Various Follies and Unexpected Awesome

It's a weird adjustment to go from being with someone 23 out of 24 hours a day to living alone. The solitary life has its perks, however. First of all, I've been damn productive. The dishes get washed instantly, the bills get paid early, meals are cooked at home, the to-read pile of books is shrinking and the money is getting made. Second, I get to call all my own shots when it comes to pastimes.

My previous companion was not so big on the genre/indie film watching pastime, so I have been taking advantage of my new-found freedom by seeing as many films as possible at the Fantasia festival. I have absolutely no qualifications to review or recommend anything, music, art, whatever, as I'm not even really sure what I like most of the time. I will, however, say that Love in a Puff by Pang Ho-Cheung is kickass. Unsurprisingly, about love and smoking. Funny, with dialogue that is not contrived in the slightest. Guaranteed to make you want a cigarette desperately for the duration.

Catching up with friends has been a good familiarization with everything from grungy pubs to chauchy (see http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Chauchy) clubs to hipster bars. It seems like the people I know here have absolutely nothing in common, which is actually kind of cool because it gives me a wider perspective on what is good. What's more, it gives me a wider perspective on what is good to drink ... Which in my case this morning, would be less. So much less.

Alas, life is not all leisure. I would like to take this opportunity to disparage my new workplace. I trust that in the unlikely event that any of my coworkers are both literate and adequately motivated to read this blog, they would be one of the good ones, and therefore not offended. Due to the effects of my workplace sucking, I am ashamed to admit that I have become one of those nasal toned, “Well at my last job ...” people that are so very annoying. Some comparisons that come to mind include ...

“At my last job my manager knew my name wasn't Annie ... especially by my 5th shift.”
“At my last job I didn't have to pick cigarette butts and gum out of sidewalk planters after an 11 hour shift with no break.”
“At my last job we didn't staff 10 servers versus two tables.”
“At my last job, the bartender didn't ask what last call was.”
“At my last job, the person who trained me didn't have to ask the MOD how to round to the nearest dollar.”

Can you blame me, really? It helps to gripe.

Speaking of being productive, I should get home and make this evening's difficult decision: Wine in a coffee mug, a plastic bowl, or straight from the bottle? I don't have any of my stuff yet and improvising drinking vessels has become my most recently acquired skill. Onward.

Language Tensions and Hospitals: The Best of Montreal

Just like a true jaded local, my first two weeks in Montreal have been jam packed with spectacles of rage. There are few issues here that get people as hot under the collar as those of language and healthcare, and I have been fortunate enough to have intimate experiences with both in this short time.

Using my first week here to secure an apartment, I ran out of excuses and officially commenced my job search last Monday. I did the Walk of Shame on Crescent Street, up one side and down the other, passing out CVs. One guy was actually waiting for me on the patio of his restaurant with a pen.

I stopped by the notoriously divey Madhatter’s Bar, a black sheep in the yuppy downtown core with its “Golf for liquor” and “All-you-can-eat chili and beer” features. The owner, a big, burly, uninhibited Anglophone woman informed me that although they were currently overstaffed, she would be happy to refer me to some places that were looking for servers. She got to asking where I was from and seemed to identify with me as a non-Quebecker. This triggered a discussion regarding language enforcement laws in the city, which led to her regaling me of tales involving the language police. (For those of you that haven’t heard, there are increasingly active French language enforcers in Montreal who make surprise visits to businesses and evaluate the quality of the service delivered to them in French. If this quality is determined to be unsatisfactory, the business can receive a hefty fine or various other repercussions … http://www.cbc.ca/canada/montreal/story/2008/02/14/qc-olf-0214.html). Not one to mince words, she recalled how she “had to deal with those sons of bitches before”, and that she “told them to get the fuck out of my bar!” Fantastically angry. Fantastically vulgar.

Since then I have done some reading on the plights of idealistic Anglos looking for work on the streets of this city, and gleaned from a variety of opinion pieces (http://www.montrealmirror.com/2008/022108/news3.html) and forums that the options are slim: Telemarketing or escorting - It’s a tough life. Surprisingly, I got a job at the first place I left a CV at. Part luck and part ruthless, self-enhancing lies I guess.

As if job hunting in the heat wasn't enough fun, I was dealing with a minor health concern and had to evaluate my medical options. To visit a clinic before possessing a Quebec health card a fee has to be paid that will be later reimbursed by your province of origin. I’ve gotten this line before and have never received a reimbursement, so I was skeptical. To avoid this process I went to Montreal General’s emergency room. Seven hours later, having had no contact with a doctor, I left. I wasn’t the worst off either, an elderly couple I had spoken to had been there for ten or so hours. Apparently this is par for the course. During my seven hours of alternating naps and coffee drinking, I was visited several times by one of the security guards. We had chats about my “aura and good energy”, his weight loss regimen, and the nutritional value of Starbucks beverages. When his shift was over he stopped to ask if I would like to join him for said Starbucks beverages sometime. I guess being stuck in a hospital emergency room all day can make anyone who isn't saggy or dripping blood look good.

