No Day like a Snow Day

This is Canada. Not Macau. Just so you know.

Many of you at home in Canada will scoff at the notion of our Macanese winters. You have snowfall, slippery roads & driving (my favourite kind of driving), fresh air, Christmas lights, and a respectable selection of hot drinks & comfort food to keep yourself cozy and delightful when the weather is cold and frightful. I got a healthy taste of winter during my Christmas break when I visited (something I still look back on with a heart-wrenching longingness to return as soon as possible. T-Minus exactly 5 months to the day, from today, in case you're counting). I find that Canadian winters are really nice. The freshness of the air, the beauty in nature after a healthy snowfall, the sense of community that emerges when we see a neighbour with an unshoveled sidewalk or a someone spinning their tires, stuck in the snow. I don't believe I could call myself a self-respecting Canadian if I didn't get at least a bit of joy from the prospect of snow and ice. But as you probably know from reading this or any previous installment of the Interlude, I'm no longer in Canada.

What winter looks like here. Wet, chilly, but still green. 

I have a snow day. In Macau. The higher authorities have decided to cancel classes for tomorrow, so that gives us a day of kid-free school to plan, mark or just roll around on the carpet while listening to 1920's jazz. Why would they do such a thing, you say? You may think that we don't have real winters here in China-not-China. It does not snow, you'll never slip on a patch of ice, and you won't ever find shovels, boots or antifreeze stocked on the shelves of your neighbourhood stores. So what's the big deal?

Today holds the official title of being the single coldest day in Macau history, squeezing in at just 3 degrees above freezing point. That may sound like a tolerable, or even mild, November afternoon, but we're not built for winter here. During this wonderful season we reap the struggles of a region that is designed to cope with the thick heat & humidity of July, not the piercing coldness of January. Myself, my roomate, and most of my coworkers are currently quadrouple-layered, sipping hot chocolate, tea & matcha, and cuddling with their space heaters, the hazard of fire being a much more welcome prospect than usual. Many of us have not left bed, never mind our homes, out of fear that we will catch hypothermia or pneumonia somewhere between the kitchen and the bathroom. If you still don't quite grasp the seriousness of the situation, perhaps you'd like to see what a chilly day means for us in the glorious land of China-not-China. 

You see this? This is my floor. The is also the floor of nearly every apartment in town. What is it made of you say? Tile. Ceramic Tile. That means if you want to complete simple actions like getting a cup of tea, fetching your phone charger, or just completing the 8 steps it takes to reach the toilet, you have to play your very own game of 'The floor is Lava', only this time it's liquid nitrogen, and it freezes your puppies to the bone the moment you make contact. I was forced to iron my socks, with my feet still inside them, to maintain any trace of sensation in my toes. 


This is my apartment. As you can see, there are no heating vents that spout warm air. We also lack the wonders of insulation, that pink cotton-candy material that goes in the walls to keep the cold from seeping in like rainwater into your socks during a long walk to the shawarma grill/spagetti house. Our walls and windows do not insulate heat, they absorb it and give you ice-cold chills in exchange, much like that rip-off Pokemon card trade of your childhood that left you bitter and resentful towards all things fun.

Or I could have a warm shower! NO THAT WOULD BE TOO EASY. Our water pipes run inside the walls. The walls are bone-chillingly cold and our pipes are in the walls, and the walls are so cold that the warm water can't reach any faucet before becoming ice-cold. I tried running our hot water faucet for a good 10 minutes without result. 

Imagine coming home from a brisk winter's day, with your coat, scarf, gloves & layers keeping you warm, only to arrive at home and find that it's 10 degrees in your apartment. Try to cook, use your computer, or do laundry and you'll find that your hands become too frigid and fumbley to do anything useful with, so you give up and crawl back into bed. To make things worse, it's been raining throughout the day, leaving the neighbourhood in a constant state of miserable dampness that lingers for days barring any hopes you had of drying your clothes on the line. I tried to rectify this using a space heater, only to find that it heats nothing except for the 1 square foot of space directly in front of the fan. I'm faced with the choice of having dry clothes or a warm body, at the moment I think I'll just assume the fetal position and simply wait for the cold weather to pass.  The cold transcends all things. All thoughts. All beings of existence. There is no escape. No way out. There is only the lingering cold that dampens all hopes. 

I'm just keeping my eyes on the prize at this point, in this case the prize being a week in Tieland with two massive pals. I'll keep you posted.