Ultimate Tourist

I have been playing my role as Ultimate Tourist particularly well this week. Some people would call it method acting. I would call it method acting too. Whatever. It's impressive. Even I'm impressed. I rented a four person bicycle; something that I didn't know existed until I saw it. They pretty much fuse two bikes together which is fun, I guess. But the problem was that we only had three people and that it was built for Chinese people. FYI, the Chinese are, on average, a solid head and a half shorter than me. This resulted in a number of rather painful encounters between my knees and the handlebars which did not make me the happiest camper in town, but I soldier on. 

 

Probably the all time low of the week was buying tickets for a my Christmas Day train ride (purely functional, despite how much fun it sounds). After not being able to buy the tickets in the first line I stood in, I was prompted to queue in the elderly, baby and disabled line. No shit. I know I have white skin, and I don't understand Chinese, but I'm not disabled.  For better or worse. Then they must have decided that having white skin and being a giant wasn't actually a disability and I was told to go and line up in a third queue. And all this kerfuffle because an O had been written in place of a 0 for my domestic train trip. Oh, China.  

I went to some hot springs too, and had fish nibble at my tootsies. I am exceedingly ticklish and having whitebait sized carnivores nibbling at my poor feet was not something that I warmed to. I had to concentrate really hard on not moving and scaring them away which most of the time sounded like the best idea I'd ever had. A mild form of Fear Factor Fish Edition. 

I don't know if you have any Chinese friends, but the Chinese love karaoke. Like love love karaoke. I think New Zealanders could love karaoke too, if they were totally gone, if you know what I mean. But no, here they love karaoke completely sober. I don't really understand the appeal of sitting through a minimum time slot of one hour listening to your friends sing along terribly and make a complete hash of all your favourite songs, while you will still be able to remember it all perfectly clearly the next day. Some things are made to last, and some things are made to be experienced only once. And sober karaoke is one of those one time things for me. 

But on the topic of being sober and on the topic of music, I also had my first live Chinese punk rock experience. And it was just that, an experience. My buddy on my right blocked his ears and waited for it to be over. My buddy on my left got amongst and bobbed her head up and down to rhythm of the drums. Her only criticism after the show was the show was too low key, she would have liked something more 'hard core.' Not a concept that I understand because I like music with some sort of melody and maybe some words, rather than just inarticulate screams. But I can do anything for two hours. So I put my experience down to just that, experience. 

A very merry Christmas to you. Peace and good fortune. 

Rando

Curiouser and curiouser - that's how China is. Random events strangely linked by two girls from New Zealand, which yesterday dropped to one. I was abandoned by the roadside. Not literally, but you get my gist.  

FYI, if you really want to stand out at an event where everyone looks amazing, I would recommend attending in a complete lack of sparkles, glitter and make up (of which I had none, because that shit is heavy and ain't nobody got room for that in a backpack). You may not stand out in the way that you want to, but you will definitely stand out. The father is Miss Scotland (who was casually bidding thousands of pounds on auction items at this years 'Miss World Charity Gala') recognised us as Team New Zealand. He attire was the most expensive looking suit I have ever seen, with a shirt that was a shirt but that wasn't made of shirt material. I don't even know what that shit is called, all I know was that it smelt like money. I believe that our total inability to do fancy was out identifier. So we did stand out... Which I guess is good, because all publicity is good publicity, right? 

You know how when you get a bit tired and your filter starts to go. A beauty pageant is kind of like that, but on steroids because everyone feels like they can comment on your appearance and conduct. Four of the top contenders for Backhanded Compliment (also know as Straight Up Insult) of the Week are: 

"You could compete in Miss World next year, if you went on a diet" 

"You look beautiful. I didn't know you could look beautiful. When you are at the hostel you don't look beautiful."

"You're a vegetarian? But you're not skinny!"

"I'm worried about you two [my friend and I]. You always seem to have a large glass of wine with you." 

