn't run around. He just slept or talked to his parents. They told me that they lived in Shenzhen. Shenzhen is a city of 6 million or so (it depends on who is asked), right across the border from Hong Kong in China. This French couple teaches English and French in Shenzhen.
When the boat trip finally ended, they vanished into dry relief, just happy to be off the boat and on terra firma again. But I have thought about them this week. I thought about them when they said on the news that Shenzhen is also suffering from SARS.What does one do to protect oneself from these germs? I honestly do not know. I see some people with masks, and others without. I see those who do not understand the function of the mask. Rather, they see only some kind of magic. They were Europeans. He had just gotten off the tram, and she stood at the entrance to the apartment building waiting for him. She kissed him on the mask. Right where his mouth would be underneath the mask. I thought of the mask. It is a filter. All of the invisible germs that he has hoped would not enter his lungs are stopped on the outside of the mask. And I watched as she kissed the spot.
There is so little information given. They say that so many have been admitted each day. Then they say how many have died. Then they say how many more they think will be admitted and how many more will die. But they never tell us on the news what those who were admitted or died did wrong. They never tell if they wore masks or seat belts or stayed home or rode the subways. They tell us nothing, and 7.5 million Hong Kong residents face another day just guessing what to do, and who to do it with.
It is pretty frightening. I am thankful for my great big nose. It is kind of an anchor to hang the mask on. I drape the mask over the nose and put the elastic behind the ears, and out I go. But then I see so many different kinds of faces in Hong Kong. There are the children who wear little masks. Little masks that look too little, and so useless. There are the people who wear their masks just over their mouths as if the virus is something that they might be tempted to eat, and so they have covered their lips and teeth so as to deny themselves the lethal taste. There are others who walk down the street with the mask hanging from one ear, beside their neck. And others who do not have the nose that I have. Their faces are quite broad and flat, and I am reminded of a dinner napkin lying casually on a dinner plate. I don't know what good such masks will do. Women sell designer masks from pushcarts that they roam the streets with. I saw one such mask today that had snoopy on the top of his doghouse. I didn't like it. He lay on his back, and looked too lifeless for my mood. Persons, who a month ago knew nothing of surgical masks, are today experts and sell a great variety of these bits of defense against an unknown enemy. They tell of all the benefits of each style that they display.
And so as I have thought of the Frenchman and his wife and child, I heard tonight that an American who lived in Shenzhen, the Chinese city just over the border from Hong Kong, died of SARS today. He had been trying to get into Hong Kong for treatment. He was 51 years old. His 6-year old son now has SARS.
Pray for us in Hong Kong. The city under siege by an invisible enemy. Pray for these people in Hong Kong who live in sky scraper apartment buildings and who ride elevators with strangers and who must touch elevator buttons and have no idea who else has touched them or coughed on them, and can't figure out how to touch those same buttons safely. Pray for us as we ride busses and taxies, subways and trams, all the while realizing that we ride where thousands of persons who we no neither them nor their conditions ride every day. Pray for those who have inhaled or touched or whatever they do with the virus so that they became infected. Pray for them as they lie down in the 24-bed wards of government hospitals and pretend that they are in Isolation, yet with 23 other infected persons. And pray for the Doctors and nurses who treat this contagious nightmare. Pray that they will not pay with their lives for their mercy.
And so, I know what happened to the American. I heard it on the news. I wonder about the French family, I wonder about their good little boy.
Doug
Friday, April 04, 2003
Physics Lab
Early this afternoon I sat through a physics lab. The flight landed on time and yet almost I decided to sit on the plane and deplane last. I was in the very front row and thought that I might as well relax. Jeri and told me that when she returned a day before I did from Hanggzhou to Shenzhen, the bus to the ferry (the ferry being at 2:15 to Hong Kong) didn't leave until almost 4 pm. So, why rush? But now I looked at all the people in the aisle and decided to merge and exit asap. After picking up my luggage I went to the booth that sells the ferry tickets. "Hooley", she told me, "felly reaving go Hong Kong armost now".
I ran out and caught the bus. Now I understood. Jeri had missed the bus to the 2:15 ferry. Two reasons. She probably wasn't sitting in the front of the airplane and second, she no doubt had to stop by the ladies room. This is an amazing thing. For 12.5 hours on the day that we took our 4-hour (turned 11 plus taxi to and from) jungle-cruise boat ride, she didn't need to use the ladies room for any reason once she had heard it described. But, on a sunny day with modern facilities she becomes a public facility inspector. How thouroughly she does her job. Not one resting icon can be left un-inspected. I know, without having asked her, that she got to wait an extra couple of hours and visit several more restrooms than I because she no doubt stopped by one between the airplane and the bus. I know she did.
The bus driver, knowing that he didn't want me around all afternoon, set the laboratory in motion the instant I had hurled my heavy luggage into place and placed my unprepared body in an insecure seat complete without seatbelt or protective padding.
He pressed a button that beeped 4 times like the timer on a bomb, and the door closed. THis gave the false impression that all was under control.
He looked over his shoulder to see if there were more victims than the three unwarry passengers who had boarded his bus and made the mistake of NOT hiding in a public restroom to avoid this ride that could be known as "Future Shock".
No others came towards the bus and he shot out of the parking place in keen competition with unseen rivals. My first sense of real, as opposed to imagined, danger was when he hit the speed bump. The bus was long enough that I, sitting on the very back seat so as to not be exposed unnecessarily to germs, saw the other two guinnea pigs sitting near the front of the laboratory, fly into the air demonstrating in their asscent and subsequent unhindered fall both thrust and gravity. Our driver seemed pleased with the results of his first expirament. He then, being a good scientist and wanting to see his study completed, looked in the rear-view mirror, stepping on the accelerator to watch me orbit around several seats in the rear.
This completed, he studied next what I believe is known as veolcity. He drove at an unprecidented speed towards a red light. Just short of the red light, he stopped in an instant. Luggage and bodies continued in the same direction they had been traveling and at somewhat the same speed until all came to sudden rest against "immovable objects".
Next came a thorough examination of the principles of centrifuge. This took place on a large traffic circle. The expirament would of course be flawed without the necessary speed. This having been achieved, I watched as the bus turned turned left and my stomach allowed me to know the direction my luggage was traveling by traveling also to the right while our capsule continued on around the circle to the left. Most insightful!
The above expiraments were all carried out by and on masked subjects. This had the effect of camaflouge. Each of us actually looked somewhat calm.
And so, battered and educated, I am aboard the sea craft on my way to Hong Kong.
Doug
I ran out and caught the bus. Now I understood. Jeri had missed the bus to the 2:15 ferry. Two reasons. She probably wasn't sitting in the front of the airplane and second, she no doubt had to stop by the ladies room. This is an amazing thing. For 12.5 hours on the day that we took our 4-hour (turned 11 plus taxi to and from) jungle-cruise boat ride, she didn't need to use the ladies room for any reason once she had heard it described. But, on a sunny day with modern facilities she becomes a public facility inspector. How thouroughly she does her job. Not one resting icon can be left un-inspected. I know, without having asked her, that she got to wait an extra couple of hours and visit several more restrooms than I because she no doubt stopped by one between the airplane and the bus. I know she did.
