Traveling East

On my way out of Taichung today, I decided to stop by the Maxway factory, where the frame of the bike I’ve been riding across Asia (a Surly Long Haul Trucker) was constructed. Fully expecting to be barred from entering, I still figured it would be fun to get a photo of my bike by the front gate.

What actually happened was this: I rolled up to the front entry (which was completely open), poked my head in the front office, said hello, and asked if anybody spoke English. In the back of the room, two people jumped up and ran forward—one was the company sales manager, who greeted me warmly, dragged me over to the conference room, and ran off to get me some tea and find the factory manager! I’d actually sent an email about dropping by over the weekend, but got an auto response that their server had rejected it. Turns out it got through anyway and they were expecting me.

I had an incredible time. The people at the factory were gracious and welcoming—kind enough to chat with me for an hour, give me a tour of the factory, and even take me out to lunch (apparently Dajia, where the factory is located, is well known for its beef noodles). Several workers wanted to take photos with me, too. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face for the rest of the afternoon.

The factory manager.

Well, I’ve delayed so long in writing here that I’m already in Hokkaido, the northernmost of the main Japanese islands. It’s been a brilliant 61 days in Japan so far, even though the first 30 were nearly all rain. Getting so far north and late in the year now, I’m finally having to wear more clothes than just bike shorts and a t-shirt in the mornings and evenings. Crazy to realize I’ve been here long enough to be entering the fall.

Every time I’ve found public wifi in the past week (amazingly rarely in very-connected-Japan), I’ve been instantly inundated with news about the insane events in Ferguson, Missouri. I’ve always planned some pithy tweet or nice photo to post, but I can never seem to do it after I see the news.

I’m glad I’m seeing it; it’s really important stuff. But it’s also crazy and scary to see while traveling abroad. Going through Tibet, I built up quite a few opinions and thoughts about what I saw there—and plenty more as I talked with occasional Chinese people about it in mainland provinces. But it all feels flipped around and reversed right now. I’m the pot calling the kettle black, the one with no right to talk about cultural oppression and so on. Because I’m American.

Of course it’s obvious that racism isn’t and never has been a solved problem in the US. Police (and other scared white males) have shot plenty of unarmed, apparently unthreatening black boys and men in the last few years. But the police response to the protests is utterly mind-boggling. Yes, they are using tear gas and rubber bullets. This is not Ukraine. It’s not Gaza. But they have snipers, flak jackets, and armored personnel carriers. To observe peaceful protests. They are actively pointing guns at people. In people’s back yards. They are arresting journalists just for being present.

I don’t expect any of this in my home. Sure, we have our problems. People do stupid things sometimes. Terrible things sometimes. But not like this. It’s so utterly ridiculous. There aren’t any Americans here to talk with about it. And since mainstream news coverage seem either blithely ignorant of the situation or actively suppressed, most Japanese here haven’t even heard of it. I’d be terribly embarrassed and ashamed if the subject did come up. What am I doing, gallivanting around Asia when I come from a country like that?

It’s been pretty gray since I got to Okinawa two days ago—I came in on the heels of Tropical Storm Halong (it delayed my flight by 5 hours) and the skies have been overcast with its trailing effects since. Yesterday afternoon the clouds started to clear, though. The beach and sea are beautiful in the sun.

Since I arrived, I’ve been wandering around Naha, the capital city of Okinawa. I’d originally planned for my bike to get here just before me, but it turns out you need a passport copy and all kinds of other detailed info to ship the bike internationally, which I’d of course neglected to give to my friend Ruthie back in SF who is actually dropping the bike in the mail. Even better, my primary email address was blocked while I was in China, so I never saw the email from her asking for all that stuff! Happily, it’s all taken care of now (yay open internet in Hong Kong) and my bike should arrive today or tomorrow. Now I just need to kick the cold I picked up as a result of getting severely dehydrated while hiking in Hong Kong.

In the mean time, I’ve been enjoying wandering around town here. My first day I visited Shuri Castle, where the king ruled Ryukyu (the name if Okinawa when it was an independent nation). It’s a beautiful place with a fascinating combination of Japanese and Chinese styles. During the battle of Okinawa in WWII, the Japanese built their command center underneath the castle, which resulted in the structure being almost completely obliterated. Photos afterward show it as nothing more than burnt trees and piles of rubble. The entire place is a complete reconstruction! Placards on buildings or rooms occasionally note that historians have no idea what a particular place was used for.

