Podcast recommendation: Dear Amber - ChinesePod

Even if you're not studying Chinese, this podcast provides great insight into Chinese cultural quirks. Episodes are about 15 minutes long, which makes them perfect for commuting.



"Dear Amber - ChinesePod" is also available on iTunes.

Harassment, piropos and hollering back

Feministing's first Friday Feminist Fuck Yeah highlighted the New York City MTA's new ads encouraging victims of random ass-grabbings and other forms of harassment to report it - the idea being that you wouldn't tolerate it at work or at school, you shouldn't have to tolerate it on your commute.


This made me think of my college study abroad in Santiago de Chile, when street harassment (called "piropos" in Chilean), along with other factors, drove me into a pretty serious depression. I actually put on a good 15 pounds in less than 4 months in a failed attempt to get males to stop noticing me. Notice that I say males, not just men. I once had an old man point me out as "potuta" (nice assed) to his 12 year old grandson. The kid then winked at me and yelled "chupamelo princesa" (suck me, princess). Abuelo beamed with pride.

That is no way to start a workday.

I eventually learned some profanities at my own - not that it changed anything, but it did make me feel better. What did not make me feel better was my host mom's indifference to my complaints - she told me that when I got to be her age (50) and lost my looks, I would wish that men still shouted piropos at me!

Has anyone had similar experiences? Do you think that public service ad campaigns like MTA's can help change the cat-call culture?

8.8.08

In light of today's most auspicious date, I have a few thoughts on China and the Olympics:

I recently (okay, maybe it was about 6 weeks ago) returned from a week-long stint in Shanghai for work. It was probably one of the most interesting experiences I've had thus far. As best I can tell, there are not a lot of solitary black American women running around the hoity-toity foreigner part of Shanghai where we stayed. As I mentioned earlier, I was there on business, and my business involved meeting the head of a Chinese manufacturing company, and visiting some factories. One of the factories was used to having visitors come in and wander around, the other was not. I noticed at both places, I was subject to extra scrutiny as our group (which was about half white and half Chinese, with a couple of South Asians) toured the factory floor and grounds. No one was rude, mind you, there was just a bit more staring and whispered commentary in my direction.

I went to one of the old silk markets with two co-workers, and there, it was even more eerie. People stopped in the street, pointed and blatantly stared. For some reason (please enlighten me if you know) it was mostly older women. Older men and younger people didn't seem to notice, or gave me a passing glance. It was the little old ladies who stopped and stared, or tried to touch me (anyone who knows me will tell you I have an inordinate phobia of strangers in my personal space.)

My conclusion (which may be way off base) was this:
Much like many places in America, the residents of Shanghai are not exposed to a lot black people- in the streets, on television, or otherwise. And much like any sort of cultural thing, the earlier generations tend to have less exposure than the younger generations. Furthermore (I should have mentioned earlier- the factories were 1-3 hours outside Shanghai proper) people outside cities have less exposure than those in less urban areas.

Oddly enough, the whole thing reminded me of something someone (now a very close friend) told me during the first days of my freshman year of college. After a week spent at adult summer camp (drinking and partying to the wee hours, hitting the gym and having hungover meals in the dining hall), she looked at me and said "I've never met anyone like you." I asked her what she meant, and she replied "You're smart, you speak proper English, you don't try to be stupid. Where I'm from, there aren't any black people like that."

Moving onto the Olympics-
I know they're always staged and weird, but it gives me the heebie-jeebies seeing how incredibly staged Beijing 2008 seems. There is a front page article in today's Financial Times about China's massive "weather modification departments"- they employ 37,000 people, and have an annual budget of about $100 million. In that article I came across this quote:

"A senior official from the weather modification office in the northern province of Hubei, which is trying to intercept bad weather before it gets to Beijing, says it is not even keeping track of spending on the effort for the Games. 'Nobody is thinking about this at the moment - we'll consider it after the mission.'"

From the weather, to the displaced people, to articles like this one from the New York Times, detailing how many migrant workers have been ordered out until after the games, the whole dog and pony show creeps me out. Then again, maybe it's because I'm just killing time until football season starts.

In case you're interested, today's Financial Times comes with a great little magazine about the Beijing Games and the business of sport, and last week's Economist has an examination of the same, although less Olympics-centered.

In other news, Georgia and Russia are almost at war over South Ossetia, and Mauritania had a bloodless coup, in case anyone noticed.

