Panama and Mexico Chronicles

The temple before me was a stone pyramid with steep sides and a flat top. Around it was a perfectly manicured lawn, arching palm trees and then in the distance misty mountains. I was in Mexico - but not at the famous pyramids of Teotihuacán as you might think. If I had been there, I would have been surrounded by tourists – but I was alone, in the ruins of Zempoala, 40 km northeast of Veracruz City.

Zempoala is a small site and not many tourists visit it. However, the purpose of my visit to Mexico wasn’t tourism and since I had allowed myself only one afternoon in Veracruz province to sightsee, Zempoala seemed the perfect choice. In all honesty, I also loved the fact that I could explore the ruins in peace, with no (other) tourists, no vendors, no guides, just me the birds and the temples. Despite its small size, Zempoala was an important Mesoamerican city. It was the largest city on the Gulf of Mexico and the capital of the kingdom of Totonicapan, home of the Totonac people. At its peak, it had a population of between 25,000 and 30,000 and in the end the city was an important staging post in the conquest of Mexico by Hernán Cortés.

The real reason for my trip to Veracruz was the North American Ornithological Congress, a huge gathering of “birders” (bird watchers and ornithologists) from all over North, Central and South America. Veracruz was chosen as a location in part to facilitate the attendance of Latin Americans without the hassles of obtaining visas for the USA or Canada. Just imagine Cubans trying to get into a conference in Miami for example! All in all, the conference was a great success with many scientifically stimulating talks and several inspirational orations given by people trying to promote conservation and ornithology in Latin America. It was also an excellent chance for me to establish and strengthen ties with colleagues in the Americas and to bounce around post-doc ideas.

After the conference I had a bit of time to explore Veracruz City. With a population of 500,000 (2000 census) Veracruz is a major port city on the Gulf of Mexico. It was founded by Hernán Cortés, who first landed there in 1519 at the start of his quest to conquer Mexico for Spain. It is often referred to as Puerto de Veracruz to distinguish it from the state and the people of Veracruz are known as jarochos. While in the city I hit the highlights of the Carranza Lighthouse, the Plaza de Armas and the colorful artisan market the malecón, a lovely harbor-front boulevard which draws more tourists from within Mexico than foreigners.

From Veracruz I hopped on a bus to Mexico City, taking in 6 hours of lovely scenery (and bad bus movies) along the way. With a population (in the greater metropolitan region) of over 17 million and an area of nearly 5000 square kilometres, Mexico City is one of the most immense cities I have ever seen. Low white houses seem to crawl up the sides of the surrounding volcanoes and entering the city by bus allowed an almost never ending view of the urban sprawl. My plan was to visit the Frida Kahlo museum in Coyócan, a district in the south of the sprawling city, but as luck would have it the museums were closed on Mondays. Instead I took the subway to the city centre and wandered the famous Zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) a vast, flat square used as a stage for political rallies, special concerts, and holiday processions. A huge book fair was taking place around the square’s immense Mexican flag when I visited, and to the north I could see the Metropolitan Cathedral, Latin America’s largest church. Next to the church was the Templo Mayor (Great Temple), the ruins of a ceremonial center accidentally discovered in 1978 by city workers digging underground, and part of the buried Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan. From there I went to look at the famous mural by José Clemente Orozco in the Supreme Court of Justice. The mural is called National Wealth and includes a huge tiger representing the national conscience defending the country’s wealth from human greed. Then I doubled back to the National Palace on the east side of the Zócalo. The palace was built on the ruins of Moctezuma’s palace, and is now the seat of the federal government. Inside the palace was the highlight of my visit to Mexico City, Diego Rivera’s stunning murals, which lined the walls and stairways with depictions of Mexican life and history in vibrant colors and revolutionary fervor. Rivera was Frida Kahlo’s husband, a famous Mexican muralist and a staunch political left winger.

The only drawback of my trip to Mexico was the location of the conference center - smack in the middle of the resort district of Veracruz. I certainly don’t blame the conference organizers for choosing that venue, as housing 1600 delegates would have been a nightmare anywhere else. I was just disappointed by the surroundings - hotel chains, imported fast food and glitzy shopping malls in all directions. The place gave no inkling of being in Mexico, it could have been a resort district anywhere. Don’t get me wrong, I love going to the beach as much as anyone else. Furthermore I love traveling. I am a tourist and I am thus part of the problem. But I hate the fact that we are creating a “monoculture” – a monoculture that refers not to a single species of cultivated plant, but literally to a single (and in my opinion exceptionally fake and materialistic) culture. If I wanted to see an American shopping center I would have stayed in North America! When in Mexico I want to see Mexico and Mexicans - and not Mexicans cleaning my room, washing my sheets and waiting on me hand and foot – I can get that up north too.

Sadly, the same thing is happening in my beloved Panama. Since I left, luxury condominiums have sprouted like weeds selling the tropical lifestyle to Americans, Canadians and Europeans. I don’t mind the condominiums, in fact in this era over overpopulation and urbanization I am staunch supporter of vertical cities. But I feel like Panama is selling itself out, and I am desperately afraid that, like so many other places I have visited, it will lose it’s soul while trying to cater to the extravagant needs of others (on top of the extravagant needs of the already existing upper class). It is not that I mind sharing the country with other foreigners. I enjoy showing people around Panama, but it is Panama that I want them to see – not just another tropical resort. I also hate the impact of tourist dollars on poor or lower middle class Panamanians. Whole districts are being gentrified and the accompanying price rises are excluding Panamanians. Even worse is the unceremonious ousting of poor people from their homes on what have now become prime waterfront properties. Of course they are offered compensation – but in what form, and can it ever be enough?

Panama is certainly not the worst offender. I have seen the same thing in Peru, Ecuador, China, and yes in Canada too. And I’ve heard horror stories from BBC documentaries and from traveling friends that the plastification of South East Asia continues unrelented and that poor people are being evicted in droves. To me (and this is just my opinion) mass tourism is the new colonialism. When Europeans first colonized what eventually became the Third World (I use the older terminology for convenience), the land and resources of others were used to service the needs of the rich in the First World. Though many don’t realize it, this continues today and the Third World still exports (to the First World) more food that it uses to feed its own people and much more in monetary value than it ever receives in aid. Now even more land is being used to service the rich. Everywhere I look I see property being sold for ridiculously low (by First Word standards) prices. But if Panama (or anyone else) sells all of its prime property, what will be left for Panamanians?