The bus driver, knowing that he didn't want me around all afternoon, set the laboratory in motion the instant I had hurled my heavy luggage into place and placed my unprepared body in an insecure seat complete without seatbelt or protective padding.
He pressed a button that beeped 4 times like the timer on a bomb, and the door closed. THis gave the false impression that all was under control.
He looked over his shoulder to see if there were more victims than the three unwarry passengers who had boarded his bus and made the mistake of NOT hiding in a public restroom to avoid this ride that could be known as "Future Shock".
No others came towards the bus and he shot out of the parking place in keen competition with unseen rivals. My first sense of real, as opposed to imagined, danger was when he hit the speed bump. The bus was long enough that I, sitting on the very back seat so as to not be exposed unnecessarily to germs, saw the other two guinnea pigs sitting near the front of the laboratory, fly into the air demonstrating in their asscent and subsequent unhindered fall both thrust and gravity. Our driver seemed pleased with the results of his first expirament. He then, being a good scientist and wanting to see his study completed, looked in the rear-view mirror, stepping on the accelerator to watch me orbit around several seats in the rear.
This completed, he studied next what I believe is known as veolcity. He drove at an unprecidented speed towards a red light. Just short of the red light, he stopped in an instant. Luggage and bodies continued in the same direction they had been traveling and at somewhat the same speed until all came to sudden rest against "immovable objects".
Next came a thorough examination of the principles of centrifuge. This took place on a large traffic circle. The expirament would of course be flawed without the necessary speed. This having been achieved, I watched as the bus turned turned left and my stomach allowed me to know the direction my luggage was traveling by traveling also to the right while our capsule continued on around the circle to the left. Most insightful!
The above expiraments were all carried out by and on masked subjects. This had the effect of camaflouge. Each of us actually looked somewhat calm.
And so, battered and educated, I am aboard the sea craft on my way to Hong Kong.
Doug
Friday, January 10, 2003
Over the Bridge
China has a lot of beggars. I don't imagine that this was the case during the cultural revolution. Now, however, they are in swarms. Many of them appear to be persons with one problem or another, while some just seem to have taken the idea that someone else ought to support them. Today 3 little children chased Geoff and I down the street. Geoff gave each of them a piece of candy. That, he thought, should have done it. Well, it did, depending on what the definition of it is. Walking became an Olympic event. I wandered all over the sidewalk trying not to trip over these kids who could walk backwards right in front of us and not bump into anything. We ducked into a shop, as they won't go there, and they, thinking we were going to be there for a while, found new donors. But where there had been a few, many were waiting. We had to cross a foot bridge over the main road we were walking along. And on the bridge, they waited. They knew that the bridge was narrow and at the same time where many would pass. The stairs up to the bridge were clogged with beggars. A blind woman sat quietly thinking that her son was watching the tin cup. He, however, had discovered traffic flowing below them on the 6 lane road. From somewhere he had acquired a length of bamboo. This he dangled between the railings, taunting motorists with visions of possibilities. Well he knew that the only person who cared would never see him. Not 5 feet away she sat smiling. His quietness not giving the alarm it should have. A man covered with rags rolled back and forth from side to side, covering a lot of the walking space with his floundering. And there were others until...
Just before descending the stairs at the far side of poverty's gauntlet, a young husband and wife sat smiling. They had two dishes for gifts, and both were full. He had no legs or hands. She was missing one leg. On the walkway they had spread out paintings. And he, with brush tucked into the sleeve of his coat, was painting beautiful Chinese pictures and writing perfect Chinese characters artistically along the side. Then he would lean forward and blowing hard on his work send the paint off here and there in ways that gave the work an air of long planning and perfect execution. Geoff and I stopped to stare. The contrast between this happy couple and the hopeless before them was startling. How much was a painting? They said it was 28 yuan. That is about $3.50. I will have mine framed and even when I am not looking at it will remember and admire them.
Doug
Just before descending the stairs at the far side of poverty's gauntlet, a young husband and wife sat smiling. They had two dishes for gifts, and both were full. He had no legs or hands. She was missing one leg. On the walkway they had spread out paintings. And he, with brush tucked into the sleeve of his coat, was painting beautiful Chinese pictures and writing perfect Chinese characters artistically along the side. Then he would lean forward and blowing hard on his work send the paint off here and there in ways that gave the work an air of long planning and perfect execution. Geoff and I stopped to stare. The contrast between this happy couple and the hopeless before them was startling. How much was a painting? They said it was 28 yuan. That is about $3.50. I will have mine framed and even when I am not looking at it will remember and admire them.
Doug
Friday, January 03, 2003
Chinese New Year
On New Year's Eve, my Parents' wedding anniversary 70 years ago, I was in Hangzhou with Ben, Bess and Geoff. Jeri had decided to stay in Hong Kong. At the stroke of Midnight, we expected great fireworks in China, the birthplace of the firecracker. After all, in Hangzhou, there are fireworks shot off every day of the year. An evening doesn't pass but what the sounds and sights of fireworks don't come from some corner of the city where there is something to be celebrated. And without even hearing a countdown, we knew when the hour had struck. The booming began and we rushed to the rooftop of the apartment building for a better look. All was silent by the time we arrived. Silent and dark. We waited, peering into the smog of the city, but saw nor heard nothing but an occasional voice or the honk honk of a horn on a taxi or bike.
We got up early in the morning, because Ben's class was planning a New Year's breakfast for us at a teahouse near West Lake. It was to begin at 10:00 am. We arrived on time and were led to a private dining room where we would enjoy our meal together. The tea is 50 Yuan, or about $6.50. But with this expensive cup of tea, one can eat from the buffet all that he or she might wish. Or in our case, might not wish. They had (besides pistachio nuts, dried pineapple, rice porridge, fresh fruit, gelatins, hazel nuts, candies, vegetables, and ice creams) boiled chicken feet, fried rice with tiny creatures from the deep, there were sausages of questionable origins and skins that should have been used for the soles of shoes. Ah, but those things which were good to eat were very good to eat indeed. We ate for over and hour, and noted that no one seemed to be in any hurry to leave. We wanted to get out and about, but everyone sat. They told one sad story after another. Stories of the sales that had begun the night before at midnight. We had not known, sleeping, while others got 60% off of their purchases from midnight until 2 am. And then one of the students said he was leaving and would be back later. I asked what this meant. The explanation was refreshing. We could leave at any time and go out shopping or sight seeing or just for a walk. Anything. And come back later and eat more when we were hungry again. The party would continue until 6:00 PM. We returned at 4:00, and were amazed to see most of the same people throughout the restaurant that had been there 6 hours earlier. What a great smorgasbord. After eating for the second time, I headed back to the kids apartments. They had gone on their bikes, and since I wanted to see some of the city, I decided not to ride a taxi, but to walk a ways and then catch a bus. What did I see?
Men from Mongolia sold furs that smelled strongly of fat and lanolin. There were got and mink, dog and leopard. Lots to choose from. they were made into shabby garments or some lined silk vests that looked quite warm and tempting. A man sold candy beside the street. When he noted that I was not interested, he gave me a free sample. It both looked and tasted like balsa wood. Men sold little toy puppets, controlled by thin string and wriggled from the salesman's hand in such a way that gave the appearance of magic. Vendors sold everything they could think of. And the streets were filled with shoppers anxious to buy just something. Long Johns, hot water bottles, mittens and mufflers, along with sweaters and blankets, jackets and boots, were for sale in the street markets.
