Delta Dream It Live It Experiences (time travel not included)

Written by Greg The Frequent Miler @ Frequent Miler's Quick Deals

Delta is out with their 5th (and apparently last?) promo this week for their “Dream It, Live It” week.  Today’s “deal” is that you can bid on unique experiences.  I can’t figure out how this is different from the usual ability to bid on experiences.  At first, I was excited that they offered limited “time travel” (see image, below), but then I realized that I should read it as “limited time” travel.  Oh well.  As…

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The Shy Gay Guy’s How To Guide For Japanese Onsen

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE

A collective of almost 7000 islands sitting on the rim of the Pacific Ocean’s notorious “Ring of Fire”, Japan is blessed with a seemingly endless supply of bubbly, piping hot volcanic hot springs.  Onsen is a Japanese tradition that appeals to visitors but is often quickly overshadowed by a stampede of nervousness and fear.  I’m a pretty perky and outgoing guy myself but I can’t say that I don’t sympathize with those that opt to skip this integral and beautiful part of Japanese culture.  Going to a foreign country where you likely are unfamiliar with the etiquette and stripping completely naked before jumping into a community bath is probably one of the more terrifying things a traveler can face – I get it!  

Add on top of that the general uneasiness many LGBTQ travelers have about being themselves in an unfamiliar location and you have a recipe for tense touring.  As a gay man on the road, one of the first things I do before arriving in a new city or country is research local attitudes toward LGBTQ individuals and overall safety for our community.  Even when educated, life (and travel) has a way of throwing you curve balls though.  While Japan in general is a relatively safe destination for LGBTQ travelers, a unique situation like onsen changes the dynamic a bit.  It is an entirely fair question to ask if this is an activity that we as a community can enjoy.

Luckily for me, I just happened to be half-Japanese and lived in Japan until I was fourteen years old, so the mystery of onsen was revealed to me at a very early age.  The language is not foreign to me, I have a solid understanding of what to expect and, more importantly, what is expected of me as a visitor.  This gives me a leg up and reduces some of my nervousness as a gay man, though it certainly doesn’t make it disappear.

Hopefully I can use my experience and cultural competency to give other LGBTQ travelers an idea of what to expect when considering a dip into this Japanese tradition.  

The magic that is Japanese onsen is an amazing thing to experience and that’s why I want LGBTQ travelers to consider trying it when they wander through the Land of the Rising Sun.  It’s a therapeutic siren song that calls to weary feet that have spend the morning climbed Mt. Fuji or the neck rubbed raw by the dangling camera strap.  Onsen is a quintessential experience for the visitor to Japan and it would be a shame for someone to miss out on the opportunity to peek into this ancient and revered part of Japanese culture.  With this in mind, and knowing full well the hurdles even I have to overcome every year I return to my homeland to enjoy a dip, I present the “Shy Gay Guy’s How To Guide For Japanese Onsen”!

Let’s start off with a few things specifically for LGBTQ travelers that are good to know prior to showing up at the onsen followed by a general step by step guide to the entire process.  My goal is to make sure you’re fully informed and can make a decision about whether onsen is something you’d like to try! 

IT’S A BATHHOUSE BUT NOT A “BATHHOUSE”

Bathhouses are not a new concept to many in the LGBTQ community, particularly those in the G category.  Gay bathhouses are a common sight in most major Western cities, though the arrival of the internet and smartphone may be curbing younger generations interest or need for such facilities.  Please note that unlike their western gay counterparts, Japanese onsen are generally not a location where men go to meet one another for casual sexual encounters.  Yes, there’s an option for soaking in a hot bath.  Yes, there’s communal nudity.  But the similarities end there.  Going to an onsen with an expectation of sexual activity or even meeting other LGBTQ individuals will likely end at a minimum with your disappointment and at most with your involvement with the Japanese police force.  

If you’re seeking a more sexually charged experience along with your onsen soak, you can find specific establishments (mostly located in Tokyo and Osaka) that can tickle your fancy.  

EMBRACE YOUR NUDITY

Many Japanese adhere to the concept of “hadaka no tsukiai“, which loosely translates as “naked communion”.  There’s a societal belief that barriers are easier to break down and people are on their most equal footing in the nude. 

There really is no way around this – if you want to onsen, you’re going to have to strip down to your tight and curlies.  As Japanese onsen are almost exclusively shared facilities (either by a community or as a privately owned site open to the public), wearing underwear or swimsuits into the water is strictly forbidden.  Those are the rules, and there’s really no way around it.  Take a minute, breathe a little, and accept that some random strangers are going to see you in the buff.

My brother and sister preparing for a dip in the onsen.

My brother and sister preparing for a dip in the onsen.

This requirement may be of particular concern (and possibly a deal breaker unfortunately) for travelers that are transgender, intersex, or genderqueer.  When your body and outward presentation doesn’t conform to what people who see the world in a strict “male/female” dichotomy expect, it can raise concerns about safety and judgement, which is far from the experience travelers would want to seek out.  While my personal opinion is that there is likely a miniscule chance of having a violent reaction from other patrons, there is a much greater chance that a traveler that is transgender, intersex, or genderqueer will have onsen staff or patrons react negatively to their presence in the onsen, whether it’s expressed verbally or through body language.  

I wish I could tell you that the chance of being excluded or discriminated against is small – but I can’t.  This is a real concern that LGBTQ travelers will need to weigh and make a decision about on their own.  

There is a potential work around to this issue though!

If the nudity requirement is genuinely a deal breaker for you, I would suggest looking into an onsen facility that allows guests to book use of a hot spring in private.  Some properties allow guests to book a specific time slot where they (solo or as a group with family/friends) will have exclusive, private use of an onsen.  Note that even when you have exclusive use of the spring you should NOT be wearing underwear of swimwear into the water.  The private booking is a way for you to remove the strangers from the equation, but the nudity is still mandatory.  For couples, the option to book private time in the onsen is a great way to enjoy the experience while being intimate with your lover.  Sitting close, holding hands, or embracing your partner can be uncomfortable when others are in the same hot spring.  It should go without saying that sexual activity is not something you should enjoy in the onsen – it’s a shared facility, no one wants to soak in your sexual debris!  

As noted above – if you want to pursue an onsen experience, embrace the nudity!  At the same time make sure you remain safe and avoid a situation that could ruin an otherwise great trip.

THE TATTOO CONUNDRUM

Another huge question that is often raised by visitors looking to experience onsen is whether or not having a tattoo will prevent them from being allowed inside.  Traditionally in Japan tattoos and those who sport them are associated with organized crime.  In order to avoid problems from patrons or becoming a meeting place for those looking to engage in criminal activity, onsen have typically instituted all-out bans on anyone with a tattoo.  As time progresses and Japanese culture changes, tattoos are becoming more prevalent in Japanese society.  As with most things though, society moves faster than rules and regulations change so the ban on tattoos in onsen seems to have quite a bit of staying power for now.  

Like any other group of people, many LGBTQ travelers have tattoos.  Any trip to a pride parade or bar will reveal a plethora of tattoos – anything from a full tribal arm sleeve to something as innocuous as the small fleur de lis my fiance has on his shoulder blade.  Unfortunately the fact that someone is foreign is almost always not seen as a reason to overlook the ban on tattooed patrons.

My fiance's tattoo.  His is small enough that we can often hide it.

My fiance’s tattoo.  His is small enough that we can often hide it.

Despite all of this, visitors should know that there are ways around this ban! 

As noted above, you can always look into booking time at an onsen that allows private time slots.  As long as your tattoo isn’t visible when you’re interacting with staff, no one will be checking in on you while you’re undressing or enjoying the water.  If you have tattoos on your arms or legs, just wear long sleeves and pants.  If you have a visible tattoo in a location that you cannot easily hide, you may be out of luck.  

Additionally, some onsen will allow tattooed individuals to enter the onsen if they are able to cover their tattoos with a bandaid or sticker.  Some of these facilities even provide the stickers for patrons, but will often still deny entry to those that cannot cover their tattoos with a single sticker.  If your tattoo needs two or more stickers to cover up, it’s likely a no-go.

As a last resort, you can seek out an onsen facility that openly accepts those with tattoos.  They are fewer in numbers than onsen that ban them, and Japan is not always the easiest country to find detailed information on the web.  I know that the Kashiwaya Ryokan in Shima Onsen openly advertises access to tattooed visitors to some of their facilities.  You can find their website here:  (LINK).

GO ZEN

One common misconception is that an onsen is a pool.  This is a massive mistake.  Other than the fact that they both have water the similarities end there.

Japan’s hot springs are some of the most relaxing experiences on the planet.  The sub-boiling volcanic water washes over your muscles and seems to magically suction out your pain and stress.  Your bathing companions will quietly enjoy the pleasure of tiny waves of water washing over their shoulders while occasionally chit chatting about their day.  There is nothing brash or loud about the experience.  

LGBTQ travelers, just like any other type of person, do love to have a good time on the road.  Unwinding, destressing, and living life to the fullest is high on the “to-do” list.  While an onsen is designed to do all of those things, it achieves those goals through stillness and calm.  

If you’re looking for a place to blast your music, drink beer, and have cannonball splash contests, you should buy a ticket to Tokyo’s DisneySea water park or find a warm stretch of sand on one of Japan’s many beaches instead.

Please – respect the tradition and respect the onsen’s serene atmosphere.  You can always hit the clubs in the evening or have a beach bbq the next day!

HOW TO ONSEN

With those general notes for LGBTQ travelers covered, let’s get down to the nitty gritty of how you actually go about enjoying the onsen!

Step 1:  Figure Out Where To Onsen

While hot spring bathing is available in thousands of locations around Japan, not all facilities are created equally nor are all options really offering the same type of experience.  

Many local communities and neighborhoods in larger cities have shared onsen facilities that are owned by the local government and generally very inexpensive.  They’re also quite public, not particularly prepared for tourists, and you’re less likely to find someone to help you should you have a question.  Great for budget travelers but not so much anyone else. 

If you’re looking for a step up from this, there are facilities that are set up like day spas in many major cities where you can buy entrance for a few hours or an entire day and have unlimited access to various types of hot springs, wading pools, and other leisurely activities.  While these are much more accessible and likely able to handle tourist inquiries, they’re not really in the spirit of traditional Japanese onsen.  It’s more like a modern day spa with a Japanese Instagram filter.

