From East to West and Back Again--Culture Change

Germany--More Like Home

When I entered the airport in Hamburg, Germany about a week and a half ago, I already felt closer to this culture than the one I had left about 15 hours earlier. For one thing, my whole foot would fit on each step of a staircase. I had forgotten that stairs in Hong Kong were much smaller. For another thing, I didn’t feel so outsized. The people surrounding me were taller and wider than the ones I had just left. I am reminded of that difference every day in Hong Kong. The last reminder came as I was purchasing socks for the colder weather when I departed the airport in Hong Kong. The label read “one size fits all.” I would have been relieved except that “all” referred to those people with shoe sizes from 4-8 and mine were 9!

I was also reminded of the differences when I had problems figuring out where to find a taxi upon my arrival in Hamburg. Finding nobody at the information desk, I inquired the direction of a woman at another desk. She promptly told me that her job was NOT to supply information and so I had to fend for myself in the near-empty airport that night. I thought to myself that strangers in Hong Kong were much friendlier—particularly in the fabulous Hong Kong airport.

When I went to breakfast the next morning, I was greeted by the best kind of difference—the sight and smell of sturdy bread in all shapes and all grains. The Chinese have likely come to the appreciation of bread a little late—and make it more to resemble their steamed buns than the bread I am used to. It is always either too soft or too chewy, despite having the look of the real thing. So instead of Congee and noodles or a stir-fried rice dish, there were many kinds of cheese and jams and yogurt and muesli on the breakfast table—all accompanied by wonderful coffee. OK, I can get that in Hong Kong, as Starbucks and the Pacific Coffee Company have both made their way to Asia and are fairly ubiquitous around the city.

Of course the cooler temperatures and the many-colored leaves were also different. I had traded my sandals in for lace-up shoes with those too-tight socks. And I even purchased a wool jacket from Marks & Spencer in Hong Kong before the trip. Yes, it is true, the stores are loaded with winter attire and the advertising in the magazine shouts “Winter at Last” when the daytime highs are still in the 80s.

Next Stop—Siem Reap, Cambodia

I didn’t get much chance to make other comparisons as I had to spend most of my time in Germany in meeting rooms before the interminably long return flight. But as it turns out I had another chance to make comparisons when Pekin and I decided to take this last long weekend with a little trip. Monday was Chung Yeung Festival where the people go to respect their ancestors in the graveyards and to sweep the graves make burnt offerings. Having no ancestors in Hong Kong to visit, we purchased tickets to Siem Reap, Cambodia to experience one of the new wonders of the world, the ancient city of Angkor Wat.  It didn’t make the cut for the top seven, according to the million votes received by the New7Wonders Foundation, but it was in the next 13 to be nominated. Other lists of the “wonders” do include Angkor Wat in the top tier.

At our age we frequently say to ourselves that it is possible we won’t get the chance to do these things or be healthy enough to make these trips again, so we need to do it now. We weren’t sorry.

But the contrast with both Germany and Hong Kong couldn’t have been greater. The first difference was the walk through passport control. Pekin referred to the long line of uniformed middle-aged men as the “Twelve Apostles,” but there weren’t quite that many. After affixing our visa to the passport the first man passed the passport to the next, who inspected it carefully and handed it off to the stern-looking guy on his left, and so forth—all the way to the last man, who then handed the documents across the counter to us. At last we had been given approval to enter the country. We would have taken a picture of the group, but feared they might revoke the visas.

All over Siem Reap we were greeted by men and women who couldn’t do enough to make us feel honored to have entered their country. That was all the more obvious by following of the cultural practice to press the palms of their hands together and bow to us each time we were greeted. We never opened a door in our hotel. There was always someone there to do it for us. Chairs were pulled out for us as we sat down to breakfast and my car door was always opened by the driver. I wonder how I can get that to happen back in the U.S.

People Living in the Midst of Poverty and Corruption

I know there is poverty in Hong Kong because I read about it in the newspaper regularly.  I’ve also read that the region is at or near the top in the gap between the richest and the poorest. However, because of the life I lead here, I don’t have many chances to encounter the poorest citizens. In Siem Reap it was impossible to avoid. Our driver, not among the poorest, quit his job as an elementary school teacher, to earn more money as a driver. He can’t rise in the ranks to be a tour guide, however, until he pays $3,000 for the license to practice. It is all about corruption, he says, when he describes the system for nearly everything in the country. He took us to visit his mother so we could purchase some of the baskets she makes and sells along the Thai border where they fetch a better price than in town. His parents were spared from the brutality of the Khmer Rouge because they lacked education and worked as rice farmers. After driving down a long bumpy dirt road and through a village surrounded by flooded land, we arrived at the family home—up on stilts, open to the elements from below because the floor boards had gaps between them; lacking doors or windows; and without electricity from the city but only a battery that allowed for limited lighting, television viewing, and refrigeration. After purchasing a few baskets, I left feeling sad about the hard life of this woman and her family of seven children.