[UPDATE: Now it is war.]

Passing through the middle east

Great piece of travel writing/intercultural musings on the fluidity of identity. Check it out.

As an American in Italy

I would have to say that my train trip through the Alps from Munich to Venice had the most spectacular views of any trip in my life going anywhere. At the foothills, one small German town was split by the rail way, but each side had a matching castle off in the distance up on a hill. Lush green fields were everywhere. Once we got into the mountains we were in a valley with walls a mile high on each side of us. Everything stayed green and there was one small house at the top of this mile high wall sitting all by itself. Coming down the other side we saw a light blue river that looked fake and then with Italy came the vineyards running up and down the valley walls. Small quaint towns were also climbing the hills.

Colin and I planned to stay in Venice for 3 days because our expectations where high. Long story short, we cut it short a day. I guess I can only explain it as strong feeling being a trapped tourist. I know it was always a city of vacationers and if I had a wife there and I was an old person looking for some quiet expensive nights with a gondola ride, then this would be the place. I don't think I will ever be that person though, and Colin will never be my wife. He's a good guy, but just kind of a control freak. Plus, he has a penis. The floating city would also be a very good place to go meet a lot of Americans and maybe the occasional European. I think I saw an Italian there too. I will say that I was glad that I got to see it for a day (that's it) and I was impressed with the canals, narrow walkways, bridges, and San Marco's Cathedral. It's also the place where I learned about the honor system with buses in Europe and how to dishonor it every once in a while to save money.

Now, Florence, this is the city that I remember Italy by. I finally felt like I was in Italy. Italians guys saying "Ciao, bella" to the passing girls, pizza with the freshest of toppings, cobble stone streets, scooters everywhere, and just a vibrant feel of people enjoying life all over the city. A small river cut through the city and separated the flat city center from the steep-hilled side. The two stone bridges couldn't have been more ascetically pleasing. I thought this even though we had just walked across town with our 30 pound packs on, in under a blazing sun, and staring at the next 2 miles up hill that we had to walk to get to our camp sight. There were a lot of tourists here because of the Ufizzi and statue of David, but it felt like Italy and you could get away from them if you went to certain parts of the city. I spent my nights at the camp sight getting drunk with the group of German girls, a Frenchman, and a Finnish guy. I made out with one of the girls after a couple bottles of wine. We all hung out overlooking the city from under a copy of the statue of David and had some laughs (as people do when they're drunk).

When in Rome, I did as the tourists did. I went to all the big sights, appreciated them as much as I could, then was worn out from walking, blah blah blah. I had three bad "firsts" in the subway in Rome. While I was trying to figure out how to get a ticket out of the machine I was approached by my first ever real life gypsy. Other than her ragged out clothes, stinky breath, messed up grill, and whiney attitude, she was a decent person. Well, maybe not decent, but she was a person. I'll give her that. She tried to explain the machine, but was really just distracting me and then wanted money for doing so after I told her to go away several times. The problem ended up being that my bill was too large. Unfortunately for me, I was in a place where asking people to make change was an insult. I got turned down by a couple locals and even a cashier at a book store. I forgot how I ended up getting the change, but I'm pretty sure I blacked out from frustration and killed someone. That's my other "first." My third "first", if I may, was getting on my first subway car. As it rolled up and stopped, I couldn't help but notice that all the original paint had been covered by horribly done graffiti so that it looked like a crash-up derby bus.

A couple of roommates from my hostel in Rome told me the great story of how they were late getting to their ferry in Croatia. They left one taxi on the way to the ferry because they were pretty sure the cabbie was getting ready to take them somewhere and kill them. So with their other taxi got them to the dock the boat was already taking off for Italy, but had only just left. Everyone on the boat saw them and started encouraging them on to run and jump to make it. So they did. They bolted down the dock and threw their bags on to it. Then they jumped a good meter onto the moving ferry. Everyone cheered. The end.

My action-packed Rome story is similar. At the top of the Spanish steps Colin and I found a Pub Crawl. Pay €15 for an hour of nonstop drinking and then they take you to a few pubs to drink and playing drinking games. Yay for binge drinking! Anyway, so after I had about 3 beers, 2 mixed drinks, and 3 cups of wine, they announced their first game of the night. About 10 guys lined shoulder to shoulder and we had a girl partner across from us. They shoved the can of beer up one pant leg and down the other, opened the can of beer, and whichever guy drank it first won. Long story short, I won. The guy next to me almost won, but instead of winning he puked and everyone saw. Haha. Then they took a picture of my partner and me and put us up on their web page along with hundreds of other untalented winners. See, pretty similar action-packed stories.

