Gogovivi

Waiting for Carmen

2012-02-17T23:35:31+08:00

It doesn’t smell like I thought it would here, nor is the sound quite right. On my first morning in Africa, I rise to a smell reminiscent of my hometown after a spring rain, and a sound distinctly that of my current home in Qingdao, China: a syncopated symphony of construction complete with the pounding of hammers, the buzzing of power saws, and the sporadic voices calling commands over the din. I must confess that my expectations were something more stereotyped; I wrongly expected smells akin to an Indian spice shop: pungent and exotic, and sounds more quiet and peaceful, more Karen Blixen, more bird sanctuary, and less like a city on the rise.

I spend a long day waiting for my friend to arrive. I haven’t seen her in more than 20 years. Not since the birth of her first child have I looked in her eyes, unless you count those few moments at our 10th high school reunion when in a fit of moral superiority, I made an unjustified judgement. Perhaps she remembers my transgression or maybe she never noticed, but 20 years later I still feel guilty for my intolerance and for the assumption that I knew better than she. I am not the same person I was twenty, or even ten, years ago, and I have an apology to make. I have traveled a long way to make it.

I breakfast in the atrium, discomfited by the banality of it all. After living in Asia for more than six years, I am unaccustomed to blending in, as I am typically one of the few fair-headed blues in a sea of wiry-haired browns. Today, though, I am one among many Westerners in this most African of cities. At the table next to me is a salt-and-pepper professorial type nearing the final pages of a scholarly thousand-page book. Scattered around the perimeter of the room are the singles like myself, the ones here alone on business who seem accustomed to breakfasting alone in far-flung places. Nearer the center of the room are the groups of four, eight, even ten, who are clearly colleagues, NGO development wonks, judging from their chatter. I feel simultaneously invisible and out of place. I look no different from any of them, but I am suddenly painfully conscious of my career-less status. I, who left a career in public health to trail my husband to the life of a housewife living overseas; I, who six years ago suffered the painful loss of professional identity, and subsequent recovery, only to relapse amongst this group of enthusiastic and idealistic international professionals.

Breakfast begins a long day of waiting, a day in which I have plenty of opportunity and cause for reflection. I remember the first time I met her. It was my first day at a new school, in a new life, a transfer student in 11th grade. Then, as now, I didn’t fit in very well with my community; I wore my hair short and spiky, dyed a vibrant red, wearing heavy black work boots with my fringed suede jacket, a confused yet bold small-town blend of punk and hippie. She was nothing like me; tall, confident, and a rare beauty, she made her mark on me for her looks as well as her kindness, for on that day, she became my first new friend. She sought me out across a crowded cafeteria, for reasons I have never questioned, and made that first day bearable.

We became close friends and confidantes, but we were not destined to share our lives for long. With her looks, poise, and intelligence, she was on a trajectory to the life of a beautiful person in New York City. For my part, I was on my way to university and I aspired to the life of a smart person: scientist, doctor, wonk, I didn’t really care as long as it made me look smart. She made her mark in the fashion world then I lost her as she created a life and a family somewhere far from me. I built a career, only to abandon it for the transient life of an expatriate in Asia. The passing years intervened.

I sit under the dappled shade of the acacia tree and order a White Cap Lager as I think of our reunion, more than a year in the making and now only moments away. Tomorrow we will travel south, to a region near the Kenya-Tanzania border, and start digging a well to serve a community in need. I get to witness my friend's vision first-hand, and the good she has done in the world. She has seen a need in Africa, and garnered all her resources to help fill it. Somewhere along the way, perhaps through shared toil in the blazing African sun, twenty years of lost friendship will be redeemed.

You can learn more about Carmen's vision and work at A Voice is Heard. Please consider making a generous contribution to this organization and help us make a difference for a community in need.

You Will Eat Cookies

2012-02-14T08:34:03+08:00

I probably should have included instructions with the cookies I sent to school with Vivian to celebrate Valentine's Day:

Open the baggie
Use both hands to break open the fortune cookie.
Retrieve and read the fortune.
Eat the cookie.

I have always loved fortune cookies but have never seen one in China. Why not? Because they were not invented in China and they basically don't exist here (or do they?).

Like fortune cookies, Valentine's Day is a holiday of the western world that is mostly a non-event in China, although the more commercial trappings of the day have been showing up in the shops for a couple of years. Among expats, Americans are one of the few nationalities that really even bother with Valentine's Day, which makes it a fun opportunity to share a little of our unique American culture with Vivian's classmates. You see, she is the only American among 15 classmates, so she's in a truly international environment.

