Kiwi on Wheels . . .

 

Evening on Beijing's streets . . .

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee . . .

The Kiwi has wheels again. Not, as she prefers, two wheels attached to a sizeable engine and offering a freedom that only ends when the roads (and tracks) do, but wheels nonetheless. And she's wondering why she didn't do this earlier.

A friend left country for family reasons some months back, leaving behind a bunch of stuff including his bike for when he returned. I asked what he was doing with the bike and he said I was welcome to
ride it, and the key was in another friend's apartment, with all his other gear. This week, it was found.

Yesterday evening, I took the bike for a spin, only intending to go to the gym, which I'd been missing for the past week as Beijing's hazardous smog kicked my asthmatic Kiwi butt. The 10-15 minute walk is reduced to a 3-5 minute ride but, unfortunately, the gym was crowded with lots of people waiting for machines and most cutting in line as any came empty. So, rather than standing there getting mad at people, and having some chores to do, I decided to hit the road instead.

Cycling in Beijing, particularly in peak hour traffic in the half-light of early evening may not give quite the same adrenaline buzz as speeding down a highway on a high-powered motorcycle but it
has its own sense of defying death. I'm thankful for the time I've spent riding roads and sidewalks in South Korea, avoiding boulders and bullock-drawn carts in Thailand and simply watching cyclists from the front of a double-decker bus here in Beijing. All have given me an insight on how to behave on Beijing's roads and, one hopes, stay in one piece.

Here in the inner city, many of the main roads have sectioned off side lanes, intended, it seems, for bikes, the ubiquitous three-wheel trailer motorcycles that are the workhorses of China, plus the real
horses drawing carts from which farmers sell their produce direct to customers, and also buses and cars that are either about to turn, stop or just decide to take that lane. It's very common for bikes and motorcycles to take these lanes in the opposite direction and most of the cyclists seem oblivious to anyone behind them. The route I take on the double-decker bus includes a section on one of these lanes and I have often watched as a cyclist nonchalantly pedals along with the bus honking and crawling behind.

By the way - nobody seems to see a need to put lights on bicycles simply because you might ride them at night.

My ride took me along a few main roads and across many intersections, watching for turning cars (I'm not sure of the law but cars turn on red lights here, so it's a good thing to watch for them), heedless pedestrians, soundless electric bikes coming up behind me (mirrors on bikes are also an unknown here, it seems) and other road users appearing out of the gloaming headed toward me, like salmon swimming upstream.

I loved it! Cycling in Beijing makes me feel part of China in a way I hadn't before and I'm eager to explore this city on two wheels, traveling like a local.

Watch this space . . .

Life goes on . . .

It's been a long time between posts . . .

I've been in semi-hibernation as I learn my place in China and learn more about the place. There's so much to see and write about here but I'm wary of making quick assumptions that rely more on preconceptions and misinterpretations than any real analysis or personal experience. It's such a vast, vast country, with 55 recognized ethnic minority groups in addition to the Han majority so stereotypes are of as little use here as most places.

A friend from the United States keeps reminding me there's no such thing as a typical American - the same can be said of Chinese.

As always, when I travel, I watch what the government does but judge the country on how the people act - to each other, to me, to family, strangers and visitors. On that scale, I find China, or its people anyway, to be warm, welcoming, friendly and basically happy. I recall the dire warnings I was given by many people before coming here and I see the attitudes of folks in my social networks but, listen up guys, people are people, and these people often put a smile on my face.

It's the little things that matter, especially when you don't have the language skills to communicate verbally:

The janitor who at first seemed kinda glum but now has a huge smile and a "Ni hao" for me whenever we see each other . . .

The young woman at the staff canteen who has noticed I never eat there but stop by each day to get the piece of fruit and yogurt that follows each meal, except I take two pieces of fruit instead. She now has two of the best pieces of whatever is on offer that day waiting for me . . .

