The many, many, many, many many, time and much money I wasted in traveling around the world.
White skin privilege.
Security in being male.
Backpacking with a hijab.
Do poor people want to be in your Facebook profile photo?
Am I fetishizing a local because I want to touch her hair and tell her she is beautiful?
1. Why are American backpackers so annoying?
2. Who decided that khaki is the universal colour for “adventuring pants”?
3. How come you’re only considered a worldly traveler if you are rich and come from a privileged background?
4. What would a black man from Wisconsin have to do so his fellow hostel guests would stop wondering how he could afford to travel?
5. Do young girls feel that their experiences are invalidated because they don’t share the same gender as Jack Kerouac or Pico Iyer? Is their adventures less interesting because it lacks the scintillating sexy scenes that made Paul Theroux famous?
The nth time I spent in Hongkong
I don’t like Hongkong. However, it is my only gateway to rest of Asia so every winter, sometimes even summer, I am forced to spend at least a few hours in this godforsaken city. That few hours is always more than enough time to remind myself how much I hate this city. Coming from Montreal, it would always be too cold. I’d step out of the tarmac wearing too much clothes and immediately I would feel arrested by the humidity. It grasps me like a vice. My plane is taxing slowly on the airport. It’s been 16 hours since I had a good stretch, so of course I can’t wait to deplane. But the traffic in this airport is horrendous, so the pilot spends so much time taxing into one gate, only to be shuffled again. Then when that damned seatbelt sign is finally turned off. Will I be taking a bus or the tunnel thing? I never know, no one knows. Welcome to Asia.
Simplify. Less. Words.
Hongkong is my only gateway to the rest of Asia. I visit at least once a year, and I am constantly reminded of how much I hate this city. The moment I step out of the plane, the humidity grips me like a vice. I never know what’s going to happen next because this country is anything but predictable. No other place can initiate one to Asia quite like Hongkong.
Bad Writing Exercise:
I don’t like so much Hongkong. However, in spite of that. Hongkong is my only gateway to the rest of the continent of Asia. So every year, during winter, when the snow flows beautifully upon the cold country of Canada. I fly off to the warmth of the equatorial part of the world. The slow trickling minutes that I have spent inside this metal tube hurtling across the stratosphere, by an average altitude of 34,000 miles is about– at this point 9600 minutes. I could use a good muscular stretching session. My mood now is of course, not the best by this very moment.