One of my favorite travel books is Paul Theroux’s The Old Patagonian Express.  In it, Theroux details his trip from Boston across North America, down through Central and South America until he ends up in Patagonia—and he does it mostly by train.

The greatest point of the book is that Theroux goes to the same place he goes everyday to catch his train to work just carrying a small bag—and the next thing you know (well, after 404 pages) he is at the southern tip of Argentina .  He did tell his wife and kids in advance, which kind of takes the coolness factor out of his departure but still, it is an incredible adventure.

But no one ever reads this book after my recommendation, which makes me wonder if I am selling it wrong.  It is kind of long and Theroux is kind of grumpy, and you don’t learn much about the countries he travels through because most of the book is written while looking out a moving window.  And because he is married (and his wife probably reads his books) there is no sex or anything like that.  Plus, it was written over 30 years ago so a lot of the book is pretty dated.  So, maybe I should probably not be specific about those aspects of the book.

I guess you have to read it at a certain time of your life–when you are burdened with responsibilities–to really click with the idea of spontaneously getting on a bus or train and disappearing for awhile.  The book is not about just some short rail breaks for a long weekend.  It took him months to get to his destination.

Of course, now when I truly examine what it would be like to ride in decaying public transportation for months on end it is hard to get too excited about this sort of trip.  Especially when I find myself asking, “Are we there yet?” even before the first beverage is served.

And why Patagonia?  If I spent a great deal of time putting my body through thousands of hours of bone butting, brain sloshing and belly tossing, my destination would be someplace other than a sub-zero wasteland far, far away from any drinks with paper umbrellas in them.

Maybe the unexamined long train trip is left better unexamined, or at least not recommended.

Yesterday in my kindergarten class here in China, we were discussing the weather.  We came to the conclusion that it was both sunny AND cold, but with space for only one weather card, we had to choose which one to post on the calendar.  So I took a vote—1 kid voted for sunny, the other three voted for cold.

The student (we will call him Lin) who lost the vote asked me why the other three should get their way.  I told him it was a situation of “majority rules”.  “But what if I’m right?” he persisted.  I told him that the majority always wins in my class.

Lin was not convinced and I could see his point.

I don’t know if pulling the “majority rules” argument is a common classroom management strategy in China—but I’m guessing it’s not.  Just because we learn something as a core tenet of our social value structure in the West does not make it applicable everywhere.

But then again, this country is communist which implies that the people’s will is the way of the government—but I’m pretty sure that’s not really true, no more than the US Congress represents the majority of the people in the US.

So really, both governments are run by people who are not representative of the general populace but who achieved positions of power because they are in some way better at some things than the general populace.  We might even conclude they are smarter than the general populace.

Though Lin was not happy with the majority rule decision, he finally caved after I threatened to take away his recess.

My class, my rules.

Over the past twelve months I visited 12 countries on two continents and stayed in hotels, hostels and apartments for durations ranging from a single night to several months. Conditions have run from rat-infested to five-star as well as rat-infested-five-star.

While I certainly appreciate a good night’s sleep on a comfortable bed, it bothers me that the vast majority of the space for which I am paying is wasted while I am unconscious. If I spend $25 a night for a room and only use 10% of the space, I have just flushed $22.50 down the toilet (provided the toilet is working).

While my recent travels took me to some of the cheaper countries of the world (big surprise) I fear that I will never have the chance to see more expensive destinations unless I get creative in my accommodation search or less anal in my expense allocation. Creative it is!

While couch-surfing appears popular, it seems extravagant to require such a large piece of furniture for something as innocuous as sleeping. Could I learn to sleep sitting up (sleet/sleeting)? I will take up less space and certainly increase the number of potential hosts. Plus the obligation to be a good guest would be halved.

I wonder what would happen if I ran an ad on Craigslist with the subject heading: Wanted: Chair hire in the London area, 2 nights. What kind of people would respond? How much would I have to offer for the use of a chair per night? Would the quality of the chair affect my offer? Certainly a star system could be applied ranging from 1 star for a wooden chair to 5 stars for a leather chair with attached ottoman (en suite).