The people at the local market I go to, a few hundred stallholders who now recognize me and always say hello, even those who have worked out I shop at another vendor for what they also sell . . .

The guards who man the entrances to my workplace, and often open the gate for me to save me the bother of swiping my ID card (don't tell anyone about that one) . . .

The grandparents who look after the children while the children's parents work, and who are always happy to have a stranger admire their little emperors and empresses and laugh when the kids find a round-eyes frightening . . .

The produce boys at the small supermarket near me, who pick out the best of whatever it is I am buying and practice their sparse English on me as I do the same with my meager Chinese . . .

The total strangers on the buses who direct me to an empty seat, because obviously I'm incapable of finding one myself (that's actually pretty sweet, you know) . . .

The feeling that, despite everything against them, I'm in a place where people believe that hard work results in earned rewards . . .

It's far from paradise, of course, but most of this crazy, messed-up, wonderful world is far from paradise. I like that the locals here try to make the best of what they have.

And yes, there are plenty of negatives, such as the pea soup impersonating air outside my window as I type. But, you know, it's life, and I'm content living it here for now . . .

Small steps to awesome . . .

I have long been an "all or nothing" kinda gal.

It seems I was always that way, even as a child. I remember my mother telling me as a teen, when I was distraught about something, that I seemed to lack the ability to see shades of gray. That, to me, things were either good or bad, right or wrong; people also, and that life wasn't that simple, she said.

I understood that of course, intellectually at least, and tried to apply it in my dealings with others. But I never treated myself that way. Everything had to be all or nothing, in every aspect of my life. That led to some incredible adventures and some amazing highs, but it also caused some major lows. Not surprisingly, not being perfect, it also led me to be incredibly hard on myself when I didn't reach my own high standards.

That has changed of late, in a gradual, slow way I didn't even recognize until very recently. There are probably many catalysts - growing older, accepting that being the best I can be doesn't require comparisons with others and, probably most of all, becoming a friend, supporter and cheerleader for a friend in NorCal who has way too much in common with me. Whom I often gently tell the cliches we all know but often fail to heed - to take life in small steps, celebrate small successes on the way to the big goals, walk before you can run, learn to cook a simple meal before tackling a gourmet feast (that last one is mine, and very specific to this friend).

And in giving these long-distance pep talks, it seems I have been listening myself. Without realizing how much I was taking in.

Health-wise is where it has been most noticeable. Having decided to reclaim the fitness I'd let slip in the past few years, I'd been forcing myself to go to the gym for a few months now, pushing myself to attend yoga class. And, although I always felt better for doing so, getting there was a chore, especially rising early enough on cold winter mornings after working a night shift to travel to the yoga studio in time for my favorite classes.

So I bought a mat, found and bookmarked online a selection of yoga routines I enjoy and started getting up when my body wanted, and doing whichever routine I felt most in need of that day. Then, after a good breakfast, I'd go to the gym on the days I had time, while keeping in mind a minimum number of times I wanted to go each week. Without the pressure I'd been putting on myself, it became more fun, yoga something I now look forward to each morning to stretch and wake and start my day well. Even my gym time has gone from my inner voice counting down the kilometers I had left to do on the treadmill or elliptical trainer ("1 more km, .5 to go") to having fun seeing what my body could still do.

I surprised myself last week by running, if only for a few minutes at a time, and enjoying it. That's a big deal for someone who used being asthmatic to get out of ever running at school, then used having had a fractured spine and broken ankles as self-justification to not do so as an adult. (I'm being mindful of past injuries, hence just the short spurts of speed for now.) I also realized that, if I had set myself a goal to run, I would have probably set something unrealistic and been disappointed. Having not done so, a small, small step (or a number of speeded-up small, small steps) became a sense of achievement. Since then, it's been fun to run a little each day and see how my body feels for it.

