OK you guys, quit with the antics la!!
I have trouble enough sleeping without the doors closing noisily and the creaking stuff. Give me a break eh?
Plus, I need those socks that got lost in the laundry back thank you, and I would prefer that you dont break anymore of my appliances.
Whew. Thats a lot to ask I guess, but i am an expat and we do quite press the point. What exactly do I have to give or do to create a bit of peace around here?
Probably easier to answer that, than why exactly do the Chinese consider the gates of hell open for this month? As in once a year the gates of hell open. And it's this month. Hmmmm, loose ghosts, pandemonium.
I'm serious. No one buys a car or a house during this month. No swimming at rivers or beaches and other adventurous activities whatsoever during this month.
No big business decisions either. Singapore, whilst not exactly grinding to a halt, takes on an air of caution. Consider that the general populace here is urbane and well educated this kind of creeps up as a bit of a surprise.
So, whats the story?
Evidently its a bunch of Hungry Ghosts.
Hungry Ghosts appear from Chinese ancestor worship. 鬼法界, 鬼界 is "the realm of the hungry ghosts". Some Chinese believe that the ghosts of their ancestors return to their houses at a certain time of the year, hungry and ready to eat. A festival is held to honor the hungry ancestor ghosts and food and drink is put out to satisfy their needs. Honor of ancestors is a big thing amongst Chinese. Might be a useful attribute methinks. Even the Buddhists get in on the act. The temple next door to me has been working overtime with chanting and horn blowing all weekend.
So little bins have started appearing across the neighborhood. A fire burns in the bottom and into this goes food, clothing (probably my socks) and anything else which could make the dead ancestor happier for the year ahead. They are never forgotten, and angered at ones peril.
Oh and money. Hell is not cheap la. It has its demigods and gate openers all of whom need to be "well oiled" for a comfortable existence.
Now, if you don't get with the swing of this, then certain little prompts start to help you appreciate the situation.
First it was the socks. Then the doors mysteriously opening and closing when i wasn't looking. Creaking sounds have woken me up in the last few nights. Now my appliances have started malfunctioning. Yesterday was the washing machine. Today the espresso machine.
The thing about superstition is you can say all you like about how silly it is, ill-educated nonsense, but......
Its been a superstition for thousands of years. Skepticism has only been a "science" for around 20 years. Its just a pup.
Me?
I pride myself on rational explanations and an understanding of natural laws rather than pseudoscience. Animistic beliefs I respect, they are born of long cultural experience. Skepticism only lasts until you are looking for that missing sock.
I am out tonight to make an offering of food to my local ghosts, and to also sling a few dollars for all my departed ancestors. I wonder what the exchange rate is and do they take Visa. Of course they must, hell is well populated with bankers hehe.
Just call me ill-educated :)
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Singapore Two
No problems lah! Dont be so Money Face Lah! Aeyo can lah!
Today I am so blur blur, I wonder how I can write this and put sense to the language known as Singlish.
4 cultures (maybe 5 considering the english expat in addition to Malay, Chinese, Indian, European) have intertwined to form this modern day republic, each with its own diametrically opposite language structures, cuisines and fashions to make Singapore one of the most eclectic places on the planet. Vaguely reminiscent or familiar of all of the homes of the cultures it combines yet somehow blended to a new level to make a Singaporean no matter what their ancestry or ethnic heritage stand out in a crowd when returned to their mother place.
It really becomes obvious when you sit in on a discussion amongst its denizens, white skinned chinese, darker skinned malay, dark skinned indians all of whose cultural homes are obvious and yet when you hear them speak, the colour distinction is the only difference you can notice. (The lower case use for the ethnic origins is intentional, they are now Singaporeans)
Close your eyes
Listen
Its English, but its not. It blends Malay, "you makan already?" with Chinese "Hey Ah Beng makan already?" with Hindi/Urdu "Hey Ah Beng makan roti already?" with the parent English (I say parent, as English is what Singaporeans mainly speak) to come out with "Hey ah beng you wan do makan roti prata already lah?"
What the hell does this mean?
How the hell do I know, I am just a visitor lah
No lah makan liao lah. Tze tze, terimah kaseh
Now I go play play cause I am a little slow slow
Today I am so blur blur, I wonder how I can write this and put sense to the language known as Singlish.
