Lost in Translation.

 

I lived in Hong Kong & China for three and a half years to be exact.
Looking back I seem to have accumulated far more than three years worth of memories.
I managed two Quarries in China, One on Oi Ling Island to the south of HK the other just across the Lo Wu border north of the town of Shenzhen and Lyntong at Wo Shek Koo (Black Stone Quarry) where I had a small house on site.
Well, no that really makes it sound far grander than it was, it was closer to a two bedroom prefab portable mining accommodation type unit.
Apart from having just the basics, it was roomy and quite comfortable.
Made in Australia a metal plate proudly informed all,  "This structure has been certified and treated against attacks by white ants, termites and wood rot".

One night I woke to a rather loud noise from somewhere within the building. Thinking I might not be alone I crept about in the dark, completely naked as I investigated the source, with my large Betty Boop alarm clock at the ready to defend myself.
I eventually came upon the ceramic wash basin laying on the bathroom floor surrounded by various toiletry items.
Two large holes in the wall along with the two taps were evidence of where the basin had been previously attached.
Termites had eaten away the wooden wall studs, the supporting bolts simply fell out of what remained.
It was instantly obvious what had caused the problem.

The attached metal fumigation certification plate had been written in English and not Chinese.
The wash basin was joined on the floor by the wall mirror a day or so later.
I discovered by pressing an ear against the wall the termite work team could be heard gnawing away within.
The point of a Biro pressed against the wooden ply wall was all that was needed to test the wall structure, and could easily break through into one of the many tunnels where I simply inserted insect spray.
The surviving termites simply regrouped and set off in another direction, “we are Borg”.

Breakfast:
For the first six months of my contract I lived in the company owned Stanford hotel in Mongkok, Kowloon, just a short walk to the Lady Street Market, and all the tourist shops one could ever wish for,
I quickly became friendly with the staff of the hotel.
Occasionally I would be joined at breakfast by some of my fellow ex pat managers and often became embarrassed by the way they ordered the hotel staff about over trivia or something they felt displeased with, obviously unable to make a distinction between staff and slaves.
I soon made it a point not to inform my fellow expats of my Hong Kong movements unless absolutely necessary.

Early one morning as I was finishing breakfast an American clergyman entered the dining room, he stopped at the notice board to read what was on offer, pulled out a small rather pathetic looking purse and after his finger rifled about inside checking the contents held enough to afford breakfast sat at one of the tables.
Amused by his obvious display of impoverishment I wrote on a hotel note pad, “No blessing required” then as I left I arranged with William the dining room manager to put the cost of his breakfast on my bill, and should he ask to present the clergyman with my note.

Returning to the hotel later that evening I was handed the note on which the clergyman had written, ”No blessing intended, just a thank you”.

Boats:
As part of my role as manager of the island,s quarry I was also given two, 10m twin V8 powered cabin cruisers each with a captain and first mate to enable me to travel anytime to the island quarry on Oi Ling Ding about 30km south of Hong Kong.
After watching other company boats waiting to pick up their passengers from the Hong Kong public wharf all flying their country or company flags from the stern staff I presented both my captains with the green and yellow boxing kangaroo.

A short time later we were bobbing about in Hong Kong Harbor while waiting for the public dock to clear when one of my captains asked why we were flying a flag with a fighting rat, when my Chinese birth sign was the ox.

Obviously something had become lost in the translation.