Then today, when I'd planned a rest day, I woke early and full of energy and with nothing much I needed to do before work. So, after yoga and breakfast, I went to the gym. Here's the thing - I didn't go because I felt I should or that I needed to, but because I wanted to. My fitness level is back to where I want to work out, rather than it being a chore, and I've gotten there by not setting goals, but simply taking small steps. And sure, I'd love to get back to the 55 kg size 4 I was some years back, but I'd rather be healthy and comfortable in my body and enjoy good food.

Work-wise, my progress has been similar. When I started my new job six months ago, I'd beat myself up each time I got something wrong until I was so scared of making mistakes I second-guessed every decision I made. Letting go of always needing to be perfect means it's OK to sometimes make mistakes, learn from them and move on. Doing the best I can while accepting that others may be better not only makes work more enjoyable, but regaining my confidence makes my work better.

Emotionally, I've learned to dial back a little also and learn to let go when I need to. To realize that it's normal to have lonely times when I'm in a new place and that solitude isn't always a bad thing. That friends take time to make and to appreciate those I have are only as far away as a computer or a call. To understand that going from being someone's significant other to being their loving friend takes time and comes with speed bumps and allowing that to develop in its own time also. And to start behaving more as a friend myself, and to myself, if I want that in return.

Spiritually, I'm probably as confused as I ever was. I believe there is something much more than just the material world in which we live, that there's an essence and a purpose that goes beyond this, but I'm still unsure just what, or who,  that is. But I realize that also is OK. That there is no reason to expect myself to understand mysteries far greater minds have pondered for centuries without agreement, but to keep questioning and questing and keep an open mind. While being grateful and appreciative of just how wonderful this physical world is and can be.

So, for me, these small steps have led to peace, and contentment, and, dare I say it, even moments or days of that often-elusive happiness. I expect and trust that will only improve, small step by small step.

The prerequisite retrospective . . .

I rang in New Year 2013 with friends, but not with the special somebody I wanted to be with, and that sorta set a precedent for the rest of the year - a lot of time with my heart and soul in one place, my body in another and my head often missing in action. It hasn't been an easy year but, looking back, I've learned much from it and gained in the learning.

And now, as we prepare for 2014, I'm reasonably at peace. I won't spend this New Year with a special somebody either, but I will spend it with new friends, and that is pretty special. I'll also spend it in a new country that I am just beginning to scratch the surface of, for good and bad. And I'll spend it, as I did Christmas, connected via the interwebs to a huge network of friends, family, colleagues and fellow adventurers that make my world that much more exciting.

Two years ago, as I cooked a special New Year's meal for my intended, my plans for where I would be today were not where I am now. But that's always the way with plans, isn't it? The trick to enjoying life to its utmost, which I admit I forgot for a while this year, is to accept the blows life deals you, roll with them and bounce back up. Or even better, to use an aikido philosophy, accept the energy aimed against you, welcome it and redirect it.

So, no New year's resolutions, as I'm not a believer in them, just a choice to continue to look for the best in everything and treat myself and others the best I can. To continue to try to be kinder, more considerate and try have more empathy for others. And to ride this wild roller coaster called life as long and as well as I can.

May 2014 bring you all love, light and laughter, good friends, good health and peace. And for those of us who welcome such things, may it bring excitement, adventure and really wild things.

Happy New Year!

and a pukeko in a ponga tree . . .

It's almost Christmas . . .

It won't by any means be my first Christmas away from home - I think I've only had one Christmas with the "right" weather in 10 or 12 years. That, for Antipodeans, means a day of scorching sun during which you laze at the most convenient gorgeous water hole, scoffing strawberries and cherries and fresh stone fruit, and possibly some cold glazed ham.

For most of my childhood, Christmas was spent at Eskdale River, where we would swim and play ball games and climb trees and gorge on fabulous food.

