Little man has been my concern lately, he always is, but special efforts are called for when the time has come to find a suitable secondary school.

My parents had it much easier. They send me to the comprehensive school five minutes away at age five, where I spent the next thirteen years and managed to attain my German high-school diploma and entry into the world of university education. It had good teachers who 95% of the time loved their professions, model architecture with classrooms flooded with daylight from two sides emptying out to big halls, big playgrounds, one small and one big sports hall, library, and all sorts of dedicated rooms for explosive chemical experiments and arts splashings.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t well regarded at the time. Left-leaning teachers, parent involvement, poor kids having an equal chance, teachers full of ideals…

In Hong Kong, I am now confronted with schools that pay very close attention where the parents work. Can they pay the tuition fees for seven years to come? Can they tell other parents how hard it was to get into our school and which academic rigor we apply? Will this kid meet all the credentials to get into Harvard, Yale, MIT, whatever? We have a reputation to loose, fuck about the well-being of kids, we have a high-brow reputation to loose.

On one hand, I am caught in the rat race here in Hong Kong that demands you to get your kid into one of the prime schools, which will get him into prime colleges… etc, etc. On the other hand, I just read a forum post of a mum about bullying at one of the above schools, and I know that everyone just cooks with water, and I know that parents, in the end, not schools educate children.

I want little man to be happy, confident, and loving life.

After a long hard search on the internet I found a secondary school that I feel is right. It’s not well known, it’s relatively cheap, it’s located in the boonies, but still I hope that little man will be accepted there.

It’s mum intuition that teachers there care about children, that they will have their happiness in mind, support them in meeting challenges, and love teaching them.

Yes of course, it’s not the only school I will send applications to, but it’s one of the few that truly deserves to teach little man. Press your thumbs please.

I have been in Hong Kong for roughly 15 years and I am ashamed to say that I discovered its true beauty only recently. Hong Kong is renowned for it’s skyline of skyscrapers. But if you really want to see it you need to tie your sneakers, put your sun hat on, pack lots of water, and head for one of its fabulous country parks.

Since we came back from Dubai, we live right at the edge of one, and I am truly thankful that destiny put us here. Right from my doorstep I can head up the mountain, and see subtropical wilderness. It bowls me over every time.

Little man is less smitten. Hiking 45 degrees up a mountain, sweating a lot, and only with your mother as company …

The first time it’s fun, because you bathe in a rock pool. The second time is fun, because you see a cobra. The third time is fun for your mummy because lots of shrubs are in bloom. The fourth time you run into half a dozen spider webs, and mosquitoes are out in force. The fifth time takes most of the day and is much too long. The sixth time you go on strike.

So I was more than happy when I discovered a web site that told of World War II tunnels the British had built to defend their Hong Kong colony from the invading Japanese. I knew right away that this would get little man to head out with me without any complaints, and that it would be fun for us both. A wonderful adventure.

We put our hats on, loaded up on water and snacks, calibrated mum’s gps system on a parking lot near Shing Mun reservoir, and took the 12 year old Volvo for a ride. You can get there with public transport too… aah, the beauty of Hong Kong.

When we arrived, we discovered that Shing Mun country park is a much more frequented area than the country park near us. Lots of people were hauling barbeque supplies along the road to get ready for a day of family fun, and there was some sort of hiking race going on. But I bet it’s deserted on a weekday.

We went along the Maclehose trail past barbecue areas, and although I had packed a map, and read all sorts of websites, I was worried that we would miss the entrance to the tunnels.

In the end it was very easy to find them, because there are warning signs on the path below, discouraging you from entering them :).

Little man and I left the hiking path and scrambled up a hill, despite a group of hikers behind us mumbling “The sign clearly says it’s dangerous”. Little man was on fire and the kid in me was too.

We scrambled up the hill and were met by a giant electricity pylon, concrete tunnels exposed by erosion, and a large group of people with a guide ready to dive into World War II adventure.

It was hard to stop little man from diving head first into the ventilation chimney, but I convinced him to follow the group of hikers before us to a more accessible entrance.

When mama finally found the two flashlights she had in her backpack, the other people were gone and the adventure was ours alone.

The tunnels at Shing Mun are part of the “Gin Drinker’s Line” (gosh, I love the Britsh even if I am German myself), a defense line across the Kowloon peninsula that was designed to hold up the Japanese from conquering Hong Kong.

In the end, it didn’t do much to hold up the Japanese, because it wasn’t manned by enough British soldiers, but if you scramble along the tunnels today, you can certainly see why they choose this line. At the outlooks, it has very good views of the lands below.

I think we walked all the tunnels that are still accessible. All of them are quite low because of silt that was washed into them, which gave me back pain but was no problem for short little man. At no point I felt that it was a dangerous adventure, although I would not do it after heavy rains.

I am very happy that something like this still exists in Hong Kong. When you are here, please check it out, I guarantee it will be a fun day out.

But I am a lazy mummy, and if you ask me if it’s a shitty day, there is no better adjective to describe it.

