Saturday, April 3, 2010
for jo
This probably won't make any sense to the 6 other people that read this blog, but it's for Jo.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
bangkok
The city is angry. Speeches distorted by cheap amplification ring across the rooftops and echo against the neighbouring buildings. The meaning is lost but the tone makes it clear. The city is angry.
Intersections are blocked, guarded by makeshift gates and eager young men in bandannas and red t-shirts. Hundreds, thousands of people are animated by an energy not often seen this close to the equator, where heat and humidity conspire to rob you of momentum, of direction. It makes you shuffle and dawdle and crouch in the shade of trees.
Now the people seem possessed with an urgency that is at once calm and electrifying. They drive around, riding in flatbed trucks and pickups, grinning. They gather at the intersections and squares, eating and chatting and listening to fiery tirades and waving at strangers. They walk around with purpose and determination, angry and excited and happy all at the same time.
Their counterparts are the uneasy groups of young soldiers and police that seem to huddle at every street corner. They are armed and burdened under riot gear, with heavy helmets and perspex shields, formerly clear but now clouded with the scratches and insults of previous battles. They too seem alert, but less confident. There is much tension in the air, making it heavy, adding to the heat and humidity and smog that sits over the city.
Amidst all this I sit in the company of bronzed and burnt tourists. We sleep and read and laze around a rooftop pool. Occasionally the wind will shift, and the speeches and rallies are momentarily drowned out by the music from the clubs and cafes that line the streets below. We shift about, in step with the sun as it marches across the sky. Oblivious to the tension in the street, blind to the angry city.
Intersections are blocked, guarded by makeshift gates and eager young men in bandannas and red t-shirts. Hundreds, thousands of people are animated by an energy not often seen this close to the equator, where heat and humidity conspire to rob you of momentum, of direction. It makes you shuffle and dawdle and crouch in the shade of trees.
Now the people seem possessed with an urgency that is at once calm and electrifying. They drive around, riding in flatbed trucks and pickups, grinning. They gather at the intersections and squares, eating and chatting and listening to fiery tirades and waving at strangers. They walk around with purpose and determination, angry and excited and happy all at the same time.
Their counterparts are the uneasy groups of young soldiers and police that seem to huddle at every street corner. They are armed and burdened under riot gear, with heavy helmets and perspex shields, formerly clear but now clouded with the scratches and insults of previous battles. They too seem alert, but less confident. There is much tension in the air, making it heavy, adding to the heat and humidity and smog that sits over the city.
Amidst all this I sit in the company of bronzed and burnt tourists. We sleep and read and laze around a rooftop pool. Occasionally the wind will shift, and the speeches and rallies are momentarily drowned out by the music from the clubs and cafes that line the streets below. We shift about, in step with the sun as it marches across the sky. Oblivious to the tension in the street, blind to the angry city.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Given the pace of the changes we witnessed while we lived in Beijing, it should have come as no surprise that 5 years later the town doesn't quite resemble the images it burnt into my memory like a branding iron searing the flank of a very surprised calf.
It's not that Beijing doesn't at first glance appear the way I left it. The differences become a little more obvious the deeper I looked. The taxi drivers still speak an almost impenetrable dialect, but the cars are newer, and the meter now speaks to you in a stilted, robotic english voice, reminding hapless tourists to please remember their things. The high-rises are still there, of course, but there are more and more of them, shinier and somehow more adventurous, embellished with extra facades and angles. The biggest shock came with our first trip on the metro. Gone are the overworked surly old ladies selling tickets, printed on the ubiquitous cheap chinese paper. Gone are the overworked surly old ladies checking those tickets, tossing them into overflowing rubbish bins. They have been replaced by overworked slightly-less-surly younger women in crisp uniforms selling magnetised plastic keycards. There are even automatic machines, complete with touchscreens and english language options. The stations are bedecked with clean white tiles, guarded by x-ray machines and shining, blinking turnstiles. The trains are crowded (that I remember) but people line up at the assigned queues before jamming themselves (sometimes with the assistance of the blue-jacketed platform attendants) into clean carriages, again with english announcements and computerised subway maps. It was almost too easy.
