Chinese New Year

Bang! Bang! Boom!

The shots ring out, and I have to restrain myself from ducking for cover.

"China is not at war" I remind myself "These are happy explosions"

Still it's difficult not to be alarmed by the frequency of the blasts which echo off the tall buildings that surround me. Some are single massive explosions, others rapid bursts like a WW2 era machine gun.

Ratatat!

I have never experienced anything like this before. Chinese New Year, is different from any Western holiday, which are comparatively subdued, and might reach their peak with the popping of a champagne bottle.  

The Chinese know how to party. Light off as many Fireworks as possible! The next morning the ground is covered in a thick layer of red. Not Blood, but the paper skeletons of used fireworks.

I came along outside with Serena and her parents, for what, I'm not yet sure. We left the apartment building complex, and are standing on the sidewalk along a Main Street. Burn marks have scorched the ground all around us. I am carrying a bag full of paper, and I sense something is about to happen.

Clack-Clack-Clack!

I continue to walk a zig zag, to avoid sniper fire. There are fires burning on the side of the road, a stray dog makes a run for it, towards the mountains, away from the fire fight!

My plan for the Chinese New Year was to do my very best to stay out of the way. This however, has not gone to plan, thanks in large part to the hospitality of Serena's family. I have been invited to participate in many activities. I made dumplings that fall apart in my hands; got my butt kicked playing Mahjong, for several straight hours until exhaustion blurred my vision; and watched the annual spring festival gala on T.V.

Even though I don't understand much of what's going on, I have loved every minute of it!

Poomb! Poomb!

Serena's dad marks a circle on the pavement with a stick, and then lights fire to the paper. So far my job is to hold the bag of paper, and periodically hand it to Serena who places it in the fire. I notice writing on the paper, and am told it is special paper money that is burned to send it to families members who have passed away.

Boom! Boom!

I look around and see several other fires along the street. The blasts continue, but I'm growing used to them, no longer jumping at each explosion. The freezing air makes me huddle close to the fire, and being a part of this ritual connects me to the holiday more than anything else. 

The Chinese New Year has not been immune to commercialization, similar to Christmas, including advertisements for deals at Burger King and Pizza Hut. But this feels real, and reminds me of going to church on Christmas Eve. The fires around me, like the candles burning while "silent night" is sung at the end of the service. 

Boom!

Maybe this night isn't so silent. Still, I sense this is not my first New Year celebration, I've been out here before, I've just called it something else.

Bang!

My train of thought crashes, and I realize it's time to go inside.        

 

   

Baby formula smuggling in China

 It's been about 20 minutes and the palms of my hands are beginning to sweat. 

"What's going on?" I think to myself "Will I pay a fine? Will they deport me back to Canada!?"

Irrational thoughts roll through my head, as only they can when passing through border immigration.

The man who took my passport, has now called a colleague over to discuss my case. I feel my back starting to sweat so I place my pack down, and deliberate whether to run, or face the bullets head on.

It all started two weeks ago, when Serena informed me that we will be taking baby formula with us when we visit her family for the spring festival (Chinese New Year). Her cousin is expecting, and unfortunately China has been stricken with numerous food safety scandals, to which formula has not been made exception. The latest scandal involved boiling down leather to supply the protein in a popular brand of infant formula.

"No, problem!" I said at the time.

While the Breastfeeding vs. baby formula debate briefly danced through my head. I figured that having non-toxic baby formula on hand sounded like a reasonable request. 

But now everything has changed. The border guards know I'm hiding something, they can smell my fear. There are three of them now, and one is on the phone with the higher ups. 

Before leaving Hong Kong, Serena and I made sure that we didn't take more than the maximum amount allowed. But now I'm not so sure. Did the rules change? Is it different for foreigners? Is it really milk powder in those tins? Or is baby formula slang for some illegal substance? That's it! I've been duped, and have found myself as an unsuspecting drug mule. 

