Munich-Give me your tired, your poor.....

...............................................................................and Ethan, we'll take him too! Oh yeah, after two weeks of hand wringing, talking to British, American, and German Embassies, and a lawyer (a free one), I decided to give it a go and visit my friend Claudia in Munich. Seemed like a good strategy. I got my ticket moved to be out of Munich as well, and a letter from Miss Claudia affirming my story, and a letter from my old firm, saying I had a job, and bank statements, credit card statements, inoculation records, and proof of insurance. I virtually had to get another suit case just for my evidence, I was going to prove I was the best tourist these Germans had ever seen! Then the long flight, longer this time, through Dubai with a wonderful 4 hour lay over. I can't tell you how hard my heart was racing as I neared the immigration desk in Munich, the third time I had been to that airport in two weeks! The man took my passport, asked me, "on holiday?" "Yes" "How long?" I fly home in a month." Ok! He flipped through the passport looking for a place to stamp, damn, it was too full! I almost started to explain before he got to the last page with the dreaded stamp, but then he did, and flipped on, but then back, took a second look, then back to another page and stamp, I'm in! I couldn't believe it! I almost felt let down, I had put so much hard work in, someone should hear the speech I had written! I would soon regret these thoughts, but for now, I was on my European Vacation! First stop, Beer Garden!

Claudia showed me a great four days in Munich, a city I love. We were able to borrow a bike from her godmother, and we spent most of our time cruising around seeing the sites in the perfect Bavarian summer weather. It seemed like that was the mode of transportation for half the city, something I would have expected in Beijing or Hanoi perhaps, but not in Europe. The weather was so nice it was the perfect way to appreciate the city, perfect that is, until I happened to glance over one fine morning to witness about five buck naked guys in the park, lounging, chatting, picking apples from trees, you know, typical. The shock of it almost sent me careening into the river on the other side of the path, but luckily, I righted the ship and made it out of there with my eyes closed. I could hear Claudia laughing at my conservative American sensibilities, which I used to guide me. Speaking of the river, just after that incident, I witnessed one of the cooler things I've ever seen, river surfing! Ja, right where the river passes under a bridge, a big rip current creates a permanent wave that about five surfers in wet suits were making full use of, it was incredible! Claudia was such a good tour guide, and at the end of each day, she would go drop me off at her flat and head over to her boyfriend, Jurg`s place. Then, each morning, Miss Claudia would show up with fresh Bavarian bagels, cheese, and cold cuts and make me coffee for breakfast, wonderbar! I was also able to see my old friend Eva on her birthday, at least her birthday bar-b-q. The highlight of that night was seeing a bunch of German girls dancing on a table to Kyle Minolge. Reminded me of the night I had spent dancing in a hut outside of Sapa, Vietnam to the same tune, same same, but different. On my last day we caught a ride out to one of the beautiful lakes that surround Munich with a couple of Claudia's friends. Pulling into the parking lot at the park, a guy sitting on a folding chair charged us to park. Now I was taken aback, because if I hadn't known better, I would have sworn he was from White River with his amazing mullet and sleeveless tartan flannel zip up. Claudia must have seen me gawking because she asked me later if I had people like this back in the states. I replied that I had just been appreciating his style, and I guess you can find hicks just about anywhere. The lake was huge and framed by the Alps in the distance, not too bad. I layed there getting burned thinking that it couldn't get much better, thats when Claudia's friends took their tops off. Claudia abstained, said she didn't want to hurt my fragile sensibilities. People must have thought I was the luckiest man in the world surrounded by three gorgeous half naked women, or more likely that I was their gay friend. That's OK though, I'll be their gay friend any day. Before I knew it, I had to say goodbye to my Bavarian friend and tour guide, had to escape the sun for the cloud otherwise known as the UK. I was again armed with my bag O evidence, and felt more confident that I would get in admitted this time around. I was also really looking forward to the opportunity to see my dad, who was in London on business. This turned out the be quite fortuitous indeed.