I might go as far to say that the Olympics have ruined this city.
But then we made it over to the west side of town, to districts we once spent a lot to time in. The pavement was cracked. The buses were crowded and we could find our way around. We didn't see any foreigners, and when we did they had that same look in their eye: a studied nonchalance in stark contrast to the mix of exhaustion, frustration and wild-eyed wonderment that marks the tourists of Wangfujing and Tian'anmen. I remembered that look. It says "yeah, I know it's Beijing. It's big, crowded and noisy. It's hard work. But I can elbow those grannies out of the way on the bus, I can shrug off the scammers and beggars, I can get a local price on a knock-off North Face jacket, I can find the best baozi in town." I may have imagined it, but when I wore that look it felt like I was a member of an exclusive club.
And maybe that is part of the indefinable appeal of China. It is hard work. It isn't for everyone. I've said before that this town could make or break a person. I am certainly not the same man I was when I first came here. I joined a club whose membership is defined by their ability to cope with Beijing and not go mad.
My membership may have lapsed over the last couple of years. In some ways Sweden has made me soft. The buses are too clean, the restaurants are too quiet, the air is too crisp, there are not enough people. So today I am going out to renew my subscription. I am going to haggle over prices and navigate buses and argue with grannies. I am going to find that elusive baozi.
It's not that Beijing doesn't at first glance appear the way I left it. The differences become a little more obvious the deeper I looked. The taxi drivers still speak an almost impenetrable dialect, but the cars are newer, and the meter now speaks to you in a stilted, robotic english voice, reminding hapless tourists to please remember their things. The high-rises are still there, of course, but there are more and more of them, shinier and somehow more adventurous, embellished with extra facades and angles. The biggest shock came with our first trip on the metro. Gone are the overworked surly old ladies selling tickets, printed on the ubiquitous cheap chinese paper. Gone are the overworked surly old ladies checking those tickets, tossing them into overflowing rubbish bins. They have been replaced by overworked slightly-less-surly younger women in crisp uniforms selling magnetised plastic keycards. There are even automatic machines, complete with touchscreens and english language options. The stations are bedecked with clean white tiles, guarded by x-ray machines and shining, blinking turnstiles. The trains are crowded (that I remember) but people line up at the assigned queues before jamming themselves (sometimes with the assistance of the blue-jacketed platform attendants) into clean carriages, again with english announcements and computerised subway maps. It was almost too easy.
I might go as far to say that the Olympics have ruined this city.
But then we made it over to the west side of town, to districts we once spent a lot to time in. The pavement was cracked. The buses were crowded and we could find our way around. We didn't see any foreigners, and when we did they had that same look in their eye: a studied nonchalance in stark contrast to the mix of exhaustion, frustration and wild-eyed wonderment that marks the tourists of Wangfujing and Tian'anmen. I remembered that look. It says "yeah, I know it's Beijing. It's big, crowded and noisy. It's hard work. But I can elbow those grannies out of the way on the bus, I can shrug off the scammers and beggars, I can get a local price on a knock-off North Face jacket, I can find the best baozi in town." I may have imagined it, but when I wore that look it felt like I was a member of an exclusive club.
And maybe that is part of the indefinable appeal of China. It is hard work. It isn't for everyone. I've said before that this town could make or break a person. I am certainly not the same man I was when I first came here. I joined a club whose membership is defined by their ability to cope with Beijing and not go mad.
My membership may have lapsed over the last couple of years. In some ways Sweden has made me soft. The buses are too clean, the restaurants are too quiet, the air is too crisp, there are not enough people. So today I am going out to renew my subscription. I am going to haggle over prices and navigate buses and argue with grannies. I am going to find that elusive baozi.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
journeys
We're about to head out the door. My bags are not packed, I haven't picked up my tickets, my passport is at the embassy (hopefully) getting stamped. I'm seriously under-prepared. I haven't even written a to-do list, and we all know how to-do lists are one of the seven habits of highly effective people. All I have is a departure date - a time I need to be at the ferry terminal in Stockholm. I'm not even sure if we can make it there - the train I have booked may or may not be running due to the snow that has blanketed Southern Sweden over the last couple of months.
