Sunday, September 30th, 2001: If you're a fan of this site (hopefully there's a few of you out there), you've no doubt been wondering why the Asian updates suddenly stopped, and why there's now suddenly seven days worth appearing all at once. Here's the deal...

As you read further you'll get the details on why the Internet thing only worked out for me in Hong Kong. I did visit a cyber-café here and there, but never with enough time for a proper proofread and hyper-linked site update.

But now it's 9:46AM Singapore time, and I'm passing over the southern tip of Alaska en route to Chicago. I have all the time in the world; I've just crossed the international date line for chrissakes! I've been travelling for more than twelve hours; six and a half of that from Singapore to Tokyo. One of my colleagues, who shall remain nameless (at least until my photos are posted), had a bit of an incident on that flight. Last night she decided to forego the few available hours of sleep, and this morning collapsed on her way to the washrooms at the rear of the plane. I think it was a ploy to get four seats to herself to lie down, but I'm cynical that way.

Once at Narita Airport, my business-class ticket gave me access to the United Airlines Members' Lounge, where I could recharge my batteries, literally. Whilst doing so, I chose wandering the halls of the departure level over hangin' with the biz-knobs and their free liquor; that way I could look wistfully at Japanese folks mashing the keys of their i-Mode phones, with fond memories of my vacation here last month.

I'm not the religious type, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. And I found it most interesting to be back in Asia just over a month after going there on my own dime. Why this happened I cannot say. China has some interesting opportunities; there's already a Canadian comedian, Dashan, who's a household name there. Unfortunately, this laowai's Mandarin is not so good. Being on the other side of the world also gave me some distance from America's mobilization against terrorism; I have to admit that I'm not looking too forward to our stopover in Chicago.

If nothing else, my trips to Asia have taught me that our global village ain't as small as one would think, and without dismissing any of this past month's tragic events, I have been reminded with my travels that there's more going on in this world of ours than what you see on CNN. But then, I already knew that; I'm Canadian :-)

Saturday, September 29th, 2001: Today I shopped 'til my shoe flopped...

Orchard Road is where Singapore spends a good deal of it's money, and while on that street my $40 show shoes finally kacked on me. My left sole all but jettisoned itself from the rest of the shoe, dangling from the toe,succumbing finally to two weeks of double duty -- tourist transport by day, and steppin' out on stage at night. My accident happened at the worst possible time, as I was rushing to meet the rest of the gang for high tea at the Hilton. I walked the last three blocks in a manner that would make John Cleese proud. Fortunately I happened upon a shoe repair place, and the helpful shopkeep gave me a pair of loaners, cheap rubber sandals that were way more comfortable than the shoes being fixed. Half an hour and one crappy high tea later, I was back in business and ready to shop some more.

You'll read about how unimpressed I was at the Funan Centre in Thursday's entry, below. Today, I paid a return visit and dropped about three hundred bucks, on last year's Samsonite luggage and a laptop power adapter for the plane ride back. I got good deals on both, but didn't realize that the Apple connector included with the adapter didn't fit my iceBook. It fits the G3 PowerBook and the old iBook, but not the new iceBook. Thanks, Apple... Maybe I'll send you the bill for the cabs I took in a last minute third trip to the mall, one that almost made me miss the last show of our tour. Taking a cab in Singapore involves waiting in queue at a taxi stand. Considering how expensive cars are here -- a new Honda Civic will set you back ninety thousand dollars -- the stands are always crowded. I made it to the theatre with minutes to spare (okay, twenty of them) and the swan song of our tour not only went up on time, it even got us an encore!

Friday, September 28th, 2001: With our shows coming down at 11PM every night we had no hope of making the Night Safari at The Singapore Zoological Gardens, but we did have a shot at breakfast with an Orangutan, or so we thought... The boys scrambled to the taxi stand at 9AM; by the time we reached the zoo (minutes before 10) the simian sit-down was over for the day.

Between normal tourist hours the zoo still has plenty to offer; though we missed the breakfast we were able to catch the morning marsupial show, and were given this warning before the apes started swinging around over our heads:

"Members of the audience are asked to keep their mouths closed, in case nature calls..."

We weren't disappointed; shortly thereafter about a dozen school kids were treated to a golden shower from a spider monkey above them, who maybe got stage fright.