Rome was also where I learned that if you hesitate and try to let cars pass while you cross the street you may cause an accident. Everyone gets confused over if a pedestrian gives a vehicle the right-away and you end up playing Red light, Green light with them a few times. Its best to just walk and not look. At first, it felt weird; like putting your right foot on the clutch, but it worked every time.

The last thing I'll say about Rome is that they have the best fountains that I've ever seen, the people were beautiful, but they were probably the least helpful and most rude to me than any other place I have visited. Most of them were not rude, but I wouldn't consider them nice either. Oh, and the huge stylish sunglasses were EVERYWHERE and it kind of gave me the impression that Paris Hilton had been through there one too many times.

Leaving Rome, Colin and I opted to bite the bullet and get stuck in Genoa train station (on our way to Nice, France) so that we could stop off and see the by Pisa and see the tower for a couple hours. The tower was nice, but better was being part of the large number of people all pretending to hold up the tower while someone took their pic. Not my proudest moment, but it had to be done.

So there it was for the most part. Colin an I stay from 10pm to 5am sitting on a cold metal seat in the train station. The whole time the gypsies were trying to make sure their midget was comfortable, the same 20 second techno elevator music song played every 2 minutes, and stinky guy next to me kept falling asleep and leaning on me. Good night, Italy, and suck it easy.

As an American in Germany

Prelude: Other than living the first few months of my life in Germany (my dad was stationed there at the time), really I've spent about 3 weeks there that I can actually remember. I can tell you right now that I feel like I've seen and experienced about 5% (at best) of what the country has to offer. I spent those three weeks in mainly Berlin and Munich during the summer of 2006.

I'm not even going to beat around the bush. The only real beer country that I had been to up to this point was Australia and I was hankering for some more yummy beer from the home of the biggest beer festival in the world. I ran into an early snag with my first beer tasting like a bitter Budweiser. I almost cried. I also noticed a lot of guys wearing tight jeans and jean jackets at the same time, so this wasn't a great start at all. I wasn't a happy American and my travel partner, Colin (not real name), wasn't happy to hear me bitch so much. So I don't count that as my first real beer or real memory of Germany. Oh, and the next day in Potsdam held another let down as I tried my first vendor bratwurst and it tasted like they just wrapped straight pig fat up into a sausage link. Off to a bad start.

A couple days later the true Germany emerged. We were waiting for our train from Berlin to Munich when we struck up a conversation with a local guy, Durk, who was about our age. Well, he was looking for the same train as us and it switched tracks, but no one gave us a warning. So we had two hours to kill before the next Munich train came. The 3 of us went the small park nearby and set up camp next to a girl reading her book in the middle of the lawn. She took us right in as friends. Durk bought the first round of beers from a vendor and we had our first taste of German yumminess. This was one of those surreal moments where you feel like the moment couldn't be set up any better. Sharing a great beer in public on a sunny day with two great people that you just met and will never see again; and you know you'll never forget the moment. After the third round in about an hour, we went up to catch our train. I personally was feeling quite nice after having a small breakfast smothered by all the tasty drink.

Durk stayed with Colin and me in the service car of the train. The car was a little wobbly and got more wobbly as we drank more, but it was great to just be on my first train and seeing the countryside of Germany. They have a lot of power generating windmills throughout the country. Fun fact: 10% of Germany's electric comes from wind power. These were the things I was thinking about while Colin and Durk talked a level of drunken politics that I couldn't handle. Durk eventually got off and we finished our ride down to Munich without a hitch.

We arrived in Munich at night and found our way to our first hostel. As soon as we turned around from the desk after checking in, there were some guys at the long picnic table wanting us to play cards. That's about how hard it is to meet people while traveling during the summer and staying in European hostels.