Still not all the changes are bad. Yesterday I found a wonderful microbrewery in the middle of Panama City. Panamanian beer is notoriously watery, but this “home brew” was wonderful and completely local. The brewery is supported by tourists and locals alike and I like that. Other things are changing in Panama as well. As I write this Panamanians are gathering to vote in a referendum over whether or not to widen the Panama Canal. If the project goes through, and is managed without corruption, it will provide a plethora of jobs and will greatly improve the Panamanian economy - but at what cost? Widening the canal runs the risk or overtaxing the canal watershed and creating not a wider canal, but a dry one. Furthermore, why is the expansion necessary? Do we really need to accommodate bigger boats? The Panamax giants that I see in the canal everyday seem plenty big enough to me. Just how much “stuff” do we need and why do we need to transport it all over the world? Of course I am as guilty as anyone else of buying New Zealand apples during the local off season …

But condominiums and shopping malls aside I still love Latin America and especially Panama. I love the enveloping humidity, the roasting sun, the passionate storms and the vibrancy of the people. This country remains close to my heart and so far I don’t feel that tourism and development have robbed it of its soul. People here are as proud and feisty as ever as they prepare for their referendum and hurl insults at their government (both orally and via some excellent editorial cartoons) over a recent social security health service scandal. Indeed, I still love the place and it still feels like home to me.

Saludos from Panama,

Debbie

China Chronicles - Last Installment

30 June 2006, Day 16: An Early Canada Day in Hong Kong

After a long night on the bus with the driver leaning on his horn 50% of the time, I decided to rest and recuperate on Lamma for much of the day. But that evening despite my fatigue we hopped the ferry to Hong Kong Island where there was a party that two Canadians could not miss – Canada Day (a day early). Yup, it’s true, each year the Canadian Camber of Commerce throws a Canada Day party in Hong Kong. Between the neon lights of Lan Kwai Fong huge Canada flags flutter above hordes of people wearing Canada flag tattoos and T-shirts and ridiculous hats (that look more Texan than Canadian). They dance in the street and drink Chinese, Dutch and Japanese beer bought from the 7-11. It is slightly surreal but I’m glad I experienced it.

1 July 2006, Day 17: Temples in New Kowloon and Kindergarten Graduation

Back in Hong Kong I decided to check out a few more temples. I had noticed in China that the temples seemed more like tourist attractions than places of worship and wanted to compare again with temples in Hong Kong. I started in the Sik Sik Yuen Wong Tai Sin Temple and found the air thick with sandalwood incense from hundreds of worshippers. The Taoist temple was packed and nearly everyone was Chinese. People bowed and placed incense sticks in overflowing urns and then knelt and tried to divine their futures with bamboo sticks shaken from a box and later interpreted by a fortune teller. Then a gong sounded and a procession of monks entered the main temple and began chanting. There was a slightly circus feel, but it was definitely not a tourist attraction, rather an exuberant display of devotion. My next destination was the Chi Lin Buddhist Nunnery. In contrast to the Wong Tai Sin Temple, Chi Lin was subdued and serene. The minute I stepped over the threshold I felt peaceful. I wandered through the dark wood complex, past Buddha statues and beautiful lotus ponds truly feeling a harmony between humans and nature. Though very different, the air of worship at Chi Lin felt every bit as real as at Wong Tai Sin, and at the Po Lin and 10,000 Buddhas monasteries that I had visited earlier in my trip. What has caused the difference between the atmospheres at temples in Hong Kong versus in temples in mainland China? I can’t be sure, but a Chinese friend of a friend put it this way, “During the Cultural Revolution religion was forbidden, and with our Gods taken from us we have learned to worship money.”

But a fervent struggle for money and success is also evident in Hong Kong. My afternoon was spent in a huge stadium rented out for kindergarten graduation. Yes, you read that correctly, for Hong Kong’s upper class, kindergarten graduation is an important milestone. Only children graduating from the best kindergartens can gain admission to the best primary schools, the best secondary schools and ultimately the best universities. Indeed a huge amount of time and money goes into finding schools for rich three and four year olds. Of course, these schools must advertise, and the best place for competing schools to show their stuff is at kindergarten graduation. It is truly unbelievable. I watched as hundreds of five year olds lined up on stage and class by class got their diplomas. I was impressed to hear these little people thanking their teachers and parents in perfect English, Mandarin and Cantonese. And then I was awestruck as they put on a stunning musical performance that could rival the Cantonese opera! Scene after scene played across the stage and the children sported gorgeous child sized costumes that my high school would have killed for. There were stunning props, complicated dances, a glittering disco ball and even colorful confetti that rained from the sky. I have never seen anything like it. And yet, after hearing my friend’s tales of tears, trauma and backstage mayhem, I can’t help but question whether putting five year olds through months of daily rehearsal for such an extravaganza is really necessary.

2 to 4 July 2006, Day 18 to 20: Hiking the Sai Kung Peninsula and Farewell

With my time in Hong Kong coming to a close I decided to spend a day in the Sai Kung Peninsula, New Territories. The goal was a white sand beach on Tai Long Wan Bay and the only way to get there was on foot. The whole peninsula is a country park and harbors a beautiful mixture of green mountains and hidden coves. The 10 km walk took us past the High Island Reservoir, a beautiful fresh water lake that seemed to glow aqua green in the afternoon sunlight. At the beach, we picnicked in the sand, swam in the crystal clear South China Sea and shared with the locals a place that most visitors to Hong Kong don’t get to see.

I spent my last day in Hong Kong touring Hong Kong Island. I wanted to see the whole island so I planned a minibus trip from Central to the south of the island via the Aberdeen Tunnel and then east along the southern edge of the island to Stanley. From Stanley I took another minibus past the Tai Tam Reservoir and along the eastern edge of the island and then hopped on the tram for a final rumble through Hong Kong’s diverse districts from Shau Kei Wan to Kennedy Town. At the Stanley market, in a tiny and nearly hidden stall I found a lovely dragon and phoenix motif exquisitely died onto soft cloth using the batik technique. The dragon and phoenix represent husband and wife, emperor and empress, yang and yin, power and rebirth – powerful symbolism. Even better Chinese character in the center of the motif was the “shou” (pronounced “show”) meaning long life. That evening I attended a meditation and feeling happy and peaceful I thanked Hong Kong and China for the lessons they have taught me and I said farewell.