The zoo proper was African Lion Safari done right -- animals in a natural habitat protected from humans by a simple barrier of water. In some cases, specifically the aviary, visitors could enter into an enclosed area and walk freely amongst butterflies, deer mice (!) and fruit bats. And from a safe distance, one could spy on a komoto dragon, white tigers without Sigfreid & Roy and a clan of red-assed baboons. I was a little concerned at one point, when we found ourselves on a path between a pride of lions and a herd of gazelles, their food. And in that brief moment I forgot that I was even at a zoo, which is the way a zoo should be, don't ya think?

A call on my world phone sent us back from the Rainforest to Raffles Hotel, birthplace of the Singapore Sling. It was all right, I guess, but you'd think I could at least keep the glass as a souvenir. As for the rest of the hotel, well... Considering where we were staying, I don't really want to talk about it.

Thursday, September 27th, 2001: Yesterday was an unremarkable travel day to Singapore, ending with our check-in to remarkable lodgings... Remarkably bad! The Robertson Quay Hotel was strategically located across the street from the site for our gig, the DBS (I called it "devious") Arts Centre, but didn't have much else going for it. The bathroom in my room, like all the others, had a shower without a shower curtain, and a big drain in the middle of the floor. Our musical accompanist remarked that it reminded him of the cruise ships he's worked on. Now I've never been to prison, but I was thinking more along those lines. And of course, each and every room had been wired for fast Internet access, but the service wouldn't be up and running until the following week :-(

I started my first day in the Singapore city state with a radio interview on Gold FM. Hubert and Margaret, the morning show hosts, were nice enough to the two of us who were there, but to each other not so much. Their banter consisted entirely of Hubert calling Margaret fat, then Margaret threatening to poke his eyes out.

Afterwards our producer had a hankering for Denny's; thankfully all the ones in town had closed down. Everyone says that the best food in Singapore can be found on the street, and they ain't kiddin'; we ended up in the basement food court of a run-down mall, where I found myself behind a plate covered in what looked like naan bread with egg in it. Whatever it was, it worked!

Hubert and I had shared a Palm Pilot moment at the radio station, where he told me about the Funan Centre IT Mall. I checked it out in the afternoon, and except for the convenience of five floors of computer stores, wasn't that impressed. A loonie buys about 1.1 Singapore dollars, and the government has its own GST, but the same rigamarole of getting a refund only when you leave the country. When you do the math, the prices don't compute...

In the scales of justice, all the minuses of our hotel were balanced by a beautiful venue and audience for our opening night. After slogging away in a bar for two nights a proper theatre made all the difference, and we got quite the favourable reaction from what we were warned would be a subdued Singaporian crowd.

After the show we checked out the only full-time comedy room in town, The Boom-Boom Room. It was more of a drag show, really, but I did hear my first joke about the World Trade Center. I'm transcribing it here only as an example of what we in the biz call "too soon"...

"United Airlines is working hard to regain customers... Now when you fly United, they'll drop you off right at the office!"

See what I mean?

Tuesday, September 25th, 2001: Today we made our pilgrimage to The Great Wall. Back in Canada I had read on the Lonely Planet site that you could scale the wall in a less-touristy spot, but I was glad that we didn't.

There's a parking lot for buses at the base of the mountains, where some local entrepreneurs had their camel-ride startup on display. With a photo costing twenty Chinese Yuan Remninbi ($4 Canadian), who could resist? I straddled myself between two humps and almost went airborne over the critter's head, not anticipating that it would rise from a kneeling position hind legs first. Many a tuft of camel hair was torn off as I hung on for dear life to the moving beast. When it was all over, I dismounted with about as much grace as I got on with, which wasn't much. Richard captured it all on my digital camera; look for photos soon.

A serene cable car ride got us to the wall itself. There was plenty of exercise to be had once we got there; after a five-minute hike at a forty-five degree angle upwards, my knees were buckling. And lets not forget the $40 show shoes... But even with the sweat and crowds of tourists, it was all right, considering that I have no other ancient wonders to compare it to. And what ancient wonder would be complete without at KFC right beside it?

One meal later Richard took us to the Wangfujing area. Four blocks real estate there have been razed, and a huge shopping centre now dominates the landscape. It felt more like a new suburban development in California than a communist capital, and that's why this city works. To be sure there are definite signs of government oppression, like the one-child rule for families and that whole Tiananman Square thing. But there is also a massive untapped market of consumers who with every passing day are becoming more wealthy and eager to consume. This, and a Government that's receptive to foreign businesses makes China a no-brainer for McDonald's, Starbucks and the like.

