Expat Observations from a world traveler 2006 (WARNING: OT & Long)

[momopi_IHB]

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Rice Inside The Box



It was an unlikely place for the same ugly idea to raise its head, and I did not expect it to happen here. But it happened again.



I was at a Korean restaurant in Kuwait City. I had been patronizing it for some time now, a few months actually, and as in many restaurants around the oil- rich Gulf, the waiter was a young Indian gentleman. He was nice and polite and performed his service well.



It so happened that one day I arrived at the restaurant and noticed that the Indian guy was gone and, in his place, a pretty Chinese waitress was taking care of the customers. As usual, all of the customers were Koreans.



The waitress approached me, I picked up the menu and asked her to bring me some barbecue and some rice on the side. She stared at me with amazement: ?Can you eat it??



?Can I eat what??



?Can you eat...rice??



Oh, no not again. Not in Kuwait! I was so happy that finally people would stop asking me such idiotic questions. I went to an Arabian restaurant and ordered rice pilaf; no one even looked at me in any strange way or asked me questions. I then went to a Pakistani restaurant and got some Biriani rice and again no one said a word. It had to be a Korean restaurant with a Chinese waitress where I would again be asked the accursed question. But in Kuwait City of all places? I thought I had left that problem when I left East and South East Asia. I guess you can run, but you can?t hide.



You see, to an average East and South East Asian the world is simple. They probably teach it in school that people with narrow eyes eat rice, while people with round eyes eat bread. It is a fact that has been passed on from generation to generation just like the fact that animals have lungs and fish have gills, or that women have breasts and men do not. Or that at night, the Moon comes out, but during the day, it is the Sun that shines on us. It is as simple as that. ?White? people eat bread. ?Yellow? people eat rice. How can white people eat rice? It is just as abnormal as horses flying in the air or chickens diving to get pearls from the bottom of the ocean.



In parts of Asia I had people cheer me when I was eating rice in public, and college professors asking me if I had ever seen rice in my life. They would then proceed to explain to me what rice looked like. Never mind that the US is the second biggest exporter of rice in the world. Never mind Uncle Ben?s Rice. Never mind that Spain and Portugal and France and Italy use rice in their diet almost as often and most Asian countries. Never mind millions of Chinese, Japanese and Indian restaurants all around the Western world. Never mind that in Africa, the Middle East and other such places people eat rice all the time. To some two billion East and SE Asians, you need to have ?narrow? eyes to deserve the privilege of eating the white seeds.



I looked at the waitress again with my teeth gnashing only to encounter a good natured concern and curiosity in her eyes. All she wanted to know was if I were sure that what I was going to order would be an edible commodity. She had never seen a Westerner order rice.



I could not hold myself back: ?Yes, I can eat rice. Yes. Can you use this?? I raised a fork in the air. ? This is from Europe. It was invented somewhere in the middle ages somewhere in Central Europe. Have you ever seen this? It is a watch. Can you use it? This is not originally from China. A watch was invented in Nuremberg, Germany. Can you wear one? Can you drink Coke? Have you ever seen Coke? Coca-Cola. The American drink. You are not American, so why do you know Coke? Have you seen a hamburger? Have you eaten one? Why did eat it? Can you eat it? It is not Chinese food. It is not Korean food.?



I was beginning to foam at the mouth and was sliding in my chair and trying to control myself. ?Yes. I can eat rice. If I could not eat rice I would not be ordering it. Please bring me some rice?.



That was all she wanted to hear and, shrugging at my anger, she walked away. Soon she was back with a bowl of rice.



I do not want to tell you what happened when I asked her to bring a pair of chopsticks.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Expat Real Estate Suckers



Don?t you just love getting into all these expat websites and clicking on all these colorful ads of real estate ?bargains? in the Third World? Yeah the prices are not bad- $150,000 for a house, that?s cheap compared to California. Or Tokyo. But, outside of expensive states/ cities like that, I can buy a house in the First World for not much more than K150. So why would I want to invest $150,000 in some unstable country where a jealous dictator may nationalize my property any time a new anti- West/American government is installed? Or someone who does not like my skin color or name or the fact that I now have a pretty girlfriend that should be his?



And you know what else? When you get to those countries, you will see that you can buy a house for one tenths or one fifteenth or one twentieth of that. You just have to know where to look. The natives know. You don?t. That is why you get ripped off. Why do you think they are advertising to foreigners with all these multi-colored blinking web ads of a tropical paradise? Because they know that foreigners are dumb enough to spend $150,000 on a substandard house that a local would buy for much, much less.



You had better invest that money in a house back home and, on the proceeds, you could rent a house in the Third World and get a maid to boot. And have enough to live on, still. But an expat sucker is born every minute. A sucker who does not know what the real estate situation in the country is like. And the dupe is shelling out money like there is no tomorrow.



A Japanese saw an advertisement for a condo in Pattaya, Thailand once. He requested the brochure and was marveled by how big and spacious the property was. It cost some $100,000. Cheap compared to Japan. So he went ahead and wired the real estate agency the money and, shortly, received a deed to his new home. When time came to go on vacation he flew to the Land of Smiles anxious to see what it looked like in reality. When he arrived and showed the taxi driver the map of the place, he soon found out that there was no such street, no such home, no such property. In tears, he ran to the police station to file a report. The police told him: ?You want us to find the one who ripped you off? You will have to pay us another $100,000. Then we will look for them.?



So be careful when you look for ?great buys? on the Internet that advertise colorful houses in various independent, forever-developing, tropical ?heavens?. If you really want to go there, make sure you let a local that you trust ( such as your wife) to look for a hose for you. Otherwise, unless you have money to burn, do not be tempted. You? d better invest the same money at home.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Criticizing Your Host Country? Don?t!



One of the commandments of overseas living should be: ? Thou shalt not criticize the host country in front of its citizens even if the criticism is justified?.



When abroad, you may run into unpleasant circumstances, inconveniences, and culture shocks. You will often be tempted to vent your steam by saying negative things about the host country. Please never say those things when a native/citizen is present no mater who that person is. Even your spouse, if she is a national, would not like to hear those things from you. Well, maybe you can say it to her in a weeping tone of voice, as a victim and she may comfort you and help you out a bit. But as a rule, by moving abroad, you largely forfeit your right to such criticism.



You will also notice that the more ?developing? a country is, the greater is the patriotism of its people. There are exceptions to the rule, but, by and large, that seems to be a pattern. And if the country is a developed one, the working classes in it will probably be the most patriotic group. But even its intellectuals will not like for you to make any non-positive comments about it.



That is one disadvantage of being an expat. They can sit and say bad things about your country while you are there, but you cannot answer back and criticise theirs unless both of you are expats in a third country.



So what will happen if you do criticize? A polite person will probably agree with you verbally, but you will see from his body language that he is not happy to hear those things from you. He/she will eventually try to avoid you. A less polite person will ask you the following things: ? You mean, my country is no good??. ?If you do not like it, why are you still here? ?. ?What are you doing here if it is so bad?? And a more direct person still, will probably tell you to go back to where you came from. And he/she will be quite rude about it, too.



This principle does not apply to countries only. We do not like for people who are not from our city to criticize it, we do not like for people who are not our family members to criticize our husbands, wives, fathers, etc. even if everything they say is correct. They have no right to do that because they are not ?one of us?.



Even making suggestions ( constructive criticism) is often seen as an insult especially in the most of ?developing? countries.



Some foreign residents who are now considering the place where they are living their home think that they can now be liberal with dispensing analyses of current national events, political situations and other such things. But in many places, especially the really dysfunctional societies, such comments will not be welcome.



And it does not matter how right you are and how wrong they are. Unless you are a citizen, and/or are a non-citizen living in a really progressive, guilt-ridden society that will double over backwards to help a former victim of its colonial past, your negative commentaries and even positive recommendations may usually not be welcome.



In some so- called developing nations, (some of which have been developing for several thousands of years, but no cigar) neither the rich, nor the poor like to be reminded of the troubles the country has. The rich enjoy the status quo because they have a great pool of cheap labor and services.

The poor know how bad their lot is and do not want to be reminded of it, but are fed a lot of patriotism to revel in, in place of social benefits. Neither party makes for a ready audience for your complaints.



Those who were excessively vocal about their complaining have on many occasions ended up being deported. In many corrupt countries, a call from the right person to a friend at the Immigration Department will do the trick. And since all visas are discretionary, and usually no immigration in any one country is accountable to another country?s citizens, you will have no leg to stand on if you try to appeal their decision.



So, when in a foreign country, especially a non-first world country, keep your criticism to yourself ( or a quite whispering tone conversation in a group of your resident compatriots) and if the natives ask you what you think about their country, just smile and say ? I love it!?. You will save yourself a whole lot of trouble if you do.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Expat Newspaper Whiner ( Preaching in the Desert)



I remember once I worked in downtown Los Angeles, on a street where most passers-by were recent Mexican and Central American immigrants, 99.999% of whom could speak very little or no English.