Illiteracy

While looking for some tasty dinner last night, I happened across a very nice looking izakaya, but was a little frustrated when I could barely read the menu posted outside. A lot of kanji (letters taken directly from Chinese; you need to know about 3,000 to be literate in modern Japan) can make reading hard, but when things are hand-written or written in a cursive style, it sometimes gets near impossible for me. When I don’t speak the language at all, such as in China, Nepal, or India, this never stops me—I can always gesticulate, point at pictures, or point at something good looking that somebody at the next table over is eating. In Japan, however, where I can speak the language just enough to get by, I instead feel ashamed and bashful about it. I almost walked away without going in. I wonder if this is how it feels to be illiterate. It’s terrible.

Ultimately, I got over myself and walked in anyway. Ironically, after all my hemming and hawing, the waiter set an English menu down in front of me. I needn’t have even worried at all!

Even better, I found myself in a conversation with the couple sitting next to me at the bar after only a few minutes. We had a great evening attempting to converse in my poor Japanese and their poor English. We shared a few plates, too (izakaya food is kind of like tapas—drinks and lots of small plates of different things). Occasionally meeting people like this is one of the highlights of traveling.

The last (and first) time I visited Hong Kong was a little over 13 years ago, just a couple years after it was handed back to China by the British, so it was still relatively unaffected by Chinese influence. Today, the laws and regulations are still pretty similar—crossing from China to Hong Kong includes all the border control and customs rigamarole that going to another country does—but politically and culturally things are now really beginning to shift.

Walking around town the last three and a half days, it’s been impossible to miss the Alliance for Peace and Democracy petitioners. It seems like they’re on every other street corner across the whole city.

The first time I saw them, I thought they were from Occupy Central with Love and Peace, an activist group trying to ensure Hong Kong’s chief executive is elected by popular vote. The Chinese government recently stated that the next chief executive will be selected by special committee, one of the first really big political changes bringing Hong Kong more in line with Chinese politics. (More subtle changes, such as a general movement of communist party members into various government positions, have of course been happening for years.) The alliance for Peace and Democracy, on the other hand, is a reactionary group simply campaigning against Occupy Central and nothing else. They are supposedly sympathetic to the desire for Hong Kong to maintain its democratic government, but also say that contesting Beijing on the matter of electing the chief executive is foolhardy and likely to bring down the wrath of the Chinese government. Further, they suggest actually occupying Central (occupy’s "last resort") will cause major economic harm to the city. I think that one is a bit funny, since it’s part of the point of civil disobedience like occupy. The group was formed in the wake of Occupy’s June petition that got over 787,000 signatures (22% of HK’s voters). Even more interesting is the fact that several major accounting firms issued a statement and published advertisements in local papers condemning Occupy. A week later a group of employees from those same firms published their own ad, disagreeing with their employers and supporting Occupy.

While I don’t know for sure whether this issue is really pivotal and I lack a real understanding of HK politics, it is, at the very least, hugely symbolic. The few residents I’ve talked to have voiced quiet support for occupy.

Anyway! As much as the local politics has been surprisingly visible there’s been plenty else to enjoy about Hong Kong. The food is fantastic, be it local or otherwise (though I try and lean local, I’ve become less of a purist after traveling for a few months). Wonton soup, rice pots, roast goose, and great dim sum abound. I’ve also found what might be my ideal coffee shop, Knockbox (in Mong Kok), where I’m writing this post now.

You can’t miss the island trams either. They aren’t fast by any means, but these skinny double decker street cars are a fun and enjoyable ride. Sit in the front window on top and watch the local street life glide by. Much like San Francisco’s cable cars and the F line, they’re a beautiful relic from another era.

Anyway, Hong Kong, like every place so far, has been wonderful. Even though it’s expensive (slightly cheaper than home, but not by a lot), it’s also been a nice break—lots of English speakers, good transit, and excellent food.

The train into mainland China from Tibet.

Giant wind turbines on the edge of Tibet AR.

Well, I finally made it to Pokhara two days ago and successfully met Melody (note: this place is a magical paradise after the heat and noise of Varanasi). Yesterday we went paragliding, which was amazing. However, I had a bit of a bad landing and scraped up my ankle a good deal. The guy flying with me wanted to land directly on our feet, so had me in a different position than the standard feet-up beginner position. Unfortunately, the wind down at the landing area was bad and we came in too hard and fast. I didn’t know what to do, so I just tried to run, which resulted in my feet getting caught under me and a layer of skin getting ripped off my ankle as we slid along. If only I’d been wearing boots! Melody’s also got a funny picture of a bunch of the instructors standing around watching while I try to bandage myself with their almost useless first aid kit (an old bottle of iodine, an old bottle of antiseptic, some unknown cream, and two rolls of gauze—no tape for the gauze, scissors, band aids or anything else). Maybe I’ll find a way to post it later.