After some decadent Peking duck it was back to The Loft, where the power had gone out. We performed a romantic show by candlelight, which went over surprisingly well.

Richard was supposed to see us off at the airport the next day, but didn't show. If he's reading this, consider this my tearful farewell, to the best ambassador Beijing ever had... You rock!

Monday, September 24th, 2001: I never expected to find a four-star hotel in China, but the Zhaolong Hotel is exactly that, a high rise temple of western-style decadence, complete with Internet access in every room... That only works with PCs. I can say this with some authority, as I had the manager of the place in my room trying to get on the network for about twenty minutes. His English wasn't the greatest, but was way better than my Mandarin. Two words that we both understood were "Windows" and "only".

There was little time to enjoy the amenities, even if they didn't work. Richard Liu, our producer's business partner in Beijing, had planned a complete two-day siteseeing itinerary for us. We were a little bummed that he was over an hour late meeting us, but quickly grew to appreciate why: Beijing is a city that's literally bursting at the seams!

In keeping with our van experience of the day before, our cab driver lurched into traffic with nary a warning to those already there. But today we were in downtown Beijing at the height of morning rush hour, sharing a scant few lanes with every form of transportation imaginable, from bicycles to construction vehicles, all fighting for every available inch of pavement. There are two subway lines in Beijing, but clearly they ain't enough; it took us a half-hour to get from our hotel to the closest station.

Our first stop was Tiananman Square. We expected to be somewhat of an anomaly -- the Mandarin have an equivalent expression for gweilo, laowai ("lah-oh-why") -- but we didn't expect to have strangers request photos with us. I was also taken aback by the unsolicited displays of friendliness; several times I was greeted by smiling Beijingers saying "hello" or welcoming me to their city, in English.

And the city is huge, taking a cue, I suppose, from its centrepiece, The Forbidden City. If mass calisthenics were ever led by Chairman Mao -- I'm sure I saw that in a propaganda film once -- it would have been a good warmup for a hike through this place. Chinese Emperors were carried from building to building across the expansive courtyards in between, but I had to fend for myself in my $40 show shoes from the Aldo Shoe Outlet. As my feet became more and more swollen, those shoes became less and less of a bargain...

Our morning of hiking was rewarded with an awesome Chinese meal and some local culture; part of the restaurant was being used as a set for a Kung-Fu film. After lunch I got a bad taste in my mouth from the open-air market known as silk alley. If Chinese sweat shops are responsible for Nikes and Tommy Hilfinger, god only knows what kind of conditions produce the imitation Prada bags found here. I have no problem with label piracy, but I did find the cutthroat haggling of obnoxious tourists from America and Europe rather unpleasant.

Likewise, the venue for the next two nights was a bit of a downer, a somewhat tawdry German-owned dance club called "The Loft". As I suspected, the audience responded to their surroundings in kind, requesting more than the usual helping of jokes about bums and even bin Ladens, typical for a bar crowd...

Sunday, September 23rd, 2001: Maple leafs and corn?!

Today, after a cramped three-hour flight on China Southern airlines, we arrived in mainland China. Gaining entry into this vast communist nation was almost too easy; even when I broke the rules and took a baggage cart into the immigration area there was no international incident.

Instead of checking in at our hotel we went straight to our gig, along a rustic old highway through a sea of corn, some of it growing in the usual manner, some of it shucked and laid out to dry in huge piles, and some of it spilling out of the cargo beds of run-down three-wheeled trucks.

The driving skills of Beijingers are either very or not at all advanced, depending on how you look at it. Every street is a one way express until an oncoming vehicle appears, and cars and trucks alike are thrown into blind curves with only a quick tap of the horn to warn anyone around the bend.

Yet our hired van got us to our destination with nary a scratch, and just in time; my legs were getting numb from the lack of legroom. We disembarked onto the campus of the CCSC, a private institution that immerses its students in English, towards getting them scholarships in Canadian Universities. A one-hour workshop with some drama students went well enough for a promise of stage time that night, and after a western-style dinner of chicken cordon-bleu and fries it was showtime.