China Chronicles - Fifth Installment

25 June 2006, Day 11: Beijing to Guìlín

The following day I was back on the train for a 27 hour ride south to Guìlín. This time I opted for a hard sleeper on the train. During the ride to Beijing I had found the luxury of the soft sleeper with its closed compartments, lace curtains and velvet roses a bit too rich and isolating for my taste. The hard sleeper with its door-less compartments and three tiered bunks was much more to my liking. Here I got some proper contact with the locals when a boisterous group of young business men decided to take a look at all my belongings. I was reading on my bunk when I felt something brushing my feet and looked up to see two guys happily flipping through my books. In the West this would have been a gross invasion of privacy, but here it seemed normal and the guys and I managed to have “conversations” by passing around my Mandarin phrasebook, reading and pointing to phrases such as “Have you eaten?” in Chinese and English. At one point the young business men engaged in an animated conversation shouting and pointing and looking at me as if I understood. I sat quietly with the older couple from the bunk below shrugging helplessly until we all broke up laughing - it was great fun!

26 June 2006, Day 12: Guìlín

After the insanity of Beijing, Guìlín, with a population of over a million, felt peaceful and I was happy to wander around the Binjiang Lu shaded by Guìlín’s famous Osmanthus trees. In the late afternoon I boarded a bus for Yangshuo, a bit of a backpacker Mecca. Despite its reputation as a tourist trap I had found Guìlín devoid of tourists, but Yangshuo was a different story. The aptly named West Street was full of Westerners, and I was immediately bombarded by a chorus of “Hello, hello! Hotel? Postcards? You buy? You buy?” I made a beeline away from West Street and was very happy to discover that my hostel – The Yangshuo Culture House – was located well away from the main drag and in a typically Chinese neighborhood. The Culture House is so named because it gives visitors a local Chinese experience. My room overlooked a dusty street where I watched people make bricks from scratch. My toilet was in typical Chinese squatter style and was combined with the shower. This may sound disgusting, but it was in fact rather practical as the toilet was always sparkling clean. Just an aside about Eastern-style squatting toilets versus Western-style sitting toilets. I have heard Westerners in Beijing bemoan the scarcity of sit-down toilets by referring to them as hidden dragons in a sea of crouching tigers. But having traveled in a few places, I must admit that if presented with a somewhat unhygienic toilet, I much prefer squatting over the ground than trying to hover above a seat that I would rather not touch. But that’s just my opinion.

27 June 2006, Day 13: The Li River and Yangshuo on foot

Yangshuo’s defining feature is its landscape. Set amid a forest of stunning karst peaks and next to the aqua blue Li River, the scenery has inspired painters and poets for generations. Han Yu, a Tang Dynasty poet described it as follows: “The Li River is a blue ribbon of silk and the hills are hairpins of jade.” Three hundred million years ago the Yangshuo area was swallowed by the sea and when it emerged the geology was dominated by limestone from sea sediments. Karst is a geologic term that describes areas subject to forming caves and sink-holes, and limestone is a typical karst material because it dissolves easily in water. Caves are formed in karst as ground water in underground streams carries away dissolved material. Over time the caves get larger and their ceilings collapse creating sink holes and eventually the strange pillar hills seen in the Yangshuo area.

I spent the morning enjoying the landscape on a small boat in the Li River near the town of Xingping just north of Yangshuo. Around mid morning a train of large tourist ships paraded by with tour groups doing the mandatory Guìlín to Yangshuo cruise. Watching that insanity I was happy to have conquered my fear of traveling China alone and opted against an organized tour. I took a bus back from Xingping and arrived back just as the tourists were exiting the Yangshuo market. As the crowds dispersed I got a great chance to watch the locals packing up their stalls and then spent the afternoon walking the Chinese parts of town. Most of the time I was the only Westerner in sight and I’m pretty sure the locals thought I was lost – at times I was. I found a classic clothing market in a covered alley and watched endless groups of people playing mahjong. In the river a group of teenaged boys were swimming and I had to laugh as they splashed at the grazing buffalos when they got too close, and then gave up and swam side by side with the great horned beasts.

28 June 2006, Day 14: Cycling Yangshuo

The day dawned sunny and humid and I decided to brave the heat and cycle the countryside surrounding Yangshuo. I rented a bike and headed off past paddy fields ringed in karst until I reached the Yulong River. Then I turned south following the river and watching tourists as they were poled along on bamboo rafts. From the river I continued south following a veritable parade of tourists toward Moon Hill, a famous karst formation with a moon shaped hole in the center. After the turn-off for Moon Hill the crowds thinned and by the time I reached Gaotian Town, less than two kilometers away, I was the only Westerner. It was market day in Gaotian and everything from clothes to autoparts, to rice, to live fish and eels and chickens was on sale. Chicks peeped and played in wicker baskets and adult chickens were kept in wicker cages. The birds were bought live and carried away by the feet and new shipments of squabbling birds were brought in on the backs of overloaded motorbikes.

After taking my fill of the Chinese market I reentered the tourist train and cycled back to Moon Hill. As soon as I paid the entrance fee I was joined by a local who accompanied me all the way up and down the hill chatting and trying to teach me Mandarin while I helped her with her English. Moon Hill is so touristy that it is impossible to climb the hill without a “guide” like mine, but since I knew this in advance I didn’t mind paying her triple price for a can of soda and a postcard at the end of the walk, she was good company.

29 June 2006, Day 15: Hiking around Yangshuo

For my last full day in mainland China I opted for a hike along the Li River north of Yangshuo from Yangti to Xingping. The hike was beautiful and took me through some of the most stunning karst formations of the region. There was even time for a swim and the water was almost swimming pool clear, a stunning change from the multicolored rivers I had seen from the train. I highly recommend this hike, but it shouldn’t be done without someone who speaks Manadarin. I went with two Swedes and an American who had lived in China for three years and spoke Chinese well. His knowledge of the language was necessary to negotiate where to pay the entrance fees, where to find the ferries, and where to go when we got lost while following tiny paths along the terraced crop fields. Another important point about this hike is that the towns of Yangti and Xingping can be a bit dodgy about charging fees. The cost of the hike is by no means expensive and we had no problem paying the equivalent of 2 euros to enter in Yangti. However, when we tried to leave in Xingping, our way was hostilely barricaded by government officials who yelled at us when we showed our payment receipt and made us pay again. It would seem that both towns want a piece of the tourist action. In principle I think paying 2 euros at both ends of the trail so both towns can benefit is reasonable, but I have to admit that the way they treated us left me feeling ripped off and concerned about corruption.