Is there a business for people with small spaces to put up rows of folding chairs to rent to out-of-town guests? It paints an amusing picture especially if a bedpan is included under each chair–though this sounds similar to the last plane I was on.

I am not traveling for 30 days so must get cracking on learning the fine art of sleeting. Now what if I did not even need a chair, and could sleet on the floor? That would take things to an entirely new level (lower).

Wanted: 2’x2’ space in the London area. 2 nights.

But where would the bedpan go?

It has gotten cold here in Beijing and I was in need of a warm winter coat.

Like any big city, there are many shopping options that range in price from dirt cheap to ridiculously expensive and all of the major brand names are available.

Though I am no expert on shopping here, I do see branded clothing sold in a host of venues from the posh expat zones to the alleyway stalls. It is often difficult to tell which items are real and which are fake since so many of the real products are made in China.

I went to my local outdoor market that offers fresh vegetables, aromatic stews and sides of dog when I spotted a stall with a nice selection of winter coats. I rifled through the various coats that included brands like Nike, Adidas and Arc’teryx and found an appropriately subdued dark blue jacket that had the Columbia brand over the upper left pocket.

Normally I eschew labels but since the price was right (about $27) I paused a moment to consider it a contender for being my new best friend this winter.

At this point my wife had had enough of my early morning meandering (it was 21 degrees) so she pressed me to buy the jacket. I paused another moment. Knowing my distaste for logos she said, “Well, at least it is your home brand.”. True enough, Columbia is based in the state where I was born (Oregon) and the Columbia River is near and dear to every Oregonian’s heart.

I bought the jacket even though I felt a twinge of wrongdoing since the jacket was a knock-off and no money will be going back to Oregon.

And then the justifications for my misbehavior began:

As an obvious foreigner, having me advertise for Columbia is good for them in this rich and brand-conscious city that looks abroad for status goods.

If I chose not to buy the Columbia jacket and instead bought a non-branded jacket then there would be no chance that Columbia would benefit whatsoever from my wrongdoing.

Though Columbia puts money into marketing their brand in China, if someone sees me wearing a knock-off it is unlikely that their brand will suffer.

Since there was no chance of me purchasing a Columbia jacket at their official store, buying a knock-off is at least showing partial allegiance to the quality of their brand.

What if my attraction to the Columbia brand really is just my allegiance to the river? If so, how does the river benefit from my purchase of a counterfeit jacket with its name on it?

And finally I got home and was able to take the damn thing off.

Born and raised as an honest hard-working American, I eschewed the idea that naps were necessary past the age of five.  Naps were only for the slovenly and lazy which I certainly was not.  No one in my family took naps–they might have put their feet up on the couch and closed their eyes for a few moments but they did not change clothes or even take off their shoes.

And then I had children.

My daughters would drag mountains of sleeping paraphernalia out to the sofa and cuddle (how I hate that word) together in the afternoon for their nap in a veritable pile of parental failure.  My wife assured me this was natural and that the children would be far more pleasant if they had naps than if they did not.  I considered moving the sofa into the unheated garage to discourage this deviant behavior but was told in no uncertain terms I was being unreasonable.  Me?  Unreasonable?  As a side note, I did manage to move the one computer we had at home into the unheated garage and still consider that my most successful contribution to raising our children and though it has not happened yet, I am sure my children at some point will thank me.

One Sunday afternoon I found myself alone in the house walking purposely through the living room.  I noticed that the sun was shining on the couch (if you are from Oregon you understand what sort of revelation this is) and thought how nice it would be to sit on the couch in the sun for just a moment or two.  Well, things quickly slid out of control and half an hour later I was awakened by the front door slamming and the wife and kids staring at Mr. Slovenly.  I tried to explain I was not really napping (my shoes were still on)  but no one believed me–the contented look on my face gave me away.  I was mortified and determined not to let it happen again.

But I could not get the experience out of my head and the very next Sunday my sofa drew me to it again.  I was repelled as much as I was attracted.  I did not want to be a napper.  I had stuff to build, lawns to mow and heavy objects to lift.  But the sofa beckoned and I was powerless to refuse.  I gave in, and gave in the next week and the next week and the next until my afternoon nap became a Sunday ritual.