Cincinnati has flying pig statues in different colors and designs all over the city center. Louisville has its horses in the same fashion. DC of course has pandas, donkeys and elephants. Well, Munich has lions. And just so you know, after heading back from the Augusteiner beer hall, I rode the one dressed like a gesture. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Munich also has the beautiful Haufbrienhaus (Cincinnati has the only other one and it doesn't look as good, but is about as good of a time as you can have at any beer hall). I had always heard that the Haufbrienhaus was the beer hall of beer halls, but when I walked in on this Wednesday afternoon (apparently not prime time) I saw a grand restaurant with tall ceilings, a large courtyard in the center, a second story, and everything was covered in beautifully carved wood. Its not what I pictured a beer hall to be. Colin and I set up camp at a table in the court yard, ready to taste the world class beer. We also ordered the best bratwurst on the menu, the whitwurst (an albino brat). It melted in my mouth, literally. Beautiful. I chased it down with their dark dunkel beer and holly crap on a stick, it almost made me cry for a completely different reason than when I had my first German beer. It was great afternoon toped off with one of the Eastern Europeans, sitting next to us, puking right next to himself and just continuing the conversation as if nothing happened. The waiter had the "Did that just happen?" look on his face. Also, there were two ladies sitting on the other side of us that couldn't have been younger than 80 years old and they were running through their pints just as well as we were. Colin and I were so impressed that we went over there and got their number and showed up at their place later for a booty call and shuffle board... but not really.

When we were in Italy we ran into a group of German girls and I had a real enlightening conversation with one. She got upset after she found out that I had just got out of the Marine Corps and almost stopped talking to me completely until I reminded her of how mature that was and showed interest in how someone could be angry towards military members. She quickly went to Bush's Iraq War and how wrong it was and said that I agreed to it by volunteering to defend my country for any cause. I struck back quick and hard through the easiest and most honest route by telling her "If it wasn't for Americans volunteers you would be living in a Nazi regime along with a lot more of the world." Okay, this is when she did quit talking to me for a good 5 to 10 minutes and wouldn't even look at me. Maybe if I hadn't had a bottle of $2 wine it would have come out a little softer. When we started talking again is when I realized, well, she told me, that Germany as a whole still feels extremely guilty for the whole thing and doesn't want to be looked at as nazis. Up to this point it knew the war was over and nazi things were for the most part taken care of by the late 1940's. I never really pictured Germany as anything, but a nice place with good beer and great engineers. I had no idea how much of a consciousness they still have of it. Calling a German a Nazi seems almost like calling a black person a N$@*&^. I must have been in rare form that night because normally I would've thrown out a nazi joke and made a complete ass of myself. I've been described as "classy" when it comes to my word usage.

As an American in Niger

I spent 14 months in Niger. Before getting sent over there I had the mindset that of all the regions of the world I did not want to go to, I REALLY didn't want to go to Africa. Its always just seemed like such a rough place to live. When I arrived in Niger I wasn't proven wrong in that aspect. However, what I took from there was something that changed me forever. I'm not trying to say that to be all dramatic like I'm writing the narration for The Wonder Years either.

The ride from the airport to my house was one that I'll never forget. The kids playing in the trash wearing rags as clothes, the children leading their blind grandparents up to our car at every stop light, the layer of dust covering the city, the blow dryer wind, the polio victims in tricycle wheelchairs, the smell that I can only describe as African, and the way all looked at my skin as opportunity and bewilderment. I was instantly culture shocked. My ignorant mind couldn't handle this upside-down place.

I have tons of stories here, but I'll cut it short and just tell a couple that impacted me the most. The first was when a few white American friends and I went to see a West African wrestling match during the Francophone games. There were people packed shoulder to shoulder on the bleachers as we walked along in front of them to try to find a seat. A police officer walked in front of us and motioned us to follow him into the seats so we followed. He then pointed to where we could sit, but there were kids sitting there. We were confused so we started to walk away and he pushed motioned for all of the kids to sit on the ground and told us to sit down. He was so proud that he got seats for the white people. We sat down for a good few minutes until the cop left and we had enough time to talk about how the crowd would and should beat our asses. Then we left and gave the kids their seats back.

That's the most extreme situation of how it is to be white and rich in a place of poor black people in Africa. It disgusted me most of the time. I didn't know how to deal with it when almost every time I got out of the car I was swarmed by locals from 5 to 50 years old calling me master and beginning for money. I still don't know how to deal with it. I noticed in the year I was there that the same poor kids were begging for money when I got there were still begging when I was leaving. The feeling that I can't help everyone and that I had to choose who I wanted to give money to and when always stumps me. Part of me says that they survived before I got here and will survive when I leave. Another part is highly aware of how unfair it is that I was born on the other side of the Atlantic so I don't have to worry day to day about whether I will have a meal. I've found out that giving money directly doesn't really help at all and the best way to help would be to put in time or put in money to an organization that helps the region gain more wealth.

