Why Does America Make it so Hard to Travel?

Boarding the long-distance bus out of Jacksonville, North Carolina at 5:30AM, still feeling punk and badly geared up for the 32 hours it will take to reach Texas, I pondered that question.

In China, in Europe... in most countries, there are many transportation options that are clean, affordable and fast, if not comfortable and even luxurious. In America, not so much!

Consider this: Europe has Eurail, a train system that covers most of the continent, and China has bullet trains as well as slower trains. In fact, the whole country is gridded with rails, making it easy to get virtually anywhere. Trains are punctual, safe and efficient, with several runs per day to major cities.

America has no train system to speak of. The eastern seaboard and west coast have fairly regular train runs, and there is rail service across the northwest, with a hub in Chicago. However, nearly 100 major cities in America, such as Las Vegas and Nashville, metropoli of more than a million residents, have no train service at all. South Dakota and Wyoming have never been served by Amtrak, the United States' only passenger train service.

Amtrak is partially government funded, but run as a business. Many lines were discontinued in the last 30 years because they did not generate enough profit to keep them running. Some trains only run every 3 days, so if you have to be somewhere at a certain time, you'd have to plan your schedule carefully. Another factor plaguing those who would want to travel in America by train is that they might have to get off the train and ride a long distance bus to their next train connection. Finally: it is more expensive to train across America than to fly... and just about as aggravating!  

Is it aggravating to fly across America? Well, no. Although, the service aboard airlines in America is severely lacking as compared to other countries. While most airlines in the states offer a beverage service and some offer a complimentary snack, if you're hoping for something to eat or an alcoholic beverage, you'd better have a credit card: all food must be bought, and you cannot pay with cash. 'Plane food' is about as expensive as food you would buy at the airport. The menu is limited to sandwiches or a fruit and cheese plate.

What is aggravating about flying anywhere in the states is: going through security. Having to strip down a basic garment layer – sweaters and coats not allowed, having to remove your shoes, belt, and bulky jewelry, cleaning out your pockets, having to go through a body scanner AND get patted down. It takes longer to get through security than to check in to your flight and get to the gate!

Even more frustrating: paying baggage fees. Whereas, globally, only a handful of airlines charge baggage fees, In America, there are only 2 that don't assess a flat rate for luggage. Most airlines charge $25 for your first bag, with Spirit Airlines going as high as $45,  according to farecompare.com. 

http://www.farecompare.com/about/worldwide-baggage-fee-chart/#/

There is no guarantee your bag won't be searched once you surrender it to the airline, even though all bags are put through a scanner. Upon arrival in China I found my secured baggage unsecured and, upon opening it, found this notice from TSA:

This was not the first time I've found such a notice in my suitcase. Somehow I find it violating that, even though non-invasive means of inspection exist, these officials see fit to break into people's luggage and rifle their things, and travelers only find out after the fact. However, if your carry-on bag screening reveals anything suspicious, the agent must wait for you to be present before s/he goes through your bag. What is the difference between looking through carry-ons and checked luggage that  demands consent for inspection in one instance but not the other?

Much criticism has been levied at TSA for, among other things, theft. More than five hundred agents have been fired for theft since the agency's creation. For these reasons, inasmuch as possible, I try not to fly around America. With no trains available, the only way I can get around is by long distance bus.

America has a comprehensive bus system: Greyhound. For the longest time that company had a bad reputation but it has put a lot of money into upgrading its fleet and the bus stations are, for the most part, clean, well-lit, organized and safe. They also have free WIFI and electrical outlets on their buses. Even the bathrooms at the back of the bus have been upgraded from the smelly pits they were. The fares are reasonable and the schedules are generous, with several buses to major destinations, every day. The routes are planned so that several cities/towns along the way will have bus service.

I don't mind riding the bus in America. It is affordable. I don't have to strip and nobody body-searches me or ransacks my luggage. I can pay cash: no credit card needed. I've met a lot of interesting people on the bus. The downsides of bus riding are A. they are not comfortable if you're on the road for more than just a few hours, and B. they always seem to have an hour's stop at 2AM! Even if you're sleeping, you have to get off the bus and wait around until time to board again.   

