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The latest from today: Japan travel series
http://qriouslife.com/2009/11/12/cultural-learnings-of-japan-for-make-benefit-this-chinese-borat-pun-intended/

Dear Qi: TMI on the PMS

Dear Qi,

I have a crush on a woman at my firm. I see her at company functions and I just love the way she carries herself. Last week I bumped into her as I was leaving the office building, so I introduced myself. We chatted a while and then she offered to have dinner with me the next time she’s in my neighborhood. Later, over email, we agreed on a day to meet up. Everything was lined up for a great first date, but by afternoon of that day I still hadn’t heard from her about what time she can meet for dinner. I emailed her (we’re both Blackberry addicts) and got this reply, “I’m having girl tummy issues, if that makes any sense. Not pregnant, quite the opposite of pregnant, but in pain. I can’t make dinner, so sorry about this. Let’s talk soon when I can think straight.” What the heck is going on? Is she blowing me off with a ridiculous excuse? Is this too much info to divulge before we even share a dessert? If we end up dating is she going to call me in the middle of the workday to cry over a broken fingernail?

Signed,

Some Discretion Please!

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Dear Discretion,

A woman’s ability to withstand pain is unfathomable to a man. It’s built up through years of monthly suffering, culminating in a few extremely traumatic events (read: childbirth). The point of telling you this isn’t to make you cringe, it’s to say that, as bizarre as her excuse may seem, it’s plausibly true. I’ve seen grown women shed tears during their PMS cramps. If your lady’s got it bad, it’s the kind of thing that she can miss executive board meetings for. The very fact that she shared such private information with you makes me think that she didn’t make this up. If she wanted to blow you off, what’s wrong with a simple, “I’m coming down with the flu” or “My dog is throwing up”? So that brings you to, what’s up with the TMI? Different strokes for different folks. Some girls are Discrete Debbies and won’t even acknowledge that they ever do the #2 to their boyfriends. Others will burp and make jokes about passing gas (or even pass gas!) after a few dates. It all depends on what you both are comfortable with. Give it a chance. Reschedule your date and see if she really is Miss TMI or if that was just a blunder made under duress. If the latter, stock up on Tylenol for future dates!

Cheers,

Qi

Dear Qi: Double Dating Disaster

Dear Qi,

I recently went to church for the first time and had to fend off all the church girls that were hitting on me! So, I picked my two favorite candidates and went on two dates this past weekend. I have a packed schedule so I arranged to meet Date #1 at 1pm and the next at 2pm, both at Starbucks in Sanlitun. The first date went well, but the second date didn’t happen. You see, at 2pm sharp, the two ladies bumped into each other, started arguing, and eventually left in separate directions, leaving me to drink my coffee alone. Did I do something wrong and how do I patch things up? Should I take them both out for dinner? Do you think I should go to church again?

Signed,

Dating Disastrously

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Dear Dating Disastrously,

Tis’ true then, that church is the new club! To make a long answer short: yes, you did do something wrong. Several things, in fact. There’s nothing wrong with a little “comparison shopping”, but poor logistical planning is what landed you in the middle of this church catfight. (FYI, you should be glad that the ladies argued with each other and left you to your coffee… it could easily have been a hot cup of cappuccino in your lap). Cardinal Rule: don’t pluck two roses from the same garden. That is, don’t simultaneously date more than one girl in a small group of friends, the same office space or sorority house, so on, so forth. These are recipes for hair pulling and nail scratching disaster. In your case, that means don’t play around where you pray. If you are going to break the Cardinal Rule, DO NOT schedule your dates in the same place, on the same day, an hour apart! And if you’ve blundered into doing all of the above, for St. Peter’s sake, at least watch the time! The best thing now is to apologize to each girl SEPARATELY and ask for a chance to make it up to her (in the singular, for neither one will let you off easy if she catches you two-timing again with the same girl). As for church, go back if you’re feeling spiritual, but stay out of the pews if all you want is to scope out the talent.

Best,

Qi

Doing Japan Like a Star (Part 2)

At the airport at 7.00AM, two hours earlier than my usual check in time for a ten o’clock flight, I collected my passport (stamped with a Japan visitor’s visa) and plane ticket from a Chinese tour guide waving a little blue flag. It was then that I realized just how big of a group this “group tour” was. Ninety-one travelers, four tour guides, plus a number of companions and appendages. I learned that our Air China flight from Beijing to Miyazaki had been specially chartered for the group, which consisted mostly of friends and family of CITS (the largest Chinese travel agency). Unwittingly, I had signed up for the biggest and cheapest (friends and family fares) Chinese tour group to ever visit Kyushu Island. I couldn’t quite decide whether being in a foreign country with a hundred Chinese people who all know each other was a good thing or a bad thing. Oh well, I just hope they’re nice.