People dropped trash wherever they stood as if it were hot or contaminated. Others coughed and spat, but everyone was friendly. Bicycles wove in and out of the traffic, which seemed to have no order or direction. I stood at one corner and watched as the intersection lights changed from green to red to green. It phased no one. They crossed from whatever direction they wished whenever they wished. A girl of about 11 sat on the back of the bike her mother guided through the mass of honking vehicles. Bus drivers seemed casual in their approach into the tangle, and the girl sat there playing with a small toy she may have gotten for Christmas, unaware of her possible peril. I found my bus stop and waited. Somehow, I was the last to board the bus. I didn't seem to have the ability to wedge my oversized body between others, as they were doing to me. And ere I knew it, I alone stood outside the door. And I just stood. There was no room for me. But then there had been no room for the previous 30 or so who had boarded, so I forged ahead. The door closed behind me in ways that reminded me where "behind me" exactly was. The driver shouted for people to move to the rear (I can't think of what else he might have been saying, so have interpreted his shouts as that). No one could nor did move. But he was a poor driver. The brakes and accelerator were used in rapid succession, and then in unison. The result being similar to shaking a jar of dried beans until there is more room at the top for the last few in the bag, waiting to be placed in the jar with the others. And, in a few blocks when he stopped again, another hoard of commuters climbed aboard. I got off as they did so, not wishing to be in the middle of the mass, eventually boarding again. People on the bus smiled and talked to me. They wished me a happy new year and shook my hands that were pressed to my sides. It was a wonderful trip. When the bus stopped near the hospital, I got off and walked quietly without anyone squeezing or pushing, to the apartment where the kids stay. I was glad to have been in China for a Chinese "New Year".
May your New Year be cozy and moving.
Doug
We got up early in the morning, because Ben's class was planning a New Year's breakfast for us at a teahouse near West Lake. It was to begin at 10:00 am. We arrived on time and were led to a private dining room where we would enjoy our meal together. The tea is 50 Yuan, or about $6.50. But with this expensive cup of tea, one can eat from the buffet all that he or she might wish. Or in our case, might not wish. They had (besides pistachio nuts, dried pineapple, rice porridge, fresh fruit, gelatins, hazel nuts, candies, vegetables, and ice creams) boiled chicken feet, fried rice with tiny creatures from the deep, there were sausages of questionable origins and skins that should have been used for the soles of shoes. Ah, but those things which were good to eat were very good to eat indeed. We ate for over and hour, and noted that no one seemed to be in any hurry to leave. We wanted to get out and about, but everyone sat. They told one sad story after another. Stories of the sales that had begun the night before at midnight. We had not known, sleeping, while others got 60% off of their purchases from midnight until 2 am. And then one of the students said he was leaving and would be back later. I asked what this meant. The explanation was refreshing. We could leave at any time and go out shopping or sight seeing or just for a walk. Anything. And come back later and eat more when we were hungry again. The party would continue until 6:00 PM. We returned at 4:00, and were amazed to see most of the same people throughout the restaurant that had been there 6 hours earlier. What a great smorgasbord. After eating for the second time, I headed back to the kids apartments. They had gone on their bikes, and since I wanted to see some of the city, I decided not to ride a taxi, but to walk a ways and then catch a bus. What did I see?
Men from Mongolia sold furs that smelled strongly of fat and lanolin. There were got and mink, dog and leopard. Lots to choose from. they were made into shabby garments or some lined silk vests that looked quite warm and tempting. A man sold candy beside the street. When he noted that I was not interested, he gave me a free sample. It both looked and tasted like balsa wood. Men sold little toy puppets, controlled by thin string and wriggled from the salesman's hand in such a way that gave the appearance of magic. Vendors sold everything they could think of. And the streets were filled with shoppers anxious to buy just something. Long Johns, hot water bottles, mittens and mufflers, along with sweaters and blankets, jackets and boots, were for sale in the street markets.
People dropped trash wherever they stood as if it were hot or contaminated. Others coughed and spat, but everyone was friendly. Bicycles wove in and out of the traffic, which seemed to have no order or direction. I stood at one corner and watched as the intersection lights changed from green to red to green. It phased no one. They crossed from whatever direction they wished whenever they wished. A girl of about 11 sat on the back of the bike her mother guided through the mass of honking vehicles. Bus drivers seemed casual in their approach into the tangle, and the girl sat there playing with a small toy she may have gotten for Christmas, unaware of her possible peril. I found my bus stop and waited. Somehow, I was the last to board the bus. I didn't seem to have the ability to wedge my oversized body between others, as they were doing to me. And ere I knew it, I alone stood outside the door. And I just stood. There was no room for me. But then there had been no room for the previous 30 or so who had boarded, so I forged ahead. The door closed behind me in ways that reminded me where "behind me" exactly was. The driver shouted for people to move to the rear (I can't think of what else he might have been saying, so have interpreted his shouts as that). No one could nor did move. But he was a poor driver. The brakes and accelerator were used in rapid succession, and then in unison. The result being similar to shaking a jar of dried beans until there is more room at the top for the last few in the bag, waiting to be placed in the jar with the others. And, in a few blocks when he stopped again, another hoard of commuters climbed aboard. I got off as they did so, not wishing to be in the middle of the mass, eventually boarding again. People on the bus smiled and talked to me. They wished me a happy new year and shook my hands that were pressed to my sides. It was a wonderful trip. When the bus stopped near the hospital, I got off and walked quietly without anyone squeezing or pushing, to the apartment where the kids stay. I was glad to have been in China for a Chinese "New Year".
May your New Year be cozy and moving.
Doug
The Lunar New Year is often called Chinese New Year. I celebrated the entrance of the year 2003, in China this year. That to me was the Chinese New Year.
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Wednesday, November 27, 2002
Better now..
Well I am sure that most of you have heard the story.... But here it is
straight from the horse's mouth. I was heading out on my bike, following the
traffic rules that are followed by the rest of China (none). I was I was
crossing a road, a fairly busy road, all of the traffic had stopped, though I
still did not have a green light. I passed several stopped cars and then I
looked to my left to see something that I will never forget, even though the
doctors have told me that memory loss can be expected. I saw my life flash
before my very eyes. And for those of you who may have wondered what that
looks like, it is a white truck about 3 feet from you and getting closer much
faster than you are getting away.
The next thing that I can remember was that I opened my eyes and I was
surrounded by Chinese people. I tried to tell them that I was ok in slightly
muddled English which I doubt any of them understood. And then I tried to get
up and compose myself, but I could not. I just sat there praying as I blacked
out again. When I came to again there was one of my students, Gilbert,
hovering over me. He began to help me to the hospital with the help of some
one else that I cannot remember but later I found out it was a police officer.
I came to again on a hospital bed, surrounded by people. One of the people
was an American doctor who must have been under the impression that I lost my
hearing too. As he yelled his questions to me I would answer. He asked where
I hurt. Well now to be honest that is a silly question to ask someone who has
been diagnosed with having a low pain threshold and has just been hit by a
truck. Well after x-raying every part of my body that I felt pain from, and
finding nothing, they did a cat scan of my head, because I also felt a little
pain around my left ear. They discovered that I had a fractured scull and a
little brain hemorrhage. They put me in ICU where I spent an awful night.
