MACAU [SAR]: CITY OF THE FUTURE, CITY OF THE PAST

A tiny 9 square kilometer city containing half a million residents Macau (muh-cow) makes a charming place for an evening stroll in mid-March, provided you watch out for the killer buses rounding the corners of narrow streets at high speeds.

It is also an exceedingly strange place. Settled and colonized by the Portuguese in the 16th century and "returned" to China in 1999, it has seen ten years of growth and change even more dramatic than that occurring on the mainland. Numbers tell part of the story: in two of the last ten years economic growth has approached an unbelievable 30% (4% is typically considered healthy and stable). Geography tells another: "reclaimed land" has more than doubled the area of peninsular Macau (its landmark lighthouse is now quite far from the coast), and the islands of Taipa and Coloane, shown as separate below, have recently been completely conjoined.

Although an extreme case in many ways, Macau's extraordinary history and contemporary situation tell us many things about the big world we are living in. I would love to teach a class someday that used the city as a way of understanding the big trends of the last several hundred years. I would begin by talking about Macau as a trade center, a missionary outpost, and a Portuguese colony. The area's history complicates the mistaken assumption that globalization is somehow new: there was trade, cultural and linguistic exchange, and even frequent intermarriage between Indian, Malaysian, Portuguese, Chinese, and other national groups several hundred years ago. Macanese food epitomizes this mixture, featuring paella-like seafood dishes, Indian spices, delicious egg tarts, and lots of Chinese vegetables.

I would also explore how Macau becoming a Portuguese colony and Hong Kong becoming a British colony illustrate the justifiable fear of early 20th century Chinese citizens that their nation would be carved up by foreign powers as well as the widespread contemporary belief that China's late development is greatly due to the unfair treaties and punitive trade policies forced on the young nation by colonial powers.

Colonialism, like feudalism, sounds like something that happened long ago, but that is more a reflection of what we would prefer to believe than the truth. In a Macau drugstore, a security guard noticed the faded henna on my feet and asked me where I was from and where I had been traveling. He was an economic migrant from the Philippines, which he called with a chuckle a "former colony" of my country. He had worked near one of the Philippines many American military bases before it was closed and had been earning remittance money in Macau for four years now. He recognized the henna because he said Indian migrants in the Philippines often hang out on the beaches offering to paint young backpackers with it. This is not what we usually think of when we conceptualize globalization.

Rapid economic development has attracted a steady stream of international migrant labor to Macau to build hotels, infrastructure, and flashy new casinos, and to work in the ever-growing service sector. Gambling revenues make up a huge percentage of total government revenue and the excess in funds has lately ensured that cultural institutions (museums, public art, architectural heritage) libraries and education have been heavily invested in. Our group was treated to many tours and talks about all the work underway to protect and preserve cultural heritage, from listing the city as a UNESCO world heritage site and the old Macau patois as an endangered language, to restoring old buildings, to developing cultural education programs for schoolchildren. This is all good news but it is worthwhile to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. There would be no money for these programs without the casinos, and there would be no casinos without the wealth coming from the mainland with all its new billionaire industrialists and developers. It's hardly the Butterfly Effect but China's growth has changed Asia in a thousand tiny ways we hardly ever see.

We are so awfully accustomed to the discourse that it seems obvious that money ought to be invested in preserving cultural heritage that will attract tourist dollars but I always like to ask those uncomfortable questions that force us to see that things haven't always been this way and that in fact they could be otherwise. At other times in human history structures like St. Paul's Cathedral from the 17th century

were built for the glory of god (or perhaps the glory of the religious men and benefactors who were believed to be the gateway to god); three years ago in Beijing many a stadium was constructed to celebrate the nation on the global stage and no cost was spared. I'm not saying these reasons are superior to the justification that capital ought to be invested that it might attract more [tourist] capital, only that we ought to pay attention to what we, as societies, think worthwhile and that there are other justifications for social and government expenditure than the almighty dollar/yuan.

And the last lesson on the contemporary world I took from Macau? We, the human race, are still extremely far from being post-nation, post-race, post-gender, post-ideology, end of history, etc.

