The greatest voice of all

The Bodyguard is still one of my very favorite movies and I always, ALWAYS, cry at the end. How is it possible not to? Whitney in the plane, watching Keving Costner all bodyguardyish and stern on the tarmac – not a single emotion on his face but you know, you KNOW, that he is hurting on the inside, and then the music starts. “I-if Iyiyiiiii should stay, I will always be in your waaaaayyyyyyy…” and she runs ….off the plane and into his arms. Ah! So romantic and sad and it makes you wondering? Will they make it? Because while she is stuck with the old, grey guy and he is watching over some priest, will they live happily ever after in her mansion? He is not her bodyguard anymore and the crazy sister is dead so no worries, right? They can hang out, drink orange juice (only), play with his swords and watch samurai movies together. Go to the dingy bar on Friday nights and play old hits on the jukebox. And Fletcher will grow up, learn to swim, and be a normal kid where you play year-long games of chess in a cabin by a lake. If only.

No one could hold a note like Whitney; she would belt out tones so strongly that you’d think the speakers would explode only to shush down to an almost whisper and still be in complete control. And the emotions she conveyed; always getting the message through only to end with that million-dollar smile that would bright up any arena, TV screen or concert hall. It seemed so easy and many have tried to copy her style; some with great success and some…not so good. Karaoke singers love her songs, even though they are so hard to pull off. Must be the liquid courage many enjoy before hitting the stage and grabbing the microphone.  After a few drinks we are all superstars, hey?

Whitney, you will be missed. They angels are lucky to have you in their choir. Ah, who am I kidding? She won’t be in the choir, no way, she will be the soloist singing her heart out; brightening up the heavens with her beautiful voice and person and if we listen carefully, we can still hear her in our hearts.

No sweating it

Some things you take for granted in life. Contact lens solution for example, a variety of such, dental floss, minted, glossy you name it, yeast and deodorant. I had completely forgotten the lack of these items in China. Sure, there is contact lens solution – one kind, obviously not the kind I use and there is dental floss, I think, I haven’t run out yet, but for some reason deodorant is hard to find. I don’t know if the Chinese don’t sweat or if they have some magic traditional ancient herb to use instead but I had completely blocked out that I used to bring it here, back in the day. Therefore, when we knew that we were meeting up with sweet Cory and Joe in Hong Kong in January I took the opportunity and ordered a few items.

As per usual, we partied like rock stars, kids in tow. Great food and delicious wine, beer, sake and Red bull (?) of huge quantities were consumed and we ended our celebration at Aqua where Simon treated us to the best view in Hong Kong and a dessert platter to die for.

Not only was it lovely seeing them again, and their friends, they came equipped like the Santa we never saw on Christmas Eve. Oh the joys of not having to economize with deodorant. Being able to sweep my underarms not only once is a delight, for me and for my surroundings. When visitors brought gifts from home during our years in the states it was a treat, now it becomes a necessity. Because what to do when the yeast sucks and you have a friend you haven’t seen for 15 years coming to town for business? You order 40 packages and invite him to dinner. That’s what you do. IKEA used to be every Swedish expat’s lifeline but sadly, they only sell their own brand these days. IKEA Daim and IKEA bilar? NO thank you very much. Bad decision IKEA, really bad decision.

Now my parents are coming to visit very soon and the list is beginning to take form; candy of course, the salty black liquorice one that only Swedes like and that we therefore do not need to share, contact lens solution – the good kind, pain killers, sea salt, Wettex – a super absorbent kitchen towel and even more yeast which I will use as hostess gifts when (if) we are invited to dinner parties and such. Better than flowers.

Amanda has been home from school since Friday nurturing her cold and she happened to be around when I Skyped my parents to give them the first draft of their shopping list. As always, Amanda gets a little shy and sad when Skyping with people that she misses but after some coaching and probing my mom gets to it and asks her if there is anything special she would like from Sweden (not that she has any emotional or epicurean preferences to Swedish foods, she has never lived there after all).

“Well” she says eventually “a dog, I want a dog.”

O shit, kill me now. When will she understand that as long as we have the crazy cat (who I hope will live forever) there won’t be a dog. But perhaps I should be thankful; when my sister was the same age all she wished for every birthday and Christmas was a live monkey or a live lion.

“Hmmm…” my mom replies after having turned away from the computer so that Amanda won’t see her laughing at her request, “That will be difficult. Will some KEX choklad (Swedish wafer chocolate) do instead?”

“Ok” She happily agrees “Can I go watch TV now?”

Phew, crisis diverted, for this time.

