Canadian Roots

Okay, so here’s my first confession of 2011: I am a terrible relative—guilty as charged.

For years, I’ve long avoided taking a trip to Calgary, Canada, to see some of my relatives—aunties, uncles, cousins and great nieces and nephews whose names I only knew from Christmas cards. I mean, why travel up to see them when they can travel to Los Angeles to visit us? And even if I did, I thought, what would I do? What would I see?

Well, it only took a weeklong press trip assignment to Alberta, Canada—in the dead of winter, no less— to finally get myself up here. After having to invest in a full-length, goose down parka and some toasty Sorel boots to brave the frigid winter climes, I was even more reluctant to go. But now that I am here, I’m kicking myself for not coming up sooner.

At first, I’ll admit I was a little nervous about spending the first few days of my trip with my relatives. I’d only met a handful of them once beforehand—mostly when I was only three years old. So, even though they’re family, they were practically strangers to me.

But here’s the thing: family is family. No matter where you go, they’re going to be there for you, for better or for worse— and even if the last time that they actually saw you was when you were still wearing diapers—or better yet, never.



My view from Calgary Tower --serious winter boots included.


As soon as I got off the plane, my auntie Lillian and cousin Sue whisked me away to lunch—dim sum, of course—and we were off. Soon enough, I was walking through Chinatown in downtown, peering down from the observation deck of the Calgary Tower and enjoying my very first taste of AAA Alberta prime rib beef.

The more time I spent with them and with my uncle Jimmy, the more I realized that making this visit wasn’t about seeing the sights—it was about learning about my family—and myself in the process, too.

Portraits of my great grandparents that I'd never seen before. 

My first night, my auntie and cousin showed me old photos of the house that my grandmother grew up in when she was living in China. They even gave me photos of my great great grandparents and great grandparents, as depicted in the portraits that, presumably, still hang in that same house to this day.

I also had no idea that my grandfather was a boxer. And not just any boxer, but a Golden Gloves boxer. My uncle told me how my grandpa, having emigrated to the U.S. from China in the 1940s, decided to take up boxing, purely for self defense (race relations weren’t exactly the greatest back then, to say the least). But, because of his stocky build and natural ability to throw a mean punch, he actually became a sort of amateur pugilist—in addition to running his own restaurant in Wichita, Kansas, of all places.

That restaurant is where he taught my uncle Jimmy how to cook—and in telling me that, that’s exactly when my uncle started tearing up, and so did I. I never got to know my grandpa; he died long before I was ever even born. But being able to hear these stories about him makes me feel like I do know him—at least a little bit now.

That kind of experience is something I couldn’t get anywhere else but here. More and more, I’m starting to realize that the best type of trip isn’t necessarily about seeing the big sights, or taking in the best meals (although that never hurts). It’s about the people you meet along the way—and, in some cases, those you might not ever get to meet. And for that experience alone, it’s more than worth it—even in those below-freezing temps.

No Good With Faces

I have to fess up: Sometimes, I can be terrible at remembering people’s names and faces. I can’t help it. I try my best but sometimes, I just can’t place a name to a face or vice versa.

Having just written up a blog about an unexpected detour in Melaka, Malaysia, for work (“Not According to Plan”) got me to thinking, though … about all of the people I’ve met through each of my trips. I might not always remember their names, but I’ve certainly remembered their faces and the experiences I’ve shared with them.

If you happen to be one of my Facebook friends, your news feed has probably been inundated lately with photo albums of all the food that I ate while recently in Singapore and Malaysia. And not just once, but twice. And while I certainly savored all of the many—emphasis on many—amazing meals that I had, I think that what I really loved most were all of the experiences that I shared with friends, both new and old, and family, many of them over a good meal, too. Just take a look …

When you travel on a press trip, it's crucial that you have a good group of fellow journalists. Otherwise, it could easily wind up being a press trip from hell—or at least one with a lot of funny stories to tell afterward, I suppose. Lucky for me, our group was great, and we bonded easily over pints of Tiger Beer.

Another group bonding experience took place when we traveled to Singapore's Geylang district to try the ultra-pungent durian. Much props to Nick (below) and Kim who braved the smell to give it a taste, even if they didn't become fans of the "King of Fruits" afterward, like I did.