Outdoor comedy shows are hard; I did one in Peterborough back when I was in the Second City Touring Company. Having to slow down and over-articulate your speech so that it carries adequately for an acre or so really messes with the timing of jokes. But here we were, on a soccer field flanked by strobe lights that could have been visible from space, with almost two thousand English-as-a-second-language kids seating themselves in geometrically perfect rows and columns with seats they brought from their classrooms. As the show got underway I was faced with a decision needing to be made pretty quick -- slow things down for the kids in the back and turn the evening into an English comprehension exercise, or play to the teachers in front two rows. We performers are suckers for validation, so the grown-ups won. Even when the drama students performed their first improv set for their peers, the faculty answered by joining our encore in a free-for-all improvised song.

To be fair, the principal presented us with flowers and gifts at our curtain call, but the feel-good vibe was abruptly cut short when an old Chinese woman grabbed the mic and started barking orders for the students to return to their dorms.

I think I gained a fan on the other side of the world that night: A shy young drama student asked if she could have a photo taken with me. I had to do an interview for the student-run station Sino-Canadian TeleVision first, and she was nowhere to be found afterwards. Oh, well... At least I can now say I've been on SCTV!

Saturday, September 22nd, 2001: The name Hong Kong is derived from Chinese words that translate into "fragrant harbour". And in a lot of ways, like its name says, Hong Kong stinks.

After last night's show our producer took us to Lan Kwai Fong, which might as well have been the French Quarter in New Orleans. The narrow street was packed with gweilos ("gwie-loze"), a Chinese term of endearment for Westerners, literally meaning "white devil". The name is fitting; ex-pats of western countries live their lives in Hong Kong with little or no exposure to indigenous culture. In fact, Hong Kong is for them nothing more than a gweilo playground, where sordid acts can take place away from the prying eyes of wives and family.

Case in point: One thing I didn't write about our opening night was the Filipina strip joint that our producer took the boys to after the ladies went back to the hotel. It was with good intentions; our host is frequently requested to do the same for visiting consultants and friends from America, so often perhaps that the morality behind the gesture is lost. Anyway, I'm glad we went; it was an opportunity to see a side of Hong Kong that many participate in, but never speak of.

It was a small bar on a side street in Wan Chai, guarded by a bouncer who pulled back a velvet red curtain for our entry. The show on stage was fairly innocuous, two girls dancing together in their underwear without doing anything too rude. More shocking was the quartet of halter top and mini-skirt clad ladies that attached themselves to our arms before we even reached our table. My "date" was Ana, who insisted that this was her first night working here, and maintained how shy she was while putting my hand on her thigh. With all this attention I couldn't really see exactly what was happening to the others, but I did notice an old woman hovering around our table. Her function in all of this became clear when Ana decided that she wanted tequila; I knew the drill, and also where this was headed. I ordered her one drink, then started planning my exit.

I tried to get some real information out of Ana, and found out that she was 24 years old (she looked 18) was trained in computers (?) and was sending money back to her sister in the Philippines. She seemed very interested in where I was from, and in order to leave I first had to give her a bogus Canadian address. One thirty-dollar shot of tequila and a promise to come back later, I was free.

Our musician decided to stay behind, and I fully expected him to show up for breakfast the next morning with a new Filipina bride. But he had instead gone to hear a live band elsewhere. From what I saw in the strip club that night, few gweilos are as responsible as the men of Second City.

Friday, September 21st, 2001: There have so far been two defining moments of my comedy career.

The first came in 1996 with an opening night curtain call when, a week before my retirement from the Second City resident company, the Toronto and Chicago casts swapped stages. Chicago companies have often treated their Toronto peers as second class Second Citizens, but on that particular night an appreciative windy city audience let us know they shared none of the same derision. It was also a personal victory for me; I had begun my comedy studies in Los Angeles at the start of the decade with alumns from Chicago; I had come full circle, and was now good enough for the same stage.

The second was another audience, the one that greeted Al Howell and I for the taping of our first episode of Improv Heaven & Hell. On that night this self-absorbed devil felt like he had truly "made it", and that his fans, family and friends were proud that he had.

Today I'm adding our Hong Kong curtain call to the list. A enthusiastic crowd of Yanks, Brits, Canucks, even some Asians joined together to applaud our opening night. As they did, I heard a disbelieving voice in my head: "I am in China... I am a successful comedian in China!" I couldn't stop smiling...

Thursday, September 20th, 2001: As tonight marks the first show of our tour, I've spent the last day and a half preparing for it, while finishing up my obligations as a tourist.