All fake

Last night, as we were eating a by my standards very meager birthday dinner, chicken soup with noodles on the side as per request by the sick birthday girl, suddenly Marcus 8 ½ years old announces:

“I don’t think Santa is real.”

“B b b but why?” I manage to say, very confused as to where this is coming from.

“Nah” he continues “I think it is just mommies and daddies who buy the presents and say they are from Santa.”

“Only the real Santa leaves the presents by the tree when you are sleeping!” Amanda chirps in with her raspy voice with near desperation as an undertone.

“But what about when we have seen Santa”, I continue. “At little Sophia’s and Izzy’s houses and at the train park (a “professional” for-rent Santa, very real-like except for the one party we attended when he carried a jeweled staff and reminded me of Liberace)? And what about when we celebrated Christmas in Sweden and suddenly Santa showed up with all those presents?”

“No” he persists “It’s all fake, they were just people dressing up.”

How am I going to save this, I’m thinking to myself. Their belief in Santa has explained so much at Christmas time; his superhuman ability to be at so many places in such a short amount of time, how he can see and hear everything, how we can use him as a threat AND a motivator for good behavior.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I carry on “Amanda, you don’t believe what Marcus is saying is true, do you? Don’t you think there is a real Santa?”

“Aauuummm….yeeessss, but I also think there are fake ones, like when Grandpa dressed up when they visited us in America.”

She is clearly confused by now. Not only is she sick on her birthday, her daddy is away un-expectantly and she had to postpone her birthday party now, suddenly, her brother tells her there is no Santa!

“Marcus, why don’t you think there is a Santa?” I say trying to save the situation.

“Haha! I’m just kidding; of course there is the real one!”

Huh? What just happened? Has he figured it out? Did he chicken out at the last second and tried to save the situation or was he just being nice to his sister? I don’t know and I won’t find out until December but I do know that Christmas this year will have to rock. We have to find the most amazing Santa and he will have to come flying through the sky somehow and have a real beard AND a fat belly, the right laugh AND lots of presents. And there will have to be snow. I guess we have no choice; we will have to spend Christmas in Sweden this year where the REAL Santa is from.

Joy to the world and peace and quiet for all?

All you want on Christmas Eve is some peace and quiet, right? A chance to spend time with your family, eat well, meet Santa and curl up on the sofa with a hot drink and a good book. Ok, this almost never happens; there are always meals to prepare, guests to greet, kids to bribe and messes to clean up but still, Christmas has that certain je ne sais quoi to it. It’s the finish line after a month of racing and hopefully, there will be no last minute errands to run.

We woke up on Christmas Eve knowing it would be different. We had chosen to spend our first Christmas at home in our new house in China, Christening it at Christmas if you will. We would have no guests joining us, only the family having a nice time before flying off to Vietnam on Christmas Day. When we planned this, we had not counted in that our things would have arrived four days earlier. You can imagine the mess in our house; boxes everywhere, filthy floors and sofas, Christmas decorations still in boxes and a general disaster area look to it overall.

Still, it was Christmas and as we woke up in the morning and had the kids and the cat all in bed with us, we felt…Christmassy. I stretched and got ready to get up and for some reason, touched my armpit. Hm. Felt it again and yes, definitely, there was something there that hadn’t been there before. A lump. Yay. Knowing I could not go on holiday no knowing if I had breast cancer I scheduled an appointment for as soon as possible the same day.

Up until now, the only thing we had to do that day was leave the cat at the kennel, five minutes away by car, a doctors’ appointment was easy to fit in.

It got the cat in the car and headed for the vet. “Are you ready to go now?” the receptionist asked. I knew he was to be at another facility but not that I had to personally take him there, all the way in town, 45 minutes away if we were lucky. Ok, slight change of plans again. I left the cat with the vet and got in the car for my appointment. 15 minutes later I walked out relieved not to be sick and made a mental note to buy new, sharper razor blades…

Rushed the cat to the kennel downtown, stopped by the market to buy burner gel for the nights fondue fiesta (like pizza! We told the kids, minus the tomato sauce, right?) and finally made it home.

“When can we open the presents, mom?” Santa had already left a whole sack of presents by the fire place, he must have been there while we were still sleeping because he had eaten all the cookies and drank the milk. “At three o’clock, let’s do it at three, kids. Mommy and daddy needs to fill out the insurance claim forms first, why don’t you guys decorate the trees?” I had found two small plastic Christmas trees in one of the boxes and all the ornaments. “Go ahead, decorate!”