Not so much because of how miserable that I felt but because I was connected
to about a dozen cords and tubes. My parents arrived that night to be with
me, and to make sure that I was ok. The next day though I was much better and
I was moved out of ICU. And then I spent one more night in the hospital. But
by Sunday I could not take it any more. I was able to go home.
I may not have been ready to get out yet but it was nice to be at home again.
I was feeling pretty good though I still had no energy. I spent the next week
at home in bed most of the time. But by the end of the week I was feeling
fine again. I started teaching up the week after. And I seem to be ok. I
have gotten my bike back and believe it or not it is fine.
The police did a full report on the accident. And it was decided that it was
half the driver’s fault and half mine. It was half my fault because I was
running a red light, I was on the wrong side of the road, and because I was
riding my bike on the crosswalk. It was half his fault because he was taking
the corner faster than he should have been.
But with all of this trauma and excitement I am doing fine. The only thing
that remains wrong with me is that I have what is called Anosmia, which is a
loss of the sense of smell. I cannot smell anything at all.
I was blessed in so many ways by this accident. I was visited by so many of
my students. Every time Friday when I would come to my bed would be
surrounded by my students who were worried about me. I also praise God for
such a speedy recovery and so little injury. Smell is such a little thing
when compared to life. I am also thankful for all of your prayers, which
helped me to recover so fast. There are just so many things that I can thank
God for.
Things have really picked up since the accident though. My sister Bess and I
have begun our Bible study and we are having a good turn out every week.
These people are anxious to learn about the Bible. Coming to our Bible study
we have several Communist party members, a couple doctors, a teacher and his
child, and the head of security here at the hospital; it would actually be his
job to report our Bible study if he was not so interested himself.
His name is Fred, he is a student who has taken quite a liking to us. He was
in charge of dealing with the police when I had my accident. He came by to
check on me the following Sunday at 7:00 PM, which just happened to be when
the Bible study began. So we invited him to sit down and study with us. Not
only did he enjoy the Bible study and come back he has brought other people
with him too.
So things are going great here in China even with the small setback of the
milk truck. And again thank you for all your prayers.
Thank you for your prayers,
Ben Martin
Sunday, November 24, 2002
Ben's Recovery
It is time to write.
On Monday, I went with Larry Blackwell, a vocalist from Tennessee who had
come out for meetings in Hong Kong, to Hangzhou to see how Ben was doing. I
had been there the week before and left not a little concerned. When I left,
Ben was sitting up in the living room of his apartment answering the
questions of police who were there to question him in regards to the
accident. "Why wasn't your sister with you when you were hit?" they asked.
He was so weak and sick, that I wondered if his leaving the hospital had been
a mistake.
Now on Monday Larry and I arrived in the evening. Ben was not at the
apartment, so I went to ask Bess, who was teaching her evening class, where
Ben would be found. She pointed to the next classroom (Their classes are
held on the 4th or 5th floor (hard to tell which because one of the floors on
the way up isn't numbered or included in the total number of floors. There
is 3rd floor, then another floor without a number and then 4th.). Ben was
there teaching.
He seems to be almost completely recovered. He just hasn't recovered his
bike yet, and I don't know that I even want him to. He still has some
headaches, and no sense of smell. I am sure that with time, these problems
will be taken care of.
Thank-you each for your prayers, many letters and kindness.
Love,
Doug & Jeri
Sunday, July 07, 2002
Busy Sidewalks
Maybe it's old age racing up into my face. I am not sure. But I do know that something about... No, almost everything about walking on Hong Kong's sidewalks, gets to me. Bess says I am having trouble adjusting. I think everybody is. Not everybody else, mind you.... Everybody. Yesterday I thought I would pay special attention to try and figure out what the problem might be. I have, unlike my usual self, made an outline of what I have seen.
A. Crowded. The sidewalks are extremely crowded. I remember how crowded the sidewalks used to be in Shanghai, when I visited there on occasion. But in Shanghai, they just put a fence or two in the street and extended the sidewalks out another 10 feet into the road on both sides of the street. That helped a lot. Also, in Shanghai, a tall American was enough of a novelty that people stopped to stare and even backed up for a full view. Thus, the crowd was often parted for my regal estate to pass in a manner much to my liking.
B. Busy. Now here one thinks that the author has begun repeating himself. While this is often the case, it is not so at this time. Yes, the sidewalks are busy with pedestrians, but it is another busy to which I refer. Persons stand on these crowded sidewalks to do their business. Most often it involves the passing out of pieces of brightly-colored paper covered with Chinese Characters (but it might also be a name card with the owner wanting you to draw nearer so that he can whisper in a confidential tone what he is offering, knowing full well that should he speak in a normal volume, he would be swamped with buyers). Because of the Chinese characters, I have no idea what the written messages are. They might be, "Pay to the bearer...", but I don't think so, because even those who read these characters just keep on going, the extended arms of the distributors swinging like turnstiles in the entrance to a ball park. And then there are the street vendors with carts, large carts, the size of ping-pong tables. These carts are covered with garments usually. Maybe underwear or designer-looking clothes. Sometimes with fake watches or purses and pocket books. These are not sales persons waiting for the customer to bite. They are rather, aggressive individuals who nearly stop you with their shouts and clapping and incredible prices. (10 Pair of underwear, $5.00!) But then, how about those selling toys? It might be something innocent (in a child's bedroom) like a ball on a string. This ball is thrown into the unsuspecting crowd, string still attached.
Suddenly you realize that you not only have bodies to avoid who are moving all around you, but there is a kind of unbreakable spider web that you must now hurdle as well. And, the ball will return. There are 747's whose batteries allow them to start out slowly and pick up speed as they take off down the sidewalk and then stop, aborting their take off no doubt because of the pilot's seeing that there are several hundred people on the runway, and that they are all much larger than the aircraft. These aircraft then turn and come back to the seller, who controls them with his hand held device.
C. Dangerous. Yesterday I found a child whose father was teaching him to ride a bicycle down the sidewalk. When one lives in an apartment on such a street in Hong Kong, that's the only place to learn, I guess. But, is it the only time? What ever happened to the concept of children learning to ride bikes at 3:00 am?
D. Pathetic. Beggars realize that if you are going to beg, you need to go where the action is. They do not, as in some places, just sit against the building with an outstretched hand. Here they are much more dramatic. A beggar will lie down with his feet (or foot, if that is his affliction) against the building and body stretched out directly across the path of those walking down the sidewalk. He often knocks his head on the pavement showing his absolute homage to those with coins. In front of him is a hat or cup or bowl into which a few cents have been tossed. If a limb is missing, the clothing is arranged in such a way as to give full view to the deformity. Fathers sit with small children, usually a normal father and normal child. The father looks down, showing his humility and abject hopelessness. The father looks around wondering who everyone else is going somewhere, and they are just sitting there doing nothing. The sympathy for these silent types is not too generous.
E. Challenging. Planted in the sidewalk are numerous objects that have to do with the function of a city. Like just ahead is a fence. This is because that intersection is not a good place to cross. Or, some of the largest fire hydrants in the world. They are not tall, but squat and as big around as the spare tire for a greyhound bus. I fell over one yesterday. The Chinese have been given while in the womb, the ability to glide past these without giving evidence to those of foreign extraction, that danger lurks. A thousand persons can walk ahead. No indication is given that a great obstacle lies in the way. I glance into an open shop and then find myself in the very next instant lying on the paving with lumps on my shins.
