Traveling for Christmas to see family

I was chatting with a colleague this morning about traveling during the Christmas period. Although he and his wife both live in the San Francisco Bay Area now, they are both originally from Ohio, where they met, dated, and got married, so they have similar friend groups and their parents live only a 15-minute drive from each other. So when they go home during the Christmas period, they always fly back to Columbus and go back and forth between each set of parents’ places every few days between the days before Christmas and before New Year’s Day. “We’re really fortunate that we don’t have to travel far or take turns seeing sides each Christmas since we’re both from the same home town,” he said to me. “I know other people who have to drive hours and hours between homes or fly thousands of miles.”

“Oh, really?” I said to him, smiling. “I know what that is like. But I don’t see it as a misfortune. I see it as a benefit for me.”

He immediately realized why I responded the way I did and started laughing, though a bit awkwardly.

When others make comments about how hard it must be for Chris and me, both being from very different parts of the world and thus having our families thousands of miles apart, I usually laugh and say that I don’t see it as a bad or hard thing, that we actually enjoy it. We’ve both left our families and moved to new places where we pretty much knew no one, but that’s part of what growing up is supposed to be about — starting a new life for your new family with hopefully more opportunity and thus successes. And that oftentimes means leaving your hometown. No one ever really looks back and wonders how their grandma or great-grandfather left their parents to immigrate to a new country and how sad it must have been for them to leave their families. My dad’s mom immigrated to the U.S. with her husband and first son, and she never went back to China ever again, meaning she never saw her parents or any of her siblings ever again. No one seems to comment about any of that much. My mom married my dad in Vietnam and left her hometown in 1973, never to see her mother again, who died three years before I was born. She didn’t return to Vietnam until 2008, when she had only one living sister remaining and endless nieces and nephews, all other siblings and parents/aunts/uncles gone. But I get comments all the time about how hard it must be for me. It really isn’t. I get to have a home in New York City with my love, my original home in San Francisco with my parents across the country, and a third home away from home away from home in Melbourne, Australia, with loving family on Chris’s side. That’s three cosmopolitan, beautiful cities across two countries. That is not a “hard” thing. It’s quite a beautiful and blessed state of being if you ask me. That means I get to call three different places globally “home.”

I think we’re both better for being with each other with our different backgrounds. We’ve both learned a lot about each other’s home country and cultures, and we’ve learned things that we just wouldn’t get by being with someone from our own hometown or own ethnic backgrounds. We have an understanding to a depth that others would not have, an awareness about the pluses and minuses of both cultures and countries that would not exist without each other. As Michelle Obama wrote in her book Becoming, “Sameness breeds more sameness until you make a thoughtful effort to counteract it.” You can choose to only stick to the familiar, whether it’s the type of people, the places you choose to live, but you can proactively and consciously try to expand your knowledge and understanding of the world by stepping outside of your default bubble.

At this time of year, I actually oftentimes stop and think to myself, I feel like one of the luckiest and most privileged people to be alive. I’m no Bill Gates or Mother Theresa, but I have been blessed with so much good fortune that I wish everyone could have at least a bit of. I want for nothing, and I have people in my life who love and respect me. I have a lot to be thankful for, regardless if others view what I have as “hard.”

Quality food without trying

We’ve been quite spoiled for food and drink the last few days here in the Adelaide area. Without even really trying that hard, we’ve had delicious and fresh Australian, Malaysian, Argentinian, fish and chips, and of course, wine. All the vegetables and fruits were brimming with richness and flavor. We had a tasting menu with a wine pairing last night (the latter of which we almost never do because of how expensive it is in the U.S.) that I loved every bite of. We even had a flat white today from a random coffee shop in the Barossa Valley that Chris marveled over while drinking. “Ugh, I’m going to miss having good food without trying hard when we go back home,” he grumbled on our drive back to Adelaide.

He’s kind of right. You could rarely just pass by a random Malaysian hole-in-the-wall back in New York and just trust that the food was good without looking up reviews.This place we stopped by on a whim made its roti dough from scratch every single morning, and while we just stopped in to grab a snack, a queue quickly formed after we sat down, proving how popular and delicious the place was to locals. Back home, you also couldn’t stop in for a coffee at a discreet coffee shop and just assume that the coffee quality was high. Even after we finished our shared flat white, the creaminess and well-roundedness of the coffee still lingered on my tongue. I enjoyed it for the time that it lasted.

