Little adventures

There are always little adventures – or mishaps – shall we say on any long trip. So far this year, mine really have been limited to working 70 weeks in Canada, meaning I couldn’t really enjoy Vancouver. That, and getting stuck on the US/Canada border for 4 hours bc they couldn’t be bothered putting on more than one staff member on duty over mothers day. Oh, and our 4 hour delay in Tasmania while accidentally getting stuck in a car rally. Ok – I’m clearly not the brightest of travellers.

Today, things got a little interesting. I decided to go to Macau for the day – which is another of China’s ‘Special Administrative Regions’. Basically, like Hong Kong, you don’t need a visa to enter this part of the country. They’ve got their own currency, and you get a ‘Macau’ stamp as you enter and leave the ‘country’. I now have four Macau stamps in my passport.

After wandering through the old streets of Macau (which, by the way, is one of the more interesting cities in the world – a weird mix of Portuguese and Chinese with a whole heap of tacky/kitschy casinos thrown in for good measure), I jumped on a bus back to the ferry terminal.

Only problem was, I was relying on my broken Spanish to ask questions of people who speak Cantonese and broken Portuguese. Not a great idea. I jumped on a bus to the ferry terminal, lined up with everyone to go through the ‘departures’ immigration desk, got my passport stamped, and was herded through the giant building along with about 10,000 other people. My suspicions were raised when the first non Chinese characters I saw were something along the lines of ‘Bienvenido a China’ (which can’t be right because that’s Spanish and Macau's 2nd language is Portuguese , but I don't know the word for welcome in Portuguese). So I tried to go back through the immigration ‘depart Macau’ gates I’d just passed through – but as I was already in China, I wasn’t allowed.

So there I was. No mans land. Literally. Technically in China, but really, just like that Tom Hanks character in 'The Terminal' (bloody hell that was a bad movie).

Somehow I made my dumb arse mistake understood (I have no idea how, bc really, I have 2 words of Portuguese, and none of Cantonese). So the immigration cop lead me through this dodgy back gate and back into the ‘enter Macau’ immigration area. I had a couple of eyebrows raised as to why I was trying to enter the country after I’d already arrived and left in the same day. I managed to convince him it was an honest mistake (“another stupid tourist”), and jumped in a cab to get to the right ferry terminal, just in time to go through immigration again – and get on my ferry back to Hong Kong.

Am rather glad to be back here now! Despite the fact everywhere is busier than Oxford St on a Saturday afternoon – I still feel a hell of a lot safer knowing I’m not going to be deported and can get on my plane to Melbourne in 36 hours!

International Sport

Sport – or rather – people’s attitude to it, can define a culture. Coming from Melbourne, I find it hard to find a sport I don’t like. And I love watching the crowds at a sporting match even more.

Take, for instance, Major League Baseball. I know nothing (well, very little) about the game. But I did know that I wanted to go to Yankee Stadium in New York to soak in the atmosphere. And consume $10 beers. And giant pretzels.

Not only was I entertained by the game – which went down to the wire (I’m wrong in my baseball terminology – but New York beat Toronto on the last ball of the 9^th innings by getting 2 home runs – it was pretty exciting) – but I loved the attitude of the crowds.

Bearing in mind this match is being held on a Thursday afternoon. An ordinary Thursday. No public (bank) holiday. Yet 55,000 people managed to rock up. I suppose out of a city of 8 million, that’s not a huge percentage, but I was still impressed.

Behind us sat a couple of families – well, mothers and a lot of kids. Speaking Spanglish throughout the game – one of the mums convinced her kid that one of the stars from the Yankees was her boyfriend. So we’ve got a 5 year old kid yelling out (in half English, half Spanish) – “hey – that’s my mum’s boyfriend! Wow, he’s good! When can I meet him?” Others sitting around us were exploding at ‘rookie’ mistakes made in the field – and yet others (like myself) seemed far more entertained by the old men sweeping the field at the end of three innings. These guys swept a huge area in unison – all the while dancing to YMCA. Pretty funny stuff. And very American.

Days later I found myself in Finland watching cricket. I wasn’t supposed to be in Finland. It was just a stupid stop over with a bad connection on my way to see everyone in London. But I figured, it’s better wandering around a city rather than killing time in the airport, so I jumped on the bus and explored Helsinki for a few hours. It was ok – pretty much similar to other northern European cities (ok – I’m a complete travel snob for that last comment – but I think I over did the weekend trips while living in London). But what really surprised me about the place was a dirt pitch in the middle of a lovely park. On that dirt pitch were two bona fide cricket teams playing what looked like a pretty high level match. While there were only a few supporters surrounding the huge oval, the people there seemed pretty enthusiastic. I chatted with a bloke from Surrey, who I think was the vice captain of the team about cricket in Finland. He enthusiastically told me about the history of the game in Scandinavia, and how they’re aiming to get to the ‘2^nd rung’ of the ICC tournaments. But they need to convince local councils first that they have to play on grass. Not dirt. “Because trying to get mums to want their kids to play in cricket whites on a dirt pitch is an uphill battle”

Had a couple of days in England too, to watch the mad passions of British supporters watching Euro 2008. And they’re not even in the tournament their team is that crap! But they’re still insane for the game. It’s fun to watch.