It would be tempting to see the apparent melting pot of Macau as the future: in that tiny place, after all, there have been hundreds of years of cultural coexistence and intermarriage, not to mention the fascinating objects and delicious foods that result from intense cultural interaction. The head of the cultural heritage preservation office, for instance, is originally from Scotland, but now speaks Portuguese, Cantonese, and Mandarin as well and has lived in Macau for decades with her Chinese husband and their children.

There appears to be more openness and tolerance in the port cities of the South China Sea than in the rest of the continent but even if race has become less of a focal point for difference and hierarchy (though I don't know if my friend the Filipino security guard would agree) it has been supplanted by concerns with national origin. The Macanese are far less concerned with skin color than with political ideology, as 40% of the city's infants were born of mainland mothers and are seen as likely to grow up with views and values similar to them. The days of self-administration, civil rights, and open political criticism may be short, illustrating that in Macau, as in the whole of this interconnected, globalizing world, national origin is becoming more, not less, significant.

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Okay, class dismissed! you can look at the pictures now...

Yes, that is a public dog toilet. What a civilized place!

PLACES I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE, PART 86: HONG KONG AND MACAU

I returned yesterday evening from an exhausting trip to the "special administrative regions" (so special they have their own currency and border guards) of Hong Kong and Macau, sites of the annual Fulbright China Research Forum. The event brings together junior and senior scholars from both Taiwan and the mainland for four and a half days of meetings, briefings, meals, mingling, and a little sightseeing thrown in at the end. Above is the view from the Shatin Hyatt where we stayed in Hong Kong. I would have stared at that view all day if I could but our days in HK were scheduled from 8am to 9:30pm; there wasn't time to do much but take indulgently long showers in the high-tech, high-pressure facilities (this was the #1 topic of conversation at breakfast on day 2 - I'm far from the only one who misses such things).

Our hotel in Macau wasn't nearly as nice but it did share at least one characteristic with the HK Hyatt: the large glass viewing window connecting the bathroom and the main room. No one had any idea why the people of the "special regions" are so apparently obsessed with watching each other bathe (and why put one in a room with twin beds?), but we were relieved to find that those of us who preferred privacy could lower window shades that also doubled as excellent shadow puppet screens after long days of conference presentations.

Our two days in Hong Kong went by in a blur of dinners, theme groups, and mutual introductions with the more than 80 other participants. During tea breaks I found myself drifting away from the group more than once to seek a moment of peace or enjoy the art collection at our host university:

These images of skinned animals wearing their own pelts are from a series called Fursion Show by Cheung Wai Man.

On our last night in the big city we were herded onto buses and driven up the vertiginous Pike's Peak for a reception at the residence of the United States Consul-General. Unable to figure out exactly what a Consul-General a colleague and I decided the institution must exist to host groups like ours, ensuring the bright young things of today are inculcated with the greatness of the American nation and the hope it places in them to do great things tomorrow.

I can't speak for the kids but it sure worked on me.

It wasn't until our second day in Macau that we were released from the lecture halls and conference rooms to do some sightseeing (though we were reminded to use this as an opportunity to meet more people and make connections).

Ladies and gentleman, these are the faces of U.S.-China relations of the future.

They may look like kids (typically about 70-80% of Fulbrighters are recent graduates) but most every single one has already done impressive, even inspiring, work here. Had I not just gone on an energizing vacation only a week before I might feel rather old and unimpressive by comparison.

As it was, I just felt old. I had a nasty cold and fever just a day before I left for the forum and between travel stresses (snow in Beijing kept us on the tarmac for 3 1/2 hours and forced me and a few travel companions to rush through the border at Shenzhen and skip a few meals) and poor, insufficient sleep, I didn't fully recover until I got back to Beijing. I didn't go out even one of the four nights of the conference, but stayed in my room re-reading Lord of the Rings and feeling sorry for myself and my congested sinuses.