We also saw the signs of poverty at the Angkor Wat ruins where small children as young as four or five relentlessly begged tourists to buy their post cards, woven bracelets or guidebooks. We were told they went to school on split sessions, but that school was closed in honor of the visit of the S. Korean prime minister, leaving the children free to ply their wares.

One morning we took a boat trip on Tonle Sap Lake where the mostly Vietnamese boat people live. To tourists the place is romantically referred to as the “floating village.”  Earning a livelihood from fishing, the boat people spend their whole lives on the water. Some of the larger ones serve as shopping centers, while one boat was the site of a pool room, and a third one covered with netting was used as a basketball court. Several floating restaurants were also situated among the homes. To complete the community there was a church boat and a school boat. The community must have to deal with water-borne diseases, and mobility is both limited and facilitated by the surrounding water. Children and adults alike appeared thin and malnourished. I was glad to have seen this village, but also sad to know that I could do little about the conditions. It made me want to give more to support Kiva, the online micro-loan program.

Of course we went to Siem Reap to experience the temples, not the poverty. They were as amazing as everyone has said. But without the $50 million that came from NGOs and the Japanese government to preserve the site and clear out the land mines—which are said to still be found in the jungle areas surrounding the temples, it would not be the tourist site it is today. The Cambodian People’s Party government is somehow unable or unwilling to manage the temple business , so outsources it to a private company that returns a small percentage to government coffers. In case you might be thinking that this poor country would not know the value of a dollar, you would be wrong. A 3-day pass to visit Angkor Wat costs $40 per person, while the 45-minute boat ride on a tub that we were not sure would get us back to the dock was priced at $20 per person, and the right to exit Cambodia at the airport was an additional $25 per head (coming in cost only $20 each). Who gets all that money? Our driver tells us that the corrupt government scoops it all up and it lands in their pockets.

I started this blog with thoughts about cultural differences, and in the short time between October 15 and 26^th I felt like I went through a time warp as well as a cultural warp. I’ve only touched the surface of the feelings I had about differences, so might continue this later. All I have to say to conclude is that I’m glad to be back at our serviced suite hotel on the Hong Kong harbor.

The Resurgence of Barbie in China

Barbie dolls have always driven me crazy. They lack most all of the features that I believe little girls should seek in role models. As many other feminists have pointed out, they have anatomically unrealistic bodies, they find that “math is hard,” they spend their time trying to make themselves beautiful for Ken, and  they represent the ultimate female consumer.

I consider myself a feminist and have fought for women’s rights in my profession, conducted research on gender equity issues, and tried hard to raise my two daughters to be strong women who also believe in  gender equality. But I must confess that I failed to resist Barbie pressure from at least one of my daughters. And when my youngest was gifted with most of her cousin’s large Barbie collection, discarded because she had outgrown doll play, I allowed her to accept the dolls, the clothes, the jewelry—all of it.  Not my only failure as a mother, but I’m not proud of that weakness.

In recent years I have not thought much about Barbies as my daughters are grown and the topic doesn’t come up much in conversation.  I have noticed in Hong Kong, however, that many of the young women wear clothes out in public that resemble those of Barbie.  However, I was still taken aback when I walked into the shopping center  through which I must pass each morning on my way to school, to find a life-sized display of a Barbie dream house in shades of electric pink. In another part of the mall was a display that included an enormous pink high-heeled shoe with other fashion items displayed prominently. The entire display was labeled “Pretty in Pink.” 

Flagship Store in Shanghai

I had read that Barbie sales in the U.S. were on the decline lately—probably replaced by the newly popular Bratz dolls. So the display surprised me a little. Later I read that Mattell’s sales of Barbie are huge in China these days. On the Mattel website, it introduces Barbie Shanghai as “the first Barbie Worldwide Flagship Store.” Complete with a fashion runway, a place to have a “photo moment” with Barbie and a Barbie Spa (guess that is for the pleasure of  aging Barbie fans). http://www.barbieshanghai.com/en/lobby.html   Opened on Barbie’s 50^th birthday in March, the store is a full six stories.  Yes, you read that correctly. SIX stories. For those of us used to locating Barbies in a single aisle in Target, it is hard to imagine what they could possibly put on all those floors. Barbie’s clothes surely don’t take up that much space!