I had another small culture shock later that evening as I waited to be picked up by the overnight bus that would take me to the border with Hong Kong. My “ticket” was a crumpled piece of paper the said “Pick up for this girl at Happy Hotel Lobby 9 PM - 29 June 2006”. Following the instructions I went to the Happy Hotel and was told to wait across the street for pick up. I stood at the side of a very noisy, dusty and hot road for an hour, but no bus came. Then a group of people from the hostel (including the fluent American) passed by and I sheepishly told them that I had likely been ripped off. When a sleeper bus approached, slowed and then drove off without me the American chased it down and was screamed at by the ticket taker. It seemed that he wanted to know what time her bus was meant to arrive and she was insisting that they were full. They yelled at each other, she yelled at me and then the bus sped off. So we asked at the hotel if it was normal for buses to be late. “Oh yes” they said “Often 2 hours late”. Great. So I waited some more, by this time feeling rather desperate. About this time strange men started approaching me on motorcycles muttering in Mandarin and motioning for me to get on if I wanted to go to Shenzhen (indeed the border town where I needed to go). But there was no way I, a single women traveler raised in a big city, was going to get on the back of some strange man’s motorbike. So I waited some more and different men came. Finally I returned to the hotel to use the phone hoping to call my American interpreter, but the hotel staff held up their hands, told me they were not responsible, and would not let me use the phone. Oh dear. Finally they took pity on me and sent me walking towards town with a bell boy who spoke no English. Suddenly he stopped and started screaming into his radio in Mandarin. Then he held it out to my ear, but I couldn’t understand a thing. So we walked some more. We arrived at a travel agency and four more men on motorbikes showed up and motioned for me to get on. By this time I was hot, tired and very desperate. A woman from the agency told me in broken English that these men would take me to the bus and I finally gave in and got on. I must admit that as we road along I started to cry, I was past tired and was convinced that these men would take me off somewhere, steal my things and kill me – or worse. But then we pulled into a gas station and lo and behold there was a sleeper bus! I paid my driver about 40 cents for my safe delivery (in fact I was so relieved I would have paid him much more) and feeling rather embarrassed about not trusting the locals I climbed aboard the bus. Why the bus never came to the designated pick up point and why it was nearly two hours late I'll never know. Before reaching the border, China gave me a final surprise. At 2:30 in the morning the bus stopped and all the lights were turned on. Bleary eyed I stumbled out for what I presumed was a bathroom break. I was right, but I have to admit that the toilets left some to be desired. In the ladies room there was a cement trough. No toilet, no running water, just a cement trough. I watched as the others straddled the trough, squatted and completed their business. What the hell, getting on the back of some strange man’s motorcycle didn’t kill me so this won’t kill me either.

A question of WHY

Published in The Hague/Amsterdam/Rotterdam Times 11 August 2006, page 14

Two lines in last week’s feature “Cabinet collapse: the rise and fall of Balkenedende II “really stood out for me. First, “ … Hirsi Ali got to keep her passport, which had become rather important for Hirsi Ali personally, as she needed it to get a visa to the US.” And second, “If I (Hirsi Ali) would sign the statement, the whole problem would be solved … The pace of the matter was more important than a little pride. I wanted to continue with my life.” In my opinion these two lines go beyond the rise and fall of this government, and they highlight the plight of immigrants and asylum seekers the world over, people much less prominent than Hirsi Ali. I think the debate was simply political posturing. Of course she lied about her name and about where she was coming from. We shouldn’t be questioning whether or not she lied, but WHY. Why do people feel compelled to lie on immigration documents or to desperate lengths to sneak in to developed countries? What is the root cause of a rising tide of illegal immigration all over the world? People go to desperate measures because poverty, persecution, environmental disasters, or war make staying at home impossible, and because immigration policies in the countries they are trying to enter are so stringent that it is easy to believe telling the truth will lessen ones chances of successful entry. I don’t agree with all of Hirsi Ali’s opinions and I’m fairly sure she doesn’t agree with mine, but I understand why she lied in 1992 and why she signed the statement that led to the fall of the government: her future was hanging in the balance and she wanted to get on with her life. We should be asking ourselves, as pointed out in the editorial, what is the root cause of the problems that are triggering mass human migration, and we should be asking ourselves if visa policies that make a person with a passport for one country seem more valuable than a person from another are really humane. Just as an immigration decision has determined the life and death of this government, the lives and deaths of hundreds of thousands of migrants hang in the balance all over the world everyday. The time is ripe to consider their stories and to examine the WHY?

China Chronicles - Fourth Installment

Day 9: The Great Wall and the Hutongs, Beijing

I left my hostel bright and early and boarded a minibus for the Great Wall of China. Most people think of the Great Wall as a single entity, but there have, in fact, been five major walls all built to defend the Chinese heartland from Mongol and Turkish nomads. It is the Ming Great Wall (built 1368–1640 that tourists visit today. Trying to avoid a plasticized off-the-bus-snap-the-picture-on-the-bus experience I opted for a hike of the more distant portions of the wall. The distance between Jinshanling and Simatai is about 12km and the hike took me over both restored and original sections of the wall. The views were stunning (if a bit hazy) and the sheer length and breath of the wall was breathtaking. But I have to admit that the hike was challenging. In well over 30 degree heat the steep ascents and descents over crumbling sections of the wall were exhausting and many people gave up and paid eager locals for guided shortcuts. I made it only by taking frequent stops in the shade of the watch towers. While resting I drank in the view, the scent of jasmine plants, and a total of two and a half liters of water!