For the past six years, we lived in Latin America and I was forced by law (sort of) to nap everyday.  It helps when it  is institutionalized in a culture so there is no shame in taking an hour or two off in the afternoon to rest and relax and make the most of the second part of the day.  While I honestly did not see any perceptible benefit in efficiency in me or anyone else, an afternoon nap should be somewhere between liberty and the pursuit of happiness in any country’s Constitution.  Freedom to nap gives one great happiness and it is not really that hard to pursue.

Alas, some good things can never last and we found ourselves in China where people work long and hard and I had every expectation that my afternoon nap was a thing of the past.  But much to my great joy, the kindergarten at which we teach has a very strict afternoon nap policy–for everyone.  And even better, it is included in a holy triumvirate of pleasure: lunch, recess then nap.

Life is very, very sweet indeed.

The day after I graduated from college I got married.  7 days later I was supposed to be on a flight to Japan to work…provided I received my visa on time.  The days in between my wedding and departure date were spent itching and scratching due to a nasty case of hives brought on by paranoia that my visa was not going to be issued.  Nice way to spend a honeymoon.

Twenty six years later my wife and I are hours away from having visas that will allow us to stay in China for an entire year.  This many not seem like much of an accomplishment but for an independent expat it is a feat that requires patience, faith and a sense of humor.

In three months we have been issued three visas, two extensions, signed an official confession of regret for overstaying and paid a fine for not registering with the local police department.  We have been to the immigration department four times as well as two separate police departments three times each.  We have submitted ourselves to 8 different medical examinations that involved gel, blood and needles but thankfully no truly invasive prodding.

We have been carefully directed on a timely basis by both our employerś visa specialist and two independent visa agents that our employer retains to assist in getting employees the proper visa.  No expense has been spared and everything is on the up and up as far as we can tell.

So, we have taken all the correct steps but there is still a lot of hoop jumping.

One might think that I should be gnashing my teeth and alternately chugging Maalox and Jack Daniels but I have resigned myself to the process of becoming a legal working immigrant and learned that raging against the visa man gets you nowhere.

Sometimes growing up works to oneś advantage.  I certainly have not gotten any rashes from this visa episode and am thinking I owe my wife another honeymoon.

I had children before my brain was fully developed and learned the word episiotomy before the word etymology.  Due to the nature of an episiotomy I was scarred to the point that any word that sounded vaguely like episiotomy, such as etymology, would make me squirm, look away and gag enough to  remind me how much l hate the taste of vomit.

When I met someone who referred to himself as a part-time Etymologist at a cocktail party, he looked surprised that someone as verbose as me would immediately shut up, squirm, look away and shove my beer bottle up against my closed mouth.  Possible questions for this fellow careened around my brain and none were appropriate for the occasion.

As an expat, etymology is a mine field.  Though we might think a particular word in a new language sounds like it should have the same meaning as a word in our native language, we are often embarrassingly wrong.  One favorite example is the word embarazada in Spanish as in ¨Estoy tan embarazada¨ which when used to explain how you feel about your poor Spanish really means you are quite pregnant.  Letś hope you don´t need an episiotomy.

An earlier experience had to do with the word caravan.  I was 16 and living in rural India as an exchange student when my host sister came running in the door screaming, ¨a caravan, a caravan¨!  Being a big fan of camels, elephants and gold, I flew out of the house to view what could only be a grand procession that included a Maharaja and his scantily-clad harem.

What I saw was a battered old van with a foreign license plate.  And while the occupants may have been scantily clad, they were to my disappointment just a disheveled and dirty group of euro-hippies following the hash highway.

What I learned that day was that caravan in most countries is what we refer to in the US as an RV.  While the rest of the world buys some caravan insurance, we buy some RV insurance.  While the rest of the world goes caravaning, we go RV´ing.  And while the rest of the world uses a word for ¨large car¨ that conjures up images of half-naked women, we use two single letters that conjure up images of old people who don´t realize their turn signal is on.

As a wise old episiotomist once told me, the word is sharper than the scalpel as long as you don´t get embarrassed by pregnant pauses in the caravan (RV) of life.  And etymologially speaking, I am probably safer abroad than someplace where I can be mistunderstood correctly.

