The Thai Women’s Guide to Scoring a Foreign Man

by Martha Edwards on

I love Thailand. It’s a great place to travel to and is brimming with gracious people, good food, rich history and amazing scenery. But one of the most disturbing things about Thailand is the sex trade, which is literally everywhere. Beautiful Thai women (and ladyboys) crawl over one another for the chance to ‘entertain’ fat, balding foreign men (or women!) who they believe can be their passport to a better life. It’s really heartbreaking.

A new book is coming out aimed at Thai women, which gives them step-by-step instructions on how to get — and keep — a foreign husband. The book, called “Foreign Boyfriend, Foreign Husband”, paints a romantic vision of Western men, claiming they are respectful and kind, unlike Thai men. Um, right. The point of the book seems to be this: Old, Western men might not be handsome but they’re loaded.

This is a tricky issue — on one hand, I think it’s appalling that women would be encouraged to marry for money and a passport. But at the same time, I’ve never known the desperation of poverty, and as a Canadian, I’ve always enjoyed all the benefits of a first-world passport. Is marrying for love a luxury that people in poorer countries can’t afford? Call me a romantic but I sure hope not.

A Canadian In Beijing: How Do You Train a Head Cold?

by Ember Swift on

You put yourself on an overnight train in China to catch one and then you take another overnight train in China five days later and it learns to never leave your side!

I have been nursing a box of Kleenex and sipping ginger tea for just under a week now and still my head cold doesn’t seem to be lifting. I think I caught it on my way to Shanghai, and now it’s taken hold and is convinced that I am happy with its residence. I have been trying to evict it with potions of lemon, garlic, ginger and “hong tang” (or brown sugar – literally “red” sugar in China) and trying to increase my “warm” intake, as per Chinese medicine, but I’m still sick. I’ve been hacking up a lung in a pitch that is many decibels below my talking voice and making mountains of used tissues you’d need a sherpa to scale.

Sigh.

I am not one to get sick, normally, but I must admit that this pace has been crazy and I’ve been living a little like a delinquent teenager with lots of late night and parties with my dorm friends and my body is currently very angry with me.

I was surely an annoying fellow passenger on the return trip from Shanghai.

I took the overnight train again, but this time by myself and I have been patting myself on my own back about how seasoned a traveller I am and how amazing it was that I made it from Shanghai to Beijing without any serious mishaps. (I photographed the ticket above as official proof!)

The “soft sleeper” cars are a little nicer than the hard sleepers. They’re softer, for one (!), and they’re more private with doors that close at the end of each cubicle. There are also only four people to a cubicle as opposed to six, which makes for more headroom on each bunk and slightly less cramped conditions.

Besides the ability to close a door and the extra room, some other great features of the soft sleeper cars include the fancy restrooms that come with regularly stocked soap and toilet paper (wonder of wonders in China!), the constant hot water dispenser near the restrooms (one of my favourite drinks and lovely to just be able to fill up on “re shui” whenever I wanted to), the ability to turn on a reading light in my bunk, control of the overall cubicle lights (in the hard sleepers, when the lights are out there’s nothing else to do but sleep), the complimentary slippers and, of course, the extra pillow. I do love two pillows!

But my favourite feature was the volume control.

In China, I have noticed that piped music is very common. My friends have told me that they hear music at various times of the day coming from garden speakers, public offices, etc. I have been intrigued (in a slightly creeped out way) with the speakers on campus that pump out terrible music at 6:30 am everyday and then again in the early evening. It reminds me a bit of images of prison grounds and I suppose that’s where the creepiness comes in. That, and perhaps the insinuation that there’s some “Brave New World” style propaganda going on!?

Anyway, the train also has piped in music and it’s usually crackling through unequalized speakers. My musician’s ears have a hard time filtering out the ringing frequencies when I hear this happening and I recall that the trip to Shanghai last week included a lot of concentration on my part to ignore the music.

I mercifully located the volume knob at about 9:00pm when my cabin mates had already gone to sleep and the music suddenly started to whine through wincing speakers. That volume knob alone was worth the extra $175 kuai (about $25 Canadian).

So, I was trying to be kind to my fellow travellers by turning off the music, but I still kept them up all night coughing and blowing my nose. They were sympathetic and the next morning we struggled along in Chinese and English about my terrible cold and their concern for the lonely foreign girl seemingly without any immunity. I appreciate their concern, especially in light of their tired eyes.

I also became quite the fascination for a little girl who was about three years old. She regularly made appearances at our open door during the evening the train left and the morning before arriving in Beijing. Her grandmother was caring for her (as is often the set-up in China where the elderly provide childcare) and through her grandmother and my bunk mates, I learned the phrase “ta hen hao(4) qi(3),” which means that “she is very curious.” Also, the phrase, “wode biao(3) yu(3) ta butong,” which means that “I look different than she does.” That is exactly why she was curious too – I am the blonde “waiguoren” (foreigner) and this little three-year-old may never have seen someone who looks like me before. We had smiles and giggles and a few words and I appreciated her innocent and open curiosity as only a child can offer.

I arrived back in Beijing relieved to be home and eager to cocoon in my room to nurse this cold away. Tomorrow, I’ve given it its final notice. If it’s not out by then, I’m bringing in the exterminators.

