Author: tkwilliams22@hotmail.com

Today marks day 17 of not being allowed out of my 50 meter square² apartment unless it’s to be tested for Covid. To be fair, though, I have been tested 20 times since March 16 — all of them negative. This is all just part of China’s Draconian “Zero Covid” policy.

In early March, we began hearing about a handful of cases sprinkled around Shanghai. As a city of 25 million, this isn’t too out of the ordinary as minor “outbreaks” like these have popped up multiple times in the past year.

Since the Covid virus was initially contained, China has adhered to a “Zero Covid” policy meaning that any positive cases are met with immediate and aggressive public health response. Anyone who tests positive is immediately taken to a Covid-only hospital, or quarantine facility if they are asymptomatic. Further, anyone that has had contact or been in the same location (determined via contact tracing) is immediately ordered to home quarantine for 14 days and take multiple tests — any of them positive landing them in the same situation as the initial positive patient. Penalty for failure to quarantine results in being treated to a jail cell for the quarantine period and a hefty fine.

In early March, the handful of cases quickly turned into a few dozen. Health protocols were ramped up around the city — mask requirements strictly enforced, temperature checks to enter any crowded places like malls or supermarkets, and daily checks of health codes which uses contact tracing to produce either a green, yellow, or red code. Also, Shanghai was dropped from a low-risk city to a medium-risk city, making travel in and out of the city fairly difficult.

The Omicron variant proved faster than China’s admittedly super speedy virus control team, and each day we were updated with more and more cases, growing from dozens into the hundreds, and, eventually, the thousands. At this point, we realized that some sort of city-wide lockdowns were on their way, as the Zero Covid policy dictates when cases get this high. My former China hometown of Qingdao was already in their own lockdown.

On March 11, we were told that we would spend the next week working from home. Both the city and my employers advised only going out for necessities over the next week. Many restaurants, bars, and shops were ordered to close up shop for the time being.

For the most part, the city residents stayed in starting that Friday night. Many, myself included, did this out of fear of being locked somewhere we didn’t want to be for a prolonged period of time. This is part of the Zero Covid contact tracing. If they trace someone who tested positive to a certain location, health response teams will shut down that location immediately, with everyone inside stuck there for a minimum of 48 hours. There are stories of people being locked down in shopping malls and supermarkets for days while everyone is tested multiple times. The worst one I heard was the 20 or so people locked inside a KFC for 48 hours. During that time, everyone inside is tested multiple times and every test needs to come back negative for everyone to be released. Needless to say, I sat at home over the weekend and worked from my patio the next week.

On Wednesday, March 16, the testing started. They began testing the entire city in waves. I was told to go to a testing site at a middle school a block away from my apartment complex. After checking my contract tracing ID, they tested me via a cheek swab and told me to come back the next day for the second required test.

Each day, we all watched the covid count still growing. Daily positive tests surpassing 700 at this point. FYI, I know a lot of people reading this are probably screaming that these are fake numbers coming from the Chinese government. While the government almost certainly lies about numbers, it’s most likely done with the really high numbers — once the count is in the thousands. My reason for thinking this is the quick and very public response to any positive test. So, I think these positive test numbers are mostly accurate at this point.

At the end of March, the government announced that the city would be divided in half and each side would do its own four-day complete lockdown. This means no leaving your apartment for any reason, except for government testing, usually conducted every other day. And if you’re thinking, at least you get some time outside, it was usually for about 15 minutes, as the testing was mobile and done right outside of my apartment complex. Also, roughly half of the tests were home tests handed out in the morning, where you have to send a photo of your result.

Pudong (the eastern half of the city) went first and locked down from March 27-31. Living in Puxi (the western half), I would lock down from March 31-April 3. At this point, a few friends wisely suggested loading up for more than four days, thinking that once they locked us down, the four days would be out the window and they’d only allow us out after Covid cases were back in the dozens — we are at about 10,000 new cases a day by this point.

I loaded up as much food and water that I could comfortably store. As I said, I live in a small loft apartment with a tiny kitchen and a dorm-room-sized refrigerator. Shanghai is a lot like Hong Kong in that homes are generally small and stacked to cram in the 25 million people that live here. Many places don’t even have kitchens, as eating out and ordering meals for delivery is so common. By the 31st, every square inch of my fridge and freezer were accounted for and I had my pantry stacked to the gills. Still, it would only be enough food and water for maybe 2-3 weeks.

On the morning of March 31st, they padlocked all the gates to my apartment complex. To almost no one’s surprise, Pudong, who should have been released at this point, were told that their lockdown would continue as new cases were still be discovered there. And, on April 3, they explained the same thing to us. We weren’t getting out. Over the first two weeks, despite the entire city being locked up, cases continued to climb to a high of about 28,000/day on the 14th.

My initial supply of food is almost completely gone. Since all the restaurants and shops are closed, getting more food and supplies is extremely difficult. Apartment complexes and neighborhoods have joined together in massive WeChat group chats to try to order things together in bulk. Every few days, we’re able to land a truckload of meats, fruits, or veggies, that volunteers then have to comb through and create individual boxes based on who ordered what, and there usually isn’t enough to satisfy everyone.