This did not deter a lonely preacher who was standing on the corner of Broadway and 5th street, delivering a long sermon in English and telling everyone to accept Jesus. I plucked up my courage, walked up to him and tried to give him an advice: ?Sir, wouldn?t it be better if you could deliver your sermon in Spanish? After all, most people here cannot understand a word you are saying. Maybe you could give out flyers in Spanish, as well??



He took it as an affront and snapped back at me: ? Don?t tell me what to do! I know what I am doing! Buenos Dias,Como Esta, Senor?!? He could not speak much Spanish beyond that. I, naturally, backed off and later would see him day after day standing on the same street corner and passionately telling the huge Latin American stream of people rushing past him about how much they needed to be saved, in English, a language almost none of them could understand.



Similarly, I read lots of English language periodicals all over the world since every country now has some kind of ?Times? ,? The Moscow Times?, ?The Korea Times? ,etc. and few things make me laugh more than another expat venting his steam in an English-language newspaper in a non-English speaking country somewhere. Take ?The Japan Times? for one. Not a day goes by without some foreign English teacher or another ?gaijin talento? criticizing Japan, making suggestions and /or appealing to the Japanese to understand that, say, the true meaning of internationalization (a catch word in that country for a long time) is to treat people of other countries as equals. Some get overbearing and cheeky: ?You Japanese! Let me tell you what I think. I think your country is? this and that.?



?The Japan Times? likes those letters- they are publishable material, aren?t they? - and they let us see so many of them every week. The expat is relieved by seeing that now the country (and the world, he thinks) is seeing his name and his point of view, can share in his vicissitudes and maybe someone somewhere will take a step towards improving the situation.



What is the main problem here, though? It is basically the fact that most Japanese, even the most educated ones do not, as a rule, read ?The Japan Times? since it is in English.? The Japan Times? is basically read by other expats, mostly Western ones, who are just as aware of the problems as the writer of the letter is. Hence, little of any change is happening in Japan as a result of all these ebullient and passionate letters except another foreigner is reminded of the same annoying fact of living in Japan once again.



Usefulness of letters to the editor is disputable at best, but one can hardly doubt the almost certain uselessness of a letter written in English in a nation where it will most probably never be read by anyone who would be able to make any changes related to the matter addressed.

In case of countries where the level of English is low such as Japan, Russia, Korea, Italy, etc. an amateur expat commentator would do much better if he/she would write a letter to a big national newspaper in the local language. If he/she cannot speak/write it well, it can be translated most often than not quite inexpensively and then, sent out to where most people, businessmen and, possibly, some decision makers can read them. In the language of the country which, in many cases, is not English.



Otherwise, one turns into that preacher on the street corner in LA :confident of his righteousness but not understood by anyone. What a waste of time!

 

[momopi_IHB]

Monday, June 05, 2006

The Spanish Language- Taboos and Complexes



I remember when back in the 80ies I was fascinated by foreign languages so I decided to learn a few. Spanish was my first choice as it was spoken all around me. So, I bought a book titled ?Spanish in 22 easy lessons? or something like that.



Spanish to me was the language of Cervantes , Garcia Lorca and Julio Iglesias. It is the language of 300,000,000 plus people around the world.



The introduction in the book promised something of this sort: ?An American who speaks Spanish will have an exciting future, and will be able to choose from many lucrative jobs?.



I took many classes and then tried to practice my Spanish on the streets of New York. The problem was this, though: I would begin speaking Spanish, and the people would answer in English. With a sarcastic smile and a sulk. Again, I would speak Spanish, and the people would again answer in English. Once I decided to go to a Spanish language movie theater, but as I was buying a ticket at the booth, the cashier looked at me strangely and warned me: ?This movie is in Spanish!? (probably meaning: ?What are you doing here??). I said,? That is why I am here?. Once inside of the movie theater, I tried to buy some popcorn, and ordered in Spanish again, and the lady at the counter avoided all eye contact with me and kept sulking as she was filling the tall popcorn cup. I felt like I was intruding. The message seemed to be: ?This is our territory. Why are you here??



It was not until I went to Puerto Rico to study where most people began speaking Spanish to me, expected me to learn it and become fluent in it. However, the New York experience taught me something valuable: some people in the US feel offended if you try to speak ?their? language as they see it as an affront to their culture and an infringement on something that is sacred to them. It was a bit of a shock for me.



However, after some two years of extensive study and having read a great deal of books in Spanish, I was becoming a virtually native Spanish speaker. It was a pity, though that I had to be in Puerto Rico to become fluent in it while there were so many Spanish speakers in the continental US. Too bad they were not too friendly.



But even in Puerto Rico I had some strange encounters. Once I was standing in line at a local supermarket when a middle aged man began talking to me. He was speaking to me in English and then, he pointed to a small TV magazine near the cash register. ?You can?t read this!? he said proudly in English. Never mind that I was finishing my courses in Educational Philosophy and Political Science at the University of Puerto Rico with Spanish being the medium of instruction. To him, I was just another Gringo who could not even read a small TV guide in Spanish. Again, I did not look Latino, so how could I read in Spanish?



My next language was French, but since I was not in the financial shape to go to France, I went to Quebec to study it. In the French part of Canada I was in for a big surprise- when people learned that I could speak Spanish, they would tell me that I was lucky and look upon me like I was a member of the educated classes. French Canadians think of the Spanish language as a status symbol, and many try to learn it to improve their social standing. It was there where I would have college graduates sit with me and talk to me in Spanish to show off how ?refined? they were.



Not only that. While watching Quebecois soap operas, I became aware of the fact that whenever there was a ?romantic foreigner? in them (soap operas around the world love to have one), it would invariably be a handsome Spaniard who was speaking French with a Spanish accent. The Quebec ladies would sit in front of the screen saying: ?Aaah? and ?Oooh? while telling me how good-looking and sophisticated that Spaniard was.



However, back in the US, the status of Spanish was not quite as glamorous. When I told people about how romantic the French speakers up north thought the Spanish language was, the answer I received was: ?There is nothing romantic about standing in welfare lines?.



In other words, in many parts of the US, the Spanish language is associated not with Cervantes or Garcia Lorca, not with the great European country- Spain, but with poverty, welfare, and illegal ?non-white? immigration. Outside of Antonio Banderas, virtually no Spanish speaking person would be seen as ?romantic? in America.



While I was trying to learn Spanish, many Spanish speakers in the US were either trying to learn English or only speak Spanish discreetly to other people who looked like them- meaning, like Latin American ?mestizo? types. On the East Coast, when people said, ?He is Spanish?; they would often add the words: ?He looks dark?. And it was seen by quite a few people as a bit of a taboo to learn Spanish as one would be associated with the poor classes of ?dark? Hispanic workers.



When I finally graduated from college, I did manage to get bilingual jobs, but they were not as glamorous as the book promised. Mostly, they were social service jobs or receptionist jobs and I was only making some $1600 a month. Within the working environment, people did speak Spanish to me, finally. However, I was now on the West Coast, and most people I was working with were recent immigrants from Mexico who still had not acquired the ?wounded pride? syndrome that the Spanish speakers on the East Coast so often develop.



However, in the eyes of the general population, Spanish was the language of ?brown? (often illegal) people, while English was the language of white and black people. Socially, there continued to be a cautious and often mocking reaction when I tried to speak Spanish to many US-born Hispanics. And again, they would answer to me in English as if meaning to say: ?Do not infringe! This is ?our? language!?





(cont.)

 

[momopi_IHB]

(cont.)



There are very few Spaniards living in the US, so the association of Spanish (and illegal status) with the ?brown? ethnicity is very strong. One Spanish lady (who was from Spain and was in the country illegally) has told me an interesting story:



She was riding on a train in California when the Immigration agents stormed her car looking for illegals. She was sitting next to three Mexicans. The Mexicans were approached by the ?Migra? operatives, arrested and pulled off the train. The INS people, however, gave the lady a friendly look, and did not even check her documents. They did not try to check whether she spoke English or Spanish or had an accent. She was an ?American? in their eyes even though she was also another illegal Spanish speaker. Why? Well, she looked European, just like most Spaniards do. How could she be an illegal Hispanic immigrant?



No wonder that members of the ?mestizo? elasticities in the US as well as non-Spanish US persons would see a person like myself as another non-Spanish speaker, and consider the fact that I speak Spanish as something strange and even an affront to their ?national dignity?. Spanish is the language of Latinos, not people like me.



