Nan Lian Gardens -Diamond Hill

Chi Lin Nunnery & Nan Lian Garden

The clock is ticking; no matter how busy I get, I can hear it in the background. I feel a certain urgency to do and see as much as we can before we leave in July. In my mind, I have list of the things I want to do before we go. I’ve taken to calling it my “bucket list.”

Every week for eighteen months now we’ve passed the Chi Lin nunnery and Nan Lian gardens on our way to church. From the window of the 682 bus, we can see the beautiful, dark wood buildings, the elaborate gardens, the bright reddish-orange bridge, and the golden pagoda. Every week for eighteen months, Julie has turned to me and said “We have got to visit there.”

This past Sunday was a beautiful, sunny spring day here in Hong Kong; so we decided that that day had come. After church, we spent two hours wandering the impeccably maintained, traditional Chinese gardens.

For a sprawling megalopolis, Hong Kong does an excellent job maintaining its green space. Lots of city parks; lot of well-maintained footpaths in the hills surrounding the city. But Hong Kong really only has one large-scale traditional Chinese garden and that is the one maintained by the nuns at the Chi Lin nunnery.

It was well worth the trip.

It was relaxing, peaceful, and long overdue.

I can now scratch that off of my list of things to do. Now I just need to find the time to get down to the much ballyhooed Happy Valley horse track.

-Jack

Dude, that Teal Brings Out Your Eyes 2 of 2

After we crossed the border, Bryan led me straight into the Lo Wu megamall complex which is the destination for most of my friends any time they go over the border: cheap massages, cheap custom-made clothes, cheap everything. Bryan was all business. He knew exactly where we were going. Out of the dozens and dozens of tailors, he led us right to his tailor. She greeted him by name. Her shop measured six by ten feet. Bryan and I squatted on little plastic stools and proceeded to flip through books of fabric swatches. Surprisingly, Bryan was honing in on a nice, subtle pin stripe in dark navy. I flipped through the sample books several times, but didn’t see anything that caught my eye.

The tailor proposed that the three of us go into the mall among all the fabric sellers and see if we could find something to my liking. Off we went in the maze of fabric sellers with their wares stacked well above my head. It was overwhelming. I didn’t know where to begin. But Bryan’s tailor gently led me to a booth with a nice selection. I saw some a nice mid-tone brown herringbone. I saw a very nice summer-weight wool in dark grey.

And then I saw it. Tuck behind some paisleys. A bolt of a large-pattern, burgundy, navy, and tan plaid. When I first laid eyes on it, the clouds parted and shaft of heavenly light illuminated it. I heard harp music. It was love at first sight.

I pulled out the bolt and handed it to the sales lady. Our tailor look at the sales lady, shrugged, and said “2.3 meters.”

It cost all of US$8.00.

Back in her tailor shop, I pulled out from my backpack the pair of pants I had brought from home. I handed them over to the tailor. “Same-same,” I instructed her; which is Shenzhen speak for “I want the new pair to match this pair exactly.”

I flipped through her fabric books and found some material for a shirt to match. I handed her the shirt I had brought from home, “Same-same.”

Up here in Shenzhen, it is strictly pay up front –in full. I handed her the equivalent of just over US$40 for the pants and the shirt.

They’ll be ready in ten days.

I will wear them with pride when I am back in Chicago. They will be my-custom-made-in-China pants. A nice keepsake.

I haven’t decided if I will wear them here at my school. If I do, I should probably have a t-shirt made up that I can wear with the pants that says “I went to Shenzhen with Bryan Thompson.” But then again, once my colleagues get a look at my pants, that might go without saying.

Jack

Tuesday, I shared this little story with some Irish acquaintances of mine. Halfway through the story, the husband turned to the wife and asked "plaid?"

She explained "tartan."