I am also learning to keep sleep as a priority because I  stop thinking straight when I get tired. For example, I met a Dutch guy at the hostel and proceeded to tell him, in detail, about the one Dutch person I don't like, in the (relative) sea of Dutch people I have in my life. Not good. 

Ah well, if I were perfect life would be no fun and we would have nothing to work on. So henceforth, to improve myself, I will prioritise my sleep, stop carrying around a large glass of wine, go on a diet, always wear make up and work on my aura as a vegetarian. That should be enough for a start, anyway. 

Finally, a shout out to Miss World New Zealand. You were my pick. But it turns out that beauty pageants are as random as my trip to China, which is as random as a random number generator. So yeah... 

With a Sprinkling of Meat

China changes people. It does. There are no two ways around it. I know that I am changed woman. Yes, sir. For example, when I arrived in China, I had been a vegetarian for two years. Not so any longer. I have progressed to 'vegetarian with a sprinkling of meat.' In my early and hopeful days here in China, I google translated the word 'vegetarian' on my phone that I might have a hope of communicating my dietary infliction to the Chinese people. It turns out, the word vegetarian does not appear in the Chinese vocabulary and is a foreign concept, usually met with a shake of the head, hands and 'no.' I do my best to find tofu or, heaven forbid, vegetables. And if I do get lucky and find my desired dish, they are usually presented to me with a sprinkling of beef, or pork, or chicken or ox. Apparently carnivores have more fun anyway... 

I have also been entertaining myself with the game 'Count The White People.' It's pretty self explanatory. And yes, I know and fully understand just how racist that sounds. But the fact of the matter is that it just kind of adds a bit of an end goal to the normal people watching that goes on. It's just such a novelty to see someone else who shares your skin colour. If you really have a problem with it though, you can comfort yourself with the fact that the locals want to take photos with my travelling companions and I because of our fair complexion. If that's bit racist, I don't know what is. On one particularly successful evening, we reached 16 white people in a period of three hours. Which was absolutely astounding and has been the topic of much (excited) discussion since. Although it got pretty confusing when we went to see the pandas... Are they predominantly white with a little bit of black or black with a smattering of white? 

But we have moved on from mainland China to the land of sunshine, blue skies, palm trees, mangos and beauty pageants. It's nice to be somewhere we can see the sunshine and can sit outside without 5 merino tops on. Actually, it's nice just to be able to sit outside. China in winter is pretty grey and pretty cold. It's also a pretty big country, so despite still being in China we have managed to find sunshine.

We attended our first beauty pageant event last night. And in the eternal game of never have I ever, that we continually play in our lives, never have I ever felt so out of place at an event. More on this to come, as the events of (a very elaborate) Miss World 2015 unfold before my eyes. 

Hot N Cold

We have now progressed from Tibet to China proper. When I was in Tibet, I thought I was in China. I was wrong. Now that I am in China, I am in China. Not an easy distinction to understand, I don't think, unless you have been to both. Nevertheless, here we are in China. 

I feel like I am in some sort of strange rendition of Katy Perry's 'Hot N Cold.' I mean that in a literal sense, at least for the chorus. Let me explain... Nothing in this country is straight forward. Not ordering food. Not getting from one place to another. Not buying tickets. Not paying for things. Literally anything you can imagine gets more challenging with no verbal language, limited body language, no money and the Chinese culture. 

I'll start with the basic example of trying to get instructions out of people on the street... 'You're hot then you're cold, you're yes then you're no.' We would turn up to one bus station, and the locals would tell us to go to the train station. The attendants at the train station would tell us to go to a different bus station. At the second bus station, they tell us to go to the South Bus Station, so we ask for a second and third opinion before discovering that no buses go to our desired location because it's winter. 'You're in then you're out, you're up then you're down. You're wrong when it's right...' 