The plane ride was unlike any I’d ever taken before. It was sort of like the time I piggy-backed on G’s employment at a cushy hedge fund and rode on a private jet for the employees’ family retreat. Everyone on board was chatting, swapping snacks, sharing cameras, and acting chummy. Except, this time there were a hundred of them. Although I felt like the high school dork sitting with the class nerd (my mom) in our lonesome row with no one coming to socialize with us, it was amiable enough. This seemed to be a generally well-travelled bunch who wouldn’t get into much trouble. But I did hear a few funny remarks, like “I hear Japanese signs are all written in Chinese so we can get around easily once we’re there!”

The flight was short and when we landed we completely inundated the tiny Miyazaki International Airport (which wasn’t that international for I couldn’t find a single staff member who spoke English). Everything was as I’d expected – tidy, efficient, and clean. So clean, in fact, that if someone threatened to beat me up unless I licked the bathroom tiles I would’ve gladly taken the tiles over the fists. Things were even more “Japanese” than I’d envisioned. Official signage was decorated with logos painted in nursery pinks and blues. Important traveler information was illustrated with cute cartoon characters. Even the heavy duty industrial doors were a good two heads shorter than any I’d seen in Asia, much less in the Holland. This is great, aside from the two six-feet-plus athlete honeymooners and the men in our group, I would be the tallest person around for a week in Japan!

After an interminably long wait, during which several immaculately powdered and coiffed airport staffers came to bow apologetically at us in the line, I finally stepped up to the immigration officer’s counter. He greeted me with, “Ni hao”, which made me smile just in time for the security camera. It seems that Japan takes border crossing as seriously as the US and the UK (despite not having to deal with much terrorism) for I was finger printed, snapped, and my passport pages thoroughly checked. At last, I was successfully admitted into Japan and strode eagerly towards the doors.

As I stepped outside the sliding glass doors I was greeted with loud applause and an ocean of fluttering red fabric. There was a camera crew filming my surprise and several photographers contorting their bodies to take my picture from the best angle. What’s going on, was I getting mistaken for Liv Tyler again? (There was an accident once in New York when I left a restaurant where Liv was rumored to be dining).

I blinked a few times and got my mind-eye coordination going again. In front of me stood a row of ten suited up men and women holding up a large red banner with “Welcome to Miyazaki” written in yellow Chinese characters. Each of them held in their free hand a small Chinese flag, which they waved vigorously every time a new passenger came through the doors. A few others, also dressed in business formal attire, stood nearby and clapped loudly, shouting the welcome message in Chinese on cue with the sliding doors. An arm’s length away I could see one of the CITS managers who had been on the plane with me being interviewed in Japanese by the TV crew. This was literally the largest Chinese tour group to visit Kyushu and help its economy with our nouveau riche free spending ways. It was a big deal. And it was going to be on the evening news.

I stood for a short while reveling in my “fame”. Then I walked outside to the parking lot where our tour buses were waiting. Here, the travelers in my group, who had a half hour ago been complaining about how dinky the Japanese airport was, huddled in circles excitedly chatting about the welcoming committee. They were commenting that the Japanese were truly a polite people, so accommodating, and “What a reception!” Wow, seventy years of bad history swept away with the flutter of some miniature Chinese flags! I jest, it really was a nice welcome that made me like Japan before I even stepped foot outside the airport.

As the fully loaded tour buses were pulling away we saw the well-dressed welcoming committee in formation again in the walkway leading to the parking lot. It was as though they had never moved. Here they were transported outside, standing in the exact same order, waving the same props, and showing the same elevated level of enthusiasm as they shouted “Goodbye” to the departing buses. When we got onto the highway, I turned around to get a look at Miyazaki International Airport. Miraculously, the welcoming committee had moved yet again in perfect formation to the middle of the parking lot where they could wave at us even as we drove onto the ramp!

New website

Today I start trying out my new website (and own domain name!) http://QriousLife.com. I'd love to hear your thoughts about the new site's lay out and user-friendliness. For the time being, you'll find identical content on this and the new website.

Keep sending in your tortured love stories too! Thank you!

Dear Qi: Lost in Translation

Dear Qi,

Fate landed me in front of a new guy recently. (Well, technically he walked into my viewfinder when I was out photographing the city). He’s handsome, gentlemanly, and engaging. We’re both foreigners in the city (he’s a new arrival), so our dates have mostly been walks around random neighborhoods. I’m perfectly charmed in our short time together, but one thing worries me. Our only common language is Chinese. My Mandarin is decent for getting around, but not good enough to carry a conversation beyond food and shopping. My guy is a real newbie – he can barely ask for directions. For now, I’m enjoying our slow paced, light hearted fun, but I worry where this is all going. Can he really be my soul mate if 70% of our conversations are conducted in hand gesturing? Aren’t we going to run out of places to walk to in Beijing and need to sit down to talk about something substantive soon?