Taking care of us throughout our trip was our guide, Toon Hee, who also happens to be a busker on Orchard Road in Singapore. His speciality? Juggling.

Sometimes, just the smallest encounter can leave a big impression, too. Like when this little boy ran up to me as soon as I sat down to eat lunch one day in Kampong Glam, in Singapore. I think he might've been enamored with my food or my camera but, either way, my unexpected dining companion didn't leave my side until his parents dragged him home.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: dancing kids are adorable. These kids in Melaka, Malaysia, were performing for the Deepavali holiday at a local mall. So cute, aren't they?

What's even better than dancing kids? It might be senior citizens who like to rock out, like this man who literally stole the show at the Chinatown Night Market in Melaka. True rock star status, I tell you.

No matter where you go, nothing compares to reconnecting with family and friends that you haven't seen in quite some time. Seeing my cousin Christina again, following her whirlwind travels around the globe for English First's Marco Polo Project, was so much fun. I'd forgotten how much I missed traveling with her ...

... and with her boyfriend, Coco. Together, the three of us basically ate a lot—and often.

  
We even got to meet the chef who prepared an elaborate, five-course dinner for us at Suntec Singapore's Pearl River Palace restaurant.

While in Melaka, we literally stumbled onto Villa Sentosa during a long walk. Abdul Rahim Haji Hashim (below left), the owner of the house, was nice enough to give us a tour, and to analyze my handwriting (and personality) in the process. 

I've also realized that, whether or not you travel with family, you eventually learn to make your own along the way. At least that's how I felt with Christina and Coco's dear friends, Li Sun and Christophe and their daughter, Sahra, at their Old Town Guesthouse in Melaka. They were so kind, and so welcoming, that I truly felt at home. And isn't that exactly the kind of hospitality you hope to find when you're so far from home?

Oh, The Places You’ll Go

During Mother’s Day brunch, while my family and I were gorging ourselves on the feast that my brother, boyfriend and I had cooked up for the occasion—pasta with butternut squash and kale in a brown butter sauce , a Spanish-style omelet and fluffy ricotta pancakes with lemon curd—I started thinking seriously about my mom—and my dad.

Both of my parents aren’t frequent fliers or travelers in the least bit. Since leaving China in the 1950s as young children, they haven’t set foot outside North America, not even to go back to China or Hong Kong. Growing up, their families didn’t have much money, so the furthest they’d go might be to take a camping trip in the forests near Princeton, N.J. (where my dad grew up), to drive down to Texas (which was just a little south of where my mom grew up in Wichita, Kan.) or to drive up north to Canada (to visit relatives on my mom’s side).

Growing up, the most exotic place we’d traveled to together as a family—grandma included— was to Hawaii, followed by San Francisco, San Diego, Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas. These weren't exactly faraway places but they still remain, in my memories, as some of the best trips ever.  

The thing is, however, that I don’t think my parents have stayed put by choice. Extenuating circumstances and obligations, including caring for my grandmother (for 22+ years, no less) and helping to put my brother and me through college, would be some of the biggest reasons.

They don’t talk about this much, but I can tell. I can especially see it every time my mom turns on the TV and tunes into her favorite Spanish-speaking shows on Telemundo and Univision in an attempt to keep her Spanish skills intact (strange, I know, but she majored in Spanish in college, hoping to one day work as a U.N. translator and is almost fluent). Or when my mom petitioned my dad to apply for a passport with her a few years back. Or whenever my dad takes the time to print out extremely detailed maps of the airports where I’ll be flying into, just to make sure I don’t get lost and miss any connections (that one really gets to me). They both yearn to travel abroad—but they just haven’t had a chance to.

And here I was, bummed from missing out on a trip to Germany when I’ll be headed to other trips (most likely) in the next few months, anyway. It’s pretty pathetic. Far too often, I forget how fortunate I've been to be able to go to so many places.

So, if there’s just one thing I could wish for this year, I wish that my parents could finally pack their bags and go on a trip somewhere—anywhere (just not within the continental U.S.). Perhaps they could head to Spain, so my mom can finally practice her Spanish, or maybe even to China or Hong Kong, so they can try to piece together what fragments they can still remember from growing up there. Wherever it is, I just hope they get to go and that they get to—finally—fill up those pages in their newly minted passports. (Photo (c) OpenTravelInfo.com)