Even dealing with these group chats is difficult because everything is in Chinese. I’ve learned to speak and read a little while I’ve been here, but not enough to follow long group chains. I mostly have to rely on help from my neighbors when I really need supplies. I was able to receive a bulk order of essentials, and my job sent out a care package of 20 pre-cooked meals that I barely was able to make enough room for in my fridge and freezer. Still, food goes much faster than you’d anticipate when you’re forced to eat every meal from home.

Currently, I have enough food and water to get me through another 2-3 weeks. My next worry is trying to get an order together for everyday household supplies. I’m running low on soap, detergent, toothpaste, and toilet paper. Those have been more difficult to get than the food and you often just need to rely on the generosity of neighbors. It’s also tougher because Shanghai has been completely sealed off. The ports are closed as well as the roads into the city, so we are dealing with a finite supply of goods.

Currently, the only ones allowed outside of their apartment gates are essential workers, who mainly consist of medical staff and delivery drivers. Once they are out, though, they can’t get back in, so most of these men and women haven’t been back to their homes since March, instead staying at dedicated hotels. Deliveries are all contactless and guards in hazmat suits stand watch over anyone trying to escape the complex.

To say that this has been stressful is an understatement. Still, even with the challenges of being a foreigner and not speaking the language, I have it better than a lot of people here. For one, I have a kitchen. Many in Shanghai don’t and are now being forced to eat microwavable food as their only warm meals. Several friends have dogs that they aren’t allowed to take outside. I’ve heard about many stir-crazy and depressed pups. There are also the elderly Chinese, many of whom don’t use smart phones so have no way to coordinate food orders with neighbors. I know my complex has tried to look out for the ones we have living with us, but it’s tough to do due diligence when you can’t leave your home. I found out this morning that an elderly couple here had eaten nothing but rice for the past three days because they were out of food. My neighbors promptly put out a call and put together a care package of fruits, vegetables, and meats all donated by people inside the complex.

The worst part of everything is not knowing how long it will go on. Everything is being evaluated on a day-to-day basis. The government has freed roughly a 1/3 of the city, but those are typically in more remote parts of the city, and any positive test results in the lockdowns coming back there. The US Embassy sent out an advisory yesterday that there is a good chance we could continue to be locked down completely till mid-May, which would put a heavy strain on food and supplies. The one thing in our favor is how vital Shanghai is to the Chinese economy, and we are already seeing massive ripple effects across the country just for being shut down for a little over two weeks. But China will not waiver from its Zero Covid policy. It’s already had protracted lockdowns in Qingdao, Xian, Harbin, and even Beijing.

Mentally, it’s been exhausting. Most days, I spend the first couple of hours monitoring the group chats to see if there are any orders I can jump on. I’m still working from home, and responsible for everything I would be doing if I were in the office — no reduced workloads or quotas. Some days are better than others. This week was really tough because I had two good friends die unexpectedly — one in the States and one at his home in Russia. I’d give anything just for a walk around the block at this point.

I try to stay positive, but it’s obviously very difficult. I’ve gotten to know quite a few of my neighbors over WeChat and it’s been nice to talk and try to laugh with them about our shared situation. We’ve all talked about the big barbecue we will have where we can meet everyone face-to-face once this has passed. Hopefully, it gets here soon.

Last month, I hit my four year anniversary for living abroad in China and attempting to travel through the rest of Asia. To say I’d love my adventure over here would be an understatement, but it hasn’t all been roses and sunshine. Here, for your enjoyment, or horror, are some of the times things didn’t go according to plan.

Trigger warning – You are about to read stories of upset stomachs, rank bathroom conditions, and explosive diarrhea. So… enjoy!

Luang Prabang, Laos

On February 1, 2018, I set off on what was to be six weeks of backpacking around Laos, Thailand, and Vietnam. The first leg of the trip started in Luang Prabang, Laos, a cozy city nested on the confluence of the Mekong and Nam Khan Rives in northern Laos.

Nicknamed “The Heart of Laos”, Luang Prabang is the country’s ancient capital and boasts beautiful surroundings. Picturesque mountains loaded with ancient temples and flowing waterfalls are all a short trip from the city. Coming into Laos, however, I felt exhausted from a long month of work, as I was just finishing up my tenure at my first school, and all I wanted to do in Luang Prabang was catch my breath for the first few days.

So instead of jumping on buses to the nearby jungle, I spent those first days just walking around the city, which is really more like a village. The locals were some of the nicest and most welcoming people I’d encountered. Most of their cuisine was similar to northern Vietnam, a variety of noodle soups infused with some French influences, and I was having a good time just meandering about, chatting up locals, and stopping in at a cafe whenever I got hungry.

On one of my walks, I passed the Manda de Laos, rated as the best restaurant in Luang Prabang in just about any guide book you see. A good reason for the rating is because of the pure beauty of the dining area, most of which is outside on the perimeter of a majestic pond filled with countless lily pads. The restaurant had posted their lunch menu and I noted that the highest priced items were the equivalent of $10 US. Definitely expensive for Laos, but for me it was too good to pass up.

