This article is not about the tourist, the traveller and the sun seeker but the outsider in a foreign land where attitude, lifestyle and culture may not be so clear or apparent to the one who does not belong.
The Kaohsiung Story
Recently, in Kaohsiung, I got lost and ended up wandering the back streets of an industrial zone and not a new one at that. I started to walk quicker to get away from the gangs of dogs that tend to frequent these sorts of areas and who like to bite the odd leg or two. Anyway, whilst scurrying along in the shadows I heard a sort of creaking noise and turning around I found this 'man on a bicycle' riding slowly in my footsteps. Being the only other person around in this desolate wasteland I gave this toothless and inanely grinning bloke a little smile of acknowledgement and then turned back to my task of moving forwards as quickly as possible.
We proceeded in this fashion for another large block or so, me scurrying along with this 'fool' just staring at me and keeping in step on his bicycle and I starting to sweat rivers. At the next corner, I noted more streets of the same echoing emptiness, stretching off endlessly into the distance, and it then becaem clear that I needed help in extricating myself from this maze. So I stopped and gently asked my toothless-fairy how I could get to where I wanted to go. Well, this bettle nut chewing clown, stopped his peddling as I stopped my walking and spat a big streak of reddened spittle onto the street just missing my feet by millimetres. He then eyed me up and down, and after suitable inspection he just upped and peddled away with his bow legs that would have put John Wayne's to shame!
I managed to escape the maze of the complex and regain the safety of civilisation but not without the hairs on the back of my neck working overtime. In retrospect my dogged and grinning friend might have been totally harmless, the grinning and apelike qualities just interest in the alien species he had encountered.
Many locals feel that foreigners are a threat to their existence, an annoyance or change that is not liked. Not so long ago in Scotland a Chinese man walking along the road would be suffused with a liberal helping of comments from passer-by's who somehow must have thought that the foreigner had no feelings whatsoever. "Hey you, chinky", would be a common shout or "go home flied lice". Certainly these unjustified jibes do not occur any more, unless one happens to be walking down Leith Walk or through Wester Hailes late at night but the opposite can be said for other countries.
The African Jaunt
Pleased to get a Sunday afternoon off of the ship I went for a stroll along the beach front and through the town of Dar Es Salaam in East Africa. I am quite young looking for my age and although this tends to work well in some situations back home it did not help me out here. Just walking along was a mere impossibility and should I have heeded the constant shouts and questions thrown at me, I would not have moved an inch! Young boys clamoured up to me pulling at my t-shirt, grasping my hand and suggesting that I needed some coca cola! Older people brushed by me, breathing spookily in my ear that I could buy "hash at cheap price", and others shouted over the top of all with offers of taxi rides, cheap woman and food.
Getting away from the quagmire was no easy feat and having done so without shedding blood I was followed on my way with catcalls of "stinking foreigner go home" and hey 'jerry' boy. This last shout is a term used for a boy who is a virgin! Not the pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll I thought it would be.
It is not always the colour of a stranger that becomes an issue though. An Englishman in the heart of the Gorbals in Glasgow might wish he was never there when faced with a bunch of knife carrying Glaswegian thugs (carpet fitters) having a night out on the town. What can often become an issue results simply from being different, from having a different accent or from wearing different clothes.
The Spanish Fiasco
In Balboa, near the docks and lost I once asked a friendly looking Spanish gentleman for directions to the city centre. He was alone with his dog and looked extremely harmless and I thought he would be a safe bet as an information bank. Well, I went up to him and started the usual spiel of "Excuse me Sir, can you help me I am lost". I never really got past the 'lost' word as by that time he had his stick up in the air, his dog was cowering behind his leg and he was ranting and raving about foreigners coming to his country. Sort of followed the lines of "you come to Spain, you can't talk, you all trouble. I learn English, you know nothing".
Well to cut a long story short I legged it from the scene; hoping that his stickpin legs couldn't move as fast as mine and that his dog was not really a mastiff in disguise.
But it can not always be said that trouble or mayhem results from misunderstanding. Should a foreigner make it known in most parts of France that he is Scottish then the doors are flung open wide, whilst mentioning the fact that one is English and the doors slam shut.
The French Laugh
I was with a mate off the ship for the afternoon and we had decided to walk up the hill from the docks of St Malo to the larger town of San Briuc at the top of the hill. Well, off we set and an hour or so later found ourselves suitably lost amongst a myriad of roads that wended through what seemed to be an impenetrable forest. Well, being sensible we decided to seek help and just at that moment a little old lady with a dolled up poodle happened to come around a corner and towards us. We approached this lady who had now stopped to let her dog sniff and we asked her in slow English which way to San Briuc. We asked once and we asked again, we tried "saaan breeeeeuc", "sannnnnn brrrruuuuuuuc", "san bric" and "san brac".
We tried every possible intonation and pronunciation of the towns name and the whole time she just looked at us without expression or for that matter even acknowledgement of our presence. Well, upon looking at her and at each other we came to the silent conclusion that she was not on planet earth with us.
We were about to move off when she suddenly broke out into the most delightful laugh I have ever heard and saying San Briuc (which I thought we had said correctly the first time) she pointed up the hill. She walked away from us laughing and smiling and saying San Briuc repeatedly as she toddled off down the hill! It was the most amazing transformation I have ever seen in anyone and the most delightful circumstance of being a lost foreigner that I have ever had.