Arriving at an onsen hotel in Hakone where my reservation was on a board outside.

Arriving at an onsen hotel in Hakone where my reservation was on a board outside.

My preferred way of enjoying a traditional hot spring experience is to book a stay at a Japanese guesthouse (casual options are categorized as minshuku while a fancier accommodation is labeled a ryokan) which has an on-site onsen.  This provides just the right mix of intimacy, tradition, and relaxation in my personal opinion.  Many of these guesthouses have facilities that are open to the public during the day but close down and are reserved for exclusively for guests after a certain time.  The traffic in the onsen is much lighter and many places even allow private booking such as those discussed above.  

There’s plenty of options to consider, so find the one the works best for your needs, interests, and wallet!

Step 2:  Take Off Your Shoes

This is the second step to Japanese onsen but really it’s the second step to Japan in general.  When it comes to many indoor spaces in Japan that are more private or intimate – shoes come off.  

Photo Credit - LINK

Photo Credit – LINK

Onsen facilities are no different.  While every facility is set up differently, it’s generally pretty easy to denote when it’s time to remove your shoes.  Those who have entered before you will have taken their shoes off, so you’ll often find an area with shoes left on the floor or placed into cubbies.  Some facilities will have a sign out notifying when to remove shoes and others will leave out a slew of plastic slippers to use when your shoes are off.

Much like the nudity, this isn’t a negotiable rule.  You want to onsen?  Shoes off.

Step 3:  Grab A Towel & Enter Your Gendered Area

At most facilities there’s someone running the show – either staff taking payment at the front reception area or staff from the hotel/onsen making sure everything is running smoothly.  The staff will generally provide you with a large towel, a smaller towel, and occasionally a yukata (robe).  Take these with you into the changing area. 

If you’ve booked private time in an onsen, you can do mixed sex bathing with your partner, friends, or family members.  Otherwise the facilities are segregated by gender.  

Japanese kanji for MAN.

Japanese kanji for MAN.

Japanese kanji for WOMAN

Japanese kanji for WOMAN

Entrances to the gender segregated-areas are generally noted by curtains hanging over the doors or wooden signs.  The Japanese kanji for “man” and “woman” are above and at a minimum each door should display one of these kanji to clarify which area you should be entering.  Often the curtains/signs will also contain the English words for man and woman and even be color coded with hetero-normative color configurations – blue for men, red/pink for women.  

Photo Credit - LINK

Photo Credit – LINK

Throwing back to the previous discussion on nudity and transgender, intersex, or genderqueer travelers – please note that Japanese onsen are not a location where they actively recognize the full spectrum of gender and gender identity.  Unless you are frequenting an onsen that has specific policies or advertising that denotes otherwise, the staff and patrons will expect you to use the facility that conforms with the gender identity that you physically most closely resemble.  

Ultimately what door you choose to walk through is up to you, but please be aware of how the locals may react to your choice and note that you may be asked to leave by staff if they believe you’ve entered the “wrong” side.

Step 4:  Get Naked

Ahhhhh.  Here’s the part the gives me the most anxiety – getting butt ass naked in front of strangers.  If you’re someone who is completely comfortable with their own body and have no qualms letting your naughty bits swing in the breeze – bravo!  Let me start a slow clap for you!

Sadly I’m not one of those people, and I know that many of my fellow travelers (LGBTQ or not) have similar reservations.  My advice to you is this – it’s like getting into a pool.  The more slowly and tentatively you do it, the more painful the experience will end up being.  The best course of action is to take a deep breath and metaphorically diving right into the pool – drop trou, free the tatas, and just get it over with!

The changing area of an onsen on Lake Ashi.

The changing area of an onsen on Lake Ashi.

Depending on how fancy your facility is, you will either find baskets inside the changing area or perhaps you were given a key with a numbered tag on it to denote a specific locker for you to use.  You can toss all of your clothing into the basket or locker along with your large towel.  Keep your small towel with you.  

Note – if you brought a smart phone or camera, leave it here as well.  Onsen are strictly a no-photo facility unless you have permission from the property owners or are using the onsen under the private usage option discussed earlier.  Also, there really isn’t going to be anywhere dry to keep your device and the atmosphere inside the onsen proper is quite humid, i.e. not ideal for electronics.

Step 5:  Scrub A Dub Dub

Once you’re fully naked and done worrying about whether everyone can see your belly fat/neck roll/that ugly birthmark on your lower thigh, move through the doors to the next area.

As the onsen is a shared use facility, you’ll be required to give yourself a very thorough cleaning prior to entering the water.  No one wants to share the water with someone who didn’t take the time to wash the day’s grit and grim away!

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Don’t expect individual shower stalls, though this is occasionally available.  Chances are you’ll find a system very similar to what’s shown above – several stools set up in front of handheld shower nozzles with mirrors and large shampoo, conditioner, and soap dispensers.  A bucket is often provided at each station.

You should start by using the shower nozzle to rinse off the stool and the bucket before using them.  Next, use all of the provided items to give yourself a very thorough cleaning.  I’m not talking a cursory run over the skin here people – get into the nooks and crannies and make sure you’re serving sparkling clean realness.  If a bucket is not provided to fill with water, use the nozzle and soap to give yourself a proper washing.  Of course you should use the shampoo to clean your hair just as thoroughly.  If you have long hair, use a hair tie to collect your hair into a bun on the top of your head, well above the shoulder line.  Having your hair (even clean!) dip into the water is a no-no.

Step 6:  Place Towel On Head or Off To Side

One thing people always ask me the first time we onsen together is what to do with the small towel that you brought with you.  That’s really up to you.  People do a variety of things with it, but the one thing that you should not do is let it fall into the water.  Some folks use it as a washcloth, others save it for use later on.  Some bathers will place their towel off to the side in a designated area that should be easy to identify since you’ll see a grouping of small towels.  Others will fold it up and place it on top of their heads or tie it like a bandana.  Be creative, just don’t dip it in the water.

Step 7:  Enjoy the Japanese Onsen, Don’t Pass Out

It’s time people.  The moment has arrived.  It’s time to enter the onsen!

Whether the spring has stairs to facilitate entry into the water or you simply have to walk up to the edge and step in, your only task now is to get into the water and relax.

Japanese law actually categorizes onsen into four categories based on the temperature of the water.  A “cold spring” is anything below 22°C/77°F.  A “warm spring” is anything from there up to 33°C/91°F.  After that is a “hot spring” which runs to a threshold of 41°C/106°F.  Anything above that is categorized as an “extra hot spring”.  If you’re at a small onsen, there’s likely only one spring to use with a consistent temperature.  Larger onsen facilities can have several types of baths that you can move around and experience.  They’ll feature various temperatures as well as different mineral contents with associated “benefits”.  

Just a reminder that the onsen is not a pool – swimming is impolite.  You should quietly sit and enjoy the ambiance.  You can chat quietly if you desire.  Do not dip your head into the water.  As indicated above, your hair and head should not enter the water at all.  This is a neck-down activity.

Onsen is similar to a sauna in that you should be very careful to monitor yourself to ensure you are not overheating.  If it’s your first time experiencing an onsen it can be very easy to overdo things on the first go and end up getting lightheaded or even passing out.  I recommend staying in for no longer than 4 or 5 minute at a time if you’re doing this for the first time, just to be safe.  You can exit the water and walk a bit, or remove yourself from the water and sit on the edge of the springs.  If you’re in a larger onsen, move on to one of the cooler pools.  

You’ll be sweating a bit so make sure you’re well hydrated prior to entering the onsen and make sure you drink plenty of water after you’ve finished as well.

Step 8:  Dry Off & Cover Up

Once you’ve had your fill of soaking and relaxation, it’s time to dry off and head out of the onsen.  If you’ve set your small towel off to the side, grab it.  If you kept it with you the whole time, snatch it off your head and use it to dry off prior to exiting the hot spring area.  It may be difficult but make sure you do the best you can to make sure you’re not dripping copious amounts of hot water off of your body before you go back to your clothing.

Back at your locker/basket, use the larger towel to do a proper dry off.  Once done, put your clothes back on and throw the towels into the hamper where everyone else has left theirs.  If you’re staying at a ryokan or minshuku, you may have been provided a yukata (robe) to use in the building or outdoors if their onsen facility is located slightly off property.  If that’s the case, put on your robe (securing your obi around your waist tightly so you don’t have a Janet Jackson-esque nip or dick slip) and head back to your room.  If the yukata is provided to you, you can expect that it’s acceptable to wear it around the guesthouse to and from the onsen.  

So that’s that, folks!

I hope you found this helpful.  As I mentioned before, the tradition of Japanese onsen is one that I grew up with as a child and one that I continue to enjoy as an adult every time I return to my homeland.  It’s an amazingly intimate and relaxing way to immerse yourself in the culture of Japan, providing you an outlet at the end of a long day and also putting you in close proximity with locals.  Strike up a conversation, throw your towel on top of your head, and see where you end up.  

If you have questions about experiencing onsen as an LGBTQ traveler (or even if you’re not!), please feel free to use the “Contact Me” button at the top of the page to send me a note.  I’m more than happy to talk about my experiences to help you feel more comfortable or make an informed decision.

Happy soaking!

 

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A Travel Wish List – Food Edition

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE

If you’ve ever met me before, it’s probably no surprise that much like a puppy or toddler I can very accurately be described as “food motivated.”  Eating delicious food is one of the things that gives me the most joy in life and it definitely shapes the goals I set for myself when visiting a new destination.  Make no mistake – before my little half-Asian feet step inside the aluminum tube jetting me off to a fun new city, they’ve already done the leg work to identify a list of delicacies that I’ll eventually be putting in my belly.  

My stomach’s yearnings and my mind’s wanderings aren’t constrained by pending travel though.  No sir!  I keep a running mental list of things that I cannot wait to get on a platand devour with childlike glee.  I can often be found in yoga pants laying on my bed with my hair in a pony tail, legs kicking up and down and plucking petals off a flower as I daydream about the sweet and savory treats that await me across the globe.   