Whenever we are here, I always tend to eat more bread. I rarely eat much bread back home because I just don’t really care for it that much as a food group. I’d much rather have rice or noodles. Bread in the U.S. is the same as with most food; you have to know the company and the brand in order to trust that it will be tasty. Here, any random grocery store or market will have delicious and fresh multigrain bread that would be amazing as toast or a part of a sandwich. Maybe it’s just higher quality wheat, lesser sugar, and higher freshness here.

 

Wineries in Maclaren Vale, South Australia

For most Americans, visiting a winery is about doing a formal winery tour, looking at barrels and being photographed with them, taking whiffs of different scents that are associated with wine grapes and other flavors that you get when tasting wine. You go for tastings or a full fledged wine tour. They tend to feel a bit formal. You might feel like you will be judged for liking or not liking a particular wine. You will inevitably have to pay for that tasting (and in Napa or Willamette Valley, you will certainly have to pay at least $20-30 for a very simple tasting with average to mediocre-sized pours). It is not value for money that you are getting. You’re doing what the average person would consider something that higher-brow people do… because wine is a luxury for the well-to-do, right, unless you are buying 3-buck-chuck from Trader Joe’s? One of my cousins even said I was “acting like a white person” by drinking wine and visiting wineries; so nice of him.

In Australia, wine is just kind of part of the culture. The Europeans brought their vines (from South Africa) and settled in South Australia, and the rest is pretty much history. Most wineries here do not charge for tastings, and when they do, they will waive the fee or apply the fee to a bottle purchase. The pours are generous, and the feeling is not even remotely pretentious. It is casual and fun. Even the rule of thumb Americans typically are told, that you can generally trust that the cuter or funnier the wine label, the worse the quality of the wine will be — this does not exist here. A few of the best wineries have whimsical names and even funnier wine names (e.g. “Floozy” or “Mongrel”).

We spent the day visiting wineries in the Maclaren Vale region, just 40 minutes outside of Adelaide. The most interesting cellar door (as they are called here) that we visited today was the D’Arenberg Cellar Door, also known as “the cube” in Maclaren Vale because if you had to look at it from the outside, it does not appear like any winery you’d ever see in the U.S.; it’s a very modern building shaped like a blue, white, and black-patterned cube. And the inside of it is like a museum, full of interactive exhibits, scent-testers, and even a bathroom that begs to be photographed, with “human mouths” as urinals and flora covering the walls from floor to ceiling.

Wine drinking shouldn’t be perceived as pretentious or so serious; it should be fun and playful the way it is here.

 

Adelaide

Adelaide, the capital of South Australia, a city that Americans would consider not high on the priority list (if on any list) of places to visit in Australia, since most travelers would prioritize Sydney, Melbourne, and Cairns/the Great Barrier Reef over this city; I get why they would. I guess Chris has, too, in showing me the glories of his home country. It’s my seventh time visiting Australia, yet this is my first time visiting South Australia. But it’s far more diverse and interesting than I could have imagined before, with interesting and modern architecture, cuisines representing the entire globe (today alone, we had a Malaysian snack, Australian meat pies, and Argentinian food), and one of the world’s most famous wine regions with Barossa Valley among others right in the city’s backyard, some areas less than an hour away from Adelaide. Honestly, before Chris, all I really knew about Adelaide was that it was in South Australia and that the musician Ben Folds spent some time living there with his then-wife, who is Australian. Folds has a song called “Adelaide” that mentions things like the quaintness of this capital city and places to visit like Rundle Mall.

With the wine scene being so vibrant, I found that in my restaurant research that many of the highest rated restaurants for local eating in the country are actually right here in Adelaide. Many had won national awards for restaurant of the year or newcomer on the scene by well recognized dining publications or newspapers. It was comical to read in many reviews that some restaurants were so posh, modern, and in high use of local ingredients that “it feels like we were eating in a Melbourne restaurant!”

Traveling for food and wine — what could possibly be better than that?

Reviews of Asian restaurants in Australia vs. the U.S.

