As a young kid, there were two trips I always looked forward to: a trip to Baguio, and a trip to the beach. The former was mandatory since my spinster aunt always declared that we have this "responsibility" to come up to our grandparents' rest house, and spend Lent contemplating about our year’s worth of sins in the company of pine trees. She would often make us walk the full kilometre around Quezon Hill. Thank goodness Baguio had ambient weather even during the height of summer. And the pollution was much less then. On occasion, Good Friday would come early (or come every other day) if she decided we should fast then walk all the way to St. Vincent parish. I loved Baguio for its weather and the strawberries. These almost made up for what the Gestapo made us go through.
One could say that the latter was the trip that I really looked forward to. My dad and siblings would leave the Gestapo behind and go to a different beach every year. We would always stay at a native hut, but the character of these differed from place to place. It was something different. No air-conditioning, no heated showers and no television. Probably the only time each year that I could survive without any TV! What I looked forward to even more was the seafood, the fishing trips and mangrove explorations.
One summer, our well-off cousins decided to stay in the same beach we were vacationing in. They billeted at the fancy resort which had air-conditioned rooms. I was envious though I could not complain to my dad since we all got used to the same humble accommodations year after year. It turned out I was not the only one envious of them. The following year, my dad saved up and we stayed at that same place.
The first night, I woke up thirsty. My dad then suggested I take a drink from the faucet. This was, after all first class accommodations. It was unusual during the 80s not to have potable tap water, especially houses in the urban areas. I know this was no urban area, but the sophisticated facilities gave you impression they were fitted with home-style fittings. The following morning, I opened the faucet to take another drink. So I was surprised to see that the water was muddy. I let it run for a few more minutes but it never turned clear.
So at a young age I learned how to be mistrustful. I never drank straight from any faucet ever again. Not in Japan, in Hong Kong or in Singapore. Neither when the hotel says that tap water is potable. I’d rather drink the overpriced Evian from the mini bar or cross the street in the middle of the night wearing my pyjamas to buy some bottled water from 7-11.
The experiences outlined above are true and factual. But this blog entry is not about faucets per se. But a metaphor.
When you’ve drunk mud from a faucet, you’ll be mistrustful even of water.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
An American in Munich
It was cloudy and was already beginning to drizzle. My co-intern Ida and I had been waiting almost an hour for the bus to Fussen. It was a Sunday (in 2006), and like all holidays in Germany, most stores are closed and all means of public transport are running a very limited service.
Two German teens were ahead of the queue. A group of old Chinese tourist were behind us, then some German families with children.
On the way down from Neuschwanstein to the bus stop, Ida could not stop talking about the reason why she volunteered to show me around her town. “From an early age, we Germans have always been taught that we are by nature snobbish. Hence our parents and teachers always said we should try our best to be very outgoing to foreigners whether in Germany or outside.” Her story only reinforced my impression that Germans, or Caucasians from industrialized countries for that matter, are cultured people – learned and well-mannered. Definitely much more civilized than the small group of Chinese tourists who did nothing but shove other people inside the castle.
As it continued to drizzle, a group of Americans went in front of the queue. They looked up the bus schedule and loudly discussed which bus they would take. They looked at the long queue. The big guy, (football player physique), then continued talking to his companions about the “wonderful and laidback life” he has in Munich. Everything about the East coast, according to him, was rubbish. Intermittently, they would pop the question as to which bus to take to Fussen. As the bush arrived ten minutes later, they were still at the front of the queue, loudly discussing (again) which bus to take. Mind you, there was only one bus for the next three hours and everyone knew it.
As expected, the loud bunch jumped the line. They got a whole row for themselves. The two guys occupied one seat (which should have accommodated three). The lady occupied her own seat with her dog beside her. The bus was packed – all other seats were taken, and the aisles were full of other tourists trying to escape the gloomy weather of Neuschwanstein. The American guys sitting in front of us then continued, “I just love my life here in Munich. I could go to the park or river with a six-pack and not get arrested. It is so laid back.” The other guy replied with envy. And yes, the whole bus was listening to all the stories they had to tell. In fact, their conversation drowned out most everything else except the roar of the engine of the fully packed bus.
Then Ida asked me out loud, “So how is the public transport system in your country? How do you flag down, say a bus?”