But why keep these thoughts to myself?  I figured I could write a little ditty listing the ten most eagerly anticipated bits of grub I’ve been dying to get my hands upon.  Who knows, maybe you’ll be inspired to head out and eat a few of these things along with me.  Or maybe you’ve eaten one of them and can give me some feed back on how amazing (or overrated!) some of these dishes might be.  

So gird your food-loins people.  Here’s a list full of food porn that’s guaranteed to banana split your dairy queen.  

Canada – Pouding Chômeur

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Translated as “unemployment pudding” or “pour man’s pudding”, pouding chômeur is a simple cake batter that is placed in a baking dish and then soaked in syrup or caramel.  When baked, the cake rises through the liquid, soaking through the pastry as it rises and caramelizes at the bottom.  The end result is a gooey, moist, sugary pillow of baked goodness that sounds like it might be worth committing a felony to taste.  

To quote a overplayed pop song on the radio recently – “Man, you wouldn’t believe the amazing things that can come from some terrible nights.”  That pretty much sums up the genesis of this delectable Canadian treat.  While it’s unclear whether it was created for the unemployed or by the unemployed, the pudding has its roots in the Great Depression and the province of Quebec.  Originally made with chunks of stale bread, over the decades it has evolved into the more elegant cake variety that is so prevalent today.  

My only journey into this area of Canada was a quick weekend trip to Montreal during the height of winter.  While many would question my sanity for visiting with feet of snow covering the ground, I found the city to be full of life and quite charming.  I had an amazing weekend exploring despite frequent stops to defrost my body, which strengthened my resolve to return sometime in the future.  For some reason, the magic of pouding chômeur eluded my research and I left Montreal without managing to get my hands on a ramekin of this baked slice of heaven.  

I’ve been quietly plotting my return to Quebec every since and I’d say a solid 40% of that desire is driven entirely by my need to taste this treat.   

Egypt – Kanafeh

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

I’ve listed Egypt as the location to enjoy this particular parcel of pleasure, though in actually it’s quite popular all over a large portion of the Middle East, North Africa, and Turkey.  Egypt was singled out since the treat is quite popular there and I just happen to be headed that way in 2017.  Trust that I danced a little jig when I booked the plane tickets knowing that a mouthful of kanafeh was just a few months away!

Kanafeh is a mix of pastry and soft white cheese that is layered together and then soaked in rose or orange syrup, quite similar in process to the more familiar baklava.  While being soaked in syrup is enough to pique my interest, the textural interplay between the crunchy pastry and the creamy, soft cheese gives it that extra element of allure that brings it to my list.  

Its popularity across a large swath of land has lead to the development of three varieties of the dish.  Khishnah kanafeh is identified by the use of noodle-shaped pastry.  The cheese is often rolled in the noodles to coat the outside prior to soaking.  Na’ama kanafeh uses a semolina (wheat) dough to create a flatter, brownie shape.  Mhayara is a mixture of the noodle and semolina base in a single pastry.  Chopped pistachios are often used to garnish the dish.  

With its mixture of cream and crunch and the added kick of sugary syrup, you can bet that kanafeh will be one of the first things on my to-do list when I land in Cairo in February.  

Sri Lanka – Hot Buttered Cuttlefish

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Following the attainment of independence from the British in the 1940s, Sri Lanka experienced a small wave of immigration from China.  While dwindling in numbers now, the impact of this migration can still be seen in the popularity of Chinese and Chinese-inspired foods throughout the teardrop-shaped island nation floating in the Indian Ocean.  

A true fusion food, hot buttered cuttlefish melds a variety of flavors and techniques from both nations to create what sounds like a delectable dish of mouthwatering proportions.  Featuring cuttlefish or squid, the meat is tossed in a batter and then quickly deep fried.  Once plated, the crispy rings of seafood are then slathered in a sauce created from a mix of butter, garlic, and chili paste.  As if that weren’t enough, the dish is often garnished with a handful of chopped spring onion and roasted cashew nuts.  

There is genuinely zero redeeming health aspects to this dish, but forgive me if I don’t give a shit.  The thought of crispy battered seafood, spicy/tangy sauce, and crunchy nuts is enough to throw every diet I’ve ever had to the wind and say good riddance.  Sri Lanka is another country that I’ve visited in the past but much like pouding chomeur I managed to miss out on this little local delicacy as I only caught wind of it about a year ago.  

Sadly, Sri Lankan cuisine isn’t particularly common in my part of the world, let alone the subset of food that is Sri Lankan-Chinese fusion.  Looks like I’ll have to plan a trip back to the nation formerly known as Ceylon to sate this hungry.  

Trust that I’m not too upset about that!

Peru – Picarones 

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Surprise, surprise!  Another saccharinely sweet pastry from a corner of the globe that I’m just dying to get my lips around.  If anything I’m consistent, right?

I first read about picarones while doing a little research into the impact of the Spanish on Native American cultures during the colonial era (yes, I’m a nerd and actually look into stuff like that.  Wanna fight about it?).  The Spaniards that crossed the Atlantic craved little reminders of home, but their treasured little balls of fried, doughy goodness (bunuelos) turned out to be too difficult and expensive to prepare in the New World.  Denying colonizers the right to doughnuts doesn’t seem like much but in my humble opinion this was a good first step for God’s wrath.  Still, the desire for a sweet fried snack lead to the development of the picarone – a pastry made from sweet potatoes and squash (readily available in Peru, unlike the ingredients for bunuelos!).  

Shaped into rings and then deep fried much like a doughnut, the finished product is then dipped in or soaked in molasses flavored with orange peels.  Again, that interplay between crunchy fried dough and thick, sugary syrup is a texture profile that makes my tongue do a little jig in my mouth.  Peru (and much of South America) has escaped my wanderlust so far, but the minute I touchdown in Lima, you can bet I’ll be on the hunt for a plate full of these little buggers.

China – Dragon Beard Candy

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Chinese food is revered the world over as one of the great pillars of cuisine.  From xiao long bao to peking duck, the list of dishes from China that have beguiled the world goes on and on and on.  The one thing you likely won’t find on that list though?  A dessert.  Whether fair or not, China is not known as a land where one with a sweet tooth would be happily sated.  

Maybe that perception can change though.  Consider dragon beard candy for a moment – a puffy pillow of spun sugary floss wrapped around a chewy core of crushed peanuts, flaky coconut, or sesame seeds.  As if that mixture of textures and flavors didn’t sound enticing enough, the delicate nature of the confection means that it easily melts with the introduction of moisture.  Yes, it appears to literally be melt-in-your-mouth good!

Made almost entirely of sugar, oil, and high fat content items like peanuts and coconut, this isn’t a light and healthy treat to end your meal.  But a little fanciful tidbit at the end of a meal never killed anyone.  Next time I’m in China, I’ll have my eyes peeled for this flossy little nugget of goodness.

South Africa – Bunny Chow

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Another entrant into the list that showcases the fusion of culture and cuisine that has defined our globe.  Bunny chow can be found all over South Africa but the coastal city of Durban is really the epicenter of this culinary oddity.  The origin of this dish is murky and there’s really no consensus on how it came to be, but a few things are very clear – the importation of slaves and indentures laborers from India into South Africa by European colonial powers and the need for a portable, handheld meal were key to the creation of this savory pocket of deliciousness.  

How it got it’s name is also up for debate, and to be honest I don’t really care – as long as it taste’s the way I think it will you can call it anything you want!

Starting with a hollowed out bread loaf and then filled to the brim with piping hot curry, the bunny chow is traditionally eaten by hand and guaranteed to be a messy meal.  The dish typically comes in three sizes – a rather self-explanatory quarter, half, or full loaf.  The curry filling is often bean or lentil-based to keep with the vegetarian diet of many Indians, though the use of meat curries (mutton and lamb are common) has grown popular since its inception.  Sadly, as far as I can tell, the ironic addition of a rabbit curry has yet to take hold in the country.  

Many shops that sell bunny chow will provide the removed bread stuffing on the side of the dish to give you more than enough to dip into the spicy curry.  Loaded with carbs and excessively large, this isn’t the type of meal to eat when you’re watching your waistline.  While I’ve been to South Africa before, I was unfortunately unable to track down a bunny chow during my stay due to the torrential downpour that blanketed the country for the majority of my stay.  South Africa (particularly Cape Town) was stunningly beautiful though, so I’m not heartbroken at the thought of making a return visit in the near future.  The ability to get my grubby little fingers on a loaf of bread stuff with curry is just icing on the cake.

France – Croquembouche

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

I have two words for you, people – PASTRY.  TOWER.  Close your eyes, open your mouth, and let that sink in to your metaphorical throat.  And yes, that imagery was intentionally sexual.  If you don’t see the natural connection between food and sex, you’re doing both wrong.  

Any who!

Behold the beauty that is the French croquembouche.  A conical spire of choux pastry (think eclairs or beignets) that’s held together by a generous helping of caramel and its sheer magnificence, this wonder of the culinary world has spread past the borders of France and can often be found across Europe.  And can you blame people?  It looks amazingly delicious.

I think the aspect of this dish that really draws my interest is the “picking” part.  When I was a child, my American grandmother would always make monkey bread for us.  A simple mixture of cinnamon, sugar, and biscuit dough placed into a bundt cake dish and baked with copious amounts of butter, this is the flavor and tactile experience of my childhood.  The end product was a round circle of gooey bits that would be placed on a table and pulled apart slowly by anyone within smelling radius.

The instant I was introduced to the concept of the croquembouche I was reminded of this delicious treat from my grandmother’s kitchen and the salivation started across the plane of my mouth.  While it is perhaps a more elegant version of the dish, I’m eager to find a way to to pick at a croquembouche the next time I find myself traipsing across France.

India/Pakistan – Shahi Tukda

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Noticing a bit of a trend here?  I tend to favor bready, milky desserts over those with heavy chocolate.  That’s because of an odd allergy quirk that plagues my existence that essentially prevents me from enjoying anything with chocolate.  I appreciate your thoughts and prayers but know that I’ve learned to cope over the years and do enjoy the vast array of non-chocolate desserts across the globe.

Like this pan-fried bread-based dessert from the Indian sub-continent!  

