Memories from an Ex-Pat

By John R. White

Most of these stories are from my life as an expat (expatriate—i.e., someone who works outside the US). I worked for General Electric (GE), and part of that time, I worked overseas. I have been on every continent (except Antarctica). I have had some part of my body in every ocean in the world and have been from above the Arctic Circle to just short of the Antarctic Circle. I have flown around the world several times and worked in over twenty-five countries. Whew! So much for that intro. I originally had these stories in a random order. (Whatever memories came to mind, I wrote them down.) But since then, I have tried to put these stories in the best chronological order that I can remember. There are some holes in the memories, some names can’t be pulled up, but I have done the best I can. Please enjoy.

John

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662471148

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Quirks of Life and Circumstance

I’m going to leave the expat life for just this once.

A couple of things that occurred in my life just need to be let out. So here goes.

I joined the Navy right out of high school (1959). I was assigned to a destroyer (USS Joseph P. Kennedy Jr. DD-850) in the Atlantic fleet. In 1960, our squadron was assigned to the Sixth Fleet (Mediterranean fleet). We were lucky to be in a port near Rome for both Easter and for the Olympics around the end of July and early August.

During the Olympics, two of my shipmates and I were in Rome, taking in the sights. (We did not have tickets to any of the games.) We saw the Spanish Steps, then continued to the Via Veneto (referred to as the American Way due to the large hotels on it). We were getting hungry, so we went down a side street and found a little restaurant. (I remember you had to go down two steps to get to the door.) It was nice and quiet. (We were the only ones in there at the time.) The waiter spoke some English and gave us menus in English. We ordered along with the obligatory bottle of wine. After dinner, we asked about dessert and were surprised when the waiter said they had American pie. We asked what kind of pie and got American pie again. Oh well, it sounded good regardless. So there were three orders for American pie. Well, when it came, it turned out to be Boston cream pie. Slightly disappointed, we told the waiter that this was not pie but cake. He vehemently declared, NO! American pie. We tried to explain but were met with a scusi, and he disappeared into the kitchen area only to reappear with a man in his late forties to early fifties. He introduced himself (in perfect English) as the owner. He asked what the problem was, and we explained the American pie to him. He laughed and explained that he had told the waiter that this was Boston cream pie, but all the waiter got was Boston equals American and pie. He told us that we did not have to pay for it, but we said it was fine. He pulled up a chair and asked where we were from. One of the guys was from Rochester, and the other was from the Midwest (around St. Louis, I think).

When it got to me, I said, I’m from a little town north of Albany, New York. He asked what the name of it was, and I said, Waterford.

He looked at me kind of funny and said, Does Ikey Davis still have the soda fountain?

It was a good thing that I was sitting because if I were standing, I would have fallen. It turns out the man was from Pleasentdale, just across the Hudson River from Waterford. He had worked at Ikey Davis’s soda fountain before going into the Army.

While stationed in Italy during and after WWII, he met and married his wife, and they opened the restaurant. He mused about my name for a few minutes and asked if I was any relation to John White who lived up on the hill. I told him that was my father. He explained that they had worked together at Ikey’s as kids. He asked about my dad, and I told him that he had died several years ago. He was deeply sorry to hear that. We could not pay for the meal (including the American Pie), and there were several more bottles of wine to be shared. What a small world we live in.

Is anyone familiar with the word doppelgänger?

NOUN: an apparition or double of a living person.

Well, on one of my many trips to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska, I was flying out of Anchorage, Alaska, in the morning. I had about four hours to kill before my flight, and there really wasn’t any good place to eat at the airport, so I grabbed a cab and went about a mile out of the airport to a restaurant and go-go dancer place. Now this place was reputed to have a great breakfast. (The dancers did not enter into it at all.) I got a table and ordered steak and eggs. A few minutes later, this large man came over to my table and said, My boss would like to see you. Now I did not owe anyone in Alaska money, nor did I do anything to offend. (Believe me, I gave this some serious thought.) So with a little trepidation, I followed the big fellow to a nearby table with four or five guys at it. One fellow looked familiar, but I could not quite place him. I did not think that I knew him from the slope, but I could not be sure. He asked me to sit down, asked if I would like a coffee, and I agreed.

After a few minutes, he said, Do I look familiar to you? I agreed but said I did not know from were. He replied, How about every morning when you look in the mirror?

I gave that some thought for a minute or two and said, You look like me.

He laughed and said, NO! You look like me.

The other guys at the table all said we could be twins. It turned out they were part of a bunch of guides. The boss owned the business, and the big guy that came and got me was the cook. I was invited to join them later that day to go and pick up some hunters that had been at a remote camp. They said that maybe I could shoot a moose. I said I don’t have a license. They laughed and said why would I need that. Besides, they had lots of licenses and everything that I would need. Sadly, I had to decline (believe me, it hurt to do so) as I had a scheduled meeting to attend. A very strange encounter, but since I did not have a brother, it was nice to know that I had a twin.

China Planning

I wrote about the Daqing site work. This is the story leading up to the job. As a member of gas turbines installation support group, I was given the job at Daqing in China. This location is in Manchuria (north of North Korea). The sales and planning group held several meetings in China, most of these being in the late fall, early winter.

The hotel we stayed at was built by the Russians and had few if any amenities. I could take a cup of water and leave it on the windowsill at night, and in the morning, I had solid ice, add some water for a pick-me-up. Several meetings took place at the construction company da wie, the workplace and living quarters for the construction company. In China at the time, the da wie was the center of everything. It was housing, entertainment, store (both department and grocery), school, and doctor’s office. Almost nothing was done outside the da wie.