In China, some long-distance buses are outfitted with cots. Should you be on the road for more than, say, 6 hours, you will be supine rather than upright (of course, you can always sit up in your bunk, if that's your choice). Chinese buses stop every 2 hours – at least, that's been my experience, so that nicotine-depriveds can get their fix (and other needs can be attended to). The downside to Chinese buses is getting robbed. Hasn't happened to me, but it is not unheard of, and the driver is just as vulnerable as the passengers.

Not so on Greyhound: they have very strict rules! No drugs or drink on the bus, a safety enclosure for the driver – who doesn't stop until s/he reaches the next scheduled stop. Messing with Greyhound is a federal offense. I don't think anyone would risk it for so little potential reward: the driver carries no money and, for the most part, the riders comprise of the lowest ranks of society.

So: with virtually no trains, the aggravation and expense of flying and buses being the lowest form of transportation, how does mainstream America travel?

By car, according to statistics. Most Americans prefer taking to the open road in the comfort of their own vehicle. If  not their own vehicle, rentals are abundantly available for those with a credit card.

With the choices available, who could blame them?

New Destinations: Wilminton and New Bern

Wait a minute: did I say I was headed to Texas? Well, that's true, but I neglected to tell you of the stop off in North Carolina, to visit with my daughter and her family. I should tell you a little bit about that  before we move on to Texas.

Besides, the visit in Texas wasn't that great, outside of seeing my dear friends and family. There just happens to be a lot going on in Texas right now; none of it very good. So let's stay a while in North Carolina, shall we?

My daughter and her family/household are very busy. Staying there is always a bit chaotic, seeing as she is currently helping her half-sister get on her feet, and said sister has 2 small children and a boyfriend, all of whom reside in Jenn's house, along with Jenn's 2 kids, 2 cats and the dog. Often I ran outside, seeking quiet and solace, away from the noise.

As busy as Jenn is, she always makes it a point to find interesting things for us to do. Thus, on one of her days off from work, we headed into New Bern, named by the immigrants after their home: Bern, Switzerland.

New Bern was settled in 1710 by Swiss and Palatine immigrants. Many historic buildings still stand; in fact this town is a gem of southern living at its height. Tryon Palace is a good example, as is the John Wright Stanley house, built in 1780.

Tryon Palace                                                                John Wright Stanley house

New Bern has so many churches! In fact, 12 are listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There are more, newer churches scattered around the city, too. Considering that New Bern's population is only 29,574 as of last census count, I wonder where all the people come from to attend all of those churches. 

New Bern is the birthplace of Pepsi Cola, originally called Brad's Drink. The historian at the Pepsi museum informed us that, because of a plethora of drinks named after their inventors at that time, Caleb Bradham, the inventor of Pepsi, changed the name of his concoction to reflect 2 of the drink's ingredients: the kola nut and the digestive enzyme pepsin.

I'd love to include a picture or 2 we took of the museum, but my dear daughter has them on her phone and hasn't sent them to me. I'd also love to show you the Moo Diner, a cow-themed restaurant and other snapshots we took on our short visit around town. They're all on her phone. I hope she sends them quickly. Maybe I can post a pictorial essay.

On the way out of town we stopped at an old barn that had been converted into an antiques shop. Many stores in America boast 'antiques' but most of their wares are what we would now call 'retro': only about 30 years old. As we ambled around the displays we spotted a box of well preserved magazines, among them a copy of Life from 1962 – at the height of the Cuban Missile crisis, detailing what citizens need to know about fallout shelters. Further in the pile was a tribute to slain president Kennedy, printed December 1963. As my son-in-law's birthday was just a few days away and I know him to be a history buff, we spent a few dollars on his personal copies of historic moments.

And then we trick-wrapped them, making him believe he was getting expensive wine. Fooled him! After the laughing, he was sincerely impressed with his gift.    

A few days later, we loaded up and headed for Wilmington, a dog-friendly city. You need to know that in order to understand why Garrett, my son-in-law, was so insistent on taking the dog with us. Poor dog, doesn't get out much. Well, he doesn't go on outings but he does go out regularly, otherwise the house would be untenable!