On a recent trip to Argentina and Uruguay I saw something very refreshing: These were two immigrant countries where a similar to the US melting pot was brewing. Every possible race and nationality could be found in Montevideo and Buenos Aires. I saw Poles, Ghanaians, Germans, Italians, Ukrainians, Chinese, Japanese, and of course, Spaniards. There was no question about what was uniting all these diverse races and ethnicities into the Argentinean or Uruguayan nationality: it was the Spanish language. Everybody talked to me in Spanish (of course!) and everybody talked Spanish to each other. There was no how-dare-you!-you-are-not-a- Latino type attitude. I saw Spanish-speaking Scandinavians, Spanish-speaking people with names like Norman Tracey and even Spanish-speaking Rastafarians. How about Spanish speaking Hassidic Jews? That was a sight to behold. I was finally able to be my Spanish-speaking self without having to cringe in the expectation of another sulky look with pouted lips and an answer back in English.



The Spanish language in the US definitely has a strange status and even a stigma attached to it. It is usually not seen as a language that will give one a truly good future and a lot of money. It is also not associated with Spain which is its true motherland or the Spaniards of whom there are very few in the US, but is instead seen as a tongue of poor non-white immigrant classes from the Third World.



Many Hispanic groups in the US adopt the Spanish language as a symbol of their ?national?/ethnic identity? in opposition to what they see as an imperialistic oppression of their culture by ?white? people. Never mind that Spaniards are also ?white people? ? there are not enough of them in the US to make a valid point that they are the ones to whom this language truly belongs, so the cultural conflict involves two groups- white ?John Smiths? ( the Anglos), and ?brown? ?mestizo? Jose Rodriguezes ( the Latinos). If someone is ?white?, he is presumed to be an Anglo and often ?denied? the right to speak Spanish by the Latino nationalistic types who quite often start smirking and looking down their noses at him/her whenever he/she speaks Spanish.



During recent demonstrations in California, there were groups that were asserting their right to be in the US by referring back to the fact that their Aztec ancestors had been there before the arrival of the Gringos but also, using the Spanish language as a source of pride in that heritage. However, Spanish is a European colonial tongue, just like English is. If the emphasis was on the Indian heritage, maybe they should have revived the Aztec language and use that as something to unite them. However, it is Spanish again that is being used as a unifying force for the Mestizo population in the US.



Facing all these problems, there are quite a few people who simply like the Spanish language, want to learn it and speak it. However, there are so many complexes attached to it that they sometimes make speaking it a very difficult undertaking.



It is a pity. Therefore, if I really want to speak Spanish and be in a friendly, Spanish speaking environment, I have to do so outside of the US. I could do it in the US, but I really do not feel like seeing another suspicious flash of the eyes, a puffed up chest, or a chin raised in defiance followed by a curt answer in English. All I am trying to do is speak the language of Cervantes, for Heaven?s sake! Why don?t you guys give me a break?

 

[momopi_IHB]

Friday, June 02, 2006

Traditional Japanese Song



I spent two years teaching English in Japan, and while there, I would pass a great deal of time being entertained by the Japanese staff, students and colleagues. Often, we would sit in a restaurant with soft music being piped in. Once, they were playing "Auld Lang Sine" and one Japanese student turned to me and with a solemn look on his face declared:



? This is a traditional Japanese song!?. I was in shock and proceeded to explain to him that it was an old Scottish song, not Japanese, but got a blank look in return. Then, I learned that the Japanese called that piece of music ?Hotaru? and it was about fireflies flying in the night. A very romantic song, for sure, except that very few of them knew that it was not originally Japanese.



On another occasion, I was teaching a class and decided to present them with my rendition of ?Yankee Doodle?. I brought my guitar and thought that I was going to give my students a first hand experience in American folklore. As soon as they heard the notes, they exclaimed in amazement: ?This is a Japanese song! It is about traveling in the Japanese Alps!?. They immediately started singing the lyrics in Japanese nodding to each other with nostalgic smiles, and obviously recalling their kindergarten times when they must have learned the song from their pre-school teachers.



It sounded pretty good in Japanese because the language is very musical and has a dynamic staccato-like rhythm to it. However, there was one major flaw that was grating on my ears- there was no rhyme. It went something like:



tata-tita tata-tutu

tata-tita-tata

tata-tita-toto-tete

tete-toto-titi.



The Japanese lack Western-style rhyme in their poetry unlike, say, the Arabs who have it and rhyme very precisely. However, while to me it seemed almost sacrilegious not to rhyme that song, they were obviously not aware of its lack and were looking at each other while singing along happily.



On another occasion I was walking in Shinjuku- the equivalent of Manhattan in Tokyo while from the loudspeakers in the middle of a skyscraper, ?The Battle Hymn of the Republic? was blaring all across the place. Again, it was in Japanese and unrhymed.



When I brought the real ?Battle Hymn? lyrics to my class and began teaching them along with the tune. I again evoked the same reaction- students looking at each other, nodding and singing it joyfully. In Japanese. As a traditional Japanese song.



So, what happened? I guess at some time in the Japanese history, in the times before there was any copyright issues, the Japanese, in their desire to catch up with the West began adopting Western culture and technology, primarily those from the United States. The historic American songs became part of the Japanese culture and were never truly taught as American songs. Children grew up singing about the fireflies and the Japanese Alps without ever knowing about the true origin of those songs. And on more than one occasion, they will proudly announce to a foreign visitor that these are part of the Japanese musical heritage.



Somehow, the Japanese know that ?tempura? is a Portuguese import, but few if any know that Yankee Doodle Dandy is not originally Japanese. I guess no one ever told them that.

 

[momopi_IHB]

http://truthfulinsights.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_archive.html



Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Debit Card Nasty Surprises



You have undoubtedly heard from many people that you should cut up your credit cards and get a visa debit card instead. I am one of those people, and I am now sorry I did that. Because I should have kept those credit cards after having paid them off. It would have been much safer for me that way. At least, when one goes overseas. Because if for some reason your debit card gets blocked, you will be up the creek without a paddle in a foreign land eating crow in front of a hotel clerk, a travel agent or an embarrased waiter in a restaurant.Why am I sorry? Well, because I am overseas now, in Auckland , New Zealand. I have a US visa debit card and plenty of money in my account. However, after I have shopped with it for a while, and bought items on the Internet, and traveled from the Philippines to Australia and now, New Zealand, and used my card at all these different locations, my bank, unceremoniously and without as much as a courtesy notice, blocked my visa card.



Obviously, too many purchases in too many exotic locales, and, allegedly, as it turned out later, a fraudulent attempt by someone to use my card. Or, so they wrote.Nothing is more embarrasing than having tens of thousands of dollars in your bank in the US and an international platinum visa debit card with a Plus and a Star logo, and having your card rejected by a travel agent in a far away country after you have made all the bookings to go skiing at a local winter resort. How about being rejected at a hotel? Or when you go to a restaurant and want to pay for a meal? Or when you are standing on a rainy street corner, in front of an ATM machine that spat it out and gave you no money ? Contact your bank? the idiot lights are blinking at you! It is like you have no money at all now. Because, for all intents and purposes, you don?t.



Thank God I had some cash on me- I always carry it, and I went to exchange it at a local bank. Thank God again it was daytime, and it was not closed. What if it was night time? I would be stuck in a foreign land, embarrassed and having to wash dishes at a foreign restaurant because my visa debit card is now blocked. All while I have plenty of money in my account? How cruel! I want to wring that bank manager?s neck! I would like to see him/her standing on the street corner in Auckland, under a cold August rain. It is winter here in the Southern hemisphere and I am left holding a bag in the drizzle.I try to call my bank to see what is happening. And guess what, their operators are not available. They go on duty early in the morning, US time, but I am in New Zealand and I have to wait until 1:00am for the operator to hear me out. And who pays for the expensive overseas call? I do. And when they put you on hold, you are paying exorbitant rates for waiting because you are calling from overseas. And there is no international toll free number, either at my bank. You can try and call over the Internet, but again, you will have to find a caf? that is open, pay for the computer, buy a calling card and try to call over a choppy network connection. That?s right! Many US banks do not have an international collect number- to them the rest of the world simply does not exist. It makes the whole thing inconvenient, nerve-racking, and plain dangerous. How can you survive without money in a far away country?



Finally, I got through after a long hold- I was standing at a bus stop in front of a useless ATM machine and my teeth were chattering from the cold- and was told that there was an attempt by someone to use my card and ? for my own protection?, it was now blocked. It would have been nice if you had sent me an email, you know? Just as a matter of courtesy. How was I to know?Now, it turns out that the bank cannot send the card overseas. They will send it to my US address. I am lucky my mom is at that address and she will send it to me by FedEx. But not now. I am traveling. I will be not be staying at any place for longer than 3 days. So, I did as I used to do back in my teenage years- mom, please send me money by Western Union to tide me over. And what about all these places I was going to go to? I will now have to go without many, many things because I will have to budget my money very carefully. My mom can?t send me too much money. At least, not as much as I want.And you know what else? Many bank numbers, the 800 and 888 ones do not work from overseas and cannot be accessed from many places abroad unless you have a local land line and even then, not every network will allow that. It all creates huge a waste of time and money ; ruins your good mood while you are on a vacation that you were saving for a year for, and it is just perilous. What if you have no money now to pay for the hotel? They can even have you arrested!



