Tuesday, May 1, 2012

“Practice is at 12:45, right?” I asked the coordinator on Saturday, supremely pleased that our crew was first to arrive on the waterfront.

“It’s actually at 1:15,” she replied with a laugh. “I had to plan for Asian Time, you know?”

“That’s why I’m here now,” I told her, although I don’t think she fully appreciated the subtext.

Asian Time, for the uninitiated, is the stereotypical phenomenon of arriving 15 minutes late to any given appointment. When the appointment in question is practice for an Asian festival, well, you can be damn sure I’ll do all I can to avoid being the punchline.

That’s why I got there at 12:35–and, sure enough, I was the only Asian dude on the boat, which catered perfectly to my favorite ratio. Originally, I was led to believe it would be kayaking, but in truth, it was more like a long canoe. Next weekend, these boats would be decorated to–heaven help me–look like dragons.

The rowing motion itself was foreign and tough to learn. The proper form felt primal, almost as if I were spearing the water, and it was a fantastic workout. The sunshine was welcome, too, and I believe I’ve darkened to a deep, rich hue of off-white now. “This is what they call ‘Chinese water torture,'” I said to a buddy as we walked back to the car. He snickered.

It was a welcome torture, though, and I even returned for more sun and practice. But one of the main draws of the event, I imagine, will be a shared sense of solidarity and culture. Even though I was surrounded, on a hot Sunday afternoon, by people who looked like me, that sense of community was missing. I remember looking around and feeling nothing–and it was freeing.