Effort two brought me to Hotel Dieu, the French hospital with reputedly shorter wait times. While waiting, I had a lady sit down beside me and ask if I could speak English. She then proceeded to yell, “Great, there are too many FRENCH people here, so many FRENCH people!” These French people included everyone in the waiting room, and the angry glares commenced. I learned that her husband had hung himself in their garage after losing the use of his legs, and she explained her deep depression following his death. At some point the man beside her turned and started screaming “SHUT UP! SHUT THE HELL UP! I’M TIRED!” Pretty much everyone ignored the exchange, while I contemplated hanging MYself.

I finally made it in, only to find out that the wrong tests had been performed on my blood samples and I would need to give more samples and arrange another appointment. The doctor wrote me a prescription for the meantime, and I chose to skip the follow-up appointment. If and when I return, I will have to be in a bad enough state that my wait time is considerably shorter.

Thus begins week four of life in Montreal. World Cup is over now, so maybe everyone will calm down and simmer in the heat for a while. Not likely, but I look forward to becoming jaded as the best of 'em.

"It's so easy, even an english can do it!"

I've been back in Canada for a week now and have experienced a touch of what I hear is reverse culture shock, but I believe is actually more culture dismay. Things that dismay include ...

People driving around with the bass of their crap music rattling the door handles on their beater cars.

Fat people. So many. I mean, the sidewalks are wider here, but they really don't seem to be.

Pushy guys. Cat calling, ogling, etc.

The number or people who really care about the queen visiting. Like, thousands of them, standing in the rain to watch her look at some boats.

Protestors burning cars at the G20 summit and launching class action lawsuits for unlawful detainment. The controversy that grabbed the most headlines in connection with ECFA protesting in Taipei was that it was a little noisy and might distract students writing exams.

Shit is expensive.

Okay so I guess it's not that bad to be back. Some things are fantastic. Hearing good live music is something that is next to impossible in Taipei, as is walking in to any bar or cafe to watch soccer. As it happens to be jazz festival and world cup season in Montreal, it's actually difficult to not enjoy these things. And man did I miss cheese.

The Sweeter Side of Leaving

I'm leaving Taipei on Wednesday, meeting my mother in Vancouver and continuing on to Montreal the next morning. This is, of course, bittersweet.

To ensure that I do not rob myself of any bright and shiny tourist moments, I have been scrambling around since I got back from Japan to fill my remaining days with neglected sightseeing. So far this has included :

Yehliu Park and the “Queen's Head” rock ... An area of the shore in Keelung that has neat looking rock formations that have been shaped by a unique combination of geographic location and salt water. Although I didn't see the resemblance of the main attraction to Queen Elizabeth, there were some other highlights such as an ice cream cone, elephant, fairy shoe and candle. The road in is lined with traditional shops selling fresh fish in all of their many splendoured strangeness.

Keelung port and night market ... The busiest night market I have been to yet. Although going on a Saturday night probably didn't help matters, it is apparently very well known and would probably be packed any night of the week. I was sold on the extensive variety of urchins for purchase, as well as the giant preserved blow fish. It has a pretty nice temple at one end as well, although I do not see how anyone could feel particularly spiritual after shoving their way through fish guts and sweaty hordes.

The National Palace Museum ... Said to be one of the top 5 “most important museums in the world”. I'm not sure what kind of grounds they rank museums on, this is only what I've read. In addition to being in a huge, cool looking building it is full to the brim with artifacts for the ancient bronze and porcelain enthusiast's (clearly everyone's) inspection. Sections on religious artifacts are relegated to one show room on the first floor and, despite my best intentions, the calligraphy and extensive jade, pottery, bamboo, etc. displays got more than a little tedious. Still well worth seeing, however, as there are a few knock-out pieces that make the whole slog worth while.

Now, for some run-of-the-mill griping and offensiveness.

It's summer, and it's bloody hot. As if the heat isn't enough, there's the humidity. Humid as in, when you walk out of an air conditioned space your sunglasses and camera lens fog over and your hair curls up. When you get into bed at night, the sheets are damp. Why go to the beach when you can swim 24 hours every day, anywhere you are, in your very own sweat?