I made a big batch of fortune cookies yesterday using this recipe and I can report that the recipe is great, the cookies came out thin and crispy, and the omission of butter from the recipe means that there are no greasy spots on the paper fortunes tucked inside. I doubled the recipe, which I definitely recommend for first-timers, because learning the folding technique takes some trial and error. Plus you need to taste-test a few along the way...

In a seriously non-traditional twist, I decided to ice and decorate the cookies because I have a daughter who loves all things pink and sprinkly, and these are Valentine's fortune cookies, after all.

Hopefully today Vivian's American teacher will explain to the class the interesting phenomenon of the fortune cookie, the "Chinese" tradition that most Chinese (including my beloved housekeeper) have never even heard of, and how fortune cookies really have nothing to do with Valentine's Day.

We Got a Dog

2012-02-05T17:34:08+08:00

We got a dog. The dog that we have been waiting six years to get, the one we have been waiting until we move back to Portland to get, the dog that we said we couldn't get because we are expats and we travel too much, we are too transient, and China is too unreliable of a place to get a dog.

We got the dog I thought we would never get: it is too hairy, too messy, sheds too much, is not smart enough, is too stubborn.

We got a dog in China: a place where I said I would never buy a dog. Animals are sick here, the breeders take the pups away from the mum too young, they live in cages and are generally ill treated. Or so they say.

We gave up all the excuses and got a dog. His name is Pepper. He is three months old, he is an Old English Sheepdog, and wherever we go next, he will come along.

The Bali Curse is Broken

2012-02-01T17:25:06+08:00

The first time we planned a vacation in Bali, it was 2007 and we had fully booked three weeks worth of hotels, villas, and flights when, less than a week before departure we were told (by the corporate powers that finance our summer holidays) that we had to cancel the entire trip because of a heightened threat of violence. We planned a second trip in 2009 when lightning struck twice: one week before departure, a bomb went off somewhere in Indonesia and our trip was, again, cancelled. At that point, we thought that we somehow were cursed and would never visit Bali. We threw away the Lonely Planet. The next year, fearing that our Bali Curse would extend to members of the wedding party, we declined an invitation to a lovely romantic wedding in Ubud, and instead, we visited Thailand again. Or maybe it was Borneo.

Despite all the other places we have visited in the meantime, I never really gave up wanting to visit Bali, so we decided to try a third time, and as they say, the third time was the charm. We spent a week in south Bali over Chinese New Year, doing tons of almost nothing: almost no time sightseeing, only a little photographing, and a lot of time swimming, sleeping in late, and visiting with friends.

On the surface, I found Bali to be much like other tropical places that we have visited in S.E. Asia over the years: Full of friendly and photogenic people, with spectacularly beautiful resorts and tourist areas, stunning landscapes, and a history of such depth it defies my comprehension. But as with other lovely places, the polish is not very deep, and the gritty edge becomes only too evident once you leave the resort.

Don't drink the vodka: Absolut bottles full of petrol at neighborhood petrol stops.

Sadly, the rainy season in the Jimbaran area brings loads and loads of trash washing up onto the beach. Just a few hundred meters from our cozy hotel, this was the scene on Kedonganan beach, an area that in the drier seasons boasts beautiful clean stretches of white sand, spectacular sunsets, and a thriving beachfront restaurant scene.

Procrastination Means Love

2012-01-17T15:13:50+08:00

It has taken me four months of procrastination, but I have just finished editing the photos from a newborn baby portrait session from last September.

Four months of forgetfulness, avoidance, and indecision. I couldn't decide which photos I liked, which I wanted to edit, or how I wanted the final shots to look. I was too busy with other things, and just too burned out with photo editing to bother. The mom even had to come to me and say..."uh, Kiley, I know you're busy, but remember those photos you took...?"

This isn't my normal professional behavior. I usually turn around my clients photographs within two weeks. But you see, this wasn't my normal "client", either. These photos were of my friend Rebecca and her baby Marty(pants), and these photos were special. They were the last of a long series that I started taking of Rebecca when she was 15 weeks pregnant, a series that documented her changing body and journey into motherhood, a series that grew as our friendship grew, and resulted in some of the best photos I have ever taken. These photos were also the last ones I had the privilege to shoot of this beautiful pair, before they left Qingdao to repatriate to the U.S.