I think back to the pharmacist who sold it to us. I never trusted him, the lone white glove, he wore Michael Jackson style, and the pot of boiled greens he quickly slurped down as we approached the counter. The certificate that hung on the wall behind him, from the Hong Kong pharmacy and poison board, must surely have been a fake. He must be in on this, switching the baby formula for something more insidious at the counter. 

As the guards continue to examine my passport, and I go through every possible worst case scenario, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. 

A message from Serena, we were split up at the border, since she is native Chinese and I'm a foreigner.

"Is everything alright?" her message reads

"Don't seem panicky" I think to myself

"Should be soon ;)" I type with shaky hands.

"Okay, I'm outside :)" She responds.

Something should be soon. The guards have broken their huddle, and one of them walks briskly towards me. 

He doesn't say a word. Nothing needs to be said, we both know I'm guilty. I close my eyes and cringe, as I raise my hands to accept the handcuffs. But instead of feeling hard steel on my wrist, I feel something slide into the palm of my right hand. I open my eyes and see my passport. The guard, looking bored, waves me through.

Relief sweeps over me.

They didn't even check my bag, and I now realize there was no way they would have known that I was even carrying milk powder. Yet my imagination tells me I just successfully smuggled an illegal substance across the Chinese border. My clammy hands still shaking, I sling the bag of "milk powder" over my shoulder. I take a deep breath and walk to find my co-conspirator waiting on the other side.  

Basketball Diplomacy

While Dennis Rodman was playing out his version of basketball diplomacy in North Korea, I was participating in my own in Hong Kong. Both events seek to form cultural understanding, and to bring two seemingly different, and at times "clashing", cultures together through sport.

The main difference between our forms of basketball diplomacy is that Rodman is operating on an international stage, in a valiant attempt to bring world leaders, who have been enemies for decades, together in the name of sport.

Whereas I'm trying to make some new friends.

After failing to integrate myself during my first stint in Hong Kong. I'm back, looking to find community and a sense of home. So armed with my partly inflated basketball, I head down to Southourn Playground. A large outdoor sports facility right in the heart of Wan Chai, equipped with 4 full size basketball courts, 1 soccer field, and a few dozen senior citizens reading the newspaper and chain smoking cigarettes.

The sun touches only half of the playground in the early morning, as it peaks over the skyscrapers surrounding the facility. I'm cold in the shade, but start bouncing my ball and taking some shots to warm up.

On the court adjacent to mine, a group is practicing Tai Chi. The leader shouting instructions over a screeching megaphone, which I assume is used to balance the peacefulness of the ancient Chinese practice.

The sun has now creeped its way to my court, and I take a minute to breath it in. Feeling warm, I take off my sweater, and continue to take jump shots.

I'm approached by someone who asks if I want to play some 3 on 3. It's myself and two other "foreigners", vs. three local guys. I say "I'm in", trying to stay cool, and hide my excitement.

I'm doing well, using my height to my advantage, I'm collecting rebounds at will and making some short range shots. In the end we win two out of three games, we shake hands, and exchange complements.

I talk briefly with my teammates, one of who is a fellow Canadian. I'm surprised how good it feels to talk, even briefly, to someone who has a similar background.

What I'm finding in Hong Kong is that I'm constantly seeking out foreigners, and better yet, Canadians to hang out with. To hear english, to talk about hockey, even if just for a few hours a week, really improves your mental health.

Canada is no different than other countries, in that new Canadians are expected to assimilate to the dominant cultural norms. I'm not an immigrant in Hong Kong, I don't plan on staying here for the rest of my life, so my experience differs drastically from that of refugees or people seeking a better life in Canada.

But if I were to move to Hong Kong could I adapt to local customs and cultural norms? or will I constantly be clinging to ones that I grew up with and am used to. Probably a combination, but I'm sure I would remain heavy on the latter.

I leave the court feeling satisfied, slightly more connected, and my head heavy with thought, which is probably more than Dennis Rodman can say.