One Man’s Cold

You may have read about the severe weather hitting China at the moment. You may have wondered what all the complaints are about since the temperature in the South where I am is still nicely above freezing. You may think that all those Chinese stranded here in the icy Lair are complainers and know nothing about what true cold really is. Let me dispell that shit.

I grew up in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, which sits on the ugly side of 50 degrees North, and which, when I was a kid, regularly got blasted with -30 degrees spells. Hell, one winter they were checking for frostbite at the school doors – and I did have to walk nearly a mile. I also spent three years as a baby up in Frobisher Bay on Baffin Island (the opening spot for the skiing sequence in “The Spy Who Loved Me” if you want an idea), which is really cold. I worked as a bike courier in Edmonton for years and rode my bike year round, including in -38c plus wind, which caused my hideous mountain man beard to glaciate. I left little melting morains of snot and stuff on desks as I left. I’ve skied in -35.

I have been cold and I think I know cold.

I was cold in Taiwan and my hands went numb when I was in my breezy rooftop apartment.

I was chilly in Hong Kong.

I am freezing here.

It’s four degrees out. This means that in the land of no central heating it’s four degrees inside.

It’s also humid. Down through your skin to the core chills.

Homes aren’t insulated and double-pane windows a rarity. My apartment bleeds like Sonny Corleone (oh, for God’s sakes, if you don’t know this reference you can’t say you like movies).

For those of you who hike in the mountains, go out and sleep in four degree weather, then spend the day in it. Do this for two weeks.

It is not a pleasant experience. I sleep with my gloves on because I loathe cold hands. I have about a foot of blankets I use at night and a little heater when I watch TV that does a good job of toasting my shins and feet.

I can’t imagine having to wait outside a train station in the rain. Even with a few hundred thousand other bodies it’s going to be very unpleasant.

And I feel for this people. They are poor. Really poor. They come here to build this megalopolis for a pittance and live in shacks like vagrants in the Great Depression. They live a hard scrabble existence and this coming week is their sole holiday of the year and the only time they can return to hearth and home.

So yes, being stuck in miserable weather faced with a cancelled holiday and no chance to see wives or husbands or children for another year is terrible.

These people don’t deserve your pathetic and over-priveleged scorn.