Signed,

Lost in Translation

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Dear Lost in Translation,

What a charming story about how to meet a guy! (All you single ladies out there take note – it’s time to buy a Nikon…or a dog). While you have reason to worry about what happens when you start feeling the urge to discuss the global equity market rebound and pandemic flu strains with your guy, think about the refreshing possibilities that your situation presents! Imagine how little room is left for fighting and frustration if you neither of you can say, “What’s that supposed to mean?” to the other. Or cutting out the awkwardness of the “Where do you see us going with this” chat. With talk (and nagging, and lying, and misunderstanding) out of the way, what you’re left with could be a simple and pure way to get to know each other. In this “less talk, more action” relationship, you can just do what makes you happy, whether it’s a walk in the park or a kiss under the stars, instead of getting caught up in words and second-guessing them. In the end, love is stronger than language and if you’re really into each other, you’ll find ways around the communication barrier. I know a couple that met on a European gap year trip when they were eighteen and are still happily married twenty years later. On their first date, he was two hours late because they hadn’t talked through the meeting details properly. Now, both are multilingual, having been motivated by love to learn the other’s native tongue. Your new guy could just be the key to improving your Chinese, and vice versa! Oh, and Beijing is big enough for you to take a lot more walks before you run out of trails to explore.

Best,

Qi

Off to Japan (Qualms or No Qualms)

I had waited all these years to go to Japan. China and Japan, we don’t exactly have a history of being bosom buddies that makes mutual visitation easy. They make it hard for us to get tourist visas (unless it’s through one of those travel agency group tours), probably afraid that if visitor requirements weren’t so stringent a billion of us would rush over to work as illegal restaurant dishwashers. And we, well, we Chinese can’t forget WII. Coming from Manchuria, where the Japanese Imperial Army set up Manchukuo and conducted their biological warfare experiments on Chinese inmates they called ”logs”, I can’t seem to shake the weight of all this history when considering a simple holiday in Japan.

Like most young Chinese, I have inconsistent and mixed feelings about Japan. I love its nifty gadgets, I crave its cuisine, and I have a cousin who’s in his teenage J-pop obsession phase. But when I started seeing my half-Japanese boyfriend (now husband) years ago, I found myself telling my family in the back country that he’s “just American.” Not that my grandmother would’ve disowned me for dating half of a descendent of “historical aggressors” (although my grandfather might’ve had he been around), but it was just easier this way. Besides, it was a small white lie made to older folk who think all foreigners look the same. Why bother with explaining his complex genealogy?

This time, I was headed to Japan at last because the timing worked out, the price was right, and even my mother was gunning to go. So, I put aside my muddled cultural-moral qualms and signed myself up for – get this – a group tour. Yup, there’s no good deal without a caveat. In exchange for someone arranging my visa quickly and planning a trip cheaply, I would have to subject myself to following around a chirpy tour guide wearing a fanny pack, waving a bright triangular flag, and herding tourists like cattle.

The tour was a sort of “Japan lite.” We would spend five days on Kyushu Island, home to the gods of Japanese creational legends. In its extreme southwesterly position, parts of Kyushu are closer to China and Korea than to Tokyo. It would be a week spent in nature: visiting one of the world’s most active volcanoes (Mt. Aso), seeing valleys and gorges, and soaking in the famous onsen (hot springs) of Beppu.

I felt a little silly going to Japan for the first time and not seeing Tokyo or Kyoto. I was a bit afraid of what kind of embarrassments my tour group of (potentially all) retirees would get up to in a foreign land. But mostly I was just excited to be casting aside my hesitations and visiting Japan.

Mom was excited too. It would be the first time in a long while that we allowed ourselves the luxury of a “girl’s trip”. The last one we had been on was during my year at grad school. I took her to Las Vegas with plans of seeing Cirque du Soleil and other musical acts. But when we got there, my mother discovered her inner “Chinese tai tai who loves to gamble.” You can imagine how that trip started and ended – in front of a slot machine with a giant cup of quarters that dwindled to zero.
I did some research before we set off, trying to understand the geographical implications spelled out on my tour itinerary. It looked like we would be visiting Fukuoka the Prefecture (what’s a prefecture anyway?) and Fukuoka the city. Similarly, there were the Kumamoto’s (prefecture and city), Miyazaki’s, and Kagoshima’s. Google told me that a prefecture is basically a province and all of these namesake cities are provincial capitals. I also looked up some Japanese phrases, taking care to copy and practice useful ones, like “Toire doko desu ka?” (“Where’s the bathroom?”).

From what I’d heard about Chinese tour groups going overseas, I guessed that there wouldn’t be much free time to independently explore. There’s actually a cheeky rhyme that says all you really do on a big tour is, “Sit on the bus to sleep. Get off the bus to pee. And forget the names of everything you see.” (That’s my poor translation of the original anyways). I jotted down directions for a few places I wanted to visit outside of the itinerary, hoping I’d be able to optimize any free time I get.

As I was busily preparing for the trip, mom was chilling out, not packing until the night before, and helpfully forgetting to bring the big bag of Japanese coins that’s been sitting in an old drawer for the last twenty years. We have different travel personalities, all right! I don’t know which one of us will unnerve the other first during our five days of 24/7 bonding.