Wilmington is older and more established than New Bern, and has much more history. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't cooperating. It started raining while still on our way there and, by the time we arrived, it was a veritable downpour. Still we gamely trooped on, walking a few blocks of the historic district.

Jenn and Garrett, having previously gone on a tour of the city, knew of the many ghost tales and hauntings. One place in particular, now and architect's office, was the site of lynchings. Across the street sat the governor's mansion, with a fine railing around the second floor veranda where prominent society people went to watch black people get hung. Rumor is that the architect's office is haunted by the spirits of all those people who met such a horrible death.

Another tale is that of the roommate who got buried alive. As the story goes, the friend/roommate of the man who died kept hearing 'go to his grave' when nobody was around to say it. After a few days he and another friend went to their roommate's grave only to find he had been buried alive! Thus the term 'graveyard shift' to describe working overnight: from that incident, a law emerged that someone must sit by the graves of newly buried bodies to make sure they are really dead.

On our way out of town we saw the USS North Carolina, a battleship that served during WWII, now permanently docked on the coast, and turned into a museum. She looked quite impressive against the leaden grey sky.

None of this serves to explain why Wilmington is such a dog-friendly city, but it certainly must be because there were so many dogs out, even in the inclement weather! 

Unfortunately, close proximity to the dog set off my allergies and the bad weather served to wear my down. By the time we arrived home I was feeling so poorly that I just went to bed, hoping to recover in time for my long bus ride to Texas, 2 days from then. I'll write you again from the bus!

New Destinations: Roanoke, Virginia

From Portland, across the country to Carlisle, Pennsylvania. I wrote about Carlisle last year (See Historic Carlisle entry, posted January 2015), so I'll tell you about the road trip we took to Roanoke, Virginia, where my dear friend Marjorie's son lives. Before the road trip we stopped at the Lindt Chocolate factory outlet, conveniently located on the outskirts of the town she lives in. I don't think I'd be able to resist going there every week, if I had that store practically in my back yard!

Our plan was to meander the 4 hours south, to where her son and his family live, making a stop midway, in Harrisonburg, to dine at a German restaurant there. Having grown up in Germany, we were both looking forward to a taste of our youth. Unfortunately, we had dithered too long at the chocolate store and missed the restaurant's lunch opening by 20 minutes: it had closed at 2PM!

We were both so hungry, having breakfasted early and waited our lunch in anticipation of the German palate teasers. Now, with no German food to be had, we scrambled for meal options, finally deciding on a chain buffet restaurant, where we ate more than our fill. Buffets tend to have that effect, you know?

Marjorie and I have been lifelong friends, so naturally we watched each other's kids grow up, marry and have kids. Seeing her son and his family again was not at all inordinary. I felt the welcome radiate from this fine young man and his gorgeous wife. Even their young son remembered me from my visit 2 years ago! An added bonus: Ana's mother, Cielo is visiting from Columbia. I knew her to be beautiful from the pictures Marjorie shared over the years, but seeing her in person... the woman is breathtaking!

Our first evening there, we sat around, catching up on life. Terran's current hobby is role-playing to the movie Aliens. A significant portion of his house's basement is dedicated to Aliens, and he manufactures all of the costumes. The whole family gets in on the fun! Here's Marjorie, wearing a helmet and toting a gun that Terran built himself, out of scrap metal. He did all of the weaponry on the wall, as well as the armor on the mannequin.

It seems good weather follows me on my travels, so the next day we woke up to sparkling sunshine, reflecting off the snow that lingered from the storms of the week before. Terran treated us to a traditional Southern breakfast while the rest of us scrambled to get ready. I was so eager to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Roanoke!

That city, established in 1852 was initially called Big Lick, from the large outcropping of salt that drew wildlife to the area, making hunting particularly fruitful. It was officially chartered in 1884 and renamed Roanoke, from the native American word for 'shell money'. Roanoke is also the name of the river flowing through it; most likely where the shells used as money came from.

