I was going through a stack of CDs on my shelf and came across one by a group called April March. They are a sort of latin lounge retro band from the States. An interesting name. It got me thinking of those same last two months that just went by and the places I have been, mostly through my work. In March, I had a couple of “pairings” (a group of flights on my schedule that start from and end in Vancouver) to London via Ottawa, both ways. There are long layovers in each city which give you enough time to go to a museum, walk around, go for dinner with colleagues or friends.
I usually fly domestic routes though I do a few international flights once and a while. These two months saw me go to four different overseas destinations. It still seems surreal at times to think I have been to so many different cities in different parts of the world, in and out, like as if in some sort of time travel machine, in such little time. Just a sliver of another reality, often familiar yet totally different.
Ottawa got walloped by a snow storm the day before I arrived. It was clear skies but very cold so decided not to stay outdoors and I made my way to the National Gallery of Canada. There was an excellent retrospective of the Saskatchewan sculptor Joe Fafard, famous for his bronze cows and horses. Outside the gallery, there is a huge bronze spider oddly called 'Maman' by renown sculptor Louise Bourgeois. There are a few copies around the world and I seen it once before outside a museum in Havana a few years earlier.
In London, I went to the Tate Modern. In the Turbine Hall, where there is usually some massive installation art, it was a negative piece of reduction by Latin American artist Doris Salcedo which consisted of a long crack in the cement floor, starting at one end, the width of a hair, and running the length of the enormous hall’s floor at a foot wide. I talked to one of the security guards who told me it was several months in the making, or rather breaking, of the concrete. Himself and several colleagues were hovering around making sure no one’s foot would fall into the crack and get sprained.
I also went for a long walk in the neighbourhood of our hotel, St. John’s Wood and Regent’s park. It’s quite the posh neighbourhood with grand old trees and detailed 19th century brick flats. Later, I went to Edgeware road with a few colleagues and had some excellent Persian food and Turkish coffee. I noticed that many more cafes now have shisha pipes next to their tables, the sweet aroma lingering down the sidewalk. With all the ethnic cafes and shops, particularly from the Middle East, it almost feels as if you could be taking a stroll in Damascus.
The following week, I went to the British Museum. I had not been for a year or so and, as always, it was impressive. I spent a lot of time in the Assyrian section. Amazing reliefs of the lion hunt. Kings on horses in full flight, arrows flying, lions dying... all carved into stone.
The last few days of March, I went to Beijing. We were one of the first flights to arrive in their brand new terminal 3. The size of the terminal is staggering. Apparently it’s the largest building in the world as far as square feet under one roof. The architecture and the speed at which these buildings go up in China’s booming cities is indeed impressive.
It’s difficult to stray from the usual routine as far as a 24 hour layover in Beijing is concerned. It goes something like this: Arrive at the hotel around 5:00pm, go for a bite to eat, perhaps a hot pot or Sichuan restaurant. Then, buy some DVDs at the Cotton market, a 15 min. walk down the street. This would be followed by a traditional body or foot massage at one of several spas in the area. ($15 - 20 one hour!) If you have not fallen asleep during the massage, then it is not long before you pass out back in your hotel room around 10:00pm.
The next morning, I always get a hot soya milk and a steamed bun at this local hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Then it’s off to the Pearl market for more shopping. Despite having a really low tolerance for shopping, since I only get to China a few times a year, I tend to go for it. This time was no different. I picked up a copy watch and a few jackets. I did manage to go for a stroll to Tiantan, the Temple of Heaven, a traditional Tang Dynasty building. It is situated in a large park, in a classic north - south axis. Walking toward the main complex, there are many people, mostly elders, doing tai-chi, playing cards or chess, singing opera or just going for a stroll. An oasis of calm amongst the wide, crowded and busy avenues of the capital.
Back to Vancouver only one day off before flying again, this time to Sydney. The flight is now direct, no longer going through Honolulu. It takes 15.5 hours and leaves at 12:00 am. We do get to take 5 hour breaks and can sleep in bunks for the crew in the aircraft. I was pretty wiped out from all the flying and it felt like I was coming down with something. After a long nap, I went to Manly, by ferry. It feels good to be on the water, passing by the famous opera house, seeing all the sail boats.
Sydney really is a geographically beautiful city. So much water, beaches, pennisulas and bays. I also love their coffee and cafes. They adopted full-heartedly, the Italian way of making lattes. I did not do much else returning to the hotel to catch some zzzz’s.