Various versions and names are attached to the dish depending on where you venture, but the overall ingredients and process remains the same – pan-fried slices of bread soaked in hot milk and sprinkled with nuts and spices.  The bread is often pan-fried in ghee, a clarified butter that’s commonly used in Indian cooking.  Cardamon and saffron form the base of the seasoning.  Once sufficiently crispy and soaked, pistachios, cashews, almonds, and dried fruits are sprinkled over the top.  Make sure you take your Lactaid before digging into this dish, folks!  But come on – sweet, milk-soaked fried bread is worth it!

Sadly I’ve been to India four times and have yet to cross paths with this delightful dish.  From what I gather it’s quite common during Ramadan and on Eid, which might explain why I have  yet to see it.  Four times is far from enough when it comes to visiting India though, so rest assured I’ll be back and looking for this on every street corner.

Colombia/Venezuela – Arepa

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

Moving away from the sweet and back to the savory for a minute, let’s talk about my desire to enjoy an arepa!

I was first made aware of these little corn patties by friends who would either be visiting the various countries in Central and South America where these are made or from friends here in Chicago who were enjoying them at little Latin food joints across the city.  The photos looked amazing and I immediately went to Wikipedia to learn a little more.  Discovering that they were thick patty-like slabs of bread made from corn flour, I was already sold.  Corn is one of my favorite types of food.  I love corn flakes.  Corn bread.  I even ate and liked corn ice cream in Singapore.  I’m half-Japanese but my other half is Midwestern and corn-fed.  

While arepas in and of themselves sound delicious to me, they’re often taken to the next level by being stuffed with a variety of ingredients to create a sandwich of sorts.  What tickles your fancy today?  Shredded beef?  Fried plantains?  Maybe some black beans and mango salsa?  You name it – it’s possible.  While I haven’t really spent much time exploring Central or South America, I’m eagerly looking forward to a time when I can eat arepas on the regular.  

Philippines – Budbud Kabog

PHOTO CREDIT - LINK

PHOTO CREDIT – LINK

I’ve traveled through 18 countries in Asia, but the Philippines has eluded me so far.  An archipelago stretching from Taiwan to Papau New Guinea, the cuisine of this island nation has a special place in my heart.  Growing up on US navy bases across the Pacific Rim, many of my friends were Filipino.  Having Filipino friends growing up translates into a ton of Filipino food being fed to you by friendly mothers who are very concerned you aren’t eating enough.  Pancit, lumpia, adobo.  You name it, I gorged on it and still crave it to this day.

Which is why budbud kabog caught my eye recently.  With as much experience as I have eating Filipino food, this sweet treat of stewed millet and coconut wrapped in a banana leaf never crossed my path.  While it is indeed another milky dessert, the prospect of eating millet is really what intrigues me.  A grain that is generally seen as one of the main components of common bird seed, it actually is a rather good product for foods and desserts due to its natural nutty flavor.

Throw in the coconut and I’m solidly sold on this dish.  Coconut is pretty much one of my five basic food groups, so my interest is essentially a given.  The dish features fresh coconut meat scrapped from the shell as well as coconut used during the stewing process for the millet.  Wrapped in banana leaves and left to steam over a pot of boiling water, the potential sweet, nutty goodness of this dish is mouth watering.  

The Philippines has a lot to offer – gorgeous beaches, colonial history, jungle-covered islands to hop to and fro.  Even with all that, budbud kabog is one of the things calling me to visit.

So there you have it – the top ten foods on my travel wish list.  Have you eaten any of these?  If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts!

 

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Use Your Starpoints For The Ultimate Travel Geek Experience

If you’re a member of the Starwood Preferred Guest program, you’ve probably heard of SPG Moments.  They’re SPG’s way of allowing you to redeem your Starpoints for things that are decidedly not travel. Tickets to sporting events, shows and access to special dinners are just some of the SPG Moments that Starwood features on an annual basis.  I’ve actually redeemed Starpoints for an SPG Moment, though it was mostly for me wife.  She got a semi-private tennis lesson with Andre Agassi at the US Open a few years ago and […]

The post Use Your Starpoints For The Ultimate Travel Geek Experience appeared first on Pizza In Motion.

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A Queer In the Kasbah

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE



The above picture was snapped while I was riding at the top of a three-tier float in Chicago’s annual Pride parade with music blasting, confetti flying, and sequins blazing.  A few members of my volleyball team had been asked to participant in the parade by the Athletic Alliance of Chicago, an LGBTQ non-profit that organizes leagues for a variety of sports throughout the year.   We agreed and decided that each of the six of us would ride the float in full drag while wearing a single color of the pride flag while also representing one of the sports offered by the association.  Have you ever worn full make-up and a wig in 90 degree heat with heavy humidity?  I have, and it’s not comfortable.  Or pretty.

Despite what the picture might suggest, this was actually the very first Pride event I had attended in five or six years.  I’m not one for big crowds or high heat, so I typically celebrate Pride by living my life as an out and proud gay man 364 days a year and quietly enjoying air conditioning and solitude on the one day everyone else is enjoying the festivities.  When the opportunity presented itself I figured I would do it for the experience and to check one more thing off my bucket list – “march in a parade”.  I quickly ended up regretting my decision as the stress of finding an outfit and preparing for an event with over a million spectators quickly got to me and I started wishing I had said no.

And then Orlando happened.  

Suddenly the opportunity to riding on a float in a parade that stands for love, peace, and equality seemed more like a blessing than a burden.  Sadly most of the world never even had time to fully digest what happened at Pulse nightclub before it was forced to move on to the myriad number of tragedies that have fallen upon the world since – Nice, Munich, Istanbul, Baghdad, Dhaka.  It’s heartbreaking that the list goes on and on and on.  

But for the LGBTQ community, the implications and emotions stirred up by the Orlando shooting have not yet been swept away.  It was personal for many of us, and it caused an entire community to reflect upon their identity and their safety in a world that more times than not does not wish them well.  If you doubt this assertion, just ask yourself if you genuinely think an opposite-sex couple walking down the street in Anytown, USA ever stops to worry that someone will make a snide comment about their loving gesture.  Or cover their children’s eyes and move them to “safety”.  Or throw a rock.  Or bottle.  Or worse.  

It could be argued that the world is not a safe place for anyone.  As we watch events unfold on CNN and the evening news, I’m sure we all consider our mortality when we realize the danger we face doing something as simple as shopping for groceries or grabbing a Big Mac.  While the constant stream of terrorist attacks and mass shootings may be at the front of our minds, statistically the chance of us falling victim to one of these attacks is microscopic.  The sad reality is that for people of color, religious minorities, immigrant communities, and those on the LGBTQ spectrum, the risks associated with just being yourself are much more likely than ISIS to impact or endanger your life.  

Many of us may have been doing a good job of forgetting the risks we face very day, but Orlando brought the reality home in a stark, gut-wrenching way.  And make no mistake about it – gay travelers take those risks with them when they hit the road.  Whether it’s a trip to New Orleans or a trek through the steppes of Kazakhstan, being a member of the LGBTQ community adds a multitude of layers to the experience that impact the how, where, when, and why of travel.  

While I’ve always openly identified as gay while writing here at ORD to Anywhere, I really haven’t spoken much about my experiences traveling the world as a gay man and how that has impacted my experiences and perception of the world at large.  I’ve never made a conscious decision to avoid the topic, it’s just that I never felt there was a good opportunity to bring it into the fold.  

That’s going to change going forward though.  There are definitely bigger and badder travel blogs that have been providing information for LGBTQ travelers for ages, but I want to add size to that signal for anyone out there who wants to explore the world and is looking for information, reassurance, or a reality check.  

So with that in mind, I want to make a stronger commitment to sharing stories about traveling in a world that can be incredibly beautiful and yet incredibly ugly to me and people like me.  I want to note that my thoughts and experiences are just that – mine.  You may have different thoughts and experiences.  Fantastic!  Share them.  The more information there is out there the better.  

The first story I want to share is from a visit to Marrakesh I made a few months ago.  I haven’t written about it on the blog just yet, but my friends and family know that I didn’t exactly love my visit.  I never really elaborated to most people about why I had such a bad experience, I simply expressed that I was frustrated and moved on from it.  While this isn’t the only thing that put me off while in Morocco, it does explain a huge part of the bad taste that I ended up having at the end of my five days in the medina.

So without further ado…..

Marrakesh, Morocco.

It was only mid-February, but being from Chicago meant the 75° weather that greeted me as I stepped through the door was positively balmy in my mind.  As I made my way up the narrow alleyway that hid my riad from the more chaotic road into the medina, I greeted a woman in a black chador with a child shyly hidden behind the flowing black fabric of her garb with a quiet “Sabah al-kheyr” and a smile.  While most of her figure was cloaked behind the cloth, her face was still visible and her cheeks widened as a smile appeared.   “Bonjour” she replied as they moved past me.  The sound of her robes brushing up against the stones that paved one of hundreds of alleyway that make up the labyrinth inside Marrkesh’s medina was barely audible over the rattle of iron pots and the Islamic call to prayer.  

The conservative dress that paraded past me every morning stood in contrast to my more casual Western clothing.  While conventional wisdom might say that you should do your best to not stand out too starkly when traveling abroad, Morocco is one of those places where that’s not really possible in many places.  Even in a more modern and cosmopolitan city like Marrakesh, most of the people in the medina were garbed in traditional clothing.  As culturally competent as I try to be, I wasn’t going to convincingly pull off wearing what most Moroccan men on the street seemed to have on – djellabas, a loose-fitted robe with a hood that sits at a peak when pulled up.  

Marrakesh street scene.

Even those who were dressed non-traditionally were wearing bulky sweaters, thick hoodies, and long pants to insulate themselves from the “cold” that struck me as excellent swimming weather, so I wouldn’t be able to match that look either.  Knowing full well I wouldn’t blend in anyway, I spent my time in Marrakesh in my traditional travel outfit – a tank top, long sleeve button down shirt, and jeans.  I didn’t blend in but I still did my best to stay within local mores regarding covering your body, arms, and legs.  