Roanoke prospered with the railroad, and thrived because of the garment industry. However, around the 1960s, people started leaving and not coming back. This phenomenon, known as 'brain drain' or 'human capital flight' signified doom for this historic city until local and federal governments stepped in with preservation incentives and new industry moved in. Now, Roanoke is tentatively hopeful for the future, and so am I. I'd hate for Terran and his family to have to relocate yet again!

The Star seems to be a major tourist draw. I was immediately intrigued because Marjorie's husband mentioned it before we even left Carlisle. Terran echoed 'The Star' when planning the sightseeing route, and for good reason. It truly is worth seeing.

In 1949, area merchants decided to kick off the holiday shopping season in spectacular fashion: by building a monumental star atop Mill Mountain, the highest point of the city. Although said merchants weren't sure at the time whether they wanted the star lit year-round, eventually that became the norm. Initially lit with white lights only, soon the city decided to use red lights on the days anyone died in a traffic fatality, to honor them. After the September 11^th attacks, the star was lit with a red/white/blue configuration which stayed until 2007. On April 22^nd of that year, city officials decided to revert to the all-white motif as a symbol of hope after the Virginia Tech Massacre.

Suitably impressed, we took in other sights: St. Andrew's Roman Catholic Church, the Blue Ridge Parkway and the historic Farmer's Market. Although history is interesting to me, I was more interested in Terran's life: where he works, were his family goes to church, where their newborn daughter will be baptized. He graciously obliged me, cruising all over town. None of those locations are particularly noteworthy or picturesque to anyone not intimately connected to the family. Thus, I offer you the stunning cathedral.

We enjoyed a savory lunch at a New York style deli. Marjorie and Terran were both hungry for pastrami. I scanned the menu for something more to my taste, and then laughed aloud: that deli offers a Vagabond Sandwich! This being the Vagabond blog, I thought that sandwich must be tailor-made for me. It was delicious!

Back home for an evening with family; last laughs, fond memories, posing for pictures and getting ready for the start of the week... at least for the Roberts. As for me, I had to get ready for a 32-hour bus ride, to my dear ones in Texas.

And speaking of Texas, the Lone Star State: visiting the Roanoke star reminded me of all the fun waiting for me. 

See you there!      

New Destinations: Crater Lake

Finally I'm at Darrell's house, anticipating all that he has planned for my visit. Mind you, I'd be perfectly fine sitting around loved ones' houses, soaking  them up and being a part of their lives for just the little while I'm here, but everyone always plans over-the-top entertainment. I love them for it. And for many other reasons.

But then, with loved ones: does one need a reason to love them? And, while thinking of great loves: I hear my beloved China is suffering its worst winter in thirty years! Buck up, my Chinese friends; it will soon get better. My heart and thoughts are with you even as I revel in the warmth of kith in kin.

As usual, my first stop was my son's house. Darrell had to work the first few days I was in Portland but had taken time off for the rest of my visit. Thus, after a few days to get used to being here, we loaded up the car and took off for snowier realms: Crater Lake. 

Let's back up for an instant.

We all know of the Seven Wonders of the World, right? The Pyramids, The Hanging Gardens, the Colossus of Rhodes and all, right? Well, Oregon has its own Seven Wonders, and Crater Lake tops that list.

It sits in the caldera of a dormant volcano. It is not fed by any other bodies of water. Its content comes solely from rain and snowmelt, making it one of the purest bodies of water in the world. The azure blue you see in the picture is a result of that, not of any Photoshop wizardry. It is the deepest lake in America and the 7^th deepest in the world – or the 9^th deepest, depending on whether average or maximum depth is measured/counted.  

See what I mean about my loved ones planning over-the-top entertainment for me? I had the privilege of seeing this wonder with my own eyes, but not before we drove through a mountain pass, and banks of snow more than 9 feet (3 meters) high.

I should tell you that little Benjamin came along, and Zeva the dog got her snow on, too. She loves playing in the snow! See her retrieving a snowball?

Driving home from this adventure, we passed through the Columbia River Gorge. In fact, the Columbia outdoor gear that is currently all the rage in China is named after that river, and the company's headquarters are in Portland. The Gorge, as it is known, is another of Oregon's wonders. That state's other wonders are: Mount Hood (a dormant volcano), The Painted Hills, Smith's Rock and the Oregon Coastline.