Of course you have to teach your kid that swear words are to be used like most spices… sparingly. They should never be used during job interviews, oral university examinations, or other situations where you have to appear properer than you really are. And if you ask me to call someone an asshole, especially to his face, says more about you than him.

I admit that little man learned to say shit in two languages (Scheiße in German, if you must know) at the tender age of two and probably from listening to me. German swear words tend to be “anal orientated” as one Anglo-saxon author of German habits put it. If a German calls you an “Arschloch” chances are he or she doesn’t like you.

From my own observation Anglo-saxon swear words tend to be sexually orientated. “F..beep” is a prime example. To a Teutonic like me fucking is very enjoyable, shit on the other hand smells badly, but listening to beeps on TV while you mouth-read every word of it is probably strangely satisfying to all of us.

A while ago little man came home and told me that is school mate J. is “gay”. Gosh I thought, J. is only eight years old the chances that he is gay before puberty are pretty slim, so I asked little man if he actually knew what gay means. He told me that gay means acting like a girl.

Well, that’s close but not really what it means, and not wanting to play tag on a boiling hot day is rather smart not gay if you ask me. Sometimes being a parent is quite complicated, because you have to decide in a snap what to say to steer your offspring to the right direction.

I told him that J. was right to go inside.

When he is a little older I will tell him that being gay is ok, and chances are that he will know that by himself by then, because in the end parents are the most crucial influences kids have.

Beeps on TV are useless if you ask me, and not letting your kids watch youtube videos is useless as well. They will hear it on the school bus anyway. On the other hand talking about it is very useful. Youtube videos in which people say fuck in every sentence are not bandwidth-friendly. My son knows this. They could be much shorter and to the point.

Teaching your kids what is appropriate by example and what will diminish their own worth is probably the most fucking awesome sweet thing you can do for them, not gay at all, nor sick.

1) It begins with the eighth letter of the alphabet, my Dad’s and my Mum’s first names begin with the same letter.

2) My Dad liked it, and as marriages go, my Dad is the boss, or so he thinks.

3) My Mum chose the second name. It’s Sylvia. It means wood or forest. I am a natural girl. I like gardening. My Mum knew from the start.

4) My first name is of very proper Germanic origins, but it is so shortened that Wotan would turn in his grave.

5) There was a second girl who had the same name in my class… the horrors.

6) But thankfully it’s not a name people choose for their dogs.

So that’s my first name. I wonder what little man will think about his first name when he is old enough to wonder about it.

Well, little man here are the reasons:

1) You are my everything.

2) For your mum you are the wonder of her life.

3) She was the boss when it came to name giving. Your father chose your middle name. If you ask me it’s too long and rather complicated, but he meant well. He loves you very much.

4) Your name needs to be said with love and ease by a multitude of people of different linguistic origins. So its short, easy to pronounce, and Latin.

5) I am very proud that you were able to write it pretty much on the same day you were able to hold a pen.

6) A lot of people chose it as a name for their dog. I am sorry. Most people love their dog more than they love they next of kin. You should be proud of your first name.

What are the reasons for your name? Do you think it influenced your path in life? Why did you choose that particular, special name for your child?

My Dad is finally out of the hospital. One foot is gone and during the summer his spirit was gone as well. I told him that we needed him foot or no foot, and I like to think that this is what pulled him through.

When we took care of my grandma who had Alzheimers and couldn’t walk anymore, we always agreed that her sitting in a wheelchair was the lesser of the problems.

The last words she lost was “Manno!” (hard to translate…  “Eh! Man!”) Which told us that we had done something wrong. You can’t imagine how important it is to know that you have done something wrong.

My dad is my soul mate, which is unfair to say because my mum took care of me more than he did. She once said to me “For you, he can do no wrong”.  No, he can’t, because he has the same faults as me. I know it’s unfair. For my mum, her soul mate was my grandmother, her mum, I can’t forget how much she cried when she died.

So that was the summer, but the autumn is definitely looking up.

Sometimes life reminds you that it is not all roses and that you really should hold, enjoy, and “einbrennen” (burn-into) your memory all that is and was good.

The garden is good. It’s full of mosquitoes and construction waste (gloves, concrete slabs, and iron bars), but harvesting yard-long beans and swinging my pickaxe to plant and move plants has been sweaty and satisfying.

Little man is the joy of my life. I don’t know if I will be his soul mate but he is mine. He just needs to smile and stand in front of me in his “Hochwasser”  high-water pyjamas (“Yes, I have brushed my teeth!”) and all is good.

And there is so much more. I love life even if it has it’s up and downs and if you ever wonder… yes, go forward.

:D Little man and I love Shaun!!!

Little man was the most special birthday gift I have ever received. I say that because our two birthdays are very close together, mine will be in three days time.

And now I have to go, and cut the cake. Woohoo!

In Perfume, the lead character has an extraordinary sense of smell, and goes on a mission to preserve scents he loves with rather grueling consequences. The movie is a very good adaptation of the book. If you can, read the book first and then watch the movie. I found Ben Wishaw performance, who plays the lead character Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, especially powerful.