4 cultures (maybe 5 considering the english expat in addition to Malay, Chinese, Indian, European) have intertwined to form this modern day republic, each with its own diametrically opposite language structures, cuisines and fashions to make Singapore one of the most eclectic places on the planet. Vaguely reminiscent or familiar of all of the homes of the cultures it combines yet somehow blended to a new level to make a Singaporean no matter what their ancestry or ethnic heritage stand out in a crowd when returned to their mother place.
It really becomes obvious when you sit in on a discussion amongst its denizens, white skinned chinese, darker skinned malay, dark skinned indians all of whose cultural homes are obvious and yet when you hear them speak, the colour distinction is the only difference you can notice. (The lower case use for the ethnic origins is intentional, they are now Singaporeans)
Close your eyes
Listen
Its English, but its not. It blends Malay, "you makan already?" with Chinese "Hey Ah Beng makan already?" with Hindi/Urdu "Hey Ah Beng makan roti already?" with the parent English (I say parent, as English is what Singaporeans mainly speak) to come out with "Hey ah beng you wan do makan roti prata already lah?"
What the hell does this mean?
How the hell do I know, I am just a visitor lah
No lah makan liao lah. Tze tze, terimah kaseh
Now I go play play cause I am a little slow slow
Monday, July 6, 2009
Singapore One
With a nod and a swaying of his head (as only an Indian can do and interpret) Waiter Number 136 acknowledges my order of Roti Prata and Teh Tarik.
I sit back in the plastic chair at the cheap laminex table, savoring the moistness of the tropical evening as Singapore traffic rushes by oblivious of the ritual through which they drive like the possessed.
Roti prata is the Singaporean evolution of the Pakistani and Indian paratha, a pancake bread made of dough composed of fat, egg, flour and water. Roti means bread in Hindi, Urdu, most other North Indian languages and Malay, while Prata means flat. It is traditionally served with curry or, more rarely, with sugar or condensed milk. In addition, although consumed at any time of the day by some locals, the vast majority tend to consume it as a late night or early morning dish, particularly at 24-hour outlets.
There are two main types of the dish - the smaller but crispy version (made famous by the Jalan Kayu chains) and the flatter and more fluffy version common elsewhere. Both versions are prepared in similar fashion - by flipping the dough into a large thin layer before heating it on a hot plate.
Teh tarik (literally pulled tea or 拉茶 in Mandarin) is a hot tea beverage which can be commonly found in restaurants, outdoor stalls and kopi tiams in Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei. Its name is derived from the pouring process of "pulling" the drink during preparation. It is made from black tea and condensed milk.
The mixture is poured back and forth repeatedly between two vessels over a height, giving it a thick frothy top. This process is said to cool the tea to drinking temperatures, and helps mix the tea with the condensed milk more thoroughly.
Thanks Wikipedia.
Now back to the show.
The Prata cook and the Tarek maker seem to be in a competition as to who can perform the most flourishes per step all the while acknowledging each others simple magic with a wobbling motion of the head. Quite amazing to watch the geometry of this as nothing is spilt or misplaced during the dance.
Up swirls the Prata in the air before landing perfectly square on the large flat cooking surface the cook dives on it with a large spatula turning and prodding it into its fluffy end product, the Teh spirals back and forth between the large metal jug and the cup, a continual cascade seeming to flow with no end between both vessels.
Its pure India where dramatics and inferred magic may make the difference between a sale or no sale/no eat, although the affluence surrounding the demo (modern day Singapore) belies its rural roots. The transportation to the old markets of Delhi nearly works.
In its simplest form, exposed by the preparation of food, thousands of years of culture and migration lay bare. All for $2.20.
Within minutes I have old India served on a plate with a watery lamb curry, the teh (tea) is frothy and sweet. The smell can only be described as sensuous. The taste? Ahh Singapore, forget your expensive nightlife, this is truly part of you.
And Waiter Number 136 gives me a wide smile and an appreciative nod to acknowledge that this Ang Moh recognised the show.
Ah Beng Lah
I sit back in the plastic chair at the cheap laminex table, savoring the moistness of the tropical evening as Singapore traffic rushes by oblivious of the ritual through which they drive like the possessed.