F. All Wrong! In Hong Kong, the traffic drives on the left. One would then think that persons would also walk on the left. They do, but only when forced to do so by escalators. Until they board the moving stairs, they walk on the right. When they reach the upper or lower floor, they again revert to the right. There is therefore much confusion at both ends of an escalator, as persons are crossing over, kind of like changing the wheels from narrow to wide gauge on the trains when crossing the border between western free and eastern communist Europe. There is the sense that the body is conditioned to drive and walk on the right, naturally, and that something British in the past of Hong Kong has confused Mother Nature herself.
G. The Oblivious. There are countless persons allowed to walk freely on the streets of Hong Kong who are oblivious to all else. They are those who seem to have some disorder which requires frequent stopping. They sometimes stop while walking down the sidewalk as if they just remembered that when they walked out of their apartment they remembered seeing an open flame on the sofa or somewhere. Where was it? Or maybe they are quicker of wit and remember immediately where it was. These just turn around while walking, continuing to walk, but having just done an about face. Those behind them must know without warning that this is about to happen. I have not yet divined the method of discerning the probability of an about face, and often do a full frontal body with persons who I have never seen before, nor am likely to again. Still others are attracted by something being sold on the street or in a shop. So attracted, that they cannot go another step. They just stop. Or maybe they have had some invisible wand passed over them that has turned them to stone. One that I dread, but which happens quite often is those persons who get to the top of the escalator and upon reaching terra firma, just stop to chat with a friend who was with them as they ascended. The crowd behind them, of course, cannot stop without a power outage. Bodies tumble and scramble around them. They give no attention whatsoever, but continue to visit casually until that special moment has passed and then they saunter on.
To give you an idea of what these obstacles do to the flow of foot traffic, I have sent a picture of a busy sidewalk to my website. The address is http://dougmartin.zapto.org/. Look at the picture and imagine any one of the above. But to get the real picture, imagine all of them at once.
Doug
A. Crowded. The sidewalks are extremely crowded. I remember how crowded the sidewalks used to be in Shanghai, when I visited there on occasion. But in Shanghai, they just put a fence or two in the street and extended the sidewalks out another 10 feet into the road on both sides of the street. That helped a lot. Also, in Shanghai, a tall American was enough of a novelty that people stopped to stare and even backed up for a full view. Thus, the crowd was often parted for my regal estate to pass in a manner much to my liking.
B. Busy. Now here one thinks that the author has begun repeating himself. While this is often the case, it is not so at this time. Yes, the sidewalks are busy with pedestrians, but it is another busy to which I refer. Persons stand on these crowded sidewalks to do their business. Most often it involves the passing out of pieces of brightly-colored paper covered with Chinese Characters (but it might also be a name card with the owner wanting you to draw nearer so that he can whisper in a confidential tone what he is offering, knowing full well that should he speak in a normal volume, he would be swamped with buyers). Because of the Chinese characters, I have no idea what the written messages are. They might be, "Pay to the bearer...", but I don't think so, because even those who read these characters just keep on going, the extended arms of the distributors swinging like turnstiles in the entrance to a ball park. And then there are the street vendors with carts, large carts, the size of ping-pong tables. These carts are covered with garments usually. Maybe underwear or designer-looking clothes. Sometimes with fake watches or purses and pocket books. These are not sales persons waiting for the customer to bite. They are rather, aggressive individuals who nearly stop you with their shouts and clapping and incredible prices. (10 Pair of underwear, $5.00!) But then, how about those selling toys? It might be something innocent (in a child's bedroom) like a ball on a string. This ball is thrown into the unsuspecting crowd, string still attached.
Suddenly you realize that you not only have bodies to avoid who are moving all around you, but there is a kind of unbreakable spider web that you must now hurdle as well. And, the ball will return. There are 747's whose batteries allow them to start out slowly and pick up speed as they take off down the sidewalk and then stop, aborting their take off no doubt because of the pilot's seeing that there are several hundred people on the runway, and that they are all much larger than the aircraft. These aircraft then turn and come back to the seller, who controls them with his hand held device.
C. Dangerous. Yesterday I found a child whose father was teaching him to ride a bicycle down the sidewalk. When one lives in an apartment on such a street in Hong Kong, that's the only place to learn, I guess. But, is it the only time? What ever happened to the concept of children learning to ride bikes at 3:00 am?
D. Pathetic. Beggars realize that if you are going to beg, you need to go where the action is. They do not, as in some places, just sit against the building with an outstretched hand. Here they are much more dramatic. A beggar will lie down with his feet (or foot, if that is his affliction) against the building and body stretched out directly across the path of those walking down the sidewalk. He often knocks his head on the pavement showing his absolute homage to those with coins. In front of him is a hat or cup or bowl into which a few cents have been tossed. If a limb is missing, the clothing is arranged in such a way as to give full view to the deformity. Fathers sit with small children, usually a normal father and normal child. The father looks down, showing his humility and abject hopelessness. The father looks around wondering who everyone else is going somewhere, and they are just sitting there doing nothing. The sympathy for these silent types is not too generous.
E. Challenging. Planted in the sidewalk are numerous objects that have to do with the function of a city. Like just ahead is a fence. This is because that intersection is not a good place to cross. Or, some of the largest fire hydrants in the world. They are not tall, but squat and as big around as the spare tire for a greyhound bus. I fell over one yesterday. The Chinese have been given while in the womb, the ability to glide past these without giving evidence to those of foreign extraction, that danger lurks. A thousand persons can walk ahead. No indication is given that a great obstacle lies in the way. I glance into an open shop and then find myself in the very next instant lying on the paving with lumps on my shins.
F. All Wrong! In Hong Kong, the traffic drives on the left. One would then think that persons would also walk on the left. They do, but only when forced to do so by escalators. Until they board the moving stairs, they walk on the right. When they reach the upper or lower floor, they again revert to the right. There is therefore much confusion at both ends of an escalator, as persons are crossing over, kind of like changing the wheels from narrow to wide gauge on the trains when crossing the border between western free and eastern communist Europe. There is the sense that the body is conditioned to drive and walk on the right, naturally, and that something British in the past of Hong Kong has confused Mother Nature herself.
G. The Oblivious. There are countless persons allowed to walk freely on the streets of Hong Kong who are oblivious to all else. They are those who seem to have some disorder which requires frequent stopping. They sometimes stop while walking down the sidewalk as if they just remembered that when they walked out of their apartment they remembered seeing an open flame on the sofa or somewhere. Where was it? Or maybe they are quicker of wit and remember immediately where it was. These just turn around while walking, continuing to walk, but having just done an about face. Those behind them must know without warning that this is about to happen. I have not yet divined the method of discerning the probability of an about face, and often do a full frontal body with persons who I have never seen before, nor am likely to again. Still others are attracted by something being sold on the street or in a shop. So attracted, that they cannot go another step. They just stop. Or maybe they have had some invisible wand passed over them that has turned them to stone. One that I dread, but which happens quite often is those persons who get to the top of the escalator and upon reaching terra firma, just stop to chat with a friend who was with them as they ascended. The crowd behind them, of course, cannot stop without a power outage. Bodies tumble and scramble around them. They give no attention whatsoever, but continue to visit casually until that special moment has passed and then they saunter on.