They sat me in a lovely area, at a table surrounded by the pond on three sides. I could look down and count the colorful fish that flocked to diners for scraps. I ordered my lunch, of all things, a burger. And I also asked for a glass of ice water. The day was already stuffy and I thought an ice-cold glass of water would cool me down a bit. The server gave me a strange look and asked me, “Are you sure?” I thought this was odd, and it definitely should have triggered me, but I nodded my head yes and went back to counting fish.

She brought out my dish and iced water and I enjoyed my lunch in the serene atmosphere. On the way back to my hostel, I started to feel it; something definitely wasn’t sitting well. I hurried my pace and barely made it back in time to hit the bathroom and evacuate my bowels. I had been drinking water every day since I’d been in Laos and it hadn’t been a problem. Why now? As it turns out, they filter their drinking water but not the water they use to make ice cubes! Apparently, the locals have a strong enough gut to handle the ice and the foreigners aren’t stupid enough to ask for ice. Well, most of the foreigners.

The rest of my stay in Luang Prabang was filled with the agony of food poisoning. For three days, I was confined to my hostel. Unfortunately, the hostel did not feature private bathrooms and so whenever I had to vomit or had another spell of diarrhea, which was at least a dozen times each day, I had to pull myself up off my sweat-soaked bed, make my way through the common areas, and, hopefully, be able to find one of the four outdoor stalls unoccupied. Also, when I stay stalls, I really mean the Asian squatting toilet with no seats, where you just have to hover over and pray for good aim. It was a relief to know that while 99% of my body felt like it was dying an agonizing death, at least I was getting some good quad work in while holding a squat position between 10-20 times a day.

At some point that second day, I made my way to a clinic nearby, where they prescribed me some charcoal tablets but said there was little else they could do for me. For three days my diet consisted of charcoal pills, Sprite, and a handful of Ritz crackers. When I had finally kicked it, my time in Luang Prabang was coming to an end and I was happy to move on to Thailand, where they filter their ice cubes!

Kyoto, Japan

While Luang Prabang was definitely the worst attack of food poisoning I’ve had, unfortunately, it wasn’t the only time I’ve had a situation where I had to hurry to the bathroom. I visited Kyoto with my friend, Austin, in the fall of 2017. On our first full day in the city, we decided to have a traditional Japanese breakfast before visiting the famous Fushimi Inari Shrine.

Our breakfast consisted of mackerel, pickled veggies, miso soup, and tamago kake gohan, a Japanese breakfast staple of white rice topped with a raw egg and soy sauce. Ironically, I had recently had an allergy test done in Qingdao because I had constantly felt stuffed up. The only thing that came back positive, however, was eggs, and my allergy to them was extremely slight. So slight, in fact, that the doctor said most people with such a small egg allergy often only have problems with soft-boiled eggs. I’d never had a problem with soft-boiled eggs before, though, so I eagerly gobbled up the delicious rice and raw egg combo.

After breakfast, we made our way to the Fushimi Inari Shrine. Kyoto is another ancient capital and there are incredibly beautiful temples and shrines scattered all over the city. Fushimi Inari is located on a mountain in the southeastern part of the city. As you walk up the mountain, you pass through a series of red gates, some right on top of each other, some spread apart. There are several temples and shrines along the way and, as one of the most famous shrines in all of Japan, there are often hordes of tourists.

We were about 3/4 of the way up the mountain when I felt my stomach begin to stir. That raw egg wasn’t sitting too well. I realized very quickly that I needed to find the closest restroom. I found someone emptying a trash can and asked them where the closest bathroom was and, of course, they told me the only bathroom was back down the mountain, near the entrance. I double-timed it back down, all the while crossing my fingers and holding my knees together.

Ordinarily, Japan is far and away the best place for bathrooms that I have seen. Even if they don’t have one of their famous high-tech toilets that offer heated seats, a bidet, and often musical accompaniment, they are still usually kept immaculately clean, stock plenty of toilet paper, and occasionally will even offer wet wipes. Unfortunately, this bathroom was the exception. A lone squatty toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months awaited me. I crammed myself into the tiny stall, drenched in sweat at this point, and released everything in my gut.

I finished, relieved that I’d made it without an accident, only to realize that there was no toilet paper. I ducked my head out of the stall to scan the rest of the bathroom, no luck. The first thing to go was a brochure that I picked up about the shrine on my way in. Not the most comfortable but it did the trick to start. After that, I had to repurpose my boxers. I finally finished cleaning up as best I could before coming out and telling Austin that I was heading back to the Air BnB to take a shower. I learned an important lesson that day and ever since when I go out anywhere in Asia, I always keep a small package of toilet paper with me, just in case.

Coda: Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam

One lesson that I apparently didn’t learn, however, was to stay away from raw eggs. I would suffer another bout of upset stomach in HCMC in 2019, on the eve of Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. Ca phe trung, coffee mixed with condensed milk and a raw egg yolk, is one of my favorite Vietnamese treats. Despite the raw egg, I’d never had a problem before.