Upon retuning to the city I grabbed some street food and ate near my hostel in the Qianmen hutong district, one of the last vestiges of residential Qing dynasty architecture. Since my arrival in Beijing I had seen the demolition of similar old areas to make room for high rise apartment blocks. It is true that these poorer hutong districts have little in the way of services and almost looked like slums. But, it is hard to know what is worse the soulless apartments that loom above, or the dirty jumble of brown stone alleys lined with garbage below. I believe in vertical cities and I feel that in this era of urbanization we will have to start building up rather than out. But we need to make apartment towers into vertical communities. In Beijing the hutongs have character. Children run and laugh in the dusty streets and neighbors gossip and play mahjong in doorways. Life is played out on the streets and while eating my dinner I watched it. In front of a music store a group of young men tested guitars and drums while older men wandered around with their shirts rolled up to their nipples trying to beat the heat. Mothers, fathers and children played all around me, the kids running around without pants or in crotchless trousers (the preferred method of toilet training in China where disposable diapers are still too expensive for most). Further away two teenage boys flexed their muscles and tried to empress a girl. Still, who am I to judge hutong demolition? After all, when preparing for something as important as the Olympics, many developed nations might also sweep away their poor in order to keep up appearances.

Day 10: The Forbidden City and the Temple of Heaven, Beijing

The next morning I crossed Tiananmen Square again. By day the square seemed harder, greyer and colder (though not physically as it already felt hotter than 30 degrees). Chinese tour groups had gathered in the square and a queue four persons deep was already snaking its way around Mao Zedong’s Mausoleum. For many Chinese, Mao is still a hero despite his deeds and excesses during the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. Passing under Mao’s portrait on the Tiananmen Gate (Gate of Heavenly Peace) at the north end of the square I joined the queue at the Wumen gate and entered the Forbidden City.

The contemporary Palace Museum and its grounds are known as the Forbidden City because they were off limits to normal Chinese people for 500 years. The city was home to the emperors of two dynasties, the Ming and the Qing and is the largest and best preserved cluster of ancient buildings in China. But I was initially disappointed upon entering because the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the quintessential icon of the Forbidden City, which I had seen umpteen times in magazines and movies, was entirely covered in bamboo scaffolding. Nothing was visible, although to their credit the Chinese government had thoughtfully painted the silhouette of the structure on the scaffolding for effect. Still, I took a picture for the irony of it all and I pressed on. It started to pour rain and I was lucky enough to have the place almost to myself as I wandered past courtyard after courtyard and through gate after gate, finally internalizing the grandeur of the palace. My favorite area was the Inner Court, where I felt the royals really lived rather than simply governed, and the beautiful Imperial Garden with its 300 year old trees. Still, despite the grandeur I couldn’t help but think that living within these walls might have become confining. My feeling of claustrophobia may have been caused by the crush of tourists that arrived immediately after the rain cleared. I decided it was time to leave and headed north to Jingshan Park where I climbed to the top of the hill in search of a coveted aerial view of the Forbidden City. In the photo I can make just make out the golden pagoda style roofs of the northern palace halls, but the southern gates are lost in a cloud of grey haze. Still the photo is representative. After all, the haze in Beijing is just as much a part of China as is the Forbidden City.

My whirlwind tour of imperial China was not over yet and I headed south, following the ancient procession way of the emperors (now filled with pedestrians, vendors, buses, taxis and bicycles) to the Temple of Heaven. Here the Son of Heaven came on the winter solstice to perform solemn rites for good harvests. The Temple of Heaven has three defining monuments. First (if you enter from the south) is the Round Alter and Heavenly Center Stone. This three tiered marble alter revolves around the imperial number nine with the top tier symbolizing heaven. If you stand on the center stone and say something the sound waves are bounced off the marble and travel straight to heaven. I figure heaven must be a noisy place judging by the parade of people waiting to scream something from that center stone. Next to the north comes Echo Wall which was under scaffolding during my visit. However, the crowning glory of the complex, the Hall of Prayer for Good Harvests, was newly restored and gleaming. This magnificent example of Ming architecture (in truth rebuilt several times since the Ming) is a round hall with a triple-eaved roof covered with blue, yellow and green glazed tiles symbolizing Heaven, Earth and the mortal world. The blue, green and gold detailing of the temple was exquisite and I felt deeply moved. True, the feelings of the earth moving beneath me may have been caused by the physical strain of walking over 20 km in the heat and pollution of Beijing, but I was happy to chalk it up to divine intervention.

China Chronicles - Third Installment

Day 5 and 6: A traditional cafeteria in Northpoint, Victoria Peak and an upper class kindergarten, Hong Kong Island

 

I spent my next few days playing local in Hong Kong. We dined in a cafeteria above a wet market where live produce is sold by day and workers eat and relax at night. The cafeteria was huge, stark white and reminiscent of a BINGO hall. We were the only Westerners around, there was no English anywhere and we loved it. All around us people enjoyed their food, drank beer from bowls and chilled wine in huge plastic buckets right on the tables Before we ate, our chopsticks, bowls, cups and spoons were sterilized for us in steaming tea and then we joined right in toasting Hong Kong with beer-in-a-bowl and munching on deep fried pig elbow.

I attempted to hike on Victoria Peak but the day I arrived threatening clouds were hanging on the western horizon. As I walked along, a short man came running in the opposite direction shouting something that sounded like the Chinese version of “ay-yi-yi!” He motioned for me to turn around and when I rounded the corner and saw the view I knew why. Victoria Peak gives a stunning view of the skyline, but the entire western side was engulfed in a sheet of grey rain. It was impressive and I snapped a few pictures before high tailing it to cover.

I also spent an afternoon in the kindergarten where my friend works. The school was obviously affluent and there was even a miniature climbing wall for the kids. But in the end rich four year olds are still four year olds and I had a great time pounding play-doh with them.

Day 7: Hong Kong to Beijing by train

Hong Kong can have hellish air pollution, but during my stay the air had been very clear. However, as my train neared Guangzhou and I got my first glimpses at mainland China the sky became a yellowy brown and although it was still a sunny day, the sunlight became diffuse - as if struggling to shine through a veil. The source of the pollution was evident in the many factories we passed as well as from the cars stuck in gridlock in the city and the many garbage fires necessitated by a lack of trash collection. I have seen such trash fires before in Ecuador, Peru, Panama and even in the Netherlands, but never have I seen air pollution blot out the sun. Though I had read and heard about it I was stunned. The rivers were also astonishing with the water running black or brown or red or fluorescent yellow and mixing like paint where tributaries met. The sun set blood red that night disappearing into a cloud of grey haze well above the horizon, and as the train rumbled past factories in the darkness I felt a deep sadness for what we are doing to our planet. Sure it is easy to blame the Chinese and to say that the sky and the rivers are still blue in Canada or the Netherlands, but pick up any manufactured good and read the label. If it says “Made in China” then we are just as guilty as they are – if not more.