To give you an idea of what these obstacles do to the flow of foot traffic, I have sent a picture of a busy sidewalk to my website. The address is http://dougmartin.zapto.org/. Look at the picture and imagine any one of the above. But to get the real picture, imagine all of them at once.
Doug
Thursday, June 06, 2002
Hey, Watch Me!
Yesterday it rained all day long. They called it a Yellow Rain. They say here that a Red Rain is worse, and that if it is a Black Rain, no one goes out.
Bess had gone to her job at the Bambino English School for Pre-Schoolers and about 3:30 in the afternoon, I came home and suggested to Jeri that since we had business in the Causeway Bay area of Hong Kong, near Bess's place of work, we ought to go and meet her at the end of her workday. We hurried to the bus stop and arrived at Bambino just as Bess was ready to leave. After completing our business in Causeway Bay, Bess suggested that we stop by Wan Chai where she wished to look at something in a shop there. We headed for the Subway to travel over to Wan Chai. The Subway was crowded and when we boarded the cars, we noticed that there were a few empty seats. After Bess and Jeri had situated themselves, there still remained half a seat for me. The man beside this space obviously thought that by slouching half way into the vacant spot, he would not have the inconvience of having someone sit next to him. I assured Bess and Jeri, who were opposite me in the subway car, that I had learned in Indonesia just how to place ones self in a too-small-seat on public transportation. One simply backed in rump first and people made way for the on-comer. I suggested to them that they "Watch Me!" and put my body in reverse.
Unfortunately just as I was nearing my parking place, the train began its journey with quite an unexpected lurch. The unexpected result was my sitting on the face of the man who wished not to have a neighbor. At least, according to my wishes and thanks to my directions, Jeri and Bess were watching. That vast unsmiling throng of commuters will probably never know what it was that the three of us enjoyed so much about my sitting on a man's face.
Doug
Bess had gone to her job at the Bambino English School for Pre-Schoolers and about 3:30 in the afternoon, I came home and suggested to Jeri that since we had business in the Causeway Bay area of Hong Kong, near Bess's place of work, we ought to go and meet her at the end of her workday. We hurried to the bus stop and arrived at Bambino just as Bess was ready to leave. After completing our business in Causeway Bay, Bess suggested that we stop by Wan Chai where she wished to look at something in a shop there. We headed for the Subway to travel over to Wan Chai. The Subway was crowded and when we boarded the cars, we noticed that there were a few empty seats. After Bess and Jeri had situated themselves, there still remained half a seat for me. The man beside this space obviously thought that by slouching half way into the vacant spot, he would not have the inconvience of having someone sit next to him. I assured Bess and Jeri, who were opposite me in the subway car, that I had learned in Indonesia just how to place ones self in a too-small-seat on public transportation. One simply backed in rump first and people made way for the on-comer. I suggested to them that they "Watch Me!" and put my body in reverse.
Unfortunately just as I was nearing my parking place, the train began its journey with quite an unexpected lurch. The unexpected result was my sitting on the face of the man who wished not to have a neighbor. At least, according to my wishes and thanks to my directions, Jeri and Bess were watching. That vast unsmiling throng of commuters will probably never know what it was that the three of us enjoyed so much about my sitting on a man's face.
Doug
Monday, June 03, 2002
The Portuguese Port
The Portuguese had a colony in Macau. I don't know when that started, but it ended in 1999. We went on Sunday to have a look. The ferry from Hong Kong to Macau takes exactly 1 hour. We were required by Immigration to leave Hong Kong and re-enter to activate our visas so that we would be here and able to work. Wishing to end our time as Tourists and begin as legal residents, we sat for sometime on Sunday afternoon trying to decide if we wished to go to China or to Macau. We finally settled on Macau. Great Choice!
The city is like a Chinese New Orleans. Lots of that atmosphere, but with a Chinese twist. The old cathedrals, government buildings and residences were grand and beautiful. It is a much slower and somewhat cheaper pace than Hong Kong. The food was good, and the whole 24 hours was relaxing. We ate a type of fresh yogurt (steamed milk) in a little cafe there on the plaza. We finally found a noodle shop and ate all we could there. We had tried in the steamed milk shop to order noodles, but the noodle part of the menu was not in English. Bess remembered how to say I am a vegetarian in Chinese, so tried it on the waitress. The waitress thought that Bess's words; "wo sha chee se" expressed the desire for a cheese sandwich. We finally convinced her that this was not the case. Then we found that the people at the next table spoke English, so we asked them to convey to the waitress that we were vegetarians. This brought shocked expressions all around and the waitresses never came near our table again. The man who had translated for us, asked me I was sure that I wanted to say that I ate no meat. I assured him that I did. He said that I did not in any way look like a vegetarian. What, I asked him, did vegetarians look like? He suggested that they usually are "slim". At that point, we three fleshy vegetarians moved on to another restaurant for noodles.
On the ferry I had tried to ask for food. "I would like to eat", sounded to the waiter like "I'd like tea". I did not know that it sounded like that until he asked if I wanted milk and sugar with my tea. No, not tea, I want to EAT. Somehow this produced cigarettes. I never did get anything to eat on the boat. The taxi driver was glad to meet my daughter and wife. I asked concerning his wife. The sign language suggested that she was asleep. I mentioned it was a bit late in the day for that when he helped us to realize it was the sleep of death. Just one more awkward moment. Over all, we had a great time. Come and see us and we'll take the boat trip over to Macau and have a pleasant day of it.
Doug
The city is like a Chinese New Orleans. Lots of that atmosphere, but with a Chinese twist. The old cathedrals, government buildings and residences were grand and beautiful. It is a much slower and somewhat cheaper pace than Hong Kong. The food was good, and the whole 24 hours was relaxing. We ate a type of fresh yogurt (steamed milk) in a little cafe there on the plaza. We finally found a noodle shop and ate all we could there. We had tried in the steamed milk shop to order noodles, but the noodle part of the menu was not in English. Bess remembered how to say I am a vegetarian in Chinese, so tried it on the waitress. The waitress thought that Bess's words; "wo sha chee se" expressed the desire for a cheese sandwich. We finally convinced her that this was not the case. Then we found that the people at the next table spoke English, so we asked them to convey to the waitress that we were vegetarians. This brought shocked expressions all around and the waitresses never came near our table again. The man who had translated for us, asked me I was sure that I wanted to say that I ate no meat. I assured him that I did. He said that I did not in any way look like a vegetarian. What, I asked him, did vegetarians look like? He suggested that they usually are "slim". At that point, we three fleshy vegetarians moved on to another restaurant for noodles.
On the ferry I had tried to ask for food. "I would like to eat", sounded to the waiter like "I'd like tea". I did not know that it sounded like that until he asked if I wanted milk and sugar with my tea. No, not tea, I want to EAT. Somehow this produced cigarettes. I never did get anything to eat on the boat. The taxi driver was glad to meet my daughter and wife. I asked concerning his wife. The sign language suggested that she was asleep. I mentioned it was a bit late in the day for that when he helped us to realize it was the sleep of death. Just one more awkward moment. Over all, we had a great time. Come and see us and we'll take the boat trip over to Macau and have a pleasant day of it.