Ca phe trung originated in Hanoi and is usually associated with northern Vietnam. Now I was in southern Vietnam but it was on the menu of the coffee shop I had stepped in. I eagerly ordered it and downed it quickly. I was barely out the door when I realized the error of my ways. I rang in the Tet celebrations listening to the fireworks while getting familiar with my Air BnB bathroom.

One of my favorite things about living in Qingdao is its natural beauty. Qingdao is a peninsula, bordered by the Yellow Sea to the east and south, and Jiaozhou Bay to the west. In addition to the vast coastline, the city is bisected by a series of mountains.

The most famous mountain in Qingdao, by far, is Laoshan, or Mount Lao, located in the northeastern corner of the city. It is known as one of the birthplaces for Taoism and is the highest coastal mountain in China. There are numerous Taoist temples along the mountain, as well as a tree that is supposed to bring good luck to those that visit it. Mount Lao is also famous for its green tea and you can walk in the fields of tea leaves near the base of the mountain.

Nearby Mount Lao, lies Beijiushui, or the Northern Nine Waters, where the Baisha River cuts through smaller mountains, creating a series of beautiful waterfalls and ponds. From there, the mountains continue in a line, traversing the city in a southwesterly arc.

Located in the middle of the city, is Mount Fu, which makes for a really fun hike due to all of the tunnels and bunkers left by the Germans. These fortifications were built in the first decade of the 20th century by the occupying Germans and most likely meant to serve as a warning site for their British rivals. Both Japan, in their occupation, and the local Chinese continued to build out the bunkers and in World War II, they were used as an artillery depot. Many are still in good enough shape to walk through and you can find yourself crawling through stone passageways to a former gun turret location that looks out on the sea.

Qingdao is the city I’ve called home for the past four years. In Chinese terms, it is a mid-sized, second-tier city of just over 9 million people. Yes, essentially the size of the Chicago Metro Area. Recently it has won numerous awards and recognitions, including China’s Most Livable City, Top Up and Coming City, and the Middle Kingdom’s Second Most Beautiful City (Hangzhou, apparently, was the most beautiful).

It’s hard to talk at all about Qingdao without mentioning the German influence. In the late 1800s, Qingdao was little more than a small fishing village. In 1891, however, the Qing Empire decided to build up the Qingdao coast militarily as a defense against a Naval attack. In short order, though, the German Navy spotted the fortifications and in 1897, they seized and occupied the built-up territory, becoming the first European colony on mainland China. Germany would sign a 99-year lease agreement with the Qing to occupy the land.

Upon taking control, the Germans quickly began building wide streets, solid housing areas, government buildings, and a sewer system. They also provided electricity and a clean water supply that was rare in most of China at the time. Many of the buildings erected by the Germans still stand today, in stark contrast to both the traditional and modern Chinese architectural styles.

There were prominent Protestant and Roman Catholic missions at the time and both built churches next to each other that are still two of Qingdao’s biggest tourist attractions today. St. Michael’s Cathedral began as a small three-aisled Gothic church named St. Emil’s. Construction began in 1898, but the Catholic diocese soon decided to upgrade to a cathedral. Due to World War 1 and the Japanese occupation, construction didn’t actually finish until 1933, when the Gothic style was abandoned in favor of a Romanesque Revival one. St. Michael’s Cathedral still sits on a hill in “Old Qingdao” and is a popular spot for wedding photos.

Next door to St. Michael’s, and much more spartan in appearance, lies the Qingdao Christian Church. The church was built from 1908-1910 using granite from nearby Mount Lao. A green-roofed bell tower stands in contrast to the traditional red roofs of the church and most of Old Qingdao. The bell tower is open to tourists, and a 40-meter climb up steep steps reveals a remarkable view of the city.

Of course, being Germans, they also built a brewery. The Germania Brewery was founded in 1903 and began to introduce the Chinese to beer. The brewery would later change its name to Tsingtao Brewery and is mainly responsible for Qingdao still being referred to as “The Beer City” in China. Fifty years ago, Tsingtao Beer began to be exported and it has since become China’s best-selling beer worldwide. It is also the first Chinese company to go public outside of China.

Another famous German-built structure is the former Governor’s Mansion. The 4,000 square foot mansion was the home of the German Governor-General of Qingdao and features 30 rooms, each with a unique style and distinct fireplace. In 1934 it was renamed the Guest House and became a hotel for visiting dignitaries and VIPs. It still exists as a hotel, museum, and art gallery.

Despite the lasting reminders, the German occupation of Qingdao was relatively short-lived. In 1914, World War I broke out. Japan quickly invaded several areas of China, including Qingdao, and quickly kicked the Germans out. This first 20th-century Japanese occupation of Qingdao would last eight years. The Japanese would again invade Qingdao as a prelude to World War II in 1938.

“Coffee makes us severe, and grave, and philosophical.” – Jonathan Swift

While most things are almost back to normal in China, travel remains one aspect of life that is still suffering a large Covid-induced impact. Only a handful of Asian countries have opened their borders to tourism and China’s current restrictions mean that if I do leave the country, I won’t be able to get back in for, perhaps, months. Before Covid, I had gotten used to traveling internationally every other month but now I’ve been stuck in my adopted city of Qingdao since early February. I’m really feeling that itch to travel and among all the places I’ve been, I think I miss Vietnam the most.