And that's only one example... We also went to this small town in The Middle of Nowhere, China (which took us 5 days to get to, but that's a story for another day). Only to find  when we arrived that we were cashless (in a cash only system) and no ATMs were reading our credit cards (i.e we were fucked). It was looking like two hungry girls and two cold nights under the stars. I spent a good portion of the evening the phone to the bank at home and visa, organising our emergency cash pick up. But come morning, the banks (which Visa International had told me I was to pick up my cash from) simply said no (much like the computer). To directly quote both banks I visited, 'our bank doesn't have that function, please go to the other bank.' To say I wanted to slap the bank tellers around would probably be the understatement of the century.


Ordinarily, I would say that I am a relatively patient (if not patient, at least calm) person. Not so in China. I have wanted to punch more people on this country in the last two weeks than I have at home in the last twenty years. Needless to say, China has a way of pressing people's buttons. The spitting doesn't help. But it's not all bad. The food is amazing. When you get somewhere epic, it is epic for sure. But getting to that epic place may just be the end of you. However, I resolve to continue to try and see the epic places here until I am ended. Even if the yes's are no's, the rights are wrongs, the ups are downs and the ins are outs. 

7 Days in Tibet

Alright, alright, so I cheated. I drove to Everest Base Camp. In a van. On a tour. But at least I say it how It is. And in my defence, I did still have to tackle many mountain passes and cope with the altitude (when I got out of the van to take some photos). At one point I even felt a little nauseous. So I actually had to work hard for the experience of Everest base camp... But not really. However, from the Tibetan side, trekking to Everest base camp is nigh on impossible, due to the political situation, especially when compared to the ease with which one can trek to Everest base camp from the Nepal side. Tibet, the province of China (or country in its own right if you want to be controversial) is notoriously difficult to get into. Let alone get through. Let alone do anything legitimately intrepid in. So I couldn't have walked to Everest base camp from Tibet, even though I really really wanted to. Instead, I just sat tight and did what I was told. I'm good at that. 

Now don't get lost in the depth of this next statement, but I wrote this when I saw Everest for the first time from a distance of about 150 km. To be honest, the mountain, the view, it made my (arm) hair stand on end.

"In China, the most populated country on earth, there is nobody here. Nobody lives here. Nobody wants to. It's just the mountains and the sky with nothing and no one in between.

I'd always assumed that Himalayas were high and that Everest would be just another indistinguishable peak among many. It's not. You can see Everest clearly from 150 km away. It is unrivalled. Undisputedly, Everest claims the title of Top of the World."

Thank goodness that's over. I wrote that when we were still a solid 4 hours drive away from base camp. But by the time we arrived at base camp however, Everest just looked like another mountain. Looking up, there was nothing to tell you that this mountain was a beast. It was not that high; didn't look that hard to climb. Not that anything. It was difficult to believe that we had arrived at the base of the Goddess of the Earth, as the Tibetans call her. So we talked, joked and laughed about how easy the climb looked. I even sneezed at the mountain - the altitude does that to you (makes you both Sneezy and slightly deluded). But on return to civilisation we watched the film Everest (2015 Hollywood edition) about the 1996 disaster. Needless to say, that shut us all up. Despite the mountain looking pint sized (or at least ordinary sized) from the bottom, the film definitely depicted, rather traumatically I might add, the hostility of the mountain. But I mean, surely if a 13 year old American kid can climb it, it can't be that challenging right?!?

On a different note entirely, I would also like to add that aside from my trip to Everest base camp, other adventures in Tibet include getting a little too close for comfort to a yak (named Jack) with large horns, being surrounded by, photographed by and laughed at by local Tibetans and no story is complete (or at least it shouldn't be) without befriending a puppy or too, which of course, I also did. 

I'm alive

So, I would firstly like to apologise for assuming that my blog would work in China. It doesn't. Luckily for you, my loyal supporters and for me, I have discovered an app that rights all wrongs on this front. But just so that you know, I was all prepared to have a backlog of handwritten blogs in my diary to post when I got back to countries where blogs and Facebook and YouTube and gmail (and freedom?) are allowed. So I am dedicated. Obviously, I am dedicated because I am sitting on my bed in Lhasa, Tibet writing my bloody blog. As if that's what all normal people do when they are in Tibet.

