It is nearing the end of September, a full month since I have arrived here. Tomorrow is the 1st of October, which in China's calendar signifies National Day. National Day is China's Independence Day, and tomorrow marks the 59th anniversary of the People's Republic of China.
What does this mean for me?
Last year it meant a week off from teaching and the first of many road trips throughout China. This year it means a day off from teaching and uncertainty.
I am aware that the fireworks celebration over Victoria Harbour will be spectacular. The view of the festivities from my apartment will undoubtedly be magnificent. But after dealing with fireworks EVERY SINGLE DAY last year in China, is there really anything else that can be done with them? I have witnessed 4th of July fireworks over Manhattan from the Hudson River. I experienced the pyrotechnical explosions in Yantai ushering in The Year Of The Rat. I viewed, via television, the amazing display of combustible chemicals and gunpowder that preceded the start of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. I know what a great fireworks display is supposed to look like. I also know that if there is any country that will constantly reinvent and outdo itself in this category, it will be China. And while Beijing and Shanghai might have more authentic and meaningful ear-splitting gatherings, the skyline of Hong Kong alone will make it a memorable evening.
Now I need to figure out how to spend my day.
Happy National Day China!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Weather is Happening
Typhoon Hagupit came and went yesterday and I am still here to tell the tale. In reality, it was not that brutal of a storm. However, at times, I did feel like I was on a rowboat in the middle of Victoria Harbour (which is not a good feeling to have when you are sitting at your desk, in your apartment, on the 26th floor of an anorexic building built into the side of a cliff.)
The Hong Kong Observatory issued a number eight tropical cyclone warning around 6:00 pm yesterday, effectively ending everyone's workday and shutting down most transportation into and out of the city. By this time, I had already made it home and decided to watch the festivities from my window. The sky went from a bleak, dismal gray to an ominous and menacing black in minutes. The wind kicked up. The rain raced past my window in horizontal patterns. And a large letter "F" (made of cardboard, aluminum, or some other mystery substance), made like a whirlpool in reverse and rose from ground level to over my eyes and out of sight in seconds.
After a few hours of rattling doors and windows and slight nausea, I decided to head outside and experience the typhoon more intimately. I got in touch with Jenny and Laura and the three of us took the elevator down to see what was transpiring below. We informed the security guard that we were going outside and he looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. Wondering why we would be foolish enough to wander outdoors during a typhoon, yet slightly annoyed that he would have to dislodge the umbrella, which was doubling as a lock on the building's entrance.
Our initial impression about the weather was favorable, for it was the first time since arriving that the humidity didn't envelop you as soon as you stepped outside. The gale-force winds were a welcome respite from the sweltering and clammy days that had marked my first month here. The lateral raindrops lightly smacked our faces. We stretched our arms skyward and beckoned the clouds to do as they wished. And after three minutes of this, we decided we had experienced enough. No point in standing around and waiting for a rogue tree limb to impale one of us, in the concrete courtyard of Shue Yan University, far away from home.
So we went back inside and rode out the remainder of the storm in the comfort of our swaying abodes. And by morning, despite the scattered branches, overturned plants, upended goalposts, and broken glass, things had returned to normal in Hong Kong.
The Hong Kong Observatory issued a number eight tropical cyclone warning around 6:00 pm yesterday, effectively ending everyone's workday and shutting down most transportation into and out of the city. By this time, I had already made it home and decided to watch the festivities from my window. The sky went from a bleak, dismal gray to an ominous and menacing black in minutes. The wind kicked up. The rain raced past my window in horizontal patterns. And a large letter "F" (made of cardboard, aluminum, or some other mystery substance), made like a whirlpool in reverse and rose from ground level to over my eyes and out of sight in seconds.
After a few hours of rattling doors and windows and slight nausea, I decided to head outside and experience the typhoon more intimately. I got in touch with Jenny and Laura and the three of us took the elevator down to see what was transpiring below. We informed the security guard that we were going outside and he looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. Wondering why we would be foolish enough to wander outdoors during a typhoon, yet slightly annoyed that he would have to dislodge the umbrella, which was doubling as a lock on the building's entrance.