It seems obvious to me now the putting off finishing the photos was my way of denying that this chapter is over, that Rebecca and Marty have moved on, and that an ocean and twelve time zones now separates me from my good friend. Although we only knew each other for two years, her influence remains. It shows most clearly in my photography, for which she patiently sat still over the course of eleven different sessions while I tested new techniques, new lighting, and new locations. But it also shows in other, subtler ways. Rebecca taught a 40-year old me to shake my booty, Latin style, as my Zumba teacher. As a devoted and confident Christian, she suffered through long discussions about faith, what it means, who the faithful are, and the loss of all faith I experienced when Miles died, all without defense or judgement. She got me hooked on Chinese massage, to the point that for a time, she and I were getting two massages a week. She is a business woman, a fashionista, a fitness instructor, a Christian, and a true friend.

I want to share some of my favorite photos from these sessions. Like this one, which I took while lying in the pool in my bikini, when Rebecca was so pregnant at 39.5 weeks that she could barely float.

Here, she is 30 weeks pregnant and still teaching Zumba 4 times a week.

Or these two, which I love for their simple beauty, taken as I was learning to wrangle off-camera flash, before her baby bump really even showed.

The photos are finally done, Rebecca. These are the last of them. I procrastinated because I miss you and didn't want our time together in Qingdao to end. With all my love.

A Cold Day in Jimo

2012-01-15T08:41:13+08:00

Jet lagged and cold, and against all the instincts that told me, begged me, to stay home, be warm, and rest, I boarded the 8:30 am bus to Jimo City. Jimo is one of those ubiquitous, faceless towns that form the suburbs of Qingdao: without any obvious reason for being, sans any apparent charm or character, but housing millions of Chinese in apartment blocks notable only for their sprawl and anonymity. Or so it seems to me, through my critical, tired, myopic expat eyes.

When finally we arrived at the primary school, in the village beyond the reach of the urban sprawl, our bus was met by two long columns of children, clapping excitedly and proudly greeting us while waving tall red flags symbolic of the pride and heritage of China. The anonymity of the suburbs vanishes amidst this sea of young faces, so excited and optimistic, but also nervous and shy. The foreigners are here.

I came on a bus full of foerign students on their annual school charity project. Throughout the month of December, students and families from Vivian's international school collected bags full of basic necessities to share with needy families: cooking oil, rice, warm blankets and clothing, even coal for their coal-burning heaters. Today we would distribute the bags at a rural school, and my purpose on the trip was documentation.

It was the worst kind of day for photography; the skies were thick with coal smoke and the sun was so deeply shrouded that shadows were absent. Gray, gray, more gray. Plus cold, frigid cold...but still I managed to find scenes of surprising beauty in the grayness, in the faces, and in the moment.

This wasn't just a school event; it was a community event. The students from both schools were excited, and the excitement spread beyond the walls of the school. Look carefully at the photo below and behind the lone girl watching from a distance you see the crowd of families and friends waiting in anticipation behind the locked gate.

As always, my camera loves faces more than anything else; as always, my camera is not disappointed.

Long-Haul Travel with a Kid: My Top Tips

2012-01-11T12:53:38+08:00

Vivian and I have just returned from our winter holiday, after a 12+-hour flight across the Pacific, followed by a 5-hour layover in Beijing, plus another 90 minutes in the air home to Qingdao. For both of us, it was a long 24-hour stretch with no sleep. The next day Vivian, being young and resilient as she is, didn't let the fatigue get her down. For her, playing with friends new and old was more important than napping. I, on the other hand, spent half the day immobile on the bed, unable to sleep but also unable to even think about any kind of work.

As I indulged in post-travel malaise, I reflected on six years of long-haul flights. These long flights have become so routine in our lives that now I think of a 6-hour flight as "short", and after a dozen hops between continents with a small child along, I have learned a thing or two about crossing oceans with kids.