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The Fugitive Strikes Back

I had been up for close to 60 hours when I found myself in the holding tank in Hong Kong International Airport. This waiting room was packed to the brim with a vast array of people who looked nothing like me. I was getting sick of the stares. A group of Pakistanis just got split up, three young men were being escorted out while the father, wearing traditional baggy pants and gold slippers paced around holding a baby. His two daughters follow, hanging on his shirt tails. The older daughter is violently shaking from sporadic sobs that she is desperately trying to hold back, the younger girl, with equally captivating dark puppy dog eyes, seems unfazed by her surroundings. She calmly follows the procession, fiddling with an orange plastic bag that matches her woolly orange sweater she would never need in Hong Kong. Filling out the room, there are a number of mainland Chinese, a couple from Columbia, and a smattering of swarthy eastern Europeans. That's until the door opens and in comes the elderly German with his young Colombian wife, yelling and cursing. Now things were getting real entertaining! "This is crazy, I've been coming to China for forty years! I demand an explanation, who do you think you are!" They finally sit down next to the Colombian couple and start speaking their native tongue. The old German speaks fluently. I was skeptical that this was a mere coincidence, so I kept my ears pricked, after all, it had been two hours, and I had nothing else to do. All the yelling and screaming had some effect on the immigration staff, who SHARED the same room as us detainees while they worked. Interviews were conducted in little enclaves to the right that afforded zero privacy, so when they called for the German, ahead of all of us who had been there for at least two hours, we all listened in. The interview was conducted in English, and before the IO had a chance to speak, the German starts cracking jokes. "Do you know how crazy this is? I've been coming to this country since BEFORE you were born, I know a lot of people here. Why, why does such a small country try to do this, I travel the world, never anything like this." He seemed guilty as sin to me, but what I thought didn't matter. The IO, who had a bad case of acne, would just laugh and laugh and play mister nice guy, playing along, for a while. "So this is your wife, THIS is YOUR wife?! How long have you been married? A year! Your still on your honeymoon! Honeymoons should last longer, ha ha ha, but you still in love! So why only two days in Hong Kong, you should take your WIFE out shopping! HA ha ha." This whole scene was REALLY pissing the rest of us off, I mean why the special treatment, this guy was probably a NAZI for Christs sake! This back and forth ass kissing lasted about five minutes, then they were let out, Scott free! I guess this guy did have some friends somewhere, or maybe this was going to be easier than I thought? That's when things really got weird. The Colombian couple was up next in line, and didn't speak a lick of English, so naturally, our now happy kraut stayed on as their interpreter! Free o charge! I couldn't believe how informal this all was, the DMV has more rigor. The German goes into the same routine again, seemingly the only one talking. Meanwhile, the Pakistani procession just passed me, and some of the Eastern Europeans are starting to get rowdy and complain. Meanwhile, I get called by another IO for my interview, damn, was hoping to yuk it up with the other dude. My interview went smoothly. I just told the truth, leaving out the working bit, and based it all on money. I had been able to withdraw 300 Euro's before getting in line at immigration, so I showed him the Hong Kong money I had showed up in London with, and showed him all the money I had now. He was impressed, that's a lot of money to spend in the city. I told him I didn't want to stay in Hong Kong, and would immediately either go back to Europe if I could, or go home. His only follow up question was a tricky one, "OK, if your an Architect, then I assume you went to University right? Which one!" The University of Washington in Seattle. OK, I have no problem with you, I'll stamp you in for six months! I was in baby! Now what to do?