Our initial impression about the weather was favorable, for it was the first time since arriving that the humidity didn't envelop you as soon as you stepped outside. The gale-force winds were a welcome respite from the sweltering and clammy days that had marked my first month here. The lateral raindrops lightly smacked our faces. We stretched our arms skyward and beckoned the clouds to do as they wished. And after three minutes of this, we decided we had experienced enough. No point in standing around and waiting for a rogue tree limb to impale one of us, in the concrete courtyard of Shue Yan University, far away from home.
So we went back inside and rode out the remainder of the storm in the comfort of our swaying abodes. And by morning, despite the scattered branches, overturned plants, upended goalposts, and broken glass, things had returned to normal in Hong Kong.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Reverence Lost
I get the feeling that being an author and an acclaimed researcher gets less reverence and admiration than Jacob Cohen did. This idea came to me last week when I attended a lecture given by a certain individual from England, a Professor of Literature at Manchester, who had for many years prior taught Comparative Literature here in Hong Kong. Besides being a teacher, he has also written many books and authored even more articles for publication. His topics include everything from Dickens, James, and Dante to Romanticism, Modernism, and Western Opera. A veritable farrago of themes, eras, styles and differences. This man has written about it all.
I was curious about the talk because the theme was Cosmopolitanism, and in it, the lecturer was going to somehow tie it in with Derrida (who years ago penned an article entitled "On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness"). I was excited at the prospect of attending this reading, partly because of the topic, but also because I wanted to immerse myself in the Shue Yan Academic English circle.
So I walked down to the room it was being held in. I opened the door and entered.
And I was the only person there.
I waited 5 minutes. By that time, a grand total of 9 people were in attendance. 9 people. 5 of them were teachers, only 2 (including myself) from Shue Yan.
As soon as the talk was under way I immediately began to squirm in my seat. The academic doctor who sat before me spoke of "exile," "sovereignty," and "global tourism." He name-dropped Joyce, Forster, Kant, and Foucault. He verbalized this in a sedate English accent. And he continued to do so for over an hour.
It was a monumental disaster.
Had he been reading his paper to a group of English graduate students, it might have been an effective presentation. However, the students who were in attendance were not on that level. If the level that the speech required was the top floor of a skyscraper, then these students were subterranean.
An example of a student reaction and subsequent dialogue:
"Could you please explain what you were talking about in 25 words. I came here to practice my listening skills but I only understood 4 words of what you said."
"Well. It's about the idea of forgiveness and how it is a power struggle. Do you know who Derrida is?"
"Who?"
"Derrida, the great French philosopher and critic."
Blank looks and silence ensues.
The moderator then stood up and asked if any one else had a question. The same student raised her hand.
"What is the best way for us to practice our English?"
My advice for her. Stay far away from graduate level discourse.
Somewhere, a group of literati are channeling their best Jacob Cohen impersonation. Or maybe you know him by his more commonly used name, Rodney Dangerfield.
"I don't get no respect."
I was curious about the talk because the theme was Cosmopolitanism, and in it, the lecturer was going to somehow tie it in with Derrida (who years ago penned an article entitled "On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness"). I was excited at the prospect of attending this reading, partly because of the topic, but also because I wanted to immerse myself in the Shue Yan Academic English circle.
So I walked down to the room it was being held in. I opened the door and entered.
And I was the only person there.
I waited 5 minutes. By that time, a grand total of 9 people were in attendance. 9 people. 5 of them were teachers, only 2 (including myself) from Shue Yan.
As soon as the talk was under way I immediately began to squirm in my seat. The academic doctor who sat before me spoke of "exile," "sovereignty," and "global tourism." He name-dropped Joyce, Forster, Kant, and Foucault. He verbalized this in a sedate English accent. And he continued to do so for over an hour.
It was a monumental disaster.
Had he been reading his paper to a group of English graduate students, it might have been an effective presentation. However, the students who were in attendance were not on that level. If the level that the speech required was the top floor of a skyscraper, then these students were subterranean.
An example of a student reaction and subsequent dialogue:
"Could you please explain what you were talking about in 25 words. I came here to practice my listening skills but I only understood 4 words of what you said."
"Well. It's about the idea of forgiveness and how it is a power struggle. Do you know who Derrida is?"
"Who?"
"Derrida, the great French philosopher and critic."
Blank looks and silence ensues.
The moderator then stood up and asked if any one else had a question. The same student raised her hand.