Another time, a very good Peace Corps friend of mine took me to on a 1.5 hour walk away from the main road and off into the bush. We crosses a shallow lake and arrived at a village. She knew someone there, but when we showed up the whole village stopped and came to the meeting circle. They feed us their best food (rice and fish), which was actually really good, and chatted with us the best they could. In their culture, a guest is treated with utmost respect. I thought of how I was a millionaire compared to them and they were feeding me and very happy to do so. We all had some laughs and atmosphere was rich with our excitement and appreciation for each other. My Peace Corps friend told me as we were leaving that they would talk about us for years and brag to their other neighbors that they had some rich white people stop by.

I was beside myself when I thought of their sense of community and their style of social respects. To me, Europe and America have some stunning sights, but places like this have more impressive and intriguing cultures.

There were definitely things in their culture that I didn't like. They had the strongest “What will be, will be” attitude I had ever seen or heard about. These people could be in on their death bed and if you asked them how they were, they would say everything is good. I liked their positive attitude, but it's too much for me. Their thinking is that they can always be in worse shape and that they shouldn't forsake what Allah has given them. They shouldn't be greedy and ask for more. This whole way of thinking meant that it was hard for them to change their ways out of tradition so that they could better their lives. I have seen glimpses of this, but it was affirmed by many Peace Corps volunteers.

Niger is also 95% Muslim, which was also different for me. You would see two guys walking down the street holding hands because they were friends, but you would never see a man and woman walking or eating together. I was told that wives cost about an average of $250 and camels were usually about $350.  Prayer call from a loud speaker started up about 5:30 a.m. everyday so I was glad that I could sleep like a dead bear in the winter.  I felt slightly bad anytime I was eating a delicious egg sandwich when I knew the local guys that worked for us were fasting during Ramadan, a month of everyone gets a taste of the hardships of the poor.  I didn't feel bad at all for the goats when they were slaughtered and their bodies hung up almost crucifixion style for Tabaski, a holiday about sharing a goat with your neighbors.  Who knew that something so gruesome looking and horrible smelling could be so good for the community.  Niger was wrapped in Islam and even though I saw a lot of great morals to the religion, I felt incredibly uncomfortable with things such as arranged marriages, extreme unequally of the sexes, and the minutely reminder of how they great it would be to leave this world be closer to Allah.  

Finally, I'll say that the people were friendly and I felt safe the whole time I was there. Those poor boys that were on the corner where there from when I got there to when I left only because of the way the community took care of each other. If one person in the family had money and the rest didn't then the money got spread out so that each person would have a meal. I would say most families in America would envy the way they took care of each other in Nigerien families, but hey, we do have our nice houses and fancy cars. That was the root of why it was so difficult for me to adjust when coming back to America from Niger.

As an American in Australia

If there was a far end of the earth, Australia would be it. No wonder the English shipped the bad boys and girls there (R.I.P Ned Kelly). That's what I remember thinking during the 15.5 hour straight shot from L.A. to Sydney. Coming from the States you get to fly straight through the center of the Pacific and over the equator. If we went down I would choose a gun over a raft. Even if they came for survivors with a sea plane it would take them at least 10 hours to get there.  Yeah! I would take my own life before I would wade in the water for 10 hours.  Do you know how pruney I would get? Oh, and both the sharks and possibility of sharks wouldn't be any fun either.  After all of that flying, we landed in the Sydney Airport, which was my first amphibious airport. So as we were landing I saw water, water, water, then some water, ok more water (isn't there supposed to be land somewhere), water, WATER (50 meters), WATER (I mentally brace for impact), aaaaaand then I see land and hear the tires squeal almost a second later. "G'die and welcome ta Astralia."

There were some feelings that I got from Australia in the year that I lived there from day one till I left. One was that everyone from the Prime Minister (even if he is lame) to the 7 year old girl has a very similar relaxed and informal take on life; not in some backwards hillbilly way either. I just felt welcome to be as casual and comfortable as I could be in most situations; except in high end restaurant, for example. They had class too.

