Beach at Lantau Island

Hey Girls, Look What Daddy Got For You

A certain someone -who shall remain nameless- has been known to spend fifteen minutes agonizing over the menu at a Chinese restaurant. I -on the other hand- have been known to close my eyes and drop my finger on a menu.

Both methods have about equal probability of procuring food that the girls will eat. But my method saves us fifteen minutes and a whole lot of handwringing.

Last Saturday, we were at a little beach town on Lantau Island with several other families. We had finished eating a late lunch at an outdoor South African restaurant called the Stoep. The girls were being real troopers. They didn't care for the food we'd ordered and they were waiting patiently for everybody to finish up. And they were hot. And sticky.

I slipped out and went to the little ma-and-pop store next door. They had a freezer with popsicles, but the labels were completely in Chinese. I closed my eyes, dipped my hands into the cooler, and picked two.

The girls’ eyes lit up when they saw what I had brought them.

A minute later, they were laughing. Annika’s popsicle was a yummy, frozen papaya.

Elise’s?

Frozen green bean.

Tasty.

But, she ate it.

-Jack

Because Seven Phone Just Wouldn't be Enough

Photo by our friend and colleague Grant Franke

Grandpa would be Proud . . . Gandhi, not so much

“Hey Tim, does this box get two slabs of bacon or three?”

Life in Hong Kong has the occasional surreal moment. Every once in a while, I find myself stepping outside of the moment, looking at myself, and saying I can’t believe that I am in China doing such-and-such.

Today, during my free period, I found myself –with about a dozen other teacher volunteers- in the cafeteria working on a makeshift assembly line filling meat orders.

Life in Hong Kong is all about adaptation. If we ever had any delusions about fully immersing ourselves in Hong Kong culture and living a Canton life, that just ain’t gonna happen. Bottom line is, we’re expats, and part of being expats is living a hybrid life.

In my school building, there is a principal who everyone –including himself- refers to as Mr. Hong Kong. He has made a connection with a father of one of our students. This father is German by birth and a butcher by profession. The German butcher has made a pretty nice living for himself supplying high-end hotels and restaurants in Hong Kong. Some time back, Mr. Hong Kong worked out an arrangement with Herr Butcher to allow the teachers at our school to submit a mass order once a month.

Because it’s hard knowing exactly what you’re getting from the local Park n Shop (lets not even get started on the open air markets) and because the quality is inconsistent, Julie jumped at the chance to participate in the collective order.

Because the meat arrived during my free period, I volunteered to be a sorter and a packer.

So there I am during 5th period, helping to divvy up half a ton of meat. “The Wilsons get 10 salmon filets, 20 hamburger patties, four flank steak, one slab of bacon, two packs of turkey sausage, and . . . done!”

At one point, I stopped, looked around at all the activity, and said to myself “I can’t believe I'm in Hong Kong, working side-by-side with a bunch of Brits and Aussies to pack boxes of meat. Whose weird dream did I wake up in the middle of?

Bizarre.

Okay, what transpired today is not exactly the typical Hong Kong way. But then again, what is? Eating pigs knuckles and sucking the skin off of chicken feet certainly is.

But apparently, so is banding together with your fellow expats and ordering a half-ton-worth of meat from a German butcher.

We are all just trying to survive here.

By any means necessary.

And at least now, our beef is coming from parts of the cow we’re actually familiar with.
If it would make everybody feel better, we promise to cut all that meat into tiny pieces, stir fry it, and eat it with chop sticks. Would that be Hong Kong-y enough for everybody?

Grandpa was butcher.

Gandhi was a vegetarian.

-Jack

Note to Julie: Those 30 frozen chicken breasts you ordered? Yeah, those were two to a pack. So now we need to figure out how the four of us are going to eat 60 chicken breasts in a month.

Justin

Mo Money, Mo Money

In China, they use the yuan. In Hong Kong they use the Hong Kong dollar, which they simply refer to as dollars, unless there is the potential for confusion with American dollars in which case they refer to them as Hong Kong dollars.

Not only is every denomination of paper money a slightly different size, but each one is a different color. Three banks in Hong Kong have been commissioned to print money, so while all $100 bills are the same size and red, there are three different designs in circulation. The same is true for the $500, the $50, $20, and $10. The $10 has a translucent “window” in the middle of it that you can look through.

The coins range from $10 down to 10¢. The $10 coin is silver with a bronze inset. The $2 coin has a ripple-y edge. The 10¢ is really tiny. There are no 5¢ or 1¢ coins in Hong Kong. Here every purchase gets rounded off to the nearest tenth of a dollar.

The hardest thing about getting used to the Hong Kong money is the value. The Hong Kong dollar is fixed to the US dollar at HK$7.8 to US$1. So we’ve had to get used to forking over $20 for a burger (about $2.50).

It’s a little unsettling giving your daughter $10 to buy a granola bar at the after-school snack bar and getting no change back. Or spending $150 for a new pillow.