Vietnam is an absolutely beautiful country with tremendously friendly people and possibly the best food in all of Asia, although Malaysia could make a good argument. I’ve been to Vietnam now three different times and have spent quite a bit of time in the south, central highlands, and central coast. On my last trip, I had the great pleasure to visit a coffee farm on Langbiang Mountain in the Central Highlands and it was one of the highlights of my time in Vietnam.

The coffee tree was introduced to Vietnam by the French in the 1800s and the central highlands have proved a perfect place to cultivate them. So much so that Vietnam now ranks just behind Brazil as the second largest coffee producer in the world. While they do produce some fine Arabica coffee, the type of coffee is mostly sold in coffee shops where the drinker is able, usually, to delineate different flavor profiles, they also produce the most Robusta coffee in the world. This is the type of coffee that is often used in instant coffee mixes and typically drank by local Vietnamese, although usually with condensed milk (ca phe sua da) or, my favorite, an egg yolk (ca phe trung).

My Vietnamese friend, Chrisstyna, and I set out early one morning for the 30-minute scooter ride from Da Lat through the highland mountains of Lam Dong to the K’ho Coffee Farm. The most common mode of transportation used in Vietnam is the scooter. In cities like Saigon, they are ubiquitous, as abundant as taxis in New York traffic. Luckily, the traffic in the mountains isn’t as bad and we had a clear ride, winding through the mountains.The K’ho are an ethnic minority group in Vietnam that live in the Lam Dong mountains. Many are coffee farmers.

The K’ho Coffee Farm is run by Rolan, a fourth generation coffee farmer, and her husband, Joshua, who wasn’t there on the day we took our tour. Rolan was extremely warm and welcoming and brewed us a cup of hot coffee immediately on our arrival. She then walked us down a hill to start our tour, passing through rows of coffee trees. Coffee grows likes cherries on a tree and a few were ripe enough to pick off and taste.

From the trees, Rolan and another guide walked us through every step of the coffee process. We were even able to take our coffee through that process and eventually roast it, using a few different methods. We tasted a dozen or so coffees and were taught how to detect the flavor profiles. As a coffee snob who thought he knew all there was to know about the elixir of life, I was amazed at how much I didn’t know about it.

The tour lasted throughout the morning and at noon, we walked back to the cafe where we had begun our tour. There we were served a traditional K’ho lunch and relaxed on the veranda. Rolan even played us a tune on the t’rung, a traditional bamboo xylophone.

On the way back to Dalat, we stopped off in the mountains for one more cup of coffee. This time, it was the famous weasel coffee, Kopi Luwak. Weasel coffee is actually a bit of a misnomer, however, as in Vietnam it is the civet cat that eats the coffee cherries and defecated them back out to be roasted. Yes, some of the most delicious, and expensive, coffee in the world comes from the excrement of these adorable varmints, although I’m really curious as to who was the first person who thought it was a good idea to try it!

Two weeks ago, movie theaters opened in my city for the first time since they were closed in January in response to COVID-19. With no new films to show, as those have almost all been released in on-demand streaming services, theaters have been running previous blockbuster hits, both western and Chinese: Harry Potter, Zootopia, and what has been jokingly referred to as the start of “Christopher Nolan Season” Inception and Interstellar (His newest film, Tenet, is due to open in China on September 4.) have been the biggest hits. Today, I went to the cinema for the first time in six months to see the highly regarded Chinese animation, Ne Zha, one of last year’s biggest films that I had missed.

Cinemas were given strict guidelines in order to reopen and I noticed the difference right away. I went on my app to purchase tickets, almost no one in China buys tickets at the box office because the app is not only more convenient but cheaper, and found that for the first time it was asking to verify my phone number and passport number before I was able to purchase tickets. This is the first step in being able to track everyone that is going into the theater, in case someone does test positive, everyone that was at the theater at the same time will be tracked down, tested, and incubated until the tests come back negative.

Upon arrival at the cinema, I signed in at the front desk that sits at the lobby entrance. There they took my temperature and checked my health code – since early March, everyone has been required to keep an up-to-date health code app on their phone that will scan in real-time to show if we have been in the vicinity of anyone who has tested positive for COVID-19. Luckily, my health code was green and my temperature normal, and I was allowed into the theater.

Unfortunately, one of the precautions being taken is that masks are required at all times inside the theater. As a result, the concessions stand is closed and you must finish any food or drink before you enter the theater. Another rule, one that is much more pleasing, is that only every third seat can be sold, so you must have a buffer seat on either side of you. Once the feature starts, an usher will often watch the front to make sure you obey the mask rules and if you’ve been able to sneak in some food or drink, they will ask you to take it outside.

At this point, I’d like to give a review of the film but after jumping through all of those hoops, once the film started, I quickly realized there were no English subtitles. I tried to follow it for about fifteen minutes but couldn’t understand enough of the Chinese, unfortunately, and left. Now, I’m just hoping that none of the other half-dozen people at the screening tests positive for COVID-19. I’d hate to be tracked down and incubated for a movie I didn’t even see!