Still, it was pretty cute to listen to the stories at breakfast and I don't want to complain too much: I learned fascinating things, met interesting people, and saw some wonderful places. It's just that I'm accustomed to having fairly robust health and endless energy for exploration. It is difficult for me to acknowledge that the stresses and anxieties of living in a dirty, crowded place and doing ambitious, challenging, and frankly terrifying work are really having an effect on me. There's nothing to do but take good care of myself these next few months while at the same time forcing myself forward to engage the many obstacles ahead. Ready. Set. Go!

(More Macau pictures to come...)

NOT IN MY FACE: CAREBEAR AND KOUGAR DO HOLI

Monday, March 1st was the Indian holiday Holi (prounced "Holy"), the festival of color. Though no one I talked to (foreign or Indian) could pinpoint the specific meaning of the holiday, everyone agreed on how it was celebrated: bonfires on the eve, and on the day of, carrying around brightly colored powder and either throwing it at, or rubbing it on, whoever crossed your path. Sounds like fun, no?

In the days preceding Holi I noticed shops everywhere selling colored powder in bulk and bags. The tendency of shopkeepers to arrange a variety of [water] balloons and squirt guns in close proximity to the colored powder filled me with trepidation, but also EXCITEMENT. Carebear and I selected some clothing items we'd been meaning to get rid of and were ready to go.

Not knowing where the celebrations in Delhi would take place Carrie asked a friend of hers who was a native of the city for advice. He said the action would be most happening on the huge campus of Jawaharlal Nehru University, and that we should go in the morning. Accordingly, we took an auto-rickshaw to the main gate around 10am and started prowling. The first victim I saw was this confused looking dog who looked like he had just been blessed at the temple:

I felt less pity when I realized the fool had decided to nap directly in front of a stand selling color. Here, Carebear looks on with disdain at the procrastinating buyers...

(Disdain is easy when you are already carrying organic Holi color powder made by disabled children using flower petals. I'm not kidding; the middle-class guilt market is HUGE in India).

Later, Carrie hit a few innocent dogs with her non-toxic eco-friendly ethically-produced flower powder. They clearly wanted more.

Further on we encountered a group of children.

People usually travel in packs on Holi and as we had been warned that it was often used by men as an excuse to grope women and were, as usual, totally overwhelmed by the gorgeousness of Indian women, we were happy to cross the street and "play Holi" with the kids.

It felt both strange and sweet to lean over and allow them to caress our faces with a handful of colored powder and to do the same.

We mostly managed to avoid packs of men and the occasional water gun sniper on the balcony of a dorm. Looking for tea at a chaiwallah stand we had seen the night before we found it closed, though all around it students were milling about with bright pink or green faces, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I snapped this photo because I was so impressed with these guys' t-shirts: green shirt reads "Peace is Tougk", grey shirt reads: "I'M LOST please take me home with you"

Carebear and I were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. We had experienced Holi without the unpleasantness of having toxic color thrown or squirted in our faces. Feeling sufficiently ridiculous, we headed back to the guesthouse to clean up.

We really thought we were done for the day.

But then we heard from the guy at reception that they were going to have a Holi celebration shortly and that they very much hoped we would join them. I showered anyway, thinking I could just hang back and watch. No such luck. Arriving on the lawn we gathered around two bowls heaping full of powder and then, suddenly, it began. I've done some strange things before but I have to say this experience ranks quite high among them. Scooping up handfuls of color and either sprinkling them on the head or applying them to the face of a stranger, as well as receiving the same treatment, is seriously bizarre (and absolutely FUN).

As the only foreign guests, Carebear and I got some of the worst of it. As is the case with being banqueted in China (where EVERYONE wants to drink with and toast you individually), no one wanted to be left out. Carrie was bold with her color (somehow it seemed that the more of a mess you made of a person the more you were honoring them) but I was a little shy. I was relieved when, the color-play portion of the event over, we moved on to enjoying tea and snacks on the lawn.

Because who doesn't want to enjoy pakoras and hot beverages sprinkled with toxic color powder?

Even the Ganesh statue (in my favorite "sexy sexy elephant god" pose) got some powder and a snack. Oh India!