In the U.S., I always use Yelp to look at restaurant reviews. As anyone should with any random review site, I take the reviews with a grain of salt, as many of the reviews are going to be completely baseless and say absolutely nothing helpful, or, written by people who have no idea what the cuisine is supposed to be, or base their review on the dishes they ordered that the restaurant is not even remotely known for. Some examples of types of reviews that I disregard are: “All of Portugal’s food is nothing noteworthy, but THIS RESTAURANT IS WORTH GOING TO! I loved it!!”; “Chinese food is always so greasy, but this place is not!”; “My husband and I came here for dinner last night (a steakhouse), and I don’t eat meat. So I ordered the swordfish, and it was horrendous!”; “The food here was good, but not great. I’ve had better (end of review, or details on what was ‘good, but not great’).” In other words, that person wrote a bunch of words that said completely nothing.

But what I have noticed overall is that for Asian restaurants in general, the reviews in the U.S. on average tend to be more forgiving than the reviews in Australia. Here in Australia, people use Zomato and rate/review restaurants, and the reviews tend to be more critical. People will be more exacting about whether the pho lived up to their high standards (“beef flavour was not deep enough”), or if the noodles were house-made or not (“noodles were not fresh!”). Reviewers will also on average not give as many five-star reviews as they do in the U.S. for reviews, meaning that in the end, even if someone really enjoyed a restaurant and found it quite good, it might have at best three or four stars. The reviews where people wrote that the restaurant was “good” and only gave them three stars — these were mind-boggling to me. They are really taking “okay” to the extreme meaning of “good” here.

Because of this, when I am looking at the average review in the U.S., I might give a place that has on average 3.5 stars the benefit of the doubt (especially if they are relatively new and are still working out their kinks and consistencies in both service, food, and presentation), but on average, would prefer places that have at least 4 stars. Even a 3 I would almost always pass on there. But here in Australia, I’d still consider a place if it had 3-3.2 stars (ratings seem to also include all those .10s, too, here). In fact, one Vietnamese spot I really enjoyed had only 3.3 stars, and I felt a bit deflated afterwards.

 

Refugee stories

Since arriving in Melbourne on Saturday and wandering through the Central Business District, I couldn’t help but notice a few signs that said, “We welcome all refugees.” Though it is up for debate whether Australia is more welcoming to refugees than the United States, particularly in an age of Trumpism where bigotry and racism have been reawakened across the globe, it is comforting to see a sign that at least appears to acknowledge that there are innocent, well-meaning, and hard-working people struggling in war-torn countries today that need a home in a safer, happier place. Not everyone believes the fake news that all refugees are potential terrorists looking to leech off of “free handouts.”

I’ve also been doing some research for the few days we will be spending in Adelaide this week, and I noticed the immigrant stories on some of the restaurant websites. One of them was especially heart-warming, describing a couple who migrated from Afghanistan with their young family in the late 1980s during the height of the Cold War. As is common with many immigrants to a new country, they didn’t see much that resembled the foods that they loved to eat, so they opened their own restaurant in 2009 to share with Adelaide an authentic piece of the Afghan culture that they left behind. Their website reads:

“At Parwana we believe that even loss and suffering can forge beauty and generosity. It is in this spirit that diners at Parwana are welcomed like guests into a home, and treated to the culinary pleasures of age-old secrets of genuine Afghan cooking, hinting at the glory of the country the family once knew.”

If you ask any American, Afghanistan is not on anyone’s “bucket list” for travel. It has a dark gash over it with an ongoing war there, with heavy U.S. involvement. When people hear the name of this country, they immediately think of Osama bin Laden or the Taliban, of the terrorist attacks of 9/11. And for the conservatives of the U.S., for which there are many, they likely believe that almost anyone from Afghanistan is a potential terrorist. So a story like the one shared above is lost, reduced down to nothing and forgotten, the stories of most immigrants families who leave their home countries, their places of familiarity, seeking out a better life and future for their children and their children’s future children. It’s tragic because it’s a culture like most Central Asian and Middle Eastern cultures that embraces family gatherings, guests being welcomed into a home, and delicious food.

And, this isn’t any surprise, but this restaurant is on our list.

Asian everything

Every time I’ve come back to Melbourne over the last six years, it feels more and more Asian to me. It doesn’t seem to matter what neighborhood we are in or what block we’re walking along, but there is inevitably yet another noodle or dumpling spot, many of which are chains from China or Taiwan or Malaysia. They have have both Chinese or Vietnamese or Thai writing in addition to English. The food always looks authentic and beautiful. And there’s always Caucasians ordering the “right” dishes at the restaurants when we pass by and I take a quick peek through the windows.