The smell of fresh baked bread and the braying of donkeys signaled that I had reached the end of my quiet alleyway and was about to enter the scrum that constitutes walking through a Moroccan medina.  Much like its marketplace brethren across the globe in places like Mumbai and Manila, the medina of Marrakesh is a cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells.  Motorbikes weave through shoulder to shoulder pedestrian traffic.  Donkeys pull wooden carts laden with brightly colored vegetables as children chase each other to and fro.  A butcher, an electrician, and a dentist call clients into their stores, all three storefronts packed into the same 20 foot stretch of road.  Diesel meets cardamon meets sauteed onion in a lethargic cloud of fragrance that floats effortlessly above the endless din of commerce.  It’s full of life and energy, and it was better than any coffee could hope to be in waking me up each morning.  

I picked my way through the parade of people as I slowly trekked southward to Bahia Palace, which would be my first stop of the day.  While most people were too busy with their daily lives to take note of me as I walked by, occasionally a young man or a group of young men would approach me and ask the same question that almost anyone who approaches you in the medina will ask – “Are you lost?”  As I noted above, the medina is quite maze-like.  A patchwork of winding alleys and dead end streets that often confuses visitors, it’s the ideal place for many local young men to make money by offering to guide tourists to wherever they need to go for a fee.  It’s a good option should you find yourself truly unsure of where you are if you set the price beforehand, but as with most things in life be wary of people offering help unsolicited.   As you might guess, regardless of whether you’re on the right path or not you will always be told you’re going the wrong way by whomever is seeking to help you.  

I happen to have an excellent sense of direction and my iPhone’s GPS had worked perfectly even in the convoluted mess that is the medina since I arrived, so I would always politely decline the offer for help.  While they can be persistent, they eventually leave you be and allow you to continue on your merry way.

As I turned a corner just off the main square (called Jemaa el-Fnaa) inside the medina, three young men appeared out of the corner of my eye and started to approach me.  Having gotten quite used to the offers to help me find my way, I prepared to use my limited French to tell them that I didn’t need any help only to be surprised when all that came from the lead man’s lips was “Hey, you!”  I turned my head toward him but continued walking and nodded to acknowledge his greeting.  I thought that perhaps he was simply saying hello to me.  His steps picked up as he tried to keep up with me and his two friends mirrored his actions.  Again, he called out to me, “Hey, you!”  

My skin began to tingle as something inside of me told me that this wasn’t a friendly encounter.  There was something about the aggressive way he was trying to keep up with my pace that raised an alarm somewhere in the back of my mind and I chose to ignore his second call and continue walking toward Jemaa el-Fnaa.  I turned my head completely forward in the hopes that avoiding even the potential for eye contact would be the thing that convinced him to give up his pursuit and leave me alone.  

And then it came.  “Hey, you faggot!”  

It felt like a brick to the back of my head.  I could actually feel a white, searing heat spread from the base of my neck and flush through my face.  I was so shocked by the words that I stopped in my tracks, which gave them just enough time to catch up and stand next to me.  The three of them stood there in silence waiting for me to reply.  Cold, empty glares.  I felt sweat falling down the curve of my back.  

I didn’t quite know how to response but I knew I needed to start maneuvering soon, so I mustered up a rather weak “What?” in reply.  

“You gay?” the man said again, the empty stare giving no indication as to the purpose of the questioning.  It was always the same man who would speak, his arms folded across his chest while the other two would stand on either side of him with light smirks on their faces.  

“Faggot.”  Again, I winced.  

My mind was racing with thoughts.  Did these men intend to hurt me?  Why did they approach me out of nowhere to ask me about my sexuality?  While I certainly didn’t blend in with the local population I was far from the only foreign visitor making my way through the medina that morning, and I was dressed no different than any of them.  I felt myself transfixed on my clothing because it was all I could grasp at that made sense.  While I can certainly add a bit of sass and swish to my mannerisms when I’m around friends and family, I tend to think that for the most part I don’t present body language that would be categorized as stereotypically gay in most corners of the world.  Why me?  What was it about me that caused three random men on the street to follow me and ask me if I was gay?  To call me a faggot?  

It’s a very scary feeling to be approached by strangers in a foreign country and be called a slur, particularly in a country like Morocco that has an atrocious record on LGBTQ rights.  As the chart below shows, just about every modern measure of LGBTQ legal protection is absent.  In the last decade there have been court cases where the simple accusation of having had sex with someone of the same sex has caused the court to issue prison sentences without any evidence to support the claim.  So not only is it a place where being LGBTQ is illegal, you don’t even have the benefit of a legal system that requires someone prove you’ve broken the law before they punish you.  Hearsay will do.  

With these thoughts raging through my mind and the tension threatening to boil over between us, I decided to simply ignore the question and started walking away.  I wanted to run because as a gay man every fiber in my being was screaming out in self-preservation but I knew I needed to remain calm and not let terror creep into my decision-making process.  I couldn’t see them as I focused directly ahead but a sixth sense told me that they were again following me as I made my way through the crowded pathways of the medina.  I had chosen flight but my mind was starting to debate whether fight was the better answer.  Perhaps not physically, but to turn around and confront them.  To ask them why they were bothering me, why was my sexuality of interest to them?  I felt the brush of someone’s hand on my shoulder as the man in charge reached out to stop me from escaping.  I picked up the pace of my feet and willed my feet to put as much distance between us as possible.  

Being on my own I was able to maneuver through the crowds more easily than a group of three, so after a minute I was able to separately myself from my pursuers to the point where it was clear that they wouldn’t be able to keep up with my speed and mobility.  Acknowledging this, the three of them stopped in their tracks as I looked over my shoulder and sent one last parting shot across the bow – “Gay!  Gay!”

I turned around and focused on disappearing into the crowd, relieved to be rid of them but quite shaken by the entire encounter.  It was only five minutes at most but it felt like a lifetime of stress had be placed upon my shoulders.  I crossed the chaos of Jemaa el-Fnaa and finally darted down a side street and sat down in the back of a small cafe.  A man came by to drop off a menu but before he could hand it over I mumbled a request for it-tay – mint tea.  With a nod, he walked off to make it.

I dropped my head into my hands and finally let all the fear bubble to the surface.  The fear of being arrested.  The fear off being attacked.  The fear of public shame.  The fear of being singled out and othered.  But it wasn’t just fear that came out.  There was also anger.  The anger of being made to fear.  The anger that comes from knowing that heterosexuals get to walk around and not have strangers approach them and question them on their sexuality at the risk of jail or violence.  The anger of knowing that I can leave Morocco but thousands of men and women live with the fear that had me trembling at that very moment every single day of their lives.  The anger that comes from knowing that despite being in Morocco that if this had happened at a shopping mall back home in Chicago that I would have felt the exact same way.  

Despite adventures in over 40 countries across the globe, many of which are quite anti-gay, this was the only time where I felt genuinely unsafe.  I suppose this is the bright side to the situation – while it was jarring it’s been exceedingly rare.  On the other hand, the fact remains that LGBTQ travelers like myself sadly have to carry a two-fold burden with them when on the road – the fear of what may happen when faced with bigots on the road and the knowledge that when they get home that the danger doesn’t disappear. LGBTQ people (much like many other minorities) create safe spaces like gay bars, gay neighborhoods, gay business, and gay pride events because the reality of our everyday lives is that the world we live in exists only in varying degrees of “safer.”  

There is no safe.  It simply does not exist.  We are never safe.  Only a degree of “safer”.

My tea arrived and I let the warm liquid and sugary burn of mint wash over my tongue as I watched people go about their shopping and exploration.  The energy and liveliness of the medina started to soak back into my psyche as I slowly let my fear and anger erode away, one wave of tea at a time.  I tried to tell myself I wouldn’t let this ruin my impression of Morocco but I wasn’t confident I could keep that promise.  There are many feelings that can be swept aside, but the fear that LGBTQ people feel when they perceive danger can often leave a permanent mark.  

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a few dinars and left them on the table as I picked up my backpack and headed back out into the street.  I had come to Morocco to explore a new place and experience a new culture, leaving the worries of my life back in Chicago behind for a few days.  Turns out no matter where you are in the world there are somethings you cannot leave behind because they are intrinsically tied to the human experience of LGBTQ communities.  For a gay traveler, fear and anger is part and parcel to travel and every day life back home.  You cannot leave behind what is a part of you.

As I crossed a street I thought back to the woman I passed on my way out of the riad that morning.  She had walked past me just as those three men had, and yet instead of questioning my sexuality she simply smiled and said “Bonjour.”  She didn’t see whatever it was the men saw that caused them to chase me down and aggressively harangue me in the middle of a busy street.  Or, she saw it and didn’t care.  I focused on that fact as I continued along my path for the day.  There will always be good and bad people in the world.  Focus on the good people, focus on the good things.  Despite the fear that I feel as a member of the LGBTQ community traveling in a world that often times dismisses our humanity, my wanderlust is unaffected and unsated.

Because for every tourist trap there’s a Taj Mahal.  For every dodgy meal there’s juicy soup dumplings.  And for every homophobe calling you a faggot in the medina, there’s a woman in the alley with a big smile and a “Bonjour” on her lips.

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The Travel Fuck Up – Beijing Tea Time & How To Avoid Scams

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE

I had mixed feelings about my trip to Beijing.  Of course I was excited.  How can you not be excited when you’re spending a week exploring a city with such cultural landmarks as the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, and the Temple of Heaven?  It’s a treasure trove of sites to explore and I was pretty much frothing at the mouth in anticipation of sinking my teeth into it.  On the other hand, I was visiting Beijing during a period of high tension between Japan and China.  The neighboring countries have a very long, complicated history that has resulted in a current situation where it’s safe to say that a friendly dinner party isn’t in the cards for these two.  

Tension between the two nations ebbs and flows like the tide, and my arrival into Beijing was at the height of high tide in that cycle.  A week prior to my arrival protesters in a major Chinese city had looted a Japanese department store as part of a demonstration against Japan nationalizing the Senkaku Islands, which are called the Diaoyu Islands in mainland China.  Protests were held in 16 other Chinese cities, many of which turned violent.  As an American this really wouldn’t be of much concern to me, but I’m also half-Japanese.  I didn’t really think it would be an issue for me but I was debating whether or not I should be open about my background when making my way across Beijing over the week.  As I’ve noted in other posts, my racially ambiguous heritage tends to be subject to questions from locals when I travel quite often.

My post “How Travel Helped Me Learn to Love Myself” gives a bit of background on that if you’re interested:  LINK.  