Roti prata is the Singaporean evolution of the Pakistani and Indian paratha, a pancake bread made of dough composed of fat, egg, flour and water. Roti means bread in Hindi, Urdu, most other North Indian languages and Malay, while Prata means flat. It is traditionally served with curry or, more rarely, with sugar or condensed milk. In addition, although consumed at any time of the day by some locals, the vast majority tend to consume it as a late night or early morning dish, particularly at 24-hour outlets.
There are two main types of the dish - the smaller but crispy version (made famous by the Jalan Kayu chains) and the flatter and more fluffy version common elsewhere. Both versions are prepared in similar fashion - by flipping the dough into a large thin layer before heating it on a hot plate.
Teh tarik (literally pulled tea or 拉茶 in Mandarin) is a hot tea beverage which can be commonly found in restaurants, outdoor stalls and kopi tiams in Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei. Its name is derived from the pouring process of "pulling" the drink during preparation. It is made from black tea and condensed milk.
The mixture is poured back and forth repeatedly between two vessels over a height, giving it a thick frothy top. This process is said to cool the tea to drinking temperatures, and helps mix the tea with the condensed milk more thoroughly.
Thanks Wikipedia.
Now back to the show.
The Prata cook and the Tarek maker seem to be in a competition as to who can perform the most flourishes per step all the while acknowledging each others simple magic with a wobbling motion of the head. Quite amazing to watch the geometry of this as nothing is spilt or misplaced during the dance.
Up swirls the Prata in the air before landing perfectly square on the large flat cooking surface the cook dives on it with a large spatula turning and prodding it into its fluffy end product, the Teh spirals back and forth between the large metal jug and the cup, a continual cascade seeming to flow with no end between both vessels.
Its pure India where dramatics and inferred magic may make the difference between a sale or no sale/no eat, although the affluence surrounding the demo (modern day Singapore) belies its rural roots. The transportation to the old markets of Delhi nearly works.
In its simplest form, exposed by the preparation of food, thousands of years of culture and migration lay bare. All for $2.20.
Within minutes I have old India served on a plate with a watery lamb curry, the teh (tea) is frothy and sweet. The smell can only be described as sensuous. The taste? Ahh Singapore, forget your expensive nightlife, this is truly part of you.
And Waiter Number 136 gives me a wide smile and an appreciative nod to acknowledge that this Ang Moh recognised the show.
Ah Beng Lah
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Aperture
London grows on you. The more you poke your lens into its numerous crannies the more its uniqueness reveals itself.
Of special mention here is the Aperture Photgraphers Cafe on Museum Street.
In addition to serving Lavazza espresso (of course its my favourite, isnt it yours?) They have an amazing array of very hard to get cameras, all second hand, but in great working order. The ambience is interesting with a mix of amateurs and working pro's either midway or just back from some of the most interesting places.
The camaraderie is brilliant and the sales staff very interactive. The shop looks like a rubbish dump though, be warned, although most working photographers seem to have an appetite for things boheme. The place just reeks of funk.
Also worthy of special mention is Classic Cameras in Pied Bull Lane, just round the corner. Its the best Leica Shop I have ever been to and the staff are great. Its nice to buy things from people who truly believe in what they sell, no hype, just honest input.
For a more thorough look at Londons nooks try here http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikefrancisphoto/
I am starting to really like this town.
Of special mention here is the Aperture Photgraphers Cafe on Museum Street.
In addition to serving Lavazza espresso (of course its my favourite, isnt it yours?) They have an amazing array of very hard to get cameras, all second hand, but in great working order. The ambience is interesting with a mix of amateurs and working pro's either midway or just back from some of the most interesting places.
The camaraderie is brilliant and the sales staff very interactive. The shop looks like a rubbish dump though, be warned, although most working photographers seem to have an appetite for things boheme. The place just reeks of funk.
Also worthy of special mention is Classic Cameras in Pied Bull Lane, just round the corner. Its the best Leica Shop I have ever been to and the staff are great. Its nice to buy things from people who truly believe in what they sell, no hype, just honest input.
For a more thorough look at Londons nooks try here http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikefrancisphoto/
I am starting to really like this town.
Jesus Saves
I am in San Diego.
The phone shatters the darkness (thank whatever god invented black out curtains).