And then lo and behold, as we were walking through Melbourne’s Central Business District today, I noticed Happy Lemon, a popular chain of “salted cheese” milk tea drinks that originated in Shanghai that has hundreds of locations around Asia and the world now. They have a location in Flushing in New York, but not yet in Manhattan. And in the Bay Area when my two friends introduced me to it, it’s located in Berkeley, not in San Francisco. This is their first location in Oceania.

It’s overwhelming in a delicious way. I want to eat everything.

The jealous mother persists

My parents knew I was spending Christmas with Chris’s family, but I had to remind my mom over the phone a couple days ago that we were leaving late this week. Work has been pretty busy over the last several weeks, especially since I’ve been trying to schedule all of next week’s external calls this week to save myself some odd working hours given the time difference. But nevertheless, my mother was annoyed and obviously jealous as she usually is.

“Well, if work is so busy, then why are you taking time off?” she said, clearly unhappy with me and wanting to find a reason for me not to go on this trip.

“I planned this in advance, and I’ll still actually be working while I’m in Australia all of next week,” I responded. It didn’t matter that I told her in a previous breath that I would be home for about 11 days in February, spending both weekends at the house with her. It’s never going to be enough, especially since she’s already deemed Chris’s parents the enemy. Yet, she happens to love Chris’s aunt and uncle on his dad’s side and insisted that I tell them she and my dad said hello. But very transparently, she did not say the same thing for Chris’s parents. How very subtle of her.

It really would never matter what Chris’s parents did or did not do; she’d find a way to vilify them and make them seem evil.

 

Holiday party drama that I missed

At the time my office’s holiday party was supposed to begin tonight, Chris and I departed JFK for the first leg of our flight to Melbourne. We arrived at LAX just after the party ended, and as I turned my Airplane Mode off on my phone, my phone buzzed with text message alerts from multiple colleagues, all telling me that I missed the most ridiculous drama at the sit-down dinner that evening. They both ended up calling me to recount the horrors of the evening while our plane was still on the tarmac, waiting for our gate to open up (which ended up taking nearly two hours).

One colleague became so drunk that she couldn’t even walk properly and had to have the restaurant call her a cab to get back to her hotel. A colleague’s husband, apparently jealous of all the men she works with in our office, punched one of my male colleagues upon meeting him, and then interrupted another colleague’s mini speech to yell out that he wanted another male colleague to stop calling his wife at 7:30am on weekdays. This same husband hit on multiple female colleagues, including one new hire who started just this week, and attempted to kiss one of my female teammates on her lips before she backed away.

I am not sure whether I would have wanted to be there or not. I originally felt a bit sad that I’d be missing our office holiday party since last year’s was pretty enjoyable. I like the fact that our office is relatively small, less than 25 people, which means that when you add the plus ones in, it’s a nice, intimate crowd where you can actually talk to the people you want to talk to over the course of five-plus hours. But after hearing about all this tense and awkward nonsense that compelled colleagues who live in a day and age where texting reins, yet they still felt compelled to call me, I think it was actually better I was on a flight headed west watching Crazy Rich Asians. It was fake drama instead of real-life drama I could watch.

Volunteering time is not enough.

I’m organizing a team volunteer event for January and have been spending time looking into new organizations to lend our time to. One of the most recent ones caught me a bit off guard when they asked that in addition to the time we’d be donating to this organization that they also requested a $75/volunteer fee to cover the meal costs of the food we’d be delivering to senior citizens.

Granted, I am aware that we’re volunteering as a corporate entity, but it just leaves a slightly bad taste in my mouth that they believe our time is not valuable enough, and that in addition to our time, they want our money, as well. If we are going to the trouble of spending business hours volunteering to alleviate them of labor responsibilities, can’t they find the funds to actually supply the food we would be delivering? I have been looking for nonprofits for my company to support for the last year and a half, and it is disheartening to me that many of them expect to get free everything instead of just our free time, which really is not free. I understand that they face a shortage of both funds and labor resources. If I weren’t empathetic to this, I would not be leading volunteer and charitable activities for my office. But to require us to provide both seems excessive. So, I told them this over email, and they consented that our hours would be enough.

Yes, because otherwise, I’d keep looking.