Arrival Time: For long flights with significant time changes, I prefer day flights that arrive in the evening over night flights that arrive in the morning. This is contrary to other advice I have received, but I find it easiest to suffer a long flight awake, or mostly so, and collapse into bed for a full night sleep shortly after arriving.
Day flights vs. Night flights: Arriving in the evening often means taking day flights, which many parents I know avoid. Most families I know prefer night flights so that their children can sleep on the plane. That strategy is good only if your child will actually sleep on a plane. My child will not - EVER - sleep on flights, long or short. Unless its 20 minutes to landing, when she can be relied on to pass out.
Amenities: Be careful choosing a flight. If parental sanity is even nearly as important to you as price tag, you will want to consider more than just price, duration, and layovers. In this day and age, most long-haul carriers provide in-seat Video on Demand (VOD) with programming that is suitable for children. Find out before you buy at Seat Guru.
In-flight entertainment: In the event your flight does not have VOD, prepare other ways to entertain your kid. Coloring books, crayons, and books work for us, but become heavy quickly, and only entertain for an hour or two. For us, electronics are the way to go, but most gadgets have batteries that are drained well before the flight ends. We double-up on gadgets when we can (though our budget and our parenting choices restrict this option somewhat). Some flights that do not provide VOD do provide in-seat power for recharging laptops and video gadgets, which can solve the battery life problem. Consult Seat Guru to find out if the flight you are considering has a power option.
Bulkheads: Be careful choosing seats and re-consider the bulkhead seats. Many families I know always choose the bulkhead seats when traveling in economy class with children. These seats do offer some advantages like extra leg room, easier access to your seat, optional bassinettes for babies, and no disgruntled passenger seated immediately in front of a bored child who might find kicking the seat entertaining. My family has outgrown the bulkhead, though, and here's why.
- No seatback storage for easy access to the child's playthings, and more importantly,
- No under-seat storage for easy access to backpacks.
- The arms of bulkhead seats typically do not lift, because the table and/or VOD devices are stopred inside the armrest. If your child likes to lay on your lap to sleep, bulkhead seats make this impossible.
- Bulkhead seats are often located behind the toilets. The traffic, noise, and disruption are enough to disturb a sleeping child; the unpleasantness of unwanted smells disturbs everyone.
- In flights without VOD, the bulkhead is typically immediately in front of the large shared video screen, which is a constant source of visual stimulation that is difficult to avoid and can make it more difficult for restless children to sleep.
Last words: Finally, the best piece of strategic advice I ever received as a new parent-long haul traveler: never, ever, let your kid wander around the plane. Good travel manners start young, and letting a kid run amock on the plane sets the stage for a childhood full of headaches. We always require Vivian to remain seated with her seatbelt on; she can't entertain herself by running up and down the aisles, she can't make too much noise, and she cannot ever, ever, kick the seat in front of her. Its easier that way. Trust me.

Naked in Half Moon Bay

2012-01-06T08:50:47+08:00

Although I have been to California a time or two, somehow I didn't expect our winter holiday to end with a mini-beach vacation. Perhaps I would have been more prepared if our itinerary took us to San Diego, but San Francisco? The last thing I expected to be doing in January in San Francisco is chasing a naked kid around the beach.

My best friend and honorary sister Julie is living in Half Moon Bay (she claims its not a permanent situation, but I'll believe her when she moves back to PDX). I suppose San Fran lifers would argue that Half Moon Bay and San Francisco are not nearly the same place, but to this Oregonian, close enough is close enough. The last time I was in San Francisco was in August of 2008, and I remember quite well being so cold that I had to go out and buy a warm scarf and hat. So you'll forgive me for expecting that January would be a little colder than August.

And you'll know that I am wrong. Naked kids on beaches do not lie.

I'm practicing with a new camera, the Fuji X100. Remember it? I have been lusting after it for more than a year now. Its my new backup/travel camera and after a few days of buyer's remorse, I am starting to think that we might get along ok. More on that later. In the meantime, Zai Tian Half Moon Bay, we are returning to Qingdao tomorrow!

Five reasons I love Central Oregon

2011-12-28T13:08:25+08:00

That special evening light over the Three Sisters

Jack Frost

Cousins

Grandparents

Blue skies and rocky crags

It's been a wonderful Christmas season, so far. So eventful, and so mellow.

The Moon over Qingdao

2011-12-11T09:01:43+08:00

What a beautiful surprise in the sky last night - a full lunar eclipse, and perhaps a greater surprise, a clear and crisp, smog-free night in Qingdao on which to view it. Having never attempted to photograph such an event before, I set up in the sub-freezing temperatures in the back garden with my camera, tripod, remote release, and 300 mm lens to see what I could do.

It was a beautiful way to spend a winter's evening. Knowing that friends around Asia and even on the other side of the Pacific were watching the same moon at the same moment made it even more special. In those moments, I felt not so far from home.