Being a stranger though is not only about coping with being unable to speak the language or to communicate with locals. A lot can be about cultural differences, simple things like the cars driving on the wrong side of the road can be disorientating or the high speed antics of millions of mopeds that resemble the insides of a wasps nest can be extremely disturbing. Trying to work out currencies to prevent being ripped off, using a telephone or public lavatory worse than trying to assemble a DIY kitchen cabinet and wandering if the amber traffic light means 'go' or 'wait'.
The Indian Problem
In India one fine day a group of us where enjoying the Scenery and life in Tuticorin. Walking around town we found ourselves fighting the traffic and wandering how cows are allowed to cause traffic jams that run for miles. Deciding to head further into town we opted to take the local form of transport in the way of a peddled rickshaw and jumping in we set off on our escapade.
Everything went smoothly and we arrived in the centre of town unscathed but slightly jostled and decided that a few photographs would round off the escapade in style. We set to with our cameras and in turn positioned ourselves around the rickshaw in stances and poses worthy of National Geographic and would have continued except for a very irate driver who jumped between us with a very large stick in his hand.
He got very angry indeed and before long a group had formed of angry locals, all shouting at us and pointing hysterically at our cameras. We were shocked at the drastic turn of events and only realised after considerable consternation for our safety that photography was frowned upon, unless a suitable fee was paid to the owner of the object being photographed! Lucky for us our shots of the cows and daily life had not been noted!
Food is often a tricky matter to navigate in a foreign country. When faced with a menu that is in a strange language the idea of asking the waiter for help becomes imperative. Even then the language barrier exists and what arrives on the table may not put the waiter's exclamations of "superb" into reality. And one nation's idea of excellent fare may not be what another nation agrees with.
The Korean Gift
After three long weeks in Inchon, Korea we were ashore for the last time in a bar that had become our local. We did not want to exchange more money or to use our visa cards again so we were busy pooling together the meagre remains of local currency aimed towards purchasing a final round of beers before heading back to the ship for the last time.
With our money in front of us we were ready to order the last few bottles when the barmaid decided to take matters into her own hands. She picked up the loose change in one fell swoop and vanished out of the door. We thought then that this was the last we would see of her, assuming incorrectly that she was upset, that we had not tipped her enough previously or just that as she knew it was out last night she wanted the money for own.
Whilst slowly picking ourselves up off our seats she happily re-appeared, back through the door with a brown paper bag that she plonked on the table in front of us. Her actions and tone told us that we should open up the bag and so we did, only to find a large pile of dried fish that immediately began polluting the air around us! In her eyes she had done us a good deed, obviously this dried fish was a delicacy in Inchon and so .we munched politely on the dried, salty, pungent and rubber like shoe inserts until some brave person decided that a sharp exit was in order!
We would have done anything for a beer to wash the taste away but that was something we did not have and now no money to get!
In the western world 'secure' shopping is a pleasurable experience that empties the wallet and gives material wealth all around. In many countries shopping is also a pleasurable experience to the locals that live there and a trying time for those unaware of what to expect. Markets the world over can be a frightening affair with stall owners screaming their wares unintelligibly, people stampeding to get to the cheap and with bargaining the only way to buy without paying well over the odds! To shut out the hysterical, avoid the stampedes and learning to barter is a basic lesson that all foreigners should learn and this simple education can turn a nightmare into a enjoyable experience.
The Moroccan Purchase
I arrived in Tangiers, Morocco early in the morning only to find that my ship would not be arriving till late evening. Having checked into my hotel I decided to step out onto the slopes of the shopping district and see what the town was made of. Having navigated through the dock area and the hash sellers I wound my way up the hill and ended up in what seemed to be a sitting room with a few more carpets than one would have thought necessary. Drawn in by a smiling gentleman I was physically placed into a chair and a cup of strong mint tea appeared in my hand.
Over the ensuing five hours I drank cup after cup of mint tea as I watched an amazing show unravel in front of me. Carpets, wall hangings, rugs, mats and floor coverings of every shape, size, colour and material where unrolled and none were put away until I either exclaimed or nodded my head in suitable admiration.
When the sun started to dim the room as it slipped behind some invisible horizon and just about when I was making a silent apology to my dentist for the amount of sugar that I just consumed via the mint teas, I noted that my hosts seemed to have finished their six hour long performance. In front of me now lay five carpets that I realised had been the ones that I had exclaimed over louder than all of the others.
In the end after much bartering and price haggling, my American Express card came out and into play and before I had even joined the ship I had purchased two lovely carpets, one a red woven wool deep pile carpet and one a bright purple silk floor covering and I didn't even own a house to put them in!
I did not see those purchases for another twelve weeks as they were shipped straight home to the UK. All that I had to remind me of this lengthy barter show was a sore bum and a couple of mouth ulcers that took weeks to dissipate.
Certainly as a stranger in a foreign land, for example the seafarer who has recourse to no country literature before his arrival, a few simple steps can turn any experience into an adventure; rather than at worst a trip to a local hospital or at best a series of little misunderstandings. Going ashore with obvious jewellery or well tailored clothes is not advisable as a notable gap has been made between the stranger and the local in one fell swoop. Large cameras or mobile phones, wallets sticking out of back pockets and raunchy handbags are not advisable: in fact a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and a bit of cash in the pocket is all that's required in most places.
Furthermore reference to a guide book should one be handy that covers cultural 'boohas' should be a first stop purchase for any stranger. An open mind is also something that all strangers should have and the idea that a smile and a friendly nod goes along way! And the understanding that some cultures tend not to use toilet paper when finishing the job, that grasshoppers are not so bad to eat if one can remove the suggested image from their minds and that trains in Britain never run on time..and so on!
Ieuan Dolby
Author and Webmaster of SeaDolby.com
Copyright © Ieuan Dolby, Nov. 2004