Ulf and I got to work trying to decipher the packing list and matching the items with the insurance form, posting pictures and explanations to what had been destroyed and where. At three we took a break for Christmas. The kids had decorated beautifully, we lighted all the candles we could find, drank warm drinks and ate cookies and cocooned ourselves from the mess around us. The presents were plentiful and we tried our best to get into the spirit. Too soon it was over and we went back to the claim forms while the kids touched away on their new tablets. Forms were eventually sent off and we enjoyed our cheese fondue (“not exactly like pizza, mom”) and toasted to not ever having another Christmas like this one.

With dinner over and dishes done we started packing for our holiday. Peace and quiet? I don’t think so.

Back to life, back to reality

It’s time to get back on track and join the world again. After a long holiday season with many troubles coupled with even more joyful moments we are finally back on track and on our way to a normal life with routines and schedules.

The container that had been M.I.A since the end of June finally reached us on December 20^th. After receiving the news I immediately informed the management office who told me the length and weight requirements of trucks coming into the compound, information I shared, of course, with the people responsible for delivering all our worldly goods. At 10am, the scheduled delivery time, I get the phone call I had suspected and expected to get: “The truck is too long; we need to move the things into a smaller truck”. Go figure.

A surprisingly short while later, the supervisor shows up with a Filofax in his hands; “Look” I tell Stacey who is there to help, “I had one of those in the 1990s, haha, remember – before iphones?“ It turns out it was mine and that it had …fallen…out of a box. Hmmm…and this was only the beginning. Other random items followed that had excaped broken boxes, at one time I went outside and found one of our couches on the driveway (the very dirty driveway I might add) one the ground, fabric side down.  Broken box after broken box were carried into our home. Our sofas looked like they had been wrapped in glad wrap – only, glasses and cups were broken, things were smushed and destroyed and many number tags (to identify everything on the packing list) were missing. It was a disaster and had I not had photo proof no-one would believe me. The supervisor was embarrassed and started taking photos as well and handed me the claim form for broken items without me asking for it.

Thank goodness for insurance, or so we thought…surely this would all be sorted out quickly. We had not counted in Christmas, New Years AND Chinese New Year which in 2012 fell only two short weeks after the western new year. Do I have to say we are still waiting? 

Kind of yellowish I’d say

It’s when you have visitors you get to go out and see and experience things; a chance to get away from the mundane days in the suburb when everything is the same, day after day.

When my dad came to visit to help us unpack and get organized we suddenly had nothing to unpack or organize since our container, hmmm how shall I put it, got lost on the way. So with all this free time and a visitor who had never been to China before, what to do? Well, I planned his visit as a 30/30/40 combination; 30% shopping, 30% sightseeing and 40% eating and drinking. We started off with the Swedish Chamber of Commerce’s Christmas party followed by champagne brunch at the Westin. Monday was dedicated to shopping and Tuesday to sightseeing.

What do you have to see if you visit Beijing? Well, Tiananmen Square and Forbidden City of course. We headed to the big square, the center of this gigantic city, a place filled history – recent and ancient. Even though I’d been there on numerous occasions I had never been to see Chairman Mao where he lies in his mausoleum, embalmed, for all his followers and curious lao wais to come see. “I’ve seen the great Mao six times!” Mr. Li proudly told us on our way over. “I love Chairman Mao” he continued” “ but it’s not the real one you will see, it’s made of wax, the real Chairman Mao is kept in the “xia” (under, I guess he meant basement)”.  “Chairman Mao’s daughter was once in my car, she was very old.” he finishes before dropping us off.

With this information under our belt we head out onto the square and follow the crowd around the big square shaped building that is the mausoleum. We had parked on the wrong side and have to walk all around to get to the entrance where we stand like two big question marks. Where to go now? A guard spotted us and begins to ask, rapidly: “How many cameras? Do you have passport? Come this way, this way!”, he says as he almost pushes us while accompanying us out of the square, across the road to another building where we are to deposit of everything except our money and passports. The guard ushers us on while continuing to hurry us on: “kwai, kwai, kwai!” (Fast, fast, fast!). He takes us behind, the counter, inside the door to the inner sanctum of deposited handbags, cameras, luggage, plastic bags (the things people lug around) and other random items. Some people visiting Tiananmen Square looks like thy just stepped off the train (and they probably did) and all of their belongings are stored here while they pay their visit to the great Chairman Mao.

Things deposited and we hurry back, through the security and pass the queue lining up for the next security check. Suddenly he stops: “wu shi kuai (50RMB)”, he almost whispers and signals that this should be handled in secret. I make the mistake by asking if that is for one of two and then of course 50 is for one and we have to pay him 100RMB ($15 or so) and he pockets the money and pushes us through so we don’t have to show passports or give money to anyone else. Then he vanishes out of the blue and we are on our own. Though I’m positive proper identification is necessary, it might be free to visit the great leader but surely, this guards efforts were worth the 100RMB he pocketed. He can buy himself lunch all week and still afford to buy his friends a beer at the end of the day. Or pay his electricity AND phone bill for the month.