Now for the La-a. Please forgive me any slant in this translation, as I have been told this is a term for hordes of Mainland Chinese tourists, with an extremely obnoxious connotation. Pronounced La-prolonged screaming sound. La-aaaaaaaah! And appropriately so. When you arrive at your destination and the parking lot has row upon row of bubblegum-coloured tour buses sandwiched into an unruly parking scheme, you know you're in for some terror. The drivers sit in a group airing their guts and chewing betel nut while the passengers swarm the site. In a well-deserved generalization, these tourists are mind-numbingly loud and brazenly rude. A kind of mob-rule lawlessness comes over the hordes, and they elbow, fight, scream, stomp, poke, budge and belch their way through the attractions. Avoiding weekend excursions is no use – They are always there, and they are all-powerful.

Now when you combine the heat, humidity and La-a, any outing becomes, essentially, a matter of survival. Tempers flare and t-shirts stick. I've had my fill, at least of this. Please, bring on the wide sidewalks, culturally implied etiquette and sub 30 degree temperatures. Canada, I 'll be seeing you none too soon.

Izakaya Ya-Yas

Another neat item on the list ...

Can you think of a greater idea than cheap beer, barbecued meat and rowdy strangers? Queue the izakaya, one of Japan's greatest achievements. In contrast to your typical Western bar, you sit at a long row of tables with people you don't know, and when you are being seated the entire staff holler something that sounds part welcoming and part threatening at your party. General ridiculous behaviour is not just tolerated, but expected. Sure, warble Asia Top 40 hits while falling off your stool. Kanpai until you break your mug! Eat unreasonable varieties and volumes of grilled animals. We sat down beside these guys who looked like mobsters but ended up being about the nicest people ever. Canada needs to look into this.

The monorail. Even transit reflects the neat, tidy and pleasant Okinawan culture. Not only does the conductor wear a spiffy sky-blue getup, but a cheery jingle is played between each station (all above ground). It was the most damn pleasant experience I have had with public transit in my life.

Its hard to find much to dislike about Okinawa, and really, the only thing I could really take issue with was the Americans.

At present time there are 50,000 American military employees on the island of Okinawa. There are massive technical and tactical development sites as well as numerous camps. Obviously, everyone wants them gone, and for good reason. While I was there a news story surfaced about a GI on break in Naha who, upon drunkenly realizing that his friends were not in the taxi he'd gotten into, assaulted and strangled the driver. This is only one example out of many. The abrasiveness of these foreigners is at painfully odd ends with the locals. Coincidentally, at the beginning of June Japan's Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama stepped down and aside from funding scandals the point of contention was the military bases on Okinawa. He'd promised to have them moved and following news from the US that the proposed replacement site in Guam would not be ready for several more years he broke his promise. It appears that since being annexed by Japan Okinawa, formerly Ryukyu, has been a dumping ground for Japanese and American political fallout. Raw deal. The “American Village” is a gaudy reminder of the population who sustain it and is complete with a giant Coca-Cola ferris wheel. If you are lucky enough, you can have your suntanning disrupted by an intimidating group of jogging marines.

Anyway. I would highly recommend Okinawa for anyone looking for a beach vacation involving cheap beer, grilled meat, and hot chicks. Which is pretty much everybody.

Okinawa continued.

I left off at awamori. I will pick up where the awamori took off.

Tone Satoshi. While offering around our fraudulent sake we met Satoshi-San, an underwater dive photographer. Very friendly, but we were having a tough time with the language barrier. We had planned to head to an izakaya for 100 yen beers later with some girls from Hong Kong, and he decided to come along, claiming to know the way. After 30 minutes of wandering in the rain we found the place. After a couple more beers, Satoshi-San was capable only of giggling hysterically. At about this point we realized we didn't know his name. Thus began a messy but suprisingly productive strategy of drawing cartoons and writing in Kanji (used in Japan and China) to communicate. He passed out on the common room floor of the hostel. The next morning, we were given gifts that he had left for us including a pricey bottle of Shochu and canned Spam. Awesome, thanks man.

Thanks Ani!

Ah, the wisdom garnered as a teen from a gay, feminist folk idol.

Ani Difranco once sang "...women should be allies and not competitors." Knock Ani all you want, but I would like to think that a touch of her feminism has stuck with me over the years. Hence the inspiration for an offer of the olive branch to an "enemy".

Really, why should a man be allowed to pit two women against eachother in venomous competition? Should that kind of ferocity and cunning not be reserved for someone who really has it coming?

No, I am not giving any background on this. But ladies, I know you know what I'm talking about. Stop, reconsider - maybe this enemy is really an ally in disguise.

Now back to writing that has context.