But I guess I should back track a couple of days to arrival in hot, sticky, humid Hong Kong. In this strange and foreign land, I have learnt two things. Firstly, the locals are super friendly - if you start to think about asking for directions someone has already answered your question. Secondly, and much more importantly, I discovered that I can't use chopsticks for shit. Perhaps not the best self-realisation to have on the way to The Middle ofNnowhere. Alas, here we are. In The Middle of Nowhere. I still can't use chopsticks, but I am learning slowly. Emphasis on slowly, but I am trying to hurry this process up a bit because I am concerned that I am going to have to go hungry in the not too distant future. And hunger leads to hanger which leads to a genuinely unpleasant experience for all involved. In a 5 mile radius.

It's always difficult to know what to tell people about travels.

Hong Kong.

It's hot. It's humid. It's busy. It's beautiful. It's chaotic.

Tibet.

It's high. It's cold. It's clear. It's crazy. It's traditional. In an untraditional sense.

And without fail, the people are amazing and generous and warm.

I'll let you know if something funny happens. Its a dangerous world out there. So until I come out with some horrific sorry of my utter ignorance about everything, stay safe. In a role of bubble wrap. It'll help protect you from the storm.

And I'll work on photos for next time... The blog itself was achievement enough for one night!

Over yonder

It has been an eventful past 10 days. I’ve finished my degree in chemistry and oceanography, with the very real possibility of throwing up both before my exams, and after. Only one of those two possibilities came to fruition.

Since I finished my exams (and recovered from the aftermath), I haven’t looked back. I have been frolicking in the mountains, swimming in the river, enjoying the sunshine, cuddling with the dog, and just generally chilling the fuck out.

Recovering from the swim

Chilling the fuck out

Luxury accommodation

Complete with soft fluffy beds

And mood lighting

Something to get excited about

Frolicking in the mountains

Enjoying the sunshine

Paradise

Oh hey, NZ

My dad, the Mountain Man

But this fun and relaxing is all about to change. Today, I board a plane and head off into the great blue yonder. I am venturing to the land where minimal Facebook has ever ventured. And that’s all that I really wanted to say. That I won’t have Facebook (*shock horror*). So, if you want to know the mishaps, mistakes, missteps, misadventures and mischief that my friend and I will get up over yonder, you might need to take some initiative and actually look this blog up from time to time. But if you’re not that interested, then fear not, I won’t be spamming your Facebook wall for 7 weeks or so. So you can count your lucky stars.

Hexagonal

I have a policy not to read what I write in my previous blogs because it makes my tummy feel funny. So I don’t. On principal. Last week I sat my organic chemistry exam. Which also made my tummy feel funny. In fact, I would go so far as to say it made me so anxious that I thought I was going to throw up. Or have a mini panic attack. Or a major heart attack. It ruined my sleep patterns for the week, reducing my nightly average to about 5 hours. As a result I have been tired, grumpy and emotional since Tuesday. And it is now Sunday. Anyway, moving right along, (based on the assumption that I pass my organic chemistry exam) it is with great pride and pleasure and humility and gratification that I would like to announce that I have completed my undergraduate degree in chemistry.  Do you want to know what that qualifies me to do? Nothing. Except, I can draw pentagons, hexagons and octagons. So if you are in need of somebody capable of drawing those three shapes and little else then I am your girl. Go me!

Red = how to draw the perfect hexagon

I should make an advertisement for doing a chemistry degree:

Chemistry Ad

It would read, "Do a degree in chemistry! You will have to make crystal meth in your basement to get by, but your love for the subject will outweigh any other problems you might have in your life. Promise."

And it will be an ironic ad. 

Oh and about my life getting more interesting, as I promised it would, it will… It just hasn’t yet. Give it another week. Or two. And then maybe something spicy might happen. That may be a pun. It may not be. I have no idea. Time will tell. In other news (entirely unrelated), my family seems to have made a habit of having family reunions right in the middle of my exams. So that's fun. And poor timing. And fuels the aforementioned tired, grumpy and emotional state.