Day 8: Arrival in Beijing

I entered Beijing around noon and after the initial shock of seeing hundreds of people sprawled out asleep on the floor in the train station (not homeless just taking a midday nap) I headed to my hostel. Beijing is an interesting contrast to Hong Kong and in terms of urban planning they seemed to be polar opposites. Hong Kong is a vertical city with towering skyscrapers, raised pedestrians walkways and expressway flyovers everywhere. In contrast Beijing is a sprawling city with huge expressways crisscrossing its centre in a neat grid. I considered these huge roads a hazard to my health and not just because of pollution. There are a few pedestrian underpasses near tourist sites in Beijing, but for the most part crossing the street amid bicycles, buses and taxis (all with horns blaring) was a cross between a 100 meter dash and a game of Frogger! Also, Hong Kong is ringed by green mountains and hiking is easily accessible via the subway. Beijing on the other hand appears flat and dusty, and although there are mountains nearby, they are completely blotted out by smog, which obscures even nearby buildings. Still, though Hong Kong wins hands down in terms of livability, Beijing wins in terms of cultural history. On my first night I was brought to tears as I got my first glimpse of Tiananmen Square - vast, lit by flood lights, and ruled by a huge portrait of Mao Zedong. The history of the place, both revolutionary and repulsive, was overwhelming. I wandered the square for about an hour and as I left via a rare pedestrian underpass I was startled by the sound of gunfire. I gazed in amazement at vendors selling robotic toy soldiers that crawled along the ground firing very realistic sounding machine guns. Whether this was an inappropriate way to make a buck or a carefully disguised reminder of the past I don’t know, but the sound chilled me.

China Chronicles - Second Installment

Day 3: Temple of 10,000 Buddhas, New Territories

My friend had the day off and we headed to the Temple of 10,000 Buddha’s in the New Territories. The path to the temple was flanked by golden Buddha statues in different postures each representing a different aspect of the Buddha. My favorite was a cheery fellow who sat with a serene yet mischievous look on his face while calmly opening his sternum to reveal a meditating Buddha within. His soul was enlightened and strong within him and he had no trouble sharing his wisdom with others. Yet he bared his soul in a slightly shocking manner demanding notice from even the coldest hearts, and the mischievous look on his face made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

The temple itself was at the top of the path and its interior was a wonder with row upon row of tiny Buddha figurines covering the walls from floor to ceiling. Conical pillars housed more tiny Buddhas each individually lit with a tiny fairy light and on the main alter three large Buddha statues and a replica of the temple’s founding monk completed the picture. Despite its name the monastery contains more than 10,000 Buddhas and the main temple alone houses more than 12,000. In the main courtyard older Chinese women moved from alter to alter elegantly bowing with incense sticks and worshipping as the smoke curled into the still air. We tried to follow their lead, but we discovered that worship takes practice as we burned ourselves on the incense pots and dropped hot ash onto our sandaled feet. We provided locals with some entertainment and I think the Gods appreciated our trying - especially Kwan Yin who is the Goddess of Mercy and self compassion.

Day 4: Hong Kong Island Tour and the Fish, Flower and Bird Markets of Mongkok

We started the day with Dim Sum and I got to try deep fried chicken feet (quite tasty). Then we took a ferry to Aberdeen, a harbor on the southern shore of Hong Kong Island where we marveled at row upon row of traditional fishing boats and sampans. From Aberdeen we hopped on a minibus to Kennedy Town and my friend showed me the huge condominium towers where nearly all of her students live. In her kindergarten they don’t ask the kids which street they live on but rather which floor! From the upper class condos we walked into a poorer region of town where the buildings were tightly packed and blackened by acid rain, and the windows contained rusting AC units that dribbled condensation onto the street below. A huge highway flyover passed between the buildings, so close to the windows that residents could spit on passing cars!

From Kennedy Town we grabbed a double-decker tram and rumbled toWan Chai where we wandered through a sea food market. The Cantonese take fresh food very seriously and we watched as live fish were removed from buckets, butchered on spot and laid out on display with their hearts still beating! That’s fresh. Although many Westerners find this practice cruel, I feel that keeping meat products alive as long as possible is a practical way to stave off food poisoning in regions where refrigeration is scare. After all, the packaged and frozen meat we eat is also butchered; we are simply removed from the reality of the kill.

From Wan Chai we headed to Victoria Park where thousands of the city’s amahs (live in maids and nannies) were camped out for a festival. Hong Kong has over 250,000 foreign domestic workers (mostly women amahs) and on Sundays they take to the streets, parks and sidewalks to talk, laugh and enjoy their day off. It's really something to see, and for me it almost seemed like social action. It is as if hundreds of thousands of workers are saying "Remember us. We are a huge presence. We are the ones who run the houses and raise the children here".

We ended the day back in Mongkok where we headed to the fish market (goldfish in baggies everywhere), flower market and Yuen Po Bird Garden. This bird market has been around for years and is a testimony to the centuries old Chinese tradition of keeping songbirds as pets. But times do change, and today the market is posted with signs that read: The Agriculture, Fisheries and Conservation Department regularly collects specimens at the Yuen Po Bird Garden, Mongkok for testing. To date, all specimens have given negative test results for the H5N1 Influenza virus.

China Chronicles - First Installment

Day 1: Sheung Wan, the Mid-levels and Central, Hong Kong Island and Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon.

After 15 hours of travel, including an 11 hour flight, I thought I would need a rest before touring Hong Kong, but I was wrong. I got off the plane and hit the ground running, so inspired by the skyscrapers, the hordes of people and the hot humid air (that reminded me of Panama) that my fatigue evaporated. I checked my pack and went out to explore.

As expected the first thing I did was get lost. But not in winding alleys with Chinese only signs. Nope, I got lost in the concourse section of a huge skyscraper called the IFC (International Finance Center). After consulting my map and fuelling up with caffeine, I walked west into the Sheung Wan district – and I entered a different world. Sheung Wan is a traditionally Chinese neighborhood with narrow alleys, Chinese only signs and hundreds of tiny shops selling the raw ingredients for Chinese medicines – dried fish, seahorses, huge mushrooms, dried geckos on a stick, shark fins and a huge number of things I couldn’t identify. The sights and smells reminded me a bit of Toronto's Chinatown, until I found my first temple. The Man Mo temple in Sheung Wan was built in 1847 and was like nothing I’ve ever seen in Toronto. The interior was beautifully decorated in red and gold, and the air was thick with sandalwood smoke from huge incense coils that hung from the ceiling.