Lately, the dog days of summer are really getting to me. Each day brings ridiculous heat topped off by unbearable humidity. Days like these make me think back to cooler temps. Much cooler temps. Temps around -20 degrees. Those were the daily highs when I spent my Christmas holiday in Harbin two years ago.

Harbin is a cold but bustling city in the Dongbei (literally “east north”) region of China, close to the Russian border. From late spring to early autumn, it is mostly a farming community, having the most nutrient-rich soil in all of China, but for the majority of the year, it is a frigid but beautiful metropolis. There is a Russian influence throughout the city from the architecture to the cuisine to the toughness of the people.

Our reason for going up there in the middle of winter, where you can witness the centigrade and Fahrenheit scales meeting at a balmy -40 degrees, was to witness first-hand some of the most beautiful snow and ice sculptures in the world. For the past 57 years, the Harbin Snow and Ice Festival has attracted bundled-up tourists from all over the world to see buildings made of ice and intricate snow sculptures that often stand several stories tall. Words can’t do them justice, so I’ve included some of the best below.

While the sights are certainly breathtaking, it requires an effort to get around and see everything. Despite wearing five layers of clothing, the night is so cold that you can only stay outside for about 30-45 minutes at a time. Scattered throughout the festival grounds are warming tents where you can duck inside, have a beer, and stand next to a fire, or at least an electric heater. In one of the tents, they even had some arctic wolves there to keep you company inside of a cage made of ice.

After our days and nights of walking around in the freezing cold, we were able to find some great Russian and Chinese restaurants, both serving hearty food to warm our bones. We feasted on a Christmas Dinner of twice-cooked pork, tofu, a collection of root vegetables, pork belly, and delicious chicken soup.

It’s been called Asia’s Oktoberfest and is one of the largest beer festivals in the world. This time of year in Qingdao always means the kickoff of the 24-day beer festival, where more than 1,400 beers will be available to taste at any one of the three major venues in the city.

Qingdao has a rich beer history going back to when the city was occupied by the Germans from 1898-1914. The Germans introduced their drink to this area of China and even established the Tsingtao Brewery in 1903, which has gone on to be China’s most well-known beer export.

I’ve been to the Beer Festival in each of the three previous summers I’ve been in Qingdao and it’s always a good time. The main campus for the Festival is held out in Huangado, a district that lies across the Jiaozhou Bay and almost feels like traveling to another city. Near the famous Golden Sand Beach, a small city the size of an amusement park is erected to host the Beer Festival, which runs every day from July 31- August 23. There are dozens of tents offering up different beers, food, and entertainment.

The entertainment runs from traditional Chinese dances, to live calligraphy painting (as exciting as it sounds), to Cirque du Soleil-style acrobatics, to beer-chugging contests, to drag shows, to live bands. Back in 2017, I saw Pittsburgh-originals Squonk Opera perform outside the main tent with their 50-foot-tall inflated Lady Pneumatic towering above the crowd.

Even with over 1,400 beers to chose from, the choices are unfortunately quite disappointing. While most beer festivals exist to showcase the smaller breweries, the Qingdao Beer Festival is all about the macro-beer labels. Budweiser, Becks, and Heineken are out in full force, as are many of the other massive international breweries. These breweries control the majority of the taps and you have to look long and hard to find something you wouldn’t be able to pick up any supermarket. The best place I’ve found for these is inside the German tents, which often carry many of the country’s smaller labels that are often difficult to find outside of Germany.

The strangest thing about the festival experience is that you soon realize that only a small percentage of people are actually drinking. It seems most of the Chinese just show up to people watch or take in the entertainment. Entire families will take over a table, usually bringing their own food. The children will run around close to naked in the sticky summer heat while dad might enjoy a pitcher or two by himself because, while most of the patrons aren’t drinking, the ones that do imbibe are more than making up for it.

Initially, this wasn’t meant as a blog post. It started as something I was going to pitch to film sites as an essay idea but then just wrote it up as a writing exercise. I liked it enough to throw it up here. It’s also timely, as Kevin Smith will turn 50 on Sunday. Your regularly scheduled “Life in Asia” content will return next week. Enjoy.

In the past few months, I’ve been getting back into screenwriting and filmmaking. Covid-19 has obviously made it difficult to do any kind of production but I’ve been doing a lot of writing and, at least, planning for some future shoots. With that in mind, I realized that Kevin Smith, a writer and filmmaker that has inspired me multiple times to pursue this path, is quickly coming up on his 50th birthday. Even, if you aren’t a fan of his films, if you are trying to become a filmmaker, there are worse models to try and emulate than Smith.

Clerks was one of the first films that I saw that made me want to be a filmmaker. Made for a budget just over $27,000, this was the first time that a feature film seemed like something that was possible to make. Smith often talks about how seeing Richard Linklater’s Slacker at a midnight screening made him want to go to film school and become a filmmaker. He did and just four years later, he released Clerks. I think I saw it for the first time in early 1995 and, like Smith after seeing Slacker, it started me on the path to becoming a filmmaker.