Tuesday night our group made like TV's Batman and rode the Swiss-made cable tram at a 63 degree angle (!) up to The Peak, where we were treated to a spectacular night view of the Hong Kong skyline... And a Ripley's Believe It Or Not! Museum. I couldn't really enjoy it; my mind was on a store window we passed on the way there, displaying the same mobile gear I had bought the day before, for twenty bucks cheaper.

On the way back to the subway we passed through the Wan Chai district, well-known by sailors. Thirty U.S. dollars will buy the lady of your choice a beer in any one of a number of bar/brothels lining both sides of the street. Two drinks will apparently open the door to a return on your investment. Alternately, you can spend your thirty bucks on a gourmet meal in any one of a number of funky, fusion-style eateries that are also part of the landscape. As you can imagine, the area's clientele makes for an odd mix...

Yesterday morning we rehearsed our show by the hotel pool, loud enough that guests in all the surrounding rooms couldn't help but listen in on our wackiness. Then it was off to the Hong Kong Arts Centre for a technical run-through. By this time the effects of us not having a director for our show had become clear; my assigned roles were all a variation of the classic Second City "tomato head" (a guy who yells a lot), and two of our blackouts had pretty much the same punchline, in both cases delivered by the same person -- me. But after an impromptu cast meeting over dinner back at the hotel, our lack of a director seemed less problematic, for the moment at least.

I celebrated our socialist theatrical coup with a visit to the night market on Temple Street in Kowloon. Had I any desire for a Sonee PlayHub or some Tony Hiflinger threads I would have been quite thrilled; as it happened, I was more than content to catch the last subway back to the hotel.

Tuesday, September 18th: How low can you go?

Yesterday our gang went shopping in Kowloon on the famous Nathan Road. While the ladies were fawning over slippers and the guy who drank too much on the flight over here (oops!) was getting fitted for a custom-made suit, I stopped into a shop to check out prices on the latest mobile gadgetry. I had heard that bartering was a necessary component of any major purchase in Hong Kong, but I certainly didn't expect my innocent queries to result in the tense round of negotiations that followed. It did. I wasn't even sure if the phone I was bartering for would even work in Canada, so I stood steadfast in an unreasonably low offer, which, to my surprise, was eventually accepted. I barely escaped with my credit card balance intact.

I continued down a row of similar shops; every single one of them seemed to have the same phone in the window, enticing me to touch, to press, to call. When I finally gave in and made another price check, I was a goner... A victim of consumerism, Hong Kong style!

Buoyed by my newly-discovered skill at haggling, I spent the next half hour making cellular shopkeeps miserable. One of them visibly hung his head as I walked away from his final offer; I later found out that such displays were quite successful with Westerners, but had zero effect on indigenous folk. There was certainly some loyalty in my return to the site of what started all this, and I walked out shortly thereafter with a new phone and wireless headset -- so much for keeping microwaves away from my head! After a night of tinkering I still can't get the damn WAP browser to connect, and the Indonesian-only manual doesn't offer much in the way of help. I nonetheless feel justified by my bartering expertise and the complete absence of sales tax.

The evening was spent incognito, watching alumni of the original version of WHOSE LINE do some make 'em ups at a local bar. For folks who portent to be so erudite, Brits sure do like their poo-poo tinkle jokes. I've done my share of bar improv and I know the drill: Give the people what they want. Still, I thought there might be at least a small nod to local culture, at the very least in a suggestion from the audience. But the poo-poo tinkle people have so far proven to be a close-minded, arrogant lot.

This morning Melody Johnson and I did a radio interview for RTHK. Apparently the DJ was too important to be in the same building as us; he was in Kowloon, we were on the island. During the interview he made the unfortunate choice of asking us about last week's terrorist attacks, a deliberate test in my opinion, to see if we'd make complete asses of ourselves. Of course we didn't.

Monday, September 17th, 2001: Well, here we are again, my trusty iceBook and I, giving you something to read while we watch the sun rise in an exotic, foreign land. This would be a pretty sweet gig if I could make a living at it; in fact, I've already taken my first, feeble step in that direction. More details when they are confirmed...

It sure was strange being in an airplane after watching them crash into buildings all last week. I got to Toronto's Pearson airport on Saturday before 5AM, and joined a couple of hundred other folks in queue for two United Airlines flights. The line-up didn't start moving until after 6, when the customs desk opened up for the day. This meant that getting my boarding pass actually took longer than going through security and having my luggage searched... Twice!