On a... worrisome note: I found myself terrified to climb the small, snowy slope to get up to the lake. I had broken my leg climbing down a gentle slope last year and found, much to my dismay, that I am now terrified of climbing or descending any slope for fear of breaking another limb. Darrell to the rescue! He pulled me up to the rim of the lake so that I could see for myself this scenic marvel. But then, I had to get back down that slope. A panic attack nearly overwhelmed me until Darrell suggested a foolproof way to get down. As you can see, I made it down the hillock just fine!  

Although sliding was fun, I don't want to have a panic attack every time I partake of my usual adventures because I'm afraid of breaking another bone. That's what is truly worrisome.

Arrival U.S.A.: Getting Through LAX

You might guess by the title that I am again among my loved ones, after a grueling fifty-plus hours in transit. Little Benjamin has just had a bath and been put to bed, Samantha is studying and Darrell is at work – the overnight shift. Zeva the Dog lays at my feet and the cat is curled up on the arm of the chair. I find myself at loose ends, having slept like a log last night: no jet lag for me!

The trans-pacific plane ride did not last fifty hours; in fact, it went rather quickly. What did me in was the 16-hour layover in Hong Kong. I got a great deal on the ticket but I'm not sure the thousand Yuan I saved was worth the time spent in transit. The trouble is that I cannot seem to sleep on the road so, all night and into the next day I stumbled around Hong Kong airport, enviously staring at those who seem to be able to sleep in any position, in any environment and in any condition.

That 'not sleeping' deal applies to plane rides, too. I might have nodded off for a few minutes out of sheer exhaustion, but true sleep never visits me in transit. So, you can imagine what fine form I was in when we finally touched down in Los Angeles.

Last year I glossed over the pain and aggravation of getting admitted to America. Now, I'm glad I did because this year, the 'clearing customs' ritual has established an all-new level of annoyance and aggravation, and I get to tell you all about it!

LAX's Tom Bradley International terminal must have been planned and laid out by fitness gurus who hold the belief that extended walking is the secret to unhappy life, or by blind architects. The distance from the jetway to the passport validation area – the step that precedes claiming baggage and clearing customs is convoluted and consists of up-and down-ramps, escalator rides and more than a few meters of straightaway concourse. As opposed to many other airports, there are no moving sidewalks. That might help explain why I believe sadistic fitness gurus might have been involved in the planning and design.

Normally I would not balk at taking exercise but, because of lack of sleep and sitting overly long, my newly mended leg was screaming. And then, when I thought of all the standing and queueing still to be done...

After about 10 minutes' walk we all arrived in the great hall, ready for passport  examination and customs declaration. Whereas visitors to the country were instructed to enter the first serpentine queue marker, those with American passports had to walk to the end of the large hall to line up, switchback style. The line had already folded back on itself 7 times by the time I got there. I was not happy.

And then, futher aggravation set in when we collectively noticed a line of machines. Assistants were inviting queued-ups to face the contraption. Others coached the bewildered travelers on how to use the machine. “What could these be for?” I wondered.

Finally, my turn to face the gadget. After engaging it by requesting it speak to me in a specific language, it asked my name, nationality, purpose of coming to America. Next screen asked what type of passport I have, and what country issued it. Third screen detailed duty items: had I anything I needed to declare? Did I bring any produce or seeds? Soils? Had I been in contact with any livestock while abroad? Am I importing gifts totaling... what amount? And then, I was to present my passport to the built-in scanner. Next, the machine instructed me to remove my glasses, adjusted itself to my height and took my picture. The ritual concluding by it printing a receipt, with the instructions to present that paper to the official who will inspect my documents in the next stage of the process.

This step of in-processing is new. Last year, we were all given a blue and white form to fill out while still in flight which, after the death-march through the terminal and endless queueing, we were to present to a security officer, who would ask leading questions such as: “What were you doing in China?” “Why did you come back?” Where will you go?” in order to ascertain whether or not you are a terrorist. By that short conversation, your form would be marked in a certain way, indicating to the officer downstream that your bags are to be opened and checked, or you should just be waved through.