After another round of showers Carrie and I left to run some errands and deliver her to the bus station for her trip back to Jaipur. Once again, we thought we were done with Holi. But it turns out that isn't a decision one can make (it is for this reason exactly that many older people simply stay home on the holiday). Heading out to look for lunch later that afternoon, Carrie and I got egged by a passing car. Eggs, as far as I know, are not Holi-sanctioned, but apparently things get a little crazy when gangs of young hooligans are emboldened to attack random strangers. This became even more clear on a street near the train station, where, after backing away and loudly stating "No!" to an approaching young man with paint in his hand who was almost entirely eggplant-colored, I was chased and sprayed in the face with an aerosol can of blue color by a young boy. To their credit, several strangers approached immediately to help me clean up and inquire after my well-being. Later, after seeing Carebear on to her bus home I got hit with a green powder bomb while trying to hail down an auto rickshaw. I ordered the rickshaw driver (who later requested a kiss as a tip) to take me back to my guesthouse where I locked myself in to take my third shower of the day and pack my stuff while music and singing drifted in from the Sikh temple next door.

India is a beautiful, enchanting, fascinating place but it can be incredibly exhausting as well. I admire Carebear for being able to deal with all the lecherous men, tempestuous weather, and the many folks with great big smiles (or frowns) who look for any opportunity to cheat you; but I don't think I would do well living there. Of course I can't wait to go back. It was so good to spend time with someone I could talk to or joke with about anything and to see beautiful places and buy pretty things. Of course I have all kinds of big, nerdy thoughts about traveling between the two biggest, fastest growing countries in the world but I'll spare you.

On Tuesday morning I hustled to the Delhi airport, where I saw a handful of foreigners at check-in who still had colored powder in their scalp. I'm pretty sure I did too.

新德里 (NEW DELHI)

I was sad to leave Jaipur for New Delhi; I already live in a Asian capital city, after all, and was quite enjoying the feel of a comparatively small town.

But Carebear assured me that Delhi was good fun and she backed that up by taking me, on our first morning, to a cafe with a marvelous browsing collection of the works of Osho, my favorite free love advocating, Bentley driving, racist joke telling, cuckoo for Cocoa puffs Indian new age guru.

If you have ever received a handmade postcard from me there is about a %40 chance that the image featured an Osho quote cut from one of his many many books or pamphlets (I've been collecting the meditation series, featuring titles like "Live Dangerously" and "Believing the Impossible Before Breakfast").

In addition to Osho books and framed inspirational quotes from religious classics ("Those who know don't say; those who say don't know") the cafe served sweet tea and the fresh coconut juice I'd been hankering for. Perfection.

In the afternoon we headed to Dili Haat, a market with some good food stalls and all kinds of textiles and other souvenirs. Because you have to pay 15 rupees (30 cents) to enter the market, it was refreshingly free of touts and other harassment.

But that didn't mean I didn't get suckered into trying on this fancy horse and rider costume (complete with turban!) and then bullied into giving the owner of the horse 50 rupees in baksheesh.

Whatever - it was worth it. That horse was one hell of a wild ride!

The last big destination of the day was Qutb Minar, a complex of Indo-Islamic architecture featuring ruins, intact tombs and mosques, and a stunning seven-story brick minaret built in 1192.

Because the tower has started to tilt it is no longer possible to climb to its top. Instead, we sat in the grass in its shadow, enjoying the perfect weather.

I played harem wench (much to the apparent disapproval of the dude behind me)

and took pictures of my henna-ed starfeet...

...while Carrie read aloud from the guidebook on the historical significance of the place.

We also realized that the enormous discrepancy in the admission fee for Indians and foreigners (10 rupees, or 20 cents, versus 250 rupees, or $5) probably accounted for the huge numbers of Indian families and schoolchildren (and relative lack of whiteys) strolling the grounds. It was nice to see citizens enjoying their own country and not just foreign faces drinking in the local color.

This little boy approached us and asked if we would take his picture. I did so and then showed him the result. "Thank you" he said politely, and walked away.

Pictures from around the complex:

Carebear mugs for the camera in front of a renovated red sandstone structure:

I wanted a picture of myself emerging from the same structure but after we realized it made me look like my disembodied head was floating three feet off the ground I tried some new poses.

We had a wonderful day.