"What is the best way for us to practice our English?"
My advice for her. Stay far away from graduate level discourse.
Somewhere, a group of literati are channeling their best Jacob Cohen impersonation. Or maybe you know him by his more commonly used name, Rodney Dangerfield.
"I don't get no respect."
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
New Friends in a Globalized World
The first two people I met here in Hong Kong are fellow teachers at HKSYU. I met them the day after I arrived, knocking on one door to make my presence known, meeting another later that night at dinner. They both arrived in Hong Kong via PiA (Princeton in Asia), which is a fellowship that places recent graduates of top universities in the US into different jobs throughout Asia.
Jenny just graduated from Princeton with a degree in English Literature. She was born in Anhui Province, China and moved to New Jersey when she was 4. She taught English for two months in Hunan Province as part of her fellowship program, so she has a little bit of experience in the nuances of teaching English in Asia.
Laura recently graduated from Georgetown with a degree in Culture and Politics, minor in African Studies. She is originally from Milwaukee, but is by no means a traditional "Midwestern girl." She has spent much of her last 4 years drinking grown men under the table, memorizing every gossip rag ever published, and traveling to exotic locations like Senegal, where she volunteered to teach English to the natives.
The two are extremely different, but both are very adventurous and a lot of fun to be around while peregrinating around the city. It was because of our wanderings that we stumbled upon one of the most iconic places in all of Hong Kong, Chungking Mansion.
Prior to the day we boarded the MTR and traveled under Victoria Harbor towards Kowloon Peninsula, we had done most of our exploring on Hong Kong Island. Every day we would board a bus, then hop on the subway, and get off at a different stop. One day it would be Causeway Bay to explore Times Square and check out the shopping. The next would be Wan Chai to find our teaching building and apply for our Hong Kong ID. We would travel to Central, the focal point of the island, and ride the world's longest covered escalator. At night we would meet fellow PiA'ers and head to Lan Kwai Fong, where we would try on fur coats and pose for pictures in the Russian ice bar or smoke apple shisha at a hookah lounge and make friendly with one another.
Then one day we decided to go to Kowloon. After getting off at the Tsim Sha Tsui exit, we stepped outside and were immediately bombarded by touts selling "copy watches," cheap phones, and illicit massages. And then, directly ahead of us, was the monstrosity known as Chunking Mansion. So we took a look inside.
British writer George Adams in his short story entitled "A Night in Chung King," calls Chungking Mansion a "decrepit rabbit warren of a building." On the other hand, TIME magazine, in it's annual The Best of Asia, referred to Chungking as "The Best Example of Globalization in Action." The dichotomy between these two statements are vastly different, however, both ring extremely true.
For those not in the know, Chungking Mansion is a 17 story, complex network of guesthouses, restaurants, clothing shops, junk stores, foreign currency exchanges, and foulness. It is widely known as being the cheapest place to stay in Hong Kong, and because of this, is a haven for backpackers and bargain hunters. This cheapness is put on display for all to see; The exposed electrical wires, the various insects and rodents that inhabit every nook and cranny. It is all part of the filthy appeal.
It is here where you can buy a sari, a pirated Bollywood DVD, a bowl of curry with tandoori bread, a secondhand mobile phone, and a Bob Marley T-shirt, all in the course of 5 minutes. It is a melting pot of Hong Kong's ethnic minorities, from countries spanning the globe. Gordon Mathews, a professor of Anthropology at City University of Hong Kong has "informally counted 120 nationalities" to have spent time on the premises.
While walking around, you feel a sense of fear, yet you also feel safe. You feel that the conditions are unendurable and overwhelming, yet you also feel that this is urbanization in it's most primal and humane form. And it is this polarity that makes you want to go back and do it all again.
Jenny just graduated from Princeton with a degree in English Literature. She was born in Anhui Province, China and moved to New Jersey when she was 4. She taught English for two months in Hunan Province as part of her fellowship program, so she has a little bit of experience in the nuances of teaching English in Asia.
Laura recently graduated from Georgetown with a degree in Culture and Politics, minor in African Studies. She is originally from Milwaukee, but is by no means a traditional "Midwestern girl." She has spent much of her last 4 years drinking grown men under the table, memorizing every gossip rag ever published, and traveling to exotic locations like Senegal, where she volunteered to teach English to the natives.