Luckily, after a long talk, the operator opened my ?compromised? account and allowed me to withdraw $700. This will help me for the next few days. And my mom said she would be sending me $500. But who needs all that nonsense? I am now mighty upset and am angry at my bank. And most of all I am angry at myself for allowing myself to depend on the debit card.The lesson is this: have a debit card, but keep your credit cards and take them when you go abroad. Get at least two of those. Buy traveler?s checks. Get an American Express debit card in addition to your visa debit card. And carry cash in a money belt. Yes, I know it is bulky, but so what? It is bulkier getting wet in the rain after you are not allowed inside a hotel.I would recommend carrying at least $5000 in your money belt or some secret pouch. When in a hotel, you can put it in a deposit box. And when traveling, I would carry at least a few days? supply of money on me.



Sure, I run the risk of losing it or being robbed, but it sure beats making your visa debit card your only lifeline. And when applying for a new visa debit card with a bank stateside, make sure the US bank has an international number which you can call collect. Make certain they will deliver a replacement card to wherever you are within two-three working days and, hopefully, if they block your card, they will have the decency to let you know by email or in any other way that it is blocked. No matter how much money you have in the bank, if you can?t access it, you have no money. The aggravations resulting from all this are not what you want to happen on your vacation or while living overseas. I should be getting a new debit card in some 10 days by my best estimates. In the meanwhile, I will not let all these events ruin my vacation and will just go ahead and enjoy it. But I want this happening to be a warning to others- debit cards are not 100% fool proof.

 

[momopi_IHB]

http://truthfulinsights.blogspot.com/2006_09_01_archive.html



Saturday, September 30, 2006

A Dumb American at a Foreign Students' Party.



It was early in the evening on a beautiful campus of a mid-sized university in Upstate New York. The time was the first week of October, the season of foliage and balmy post-Indian summer weather, with just a crisp hint of the approaching winter.



The University housed some 5,000 students among which you could encounter every major, minor and also, every professional and non-professional interest and human race imaginable. The place where students would congregate the most was the large Hasbrouck Dining Hall located not far from the Sports Hall, a large structure in the very center of the Campus. Upon entering the cafeteria, one would be drowned in the clangor of dishes and hundreds of conversation going on at the same time- your typical restaurant noises, that is, but magnified manifold by the huge number of people present.



The University, in addition to its large multi-cultural American student body, also catered to a small minority of foreign students, who, for a few years now were being called ?International Students?; the word ?foreign? now being considered ?politically incorrect?.



The foreign (oops, international) students, who have been saving money for a long time to experience life in America, were, after the initial excitement of being there, a bit disappointed by the social segregation that they were witnessing all around them. In the dining hall, for example, black students would sit with other blacks, Spanish speakers (or those who looked like Spanish speakers) would sit with other Spanish speakers, Asian people would sit in their own groups, and the ?real? Americans, meaning, ?white? people would also sit at a table with other white people. The groups did not seem to interact with each other, but coexisted in matter-of-fact, peaceful, separate, and parallel avenues of development with very little meaningful interaction among the groups. The groupings were polite to each other, but seemed to be living independently of one another, as if there were several different Americas happening at the same time: the white one, the black one, the Asian one and the Hispanic one.



This was not how many of these foreign (oops, international) students had been imagining America to be. They learned about it from the movies, and one thing they knew was that while there were some bad white people in the US who hated Blacks, most white people were very noble and kind, and extremely friendly and sociable. However, the young Americans that they met at the university seemed to them to be extremely stuck up; very much into their little groups who did not pay any attention to anything that was going outside of their little cliques.



Incidentally, it was also big news to these students that there were actually so many people in the US who had non-white and non-Black features. Are these immigrants? Why are they sitting around and speaking English? They sure can?t be Americans! They don?t look like Americans! And all these brown-looking people! They had never seen them in the American movies before. Were these Americans, too? They later learned that brown people were called ?Hispanics? but could not quiet understand what the word meant. Did it mean ?Spanish?? Many of them had faces like they were South East Asians, but they spoke English to each other, and, sometimes, they would hear Spanish voices. Were these Americans? They sure did not look like the Americans they saw in Hollywood movies back on the subtitled TV programs in their home countries.



And then, there were many black people but they looked quite happy and confident. They would sit in a group of their own and none would have the suffering expression that so many Blacks had in all those American movies they saw back home; like they were martyrs or something.



The students in the international program have also found out that making friends with young Americans was not that easy. If your English was not fluent, some people would frown at you and give you dirty looks. If you were not American, some young Americans would give you the cold shoulder. And they also became aware of all these associations and clubs that were all over the place- Asian American Student Union, Hispanic American Student Association, and African ?American Student Organization, etc. It was as if Americans liked to pull themselves apart from each other. Now which one could you join as an international student? None, as far as they knew. They did not fit the parameters.



You could join some other clubs, such as the Fencing Club and all, but many of the foreign students were too shy or simply did not know how to go about joining such groups. They were also afraid that they would be treated badly because of their accent. So, they just followed suit and created their own group- the International Students? Association. They had parties, plenums, committees and other goings-on, but there were no American students ever present at any of those activities. The only Americans that they had met were the faculty and staff and these were very kind and friendly people. Meeting young Americans, on the other hand, proved to be very difficult, because of social obstacles on both sides. American students appeared to be too independent and arrogant; plus, foreign students were too shy and too scared to integrate. So, such segregation was accepted as something normal, and the students proceeded with their studies while creating all the social life they needed among themselves. They weren?t going to stay in the US forever, anyway, so why even bother? Many did have a hope of making friends with young Americans, maybe being invited to their homes and just forming friendships but these were not easy to form, unless you paid for a home stay, and many did not choose that route. Plus, a lot of young Americans were also too busy to have time for faltering International Students.



(cont.)

 

[momopi_IHB]

(cont.)



However, one day, something extraordinary happened. On a balmy early October evening, one American student, Bob Hines, stumbled by mistake into an international student party which was held at Hasbrouck Dining Hall, one floor up from Rathskellar Bar in the basement. He was visibly inebriated and was going to attend a dance which he had heard was being held on the second floor, but, instead, he inadvertently crashed the International party at which he was met with friendly curiosity and sincere surprise:



?An American!? ?A real young American of our age!? exclaimed the foreign students in unison. ?Finally! We are going to meet one of our hosts, our contemporary from the United States. So far, we have not had any chance to make friends with even one of them. Finally, we do. Come in, what is your name??



?Bob? said Bob in a slurring, drunken voice.



?Hi Bob, I am Kumiko?



?Kumiko? ? What kind of name is that? Chinese??



?It?s Japanese; I am from Japan?.



?That?s great! Welcome to the United States! Hey, where in Japan are you from? Hong Kong? I mean, the capital??



?No, I am from Osaka, and the capital of Japan is Tokyo; not Hong Kong.?



?Gees, I always thought it was one and the same. You mean, it?s not?? Bob uttered in his still tipsy voice.? So, how long have you been here in the United States??



?About one year??



?That?s great, Kuniko, hey sorry about that Hiroshima and Nagasaki deal, and that recent tsunami. You know, it was all our government; I had nothing to do with it. And I am really sorry your capital city was taken over by them Reds in 1997 and you are now a communist country?.



Keiko giggled in embarrassment but pulled Bob by the hand and said: ?Come? on, I?ll introduce you to the rest of the international students. Here is Mohammed from Malaysia.?



?My-lay- what? What the hell is that??

The Malaysian student lowered his gaze and shrank away in shame.



?And this is Sutti from Indonesia??



?Nice to meet you, what was the name of the country you were from again? India??



?Not, not India; Indonesia.?



?Where is that?? Bob asked in his innocent sincerity. Sutti lowered her gaze and slipped away ashamedly.



Kumiko continued her introductions: ?And this is Jonas from Lithuania.?



?Where is that?? Jonas turned his eyes away and moved towards the table to the left pretending now to be nibbling at some snacks. He looked visibly upset and never again made eye contact with Bob.



?And this is Johnny Rodriguez, he is from the Philippines?. ?Hi Bob?, said Johnny.



?Wow! You speak English very well, where did you learn it?? ?In the Philippines, of course! You know, we are an English-speaking country, actually the third or the fourth largest in the world, and English is the medium of instruction in our schools.?



?Really? I didn?t know that.? ?Hey, you know what they say- You live and learn.?