On my last leg of my travels now … so I’ll be able to get home to see some real sport (AFL) soon!

Strange Canadian personalities

You meet some strange people travelling. Well, you meet strange people everywhere, but I think most people’s ‘oddity’ radar is on higher alert when they’re in an unfamiliar location.

Met some strange people during my two months living in Vancouver.

Take, for instance, the pyramid lady. Now I’m not talking about someone inviting me into their home to sell some dodgy scheme to me. No, this lady’s religion was pyramids. And her preacher’s pulpit was a stunning winery in the Okanagon region of British Columbia.

On a week long tour of the Rocky Mountains I’d had a pretty good time being dragged from site to site, despite my slight snobbery against organised tours. So when we arrived at a winery overlooking one of National Geographic’s top ten lakes in the world, I was expecting a taste of some decent wine, maybe a bit of a spiel on winemaking, then I’d be back on the bus. Ready for an evening of drinking lots of wine.

Instead we met pyramid lady. I didn’t actually learn anything about wine, but was informed that my sneezing was caused by my refusal to sleep underneath a pyramid frame, rather than the fact I had a slight cold. This woman then proceeded to lead us into a giant pyramid where the wine from this place was aged. Here the preaching continued. Ancient Egypt, some maths thing … whatever. At the end of it we were ‘invited’ to stand underneath the point of the pyramid and make a wish. Which was bound to be granted within 28 days. Of course. That’s the reason life has had a few hiccoughs for me. I haven’t been wishing underneath a pyramid. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting inside the giant pyramid with waiting for someone – anyone – to follow her lead and make a wish, we were finally allowed out. Not one of the 17 prisoners had taken her up on her offer. And when we were finally allowed to drink the wine, it was rubbish. Seriously. Worse than goon – and $40 a bottle. Must have something to do with the fact it’s made in a pyramid.

The other particularly odd person I met in Canada wasn’t a brief encounter. It was a two month social observation into the world of geek. Ok – Jess – I know I am far from the coolest person in the world. I hung in the library in school and sucked at sport. But this guy is on another level altogether. And taking the piss out of him for hours every day was the only way I got through my working day.

I was going to give this bloke I pseudonym, but I can’t be bothered. Michael, his name is. Not Mick. Or Mike. But Michael. And he referred to everyone else by their full name, despite the fact that they introduced themselves by a shortened version of their name. To everyone else, the lovely Chinese lady in the other office was known as Pam. But to Michael, she was always Pamela.

And he was dumb! Seriously – he had a number crunching job, where I was hired as a writer – and all day long he’d be asking me things like ‘when I receive a return to sender envelope – does that mean the address is wrong?’. Ok, my bitchy, snobby side is coming out, but it was pretty funny.

I reckon he stole his wardrobe from Steve Urkel’s. For those of you not familiar with bad early 90’s American sitcoms, this means he mixed corduroy pants (hitched to his nipple line) with checked shirts and a knitted jumper tied around his shoulders. One day I had to leave to run outside and laugh when he walked in wearing velvet pants and a skivvy.

The conversations I had with this person (the only other person in the huge, old hospital ward I was working in) were few and far between. But when they did arise, 90% of the time they were about the monarchy. He was an expert. Not just on the British monarch (seriously, he asked my view on Australia becoming a republic within 2 minutes of meeting me), but he knew about random monarchies world wide. He asked me how many people had watched Princess Mary marry the Danish prince a few years back. And whether I had gathered in a public place to celebrate this momentous occasion for Australia. Regrettably, I told him that I had been living in the UK at the time (I think), and that I had no real interest in the monarchy, so hadn’t taken any notice. I thought this would get him off the topic – but unfortunately I now know much more about dozens of different royals than I ever care to repeat.

Ok – after this rant I’m probably using up some serious karma points, but I’ve been a nice person to most people I’ve met – and especially helpful to some of the homeless people living near the restaurant where I worked at night … so really I think it all balances out.

Before I go – I have to mention one more group of strange people. Ultimate Fighting Championship fans. I was in a small Canadian town last week, having a beer at the local pub, when a huge group of blokes walk in. Just in time, apparently, to take front row for the “most ****’in awesome fights – live from Las Vegas!”. I have never seen this sport before. And because I love all sports – I’ve even watched curling – I was prepared to give this a go. Well, this UFC fight made the movie Fight Club look like a bit of a scrap between primary school kids. And I’ve never seen a group of blokes more excited by blood and convulsing (after the losing contestant was kicked in the head numerous times). It was a strange social experiment. The group I was travelling with were fascinated by the fascination of those blokes. But that, I hope, is the last time I watch UFC.

Cheers for now …