Although, when I say that my life hasn’t gotten interesting, I did get a black eye. So that was fun; you know, supporting the Men In Black (#allblackeverything). I admit, wasn’t a proper black eye, but I will claim it because it was the most interesting thing that has happened all week (in my life). If you’re wondering, I got a phone thrown at my face.

Our boys

The weather has been quite nice. Not that I would know. I’ve been working on my study tan. Pasty with a hint of ghost.

What does this even mean? 

Till something more interesting happens, stay safe out there. It’s a dangerous world!

[End note and fun fact: Apparently throwing up in your exam is not that uncommon; some people do that. Unfortunately I have never experienced this first hand, but I have it on good authority]

Formal Attire

Nobody panic. I am still alive. Contrary to popular belief. And contrary to my blog presence. No. I haven’t been killed. No. I haven’t gone walkabout (not yet, anyway). But yes. My fan club did get concerned about the fact that I haven’t written to you for a while. And yes, I have a fan club. It consists of three people. I’m a minor celebrity. So here I am, to divulge the inner workings of my twisted mind; to splash my emotional sob story all over the pages internet (because what better way to do it?). And procrastinate. Because what better time to start writing my blog again than half way through my exams.

Literally me.

I would apologise, but fuck it. Apologies are for pussies (unless it’s warranted, in which case, apologising is not for pussies). Although, I apologise for not having a sob story. Although, perhaps I’ve made some people cry, but they haven’t talked to me about it. Ignorance is bliss. I can offer a bit of an explanation as to where I have been all this time. It’s not that I haven’t had the time. I have. In fact, props to me, I have watched 8 seasons of TV shows in the last 2 months (these are the kind of skills that pepper my CV - can’t understand why I’m still unemployed?!?). Anyway, part of the reason why I sometimes find it hard to write is because I have this internal conflict about whether or not writing a blog is entertaining or horrifically pretentious. I rule it as horrifically pretentious, and therefore have to overcome quite an internal barrier before publishing my life story. However, it would appear that, seeing as I haven’t written anything recently, I am not doing so well with my warring mind. It can also be a challenge to write anything when ones life takes a turn for the mundane. Exceptionally mundane. Like yesterday, I had brushed my teeth. And while my life hasn’t become more interesting yet, it is going to (now you’re hooked right? What is she talking about?). In the near future. Maybe. Hopefully. We’ll see.

Hobbes has it sorted

But first of all, looking back… I left you when I was having my pre-mid life crisis. A real cliff hanger, ae. Yeah. Well. Nah. Probably the biggest news of the semester is that I have recently employed some people to hang out with me on occasion. As part of their employment contract, they had to attend my Formal Attire 22^nd Birthday Party.  By the way, holy guacamole, you should see what the ageing process has done to me – not good. Because I’m a girl and a feminist and believe that women should be objectified; ‘who was I wearing?’ you ask. I have absolutely no clue, but it was full length and red and velvet. And any event where full length and red and velvet is not ridiculous must be fantastic, right? Except there was that one guy who showed up to my Formal Attire Birthday Party in shorts. Since when were shorts formal attire? I mean a more appropriately dressed individual was wearing a three-piece suit. Admittedly shorts-boy was not from New Zealand. He originated from some other land.  My advice for you - don’t ever go to a formal event in shorts.

'Nuff said

The real highlight of the birthday party though, was my delightful mother cranking out the old guitar, song lyrics and ensuring that everyone present sang along with the ‘Steph Lambie’ rendition of ‘The Yellow Submarine” by The Beatles. As if an embarrassing story at my expense would not suffice… It was very sweet, and if I was a crier, I would have cried. But I’m not a crier, so I didn’t cry. I’ll tell you what though… Having friends has it’s pluses and minuses. Plus, I no longer have to eat lunch alone everyday (just Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays). Minuses, I often hear faint ringings of ‘we all live in the Lambie bungalow’ throughout the chemistry department.

My new ride

I actually don’t know what I have spent the last 2 months doing. That’s worrisome. I am becoming more goldfish like everyday.