Now one thing that the Chinese like to do is have banquets and parties. They love to put on a show of affluence. (And believe me, it is a show.) The typical banquet had very fancy-looking displays of food. (But some of it was almost inedible to westerners.) One item guaranteed to be at a banquet was a bird or swan made of sliced hard-boiled eggs. Now these were not just any egg, but much of it was what we called hundred-year-old eggs. These are chicken or duck eggs that are wrapped with mud, spices, lye, and dung and then left in the sun for several weeks. This allows the shell to disintegrate, and it kinds of hard-boils the egg. Now the white of the egg turns a translucent black, and the yolk turns green. And the taste, YUCK. Another delicacy is baby rice birds. These are little sparrow-like baby birds that are cooked whole, so they sat there with their little dead eyes and look at you. You eat them whole. Just pop them in and crunch down. Believe me, it takes a strong stomach to last through a banquet. A favorite dish is carp. Now carp is a very bony fish, and if you are not careful, you are going to have a mouth full of them. (One of my Irish guys can attest to that.) Dog meat, horse meat, donkey meat, and some things that I don’t even want to speculate on were also on the table, including sea rabbits. Then there was the mao-tai. Now this is a favorite drink of the Chinese. It is made from fermented sorghum. I think it was originally devised as rocket fuel, but failing in that, it was sold as a drink. Now the Chinese were very shrewd. They would toast us, so of course, we had to drink, but the trick was that only the person toasting us drank while all of us had to drink in response. We caught on to this but only after several splitting hangovers. We did retaliate on our subsequent trips by bringing American booze to the party. We brought Jack Daniels and some good single-malt scotch. Well, the hosts could not refuse, but they also could not handle it at all. Revenge is sweet.

Now the manager of the construction company was an older gentleman named Mr. Roon. He and I hit it off, and I became his brother during one banquet at his da wie. When we finished eating, the toasting began. I noticed that Mr. Roon did not drink the mao-tai. I asked the interpreter why. He said it was not good for his heart. I said, Me too. So we switched to beer. Now the Chinese have some good beers. (They were taught by the Germans.) We started in on the beer. There were four Americans, one Irishman, and about twelve Chinese. We started a beer pyramid with the cans. The Chinese had never seen this and were like little kids playing in the sandbox. Speaking of sandboxes, there were no restrooms in the area. If nature called, you went outside to the courtyard. Now this was in the middle of winter, and the temperature outside was about five or ten below zero. When the need struck me, I put on my vest (from my time at the north slope in Alaska) and started to go outside. Mr. Roon insisted I wear his heavy coat, but I demurred and said I would be fine. I made several such trips during the night, and after that, I became Mr. Roon’s iron brother. Sometime after we started the festivities, there was a commotion. When I asked what was wrong, I was informed that we had run out of beer. Oh well, it was going to be an early night. But wait, Mr. Roon sent several young guys to another da wie, and more suds was procured. We did make one heck of a can pyramid. At the meeting the next day, it was very quiet with several people missing. Hmm.

One other memorable dinner that I attended was at the Mayor of Daqing’s house. This was one of the best meals that I had in China. The kitchen was tiny with a two-burner gas hot plate for cooking. But that was not used. Instead, we had Mongolian hot pot. Now this is a device consisting of a tall cone of metal with a deep dish of metal attached (soldered) about halfway up. Charcoal sticks are placed in the cone, and water is placed in the bowl. When the water is boiling, some spices are added to the bowl. A dish with raw meat, fish, and veggies is given to each person. You then add these (one by one) to the bowl and allow them to cook, fishing them out with chopsticks. Sauces were served on the side. Hopefully, you get your own stuff. After the food has all been used, the host then adds more spices and rice noodles to the water (now broth), and everyone is served soup. In China, most often, soup is served at the end of the meal. I wish I had brought a hot pot back with me.

During the planning sessions, it was decided that eight representatives would come to the States and tour several gas turbine installations, then come to Schenectady for a plant tour and training. I, being the product service specialist, was given the job of tour guide.

In the spring, I met the group in Anchorage, Alaska, and took them to a site that I had worked on in White River. That went well. We then flew to Oklahoma to the Western Farmers site. While there, we had a mishap. At each place we went, I rented a twelve-passenger van. Now General Electric (GE) did not want us to take the insurance as they were self-insured. Leaving the hotel one morning, I was backing up when a car pulled up to the curb to buy a newspaper from a vending machine. I had checked before backing up, but he zipped in just as I was backing, so I hit him right in the doors. I got out to survey the damage, and the man was okay. We called the police to report the accident, and I called the local GE office for some help on how to handle the insurance. The police came, and we filled out the report. The man was put in touch with the GE office, and everything was fine. (There was no damage to the van.) On getting back into the van, the interpreter tried to give me a fistful of cash. Puzzled I asked what it was for. So you don’t go to jail was the answer. WOW! I explained that there was no problem and assured them that I would not be going to jail. But I thanked them for the gesture.

On to Schenectady. GE had several apartments that were available to house the group. Again, a van was rented and used to ferry the group back and forth. This duty was shared with several others, so it did not become a problem. One item that needed to be addressed was food. The group did not want to go out to eat but would prefer to cook their own meals. (I later found out they wanted to save their money to buy items in New York City on their way home.) So Shirley and I took the group to the GEX (a discount grocery store in Latham.) The group split up into twos and