Doug
Tuesday, May 28, 2002
Last Night in Indonesia (May 14)
A new phrase I had learned was particularly helpful when street hawkers tried to sell their cheap ($1.00) watches or taxi service, or even suggesting that they might have a lady friend who I would find interesting. The phrase was absurd in its delivery, but effective in its use. I would point to myself when the venders began and say, "Aku bongol". The meaning is simply. I am deaf. It never seems to dawn on the hearer that it is strange that a deaf person would know how to pronounce these words, but they just quit talking and walk away explaining to others not to bother the tall white man because he is deaf.
But while walking beside the beach in Kuta, Bali, my last night in Indonesia, I could not convince them of my being deaf, so I decided to cross the street and get away from them. Then I saw him. My first reaction was that it was some kind of a trick.
This was Kuta Beach. Young studs and studettes came from all over the world to surf and party. They wandered around the alleys and lanes wearing very little, putting their tanned, muscular, perfect bodies on display. While still in Java, two man servants at the house of Gi had been massaging me and told me that my body was not perfect, that my stomach reminded them of that of a toad. This was an unflattering first. They said that they would like to visit Bali. Said one, "I would wear sunglasses and look like a tourist." But I had been in Bali and had seen the tourists. There were no sunglasses in the world that would make this young servant from the countryside look like a tourist. My suggestion to this young Moslem was that he best leave the sunglasses alone, since they would give more the appearance of terrorist than tourist.
And now in Bali, with hundreds, even thousands, of these tourists walking around who still had several years before their flat tummies would remind any one of toads, I sat looking at one of the most imperfect bodies I had ever seen. This guy had a gimmick the likes of which I had never imagined. I must stop and talk to him, possibly even sneak a look behind him and see how he did this. But I was so obvious that it drew the attention of passers by almost immediately, so I sat down on the street about 4 feet from him. It was about 8:00 in the evening, and being dark, we were not as noticeable now that I sat down. But also being this close, it was obvious that this was no trick. The man had no legs. None. He seemed to have very little body past the waist. He looked as if he were on the beach, and had half buried himself in sand. I asked how he was. Fine. If he came here often. Every day. Where he lived. In a mosque about half a mile away. Finally, I asked how he had lost his legs. He had been born with no legs. He rested on a pair of flip flops and just sat there in the dirt hoping someone would offer him money. Did someone bring him here? No, he came alone. He would use his hands as feet, and walk on them, suspending the full weight of half a body in the air as he walked along on hands and arms. He said the half a mile took about 15 minutes.
At this point I wondered how much money it would take to make him happy. There obviously wasn't enough. I just sat there dazed. I wondered about prosthetic legs, and asked him if he had any stumps. His shirt hung to and gathered about him on the ground. He lifted it and showed me that he wore a simple pair of briefs, and that from either leg hole there protruded nothing save a round mound of flesh, to which nothing could be attached to give him legs. He told me that he had attended school, but to what advantage. He could read and write, but how could someone go into a place of work as such a freak?
Thinking of persons in the US who cannot walk, I realized that he needed a wheel chair. Oh, he said, that was a dream never to be realized when one received barely enough in a day's begging to relieve hunger. Then, without even thinking about how it could be accomplished, I told him that we must go and buy a wheel chair. Adjis, this 37-year old legless man, told me that we could catch a bus for only 40 cents each into the city of Denpasar. One person had stood near us during our entire visit. This person was a Taxi driver. He immediately said he would take us to look for a wheel chair. Adjis whispered to me that we must make sure the driver used the meter. Wayan, the driver, agreed to do this. Before I had even gotten to my feet, Adjis was beside the back door of the taxi, and while I walked around to the other side, he was in with the door shut. His ability to transport and lift himself without any aid was a fascination.
The drive into Denpasar was about 20 minutes. When we were getting into the city, I realized that we didn't even know where to go at 9:15 at night to buy a wheel chair. When I mentioned this, Adjis said that they sold them at the 24 hour pharmacy. He had seen them there on display. Wayan knew the place and we drove there. I had hoped that Adjis would just stay in the car and I would go in and buy a wheel chair and bring it out and put it in the trunk. But no. The taxi had hardly stopped when Adjis was bounding across the parking lot. There were about 15 people in a waiting area watching TV until their prescriptions were filled. But when Adjis came through the door, the TV lost all appeal. Together we went up to the counter. Adjis was down just over knee high and I had to do the talking. It had not occurred to me how difficult this would be. I found myself hardly able to speak as I told the gawking woman that I'd like to buy a wheel chair. There were none in stock, but I could place an order and pick it up on the morrow. Maybe I could have in another place, but not Indonesia. Adjis would never see his wheel chair if we didn't get it together. I explained that at 7:30 the next morning I would leave for Hong Kong, so we needed it tonight. She said again that we would have to wait. I looked at Adjis. His face said that he had already waited 37 years, and that he knew it was foolishness to have hoped.We left and everyone behind us began to jabber. Back in the taxi, I thought of the scores of wheel chairs in the Adventist Hospital that I had brought from the US in a container with other hospital equipment, and that if we were there, they would just give us one. Wayan asked if we were going back to Kuta Beach. No, I told him we needed to go to a local hospital. The watching crowd was larger at the hospital. The clerk in reception listened to my request to purchase a wheel chair, but assured me that it was impossible. He called the Doctor in charge of ER to come out to speak with us. Dr. Wartawan (the name actually means reporter, and I suggested that had his parents known his future, they could have simply named him Doctor, rather than reporter) was Hindu. Over each ear he sported a flower petal making him look like some young optimistic creature from a perfect and happy forest. But he too said that there was nothing that could be done before the morrow. Adjis said he thought he'd just go to the waiting room and watch TV. After he left, I turned to the doctor who had watched with me as Adjis had propelled himself out of the room and up onto one of the benches where about 30 other persons were waiting and watching. I told Wartawan that I could not imagine even one day sitting in the dirt in only my shirt and underwear and walking with my hands, going around the city and through the traffic. He went to a telephone and made a call to his home. His mother, he told me had recently died, and they had a brand new wheelchair at home that she had used.
Wartawan's sister refused to part with the wheel chair. Now he told the receptionist to find the source of wheel chairs for the hospital. Within minutes the information had, and the receptionist called the number. Yes, a wheelchair could be purchased from him tonight. He would bring it to the hospital. When I explained to the man that I only had a credit card, and not the $200 in cash that the wheel chair would cost, he said it could not be purchased that night. He would take it to the pharmacist in the morning. After trying to work out something with the hospital cashier (to no avail, as she would need to ask many people if it could be done, and it was already after 10:00 PM, and those she should ask were at home in bed, I called the man again who sold wheelchairs. Could he deliver it to Kuta Beach, I could get money from an ATM there? No. I would go to Kuta and get my ATM card and come back and get the chair. This was approved.
It was decided (by myself) when we were driving back to Kuta Beach with Adjis beaming from ear to ear and talking without pausing for breath, that we must find a restaurant and have a celebration. I knew just the place. The Kori. You see, in the Kori, everyone eats comfortably, sitting on grass mats... On the floor. And so, it was just the three of us. A Moslem Beggar who lives at a mosque, a Hindu Taxi Driver and Adventist Minister. Completely unaware of Jihads and differences of doctrine, all united and rejoicing over a wheelchair, impossible to obtain (we had been told), but waiting beside the table for the meal to finish.
