Week Three: The First Sign of Homesickness, Temple Street, and the Discovery Bay Beach Party

Confession: I've always been a little cocky when people try to warn me about anything.  

It's not that I have an invincibility complex or anything- my myriad of injuries acquired as a child and my far-from-perfect driving record have kept me fully aware of man's limits.  However, I think growing up as the youngest of three children instilled a certain identifiable sense of indignation in my personality that I probably couldn't fight if I tried to.  

That being said, I always scoffed just a little bit when friends, family, and Stetson personnel told me that I'd probably experience homesickness during my stay here in Hong Kong.  I mean, I always knew that those who were issuing the warning meant well, but to be quite honest, I never thought it applied to me.  I was raised in a military family- up until I was 10 years old, I didn't even live anywhere long enough to feel like I had a home to be sick for.  When I left for college three years ago, I was more than ready to watch Middleburg fade out of my rearview window.  My independent streak has always served me well.

It came as a shock, then, when September 9 rolled around and I found myself desperately wishing I could hop on a plane, endure that 16 hour flight, and come home.  I didn't want to leave my room.  I didn't want to sit through any more classes where I was the only exchange student.  I had no interest in talking with my friends, much less going out of my way to make new ones.  

After a solid two days of lethargic misery, I had to admit that the impossible had happened: I was homesick.  My desire to prove something to myself by being here took a backseat to my desire to go back to the life I knew this summer.  I wanted to share a glass of wine with my mom, hold my boyfriend's hand, and joke around with my sister and her family.  Most of all, though, I wanted to tell my brother 'Happy Birthday' in person instead of over a Skype call.  Despite all the ways technology has made staying in touch easier than ever, I felt more alone when I disconnected the call than when I had dialed his number.  

My brush with discontent left me feeling more alone than I ever had in my life.  I began to identify with Michael Buble's song "Home" more than I'd actually care to admit (though now, of course, I can laugh at the image of me sulking in my room to the yuppiest singer in my iTunes library).  Slowly though, after several encouraging conversations with my support system from home (and after repeating aforementioned song an embarrassing number of times), I snapped out of it.  The proverbial fog lifted, ol' Mikey started to sound annoyingly whiny instead of brilliant, and even the rice down at Fiesta stopped tasting so damn bland.

Feeling refreshed, I finished the week more determined than ever to really throw myself into the culture of Hong Kong and to get to know as many people as possible while I'm here.  On Thursday night, I joined a group of students from the European Studies department for a trip to Temple Street, a popular night market known for its local cuisine and abundance of fortune tellers.  

Our first stop was a restaurant that, to put it lightly, I would probably never set foot inside of back in the States.  I forced myself to stop trying to count the number of health code violations I was subjecting myself to, and instead focused on making friends with the people at my table.

Loki, Me, Andy, Joey, Tonny, and Manuel

As with most 'authentic' restaurants I've visited since my arrival, the food selection had to be ordered by someone who spoke Mandarin.  Luckily, we had Andy at our table, and he took the responsibility of ordering food for our table.  The food was delicious, though I'm glad that I'd already finished eating when I saw a bug crawl across the banner behind Tonny.  Maybe it's the American in me showing itself, but I probably won't go back there.

Once everyone finished their dinner, we proceeded to explore the Temple Street night market.  I didn't really see anything that caught my eye until we rounded the corner and saw booths offering mystic direction for reasonable prices.  I don't necessarily buy into everything that fortune tellers say, but I think it's interesting that so many cultures embrace the art of tarot, palm reading, and numerology.  I've had two readings done in Cassadaga, so it should come as no surprise that I insisted on finding someone who could tell me my fortune by the end of the night.

I convinced my friend Craig (another American) to join me, and we enlisted the help of two local students to translate.  Since we couldn't read any of the signs that hung above the individual booths, we chose the mystic who looked the most authentic:

Check out that beard! 

This guy spoke absolutely no English, but we figured his gray hair, black shirt, and impressive facial hair lent him enough credibility to earn our money.  I decided to go first, and for $200HKD, this is what I learned:

• My current boyfriend is too strong for me (sorry, Jack).  My husband will have to be less intelligent than me, emotionally weaker, slightly feminine, and he must have a receding hairline.
• I'm going to get a job after I graduate (which is good news), but it will be in law, architecture, or finance.  Obviously, that English degree I'm finishing this year will serve me well.
• I need to have children between 2013-2018.  Considering I told the man my birth date and I'll turn 30 in 2018, that didn't strike me as a major revelation of any kind.
• I'll be very lucky until I'm 56.  No elaboration was given as to why things will change for me in 2044.
• I'll make a lot of money (call me materialistic, but this one made me feel a little better about the prospect of marrying a sissy boy).
• Apparently all of my major organs are going to go rogue- like my liver, kidney, and heart- and I should look into Chinese medicine when they start turning on me.
• I'm going to weigh 200 kilograms at some point in my life (translation: 400+ pounds).  Interestingly, though, he followed this with the advice to avoid wearing black because it will hinder my chances for having children.  Sorry, bud- if I'm going to be that big, you better believe I'll be wearing black from head to toe.
• I'm aggressive in personality (true) and really pessimistic (false).  
• I should wear only red and yellow.  Again, maybe it's the American in me, but I refuse to limit myself to that color combination.  I'll take my chances with black

After we left Temple Street, Craig, Tonny and I were invited to experience a crash course in local desserts.  Having never turned down an offer for chocolate/ice cream/sugar in my life, I gladly joined (and if it's in my fate to weigh over 400 pounds, then saying no wouldn't have helped, anyway).  Most of the treats we sampled were delicious, but there was one in particular that I remember vehemently hating.  Basically, it consisted of some kind of black, runny sesame seed liquid which hid these flour dough balls filled with sesame seeds.  Two words: never again.

If you're ever offered something that looks like the bowl in the middle of the table that's overflowing with black liquid, say no.  There's a reason that bowl is still full and every other one is empty.

The final highlight of the week was an 80's Beach Party that took place at Discovery Bay.  About 30 of us exchange students decided to check it out together.  We set out for the shore armed with our towels, wayfarers, and desire to obtain the promised free drinks that were allegedly waiting for us.

When we arrived at the beach, though, free alcohol was nowhere to be found.  Instead, there was an overabundance of small children, foreigners (but not party-people foreigners like us), and groups with matching ugly t-shirts.  Apparently, the only party taking place by the water was a Cricket tournament.  We'd been duped.

Or so we thought- until we found an energetic local who pointed us towards a deck that was practically overflowing with free margaritas and Carlsbergs.  I don't know what it was like when Moses and his wanderers finally saw the Promised Land after 40 years of wandering in the desert, but I imagine it to be something like the overwhelming sense of relief we experienced after wandering around sober for ten minutes.  

The day was more fun than should be allowed, and that's putting it lightly.  I think one of my favorite things about the exchange students I've met is that we all at least have a basic desire to let loose while we're here, and let loose we did.  There was more laughter, silliness, and tequila packed into the few hours we spent on the deck than I've experienced in quite a while.  It's funny how those three things tend to show up together.

Laughter- the universal language

This weekend was by far the best cure for homesickness I could have asked for.  I'm looking forward to three more months of moments like these.

Love, hugs, and happiness,

Natalie xox