From the temple I wandered east and encountered the central-mid-levels escalator. One of Hong Kong’s long-standing transport problems has been that many middle class residents of the mid-levels, a residential district on the lower slope of Victoria Peak, work down in Central. The roads are narrow and the distance is more vertical than horizontal creating a traffic nightmare. The solution is ingenious, a huge escalator system consisting of 3 moving walkways and 20 elevated escalators. It is 800 meters long, takes 20 minutes to ride and is the world’s longest.

Later, in Central (the central business district) I craned my neck at the architecturally famous Bank of China building, the Lippo towers, and the robotic HSBC tower, all juxtaposed against older colonial buildings like the Government House and St. John’s Cathedral.

In the evening a friend who is teaching in Hong Kong and I took the typical tourist trip on the Star Ferry across Victoria harbor for a stunning view of the skyline. Then we used the ridiculously posh ladies room at the Peninsula Hotel for an elevated look (yes, the toilets have a view). Later we wandered the tourist shopping Mecca of Tsim Sha Tsui where I enjoyed a “1000 year old egg”. In fact, the duck egg was really only about a month or two old and preserved in lime solution which turns the egg white green and the yolk greenish black – yummy.

Day 2: Po Lin Monastery, Lantau Island

I woke to bird song and tropical sunshine. Inspired, I took Hong Kong’s wonderfully efficient subway (MTR) out to Lantau Island. Lantau is almost twice the size of Hong Kong Island and its mountains rise to nearly 1000m and are covered with lush green scrub forest. From the subway station I took a bus into the mountains with destination the Po Lin (Precious Lotus) monastery and the Tian Tan Buddha (Big Buddha). Before visiting the monastery I lunched on traditional Chinese fish ball soup and feeling daring decided to try the local condiments and added what I thought was seasoned salt to my meal. It was sugar. Luckily I didn’t add much, and roaring with laughter the locals set me straight.

The Big Buddha was in the clouds by the time I finished eating so I wandered the temple where the air was thick with sandalwood. From the temple I walked a short distance to the path of wisdom, a large wooden sculpture that consists of many halved logs arranged in a figure eight. On the flat face of each log are Chinese characters that teach the Heart Sutra (Wisdom of Emptiness). Fittingly, the flat face on the highest log, representing true enlightenment, is empty.

I’ve copied the English translation of the Heart Sutra verbatim for reference:

Everything is dependently arisen: an event occurs only if the adequacy of conditions obtains. Since everything is dependently arisen, there is no such thing as an eternally abiding entity. When one acquires this wisdom of emptiness one will realize that all physical and mental events are in a constant process of change, and accordingly everything can be changed by modifying conditions. Understanding the relativity of all standpoints will also prevent one from becoming irrationally attached to things. In this way, one will come to be free of all mental obstructions, and to attain perfect harmony and bliss.

After the path of wisdom I was ready to visit Big Buddha. He was still covered in mist when I got to him, but for me the symbolism was perfect. I could see the outline of something huge before me, but it wasn’t quite clear – kind of like "enlightenment", I can see it vaguely and I know it's big, but I know I am not there yet.

A Bridge between Canada and the Netherlands

Published in The Hague/Amsterdam/Rotterdam Times 12 May 2006 page 14

My husband and I decided to move to the Netherlands in part because we felt that the Dutch were more open minded and liberal than North Americans and we wanted to learn from Dutch society. My husband is from Panama, and a year-long battle with immigration for a Canadian visitor visa taught us that intolerance is alive and well there - at least at the bureaucratic level. Once the visa was issued, however, and we finally arrived for our visit, my husband fit right in. The residents of Toronto did not bat an eyelid at one more Latin American, and even when he spent a month in a small town of about 500 in southern Ontario, he didn’t feel any racial tension. The story has been very different in the Netherlands. There was no battle for a visa, but there has been racial tension. One memorable night, my husband was followed by a group of white males who hurled insults at him (most of which he didn’t understand) calling him a “kebab” and an “immigrant”. The incident did not escalate to violence, but it was chilling nonetheless.

The “immigration/integration situation” in the Netherlands entered Canadian society at the national level over a year ago in an article published in the national newspaper The Globe and Mail. The article was entitled “It just doesn’t feel like Holland anymore” and discussed a recent exodus of Dutch people to Canada - Dutch who are troubled by the ways in which immigration has changed their nation. Now there is irony for you. We moved to the Netherlands because of its reputation for tolerance and now many Dutch are moving to Canada in search of exactly the same thing! But is there a difference between tolerance in the Netherlands and tolerance in Canada? The Globe and Mail article stated that “the ethnic cleansing and mass migration of the two world wars left many European countries with one dominant ethnic group, so the presence of large numbers of visibly different people has alarmed and alienated many residents.” But the Dutch are traders who have come into contact with “buitenlanders” (foreigners) for centuries. I suppose the answer lies in the distinction between foreigners as trading partners and foreigners as permanent members of society. One Dutch emigrant interviewed in the Globe article stated that problems in the Netherlands stem from that fact that “Holland has let too many people in without attention to their ability to fit into Dutch society”. The citizens of his town now come in a variety of hues and hold a variety of beliefs, and to him it just doesn’t feel like home any more. I wonder how this man will feel when he arrives in Vancouver (multicultural to say the least and his chosen point of entry into Canada) and sees that several of the customs officers wear turbans and headscarves.

Personally, I have never had a problem with immigrants keeping their traditions. In fact, I find the ethnic alcoves of big cities - the China towns, Greek towns, Little Italy’s and Little India’s - an integral part of modern living. I thoroughly enjoy it when immigrants become active members of their new country without leaving their traditions from home behind. Many Dutch people agree. My husband and I have many Dutch friends who are embarrassed by their nation’s new found intolerance. Furthermore, many Dutch emigrants are leaving not because of the immigrants, but because of the Dutch reaction to them, which has “turned their country men into angry intolerant nationalists”. I sympathize. It’s shattering to discover that your country and your people are not as tolerant as you once believed. Before experiencing a year-long battle over permission to merely visit Canada, I too thought my country was a vision of tolerance. Still, Canada may have a few advantages (once the visas have been issued). The emigrants leaving the Netherlands because of the Dutch response to immigration feel that “Canada is a place where the tension between immigrants and non-immigrants does not exist, because that distinction does not exist”. It is true that in Canada, nearly everyone is an immigrant, so the distinction between “us and them” is blurred and integration becomes less of an issue. In my experience (and I can only speak for myself) there is a very distinct line between the Dutch and the foreigners in the Netherlands. This is not to say that there is no mixing, everyone works together and collaborations abound; however, in social situations there is a tangible “us and them” feeling. It is uncomfortable, it makes me feel guilty for not integrating more, and it is something I haven’t felt anywhere else.