Now  in stores in more than 200 Chinese cities, Barbie is selling  like hotpants, errr.. hotcakes. In one shopping mall in Beijing alone, sales of more than $13,000 a month are being reported. http://www.bjreview.com.cn/culture/txt/2009-03/24/content_187427.htm There is even an online web site, babiwawa.com, for Barbie lovers in China.

Should We Take this Seriously?

A little bewildered by this surge of Barbie fans, I asked a female colleague whether she objected to the Barbie display in the mall or the message it might be sending to young girls. She replied that her daughter had Barbies and that it was fine for little girls to think about being pretty and dressing up as long as they also were taught to work hard in school.  

My university is located in a neighborhood with a lot of private elementary and middle schools. Frequently I see the young girls in their modestly designed uniforms and sensible shoes walking around the mall or on the train platforms. But I know it  won’t be long before they are aspiring to the silk and glitter of the models walking on the harbor or the mannequins in the multiple store windows that fill Hong Kong. How can they resist when the malls are one of the few places where kids can go that is out of the intense heat and offers fun places to hang out and even ice skate.  

In a meeting one day in my office with several young women working on a school project, I remarked about the glitter-covered and intricately designed nails of one of the women. Her face lit up as she described how you could go to mainland China in Shenzhen, just across the border from Hong Kong and get them done for only about $100 HK, while at home the same manicure would cost more like $700.  (That would be about U.S. $13 and  more than U.S. $90 respectively). She left me with the address in case I wanted to invest in designer nails.  Does this mean she followed this fashion because she played with Barbie dolls—or that her school work was less important than her nails? I have no way of knowing as the mid-term, paper and final have yet to be turned in.

Post Script  

There was some redeeming value to the Barbie Pretty in Pink display in Festival Walk. The mall was holding a charity sale in conjunction with the display in cooperation with the Moonlight Foundation Nepal that helps provide free education to poor children in that country.  The recipients of this aid would otherwise join the child labor force of 40,000 in Nepal. Because the supporters of the charity in Hong Kong are “super models,” (Anthony Sandstrom and Jocelyn Luko) they likely thought that the Barbie Dream House display was appropriate.

Rules Are Mostly Made to be Kept in Hong Kong

Americans live by rules every day of their lives—in their community governed by neighborhood associations, on the highway in their vehicles, in their workplaces controlled by their superiors. But in Hong Kong societal rules seem to seep into every part of daily existence. And in case you forget how to behave in any given situation, there are plenty of reminders around to get you back on track when you stray. Those reminders come in the form of signs found everywhere—on the walls in train stations, on the workplace intranets, and in the public service announcements on television.  A recent television spot told us all how much happier we would be if we cleaned our homes regularly, illustrating how the whole family pitches in to mop floors.

Rules in University Life

     As an academic, I’ve had fairly free reign over the conduct of my work life. As long as I taught my classes responsibly, kept office hours, attended meetings and published an appropriate amount of research, nobody messed with the way I went about doing things. Not so here. I got a taste of the rules even before I arrived. In early summer, the Human Resources office of the university informed me that my visa would begin on the day before classes started and that I was not expected to book my flight before that time. What?  No time to recover from jet lag? No time to settle in?  No time to get my preparations done before walking into the classroom?  After much negotiation, I was able to get here some days before the start of teaching. But I found those were not the only rules. I needed university approval for travel to conferences —and not just at the department level—and was allotted exactly 3.5 days of approved personal leave for the semester. Decisions are posted on a public website.

     Rules come up in unexpected places at the university. One day early in the semester I left to go home after my evening class. On the train I remembered that I had neglected to remove flash drive from the USB port of the classroom computer. “Never mind,” I thought. “Nobody will be in that room anymore tonight, so I’ll just arrive before the start of classes in the morning to retrieve it.” To my horror, the flash drive was gone and an extensive search turned up nothing. “You might check with security,” said one of the administrative assistants. Thinking this was just like a lost-and-found center, I asked the attendant if my flash drive had been located, providing details about the classroom location and time I left.   Then the interrogation began.  “What did it look like?”  “What was the brand name?”  “What color was it?” “How much memory was on it?”  “Name several files stored on it?”  I must have had a few problems recalling specific information as he was not ready to tell me whether such a thing had been located. He disappeared for about 15 minutes and returned with the device. “Yes, that’s it,“ I said, excitedly, thinking he would hand it over. Oh no. The drive was inserted in the security office’s laptop and powered up. Then I was asked again about file names.  Finally after certifying that it was indeed my flash drive in an official log book and providing several of my signatures, I was allowed to leave—flash drive in hand. Whew! Since then I have remembered to check for ALL my belongings when leaving a classroom.  And I know the security officer’s rule. Remove all alien devices from classrooms and turn them in to the main security office for hapless faculty to arrive and be treated as if they were not the real owners of the items.