Reclining chairs have been a major contributor in the downfall of our great nation.  Not only do they administer coma-inducing comfort that makes being anywhere else (for example, on your feet) a negative experience, they make us feel thinner than we are.  Ever wonder where your belly goes when you fully recline?  Feeling good about yourself in overindulgent comfort has pushed hard work and Puritanical self-loathing to the sidelines where they no longer drive our country forward as they have for generations.

But it is not only in the US that this scourge on economic productivity has had disastrous effects.

Years ago I exported reclining chairs to Japan and I watched my customers, who previously could sit ramrod straight for hours and hours on rock hard zafus, turn into complete couch potatoes from the moment they climbed into one of the American-made monstrosities.  I thought that I was doing a good thing for Japan where a comfortable chair can be hard to find….but now look at this nation that was so close to world domination just 20 years ago.  While I cannot say that comfortable armchairs were the sole reason for Japanś lost decade, they certainly did not help.

Now I live in China and have been witness to the infiltration of the Swedes and their IKEA brand of comfort, which while not as poofy and overindulgent as their American cousin, is still luxurious  compared to what China has been used to over the past 30 years.  Going to IKEA here is like walking into a war-zone (albeit it a supremely clean and well-appointed war-zone) with bodies strewn across the length and breadth of never-ending showrooms, bodies drugged into non-productive stupors by the likes of POÄNG, KARLSTAD and KIVIK.  One can almost hear the gears of Chinaś factories grinding to a halt as their workers lose their will to go back to a work.

Where will this senseless coddling of posteriors end?  The world seems hellbent on spreading comfortable chairs upholstered in baby-soft materials to every possible region, destroying the motivation of hard-working men and women who do not recognize the dangers until it is too late.

The plusher the fabric, the greater the temptation.  The softer the seat, the harder the fall.  The greater the angle of recline, the faster the drop into economic despair.

For yourself, for your family, for your nation, resist the urge to recline.

Note:  My friends over at Nomadtopia asked if I would chime in to their discussion about what we have done for health insurance during our time abroad.    My response follows and a link to the entire discussion can be found at the bottom of this post.

Since I have been a married self-employed American with children most of my adult life, health insurance coverage was a constant and expensive pain in the a** while living in the US.  I was thrilled when we moved abroad and found cheaper and better options.

Our first year outside of the US was spent in Mexico. We bought travel insurance through World Nomadsfor about $100 per month for our family of six. However, we never used it since medical care in Mexico is very affordable. For anything we needed we simply paid out of pocket. One experience required a chest x-ray, EKG and 30-plus minutes with two specialists. The cost was less than $75.

Our next three years abroad were spent in Argentina. We bought a private health insurance policy (OSDE) which cost about US$200—but it covered everything, including dental. By the time we left Argentina the monthly premium had increased to over US$350 for our family of six. All of our experiences with the medical system in Argentina were positive.

Next we spent a year in Uruguay, where we bought a plan offered by our local hospital. The cost for my wife and myself (we were empty-nesters) was $120 per month and included dental. The hospital was modern and clean and the physicians seemed very good though we never required care.

2011 found us in Japan and our jobs included national health insurance coverage which was $65 per month for both of us. Though we never used the services, our experience with the medical system in Japan in the eighties was very positive (our first two children were born there).

Now we are traveling independently and are back on the World Nomads policy which costs about US$100 per month for both of us. We will be working in China so will likely get a Chinese policy.

Our general approach to insurance abroad is to use World Nomads for a month or two to give us time to investigate policies and medical care. If the local insurance is affordable we will get a policy. Our back-up plan for anything serious is to fly to a country where medical care is of good quality and affordable (Mexico, Thailand, Argentina). In our experience in the countries mentioned (plus Malaysia, Thailand, and India) pharmaceuticals are a fraction of the cost of the US and most can be purchased easily.

There are good doctors and bad doctors everywhere. There are good hospitals and bad hospitals everywhere. There are good insurance policies and bad insurance policies everywhere. Using common sense and not falling prey to fear-based assumptions of health care abroad will allow you to pick and choose your best option while living as a long- or short-term expat.

The link to the complete discussion on expat health insurance can be found here.