“Of course there are lines. And a ‘conductor’ is always there to ensure all passengers are accommodated.”
“I imagine there are also people who jump the line,” Ida said out loud, and I noticed the American in front had turned red…and all of a sudden quiet.
“Yes,” I said.
“It is the same here in Germany,” she replied. “People jump the line just because they can. People break rules just because they think they can get away with it.”
It was at that moment the three Americans looked at us, with their faces all red. The big guy said, “Sorry we didn’t know there was a line.”
“Excuse me, I’m not talking about you,” Ida said.
“No, I’m just saying I didn’t see there was a line, and I thought I was at the end of the line.” The people at the aisles were shaking their heads and the lady American shoved her dog off the bench and coaxed it underneath the seat in front to let an elderly Chinese man sit. The Americans’ faces were all red, and they were silent from then on.
The bus arrived at the train station in Fussen and Ida and I made sure we occupied a different carriage to Munich as the Americans. As we settled down, I asked Ida, “Didn’t you say you Germans are supposed to be the most snobbish, proud and ill-mannered people in the whole world?” She could not stop laughing.
Two German teens were ahead of the queue. A group of old Chinese tourist were behind us, then some German families with children.
On the way down from Neuschwanstein to the bus stop, Ida could not stop talking about the reason why she volunteered to show me around her town. “From an early age, we Germans have always been taught that we are by nature snobbish. Hence our parents and teachers always said we should try our best to be very outgoing to foreigners whether in Germany or outside.” Her story only reinforced my impression that Germans, or Caucasians from industrialized countries for that matter, are cultured people – learned and well-mannered. Definitely much more civilized than the small group of Chinese tourists who did nothing but shove other people inside the castle.
As it continued to drizzle, a group of Americans went in front of the queue. They looked up the bus schedule and loudly discussed which bus they would take. They looked at the long queue. The big guy, (football player physique), then continued talking to his companions about the “wonderful and laidback life” he has in Munich. Everything about the East coast, according to him, was rubbish. Intermittently, they would pop the question as to which bus to take to Fussen. As the bush arrived ten minutes later, they were still at the front of the queue, loudly discussing (again) which bus to take. Mind you, there was only one bus for the next three hours and everyone knew it.
As expected, the loud bunch jumped the line. They got a whole row for themselves. The two guys occupied one seat (which should have accommodated three). The lady occupied her own seat with her dog beside her. The bus was packed – all other seats were taken, and the aisles were full of other tourists trying to escape the gloomy weather of Neuschwanstein. The American guys sitting in front of us then continued, “I just love my life here in Munich. I could go to the park or river with a six-pack and not get arrested. It is so laid back.” The other guy replied with envy. And yes, the whole bus was listening to all the stories they had to tell. In fact, their conversation drowned out most everything else except the roar of the engine of the fully packed bus.
Then Ida asked me out loud, “So how is the public transport system in your country? How do you flag down, say a bus?”
“Of course there are lines. And a ‘conductor’ is always there to ensure all passengers are accommodated.”
“I imagine there are also people who jump the line,” Ida said out loud, and I noticed the American in front had turned red…and all of a sudden quiet.
“Yes,” I said.
“It is the same here in Germany,” she replied. “People jump the line just because they can. People break rules just because they think they can get away with it.”
It was at that moment the three Americans looked at us, with their faces all red. The big guy said, “Sorry we didn’t know there was a line.”
“Excuse me, I’m not talking about you,” Ida said.
“No, I’m just saying I didn’t see there was a line, and I thought I was at the end of the line.” The people at the aisles were shaking their heads and the lady American shoved her dog off the bench and coaxed it underneath the seat in front to let an elderly Chinese man sit. The Americans’ faces were all red, and they were silent from then on.
The bus arrived at the train station in Fussen and Ida and I made sure we occupied a different carriage to Munich as the Americans. As we settled down, I asked Ida, “Didn’t you say you Germans are supposed to be the most snobbish, proud and ill-mannered people in the whole world?” She could not stop laughing.
Lemon Squares
I used to blog over at multiply. But their second-rate good-for-nothing interface is a chore to deal with.
I'll be blogging here from now on.
I'll be blogging here from now on.
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