Those new gizmos asked the same questions as the officers did last year, so I reckoned that, once more a machine has supplanted a human. After moving further up the new serpentine queue I found myself in after wrangling with the machine, the officers' booths – minimally staffed, were still in place, and travelers still stepped up to and stopped at them, handing over documents. Officers made conversation, supplicants removed eyewear and pictures were taken... just as the machine had done. 

I thought that those officers were there to ease the pain of transitioning to the automated passport validation system so, when my turn came to be interviewed by such an official, I asked if the machines will indeed take their job in the near future. “No” he replied. “It's just another layer of security.”

I'm confused. Those machines, no doubt having cost the taxpayers a bundle, asked the same questions and fulfilled the same function as the officer. While it is true that a machine would not necessarily be able to interpret subtle nuances of body language, all other aspects of the entry process are done mechanically.

And these machines are supposed to help thwart terrorists' feet touching American soil? Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that ISIS claimed responsibility for a shoot-up in San Bernadino? And, the American economy being what it is – the poor getting poorer, can America afford to throw tax money toward  a redundant layer of security?

My sleep-deprived mind pondered that as we all queued up for the next step in the process: claiming our bags and going through customs. Here, there were no serpentine arrangements, just lines of people, stretching out as far as the eye can see,  front to back, the entire length of the building. To get to the proper carousel, we had to cross those lines, and then find a place in one of the three lines and wait.

Progress was slow. Several travelers around me fretted over missing their connecting flights. An officer on the fringes insisted that this procedure is normal, that no one line is moving any faster than the other, and that everyone should just be patient.

I've been in plenty of airports, around the world. I contend that only Israel beats America in aggravation as far as entry procedures. They have good reason for it: their country is constantly in turmoil/under attack.  Presumably America is also under attack, and these measures are necessary. However, in all of the time I've been traveling in and out of America, the only terror incidents I've heard about are 'homegrown' – initiated by citizens who've lived there long-term.

Gaining entry was an aggravating time. Fortunately, we had scheduled my connecting flight to Oregon for several hours after touchdown in L.A. so that there would be plenty of time to go through all of the procedures necessary for admittance to the country.

Nevertheless, in the back of my mind, niggled: “How must they feel: those who, their whole lives, have dreamt of coming to America, only to be confronted with... this?”              

A Letter to a Thief

Dear Thief;

First, I'd like to thank you for affirming my feeling: my bike, with its sassy red and white striping, is worth a second look. No doubt that is what prompted you to take a closer look at it, thus realizing you could make off with one of its accessories. The computer attached to the handlebars might not be of much use to you, especially since you only took the display – not the wiring, sensor or mounting cradle, but then: who knows what motivates a thief to steal anything? Certainly not me. I can't even conceive of taking anything that doesn't belong to me, whether I need it or not.

This is the third time something has been stolen off my bike. The first time, while my lovely bike was chained to a bus stop, the flashlight used as a headlight was taken. I take total blame for that; I should have known better than to leave such a useful and convenient accoutrement so blatantly available, especially as that particular bus stop lies directly along the path that middle-schoolers follow home. I can see a child's eye captivated by that tall, red-and-white machine that I ride, and being tempted to snag that light. What child doesn't like a flashlight? Especially a cool, compact one with a high-discharge LED beam?

The second time, a thief made off with the pump I kept strapped to the bike's rack. Whereas I usually keep my bike in my house, that day it was parked just outside my ground floor apartment because I had to go to class that afternoon. During my mid-day snooze, I thought I heard someone tinkering with my bike through the open balcony door. Too lazy and sleepy to get up, I told myself it was all in my mind, and kept on drowsing.

That theft was a bit more disappointing. I'd kept that pump on the back of my bike ever since I've owned it and it had never been taken, even when I left the bike at a bus stop (so I could ride public transportation into town). On our campus, everyone knows that bike is mine, and I'm well-liked by everyone. I can't imagine anyone here deliberately stealing something from me. However, I have an upstairs neighbor who is... not quite right in the head, to say it kindly. He scavenges around campus, hauling all manner of things to store in our building's foyer. Every few days, it gets to be too messy and then, I can hear him muttering to himself as he sorts through his trash, deciding what to haul away and what to keep.