The Fugitive

The following tale is not for the faint of heart, as it is the most harrowing experience of my life, one I will never forget. I arrived in London Heathrow airport about 8am, after an eight hour flight to Munich, a two hour lay over, and another two hour flight. The line at immigration was long, and I drifted into a day dream. I was supposed to take the tube out to the other side of the city, to Epping, to meet up with my friend Alex, of Thailand blog fame. I missed her......I woke out of my Thailand dream sequence with just a few people to go in line. I scanned the row of counters, looking for someone nice looking. I spotted her, the Muslim girl two desks over, hopefully, I would get her. I did. I handed her my passport and entry form. She asked me where I was staying, I said I didn't know (Alex had alluded to getting a B&B somewhere for the night, but I didn't know where). The IO didn't like this answer, 'you have to tell me where your staying!' Well, I'm meeting my friend who lives out near Cambridge, and staying with her. 'How long are you here for?' 'I think I'll stay for about three weeks' At this point, I was finally waking up a bit, and realizing how angry this woman was staring me down. How long have you been traveling? About six months. How can you pay for that? With my savings. How can you afford that, do you have a job? Actually, I'm between jobs. How much money do you have? I told her. Do you have any proof of this? I'm sorry, I don't. How much money do you have on you? I realized that I only had 200 hong kong dollars on me, not much. Well, this isn't looking very good! Why not? Well, if I went to YOUR country looking the way I do, with those answers I would be arrested! Sit down, I'm detaining you! Wow, that was fast. I just sat down, stunned. I had been to so many border crossings in the past year, and had never had any problem with the same answers, I had been lulled to sleep I guess by all the informality over there. I was sure that this would be no big deal though, hopefully they would just check my account or something. As I sat there, Fernando Gonzales, the tennis player I had seen at the Australian Open, and had rooted for with my friend from Chile in Sydney, Nicholas, walked by me. Guess he had lost in the French. I thought about yelling out a good "Vamos!", but thought better of it. Eventually, a guy who looked like a cleaned up version of Ali G came and brought me back to a holding room. He was very nice and tried to make me calm. I just have to search your bags, and finger print you. This is just a formality, I'm sure its no problem. That's when I remembered, I had last second, about 10 hours ago, slipped a piece of paper regarding my Hong Kong work into my bag! Idiot! I had a sinking sensation as he started to go though the papers, email, email.....those are just directions to my friends house....maybe he would miss it.....but no, so whats this, you worked Hong Kong? Yes, I did. OK. Then mug shots, and the took every fingerprint. Then just left my bag in the hall and checked me into the holding tank which was a waiting room with a guard behind glass. I was seriously worried now. I waited and waited. There was only one other person in the room with me, a young girl from Venezuela. We smiled at each other but didn't talk. Then the pay phone started ringing. For some reason, I decided to pick it up. Oh my God, whats happening? It was Alex. Apparently, my Muslim friend had been on the phone grilling her this whole time. Asking all kinds of very personal questions. What a situation, to be stuck, completely helpless to defend yourself. That's when my IO came back for my interview. We went to a smaller room and sat down at a table. She just had a note pad and wrote down each question before she asked it, then my response. We basically went through the same questions, but greater detail about my plans, and my relationship with the person called Alex. It was unnerving. Then the issue about work. Were you able to work? I was led to believe I was. Back in the holding tank, I finally ate a free sandwich and had a crap coffee. Then I went and asked if I could get to my bag, I needed a smoke. Sure, the lady in the bubble was very nice. Then I chatted up the girl from Venezuela. She was there visiting her boyfriend. She was putting on a strong face, but I could tell how scared she was. Hours pass. Alex would call to check in every once in a while, and she was doing everything she could to help. Eventually however, I got the news, I was being denied entry to the UK, and was booked on the next flight back to Honk Kong. I had screwed up, and now had to face being escorted onto a plane, like a criminal, and sitting through the exact same 12 hour flight I had just finished. I desperately pleaded with the bubble lady to speak to the head IO, the man who had signed my death warrant. Eventually, he came in, not in a good mood. Well? I just want to know what this means, can I never come back here? Can I travel with this on my record? What will happen to me in Hong Kong? Well, this doesn't have any bearing on any future entry to any country, you aren't being deported, that would be different. Your not being granted leave to enter this country, that's all this means. I don't know and honestly don't care what you do in Hong Kong, go work there for all I care. Thanks. I had time to kill, and just kept on re-playing all the events of the last 24 hours in my head. How did it come to this? Then my friend in holding got her news, also negative. She broke down. I can't go back there, you don't know what they will do to me! I tried my best to console her. There is a certain camaraderie that is formed when in the pen. While I patted her on the shoulder and told her it was going to be OK through her sobs, I was hit with an epiphany. As bad as this was for me, it was worse for her. I am actually lucky, some people have to deal with this all the time, being accused, having to defend yourself, being discriminated against, its easy to say you could deal with it, but until you have, you don't know what its like. I did notice that her IO seemed much friendlier than mine, and decided to grab the opportunity. Excuse me, I know your not familiar with my case, but could I please ask you a question? Sure. What is going to happen to me in Hong Kong? They will probably send you home. The guard who was to be my escort couldn't wait to talk to me. I couldn't believe it was true, an American being sent back, wow, this, like never happens. Thanks man, that really helps. Ah, don't worry, you will be fine. So where are you from? I actually had the most pleasant conversation with my guard as we went through security, by passing everyone in line. I have no idea what people thought, but if they thought I was some kind of killer, or big time smuggler, so be it, at this point, I was relishing the role. Finally, at the gate, my buddy gave the ticket to the captain, and we said goodbye. Hey, have fun at that wedding, give your brother my best I yelled as I was given priority status for boarding. The perks you get once your a fugitive! I settled into my seat, and looked out the window. I was 6 months into a trip around the world, and the adventure was just beginning. To be continued...

Hong Kong Fuey!