?And here is Somchai; he is from Thailand and that is Ponthip- his sister.? ?Somchai, this is Bob, the first young American that came to our party?.



?Hi, Bob, welcome!?



?Cool, welcome to the United States! I?ve got a computer from your country made by what was the name again? The ? BenQ? company?, said Bob.



?No, Bob, BenQ is not Thai, it is Taiwanese. I am from Thailand, not from Tai-Wan?.



Bob scrunched up his features in a grimace of annoyance: ?What?s the difference? Thailand, Taiwan? They are all the same to me. Say, so do you guys have big buildings in your country??



?Yes, we do?, said Somchai, ?actually, Bangkok, our capital has huge skyscrapers?.



?Get out of town? And how do you guys get around? Bicycles, mostly, and then you ride elephants to work, like the rich dudes in your country? ?



Somchai was now visibly annoyed: ?No, actually, we use cars and we have some of the worst traffic jams in the world. I am surprised you have not heard about them.?



?Well, I?ll be! I thought you guys were too poor to have cars there?, Bob said with an expression of sincere surprise. Somchai looked down and excused himself. Bobby hemmed and hawed and talked to Pontip- I think I am starting to remember something about Thailand now. You know, that Asian dude that has just walked away was right- it is a different country from Taiwan. Is that the place where there are many hookers? I saw a program on it once. Yeah, Bangkok, the Prostitution Capital of Asia. Hey, baby so, since you are from Thailand, why don?t we go to my place and you know? I can give you $20 bucks for one whole night.? Ponthip turned red, her eyes filled with tears and she ran towards the exit. Bobby herd the door slam.



?Hey, what?s the matter with all them Oriennuls?? ?Can?t they take a joke??, grumbled Bobby as he reached for yet another bottle of beer.



Kumiko again took Bob by the elbow: ?Shall we continue the introductions? Here is Mbugua Mutilili, he is from Kenya, East Africa.?



?Hi, Booger, who gave you that funny name?? smiled Bobby.



? It is Mbu-gu-a. It is a common Kenyan name.?



? Africa, huh? Really? So, where did you buy your clothes? London? You dress like us. I thought you guys in Africa didn?t wear any clothes. And also, can I see your bow and arrows??



? No, we actually wear the same clothes as you, and I have never used bow and arrows in my life?. Said Mbugua with a frustrated smile.



?And do you guys live in houses there? Or ,like, in trees, with snakes around your necks? Bwahahahah!?



Mbugua straightened up and his eyes became glossed over with anger ? Bye, man. I?ve got stuff to do. Here, talk to my friend. This is Jan Van Buren from South Africa. Jan, this is Bob, the only American student that has ever come to our party?.



?Hi, Bob, nice to meet you!? Van Buren said with his clipped Afrikaans accent. ?Nice to meet you, too. Where did you say you were from?? asked Bob.



?Pretoria, South Africa?? said Jan proudly.

?You come from Africa, too???? uttered Bob in complete amazement.



?Well, yes, why does that surprise you?? asked Jan.



?Africans are supposed to be black; how come you are white? And you?ve also got an American name- Van Buren; just like one of our presidents. You are from Africa and you are white, and not naked, and you are not carrying a spear. You are kidding me, aren?t you??



?No, not at all,? Jan was now smiling with a condescending smile of an adult talking to a child. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a little green book. It said: ?Republic of South Africa, Passport.?



?Get out of town! So, were you parents Americans; related to our President Van Buren??



?No, actually, my parents and grandparents, and great-grandparents were all South Africans; but sometime in the seventeenth century one of my ancestors migrated to Africa from the Flanders, so, that?s why I?ve got a Flemish name?.



?Incredible, a white African with an all American name. Just like Michael Jackson, Bwahahaha!? Bob roared with laughter that no one else shared. Jan gave him a half-hearted smile and walked away while Kumiko appeared again and asked him, ?Enjoying the party, Bob? ? ?Yeah, girl. Anyone else you want to introduce me to?? ?Yes, as a matter of fact, there are some people that want to meet you. Here they are: this is Miklos; he is from Hungary?.



?Really? Wow, is everybody Hungry in Hungary? Don?t you love being in America, Mick-whatever your name is? Or is it Milksop? There is plenty of food here. Enjoy, Mick, ?cause when you go back home, you?re gonna be hungry again?.



Miklos turned red and disappeared. ?And here is Jimmy Smith; he is from Australia!?



?Australian? Yeah, I know; just like that action star; what?s his name? Arnold Swarthy- whatever. The one that says ?I?ll be back? with that funny accent.?



Bobby thought he was being funny. Jimmy corrected him- ?No, that?s Arnold Schwarzenegger, he is from Austria; I am from Australia?.



Isn?t it the same thing? And you speak good English, you sound like a Brit; where did you learn it, taking ESL classes here at the University? I know Arnold had to learn English here in the US, I saw a documentary on him; did you also learn English in Austria, I mean, Australia? From some British teacher? ?



(cont.)

 

[momopi_IHB]

(cont.)



?Well, yes, Bob, I did. We, in Australia, speak English. As a matter of fact, one cannot immigrate to Australia if one does not speak the language . And our accent is not really British; it is Australian. If you listen well; you will hear the difference.



?Gee, really? I didn?t know that. I thought only Americans and well, Brits and Canadians spoke English; not the French Canadians, of course.? And you, hey, I am talking to you, man? Bobby was now trying to have a conversation with a lanky gentleman who was leaning over the salad bowl. ?Where are you from? ? England?. ?England? Cool, man; far out! Say, dude, what language do they speak in England??



Jimmy and the Englishman excused themselves to ostensibly go to the men?s room, and Bob was left looking for another group of students to talk to. There were two students speaking Spanish, and Bob decided to introduce himself to them. ?Hi, I am an American; my name is Bob.? ?Hi, Bob, I am Ricardo Mueller from Argentina, South America, and this is Jose Gomez from Puerto Rico?.



?Hey, Ricardo-ooh, you don?t look Argentinean to me. I mean, like you are blond and you?ve got grey eyes. How come? You people down there are supposed to be brown with black hair; kind of like this dude here; what was your name again?? ? Jose?- whispered Jose full of embarrassment.



?Hoe-zay, yeah, man like this here Hoe-zay; hey, Hoe-zay; I am not racist; you know, but aren?t you the guy I see every day working in the cafeteria?? Bob looked at him with mock suspicion.



?Well, yes, I am; why??



?I mean, like, you know, have you got the Green Card? I don?t mean to stick my nose where it don?t belong, but if you ain?t got no Green Card; you can?t work here in the US, you know that, right? I mean, like you are not an illegal alien, are you??



?I am from Puerto Rico, Bob; we are American citizens!? exclaimed Jose with rising indignation in his voice,



?Really? ? Bob reeled with surprise. ?How come you guys are US citizens? Why? Are you a state of the United States??



?No, we are not, but we are a US Commonwealth. That makes us American citizens!? Jose was gnashing his teeth now, and his fists were clenched with helpless anger.



?Hey, Hoe-zay, let?s keep it friendly, OK, man? I didn?t mean anything bad; just checking, man; just checking. Don?t want you to get into trouble with the Immigration and get deported back to Costa Rica or wherever you came from?.



Jose bolted away mumbling something under his breath that sounded like: ?Gringo Estupido?. Bob was left facing Ricardo Mueller from Argentina. ?So, as I was asking you, Rick; how come you come from Argenta, or whatever the name of your country is, and you look like an American; I mean like you are one of us. I mean, like you people from down south of the border are all brown and stuff; we are the ones who are white; but you are blond and not like a Latino; how come? Were you parents, like; Americans??



?No, actually, not at all. My grandparents were from Germany, but in Argentina and also, in Uruguay, in general, the population is mostly European. We pretty much look like the majority of you, guys?.



?Well, I?ll be darned! I thought you guys and that other country, you-rooh- whatever, all looked like them Mexicans that come to cut our lawn on Sundays, hahahaha.? Bobby again thought he was funny. Ricardo coughed and excused himself. Bobby was left alone.



Not far from him, another young, African-looking man was having a cake. ?Hi, I am Bob, Bob approached the man with his hand outstretched, ? I am an American! Whereabouts are you from? Africa or the Harlem??



?Oh, neither one. I am from Brazil, my name is Joao?.



?That?s cool. Nice to meet you, what was your name again? Chow? Sorry, Chow, I no hablo espanol?.



?Well, I don?t hablo espanol, either,? answered Joao,? in Brazil, we speak Portuguese; not Spanish.?



?Really? I didn?t know that. I thought all of you people spoke Spanish down there. And, also, you mean, like there are black people in Brazil, too??