I came of age in that golden age of indie filmmaking that was the early 1990s. I watched films like Clerks, Slacker, El Mariachi, Reservoir Dogs, Gas Food Lodging, and Dazed and Confused seemingly on repeat. I read about these upcoming directors in Premiere and Filmmaker Magazines and explored the catalogs of the directors they said had inspired them. I was convinced that soon it would be my face that would be gracing the covers of these magazines.

I did go to film school in Pittsburgh. I was the last class through to actually shoot and edit everything on film, which cost a small fortune to make even five-minute student films. Once I graduated from film school, I worked on a few projects that were coming through Pittsburgh. I was too broke to move to LA and I also thought that in Pittsburgh there was a decent enough film scene and it offered the chance to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Plus, Smith, Linklater, Robert Rodriguez, and many other of the filmmakers I admired had come from and were working outside of Hollywood.

I knew the odds were stacked against me but I thought success would somehow come easy. I expected that soon I would write a script that would be good enough to raise a little bit of money so that I could shoot it locally, place it in festivals, and cause a bidding war among distributors. The first few screenplays I wrote were terrible. I was trying to write like Smith, or Tarantino, or Linklater. Sometimes all three at once. Besides that, while I knew the amount of luck involved in not just making a film but getting a distribution deal, I never really accepted it as reality.

Smith would be the first to tell you that he was incredibly lucky that the Village Voice’s Amy Taubin happened to catch a screening of Clerks. Her review was what helped it get it into Sundance and eventually picked up by Miramax. Had she not seen it, Clerks could have been just another great low-budget film that hardly anyone saw. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of those out there. One of my favorite films is an ultra-low-budget film called, You Are Alone, written and directed by Gorman Bechard that was on the festival circuit in 2005 but most people I talk to have never heard of it.

All wasn’t for naught in Pittsburgh. I found some likeminded collaborators and we worked on some projects together. Shorts, no-to-low budgets, documentaries; I worked on several different projects with a lot of good people. I even did a little work in front of the camera appearing as an extra in a couple of bigger Hollywood films but also acting in a number of local low-budget films. The Flint Journal even reviewed one of my performances as “exuding every-man charisma.” Beat that Daniel Day-Lewis!

I also worked on developing a few projects that I thought could be good enough to raise a decent budget. I flew out to LA a few times for some meetings that I hoped would lead to something. We came close to getting a few things made. Really close in one or two cases. This should have inspired me. It should have told me that my hard work was on the verge of paying off. I should have doubled down and kept up the press. Instead, I had the opposite reaction. I became frustrated that people weren’t recognizing my “genius” or at least the genius of the projects I was proud to be working on. Looking back now, I realize how foolish I was.

Smith would inspire me as a filmmaker again in 2011, when his horror film Red State premiered at Sundance. Never mind that the film was a well-directed, Westboro Baptist Church-inspired horror film that showcased a new side of the up-until-now comedic filmmaker, it’s what happened after the screening that me double down on my Kevin Smith fandom. Normally, every filmmaker dreams of selling their film after a successful screening at Sundance and when Smith took the stage after the screening, many assumed he would be making a pitch for a distributor to take a chance on a well-known comedic filmmaker working in a new genre. Instead, Smith turned the tables.

He bounded to the stage in a hockey sweater and wielding a hockey stick, honestly, both are pretty on-brand for Smith. Slash Film has a great recap of this, as well as the video here, but at the podium, he auctioned off the rights to Red State and promptly closed it with his own bid of $20. He then went on a long rant, again not out of the ordinary as he is never short of words, about how the Hollywood distribution system was broken and he was taking a chance on himself instead. He explained the hockey stick as a tip of the cap to one of his idols, Wayne Gretzky, who famously said you don’t skate to where the puck is, you skate to where it’s heading. Smith was trying to do the same thing. He announced that he was going to four-wall his film, taking it out on the road, screening it with fans, and then doing Q&As in the theater afterward.

Smith had built up a big following in his years as a filmmaker, only partly attributed to his films. He was one of the first to podcast and has since created a ridiculous amount of podcasts with a variety of themes and topics. Still, at the time, his idea of four-walling Red State seemed crazy. He was lambasted in Deadline, the Hollywood Reporter, and virtually all of Hollywood. I, however, perked my head up. As someone who had failed to break through the gatekeepers in the film industry, I was on his side. I thought it was crazy enough to work. The more I read about it, the more I thought that this would become the future. Hollywood routinely spends $20-25 million to market a $5 million movie. Instead of wasting all that money appealing to the masses, Smith would take his movie straight to the fans.

Kevin Kelly has written a famous blog post about needing 1,000 true fans to be successful as a creator. Smith obviously had more than that but he was using the same concept. The reason that this has inspired me wasn’t for his “fuck you” to Hollywood, although that was quite enjoyable. The real reason is that it has allowed Smith to do what he wants and make the kinds of films that he wants to make. And that is really the dream of any creator.