It is a curious state of limbo. I find myself unable to complete the simplest of tasks. I bury myself in the mundane - two hours shoveling snow here or there, baking cakes or fixing elaborate dinners, chopping firewood, doing the laundry. Anything to avoid organizing the pile of random things scattered around our borrowed room upstairs. Anything to avoid organizing the myriad things that need to be organized when one moves halfway around the world. Anything to keep my mind busy.
Running is proving to be especially effective. It's tough going out there in the snow and ice, and I have explored my way around Northwestern Skåne, taking random roads as they appear. My mind is occupied taking in the new surroundings, concentrating on my breath, the pain in my legs, the slipperiness of the roads. And then I get to record it all. Data here and there. Websites, time splits, race goals, calories in and out.
So I get to bed each day tired. Physically exhausted. Longing for sleep. And as soon as I lie down (amid the detritus of our move, the dirty laundry - something to do tomorrow! - the piles of paper, the boxes remaining to be packed) my brain, happily switched off all day, springs into action. To-do lists write themselves, potential pitfalls, delays, problems explode into my consciousness. I start sweating (long a sign for me that things are not as they should be, I sometimes sweat heavily at night). So I toss and I turn. I get up. I switch on the computer, looking for a distraction. I don't sleep.
All of this is making me unpleasant to be around. It's not great to leave people, the people you love, the people who have made the last three-odd years interesting or engaging or even possible with a bitter taste in their mouths as you disappear over the horizon on a trip that makes everyone envious. Common courtesy dictates that you should be happy about the trip you are about to embark on. It's not polite to complain about the administrative tasks that are an essential part of the process.
And in the classic way that these things go, I am least pleasant to she who is most important. This has to stop. Today.
Today I will get things done, and feel good about it. Today I will be nice to be around on my last full day with my adopted family.
But first I'm going for a run.
It is a curious state of limbo. I find myself unable to complete the simplest of tasks. I bury myself in the mundane - two hours shoveling snow here or there, baking cakes or fixing elaborate dinners, chopping firewood, doing the laundry. Anything to avoid organizing the pile of random things scattered around our borrowed room upstairs. Anything to avoid organizing the myriad things that need to be organized when one moves halfway around the world. Anything to keep my mind busy.
Running is proving to be especially effective. It's tough going out there in the snow and ice, and I have explored my way around Northwestern Skåne, taking random roads as they appear. My mind is occupied taking in the new surroundings, concentrating on my breath, the pain in my legs, the slipperiness of the roads. And then I get to record it all. Data here and there. Websites, time splits, race goals, calories in and out.
So I get to bed each day tired. Physically exhausted. Longing for sleep. And as soon as I lie down (amid the detritus of our move, the dirty laundry - something to do tomorrow! - the piles of paper, the boxes remaining to be packed) my brain, happily switched off all day, springs into action. To-do lists write themselves, potential pitfalls, delays, problems explode into my consciousness. I start sweating (long a sign for me that things are not as they should be, I sometimes sweat heavily at night). So I toss and I turn. I get up. I switch on the computer, looking for a distraction. I don't sleep.
All of this is making me unpleasant to be around. It's not great to leave people, the people you love, the people who have made the last three-odd years interesting or engaging or even possible with a bitter taste in their mouths as you disappear over the horizon on a trip that makes everyone envious. Common courtesy dictates that you should be happy about the trip you are about to embark on. It's not polite to complain about the administrative tasks that are an essential part of the process.
And in the classic way that these things go, I am least pleasant to she who is most important. This has to stop. Today.
Today I will get things done, and feel good about it. Today I will be nice to be around on my last full day with my adopted family.
But first I'm going for a run.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
resolutions
I'm not generally one for New Year's Resolutions. If there is something about your life you want to change or improve, why wait until the 31st of December? In my limited experience, most New Year's Resolutions end up in the same place as the empty champagne bottles: discarded.