If he is indeed the taker of my bike's pump, I can forgive him. Surely, he doesn't know any better. Besides, a bike pump can be useful in all sorts of ways. So, that theft, too, makes a measure of sense.

But you, dear Thief. You are a complete stranger to me and to my bike. You took something you cannot possibly use, and that has no meaning to you. You stripped my beloved ride of a tool I need to gauge my riding. You see, I don't just ride because it is fun and healthy. I ride because I intend to reach a goal I'd set for myself since my return to good health 2 years ago: riding long distance.

Because of my broken leg, I was forced to stop training. My plans for the summer just past, distance riding, were shelved because I hadn't healed enough to undertake that challenge. Now, with a clean bill of health, I'm letting nothing stop me from training: not bad weather or cold, not the ache in my knees or my breath, rendered harsh from the dirty air. I may cough for hours after a ride and suffer a raw throat, but for me, it is all worth it to reach my goal.

And then, while visiting with my good friend, who lives in a newly-built housing area where apartments sell for thousands of Yuan per square meter, you, low-life taker of things not yours, saw fit to strip me of the tool that is helping me track my progress and fitness. And for what? What could that computer interface possibly do for you?

Now, I need to thank you again, Thief. I had always believed in humans' fundamental good nature. I had always believed me and my things were safer in China than anywhere else in the world and, surely, leaving my bike in the foyer of a new, fancy apartment building, it would be safe from people like you. Now I see how wrong I was. I now know I will have to be ever vigilant, making sure I leave nothing for you to take. I will have to live as though you are around every corner, ready to snatch what doesn't belong to you.

See how you damage society with your selfishness and greed? And I'm only one person. Imagine everybody having suffered a theft. Wouldn't they too lose faith in humanity? Be wary of new contacts? How can anyone be open and friendly when there are people like you, ready to take what is best about people - trust, and destroy it?      

What if somebody stole something of great personal value from you? How would you feel? Would you even feel?

Finally: I thank you a third time, Thief. That computer had stopped working for some reason, and I was going to replace it anyway. I couldn't justify rushing to town to buy a new one, with my month-long absence from the country imminent, and I was loath to spend the money on a new computer if all the old one needed was a new battery (I hadn't had time to check it, yet). I was going to wait until I got back to China to resume my fitness log. Since your pilfery, I can justify spending 50 Yuan on a new accessory. And I get to laugh at you for stealing something that doesn't work. 

But make no mistake, Thief: I will attach my new device in such a way that you will have to work to steal it.

                                                          With accessories

                                                                     

                                            

                                                                 Stripped!

2015; The Year in Review

By all accounts, personal and general, one could say that this has been a bad year. For some reason, I saw fit to snap my leg while on a hike, which resulted in emergency surgery 5 days before boarding a plane back to China, in February. It took me nearly all year to heal. Meanwhile, the trickle that had been Syrian refugees early in the year turned into a flood because of escalating violence in their homeland. ISIS further claimed responsibility for an attack in Paris and again in San Bernadino, California.

The ChinaDaily blog server – where I contribute in addition to our own blog - was hacked; all articles, comments and commendations were lost. Working with that site became an exercise in frustration: comments wouldn't post, pages couldn't be accessed... fortunately, ChinaDaily techs were hard at work, retrieving articles thought lost forever. I didn't give up hope on that community but... 

Right around that time the fall semester started and, because my colleague had been arrested and deported (see The Man With A Plan entry, posted  September of this year), I soon became overwhelmed, teaching several classes per day – a far departure from the previous semester, when I only had 3 classes per week. Because I was so busy, and focused on nothing but teaching, I didn't  write anything for several months.

Fortunately, by the time that classroom madness started my leg had healed sufficiently to manage the rigors of standing for hours a day and climbing stairs to get to my rooms. However, only last week did I get a clean bill of health: the doctor declared it completely healed. You can't imagine the amount of pain killers I swallowed just to keep up with myself these past months! 