Secondly, their food seemed almost flavorless to me. I could order a beautiful looking chicken alfredo at a nice restaurant and it would feel like I was only smelling it from someone who had ordered the dish at the table next to me (you how you can taste smells sometimes?). Granted, I was coming from a land of excessive ingredients (especially salt), donuts, and McSugarFatBurgers, but even at the end of my assignment there I still didn't adjust to seeing more crust than cheese on my pizza. And then there was the matter of their insane love for beets. Beets on burgers? Whatever, you can keep it. Do your thing.

If you ever find your way over there and get invited to a barbeque you should definitely go because Aussies know how to have a good time on and create a fun atmosphere. However, if they try to tell you that they're grilling some burgers you should be prepared that they'll be cooking probably be cooking risoles, which are almost like big meatballs, and then they'll have a bun 5 times that size for to eat it with. I asked a trustworthy Aussie what the deal was with this and he pretty much just thought it wasn't a problem at all. I mean, its like eating a Vienna sausage in a regular hotdog bun. That's a huge deal to me. Maybe it's just me though. Their cereal aisles were made up of about 15 types of bran cereal, 7 types of corn flakes, and 1 type of cereal with taste. I think it was imported from the U.S. Best cereal country in the world. There are so many places that have never seen Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sad.

Another thing I couldn't get over while I was there was their well-groomed cities. They really took care of their communities. It was almost like they cared for their cities. This was something very weird to me as an American. I lived in the nation's capital, Canberra. I remember counting days before I would see a single piece of trash on the side of the road. Usually when I did see some trash it was from trash that had fallen out of a trash can that had been blown over by the wind or something. The city had trees everywhere and a few huge hills that you could walk to the top of and see over the place. I don't remember seeing one piece of ugly billboard or other ugly advertisement that ruins the look of so many American cities that would be beautiful otherwise. The odd thing was that it was designed by an American. Even other cities that I visited that were heavily populated (Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, Gold Coast) were always well maintained and were visually impressive. Australians love their cars like Americans do, but haven't ruined their gorgeous cities by surrounding themselves with overbearing highways.

The last big thing I couldn't get over was how kindly everyone took to me when they heard my American accent. I felt like I could pretty easily blend in until I opened my mouth, and then everyone seemed much more interested. It wouldn't take them too long to get uninterested because of my lame conversational skills, but for that first moment I had them ever time. It would be the same as hearing some Aussie's accent in the States. Whatever they have to say is always more interesting; even if they are talking shit about how American football is weak because of all the pads and rugby is better (as if they are all just walking briskly around in sumo wrestling suits or something). There was always a big "myth" in the Marine Corps that Aussie chicks loved Americans and that all you had to do is talk to them and you were golden for the rest of the night. I was always pretty skeptical because I had never seen anything like it. I was basically wrong, and boy was I happy about it. I think I'm a perfect example of this true myth because I have an almost girly, timid approach to getting with girls and it still worked. Or something. I feel like I throw out a little too much info sometimes, but there is way too much funny in truth that I can't always resist; even if I am the butt of the joke. Honestly though, it was one of those things that might sound slutty to Americans, but from what I saw the girls were just very comfortable and open with having sex. They knew they enjoyed it and weren't ready to get married, so having the occasional fling wasn't as taboo as in the States. Basically, they had similar mindsets to guys and everyone was o.k. with it.

There are many different regions of the U.S. and I know that usually large cities have a larger crowd of more free thinking adults, which means there are more girls that are more open to casual sex.  However, even if you compare the average college student at a club or bar in D.C. (population 581,000)to an Aussie girl at a club or bar in her capital of Canberra (population 327,000) the Aussie girl wins every time for openness toward showing interest in guys.  To me, there are less games to be played with an Aussie girl.  

In a single guy's world who isn't looking to settle down who is looking to me a girl for either dating or just a one night stand everything is very simple.  You meet a girl and almost automatically know wether she meets your physical standards or not.  All you would have to worry about then is wether or not she was interested in you and why.  With Aussie girls this played out pretty easily for me through casual conversation.  With American girls I have found that you have to show interest, but if you show too much then you have overstepped your boundaries.  There is a game to be played with rules that must be abided by.  They are more reserved with how they liked to be approached about sex unless they are the girl that went out with full intentions or they are older and just know what they want.  With Aussie girls, I couldn't really find a game or rules other than don't be an asshole.  The atmosphere in America is edgy and wound, while the atmosphere in Oz is laid back.  The atmosphere comes into play with dating in these countries too.