?Listen, Bob. I?ve gotta run?. Joao suddenly moved to the other end of the hall. Bobby shrugged his shoulders and approached two what he perceived to be ?gay-looking? students. ? Hey, look, fellas, I kind of dig the Village People and some of my best friends are gay, but I am straight so, I just wanna let you know from the start that I am not trying to hit on you, you know what I mean? but I like soccer and you kinda look like a cross between soccer players and Freddy Mercury, so I thought I?d say:? Hi?. The two students looked at him with squeamish expressions on their faces and asked him: ? Where did you get the idea that we were gay??



?Hey, guys, it?s written all over you, I mean the way you are dressed, for one- the colors- they are kind of bright and you know, then the hair cuts and the mannerism and all.?



?But this is how we Europeans dress and behave, especially we, the French people. We want to look good; we follow the latest fashions, we dress well and in different colors, not just denim and grey and solid colors. And we also wear shoes and not just sneakers, you know. And we do have mannerism when we talk, it shows that we are refined and educated; it does not mean that we are gay and we like to have sex with men?.



? Yeah, I guess you are right; it is just that when I see a dude dressed like you, I kind of figure he is a homo, you know what I mean? But the fact that you may be a homo is nothing against you; I don?t mind, some of my best friends are gay, no problem with me?.



?But we are not gay!!! We are French! We are taught to be sophisticated and dress well, and we do it to attract women; not men. Francois, let?s get out of here!? And the two French friends made a hasty retreat.



All these people were starting to piss Bobby off. Like they were stuck up or something and did not want to stick around and talk to him. ?A bunch of ingrates. America feeds them and helps them, and we teach them, and save their asses in all these wars, and look how they are treating us! I think I am gonna kick somebody?s ass tonight?.



He gulped down three more beers and as the alcohol rose to his brain, he felt brave. Actually, he felt so good, his urge to prove himself in a fight got bigger. Out of nowhere, Kumiko appeared again, and inquired if he was enjoying the party. She took him along to have him try some ?international foods?. A tall blond guy with a round face and a pug nose was standing in front of a large dish housing big dumplings with sour cream poured all over them.



?What are these, raviolis? ? inquired Bob? ?No, these are Russian pelmenis.? Answered the tall guy. Bobby voice took on sinister, suspicious tones. ? What are you..from ?.Russia??



?Yes, I am an exchange student here, my name is Yevsey Cherkov.?



Bob began frowning: ? And they allow you people in the country??



?Yes, why not? Our countries have diplomatic relations; we are not enemies, or anything.?



?But aren?t you people all commies and bloodthirsty warmongers and pinko liberals and enemies of the United States and a bunch of faggots, KGB agents and spies?? Bobby was now drunk from the beers and starting to gather momentum for a fist fight; and other students, quickly realizing that something was wrong, came closer. ? Get out of my country, now, you Russkie commie bastard! ? Bob yelled at Yevsey.



Yevsey backed away: ?Easy friend, easy, I am just an engineering student here, and I don?t want any trouble?. Another student walked up to Bob and grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt. ?And you, where the f--ck are you from?? ?I am from Saudi Arabia?

Bobby was now turning livid- ?A terrorist? What are you doing in my country! First a commie, now a terrorist? . Bob?s hand was beginning to form a fist and he raised it above the Saudi student?s face: ? You, Iranian; you goddamned terrorist! Get out!? ?I am not an Iranian, I am a Saudi?, said the student. ?Same f--king s-it!!!? shouted Bob.



The international students were now frozen in place, faces full of concern and budding fear. As two more students tried to restrain Bob, three security officers, attracted by the noise, made their way through the crowd, grabbed hold of Bob and lead him away. Both the Arab and the Russian students were looking at each other with relief mixed with genuine trepidation. If the security had not been called, who knows what a bloody fight could have ensued.



Bobby was given a reprimand and asked to take a class on ?Diversity?. Kumiko found out what room he was staying at and bought him an Illustrated Atlas of the World, so that he, at age 22, could finally learn where at least some countries were located, know something about their basic history and what their cities, and the people in them, looked like.



The International Students continued having parties, but were now a bit more cautious about whom they would let in, and made their gatherings as private and exclusive, and as by-invitation-only as possible. And could you blame them after the unpleasant incident with Bob Hines?



(cont.)

 

[momopi_IHB]

(cont.)



Eventually, Bob graduated, passed the Foreign Service exam and became embassy staff in Papua New Guinea. He is still struggling with the map of the place and is perennially amazed that there are, in fact, black people living there even though it is not Africa or America.



The foreign students had graduated, too, and went back to their respective countries. They constantly tell stories about the incident with Bob on their TV, the radio and to all of their friends, and the American residents there have become laughing stocks of the local communities. The most popular joke that they have played on them is when people walk up to them and ask them: ?Where are you from? America? Where is that?? and then loud guffaws follow as the American residents hurry on back to their apartments, red-faced with shame.



And local politicians, having learned about how their constituents were treated at that party, have no qualms now about buddying up to Iran, China, Belarus and North Korea. At least, when they travel to those countries to sign yet another oil, weapon or nuclear deal they know they will not be talking to a bunch of geographical ignoramuses; and when they get there, the general population there will not be asking them every five minutes: ?Where is that??. The hosts do have enough wisdom to know that the way guests are treated now will be the way they will be treated when they, too, become guests, and the former guests become their hosts.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Can Chinese Junk Save you Money?



There are two types of Chinese Junks- one you see in the Hong Kong harbor and they will charge you an arm and a leg for a tour of the island. The other junk is the one you see in all these countries that have no quality control. Watches for $1. Electric shavers for $2. Sneakers for $5. Is buying all these things worth it if you want to save money? They say that if you buy cheap Chinese products in 3d world countries, you are really wasting your money. They will break in a month or two and then you will need to buy a new one. You had better buy something of good quality that will serve you a long time, they say. Chinese junk is very wasteful.



But my experience is that it actually helps me save money. I alot myself a certain amount of money to buy things every month and those cheap Chinese things fit fine with my budget. Somehow, if I spend my cash on all these inexpensive items, even if they break and I buy new ones, somehow I still end up with more cash left. How? I don?t know. I haven?t figured out the reason. However, I suspect that if I buy an expensive quality item, I will get sick and tired of it even before it breaks and then I will buy something new. Also, if I get used to buying quality stuff, I will start buying it in bigger amounts just like I am used to buying the ?junk? in big amounts and feel ?rich? in the process. Also, an expensive Japanese item may not break by itself, but I can end up breaking it myself. Then I will have to have it repaired and if it is past warranty time, it will cost me more money at times than buying a new low quality Chinese item.



Somehow, I still can?t figure out the reason. Maybe it is because I like to shop till I drop and still end up spending some $30 only on a bag full of all these gadgets and shoes. My shopping urges are satisfied and even if I do so once a week, I will still end up spending only a lousy $120 a month. Then, it is another $120 a month.



Now, will I ever be able to do that with expensive items once I decide to wise up and buy the real thing? Again, I don?t know. One thing I know for sure is that when I buy all these cheap Chinese goods as often as I like, I still save money and that?s how it works for me.



Does it work the same way for you, too?



<img src="http://images.google.com/url?source=imgres&ct=tbn&q=http://www.travelwithachallenge.com/Images/Travel_Article_Library/Hong_Kong/Junk.jpg&usg=AFQjCNFwTjJQzFyPRlmOr5SxR4EKNhi2rQ" alt="" />

 

[momopi_IHB]

Creek Cruise Flop



One of the most frustrating things about living like a skittering bird of unpredictable passage is the fact that some of your experiences cannot be applied as warnings to too many people. OK, you have made a mistake by making an assumption that something was going to be a certain way, and it turned out to be different, but what you have done is not something that that many people are bound to do if where you went is not the prime tourist destination.



One of such mistakes was to board a dhow in Dubai for a so-called ?creek cruise?. The Dubai Creek is sort of an artificial canal that runs around the business part of town. These are beautiful Arab boats- two story ones- double-deckers if you wish, that would be a welcome relief from the Middle Eastern heat if one would take a nice cruise at night in them. I especially liked the upper deck from the outside look of it - very wide, with wooden banisters. I could see myself and my mom, who was with me, walking around the deck at night, marveling at the skyscrapers in the distance and inhaling sweet breezes coming from the desert.



However, after paying the ticket and boarding the ship, we have found out that we could not go onto the upper deck as it was prohibited by the Dubai Port Authority. We then had to content ourselves with sitting at crowded tables while people were eating buffets inside of a sterile, air-conditioned interior. The lights inside were so bright that we could hardly see what was happening on the outside because of the glare. And we could not get off, and had to withstand the ordeal for the whole of 2.5 hours that we were aboard. The music was blaring so loud that we had to ask the waiters to turn it down twice. And they were playing ?Killing Me Softly? over and over, as well as many other very obsolete British and American oldies from the 1970ies. Some Arab experience you?ve got there! We went around the downtown area as many as ten times without ever taking any other route. It was basically a closed- in, crowded marry-go-round that made us feel very claustrophobic as we could not stop it and get off.