A Canadian in Beijing: Suzhou’s Hidden Gardens

by Ember Swift on

I’m tired of being stared at and so I’ve crouched down and I’m writing in here, tucked between two full benches in a room that holds one thousand people, easily. This is one of five waiting rooms at the Suzhou Zhan (train station) where people are waiting for their Labour Day trains to take them away from their lives for a few days. There really aren’t a lot of white faces in this town and mine has received a lot of stares, points, giggles and craning necks.

Today I came to Suzhou on a day trip from Shanghai. It was Jeni’s idea, really, and she even bought me a ticket here and everything. This is the site of some of the world’s oldest traditional gardens and I wanted to see them (or at least one of them) and take some photographs.

Today is Lao Dong Jie, or “Labour Day” as we know it, and it marks the beginning of a week’s holiday for nearly everyone in China. It’s amazing that I was able to get a return ticket back to Shanghai considering the line-ups at the train station this afternoon. The whole process took about an hour and a half. I stook in one line about one hundred feet long next to maybe thirty other identical line-ups just slammed with people. And while they moved fairly quickly, there was pushing and budding and shouting at the ticket windows, which made for some very stern clerks.

I waited patiently and when it came to my turn, I was given a wide berth – a sort of foreigner’s deference. Strange at times and common here in China, but today it was appreciated as it made it easier for me to communicate with the attendant and secure my return fare. I was the only white face that I could see in a room of more people than I could estimate and this photo (above) does not do the scale justice.

Suzhou is known for its beauty and many people retire here. It is a smaller city – only about six million people, or a bit bigger than the size of Toronto! – and it is full of greenery and lovely canals that line walkways and parks.

After the train station, I walked in the direction of the most recommended garden. There was so much construction on this road that I couldn’t find it and everyone I asked was either also visiting or was too shy to respond. I ended up joining the throngs on a small shaded patch of grass by a river to have a snack and to rest my walking legs.

When I started up again, I finally saw a historical landmarks sign that told me that I’d overshot that particular garden. “Mei wenti,” I thought (or, “no problem”), “I’ll just go to a different one!” So, I followed my nose and my eyes and zeroed in on an historic temple that cost too much to tour (but was free to photograph!)

I was sure that the temple would have some gardens to tour but I was wrong. I continued on. I even hopped a rickshaw for a large section of one of the busy streets. There was just something sweet about the rickshaw driver and he caught me with tired feet!

When I hopped out, I was supposed to be really close to the “Joy Gardens,” which were next on my map. I walked along the road and couldn’t see a single garden nor an entrance way or alley towards one. I did, however, pass a music shop.

That’s when it was all over.

A young man was sitting in the entrance way and was playing an erhu. These traditional Chinese instruments have always fascinated me and I even own (a broken) one at home. I walked past the shop and smiled but then a few paces later I remembered that I needed a guitar strap and so I doubled back.

The men in the doorway greeted me with smiles – both the proprietor and the young musician – and motioned for me to tour the store at my leisure. I asked about the guitar strap and promptly purchased it (only 10 kuai!) and then proceeded to ask some various questions about the erhu. Eventually, I imagine that my questions got a bit trying and they asked me if I wanted to try to play it. Of course I did!

They gave me an informal lesson on holding the bow and the instrument on my leg, finding the notes (doh, ray, me, fah, so, lah, tee, doh) and the correct posture. I was concentrating so much on trying to hear the pitch and land the notes correctly that I didn’t realize until I looked up about five minutes later that a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk to watch this blonde foreigner make horrifying, out-of-tune sounds on the erhu!

The owner subtly motioned for me to move into the store and he sat me down half-way back and away from the onlookers and then plopped a children’s erhu lesson book in front of me. If was equipped with pictures and diagrams. He told me to keep working on it with an impatient “why-have-you-stopped?” gesture and so I did. It only took me about another five minutes to successfully nail the major scale. They applauded. I smiled like the little kids in the pictures and I knew that I had to buy one.

Only 175 kuai later and I had a starter erhu and case filled with extra strings, rosin and the shopkeeper’s well-wishes.

Now they wanted to hear me play the guitar and so I spent another half an hour picking and strumming away at a very cheap guitar that he pulled off of the wall for me to play. They clapped and laughed at my style of playing but kept encouraging me and I was easily baited into playing more. Finally, though, it was time to put the cheap guitar back on the wall in hopes that it would one day stay in tune.

I strung my new erhu over my shoulder and bounded out of the store with music in my step.

I was still looking for that garden, but I again couldn’t find it, even after asking the police who made a grand (and loud) show of miming how to get to the garden to me despite my ability to understand basic directions.

A half-hour later and I was no closer to any traditional garden. I had planned to meet some friends from Canada in Suzhou in the afternoon and I was already late. I caught a taxi and had to accept the fact that I wouldn’t be seeing any gardens this time around. The traditional gardens of Suzhou will have to wait until the next time.

(I’m sure they’re beautiful!)

I’d like to think of this music shop as my hidden garden in Suzhou. It was beautiful and full of tradition!

They’re calling my train now. Time for me to lift my stuff off of this dirty floor and make my way back to Shanghai. I have a “standing only” ticket (i.e. no assigned seat) for the ninety-minute, jam-packed trip back to Shanghai. . . so wish me luck!

Erhu image came from Deborah Koh’s page dedicated to the folk music of China.