If you'd like me to e-mail you a picture of Adjis and his wheel chair, drop me a line.
Doug
But while walking beside the beach in Kuta, Bali, my last night in Indonesia, I could not convince them of my being deaf, so I decided to cross the street and get away from them. Then I saw him. My first reaction was that it was some kind of a trick.
This was Kuta Beach. Young studs and studettes came from all over the world to surf and party. They wandered around the alleys and lanes wearing very little, putting their tanned, muscular, perfect bodies on display. While still in Java, two man servants at the house of Gi had been massaging me and told me that my body was not perfect, that my stomach reminded them of that of a toad. This was an unflattering first. They said that they would like to visit Bali. Said one, "I would wear sunglasses and look like a tourist." But I had been in Bali and had seen the tourists. There were no sunglasses in the world that would make this young servant from the countryside look like a tourist. My suggestion to this young Moslem was that he best leave the sunglasses alone, since they would give more the appearance of terrorist than tourist.
And now in Bali, with hundreds, even thousands, of these tourists walking around who still had several years before their flat tummies would remind any one of toads, I sat looking at one of the most imperfect bodies I had ever seen. This guy had a gimmick the likes of which I had never imagined. I must stop and talk to him, possibly even sneak a look behind him and see how he did this. But I was so obvious that it drew the attention of passers by almost immediately, so I sat down on the street about 4 feet from him. It was about 8:00 in the evening, and being dark, we were not as noticeable now that I sat down. But also being this close, it was obvious that this was no trick. The man had no legs. None. He seemed to have very little body past the waist. He looked as if he were on the beach, and had half buried himself in sand. I asked how he was. Fine. If he came here often. Every day. Where he lived. In a mosque about half a mile away. Finally, I asked how he had lost his legs. He had been born with no legs. He rested on a pair of flip flops and just sat there in the dirt hoping someone would offer him money. Did someone bring him here? No, he came alone. He would use his hands as feet, and walk on them, suspending the full weight of half a body in the air as he walked along on hands and arms. He said the half a mile took about 15 minutes.
At this point I wondered how much money it would take to make him happy. There obviously wasn't enough. I just sat there dazed. I wondered about prosthetic legs, and asked him if he had any stumps. His shirt hung to and gathered about him on the ground. He lifted it and showed me that he wore a simple pair of briefs, and that from either leg hole there protruded nothing save a round mound of flesh, to which nothing could be attached to give him legs. He told me that he had attended school, but to what advantage. He could read and write, but how could someone go into a place of work as such a freak?
Thinking of persons in the US who cannot walk, I realized that he needed a wheel chair. Oh, he said, that was a dream never to be realized when one received barely enough in a day's begging to relieve hunger. Then, without even thinking about how it could be accomplished, I told him that we must go and buy a wheel chair. Adjis, this 37-year old legless man, told me that we could catch a bus for only 40 cents each into the city of Denpasar. One person had stood near us during our entire visit. This person was a Taxi driver. He immediately said he would take us to look for a wheel chair. Adjis whispered to me that we must make sure the driver used the meter. Wayan, the driver, agreed to do this. Before I had even gotten to my feet, Adjis was beside the back door of the taxi, and while I walked around to the other side, he was in with the door shut. His ability to transport and lift himself without any aid was a fascination.
The drive into Denpasar was about 20 minutes. When we were getting into the city, I realized that we didn't even know where to go at 9:15 at night to buy a wheel chair. When I mentioned this, Adjis said that they sold them at the 24 hour pharmacy. He had seen them there on display. Wayan knew the place and we drove there. I had hoped that Adjis would just stay in the car and I would go in and buy a wheel chair and bring it out and put it in the trunk. But no. The taxi had hardly stopped when Adjis was bounding across the parking lot. There were about 15 people in a waiting area watching TV until their prescriptions were filled. But when Adjis came through the door, the TV lost all appeal. Together we went up to the counter. Adjis was down just over knee high and I had to do the talking. It had not occurred to me how difficult this would be. I found myself hardly able to speak as I told the gawking woman that I'd like to buy a wheel chair. There were none in stock, but I could place an order and pick it up on the morrow. Maybe I could have in another place, but not Indonesia. Adjis would never see his wheel chair if we didn't get it together. I explained that at 7:30 the next morning I would leave for Hong Kong, so we needed it tonight. She said again that we would have to wait. I looked at Adjis. His face said that he had already waited 37 years, and that he knew it was foolishness to have hoped.We left and everyone behind us began to jabber. Back in the taxi, I thought of the scores of wheel chairs in the Adventist Hospital that I had brought from the US in a container with other hospital equipment, and that if we were there, they would just give us one. Wayan asked if we were going back to Kuta Beach. No, I told him we needed to go to a local hospital. The watching crowd was larger at the hospital. The clerk in reception listened to my request to purchase a wheel chair, but assured me that it was impossible. He called the Doctor in charge of ER to come out to speak with us. Dr. Wartawan (the name actually means reporter, and I suggested that had his parents known his future, they could have simply named him Doctor, rather than reporter) was Hindu. Over each ear he sported a flower petal making him look like some young optimistic creature from a perfect and happy forest. But he too said that there was nothing that could be done before the morrow. Adjis said he thought he'd just go to the waiting room and watch TV. After he left, I turned to the doctor who had watched with me as Adjis had propelled himself out of the room and up onto one of the benches where about 30 other persons were waiting and watching. I told Wartawan that I could not imagine even one day sitting in the dirt in only my shirt and underwear and walking with my hands, going around the city and through the traffic. He went to a telephone and made a call to his home. His mother, he told me had recently died, and they had a brand new wheelchair at home that she had used.
Wartawan's sister refused to part with the wheel chair. Now he told the receptionist to find the source of wheel chairs for the hospital. Within minutes the information had, and the receptionist called the number. Yes, a wheelchair could be purchased from him tonight. He would bring it to the hospital. When I explained to the man that I only had a credit card, and not the $200 in cash that the wheel chair would cost, he said it could not be purchased that night. He would take it to the pharmacist in the morning. After trying to work out something with the hospital cashier (to no avail, as she would need to ask many people if it could be done, and it was already after 10:00 PM, and those she should ask were at home in bed, I called the man again who sold wheelchairs. Could he deliver it to Kuta Beach, I could get money from an ATM there? No. I would go to Kuta and get my ATM card and come back and get the chair. This was approved.
It was decided (by myself) when we were driving back to Kuta Beach with Adjis beaming from ear to ear and talking without pausing for breath, that we must find a restaurant and have a celebration. I knew just the place. The Kori. You see, in the Kori, everyone eats comfortably, sitting on grass mats... On the floor. And so, it was just the three of us. A Moslem Beggar who lives at a mosque, a Hindu Taxi Driver and Adventist Minister. Completely unaware of Jihads and differences of doctrine, all united and rejoicing over a wheelchair, impossible to obtain (we had been told), but waiting beside the table for the meal to finish.
If you'd like me to e-mail you a picture of Adjis and his wheel chair, drop me a line.
Doug
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