The two are extremely different, but both are very adventurous and a lot of fun to be around while peregrinating around the city. It was because of our wanderings that we stumbled upon one of the most iconic places in all of Hong Kong, Chungking Mansion.
Prior to the day we boarded the MTR and traveled under Victoria Harbor towards Kowloon Peninsula, we had done most of our exploring on Hong Kong Island. Every day we would board a bus, then hop on the subway, and get off at a different stop. One day it would be Causeway Bay to explore Times Square and check out the shopping. The next would be Wan Chai to find our teaching building and apply for our Hong Kong ID. We would travel to Central, the focal point of the island, and ride the world's longest covered escalator. At night we would meet fellow PiA'ers and head to Lan Kwai Fong, where we would try on fur coats and pose for pictures in the Russian ice bar or smoke apple shisha at a hookah lounge and make friendly with one another.
Then one day we decided to go to Kowloon. After getting off at the Tsim Sha Tsui exit, we stepped outside and were immediately bombarded by touts selling "copy watches," cheap phones, and illicit massages. And then, directly ahead of us, was the monstrosity known as Chunking Mansion. So we took a look inside.
British writer George Adams in his short story entitled "A Night in Chung King," calls Chungking Mansion a "decrepit rabbit warren of a building." On the other hand, TIME magazine, in it's annual The Best of Asia, referred to Chungking as "The Best Example of Globalization in Action." The dichotomy between these two statements are vastly different, however, both ring extremely true.
For those not in the know, Chungking Mansion is a 17 story, complex network of guesthouses, restaurants, clothing shops, junk stores, foreign currency exchanges, and foulness. It is widely known as being the cheapest place to stay in Hong Kong, and because of this, is a haven for backpackers and bargain hunters. This cheapness is put on display for all to see; The exposed electrical wires, the various insects and rodents that inhabit every nook and cranny. It is all part of the filthy appeal.
It is here where you can buy a sari, a pirated Bollywood DVD, a bowl of curry with tandoori bread, a secondhand mobile phone, and a Bob Marley T-shirt, all in the course of 5 minutes. It is a melting pot of Hong Kong's ethnic minorities, from countries spanning the globe. Gordon Mathews, a professor of Anthropology at City University of Hong Kong has "informally counted 120 nationalities" to have spent time on the premises.
While walking around, you feel a sense of fear, yet you also feel safe. You feel that the conditions are unendurable and overwhelming, yet you also feel that this is urbanization in it's most primal and humane form. And it is this polarity that makes you want to go back and do it all again.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Hong Kong Shue Yan University
If HKSYU were a television show, it would be an educational hybrid of The Brady Bunch and The Sopranos. A family run university with an orderly, sinister undercurrent.
Allow me to digress.
There is nothing overtly or inherently corrupt or criminal about the university, at least superficially. However, it is family oriented, in a culture in which familial bonds are stronger than most.
Prior to my arrival in Hong Kong, I had incorrectly assumed that Shue Yan was your normal, private liberal arts university. I did know that it had recently been accredited as a university after 35 years of college status. I also knew that it was one of the few, if not only, universities offering 4 year degree programs in Hong Kong.
What I failed to realize is that the President, Academic Vice-President, (the aforementioned F.C.) and the Administrative Vice-President are all from the same bloodline.
Not really relevant to a lower tiered teacher such as my myself, but interesting to say the least.
Although the semester has not officially started yet, the academic rigmarole is in full swing. All this week the new teachers have been made to sit through buffet lunches, departmental meetings, and induction ceremonies, where we talk about topics like Outcomes Based Teaching and Learning Initiatives, Teaching Excellence, and Plagiarism. We have toured the library facilities, perused oral presentation rubrics and taken crash courses in ILN (Internet Learning Network). But the real fun will not start until Monday, when I am thrown into a class of 40 business or sociology majors, and expected to teach them the finer points of the English language.
My schedule this semester consists of 5 classes of English Usage, meeting for 3 hours a week. All of my students will be freshman, and the majority will be terrified of me initially. However, I have the tendency to make students feel at ease quickly. I will see if that translates into a positive learning atmosphere.
The only negative I see early on is the commute to work. I was under the impression that I would be teaching on campus. With only 3 buildings on campus, I figured going to class every day would be a breeze. Not the case.