But no biggee. It’s just play money, right? I mean, just look at all those colors.

-Jack, Annika, and Elise

Maulin’

Ironically, in Dundee, we lived less than five minutes from a large regional mall, but we never went. The girls have been there maybe two or three times in the thirteen years we’ve lived there. We just never developed the habit of hanging out at the mall.

And then we moved to Hong Kong.

This past Saturday night, what did we do? Go to the mall, get ice cream, and walk around window shopping while eating our McFlurries. Sunday, what did we do after church? Go to a mall, eat in the food court, and walk around.

Annika and Elise have logged more time in malls in the last four weeks than they have in their entire lives. In our defense, it’s hard not to be in a mall. Sometimes, you exit the train, walk into the station, and –boom- you’re in a mall.

Besides, during these hot days, the malls are air conditioned.

Sunday, while waiting in line for my Oreo McFlurry, I saw one of my students carrying his skateboard. I asked him what he was doing here in the mall. He said he lived here. In the mall? Yes? You live in the mall? Yeah, upstairs. Sure enough, he lives in one of the many apartments on the floors above the mall.

Once in a while it’s possible to see someone who is obviously in his pajamas and slippers scooting through the mall. When you live above a mall, it takes on a whole new meaning when your wife tells to run downstairs and grab a liter of milk.

I’m just hoping that as a result of all this time in malls the girls don’t start incorporating “Like, fer sure” and “Tubular” into their vocab.

Could really big, 1980’s mall-hair be next?

-Jack

Picture This

For the past twenty years, at this time of year, I've been busy photo-graphing weddings. Several years ago in August and September -just when school was starting up- I photographed nine weddings in seven weeks. I used to average twenty to 25 weddings a year. My peak year was 48 weddings.

Last fall –even before we started applying for international jobs- I made the decision to retire from professional photography.

At the time, I wondered if I would miss it.

I don’t.

I can honestly say that I enjoyed every single wedding I ever shot; but when it’s time, it’s time.

And it was time. Twenty years and 700+ weddings was a good run.

I actually got started in photography over twenty years ago when -as a recent college grad- I was living and teaching in Japan. I picked up a second-hand camera because I wanted to chronicle my year in East Asia.

When I got back to the States, I started shooting for a living and rarely –if ever- picked up a camera in order to shoot for shooting’s sake.

Now I have packed away the $3,000 professional camera, have picked up a $300, over-the-counter camera, and am having the time of my life.

Back in Asia.

Go figure.

This past weekend, we went to the beach with several other families. Because of my burn wounds I couldn’t frolic in the surf and sun with the rest of the gang. But I happily wandered around this small beach town taking pictures of everything and anything.

I couldn’t have been more content.

It took twenty years, but I feel like I have come full circle with my photography.

-Jack

Out on a Limb

If I didn’t know better, I would say that the train rails around here are made of bamboo. They’re not. But a whole lot of other stuff is.

In addition to expected uses like fencing or poles for stabilizing newly-planted trees, the people of China have found a host of other uses for bamboo.

Naturally, the floors in our apartment are bamboo. My classroom door is made from processed bamboo (it’s quite beautiful really). Some restaurants use large pieces of bamboo as serving trays.

They even put bamboo shoots in some of their food.

But the most startling use of bamboo is that they use it for scaffolding on high-rise buildings. I have seen it built up floor after floor with no addition supporting elements to a height of thirty or forty stories. Just one bamboo pole after another lashed together with nylon ties.

Wow.

-Jack

Chan: Knock, knock.
Suzi: Who’s there?
Chan: Bamb.
Suzi: Bamb-who?
Chan: Bamboo Forest.

Broom

Student Profile (part 4): Hobbies

More info from my first-of-the-year questionnaire:

With the little spare time they have, several of my students enjoy the classic hobbies of collecting stamps, building models, collecting die cast cars, and drawing.

But it's not 1957, its 2009, so of course Youtube, Facebook, and surfing the internet made their way onto my students' lists.

They enjoy all kinds of sports including basketball, ice skating, baseball, rugby, skateboarding, tennis, and yoga. They also run, dance, swim, and cycle. One student listed horseback riding as her hobby.

Several students listed badminton which seems to be popular with both kids and adults here in Hong Kong. Last week, I rode the elevator down with one of the Mandarin teacher who had her badminton racket slung over her shoulder and was on her way to the gym for her 4:00 o’clock appointment.

Considering how much they're required to practice, it’s a wonder many of them still think of their musical instrument as a hobby: violin, piano, guitar, and flute.

Given all the malls in Hong Kong, it’s note-worthy that only one student listed shopping as her hobby.

Students also listed the following: Lego, building sand castles, crafts, hanging with friends, games including chess and Chinese chess, reading manga (Japanese comic books), watching anime (Japanese animation),

Also listed among their hobbies:

-thinking

-drinking bubble tea (really, who doesn’t enjoy a glass of good bubble tea. But as a hobby? C’mon now)

-watching “B” movies

-collecting stationery

And my two personal favorites: Sleeping. Eating.