I roll over in no fit state to deal with whoever is inflicting this pain and notice its 8 AM.
I have a vague recollection of having to do something at 8 AM. Answering the phone, my comrade tells me he is waiting downstairs for our big Sunday trip to Mexico. Politely I decline begging off due to my poor state of health (and confusion) on a bad dose of something I ate. Or was it something I drank until 5 AM?
Its amazing how you can lie when pressed.
I try to go back to sleep but the throbbing behind my temples is reminding me that I should never again drink vodka in such large quantities.
I decide to try and stay awake and here I make the second mistake of the morning (waking up was a bad enough move). I switch on the TV.
No matter which channel I surf to I am assailed by the jesus channels. As in every channel I flick to has a god botherer in action.
I settle on a woman with large breasts who is, in her best pitch, telling the world that jesus is the answer. “put your hand on the part that hurts” she wails. “Let jesus cure your ills”.
I am exhorted to action. How can I refuse such an offer from such a well-endowed lady who obviously has jesus's private cell number.
So here I am, standing in front of the TV in my underpants with my hand on my forehead listening to her wailing how if I truly believe, all my hurts and ills will now be gone.
With a hangover like this, trust me I believe.
Sadly, jesus has no sense of humour about vodka.
Tylenol, however has a much better sense of humour. After a handful of these, normality returned, sleep ensued and in the very late afternoon, I had Mexican for dinner.
Might start a new religion.
The phone shatters the darkness (thank whatever god invented black out curtains).
I roll over in no fit state to deal with whoever is inflicting this pain and notice its 8 AM.
I have a vague recollection of having to do something at 8 AM. Answering the phone, my comrade tells me he is waiting downstairs for our big Sunday trip to Mexico. Politely I decline begging off due to my poor state of health (and confusion) on a bad dose of something I ate. Or was it something I drank until 5 AM?
Its amazing how you can lie when pressed.
I try to go back to sleep but the throbbing behind my temples is reminding me that I should never again drink vodka in such large quantities.
I decide to try and stay awake and here I make the second mistake of the morning (waking up was a bad enough move). I switch on the TV.
No matter which channel I surf to I am assailed by the jesus channels. As in every channel I flick to has a god botherer in action.
I settle on a woman with large breasts who is, in her best pitch, telling the world that jesus is the answer. “put your hand on the part that hurts” she wails. “Let jesus cure your ills”.
I am exhorted to action. How can I refuse such an offer from such a well-endowed lady who obviously has jesus's private cell number.
So here I am, standing in front of the TV in my underpants with my hand on my forehead listening to her wailing how if I truly believe, all my hurts and ills will now be gone.
With a hangover like this, trust me I believe.
Sadly, jesus has no sense of humour about vodka.
Tylenol, however has a much better sense of humour. After a handful of these, normality returned, sleep ensued and in the very late afternoon, I had Mexican for dinner.
Might start a new religion.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Tea Dance
Manila is not the nicest place I’ve been to for many reasons. The poverty, the lack of decent food, and the overwhelmingly cloying Catholicism get to me after about 3 hours of landing.
I do however have an affinity for Philippinos. I have worked with them all over the world and some are lifelong friends. And there lies an interesting fact about the Philippines. A large proportion of its exports are people. Balikbayan is the word for the men and women who leave the sanctuary of home to head out and break the poverty cycle they face in the barrio.
For the guys, most are well trained and work hardened before they leave Manila. Those that aren’t quickly get adopted by their new working brothers and are able to cope with indescribable hardships by dint of this pseudo family structure.
The women however (outside of the nursing profession) fare not so kindly.
Let me first explain that the majority of Asia’s maids are Philipinas.
They work a 3-year contract cycle during which they will endure long working days and very limited contact with the outside world or family.
In the first contractual year, it’s generally a 7-day week. It’s not until the subsequent years that they start to get Sunday off, and some even get Saturday afternoon.
Singapore has an interesting phenomenon that occurs every Sunday. It’s known as The Tea Dance. And it is an entirely Pilipino affair.
Sunday starts with a visit to the local Catholic church for early morning mass. After this it’s a visit to the Post Office (Singapore Post opens early for them on this day) to send letters away followed by meeting anyone they know from home or just generally taking the afternoon off during which they wander local shopping malls, which in turn cater to them as a market.