This is what one means when one says that Assumption is the Mother of All Screw-Ups. Just because you can take such a tour in many other places in the Arab World, Egypt in particular, and enjoy walking on the upper deck and breathing in the river aromas, does not mean that you can take a tour like that in Dubai.



However, it looked like the other passengers were very excited and happy to have the buffet onboard and, probably that is what they all came for to begin with. Screw the breezes!



OK, so what?s the conclusion and the lesson derived from it? It is basically, if and when you go to Dubai, and decide to take a creek cruise to enjoy fresh air, go in a small, open boat with only one deck, not the double-decker dhows. If you opt for the latter, you will end up imprisoned with a huge crowd of buffet- hungry passengers who could not give a hoot in the Hades for romantic whiffs of the desert on the upper deck.



Dubai- bound anyone? I hope so. I hate to think that we have suffered in vain and cannot warn other people now.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Monday, September 25, 2006

Wild and Dangerous Kids Abroad.



Living abroad is challenging as it is without the almost never-mentioned danger- wild kids. These kids can create all sorts of problems, some lethal, and make your life miserable.



In some countries kids are above reproach. It is simply not the custom to discipline them. Hence, the may go wild when the see someone who looks foreign or dresses foreign. And they can cause you embarrassment, ruin your mood for the day or even create a dangerous situation with which you may not be able to deal properly.



In Asia, kids sometimes taunt white people (and other foreigners) with horrible words. At the last KKK or Black Panthers meeting they would not use racial epithets of such variety. But since these are usually not uttered in English, I guess there is no one to call and complain.



The worst thing of all is that often such Asian kids will often be accompanied by their parents who will be looking at them with endearing smiles as they are taking the piss out of you and laughing at you all the way. And these parents will do nothing to restrain the kids.



Many kids are so spoiled; they sit in the middle of the road as your car approaches and do nothing to move away. Their parents probably never taught them anything about safety. Hey, these are kids; they don?t know any better?.



In some other countries, kids will throw stones at you while shouting racial abuse (which is not in English) or other objects such as tree branches or anything their hand can find at the moment. Sometimes, such kids could be those of the neighbors down the street. If you go and complain to the neighbors, they will probably deny it; and a visit to the local authorities will produce a tolerant smile on the face of such important figures. ?These are just kids! What can we do?? In the meantime, they are getting ready for another attack when they see you. A stone at your car or at you personally, while you walk, can cause serious injury. And there is little you can do. Except move.



When abroad, especially in places where cultures and races are very different from yours and you cannot blend in, please exercise extreme caution with local kids. If there is a place where lots of children live, try not to move in there. Better yet, if you can live in a big expatriate compound, that would be even better. Just make sure there are not that many wild kids there, either. In some countries, kids will make Dennis the Menace look quite tame by comparison.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Stuck in A Developing Morass



One of the most important reasons why it is so easy to succeed in 1st World countries is because of the infrastructure both technical and human. Most 1st Worlders are so used to it, the do not even notice it. They take it for granted that phones work, that faxes work, that courier shipments will arrive on time, that the mail will not disappear; that you can quickly and easily obtain products and services that you need, albeit they may be costly at times.



When you work in the 1st World, you can see that you work and efforts bear fruit quite easily. When you make an appointment, people come and usually do so on time, when they tell you they will do something related to business (in which they have vested interest, of course) they usually do it.



When you get to other countries of the so-called Developing World (the modern Euphemism for Underdeveloped World) your first question is always: ?Why are they still developing? They have been around for so long. What?s the problem?? Soon, you will see what the problem is. If you start doing business there, you will come up against many obstacles that did not exist where you came from. People do not come to appointments or if they do, they come late and unprepared. When you call and ask the secretary why her boss did not show up, she tells you that he has left for a luxury resort (probably with his new mistress). You want to send a fax, but no one even knows what a fax is. If you do see a place that has a sign that says? Fax?, and park your car near it (if you are lucky to find a parking spot), you will be met with a dour clerk that will tell you that there is no fax machine at the store. ?So, why is there a sign?? Sorry, there may not be any laws there that govern false advertising. No one simply cares. One year later, you pass by the same store and the ?Fax? sign is still hanging and again, there is no fax there.



In addition to that, if you want to have lunch and are lucky to be given a menu, and, then, you make your choice and ask the waiter for this and that item, he will just tell you that the item is not available. ?Then why is it on the menu?? ?Well, it was in stock but it is now out of stock?. ?Well, you knew that the stock was getting smaller, so why didn?t you order it well in advance? ? They have nothing to say to you. They simply do not care. They do not know how to thin ahead.



You get into a taxi and the taxi driver does not even know where many places in the city are located. He is there because his uncle got him a job and he is in training as he works.



Then, you are stuck in the traffic for hours and hours trying to get from place A to place B. All this takes toll on your nerves and general well-being and you are starting to see that the country you are in is still ?developing? and is not ?developed? because, basically, of the more lax culture, less discipline inherent in the people?s behavior, less foresight and a general happy-go-lucky attitude that permeates the whole functioning of the country. Everything is full of unnecessary delays, laziness, and gross incompetence.



You may be an aggressive go-getter and an organized, responsible person, but if you are in country that is limping along in a haphazard and devil-may-care rhythm of its own, you will soon be stuck in a morass similarly to how Napoleon and Hitler got stuck in Russia and that was the end of them.



Modern politically correct interculturalists claim that there are no inferior cultures and that we are simply different. I say: let them spend a few years as businessmen or investors in one of those dysfunctional societies, step into human excrement on the side of the road, choke on black exhaust fumes for a few hours a day in countries that do not believe in smog checks, get stuck in a pot hole in the middle of a busy street and get cheated in business a few times by inscrupulous and corrupt partners whom you cannot even sue because local courts are so corrupt, they will most probably always decide in favor of locals vs. foreigners and see what they will say then. I am sure that they will reluctantly admit that, at least, from the business standpoint, there are countries whose cultures are very, very much inferior.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Dangers of MI and Stereotyping.



There are many ignorant people out there both in your country and abroad. After 9/11, a Sikh was killed at his gas station somewhere in the South Eastern US. He had a beard and was wearing a turban. Close enough to Bin Ladin. Never mind the Sikhs are not Muslims.

The man is now dead as a door nail. End of the story.



When the US attacked Iraq, certain extremists in Saudi Arabia started targeting Americans. So, a few years ago, an Irishman and a German were killed in Riyadh. They were not Americans, but they were close enough to being American to get killed.



When I was in a certain SE Asian country, I was dating a lady whose neighbors were avid TV watchers. And there was a program on TV in which a foreigner (a white one; what other foreigners are there, anyway?) had been arrested for practicing ?white slavery?. Actually, it should have been ?brown? or ?yellow? slavery since no victims were white. In other words, he owned a bar there with bar girls dancing on stage. Some bar girl complained and he was arrested and then either deported or released after paying some bribes.



I was immediately a suspect since I looked like him. To them, that is. We all look alike, anyway. The lady?s neighbors young son came in rushing and screaming that he had seen me on TV being arrested. The lady was cursed, threatened and told to stay away from both me and the daughter of the neighbors (who was her friend) or she ?would pay for it?. A relative was there with a gun, too, and he said he would not hesitate to use it. On me, that is.



You may be traveling in a distant land or living there and then there could be news on TV and someone bad who belongs to your ? larger group?- white people, Muslims, black people, etc. would be shown. You can then be threatened, attacked or even killed. And verbal abuse will become commonplace.



Be careful and be aware of how the locals see you and what category the common person there will put you in. Are you now a Gringo? In Guatemala, there were rumors of Americans kidnapping kids for body parts and Americans and anyone who looked ?Gringo? was under threat of retaliation. That would mean a Canadian, too.



The farther away you travel culturally and geographically, the broader the classification you are assigned to, and if some representatives of that qualification do or say something bad, you will be in danger of ostracism, abuse and even violent physical action.



Are you now a ?farang? in SE Asia? You can be abused verbally when there is news of some person who is a farang like you, and who has been found to have the HIV when he applied for work somewhere. You will now be shunned because of such news on TV.



Also, in countries where people are simple and kind and are of the charming peasant variety that so fascinates Westerners for its warmth and hospitality, there is also an ever present danger of such people displaying horrendous ignorance, stereotyping and generalizations that can lead to your injury and death by virtue of mistaken identity or inclusion in some hostile tribe that you had never had anything to do with. Populaces around the world can turn from friendly to unpredictable. US humans have changed little since tribal African times. Please watch yourself!

 

[momopi_IHB]

Monday, September 18, 2006

The Delusional Bubble of "Respect".