With all this in mind, I was on guard and doing what I could to make sure I was safe during my visit.  My trip ended up going just fine from a safety standpoint, even when locals learned that I was half-Japanese.  The trip wasn’t without incident though, as my guard was raised on the safety front but I failed to keep vigilant in another area – avoiding scams.  

THE FUCK UP

It wasn’t like I was not at least nominally prepared before arriving in Beijing, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t end up buying some tea that I didn’t want.  So what went wrong?

I like to think I’m pretty street smart after all these years of travel and can usually spot a scam from a mile away.  My research prior to arriving in Beijing even included a warning about what is often called the “Beijing Tea House scam”.  Tourists (usually single men but not limited to that demographic) are often approached by friendly locals (often women) who identify as students.  After striking up conversation they suggest that you move the friendly tête-à-tête to a tea house nearby.  Once the unsuspecting traveler has arrived at the tea house, they’re escorted to a private room and plied with multiple types of tea which they are encouraged to sample.  Often times snacks are laid out for the duo as well.  Once all is said and done, the traveler is presented with a bill for the experience with charge for each tea sampled, the private room, and the snacks.  Expected payment is often several hundred dollars.

Having read about it, I thought I was prepared.  Travel has a way of laughing in your face and teaching you a lesson whether you want to have it or not, and that certainly was the case on this trip.  A big, fat smack in the face.

So how exactly did I fall for this scam despite being fully aware of its existence?  Like most things in life, necessity is the mother of innovation and the scammers in Beijing had innovated.  The scam came to me in sheep’s clothing and I was lulled into complacency.  Woe is me.  Here’s how it went down….

Like many visitors to Beijing, I was interested in taking a day trip out of the city to the famous Great Wall.  Rather than booking on a guided day tour with other travelers, I booked a private driver for the day to take me to a remote section of the Wall.  I had contacted a driver through email that had been recommended to me by another traveler, but the day before our trip I was notified that he had a family issue and wouldn’t be able to make the trip.  He offered to find another driver that could take me, and I accepted his offer.  

Huge mistake.

The replacement driver picked me up on time from my hotel in central Beijing.  He mentioned that we could make a quick stop at the famous Bird’s Nest Stadium from the Beijing Olympics, which I was open to doing.  He even hopped out of the car and took a picture for me.  Not the best picture in the world, admittedly.  So far, so good.  He seemed nice and trustworthy.

Back in the car, we started to head out of the city into the surrounding countryside when suddenly we pulled off of the main road.  When I asked why we had pulled off the road he mentioned that he needed to make a quick stop to use the restroom.  No biggie.  He pulled into a parking lot outside of a building with Chinese writing and darted inside.  I waited in the car for a few minutes.  Five minutes.  Ten minutes.  Fifteen minutes.  After a little while longer I made the decision to leave the car and enter the building to track him down.  Was something wrong?

Inside I found a shop with a cafe area.  My driver was sitting down at a table having a glass of tea with two women.  When he saw me walking in he immediately stood up and apologized, saying he just realized how long he had been.  He was going to hurry off to use the bathroom now, so why didn’t I sit down and wait for him.  I was annoyed by this waste of time but ultimately decided that since he had the keys to the car I needed to make nice.  Sure, I’ll wait.

When he disappeared up some stairs and I sat down at the table to wait, suddenly a flurry of activity erupted around me as glasses of tea and snacks were laid out for me.  And now I knew what was happening.  My driver had set me up and I was in the midst of an updated, modified Beijing Tea House scam.  No need to have people approach me on the street, I was captive here at the tea house with no way to leave because my driver was in on the scam.  

Once I let the flood of angry wash over my body and out through my toes, I decided I essentially had two options:

  • Call everyone’s bluff and potentially ruin the remainder of my day but stand up for myself and not let myself get taken advantage of despite the awkwardness of it all.

  • Play along with the gambit and try to minimize my financial commitment and salvage the day.

If you know anything about me, I’m much more the type of person who confronts people when I feel like they’ve wronged me.  But when traveling, you often have to make choices that are outside of your normal mode of operation.  I had to think about how souring my relationship with my driver by taking him to task about putting me in this scam could mean I wouldn’t see the Great Wall, or potentially abandoned on the side of the road.  It was my very last day in Beijing and my luggage was in the car.  He was dropping me off at my airport hotel for the evening so I could catch my very early morning flight out.  If I confronted everyone, would he react badly and leave?  I needed to be smart with my next move.

Did I know for sure that things would sour if I confronted everyone involved?  No.  But I was in the middle of suburban Beijing without any grasp of Chinese and the man had my luggage in the trunk of his car.  I decided it was best to play it safe and try to extricate myself from the scam as peacefully as possible and deal with the situation after I was delivered to my hotel.  I politely excused myself from the table and instead wandered the aisle of the store.  I selected a small tin of pre-packaged tea that I purchased.  After a bit of negotiation, I only paid an over priced $10 USD for it.  I could tell they were disappointed with the haul but the release of cash was enough to make my driver reappear and for us to make our way out to a very successful day at the Great Wall.

THE FIX

When the driver dropped me off at the hotel and I had my luggage out of his trunk and in my hand, I paid him the cash for the day.  As I handed it over to him, I said “Here’s the fee for the day.  I was going to add extra for a tip but I think we both know why that’s not going to happen.”  The smile he had on has face melted away a bit as he locked eyes with me.  I thought for a second he was going to get angry but instead he just said, “OK.  Good bye.”  When I logged into the hotel’s wifi I fired off an email to the original driver who had asked this man to fill in so I could let him know that he had taken me to a tea house scam and that I would highly suggest he not ask this person to fill in for him in the future.  Based on the high recommendation I received for him, I was confident that this wasn’t his typical mode of business and a follow up email with the person who had recommended the driver confirmed they had not had any issues with their trip.  I don’t think the original driver was involved at all, he just selected poorly when it came to a stand-in.

Sadly, falling for a scam is just one of those things that will happen to you at one time or another when you’re traveling.  Traveling more often means you become much more attuned to when it’s happening, but it doesn’t make you immune to the experience whatsoever.  The best thing you can do to prepare yourself is to make sure you keep yourself abreast of the types of scams that are common wherever it is you’re headed.  I typically use two sources of information on scams prior to leaving on a trip, so I’ll walk you through those two sources now.

One excellent place to find information on potential scams is the United States Department of State’s (DoS) website.  Their travel section (LINK) has a map of the world from which you can click on the shape of any country or territory in the world.  Or, if you’re not really into shapes, you can simply type the country’s name into a search bar.

Once you’re on the country’s page, click on the “Safety and Security” tab.  While the majority of the section is often devoted to current war zone and terrorist activity, DoS also uses this section as a means of notifying travelers of any scams that are being actively run on visitors.  

These scam notices can range from a list of bars and clubs where tourists have reported people attempting to slip them date rape drugs to common scams on public transit or at major tourists sites designed to part you with a few dollars.  See the example below of three scams that are currently posted on the DoS’s website for Russia.

Another source (or sources) that I use when traveling to keep abreast of scams is to check the crowd-sourced travel information websites Wikivoyage.org (LINK) and Wikitravel.org (LINK).  Without getting into too much drama, Wikitravel was my go-to site for travel information but a few years back, due to some disagreements with the site’s owner, many of the content providers to the site moved over to Wikivoyage.  It’s been a bit of a mess ever since but to cover all bases I often check both sites prior to travel.  They’re great sources of information on monuments, temples, churches, and any other travel tidbit you might be interested in, but they also keep a “Stay Safe” section on most of their articles that goes over safety and common scams in the area.  

The snippet above is from Wikivoyage’s Buenos Aires article.  Note that it warns of the “hand cream” scam where someone will squirt a liquid onto you and sudden other bystanders will come to help you clean up.  The goal is to distract you with the flurry of people helping you, consequently you don’t notice yourself getting robbed/pickpocketed.  This actually happened to me while I was traveling in Buenos Aires but unlike my bad luck in Beijing, it went down just as noted here so as soon as I was sprayed with lotion I immediately warded off anyone attempting to help me clean up.  I even had packed wet wipes with me just in case so I could clean up without assistance!

Another thing that’s nice about the way Wikivoyage and Wikitravel are structured is that they keep articles for various levels of travel as well.  You can see read an article devoted to something as bit as an entire continent or as small as a neighborhood in a major city.  This is useful as many of the warnings given by the DoS website can be general or specific to just the major cities in a given country.  The Wikitravel/Wikivoyage option can give you information on scams that are specific to singular monuments or areas of a city.  

Keep in mind that knowing is only half the battle.  Often times travelers are so nervous about being in a new destination that they do things or talk to people that their intuition tells them are bad ideas.  A good example of this comes to mind when I think about a recent trip I took to New Orleans.  The area along the waterfront and Jackson Square is filled with quite a few folks who are looking to part a few dollars from your wallet.  One of the most popular tactics is for someone to approach you and bet you a sum of money that they can tell you where you got your shoes.  Once you agree, they reply that you’ve “got them on your feet”.  Clever, eh?  

These folks are all over the place and the funny thing I noticed while sitting on a bench one afternoon is that despite visitors clearly seeing these people attempting this tactic on others, out of politeness they would talk to and engage with the people when they approached them.  This often times turned uncomfortable for people as they attempted to extricate themselves from the situation after having been nice and engaging off the bat and often times they ended up giving over a few dollars just to avoid the awkwardness.  It could have all been avoided it they had simply offered a firm “No, thank you” when approached, especially since they could see what the jig was about prior to being approached.  

Now, I’m not saying you should be rude to anyone.  I’m also not saying that when you’re a visitor in a new destination you should avoid speaking to anyone who approaches you out of the blue.  I have had plenty of wonderful, engaging conversations with locals when I’ve traveled by having someone say hello out of the blue.  Don’t close yourself off to that possibility.  Just be aware of your surroundings and listen to your gut.  If the person approaching you is doing more than just engaging in chit chat (suggesting you go somewhere, offering you help when you don’t need it), raise your guard and don’t be afraid to simply say “No thank you” and walk away.  

Remember – just because you’re traveling doesn’t mean you’ve lost your right to say no.  Use it wisely.