Nonetheless, there may be some value in writing down a list of goals. The more I think about it, the goals are just another way of looking back on the previous year and saying "if I had the opportunity, this is what I would have done differently". And there might be something to writing down a lost of goals and posting it publicly. After all, there is nothing like the scrutiny of our friends and family to make us reconsider our life choices. In this theme I am borrowing fairly heavily from this guy, a writer I have been following for a little while now, and in particular this post. So in that spirit, here goes:
Fitness:
1) Qualify for the Boston Marathon
I don't actually plan on running the Boston Marathon, but I would like to make the cutoff. The last time I checked it was 3:10:00 for my age group. This represents a significant improvement on my first marathon time. Or to put it in other words, I would have qualified in Berlin if I was over 65.
2) Compete in an Olympic distance triathlon and not come last.
This one has potential. I've only ever done one triathlon, and I came dead last, but that was after some significant cramping, numerous green ant bites, and that bit near the end when I got lost. I think I could be reasonably competitive if I could just improve my swimming, which brings me to:
3) Spend some time in the pool.
I am reasonably fit (most of the time), but I really suck at swimming. This stems in part from a vague fear of drowning. Time to face that demon.
Professional:
1) Get a profession.
This one is kind of easy on paper. Basically, I don't want to be cooking for a living this time next year. I have actually laid some ground work here, but there remain some largish hoops to jump through. I keep dancing around it, but I really need to finish my Masters degree.
2) Get published.
I sort-of, in-a-way achieved this earlier this year, but I think I need to do better. Something peer-reviewed would be nice, but I would settle for an op-ed piece.
Personal:
1) Be a better partner.
Hanna is (at the risk of sounding corny) the centre of my little universe. We're taking a big step this year, what with getting married and all. I don't want to start taking this for granted.
2) Get a dog.
Easy. Life is better with a dog, but I guess the larger issue is that I need to be in a place where owning a dog is a realistic (and reasonable) idea.
That's about it. A mixture of easily quantifiable and harder to measure goals. It will be interesting to see how it all pans out.
Nonetheless, there may be some value in writing down a list of goals. The more I think about it, the goals are just another way of looking back on the previous year and saying "if I had the opportunity, this is what I would have done differently". And there might be something to writing down a lost of goals and posting it publicly. After all, there is nothing like the scrutiny of our friends and family to make us reconsider our life choices. In this theme I am borrowing fairly heavily from this guy, a writer I have been following for a little while now, and in particular this post. So in that spirit, here goes:
Fitness:
1) Qualify for the Boston Marathon
I don't actually plan on running the Boston Marathon, but I would like to make the cutoff. The last time I checked it was 3:10:00 for my age group. This represents a significant improvement on my first marathon time. Or to put it in other words, I would have qualified in Berlin if I was over 65.
2) Compete in an Olympic distance triathlon and not come last.
This one has potential. I've only ever done one triathlon, and I came dead last, but that was after some significant cramping, numerous green ant bites, and that bit near the end when I got lost. I think I could be reasonably competitive if I could just improve my swimming, which brings me to:
3) Spend some time in the pool.
I am reasonably fit (most of the time), but I really suck at swimming. This stems in part from a vague fear of drowning. Time to face that demon.
Professional:
1) Get a profession.
This one is kind of easy on paper. Basically, I don't want to be cooking for a living this time next year. I have actually laid some ground work here, but there remain some largish hoops to jump through. I keep dancing around it, but I really need to finish my Masters degree.
2) Get published.
I sort-of, in-a-way achieved this earlier this year, but I think I need to do better. Something peer-reviewed would be nice, but I would settle for an op-ed piece.
Personal:
1) Be a better partner.
Hanna is (at the risk of sounding corny) the centre of my little universe. We're taking a big step this year, what with getting married and all. I don't want to start taking this for granted.
2) Get a dog.
Easy. Life is better with a dog, but I guess the larger issue is that I need to be in a place where owning a dog is a realistic (and reasonable) idea.
That's about it. A mixture of easily quantifiable and harder to measure goals. It will be interesting to see how it all pans out.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
setbacks and delays
I'm sick. I hate being sick. I'm really bad at it - the constant denials, moaning/martyrdom, the crankiness - it all makes me a less-than-pleasant person to be around. And I hate that it gets in the way of the things I need to be doing. I can ill afford any delays at the moment, yet I have taken a sick day today (my first in years, and essentially taboo in my current line of work, and it appears that this sick day will stretch into a sick week - no-one wants some pig-fever infected malcontent coughing all over their burger). And what will I achieve with my few hours of freedom gained? Will I get anything done on my thesis? Organise any of the myriad things that need to be organised for a 15 000km move? Not likely. I will probably mope around the apartment and maybe deal with the Swedish public health system.