Even though we jumped the line, we still have some way to go, including another security check involving post September 11 like airport security measures. We are scanned, patted down, our things (what we have left) go through an x-ray and finally we are cleared. Right outside the majestic building there are yellow flowers for sale, a mountain of yellow carnations for 3 kuai each. We walk up the stairs, take off our hats as we enter and keep silent as the sign tells us to do, and there in front of us, people leave their flowers, worshipping a statue of the great Mao. The same flowers will most likely be carried back and sold all over again. A nice business I’d say, very profitable.

There is no room to veer, we simply follow the crowd through a corridor, into another and then the line divides in two and we are ushered into the center of the building were the Great Mao lies (or his wax copy, shhhh) for everyone to see. It all takes less than 30 seconds. He looks a bit pasty, kind of yellowish and with weird red eyes that almost shine like flashlights or laser beams. The glass box is lit up, of course, which may cause the yellowishness.

And that’s it. We’re done. We’ve done our duty, go back to collect our things, stroll a while around Tiananmen Square, trying to avoid hat, postcard, scarf and photographers and make our way over to the Forbidden City to absorb a completely different era of Chinese history.

Never-ending story

  

Will this ever end? Just when we had all the house problems under control; back they came, with a vengeance.

Let’s take it room by room shall we?

Master bathroom - major issues. After the geyser issue on Halloween weekend we haven’t dared use the bath tub (see previous post “Butt naked”).As of now, when we use the shower, the toilet is making a blubb, blubb, blubb sound and water is coming up. The toilet doesn’t flush and the shower floods and both sinks are clogged. On one of the landlady’s representatives visits (and there has been many) she explained to me (while chuckling; almost laughing) that the shower, the massive bath and the two sinks share one pipe leading to the toilet (!) and from there to the drain. And the pipes are really small, she says while continuing to smile and showing me exactly how small with her hands. Now, this lady travels by bus from the city, most likely for at least two (2!) hours to stand in my bathroom and snicker about the appalling plumbing in the house that she is responsible for.  

The children’s bathroom – working surprisingly well…except for the sinks, again. What a surprise. The water runs so slowly the kids can brush their teeth, go to school, and come back again before all the water is gone.

And the kitchen - ahh, the kitchen. Our house has the smallest kitchen we’ve ever had; it is even smaller than the Annecy kitchen which was tiny. I’ve bought two new cabinets for our dishes only as there is almost no cabinet space at all. And what there is; is either very high up or in the corner, impossible to reach and will be used for items not very often used. The” beautiful” laminate on the cabinet to the right of the oven (which is fitted with a strange wire structure to be used for …I have no fucking idea...) has started to peel. Most probably the glue used (on a kitchen cabinet next to an oven) isn’t heat proof.

The pipes (again the pipes) are teeny tiny and clog up. What was fixed when we had first moved in (involving some kind of drilling wire construction when the kitchen kept flooding every day) has now returned and while the water has been running slowly down the drain; now it doesn’t run at all. And what happens then? Somehow it ends up on the floor, under the “beautiful” bar coming out from…somewhere. Seriously, I don’t know. Under the sink it’s dry and the dishwasher doesn’t leak so I have no idea! But yet, somehow, brownish tinted water with coffee specks smelling of the bad wine I poured out this morning seeped out making Xiu (who was over cleaning the house at the moment) simply shake her head. “Bu hao”, she simply exclaimed, no good house.

While the management workers were here I simply left them with Xiu. She just can make them work harder than I can. They asked me for a step ladder and she fired off in vicious Mandarin: “She doesn’t have any furniture, do you really think she would have a ladder?”  I took Amanda with me and went to Stacy for coffee and the high-end Nestle chocolate she got for Christmas from Paul’s office.

“I’m amazed” she said, “I’m amazed that you are neither hooked on drugs nor a raging alcoholic by now, considering all that you’ve been through”. What can I say? There’s not a question of giving up. It’s like having a baby. You cannot not get up in the middle of the night to feed it, change it, and make sure that it is still breathing. You just have to get through it. And once you are over the hard part, the baby years, it will all be good. Or so I hope.

Ulf has been reading my posts and complained that I’m complaining too much. “People will think we are miserable!” Miserable we are not, I like it here, but as I told him that in this house there are not many things going right, right now, and a lot of complaining is justified he simply said: “Well, that is true.”

Now let’s just see if we will get our container next week when we have a semi-promise of delivery. Who is to know that they pulled the right one from that warehouse in Mesa where it was stored for two months?