As technology becomes cheaper and the amount of networks and streaming services continues to grow like weeds, the gatekeepers are becoming less and less relevant. Smith jumped on board in the infancy of this trend. Granted he was already financially and artistically successful at that point, but he was still betting on himself for his creative future. If you are trying to become a filmmaker and have your work seen, you no longer have to pay your dues in the Hollywood system. It’s more important to create and nurture your own audience. Work on building your 1,000 true fans. Smith was the first one that made me start thinking this way but it’s since become a much bigger trend.

I met Smith once in 2008, when he was in Pittsburgh shooting Zack and Miri Make a Porno. I was working at the luxury apartments where he and much of the cast and crew stayed. He couldn’t have been more friendly or humble. As I continue to not throw in the towel and trying to “make it” as a writer and filmmaker, I just wanted to tip my cap to someone that has inspired me over the years. Happy 50th, Kevin Smith!

This week, in honor of my nephew’s 6th birthday, and his obsession with Bruce Lee, I’ve decided to recount my weekend trip to Hong Kong over Dragon Boat Festival in 2017. Dragon Boat Festival is a Chinese holiday that falls in either May or June each year on the traditional calendar. One of the highlights of the Festival is dragon boat racing, of which Hong Kong is home to arguably the best in the world.

Hong Kong has always been high on my destination list as it’s the home of one of my favorite filmmakers, Wong Kar-Wai, and the setting for several of his best films. I had a list of filming locations from his movies that I wanted to see up close and that took priority over any boat races. I booked a small hotel room in Tsim Sha Tsui, the neighborhood where much of two of Wong’s films, Chungking Express and Fallen Angels, were filmed. In fact, the hotel was smack dab between the Chungking Mansions, made famous in Chungking Express, and the address where Bruce Lee grew up, which has unfortunately since turned into a gaudy shopping mall.

When I say that I booked a small hotel room, that may be an understatement. Hong Kong is notoriously congested and, as such, living quarters can be extremely cramped. Even the western chain hotels, which were all sold out on account of the holiday, barely give you enough room to stretch out. Lying in my twin bed at a local establishment, I could touch three walls at once and was only maybe a foot away from the fourth.

I arrived on a Saturday and spent the day exploring the city. People were flocking in from all over the globe for the races that were scheduled for Tuesday. I met several people from Scandinavia, Africa, New Zealand, and British Columbia that were all there to compete.

Of course, the other big draw to Hong Kong is the food. With living quarters so small and many homes lacking kitchens, Hong Kong is home to a ridiculous amount of restaurants and its most famous export is dim sum, a cuisine of several small plates of food that are often steamed or fried. Saturday night, I dined out at Tim Ho Wan, a Michelin-starred dim sum chain. It is famous for being one of the cheapest Michelin restaurants in the world and my dinner of pork bun, shrimp vermicelli roll, and spare rib came to about $9 US and was a contender for one of the best meals I’ve ever had.

Sundays make for great mornings for strolling around the most popular areas in Hong Kong. The city is home to almost half a million migrant domestic workers, most of which come from Philippines and Indonesia. These workers will work six days off a week but get Sundays off. Since they usually live with their host families and have no residence of their own, they instead will gather together with their countrywomen on the sidewalks and in the parks. They will lay out blankets and have large picnics with loads of delicious homemade food. Some play music and dance, some catch up on gossip, while others just use the time to catch up on rest.

As I was walking across a big courtyard filled with several picnics taking place, a group of Filipinas invited me to join them on their blanket to enjoy some pork adobo with them. I hung out with them for a few hours, eating and chatting, until the heat and humidity got too much to bear and I left to find some air conditioning.

On Monday, I decided to take the ferry to Macao. I was curious to see the island once colonized by the Portuguese that is now split almost down the middle: the northern half being the old Portuguese part of the island and the southern half, made up of casinos. This turned out to be a horrible idea, however, as all of the tourists in town for the boat races apparently had the same thought. The casinos were packed to the gills and the lines for buses or taxis to the other side of the island were consistently about 50 people deep. I spent a few hours at the Venetian Casino, lost a little bit of money playing Blackjack, and then decided on catching the ferry back.

Tuesday morning came and I met up with the Filipinas that I had met on Sunday. They had an extra day off because of the holiday and we decided to go out together to Stanley Beach to see the Dragon Boat Races. The beach was packed and we fought to get a decent spot. We watched several races before getting bored and exploring the surrounding inlet. Doing anything during daytime in Hong Kong can be difficult, though, because of the awful humidity and we quickly found our way to an air-conditioned bar.

Tuesday evening, I spent at the Avenue of the Stars park nearby my hotel. The small area is home to the famous Bruce Lee statue, as well as handprints and plaques from several famous Hong Kong natives, including Wong Kar-Wai, Jackie Chan, Maggie Cheung, and many more. Finally, I made one last run to Tim Ho Wan before catching my flight home.

Hong Kong is a beautiful city that is like nowhere else on Earth. In the past year, protests, riots, and overbearing police have made it a difficult place to visit. The people of Hong Kong are fighting to preserve their way of life and I fully support them. I really hope to get back there soon and more than anything, I stand with the people of Hong Kong in their fight to keep their freedoms.