The flight to San Francisco ended with a textbook-perfect landing and an emotional thank-you from the crew. The only other event of note was the really bad breakfast. The flight attendants had run out of waffles by the time they reached my back row seat; my only other choice was a baked potato, a single sausage and some bland, runny salsa. I only mention this for the purpose of comparison with what came next...

Our 747 was waiting for us when we arrived in San Fran; in fact, we pulled up right next to it. United Airlines, a sponsor of our tour through the free tickets they provided, decided that we should fly business class to Hong Kong. Thus, when I boarded I found waiting for me an oversized seat that reclined to an almost flat position, about four rows worth of legroom and a glass of champagne. The first four hours of the flight was a relentless bombardment of food and liquor. One of our group (whose identity I'll protect, for now) went a little overboard with the free booze and was cut off, but yours truly, the experienced world traveller, was content with a few hours of The Manchurian Candidate on his private LCD video screen until the Gravol kicked in. Dinner was ordered from a menu before takeoff, and served on fine china with silverware, except for the plastic knives, a rather poignant touch.

We arrived at Chep Lak Kok (no jokes, please) International Airport about half an hour behind schedule, and I spent about as much time on my Fido world phone, on hold because I couldn't get in to my voice mailbox. Everything's now in order, and my hotel's high-speed connection to the 'Net is working without a hitch.

I should also mention that my own personal goldfish at staring at me while I write this. The hotel provided me with it for the duration of my stay. Here, verbatim, is the fish's letter of introduction:

"Hi! What am I doing here? Well, lets' face it, you're in Hong Kong alone, and maybe you need an ear to talk to at night. I'm a great listener. I'm here as long as you want me, but if you're tired of my company then give Housekeeping a call and they will collect me. And they will even feed me so don't worry about that.

Have a great stay... Fish."

So, with three full days before our first show I should have lots to write about. Keep it locked right here, or bookmarked at least ...

Friday, September 14th, 2001: I've finished packing my bags, in a manner that will facilitate easy searching and re-packing at the airport tomorrow. Both my United flights appear to be on track for on-time departures; the first one, -- UA #283 if you're playing along at home -- leaves at 7:45AM, meaning that our merry band of thespians will be showing up at Pearson airport three hours before. Assuming we get to San Francisco and can connect within another three hour window to UA #805, we'll be arriving in Hong Kong after a total of 22 hours in the air. Luckily I have enough Gravol for sharing...

I suspect that Beijing will be an Internet black-out zone, not because of our four-star hotel, but because of that communism thing. I'll update this page when and where I can, assuming I can get there in the first place, of course...

Thursday, September 13th, 2001: Some of the predictions of Nostradamus have been circulating the 'Net, and were even published in today's Globe & Mail:

"In the year of the new century and nine months, from the sky will come a great King of Terror... The sky will burn at 45 degrees. Fire approaches the great new city... In the city of York, there will be a great collapse, two twin brothers torn apart by chaos... While the fortress falls the great leader will succumb... Third big war will begin when the big city is burning."

For immediate reassurance, please click here.

Wednesday, September 12th, 2001: I'm keeping myself busy while waiting to hear if my comedy tour of Asia is still a go. Who needs Napster? Set your wayback machines to 1985 and check out my treats page!

Tuesday, September 11th, 2001: Details on how today's attacks on the United States affected my world can be found on my photos page...

Saturday, September 8th, 2001: I've been busy getting myself re-acquainted with the wonderful world of corporate comedy.

As a warm-up for our tour of the Far East, our Second City stage manager hired me and two of the other Asia-bound actors to do some improv for a group of Criminal Court judges enjoying a Lake Simcoe retreat. They were an unruly but attentive audience, so long as our scenes had a least one transvestite in 'em...

I'm also pitching a scene or two for a meeting of the IOF, while re-learning some classic (some might say "ancient") Second City gags for our fans on the other side of the world.

I also picked up my world phone from Fido, for a thirty-day trial. Good thing, because I'd otherwise be very hesitant to drop three hundred bucks on a phone that's bound for both Asia and obsolescence. I don't get Fido; whoever their buyer is has the easiest job in the world -- all they have to do is keep tabs on what handsets are popular in Europe, then bulk-order a whack of them from the manufacturer for the Canadian market. If that person was actually doing their job, I might have actually spent money on something a little more current...