Taking a broader view of thing: tempers and fear flared around the world because of terrorism: 374 attacks worldwide this year alone (source: Wikipedia)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_terrorist_incidents,_July–December_2015

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_terrorist_incidents,_July–December_2015

We only heard about the big ones: Bankok, Paris, California but, it seems from the statistics that every day, somewhere, people were running for their lives. Rest in Peace to those who didn't get away, who were caught up in someone else's madness and suffered for it.

Let's not forget those who perished in plane crashes, because of bad weather, at the hands of others in non-terrorist acts and those who, by their own hand ended their suffering. They should rest in peace, too.

Yes, by any reckoning, one could say that this has indeed been a rough year, all around. What made it golden for me was the kindness shown, both personally and worldwide during this difficult year.

European countries are risking their economies sheltering refugees. All over the world, people grieved for those slain during the various terrorist attacks – at least, those reported in the news. We shared a frisson of fear at their possible escalation. In these terrible times, we united in care and sympathy for everyone who needed succor, whether we, personally could do anything to help or not.

As for me, kindness and care enveloped me like a gentle blanket throughout the year. Starting with family, who cared for me during and immediately after my hospital stay. And then, the flight crew who ministered to me when I threw up on the plane – one of them, apparently moved by my pitiful condition, offered a 'fu' 符 for good luck after helping me clean up. I guess he thought I needed it? And, all of those devoted people pushing my wheelchair-bound self through the airport in Beijing and Wuhan, even offering bathroom stops along the way. After having been left stranded in LAX, where no one would so much as bring me any food, let alone permit me to stay in a wheelchair (the aide stated she had to take her chair with her, leaving me on a bench in front of the deserted Air China counter with my luggage, a broken leg and a pair of crutches), the charity and support offered in China caused me to spill tears of relief at feeling no longer alone and helpless.

And Sam, who met me at the airport! Not only did he arrange a replacement ticket for the plane I missed in Los Angeles (because of uncoordinated efforts of the handicapped assistance team, along with the less-than-urgent disposition of those pushing my wheelchair), but he accompanied me home and stayed 2 hours, seeing to my comfort, preparing something to eat (I'd not eaten the whole flight because of my upset stomach), arranging my sleeper sofa so that I'd have an easier time settling in. And all of this when he should have been with his family, celebrating Spring Festival! Sam deserves a medal for the valor he displayed. What he and his family have done for me this year goes far beyond kindness. I can never thank them enough.

The list goes on... 

The dean rearranging all of my classroom assignments to the first floor of the teaching building nearest my house in the aftermath of my leg-break so I wouldn't have to hobble so far or attempt the stairs. Teachers with cars, chauffering me to and from class. Students helping carry my things whilst I crutched to and from class.

Friends who drove me to the store, and then carried my groceries into my house, and put them away for me. Friends who saw to it that I had a measure of entertainment, inviting me on outings, even though I would slow down the fun with my crippled gait. Friends who made the trip to my remote outpost in Wuhan for a visit. Friends on the ChinaDaily blog site who, worried at my long absence, sent concerned messages.

And, from total strangers:

The bus driver who, noticing my pronounced limp while walking to the bus, took special pains to see that I was settled before leaving the bus stop. The policeman who, seeing that I couldn't make it across the street before the light turned red, stopped traffic to ensure my safe passage. My neighbors who, knowing I was incapacitated, took it upon themselves to bring me fresh veggies, and never accepted payment (but I did manage to sneak in a gift or 2).

If I should expound on year 2015 in the future, it will be kindness that I will remember best. The old man on the bus who insisted I take his seat, even though he was bowed with age. Those who ran to help in the aftermath of the Bankok and Paris attacks. Those who took in refugees at the risk of collapsing their own economies.

As though to underscore the kindness theme of this year: the dear soul who, seeing my bike chained to the bus stop one day when the weather turned foul, worried that my seat might get wet, and so placed a plastic-wrapped mouse pad on it, to keep it dry. S/He even went so far as to tuck it between the seat and the pole it was chained to, so that the cover would not blow off in the sudden storm. That person had no idea who that bike belonged to so I can't say that his/her actions were kindness directed specifically at me. I can only infer that that person just brimmed with a desire to do good, and so committed a small, thoughtful act that touched my heart.

Oh, if everyone could be that good!!!