Rules for National Day

Last week was the celebration of National Day, the 60^th anniversary of the PRC.  Though celebrations on the mainland were much more elaborate and had many more rules than in Hong Kong, we had a few of our own to follow. Mainland rules dictated that nobody without tickets could attend the official show in Tiananmen Square (despite its being dubbed “the people’s parade”), and that no official celebrations outside those in Shanghai and Beijing were allowed. Even the weather systems were not permitted to bring rain to the main event. So several hours in advance of the celebration, the clouds were all seeded so that rain would fall prior to the ceremony and smog and clouds would magically disappear on cue. As it turned out, the rules were all followed—even by the weather--and the program went off without a hitch.

            Hong Kong’s celebration mainly consisted of a 23-minute fireworks display over Hong Kong harbor. Those people who did not live in an apartment with full view of the harbor or who could not afford a hotel room at the pricey Peninsula, were relegated to standing along the Avenue of the Stars to watch with the rest of the public. Local officials did not want them to misbehave for the event so many banners, like the ones pictured here, reminded the people of proper behavior. Well they must have complied with the admonishments because the next morning on my walk, I found only this display of trash and no indications that any other disturbances occurred.

Rules for Playing Golf

My husband, an avid golfer, has been really keen to get on a golf course here, despite the expense of it all.  On a weekend, the  greens fee for the 18-hole course at Kau Sai Chao costs more than $100.  I encouraged him to go as he may not have the opportunity to do this again. So he called the course to book a tee time. At the other end, an automated telephone system instructed him to register with some detailed personal information, including the first 6 digits of his passport number. After a few more steps, he was asked for his handicap number and the names of the other golfers playing with him.  Following a bit of difficulty he was able to get a real person on the line, explaining that he was away from the U.S. and did not have his handicap number with him. Sadly, he has been unable to get on the links, and is waiting for the number to be sent to him from his golf course back in Bloomington. All of this means nothing to me, but he was incredulous that a public golf course would require his handicap number to be able to book a tee time. Guess his cash is insufficient to play and they won’t take his word about the handicap. Those are the rules.

Transportation Rules –and a Small Rebellion

The rules especially apply to public transportation. On a recent bus trip to the U.S. consulate, my husband and I were seated behind the driver where the bus rules were posted, as you can see in the photo I took of them. I got nervous reading complete list of 24, thinking I might be violating one or the other of them. So I tried to get through the list before disembarking.  But when I got to the 25^th rule, I was somewhat relieved to find that if I had a problem with any of the previous 24, I could call the hotline or customer service or even email a query to the city bus information center. What a relief.

       Now you may be wondering what it takes for a Hong Konger to break the rules. I do see occasional jaywalkers when the stop light lasts too long and a pedestrian is in a hurry. And I also notice that some rule-breakers walk up or downstairs opposite the arrows indicating  the appropriate side.

But I find the most consistent violation of the rules when travelers are boarding trains.  At all train stations passengers are reminded to  “allow passengers to alight” from the train in three languages and to “stand behind the yellow line” as the train approaches. Well, they get part of this right.  At each entrance to the train, arrows are drawn on the platform indicating that those leaving the train will exit in the middle of the door and those boarding the train will wait on either side of  the middle. The assumption is that boarding passengers will wait and when the last person to exit has left, they will step onto the train. But what really happens is that boarding passengers stand behind the yellow line only until the train stops. Then they move in, standing shoulder to shoulder forming a kind of barricade so that the disembarking passengers must push their way out of the train just in time for the doors to close behind them. Why does this happen?  Why do they not wait in the designated areas until all the passengers depart the train?  I have no real explanation. I can only guess that no matter how hard people want to obey the rules, there are just some times and places where you absolutely must resist and do what you want to do—in this case, push your way onto the train. 

I believe I am becoming a better citizen here in Hong Kong and am actually trying to obey the myriad rules posted around me. But I must confess to a little resistance now and again, despite my best efforts.