In Australia, the Brits would take over Bondi beach and everyone else in Sydney would find a quieter, cleaner piece of coast - luckily that's easy in Oz. But by that stage, I was working, mainly in restaurants, so I would offer to work Christmas so those with families could spend it with them. Tips were good and you're guaranteed a Christmas dinner when you work in a hotel, bar or restaurant.

I also offered to work Christmas when I returned home and fell into journalism. It was always an odd day to work as a reporter - half "Fluffy Bunny" stories and half tragedies that were more tragic because of the day. Christmas is always good for a couple of tragedies, if you look in the right places.

So I'm accustomed to not having a typical Christmas, but I seem to have formed a few traditions of my own along the way. In Dunedin, New Zealand, if I wasn't working at Christmas, friends and I would spend it at a favorite Chinese restaurant that served great (for Dunedin, NZ) dim sum.

There's some irony in remembering that this year, as I wonder where I can go for a meal that isn't Chinese, pizza or wings - the main choices in my immediate neighborhood.

In Korea, I experienced my first winter Christmas and my first white Christmas, and it was much more traditional. Ham, turkey, rare roast beef - all the trimmings. And eggnog - that's where I first encountered eggnog (I could make my own here, a great chef friend sent me a recipe, but I'm a little wary of imbibing raw eggs in China).

And I've adopted friends' seasonal traditions also. I've been scouring the Western marts for a piece of corned silverside because a dear friend's mother makes corned beef for New Year (and it makes great hash), and two years ago, I cooked it for the first time. That is now part of the season for me.

So, this year, my first in China, I'm interested to see what may become part of my own Christmas tradition. It definitely won't be a tree and gifts and children, but I plan for it to still be full of joy and wonder and appreciation.

And the gifts may not be wrapped, but instead at the other end of an international call or skype but. hey, if that's my Christmas, I will be thankful for it.

I hope you are all thankful for yours . . .

Have yourself a merry little Christmas . . .

Tis the season . . . 

The week before Christmas, when I was 17, my mother had just left an brief, ill-fated, ill-matched marriage and was living in rental accommodation two doors away from a gang headquarters with my younger brother and sister. 

Prior to the marriage, she had worked incredibly hard for many years, saved every cent she could and almost paid off the house we lived in. She cashed that in when she married, put it into her new relationship (it's a family trait to give your all to what you believe in) and, when it didn't work out, walked away with nothing financially (we're also fiercely proud).


I wasn't there at the time. I'd left home and left town and was pretending to be an independent adult in a city as far away as I could manage at the time. I don't know what she was thinking, because it was something we could never ask her about, but I imagine she felt she'd let us down, with Christmas fast approaching and not even a tree, let alone gifts. Decorating the house at Christmas had always been a big thing growing up.

That's only what I imagine, because I was hours away, until I got the call to come home.

Mum was in hospital, having tried to burn down the house with herself in it. She had, of course, put my younger brother and sister in a cab and sent them to my sister's before she did so. She always looked out for us before herself. 

She survived, was put into a psychiatric ward and didn't recognize us for months. Family and friends rallied round and found a new house for her, we did the best we could as children going through trauma but we also bumped and rubbed and abraded each other in the process. I think that we, the children, have forgiven each other for the blame that was thrown around recklessly at the time, but we were never really close before and have been less so since.

I believe we do try to understand each other, and why we are who we are.

So I know, firsthand, the pressure this time of year can put on people.

I also know the alternative . . .

That Christmas, and birthdays, and all the festivities and dates we celebrate are simply that - dates. That, yes, it's all marketing, and Christmas is just a date taken by the Christians from a pagan festivity to make it their own and then taken by corporations to make it their own, as with Thanksgiving, and Easter, and every other Hallmark Card occasion we are expected to celebrate (read: buy gifts). 

But, and this is a big BUT, they can also be reminders to truly celebrate the people who matter. 

How about we stop treating them as mandatory celebrations and start treating them as reminders?

"Hey, it's Christmas, have I told you how amazing you are?"