Dude, that Teal Brings Out Your Eyes 1 of 2

For some reason China makes it incredibly cost prohibitive for Americans to get visas to their lovely country. While my Aussie and Kiwi friends can get a visa for twenty or thirty dollars, we Americans have to pay US$125 for a sixth month, multiple entry visa. So despite the fact that we live fifteen miles from the Chinese border, all four of us have been without China visas for the last six months.

That is, until last Thursday.

In anticipation of our last few months in Asia, we all got China visas. On Friday, my principal Bryan told me that he was running up to Shenzhen on Saturday and wanted to know if I would like to join him. Well, with a fresh hot visa burning a hole in my pocket, how could I say no?

The first three or four months that I was in my new teaching position here, I didn’t quite know what to make of Bryan. He is highly effective and extremely professional educator. He takes his work very seriously, but he doesn’t take himself too seriously. He is one of the most dedicated educators I have ever worked with. He raises the game of everybody around him. But he also has a wickedly quick sense of humor.

So the first time I saw him wearing a pair of his one-of-a-kind plaid pants, I didn’t know quite what to make of them. When people made good natured comments about his bold plaid pants, he just smiled and seemed to take it in stride. He didn’t really make any self-deprecating remarks, so maybe he meant for them to be taken at face value. True, they were quite stylish; but man, that red plaid was loud.

Have You Left this Bag Unattended? 2 of 2

“What’s this?”

“Why that’s . . . an empty fizzy drink bottle with a marble in it.”

Okay, okay, on special occasions, we let Annika and Elise order this Japanese carbonated drink that comes in a glass bottle with a marble in it. I tried to throw the bottle out, but Elise really wanted to keep one as a souvenir.

“Ma’am, you have three copies of Inherit the Wind”

“Why of course I do . . . I am bringing them home . . . to give as gifts . . . to friends.”

“Ma,am, what’s in this shoe box?”

“Well shoes of course . . . um, well I mean Christmas ornaments as you can plainly see.” Oops.

After hemming and hawing her way through the VanNoord’s bag of random stuff, they finally let her zip it up and be on her way.

I didn’t quite get everything into the suitcase that I had originally set aside. When I was in Indonesia, I found several large discarded pottery shards on the side of the road. I of course, picked them up and brought them back to Hong Kong. I am just glad that I hadn’t packed those. Thinking quick on your feet to explain away an empty glass bottle with a marble in it is one thing; explaining away large chunks of sharp pottery would be something different altogether.

-Jack

Over the last eighteen months –all of our visitors to Hong Kong have asked if there were anything they could bring us from The States. But if you come to Hong Kong in the next four months, you should really ask if there is anything you can bring back to The States for us. I will probably send you home with a full suitcase. But I promise to divulge in detail the contents of the suitcase. No surprises; I promise.

Have You Left this Bag Unattended? 1 of 2

“Has anyone approach you in the airport asking you to carry anything onto the plane for him?”

“No”

“Did you pack all of your bags yourself?”

“Um . . . . yes.”

Our friend and colleague Renata was in the airport customs. She was on her way to Chicago for an orchestra teachers’ convention. Knowing that we were moving back to Chicago in four months- she had graciously asked if she could take a bag back to Chicago for us.

Not surprisingly, we have accumulated just a bit of stuff over the last two years. We arrived with eight suitcases and four carry-ons. But we have significantly more than that now: clothing, some home décor items, and a just a few souvenir items for my classroom back in Chicago. Shipping is expensive, so we were very thankful when Renata made her offer.

I tried to think of everything to make sure that her delivery went without a hitch. I weighed our suitcase twice to make sure it was well under the fifty-pound weight limit. I labeled the suitcase with our name and Chicago address. I even drew a map on a big sheet of paper for the courier who would be driving the suitcase out to the suburbs.

What I didn’t think to do was tell Renata what exactly was inside the suitcase.

The immigration officer explained to Renata that they randomly stopped every twentieth passenger. And she was number twenty. After asking her a few basic questions, they asked her if these were her suitcases. “Why, yes, they are.”

“Would you mind opening this one?” They started rummaging through her . . . ur, my stuff.