I know that it seems that every country is known for its drinking, but Australia is my all around favorite so far. It has heaps of delicious beer, top notch white wine, and more great beer. They have a different take on alcoholism too. I was talking to an Aussie friend over there about how you could easily be considered an alcoholic if you went out to drink at a local pub 4 days a week. Not a raging alcoholic, but an alcoholic nonetheless. After a brief intermission to let him laugh it off, followed by a sigh of pity for me and my country, he began to tell me a story of an Aussie version of an alcoholic. It sounded like a joke as he explained to me how a regular at the very bar we were in used to polish off 8 pints a night at the very least. When the guy had the money he would easily make it 12 pints in a night. I expressed major concern for this guys health and Matty (guy telling the story) agreed that it was quite dangerous and mentioned that he did end up having problems. The guy hadn't been to the bar in a while he said. So, apparently, just after you are diagnosed with cirrhosis you are considered an alcoholic. To be fair, most Aussies I met were very responsible with their drinking, in my opinion, and were quick to get a taxi if they were drunk. Unless of course they were irresponsible.

Maybe this isn't the most interesting subject, but money was friggin' sweet. Well, their bills were anyway. They were vibrantly colored, a different color and size for each bill, and they had little, clear, and uniquely designed plastic windows in the corner of each bill. The coins on the other hand... Yeah, the coins were all fucked up. The $2 coin was the smallest, the 1 cent coin was made out of plastic, and 50 cent coin weight about 2 lbs and was the size of small plate. Literally, it was at least 2 inches in diameter. I always carried one on me for protection.

As an American in Vietnam

I just read an article in The Economist the other day about how Vietnam was growing like a little dandelion out of the Asian poo hole that it used to be. Hey, that's The Economist's words, not mine (actually, the magazine was much more PC). When I read the article I was like "Hell yeah! You go Vietnam." I mean, call me a veteran-hating, communist bastard all you want, but I seriously became infatuated with Vietnam for the 4 days I visited Hanoi. One reason is that it was my first developing country that I ever visited and it just shocked me. I could understand how the lawlessness and poverty of it all could seem so natural and comforting. No, I don't mean that it comforts me to see poverty and lawlessness.

To begin with, I remember noticing how the roads had no lines and how no one really looked where they were going or at whom they were cutting off, but somehow no one was dying. If that were to happen in the states I'm pretty sure we would all kill each other. Road rage would end America. The horn was just a way to let the person know that they were about to get hit. No one got angry about it; they were actually thankful. Either way, they never looked back. They just turned away from the sound of the horn. If there was more traffic leaving the city (for example) then that side of the road just got bigger and the other side got skinnier. There were not lights at a busy four way intersection. When a side was tired of waiting, they just all teamed up and inched into the intersection to pinch off the flow of traffic, so that they could go.

I remember this vividly because my toes were literally curled the whole ride from the airport to the house. I was white-knuckling the oh-shit handle too. The Heineken I was given didn't relax me at all. I later learned that people actually did get hurt from these methods pretty frequently and occasionally died. That happens everywhere though. Plus, 90% of these people were on scooters, so that equals more pain during collisions.

I had to go to work early the next morning and on the way I saw communism at its best. I'm not kidding. I was loving the fact that everybody and their brother and mother was outside in the parks exercising. The parks were full of people doing odd calisthenics and the sidewalks were full of runners. The whole city wakes up for exercising at 0530 and then goes to work. Hey, I put up with exactly that every day in the Marine Corps and only didn't like it because I couldn't exercise the way I wanted. At least it got me up and got my blood flowing so I could enjoy the day. Hangover days were bad though.

Back on the subject: I was talking to the driver (who was a local) about how everyone there viewed Americans. He told me that they were viewed pretty much the same as most Westerners who traveled there. The newer generations had no real resentment for the war, which they actually call "the American War." The older ones did though. He told me that he thinks that every American hears the word "Vietnam" and thinks "War." I told him that unfortunately he was right.

The place just had a fun feel to it. I went out one night and had a blast with locals and Americans alike. I didn't really take too kindly to finding out that the guy at the Techno club who offered me a couple clove cigarettes was hitting on me. Yeah, no more clove cigs for me, thanks. I met a British cat at that same club who was backpacking through the country. He said he was staying in a hotel and eating three meals a day for about $12 total. He also said that he really enjoyed the people there too. That's about all I remember because he split into two people and starting moving around a bit, so it was hard to focus on him. I think the clover cigarette guy roofy-ed me.