But really I am just blaming my recent lack of progress on the fortunate arrival of a pandemic. Truth be told, I've been less than effective of late. I was feeling pretty positive for a while there, but then everything seemed to grind to a halt. I went from looking at the next 6 months like it was just a series of items to check off a list to working 80 hours weeks in a job that doesn't encourage long term planning. Unfortunately that job is part of the process - I can't get to where I want to be without the cash that this job will provide.
So I guess I just need to suck it up and find a way of getting all of the bureaucratic nonsense taken care of despite the 80 hour weeks and the despotic ravings of a lunatic employer (in all fairness, he isn't a lunatic, only mildly despotic). It might be time to revert to lists, or one of those other seven habits of highly effective people.
Or I could re-watch every single episode of Mad Men.
But really I am just blaming my recent lack of progress on the fortunate arrival of a pandemic. Truth be told, I've been less than effective of late. I was feeling pretty positive for a while there, but then everything seemed to grind to a halt. I went from looking at the next 6 months like it was just a series of items to check off a list to working 80 hours weeks in a job that doesn't encourage long term planning. Unfortunately that job is part of the process - I can't get to where I want to be without the cash that this job will provide.
So I guess I just need to suck it up and find a way of getting all of the bureaucratic nonsense taken care of despite the 80 hour weeks and the despotic ravings of a lunatic employer (in all fairness, he isn't a lunatic, only mildly despotic). It might be time to revert to lists, or one of those other seven habits of highly effective people.
Or I could re-watch every single episode of Mad Men.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
adulthood
I've hit a couple of milestones recently: I'm applying for dual citizenship. I ran a marathon. I am completing my Master's degree. I got engaged. I'm starting a PhD. It's been a big year and it's only October.
All these things got me thinking about adulthood. I'm 32 years old yet I still feel like a child. I've never owned a new car. I rent a house. I play video games when I can sneak them in. I routinely sleep in, and whenever I get the chance I spend the day naked, wandering around my apartment.
What does it mean to be an adult? All of the traditional rites of passage have lost their significance. I moved out of home. I moved back when I was 27. I got a degree. I got another one. I got a full-time office job. I had business cards. I quit and got a job picking fruit. I got another job and more business cards. I got a credit card and looked at mortgages. I quit (again) and got a job in a kitchen. I got into debt. I got out of debt. I bought a car. I sold it for $100 on my way out of the country.
I still feel like I'm playing. It's like I cross bridges only to light a match and toss it over my shoulder, feeling the warmth of the flames on my back.
That said, I think I am starting to make the right moves. To make the smart choices. And it feels good. The things ahead of me, the things that are in the way of what I want out of life, are starting to look less like obstacles and more like items to tick off a to-do list.
Now if only I could beat Felix at a game of chess.
All these things got me thinking about adulthood. I'm 32 years old yet I still feel like a child. I've never owned a new car. I rent a house. I play video games when I can sneak them in. I routinely sleep in, and whenever I get the chance I spend the day naked, wandering around my apartment.
What does it mean to be an adult? All of the traditional rites of passage have lost their significance. I moved out of home. I moved back when I was 27. I got a degree. I got another one. I got a full-time office job. I had business cards. I quit and got a job picking fruit. I got another job and more business cards. I got a credit card and looked at mortgages. I quit (again) and got a job in a kitchen. I got into debt. I got out of debt. I bought a car. I sold it for $100 on my way out of the country.
I still feel like I'm playing. It's like I cross bridges only to light a match and toss it over my shoulder, feeling the warmth of the flames on my back.
That said, I think I am starting to make the right moves. To make the smart choices. And it feels good. The things ahead of me, the things that are in the way of what I want out of life, are starting to look less like obstacles and more like items to tick off a to-do list.
Now if only I could beat Felix at a game of chess.
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