"It's your birthday, let's celebrate you being in the world and part of my life!"

Even, "I am so sorry you are gone, but I thank you for all you taught me and am happy I knew you."

We have options - we always have options.

The year my mother succeeded in ending her life (forgive me if I sound at all flippant here, I am anything but), she did so at the end of November. I couldn't face going home so instead went to stay with a dear friend in the US. She and her son were going to Chicago to visit her mother for Christmas and invited me along but I really wasn't up for a family Christmas. Another friend invited me to go to Seattle with him and his partner to spend time with his family. I wasn't up for that either.

Instead, I stayed in Alexandria and walked my friend's dogs and threw sticks in the snow and spent Christmas Day helping feed homeless people at the Washington Cathedral.

And learned, in the depth of my despair, a little gratitude. Learned that the most important thing isn't the gift or the wrapping, but the care and love that goes along with it. No matter who it is for . . .

This Christmas, I'm missing someone else from my life. And, as always when you truly care, sometimes it hurts so bad it seems unbearable.

But it's not. I'm alive, and by being alive I carry within me the lessons learned from my mother (who, by the way, was an incredible person, please don't misjudge that) and all those I have loved during my life, and I hope the painful parts have served to make me better understand the pain of others.

And the only presents I desire are those I already have - the love and friendship of those I love and care for, the care of friends and colleagues, the understanding of my family.

I will try to offer the same in return . . .

The Art of Breathing (continued) . . .

Beijing . . .

It brings to mind images of Tian'anmen Square, the Great Wall, Peking Duck and, increasingly, bad air. Really bad air. Air so bad that the air quality monitor on the Beijing Embassy has measured it some days as above 500, which was previously considered the top of the scale (an air quality index of 301 - 500 is considered hazardous).

The view from my apartment on a 'moderate' air day.

The most serious concern is particulates of less than 2.5 micrometers in diameter (PM 2.5) as they are small enough to get into the lungs and blood stream. Air quality, or lack thereof, is a big factor for most foreign workers considering moving to China and a constant topic of conversation for all who live here, both locals and expats. The country is working to improve the air quality but that will take time. Ways to alleviate the problem until then are to use masks outside and air filters inside. The problem being, in this country where most things are cheaper than in Western countries, air filters are exorbitantly expensive.

Someone who noticed that earlier than me, and came up with a solution is Thomas Talhelm, who came to China last year on a Fulbright scholarship. Noticing that most commercial air filters cost from $600 - $1,200 or more, he started to look at how they were made and how they worked. Being a self-confessed data nerd, he bought a HEPA filter, strapped it to a fan he had modified, tested the results with a particle counter and published them on a blog called Particle Counting.

In a land known for reverse engineering, he reverse engineered expensive commercial filters and came up with a DIY solution for a fraction of the cost. He published the results and started giving workshops on how to make your own HEPA filter but also, after people told him they were having difficulty sourcing the materials, he and two friends (Anna Guo and Gus Tate) ordered the parts in bulk and selling the kits for 200 RMB - less than $33 at today's exchange rate. They will also ship them anywhere in China at no extra cost.

The three admit they are not experts in air pollution but present data and video of the effect the DIY filters have on PM2.5 and PM5 and, with my trusty Honeywell HEPA filter shorted out, I decided it was worth spending $33 to test the results myself.

And I am impressed. Since inadvertently killing my commercial filter, I'd been waking each morning with sore, streaming eyes and a sore throat - not good symptoms for an asthmatic with the worst of the pollution expected during the fast-approaching winter. Those symptoms disappeared the morning after I bought, assembled and set up my DIY filter and my breathing feels like it's improved even when I venture out into the often cruddy air.

My DIY Hepa filter and the dearly departed Honeywell it is replacing.

I have a fairly large apartment so will buy another one or two DIY filters to take me safely through winter's worst.

My next task, finding an effective mask I can bear to wear for when I venture out . . .