LET’S WRAP IT UP FOLKS

While I think these are all useful things to know so that you can keep informed about your destination and potentially avoid being scammed, the reality of the situation is that no matter how prepared you might be you’re likely to fall victim to a scam at some point in time.  No amount of preparation will make you completely immune to the ingenuity of scammers or simply making a mistake.  Shit happens.

With that in mind, it’s important for a traveler to be prepared for what happens when the inevitable scam does occur.  As I mentioned above, when I found myself in the tea house scam on the outskirts of Beijing I needed to make some choices quickly to address how I was going to deal with the situation.  My natural instinct would have been to be confrontational but when I weighed all the information it really didn’t seem like the best option.  When making choices on the road, I almost always choose the cautious option.  

I had to swallow my pride a bit and part with a little bit of cash to get out of the situation.  Knowing the scams ahead of time is one thing, but a good traveler also knows how to maneuver out of a scam with the least amount of damage if they discover they’ve fallen into the snare.  There’s value in mentally preparing for what to do when things go wrong when you’re on the road, and that’s something I think many people overlook.  The less time you spend mentally kicking yourself for making a mistake, the less time you spend letting the scammers trap you further into the grift.  

So that, ladies and gents, is my little ditty on scams, how to avoid them, and what to do when you fall for them.  I hope you found it at least a little bit entertaining and perhaps a bit informative!  Until next time…..

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Three Cheers For French Efficiency

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE

IMAGE CREDIT (LINK)

IMAGE CREDIT (LINK)

When it comes to the cuisines of the world the French can rest confident that they are, at a minimum, on the short list for greatest in the world.  I have no doubt that many of the people walking along side me as I made my way through Paris’ Charles de Gaulle airport (CDG) had visions of croque monsieur and cassoulet dancing merrily in their heads.  I confess to being quite envious of them – they’d get to pass through customs and immigration and head into the city to enjoy some of the finest dishes Europe can offer.  I would be hauling my overstuffed suitcase to a nearby airport hotel and struggling to find something edible in the wasteland that constitutes the airside concessions of one of the world’s largest airports.  

As mediocre as a hotel restaurant can often be, my hotel was too small to even offer one.  For dinner I found myself taking the free tram that connects the various airport terminals at CDG and praying I’d find something worth eating.  After finding an endless stream of Brioche Dorees offering unappetizing stale pastries, I resigned myself to following the pungent greasy scent that called my nose to the familiar yet decidedly unFrench establishment – McDonald’s.  

Three cashiers stood behind their cash registers talking to customers, the machines sitting on top of the rounded white plastic counters that can be found in thousands of cities across the globe.  One of the juggernauts of the US’s cultural export machine, McDonald’s sits in just about every major airport across the globe like an embarrassing makeshift American embassy.  And much like an embassy you often don’t appreciate it until you find yourself in difficult times and needing help.  It was there to rescue me tonight in the form of a royale with cheese and some authentic “French” fries.  

A man stood behind the three cashiers patiently awaiting his turn to place an order.  I dutifully queued up behind him, fully unaware of the chaos my decision to stand behind him was about to unleash upon this little airport McDonald’s.  

I glanced about in boredom as time ticketed on.  My grasp of French is nonexistent so I was unable to decipher whether the customers placing their orders were just incredibly indecisive or if the employees were dragging their feet, but needless to say after a few minutes of waiting the line behind me had grown to about 10 people that were all lined up behind me.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a many in a blue suit saunter up from behind the line and stand directly behind one of the customers placing their order.  I cocked my head to the side in mild confusion, as did many of the folks in line with me.

This disrespect for the queue didn’t sit well with the man standing in front of me, as he called out to him in terse French.  Blue Suit absorbed the angry barrage of words and fired back with his own volley of words that despite my lack of comprehension I could tell were laced with vitriol and derision.  My untrained ear did manage to pluck a single word out of the air though – “efficacite”.  It was familiar enough to it’s English equivalent for me to understand – efficiency.  

In my head I laughed a little to myself.  The concept of efficiency and the French have a long history of jokes in the United States, and for all I know in other countries as well.  Whenever one wants to deride the efficiency of an idea or concept, all you need to do is suggest the French would find it suitable.  The implication is, of course, that the French and their society function in a manner that is quite the opposite of efficient.  Clearly this is nothing more than a silly stereotype and I have written it off as such for my entire life.  There couldn’t possibly be a grain of truth to the idea.  Or could there be?

Blue Suit’s retort set off a firestorm in front of the McDonald’s.  Suddenly the relative silence was flooded with a tidal wave of angry French streaming out of the mouths of just about every person around me.  The cashiers were shouting incoherently at the crowd before them while the customers they had been taking orders from turned to offer their two cents to the dialogue.  The man in front of me and Blue Suit continued to spar while the customers awaiting service in line behind me set me awash in a sea of tense French phrases.  Suddenly I wasn’t quite sure whether I was standing in line at a McDonald’s or in the middle of political debate on the floor of the French National Assembly.  I stood in uncomfortable silence watching the erratic tennis match playing out around me.

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, suddenly the argument ended and people began to scatter about.  Having no idea what was going on, I simply stood there like a maypole as French folks danced about me.  Within a few seconds the dust had settled and I looked around to survey the land.  In what I’m assuming as a heated argument about whether to remain in a single line or line up in three individual lines it appeared the decision had been made to ….. create FOUR lines.  From what I could tell there wasn’t a consensus on the course of action so everyone simply did what they thought was best.  Those who wanted a single queue stayed in the existing queue.  Those who thought it would be better to line up behind each cash register did just that.  

So there I am – standing in the middle of a basement food court in a French airport with hunger pangs standing in the fourth line for three cash registers.  Needless to say, this hardly seemed like a workable solution to me.  “French efficiency…..!” I thought to myself.  I began debate whether to try sticking it out in the fourth line to nowhere or strike out on my own to brave the stale pastries at the Brioche Doree when I noticed one of the employees behind the counter gesturing for Mr. Blue Suit to step up and place his order.  

It seemed that despite the four line system that seemed like it wouldn’t properly function, the employees behind the counter were going to make sure to rotate between serving someone in the line in front of them and calling over the next person in the fourth line.  I decided to wait a moment to see how this played out.  Sure enough, the next counter attendant finished up with his customer and waved me over.  I tentatively walked over to the register and placed my order, expecting at any moment for a string of angry French to assault me from behind.  

But it never happened.  To me or any other person waiting in the various lines.  

I carried my tray of food to an empty table, plopped down and began to thing about what just happened.  The idea of having four lines seemed so foreign to me that I instinctively dismissed it as inherently wrong.  It was outside of my comfort zone and it didn’t make sense within the context of how I normally interact with the world.  What I forgot to remember, and what often happens to people in life, is that what seems “wrong” to me is totally normal or valid to people in a different situation.  What appeared to be an incoherent, silly system for lining up apparently worked just fine for the French folks all around me.  

In this situation, the system wasn’t wrong – I was.  

One of the great things about travel is how it teaches us to consider new ways of thinking, to learn about new ways of interacting with the world around us.  Travel challenges us to look at the things that make us uncomfortable and ask “Why?”  Often we react poorly to something that challenges our status quo, which was what my mind tried to do when I considered simply walking away from the line.  I was confused. I didn’t understand what was going on, so my initial instinct was to flee the situation entirely.  But years of travel have taught me to stick it out.  See what happens.  See how things pan out.

As I lifted a crispy, salty french fry to my lips I knew I had proof in my hand that just because I though something was wrong didn’t mean I was right.  Who would have thought that after the insanity of Marrakesh’s maddening medina that I’d get the best lesson on learning to go with the flow and be open minded about life at a McDonald’s inside the Charles de Gaulle airport?  There’s always more than one path to a solution, and people across the globe are often taking varied paths toward the same goals.  Whether it’s efficient, orderly lines in Tokyo or a chaotic crowd of people in Rome, as long as it works for the people involved – it’s not right or wrong.  It just is.

With all the insanity consuming our lives in this day and age, I think it’s important for people to learn when it’s appropriate to just let things be.  We don’t always have to make everyone walk the same path.  Not everyone takes the same journey.  We’re American, French, Moroccan.  We’re heterosexual, homosexual, and bisexual.  We’re Christian, Muslim, and Hindu.  We’re Republicans, Democrats, and Independents.  We walk our own paths, we live life in different ways, but in the end most of us are walking toward the same goals.  Why waste time arguing about how we get there?  

My introspective thinking was interrupted by a new bout of angry French streaming from a group of people arguing at the McDonald’s.  Yup, you guessed it – the lines again.

As I brought my medium Coke Zero to my lips, I smiled as I silently gave three cheers to French efficiency.  

 

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How Travel Helped Me Learn to Love Myself

Written by David S @ ORD TO ANYWHERE

Flying back to Japan after meeting my American family, less than one year old.

Flying back to Japan after meeting my American family, less than one year old.

DIFFERENT STROKES, DIFFERENT FOLKS

“Where are you from?” asked my driver as I hopped into the back of his car in a narrow alleyway of the Thamel district of Kathmandu.  

“Chicago!” I cheerily replied.  The name of my home was always sitting on the tip of my tongue when I met new people while traveling.  Asking where someone is from is the most common way to break the ice, so it’s not difficult to be prepared with an answer when you’re on the road.  As famous as I tend to think Chicago is, experience has taught me that it’s not always the most recognizable American city to others.  For my driver this seemed to be the case as he cocked his head to the side in thought for a moment before following up with “USA?”  

“Yes, the US.”  I answered, pulling the seat belt across my chest and fastening the latch.  He nodded his head for a second before stopping and tilting his head inquisitively to the side again.  And then it came.   

“Are you sure?  You have Chinese face.”

My eyelids fluttered open and closed as if someone had thrown a drink in my face and I realized I was desperately fighting the urge to retort with a snarky comment.  Back home in the US a comment like that would immediately be recognized as a bit offensive because as a general rule we avoid talking about race when first meeting someone. This wasn’t home though and different societies have different rules of engagement.  When you’ve just sat down in the back seat of a car in the middle of Nepal you have to suspend your gut reactions and learn to breathe a little bit.  

“Yes, I’m sure.”  Tight lips with a hint of a smile.  Forced or not, it worked as he nodded his acceptance of my answer and put the car into drive.  As we weaved through throngs of people, animals, and rubbish strewn about the road, I gazed out into the chaos and laughed to myself – this wasn’t the first and definitely would not be the last time I would face questions about my identity while globetrotting.  