............................................................................................................At long last, jungle boy writes again. At least that's how Kenny Chow refers to me, and how he introduces me as well for that matter. Thanks Kenny. I arrived in Hong Kong via the night bus from Yangshao (12 hrs) on May 23rd, over two months ago! Said bus ride was the worse night of my life, and I swear I will never take a night bus to Hong Kong again. To begin with, the so called bed I was promised was on a slant, and not long enough. This was compounded by the fact that at the end of what was effectively a slide, was an ingeniously fashioned torture device I will dub the toe pinch. See, in order to cram more sardines into this tin can, the beds were over-lapped utilizing a plastic foot pincher that doubled as a foot cozy for the person behind, and a head rest for the person in front. This diamond hard plastic is molded into a wave shape in section, producing a convex 'back breaker' on one side, and leaving a convex curve that plots its way to an infinitely small, we're talking calculus small point between the floor at ones feet. This is where our friend gravity takes over. When I first prostrated myself on the 'bed', I found that with the right positioning and a bit of zen focus, I could utilize friction to keep myself stable in a aggravatingly close to comfortable hell. This hell turned to, 'Oh my God, I'll tell you whatever you want to hear' torture once the bus revved up its nuclear powered engines. Powerless to stop it, this shaking overwhelmed my feeble 'friction' powers, and I spent the rest of the night sliding with all my fat ass American weight into the toe pinch, readjusting, then sliding again. After a few hours, I said to myself, 'Self, it can't get any worse, right?' That's precisely when it did. As is often the case in Asian bus journeys, the driver, usually a 13 year old punk ass, will have a co-pilot. This person, usually an older, slightly lazier version of punk ass, serves a vital combination of roles, but who knows if he gets paid for any of them? He is firstly there as comic relief to the driver, which can be put better as making sure the driver is doubled over laughing and NOT watching the road as he pulls a pass up hill around a blind corner honking the horn (which I find helpful to sleep). Other roles include but are not limited to traveling salesman, hot chick spotter, hot chick holar-er, hostage negotiator, ebay entrepreneur, and bodyguard. Did I mention this person is usually drunk. On this harrowing night, the copilot was an especially fat and lazy one, even I could tell he wasn't funny. At the moment I resolved to grit and bear a sleepless night of pain without despairing, is when fat boy decided to come back in the aisle looking for a place to sleep, on the floor. You guessed it, right next to me. Now my bed was a good 2 inches above the floor, so its not like we were sleeping together.... but we were. Getting snuggled, as nice as it can be on a cold and windy night, did not help my newly found resolve. The straw that broke the camels back was when the flatulence started. I despaired. Then he thankfully rolled over to bombard the fella across the 14 inch aisle, and started wheezing in my face. This guy's breath could strip paint, and I sat there wishing to die. I covered my head with my shirt like a scared turtle, and debated whether to ask the bus driver to let me out in the middle of God knows where, or to take my scuba knife to my wrist. That's when, in a moment of inspiration, and without the aid of his copilot, the driver decided to take what I believe to be the shortcut down the stairs of a mountain. The pinching intensified, and my entire upper body was bouncing up and down on the titanium bed on which I layed. I think this eventually knocked me out, thankfully. When we arrived in Guangzhou, (Canton), I awoke to sharp pain and swelling around one of my ribs, and a bruised ego, copilot had ditched me to spoon the guy from Barcelona across the aisle. I was planning on staying about a week with my friend from San Francisco Kenny, and his wife Liz, who had moved to the fragrant harbor a while back, but I was destined to spend a month there, the whole time nursing a broken rib.

Hong Kong is a great city, like nowhere else in the world. Part China, part England, but mostly Cantonese, it defies classification. The harbor, the busiest in the world for the last century, is beautiful but its days are numbered. Pressure to fill it in for more realestate has already changed it substantially. I arrived at the doorstep of the San Francisco Towers to find Kenny, Liz, and Lu Lu, their incredible dog. I must have looked a mess, I'm surprised they let me in. They did however, and we spent the next day sweating on the other side of the island. This was a theme that would continue. Without a doubt, Hong Kong in June is THE most miserable, humid pressure cooker of a city I have ever been in. You simply CAN NOT go outside. You better have a back-up air conditioner too, or your living will written up. I can not stress this enough, it was crazy, even the locals admit it.

With this in mind, I decided to get a job and stay a while longer. I was lucky enough to have a connection to a nice guy who owns a Landscape Architecture firm in Hong Kong, and he agreed to hire me on for two weeks. This was great because I was running low on money, and they had great air con in the office. It was also a great opportunity to work on Macau Studio City, a multi-billion dollar venture including a casino, three hotels, a shopping mall, five swimming pools AND a roller coaster planned to rival the London Wheel in size. My job was to lead the design effort and coordinate the multi-cultural staff. Easy! I put in a good effort, and enjoyed my time there, but was also reminded of how fucking great it is not to work, so I counted down the days till I was to leave. It was great to see Kenny and Liz in their new setting, and I was there for her 30th birthday party as well!

I worked up until the VERY last moment the day I was flying out to London. I said my goodbye's, stole a pen, and was out of there. I did catch my plane, and the flight was fine, much better then a night bus in fact, but as always, I couldn't sleep, which might partially explain what was to happen next.

To be continued....

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