In the land of the little people...?

I knew coming over here that I would stand out because of my height (193cm or 6’4”). As with most changes, it is far easier, however, to conceptually grasp the new circumstances than it is to live in them. The truth is, I don’t fit in Hong Kong.

I don’t fit on the buses. Riding the bus from Yuen Long to the US Consulate was like some depraved yoga pose for me because I have to pull my knees up and together to keep from rubbing against the person in front of me. Going from the top floor of the bus to the exit on the lower floor, I have to bend in half. Picture to follow.

I don’t fit in the rooms. When I got into the shower this morning, I had three new marks that were not there yesterday: two on my back from running into cupboard corners while attempting to turn around and one on my head from banging into my cousin’s bunk bed while attempting to sit at the computer beneath it. This includes some stores too. I went in a bookstore with a laptop shoulder bag and could not fit into some of the side aisles. Never before have I understood so well the whole “bull in china shop” thing.

I don’t fit on the sidewalks. I must have stepped on Heleina’s shoes five times in the first day of walking around. The problem comes when we’re walking along a semi-crowded sidewalk and all of the sudden we’re in the middle of a market, with old people pulling carts, sweaty middle-aged guys delivering loads to the vendors, and hawkers with microphones drawing crowds (including my wife). Most of the time this system works like one of those famous Swiss watches, but when you insert a guy with giant feet and long strides, it works like an infamous Chinese imitation watch.

I don’t fit in the clothes. I know I am above average height, even in the US, but locals here are smaller in all proportions. I tried to buy a jacket when I was here two years ago because clothing is cheap here, but the shopkeeper had trouble finding a size big enough for me. I think we ended with a XXL. While killing time in a mall the other day I was looking at men’s jeans and the sizes ranged from 27-32. At least I will have motivation to lose weight. Likewise, we were in a shoe store today and I could not tell if I was looking at men’s or women’s shoes. I realized this was because they all looked the same size to me.

Some observations about the school I was stuck in

Two hours into Heleina’s appointment and she has grown comfortable leaving me in the room. [Aside: I wonder if dogs really appreciate that we rolled the window down or if they curse us anyway because they’re still stuck in the car.] By this point it is as much my fault as hers. In order to minimize awkwardness on my part and that of the teachers with whom I share the room, I attempt to limit eye contact, look occupied, and avoid displays of boredom. To fill space and time I will comment on the school. The school was built in 1971 alongside the oldest public housing estate in the New Territories. Whether or not this has been the case of the 40 years, the school has a large percentage of poor and poor-performing students. Many of the children are recent immigrants from mainland China and have little English ability. A teacher told us that some 3^rd graders will have difficulty answering you if you ask ‘how are you.’ The school, however, exhibits energy from teachers and staff. The teachers are appropriately busy for the middle of the day and a number of junior staff cycle through working on a variety of prep projects. The building itself calls for greater reservation. It appears from a cursory review that the building has not seen a substantial remodel since the 70’s. Evidence of electrical and flooring patches is obvious from the exposed conduits and shiny but old floors. In the hallways, swathes of unpainted plaster mars the ceiling. This may not be the prettiest place to work or to wait, but it’s ours.

Family First

So, I am sitting in a Teacher’s Rest Room along with two local teachers. At times like this I remember the Sesame street song, “which one of these is not like the other? Which one of these is not like the rest?” Heleina was supposed to meet with the principal of her school today but she is out all day and so one of the English teachers is giving her a tour and explaining duties. I am here because Coral and Kent picked us up this morning, took us to breakfast across the street from the school, and quickly ushered us onto the school grounds. As a result, my carefully laid plans to read and write at Starbucks have been undone. As soon as we entered the grounds a riptide of Asian hospitality pulled Coral and I further and further into the building. Coral, who has a cell phone, got a call from work and had to leave right away. I volunteered to accompany her but she thought it best if I wait for Heleina. Family first.

What do you mean you don't want it?

Our brief time thus far in Hong Kong has given us our fair share of challenges, but all is not lost. At 8:30 tonight we ran downstairs and around the corner for a favorite dish. The restaurant, which can fairly be described as a literal “hole in the wall,” serves up food quick and cheap. Our 2 entrees and drinks cost a whopping $34 (4.39 USD) and we both gave it our customary approval – silent consumption. As we were finishing, the staff started cleaning up as we were the only ones left. We paid our bill and per the instructions of an uncle, we left a few dollars as a tip and stood to leave. Three steps out the door, one lady taking care of us yells – no exaggeration – at Heleina to come back. She doesn’t accept tips she says; we have to come take our $2 back.

Having come from Los Angeles, where wait staff expect tips of at least 15% no matter the quality of service made this scene amusing and warming to my heart all at once. Unassuming service. Personable owners. Cheap, good food. I am going to like it here.

Staring

People love to stare here in Yuen Long. The reason is rather obvious considering that I will run into approximately 2 Caucasians while walking around the city each day. The interesting part for me has been that while the stares almost always begin with me they are transferred to Heleina, where they rest longer than on me. I am not sure why people are more interested in the type of Chinese girl who would marry a foreigner rather than the foreigner himself. You can also see how much my marriage to Heleina does not fit with expectations from another walking insight. Heleina’s aunt was showing us around the neighborhood where we will live and as we walked through crowded sidewalks, you have to weave between people and groups. My assumption is that the average non-jerk is not going to attempt to divide a group of people if they do not have to. That said, when I would walk in a horizontal line with Heleina and her aunt, people feel free to slip between Heleina and I but not she and her aunt. Since people seem to assume that I am not with Heleina, I wonder if they think that it is odd that I walk so close to her – “Perv!”

Anyway, my wife and I have always been aware of the differences intrinsic to an interracial marriage, yet living in Los Angeles, and especially Boston, we rarely felt singled out for our choice. In Yuen Long, we are clearly in deviation from expectations and the average person on the street seems comfortable expressing their surprise via stares. And don’t even get me started on when we hold hands.