With a long stretch of days off in mid-April, I decided to see my family and friends in Winnipeg. The spring weather was gorgeous the whole time I was there meanwhile back in Vancouver it actually snowed. On one sunny day, I borrowed my niece’s bike and took a long ride along the Red river taking lots of photos of old brick buildings of the North End. I enjoyed too taking shots of many rusted out “beaters”, old cars that somehow seem to stay on the road longer here than elsewhere.
It was great just hanging out and catching up with my family and friends. One friend Dan, lent me his truck so that I could go see my other good friend Ray, and his family out in Treesbank, a 2 hour drive west of the city. I love driving on the prairies. It’s especially flat just west of Winnipeg, but then you get into some small hills and escarpments near Glenboro. Subtle changes in the vast landscape. Forever skies and clouds.
Ray is a bee keeper and they have a small house right on the banks of the Assiniboine river. He has a canoe so we went for a paddle down a few miles to where the smaller Souris river joins the Assiniboine. We pulled over at a high bank and had lunch in a section of un-farmed, tall grass prairie. There were croquis flowers all around, (the flower of Manitoba) and old oak trees, here and there a bluff of white birch and poplar trees. The current was swift so paddling up stream was a good work out.. we had to get out a few times to walk it with a rope.
A few more evenings of home cooked meals, the odd playoff hockey game on TV, an outdoor BBQ... it’s always good to be back in the place where I grew up. Is it still home?
I guess it’s my hometown. Where is home? How long does one have to live in a place before it becomes your home? I have always thought about how people refer to where they are from as almost being an essential and important part of who they are. To me it makes no difference at all. I suppose certain cultural traits can be attributed to a country of course, even to a certain city. Suburban North America however, is pretty uniform.
The end of April saw me going to Hong Kong, with an extended layover of 3 days. That is one city that always blows my mind. The sheer amount of tall buildings, the density, the lights, the activity of people, cars, boats... It’s the true definition or urban jungle, especially when you walk around between the vertical monoliths in the alleys, were there all the wires and air conditioners are exposed. And with everyone on the move, all the time, it really is a rat race. The sound I associate the most with Hong Kong is that of the jack-hammer. No matter where you go, there is always construction, something being torn down and dug up, something being built up. I would not want to live there but still, the geography of sub-tropical mountains and water everywhere with all the skyscrapers for me, makes it one of the most interesting cities in the world.
Our hotel is in Kowloon, so I usually always take the Star Ferry across the water to Hong Kong island. The view is stunning. I walked a few hours around Central (the heart of HK’s business district) and into some of the small streets where there are many commercial art galleries and funky cafes. I then took a double decker bus to Stanley, a small village on the other side of the island. There is a market there, albeit a little touristy, some fishing boats. Nice to see the turquoise waters of the South China Sea. A few dragon boat teams were practicing their paddling skills. I also noticed some home made catamarans for laying out fishing nets. They consisted of two wind-surf boards joined together by bamboo and plastic crates as a platform.
After a few hours of quiet, it was back on the on the bus, up the mountain over the winding roads and back down into the land of towers. Hong Kong means "fragrant harbour" in Cantonese. The water between the island and Kowloon isn't so fragrant anymore. It is also shrinking as yet more land reclamation is being done. Several city blocks of Central along with the motorway are all on land that was once the sea. It looks like what is happening now will definitely be the last of it though as there will be a waterfront park and sea wall promenade, an improvement on what for years was just industrial docks and piers.
Sunday is "Nanny day". Like several other cities, there are many "caregivers" from the Philippines and Indonesia. It seems though in Hong Kong, the percentage is really high. As it is their only day off from their live-in domestic chores and baby-sitting, thousands descend into a few closed off streets to set up blankets and cardboard on the sidewalks and hang out, playing cards, singing and just catching up. Closing my eyes, the chattering of Tagalog, amplified by the glass of tall buildings, reminded me of being in a cave full of birds.
The majority are women, sending money back home. I met one, Maria, a 30 something year old mother from Manila, who has two young daughters back in the Philippines and only sees them once a year. She gets one paid ticket by her employer for a week. As it approached 8:00pm while we chatted along the waterfront in Kowloon, she said she had to leave soon before her curfew. I couldn't help but think how sad and even pathetic it is for these thousands of young women, spending 15 hours a day, six days a week taking care of wealthier people's family and homes while they are busy making more money. However, the alternative back in their home country is probably even bleaker. She told me that was her sacrifice so that her children could get an education and a better life.