Starting this year, Shue Yan has opened up a new building in the Wan Chai district. The commute, which can be done by a bus-to-bus combo, or a bus-to-MTR combo, takes about 45 minutes each way. The reasoning behind all of this is because Shue Yan just received university status, therefore, they have been afforded the right to spend a heap of money on the school. Unfortunately, this money can only be spent on building things, like new classrooms, or computer labs. Hence, the new building.
The academic adventure begins...
Allow me to digress.
There is nothing overtly or inherently corrupt or criminal about the university, at least superficially. However, it is family oriented, in a culture in which familial bonds are stronger than most.
Prior to my arrival in Hong Kong, I had incorrectly assumed that Shue Yan was your normal, private liberal arts university. I did know that it had recently been accredited as a university after 35 years of college status. I also knew that it was one of the few, if not only, universities offering 4 year degree programs in Hong Kong.
What I failed to realize is that the President, Academic Vice-President, (the aforementioned F.C.) and the Administrative Vice-President are all from the same bloodline.
Not really relevant to a lower tiered teacher such as my myself, but interesting to say the least.
Although the semester has not officially started yet, the academic rigmarole is in full swing. All this week the new teachers have been made to sit through buffet lunches, departmental meetings, and induction ceremonies, where we talk about topics like Outcomes Based Teaching and Learning Initiatives, Teaching Excellence, and Plagiarism. We have toured the library facilities, perused oral presentation rubrics and taken crash courses in ILN (Internet Learning Network). But the real fun will not start until Monday, when I am thrown into a class of 40 business or sociology majors, and expected to teach them the finer points of the English language.
My schedule this semester consists of 5 classes of English Usage, meeting for 3 hours a week. All of my students will be freshman, and the majority will be terrified of me initially. However, I have the tendency to make students feel at ease quickly. I will see if that translates into a positive learning atmosphere.
The only negative I see early on is the commute to work. I was under the impression that I would be teaching on campus. With only 3 buildings on campus, I figured going to class every day would be a breeze. Not the case.
Starting this year, Shue Yan has opened up a new building in the Wan Chai district. The commute, which can be done by a bus-to-bus combo, or a bus-to-MTR combo, takes about 45 minutes each way. The reasoning behind all of this is because Shue Yan just received university status, therefore, they have been afforded the right to spend a heap of money on the school. Unfortunately, this money can only be spent on building things, like new classrooms, or computer labs. Hence, the new building.
The academic adventure begins...
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Arrival
I have arrived and it feels glorious.
The majority of my flight to Hong Kong was spent propped up against the window, airplane pillow acting as a buffer, as I managed to take a handful of individual catnaps that somehow added up to nearly 10 hours worth of sleep. When I was not dreaming I was eating, watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, playing games, and even managed to catch a movie, Be Kind Rewind. As I awoke from my final brief slumber, we were approaching Hong Kong International Airport, and the view from my window was stunning. The setting sun cast a bright orange tint over the sea, boats and junks of all sizes spread out in various directions, and skyscrapers loomed larger and brighter than I could have ever imagined. And then we touched down.
I cleared customs, called Dr. Hu (affectionately known as F.C. for the duration of this trip) and lugged my 80 pounds of luggage onto the airport express, where I would travel for 30 minutes to Hong Kong Island to meet F.C. and be escorted to my living quarters.
I am living in the Residential and Amenities Complex of Shue Yan University, a massive building less than 3 years old, which is situated on top of a hill in the North Point section of Hong Kong Island. My apartment is tiny, furnished with an undersized twin bed, dining room table, closet, television, desk, a few chairs, bathroom, a washer, small refrigerator, hot plate, microwave, and the most dazzling and breathtaking view I have ever encountered. My window overlooks part of Tai Tam Country Park, past Happy Valley, over Causeway Bay, Wan Chai, Admiralty, Victoria Peak, Central, and all the way to Victoria Harbor. I can lay in bed and look at three of the tallest buildings in the world simultaneously. And every so often I will glance out of the window and make eye contact with some of Hong Kong Islands' most magnificent birds of prey, who soar and glide effortlessly, and reaffirm my altitude, in case I have forgotten just how high up I actually am.
And you wonder why I have a permanent smile on my face when gazing outward across the island?
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