In quite a few poorer countries around the world, a white-skinned foreigner is an object of automatic admiration. He is presumed to be extremely cultured, sophisticated and fantastically wealthy. Aren?t all white people born with $1,000,000,000 in their trust accounts? Aren?t all white people movie moguls living in sunny Hollywood? Isn?t it true that only poor people of color are doing work in the great countries of white people?



Some tourists and expats enjoy the attention that such ignorant natives bestow upon them. They are now honored and exalted without having to work hard for decades- they are now high status people without even trying- only by virtue of their skin color; and through the illusory perceptions that the natives have of the Western world, which, accidentally, to them, includes Macedonia, Russia and Bulgaria- heck, aren?t they all part of America? And aren?t people there as rich as heavenly gods?



Yup, that?s what they think. However, such respect that is based on incredible ignorance and lack of understanding about the world is fraught with embarrassing moments, mostly for you, that is. You will be overcharged for many things and services that the locals pay very small prices for.? Aren?t you a millionaire? Why are you being so mean? Come? on, pay up!? The fact that you can be budgeting your expenses in a foreign land where you often do not even have the right to work will never be understood by many of the local people.



You will be approached with outrageous offers and expectations. ?Hey, would you like to buy my Internet Caf?? It?s only $50,000?. ?I don?t have that kind of money! ? Come? on, I don?t believe you!? ?Why don?t you buy a condo? It?s only $100,000.? ?Where on earth will I get $100,000? ?You mean you don?t have it? What kind of American are you? All Americans are multi-millionaires.? ?I am not an American, I am a New Zealander?. ?You mean New Zealand is not part of America? And you mean you are not rich? How preposterous! You must be joking!?



?You are courting my daughter now. Hey, we would like for you to take our whole family of ten, and the daughter, as well, to a luxury resort. Buy the airplane tickets for all of us, too. You are the one courting, right? And you are an American. So, what?s the problem? The whole thing will only cost you some $10,000. Why is that a lot of money for you? You Americans are loaded with trillions of dollars?.



You will soon realize that you are in a very awkward situation: you now have the rich man?s problem- you don?t know who your friends are and why people want to be your friend. You are constantly approached by smiling people and given looks of admiration that you really do not deserve. However, the nasty truth is, you are ?not? rich; only perceived to be rich. You cannot hobnob with the rich because you are not one of them and you cannot hobnob with the poorer and middle class people because they think you are rich and are constantly trying to rip you off.



And guess what? Once any of those poorer-to-middle class people see that you, in fact, do not have the trillion dollars in the bank, they lose all respect for you and start giving you scornful looks. ?Hey, what happened to you?? How did you end up in such miserable poverty? I thought all Americans were rich and I had great plans for our friendship. And now you can?t even invest a lousy $150,000 in my business? ?What on earth is wrong with you? You are not a real American but some kind of weirdo impostor and a bum!?



Such illusory respect will sooner or later simply vanish and you will be left without any friends, rich or poor.



So, what is the solution? I don?t know. I have not come up with any except keeping a bit of a distance and remaining as mysterious as possible to the local people without getting involved in any kind of meaningful friendship unless the people are extremely well traveled and a bit educated, in other words, unless they are , too, somewhat like me. Otherwise, if you get too involved with the ignorant locals and get wrapped up in all this false respect, you are bound to get hurt sooner or later when their perception of you gets burst like the delusional bubble that it was.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Children are children are children?



One of the examples of how an international person cannot be understood by a non-traveler was when I started working in the South Central LA as an elementary school teacher.



I had done my practicum in Puerto Rico, and I was used to being respected as a teacher. In the Spanish-based culture of that Caribbean Island, respect for teachers is something that is ingrained from a very early age. Those who choose to teach are seen as someone who has made the right choice and are held in high esteem by many.



On the US mainland, there is far less respect towards educators both from the public and the students. There is even a proverb that: ?Those who can, do; those who can?t, teach.? This view of teachers along with low salaries does not seem to attract the best category of people to that profession.



However, my biggest shock was when I went from a very humble, well-behaved classroom of young Puerto Ricans who viewed their instructor with awe to the mainland American classroom where kids were nasty and arrogant, and very rude to boot. Mainland kids would not obey me, and I was repeatedly approached by the school staff and advised to: ?get tougher on the kids?. After about two weeks, my classroom, which in the times of my Puerto Rico practicum was a place of silent contemplation of students by me and unquestioned obedience, became a bedlam. I definitely felt that cultural differences played a huge role in the behavior of children in class. Mainland Americans were VERY different from Puerto Ricans.



Eventually, these mainland kids became so rowdy in my class that I could no longer control it. I was then told that I was ?too nice? and called on the carpet. When I faced the principal, I shared my concern with him and said that I had successful completed my practical training in Puerto Rico and that the kids there never ever behaved in such a rambunctious manner.



His response was ?Children are children are children?. He had obviously never traveled and lived in a pure Hispanic environment and could not relate to my experience at all. To him, the world was like LA and the US and people everywhere were the same. But he was the boss, the one with the money and the one paying my salary. Other teachers were also giving me unpleasant looks. I was then asked to resign, my name was put on the Board of Education computer and now I would have problems being re-hired to teach in California again if I ever re-applied.



People who travel and get international experience may not always have it to their advantage. It can actually significantly stymie your ability to deal with things in another country. Call it reverse culture shock or by whichever other name, I was severely handicapped by it.



Eventually, I got a job teaching Hispanic adults and from then on it was smooth sailing more or less. However, I made a good note of that experience. Once an international person, you will never be the same again. And experience obtained in one place may not be applicable in another. And people who do not travel do not make very good bosses to those who do.

 

[momopi_IHB]

Wednesday, September 13, 2006



Same Language Blues.



Just because a country speaks the same language that you speak, does not mean that it cannot create misunderstandings and embarrassing situations. I was once bounced out of a bar in Australia. This is how it happened: I saw a bar in Sydney as I was walking down the street, and heard music coming from it. I became curious and decided to check it out. In front of it, there was a Fijian-looking bouncer. As I approached the door, I heard him say something that sounded like ?right, right?, and I assumed that he wanted me to go in through the right part of the door. I pushed it and walked in. As I was looking at a singer and for a place to sit down, I suddenly felt a strong hand on my shoulder and felt that I was being pushed outside. He was actually very brusque in his behavior and treated me as a bum or a troublemaker. After I was kicked out in such an unceremonious and barbaric fashion, I stared at the bouncer in amazement. He told me that I could not come in in my track pants (I was wearing them because it was very cold out). He said that people inside were all nicely dressed (sneakers and jeans) and that I was not dressed appropriately. I got very upset and told him that I was a tourist and a college instructor and not a bum. He looked very apologetic, and I went back to my hotel, changed into something more decent and went back into the bar. He did let me in this time.



Only one month later I realized what had happened. The words that I thought were ?right, right? were in fact ?wait, wait!? The Aussies pronounce ?wait? as ?white?, and my brain automatically converted it into ?right? as I boldly stepped into the bar only to be shoved out of it for being inappropriately dressed and not following the instructions of the bouncer.



I also remember vainly looking for a pharmacy in Sydney until it dawned on me that there are no such stores in Oz. They are called ?Chemist?s?. And few ladies respond to ?ma?m?. I remember trying to get the attention of waitresses and sales clerks and they simply would not respond. I had to yell so that they would simply turn and look at me just because my voice was loud. Aussies do not understand that term, for the most part.





Happiness by Comparison.



When you arrive in a new country, you feel happy because it has many things that your old destination does not. Some SE Asian countries have many beautiful women that you can look at every day and be just happy feasting your eyes on them. Some VNese refugees to the US would say that ?every day in America was a holiday? for them. Many people from Egypt living in Australia would be ecstatic about how uncrowded and organized the country was.



However, happiness and joy by comparison does not last. OK, you are happy because the new country has so many new advantages but very soon you start taking them for granted and stop noticing them. Six months down the line you start remembering the good things about the old country that you used to take for granted there but they do not exist in the new one. American expats in the Third World begin to realize just how inefficient everything is, how bad the customer service is, the food and other products are of low quality and that there is no place to go and complain about it.



Those moving from Third World countries to the First World ones; after half a year or so, begin seeing just how cold and impersonal everything is, how hard it is to make friends in the new place and how utterly boring life there can be. They also realize that many things that were either free or very cheap back home now cost big money. Sure, they now own a car but they can no longer buy a cheap boat, for example or have servants as they used to back home.



As always, happiness by comparison only lasts for so long. A wise PT expatriate learns not to be swayed either by the initial ecstasy or by the disappointments that set in later. He or she take everything, good and bad, for granted and since he/she is always on the move, the ability to take the good and the bad from every country in stride becomes their shield from serious disillusionments when living in all these different places.