Jean-Baptiste Grenouille goes to great length to preserve scents, but for me one of the most enduring aspects is that it is fleeting. Depending on the smell, fleetingness is a godsend (think rotting meat under mid-day sun) or heightens the preciousness of it. Of all the five senses, the sense of smell seems to be the least important, but I think I would miss it very dearly if I would loose it.

I am constantly stumped for an answer if people ask me for my favorite book, song, or holiday destination, but I definitely know my most favorite smell.

The best scent of all is that of a newborn baby. I will never forget how little man smelled when I first held him in my arms. He smelled of amniotic fluid, which is better than any expensive perfume. Mother Nature has some very powerful tricks up her sleeves to ensure that we fall in love with our children from the beginning. I was rather cross, when a mid-wife wanted to bathe my baby in Johnson & Johnson baby bath.

I think smell is also a key ingredient in any erotic encounter. Even just a kiss, placed wherever you prefer, lets you come close enough to smell your lover’s skin. Not to mention the smell of a room during sex. Just imagine how different and less satisfying the experience would be without your sense of smell.

Next comes food, and there are very few food smells that I dislike. Isn’t it wonderful to lift the lid of a cooking pot on a stove and be hid by waves of goodness? Or the smell of home-made cookies wavering through the house, or ripe mangoes as you cut them, or freshly picked tomatoes, or… I could go on and on.

On some days, my morning includes a visit to the neighborhood coffee shop for a cappuccino, quick read through the newspaper, and the occasional chat with a friend or stranger. The coffee shop serves as a meeting place for the neighborhood, and I think one of the reasons why everyone loves to go there is the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. For me it is connected with a feeling of calm and comfort, a short break from the worries and stress of daily life, a little indulgence.

Yesterday, I was at the ocean front, a light breeze was coming from the water, and I was thinking that the salty ocean air has one of the nicest smells. It’s very strong, and after a few hours at the beach it’s in every pore. I associate precious memories with it, of days at the beach with family and friends, taking a swim in the ocean, or boat trips along the shore.

I have many more favorite smells, and the more I think of it, the more I am aware that many of them are connected to precious memories of a person or place. I wonder what comes first, a smell that we then associate with the moment we experienced it, or the experience itself and the smell that came with it, or both at the same time?

…which is was located right next to it. Paper Lane, from beginning to end, had printers for personalized greeting cards, table decoration, business cards, calendars, and lai see packages. If you had anything to print, you knew were to go.

My guess is that the whole area will look like this in a few years…

… the old renovated building looks nice (the only one in the area), but the real “urban renewal” reason is the high-rise apartment block next to it… money, money, money.

First we went to pay hommage to the God of plates, bowls and cutlery in Queen’s Road East. He was watching over a dizzying array of household items on two levels, and I finally found what I was always looking for.

In Wanchai market proper you can get anything. There are hundred of stalls and little shops, and, yes, you can stock up on undies as well. Just duck behind a stall when trying a bra ;).

Tiffany has a stall as well…

We, however, continued the household theme…

But you can only buy so many household items with a five year old in tow. “Mama, where are the toy shops?”

Here…

…there are half a dozen toy shops next to each other. Above is the entrance to one. There are like toy caverns. Relatively small, but shock a block full of toys, on walls, on tables, in boxes, and even hanging from the ceiling. One of them has a very special treasure chest, a glass vitrine packed with old-style metal toys that move when you wind them. Little man became the proud owner of a walking robot and a chain of UFOs… mommy UFO with three little children UFOs in tow. We also bought a doctor’s suitcase. I have been getting immunization shots ever since.

On the way home, we watched a bit of football…

… and were mighty glad that we didn’t have to take the same bus as the people lining up in front of our restaurant window…

At his school were his new school friends with their proud daddies and mommies, holding cameras and video cams. He goes to a small international school, which we chose after much looking around, and the children have backgrounds from all over of the world. The school grounds look like a summer camp, with small buildings, lots of green, and a playground. That’s pretty rare in Hong Kong, where most schools look like education factories.

In Hong Kong, there are essentially three school types that parents can consider. The first are normal government-funded primary schools in which Cantonese is the language of instruction. Little man speaks three languages but only ten words Cantonese, so they were out of the question.

The second choice are government-subsidized schools of the English School Foundation. Because of Hong Kong’s colonial history, English is an official language, and there are lots of children, local as well as expatriate, for which English is either the first or the very well spoken second language. ESF schools are very popular, because they provide very good international education at a lower tuition fee than private schools. I had applied for a place at an ESF school near us, but was immediately informed that all places were taken and that little man had been put on a waiting list with little hope of getting a place this year.

The third choice are private schools. I could write a long book about the trials and tribulations of trying to get your child admitted to one in Hong Kong, but I don’t want to bore you with it. The short version is: most of them are ridiculously expensive, have snobby admissions officers and teachers, and put their own prestige above the interest of students. Luckily, there are exceptions, and I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am to have found one, thanks to the recommendation from another mom at little man’s kindergarten.

I hope that my son will love to learn at his school and have lots of fun with his new school friends.