I hope that Dutch immigrants seeking tolerance in Canada will find what they are looking for. Tolerance in the Americas is certainly not perfect. A look at the news in Canada and the US will show mass protests over the deportation of illegals, much like the news in the Netherlands follows the struggles of Taïda Pasic and Saba Rawi. Like the Netherlands, Canada is known throughout the world as a tolerant nation and I hope that despite it’s own debates, it can live up to that reputation.,

Barcelona beckons: A paradise of art and culture even in the winter

In Barcelona art and culture seem to spill from the galleries into the streets, and there is an infectious passion for living that radiates from the city’s inhabitants. People who are not ashamed to enjoy excellent paella with red wine at an hour many consider bedtime, followed by cervezas and mouth watering tapas several hours later. People who creatively showed their opposition to their governments support of military action in Iraq by a cacophonous nightly banging of pots and pans from the cities myriad of balconies. My kind of city and my kind of people!

 
Sculpture at Montserrat


Living in northern Europe gives me the distinct advantage of having many of the western world’s cultural hotspots a mere stones throw away (by Canadian standards at least) and this past month I decided it was time to visit Spain. After all, the Spanish have given us the novel, the guitar, flamenco, Picasso, gazpacho and in Barcelona they have dreamed up some of the world's most fabulous architecture. Indeed, it was the architecture and the rebellious yet simultaneously laid back attitude of Catalonians that focused my attention on the city of Barcelona and its surroundings.

I started my visit like any other tourist, strolling down Las Ramblas, the city’s most famous street. Even on an overcast Sunday in January, the spirit of this street could not be stifled. In fact, I enjoyed Las Ramblas far more on Sunday. After all, one can find stores anywhere, but when those retail outlets close, the unique styles and spirits of Barcelona’s human statues, painters, poets and musicians really shine through.

From Las Ramblas, I made my way to the Barri Gòtic, or the Gothic Quarter located at the very heart of Barcelona’s old town. There I wandered the narrow streets, walled on both sides by beautiful medieval buildings dating from the 14^th and 15^th centuries. For me the highlight was the cathedral La Seu. But it was not the interior or exterior of the cathedral itself that attracted me, rather the magnificent 14^th century cloister, beautifully floodlit at night, and in that eclectic Barcelona style, acoustically enhanced by a flock of honking white geese!

But Barcelona has more to offer than contemporary shopping streets and medieval architecture. The city is famous for modernisme, the Catalan offshoot of Art Noveau and the city’s 19^th century new town, the Eixample, is peppered with extraordinary modernista buildings designed by Antoni Gaudí, Lluís Domènech i Montaner and Josep Puig i Cadafalch.

A sight that is not to be missed is the unbelievable Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família (Expiatory Temple of the Holy Family). La Sagrada Família is a large Roman Catholic basilica designed by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí. Gaudí worked on the project for over 40 years, once joking "My client (God) is not in a hurry." Construction began in the late 19^th century and remarkably the church is still not completed! I always thought that churches which took hundreds of years to complete were a thing of the past. But when you pay entrance to la Sagrada Família you are contributing to the construction of this enormous basilica. It is being built one donation at a time, and to be a drop in an ocean of such donations, to see the construction in progress, is what truly made la Sagrada Família inspirational for me.

The church’s most striking features are its eight spindle-shaped towers. Many visitors find the architecture overpowering and some find it down right ugly, but I like Gaudí’s style. His Nativity façade, built before construction was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War in 1935, is exceptionally ornate and clearly shows the artist’s devotion to his work. In contrast, the Passion façade was designed by Joseph Subirachs and is especially striking (and controversial) for its understated and tormented characters portraying the crucifixion of Christ. The interior of the church is equally stunning, though it resembles and in fact is, a construction zone. In the main vestibule, columns modeled after trees reach skyward creating the distinct feeling that one is in a forest – natures own cathedral.

I was so inspired by Gaudí‘s work that I spent the better part of the following day in his Park Güell on the hill of El Carmel in the north of the city. Built from 1900 to 1914 the park was originally meant as a suburb for the rich, but it is now opened to the public. Gaudí‘s surreal style can be seen throughout the park in enormous wavy benches, lava-like stalactites, tree-like supports juxtaposed with stark Doric columns, all lavishly decorated with mosaics of broken ceramic fragments, a Catalan technique. And even more than in la Sagarada Família, ParkGüell is in tune with nature. Gaudí wound his paths and grottos around the hill’s natural slopes and cliffs giving the park a calm and peaceful feeling – even when full of tourists.

Of course no visit to Barcelona is complete without spending a few days in the surrounding mountains. One day trip not to be missed is to the mountain and monastery of Montserrat, a 40km train ride north west of the city. As soon as I stepped out of the cogwheel rail car I was awestruck by the view. Strangely rounded outcrops soared skywards in the sun above the monastery, and below the valley was filled with mist making it seen as if I were truly above the clouds and in heaven. Hiking in on the mountain of eroded sedimentary rock from a sea drained some 25 million years ago, was attraction enough for me. However, there are two major attractions within the monastery proper: “La Moreneta” (the Black Virgin), an icon supposedly hidden in the hills by St. Peter, and Montserrat’s world famous boys’ choir. Both are well worth the trip. I was impressed by the understated beauty of La Moreneta amid the riches of the monastery. The choir too was intriguing, and they could have been a heavenly chorus if it weren’t for the beeps and flashes emanating from the cellular phones that people were using to capture the moment. Perhaps they figured it was permitted since the pictograph requesting no photos showed a camera, and not a phone … Still, these days any place of great beauty has its tourist problems, and the camera phones were not enough to spoil the beauty of the mountain.

In fact despite its great (and well deserved) popularity with tourists, Barcelona and its surrounding areas have retained their spirit and very original flare. Barcelona beckons, summer or winter, and is well worth a visit.