-Jack

Man with Camera

Skype Hype

We have successfully made several video phone calls over the internet using Skype. A few days ago, the girls spent over half an hour talking to some dear friends back in Chicago. For forty minutes they talked face-to-face about everything and nothing. It was great. The girls actually walked the laptop around the apartment giving a virtual tour.

Total cost for a 43-minute video conference? Zero dollars.

You gotta love technology and innovation.

Didn’t we used to dream about these things when we watched The Jetsons on Saturday morning cartoons?
It was worth the thirty-year wait. I have seen the future . . . and it is pretty cool.

Now if only somebody could get to work on those flying cars we were all promised.

-Jack

Oh, but if you’re not careful, your Skype video calls go something like this:

“Hi . . . oops, hey you’re frozen . . . Can you see me? I can’t see . . . Oh, hold on a sec . . . oh, there you are. Oh never mind . . . Hold on . . . I’m going to try something here . . . ahh, you’re frozen again . . .can you see me? Oh you just went black. Okay, hey . . . I can see you. There you are . . . Oops, you’re frozen again . . .”

Dad . . . um, I mean Mr. VanNoord

Over the years, I've had several students slip and call me Dad in class. Once, I even had a student accidentally address me as Mom. I took it as a compliment.

Now, for the first time I'll actually be Dad to one of my students.

I have Annika in two of my classes: English and American History. Originally, we requested that she not be in my classes, but her Mandarin class dictated that she is.

It was only awkward for about the first seven minutes. We’ve worked it out.

She addresses me as Dad in the halls. She calls me Mr. VanNoord in the classroom.

The other day as everyone was leaving the classroom, she and I were touching base about something and I called her “Sweetie.” She tugged on my shirt “Um, Dad, not here okay.”

Actually, it’s nice having someone in the class to give me a little feedback on my teaching. She let’s me know which lessons and activities are engaging and fun, and she lets me know when my lessons drag a little bit.

She also let’s me know when Caleb dozes off in the back of the classroom.

Tuesday, I must have used the word “crud” while telling a story in American History class. I forget the context. (“The Japanese just bombed Peal Harbor. Oh, crud”?)

She pulled me aside after class and with all due humility she suggest that –considering that this is a Christian school- I probably shouldn’t use the word “crud” in front of the whole class.

Duly noted.

Now I’m curious to see if Annika will ever slips up and accidently address me as “Mr. VanNoord” at home.

-Jack

We'll look Sweet on a Bicycle Built for 2

When many of us think of China we think of two things: cigarettes and bicycles. Especially if our images of China come from the 1970's when China first opened up to the West, we saw a lot of people on very crowded streets all on bicycles. And they all seemed to be smoking.

Well, Hong Kong isn’t China. Well it is, but it isn’t. It certainly isn’t Beijing.

While there are plenty of bikes to be seen around Hong Kong, there certainly isn’t the sea of bikes going down Main Street –or should I say On Muk Lane- that many of us remember in our social studies books from thirty years ago.

New Territories –the area north of Hong Kong proper where we live- is actually a pretty bike-friendly town. It was designed and built with lots of bike paths so that a person can pretty much get all over on a bike.

We hope to be able to buy a couple of used bikes when the weather turns cooler in November.

And smoking? It’s certainly not everyone. Not like China.

And never indoors.

-Jack

Who is Hong Yip?

In the three-and-a-half weeks we’ve been here, I can’t recall once ever seeing a police officer or a police car. But what I have seen –scores of them- are private security guards.

They are everywhere.

Every building -every entrance- seems to have a manned guard booth. What’s more, Hong Kong sometimes feels like one big gated community. When walking to the grocery store you can’t cut through the Baptist University’s or through the neighboring apartment complex, because everything is walled off.

Our school employs a full-time security service that has two, three or more security guards on duty at all times.

But it seems to have paid off, because Hong Kong is a very safe city considering it has almost eight million residents. Last week a colleague took out a train map of Hong Kong and out of sixty train stations he circle just two and said we’d probably want to avoid those two areas after dark.

That’s it. Just two neighborhoods.

Interestingly, the same company that provides security services for our school also provides janitorial services. In our first few days, I kept hearing about this multi-talented person named Hong Yip. “Missing dining room chair? Talk to Hong Yip.” “If you get back after hours, ring the bell, Hong Yip will let you in.” “Avoid the north stair well, Hong Yip is re-waxing the floors today.”

This guy was everywhere, doing everything. I couldn’t wait to meet him.

Turns our Hong Yip is the name of the security/custodial company.

-Jack

It could also be that crime is low because it would be next to impossible to get away with your misdeed. No matter where you committed your crime, there would hundreds of witnesses to your nefarious act.

(Have I mentioned all the people there are here?)