GROWING UP HAPA

Race, to make the understatement of the year, is a complicated issue.  

As an American of mixed race (Caucasian father, Asian mother) ancestry, it’s a topic that has been a majority defining element of my life.  But despite a dual racial identity and the added bonus of being gay, I like to believe I’m reasonably well-adjusted on the topic of my identity.  Middle-aged “me” is happy in his skin and doing his best to enjoy life.

I wasn’t always so self-aware and confident though.

My first memory related to race happened when I was in the first or second grade.  My father was in the Navy and spent much of my early childhood years out to sea for long periods of time.  Consequently I spent much of my time around my mother and her sister where the constant immersion in Japanese meant that it was my first language and the one I used most often.  When it came time for me to enroll in school I immediately ran into problems – my English was not very good and I often found myself using Japanese with people that had zero understanding of what I was saying.  It wouldn’t be an issue if I had attended a Japanese school, but I started school in the US.  As is common with children of just about any age, the teasing and ridicule started pouring in every time my mouth opened and I fumbled with English.  

It had an immediate impact on me.  My mother still remembers to this day the afternoon I came home with tears in my eye and screamed at her, “I wish I wasn’t Japanese!  Don’t you EVER speak Japanese to me again.  I AM NOT JAPANESE.”  

One of my few years of school in the US.  

One of my few years of school in the US.  

Hovering between two worlds and not even old enough to understand why I felt pressure to belong to either one, I coped with my insecurities by rejecting my Asian background.  I stopped speaking Japanese, I forced my mother to stop speaking it to me, and I did my very best to try to ignore that part of my life.  As time went on I slowly lost my ability to speak the language and whenever people asked me, I would tell them that I was white.  Despite living in Japan and despite being surrounded by children of military families from every background imaginable, I continued through my childhood years doing my very best to ignore the fact that I was Japanese.  

Even during my time in college and my first few years of “adulthood”, I actively choose to pretend I wasn’t Japanese.  Coming into my own as a gay man had introduced a new layer of complexity into my racial identity.  It didn’t take me long after my first toe dip into the dating pool to recognize that people valued white standards of beauty much more than they valued any other.  I was met by a constant barrage of men telling me that they weren’t interested in dating an Asian man.  Physically I’m rather racially ambiguous with most people assuming I’m white or Latino.  In some areas of the Midwest I am occasionally mistaken for Native American.  But that’s just the gut reaction people have to someone they’re passing on the street.  When it came to love and sex, suddenly what I had always perceived as something relatively invisible appeared to become a Time Square billboard.  

CONFLICTED TIGER, UNHIDDEN DRAGON

For someone that had spent the majority of his life pretending he wasn’t Asian, this was an earth-shattering experience.  This was the world telling me that despite all my silly self-delusion, everyone saw through the charade.  And what’s more, that my fears had been true – being Asian was something bad.  

As time went on my dating struggles continued.  Most men, whether they themselves were white or not, weren’t interested in dating someone who wasn’t white.   This was the dawn of the era of online dating and the gay community really took to this option as it allowed you to connect with one another in a safe space free of the fears of “being gay” in public.  The anonymity of online dating creates distance from your humanity and inevitably that distance gets filled with brutal honesty.  Raw human truth. 

Just about every “hello” from me was met by a “sorry, no Asians” if I was lucky or a racial slur if I wasn’t.  On the rare occasion when someone was interested in dating me, many times it turned out to be someone who fetishized my race – men who were looking for a submissive Asian “boy” to fulfill some crazy Madame Butterfly fantasy.   I hobbled along romantically for years wishing I was white instead of the mixed raced monster I felt like.  What a double-edged sword I felt life had given me, to finally come to terms with my sexuality only to have that experience confuse me further about my racial identity.  

This confusion continued at varying degrees until I ended up with my current boyfriend, Zach.  As sweet as he is, even our first interactions were tainted by my previous experiences dating as a mixed race man.  When he first contacted me on a dating website, he mentioned that he often found himself attracted to men who were “hapa”, a Hawaiian pidgin term that means “mixed”.  While in Hawaii the term can mean a mix of just about any race, over the years it has also been used to denote individuals who are mixed with Asian in some way.  Based on my previous experience with fetishists, I was immediately turned off by this message and essentially blew him off for three months until his persistence lead to me deciding that going on an actual date would demonstrate to him that we were not a love connection.  

Seven years later, it’s clear he won that argument.  

Seven years and counting.

Seven years and counting.

It was refreshing to have someone in my life who was interested in my heritage but didn’t turn it into a sexual quality.  Someone who found my unique background an asset and not a liability.  Someone who understood that I was attractive even if Asian men are almost never viewed as such in the American media.  After a year of dating I was finally starting to feel comfortable in my own skin around him, but that didn’t mean I had learned to embrace who I was.

That came once I started hopping on planes and exploring the world.

IT’S A BEAUTIFUL WORLD AND I’M A PART OF IT

I’ve always been very curious about the world around me.  As a child I was fascinated by geography to the point that my mother would forgo reading me bedtime stories and instead would quiz me on world capitals.  One of my favorite toys as a child was a globe you could plug into the socket and then use a magnifying glass to read facts about different countries in the world.  It goes without saying – I was meant to explore.

My first trip into the wild unknown was back to my homeland – Japan.  You may be shaking your head and muttering to yourself about how I’m half-Japanese and spent almost my entire childhood in that country, so it’s not exactly “unknown”.  But you’d be wrong.  Oh so very wrong.  Having spent much energy since the age of fifteen trying to forget everything about my heritage and my life in Japan, not only was it a trip into the unknown but it was a trip that I didn’t even know at the time that I desperately needed.  

Waiting to board the plane on that first fateful trip back to Japan.

Waiting to board the plane on that first fateful trip back to Japan.

Since we had started dating, Zach had talked about his desire to visit Japan, to which I often said I wouldn’t mind visiting but I really wanted to see places like India or Africa.  Fate may have been conspiring against me though, as once we had decided to take a trip as a couple the first low-cost fare that popped into my view was a $400-ish round trip to Tokyo directly from Chicago.  We booked it, we took it, and I found myself fighting back tears as we walked off the plane.  To this day I still don’t know what inside of me caused the waves of emotion, but I instinctively knew it was a positive thing.

Over the next 10 days in Japan I felt a healing process begin.  Even though I had lived almost my entire childhood there, I didn’t have the maturity to appreciate that part of my being.  I was stuck in a juvenile state of denial, so my trip back was just the opportunity I needed to kick start my memory.  As an adult that had struggled for so long with his racial identity and longed quell that endless fight, I re-entered Japan with a thirst for the beauty and uniqueness that comes with being Japanese.  Unlike as a child where I sought to forget, I wanted to embrace everything that I had felt so embarrassed by in the past.  

I felt rejuvenated by the trip, returning to Chicago with a renewed sense of self-love.  The trip had awakened an intellectual curiosity within me that would start me on the long road to healing myself.

Since that trip over seven years ago I’ve attempted to return to Japan at least once a year.  Japan is a fascinating destination that warrants extensive exploration within its own right, but the drive behind my constant pilgrimage is my desire to further explore everything I denied for so many years of my life.  I get on an airplane and fly half way across the world but when I land I’m really arriving inside my soul.  Each trip back to Japan is an opportunity for me to move the dial a little bit on learning about my background and about where I come from, and not only that, but to embrace them as positive parts of heritage.

Every morsel of Japanese food erases a sliver of the memory of people making fun of the food I ate as a child.

Every peaceful walk through a Shinto shrine erases a sliver of the memory of people telling me I should be ashamed of being from a group of people responsible for World War II.

Every biscuit fed to a tame deer in Nara erases a sliver of the memory of people asking me whether Japanese people eat dogs and cats.

Every dip into the volcanic-heated onsen simultaneously heals my body and my soul.  

I can’t say for sure whether I would have continued to struggle with my racial identity if I hadn’t taken that fateful trip, but I do know that going back to Japan was the catalyst that kickstarted my desire to bring resolution to the conflict in my heart.  Travel brought something to my life beyond the usual kitschy souvenirs and photographs that people expect, and I think it’s important that people who seek travel think of the more philosophical benefits hopping across the globe can bring to your life.  

YES, I HAVE “CHINESE FACE”

So that’s where I find myself now – a hapa man approaching middle age who is just starting down the road to self-acceptance.  It’s really difficult to measure progress on something like self-acceptance though, isn’t it?  It’s a subject that all of us work on in one way or another and the journey rarely, if ever, has a visible end point.  And maybe that’s why I’m still so enamored with travel – because I know there’s so much work left for me to do.

Japan will always be a travel destination listed on my future itineraries because it’s something I know I need to grow as a person.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t continue to explore new destinations and cultures as time goes on, because every new culture I explore only further emphasizes how each nation on this globe is unique and beautiful.  It’s one thing to work on accepting myself, but if there’s one thing that process has taught me is that we all also need to work on accepting each other.  

This world is vast and it’s filled with people of varying skin tones, religions, and beliefs.  And let’s be honest – it’s very easy to let the fact that we are different get in the way of realizing that despite that we can still respect and love one another exactly the way we are.  Travel is an excellent vehicle to allow you to get outside of your comfort zone and meet people that will challenge the way that you look at the world.  

Just like traveling through Jordan and eating meals with Muslims gave me perspective on how I should react to the threat of terrorism.  Or how traveling through India gave me insight into the impact of global poverty and how I view economics as an engine of change.  Or even something as simple as traveling a few hundred miles within my own country to Mississippi giving me new eyes on how I view the American South.  

Travel gives me an avenue to learn about myself and grow as a person, to overcome the barriers I built within my mind that prevent me from loving myself.  And at the same time, travel gives me an opportunity to learn about the world we live in, open my mind, and more importantly open my heart.  Having the opportunity to travel means I have an obligation to make sure when I interact with people in a foreign city or back home in Chicago that I am not contributing to a toxic society that made the younger version of myself so unsure about his place in the world.  

So with that in mind I’ll continue to board planes and march through new cities with my Chinese face held high, looking to learn a bit about myself while exploring this amazing world.

 

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