This is a tradition that has continued for many years. Ever since I can remember.
Not much dancing gets done nor tea drunk. Instead, shopping malls and park benches get filled with maids on parade doing their best to get some form of social interaction or normalcy to their otherwise confined life of servitude. The whole area takes on a carnival flavour.
So on any steamy Sunday in Singapore, take a walk down the Orchard Road. Drink some Tea and enjoy the view.
No problems lah!!!!
I do however have an affinity for Philippinos. I have worked with them all over the world and some are lifelong friends. And there lies an interesting fact about the Philippines. A large proportion of its exports are people. Balikbayan is the word for the men and women who leave the sanctuary of home to head out and break the poverty cycle they face in the barrio.
For the guys, most are well trained and work hardened before they leave Manila. Those that aren’t quickly get adopted by their new working brothers and are able to cope with indescribable hardships by dint of this pseudo family structure.
The women however (outside of the nursing profession) fare not so kindly.
Let me first explain that the majority of Asia’s maids are Philipinas.
They work a 3-year contract cycle during which they will endure long working days and very limited contact with the outside world or family.
In the first contractual year, it’s generally a 7-day week. It’s not until the subsequent years that they start to get Sunday off, and some even get Saturday afternoon.
Singapore has an interesting phenomenon that occurs every Sunday. It’s known as The Tea Dance. And it is an entirely Pilipino affair.
Sunday starts with a visit to the local Catholic church for early morning mass. After this it’s a visit to the Post Office (Singapore Post opens early for them on this day) to send letters away followed by meeting anyone they know from home or just generally taking the afternoon off during which they wander local shopping malls, which in turn cater to them as a market.
This is a tradition that has continued for many years. Ever since I can remember.
Not much dancing gets done nor tea drunk. Instead, shopping malls and park benches get filled with maids on parade doing their best to get some form of social interaction or normalcy to their otherwise confined life of servitude. The whole area takes on a carnival flavour.
So on any steamy Sunday in Singapore, take a walk down the Orchard Road. Drink some Tea and enjoy the view.
No problems lah!!!!
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Koh Chang - a photographic adventure
Once upon a time, in a far away place, there was a fabled island known only to locals and shaped like an elephant, referred to in hushed whispers as the paradise Koh Chang (Elephant Island).
Near vertical, tropically swathed, misty mountains surrounded by white sandy beaches with crystal waters. Palm fringed, coral reefs on the seaward side. An island that actually did look like the photograph in the brochure.
I remember this place. I slept on its beaches and conversed with the fishermen who used to pull in with their small catches to sell. An old lady and her husband would cook.
So with a week to spare between assignments, I hook up with Martin the dancing bear and we sashe (or was it tango) our way down the coast looking to capture the heart of the quaint sea villages and island charm of Thailand's eastern seaboard.
From Pattaya we head east towards Cambodia looking to stop at each little town along the way and to "grow" a life as it is here essay by camera.
Inwardly I cringe a little as I write this.
It appears that the worlds (or at the very least Thailand's) entire plastic bag stock has been dumped in every place we stop to shoot. Scenes of graceful fishing fleets nestling on the low tide sands are totally eviscerated by what in my estimate were at least a tonne of plastic. Everywhere the lens looked.
When we get to the island, it actually gets worse. My wonderful little island no longer looks the picture of paradise.
Its been plasticized. And not just with plastic bag garbage. To add insult to injury, its been overbuilt with some of the ugliest buildings ever built (no way will I use the word architecture cause that implies art which this place sadly now needs).
Water has suffered a bit as well. Its brown. Cant see my feet at knee level brown.
The entire foreshore is now overbuilt with 4 star and 5 star hotels. You cant get to the beach anymore unless you stay at one of these places. I wonder where their sewage discharges to? And with all this trampling by construction crews and the odd suckered tourist, its just a mud quagmire and its hasn't started to rain yet.
I could rave on about the greed of the Thai people who did this or the apathy of the Thai people who let this happen in a listed National Park. Instead I go home, photoless and deeply saddened.
I am not accepting plastic bags anymore. They kill islands.
Mai Pen Rai eh?
Near vertical, tropically swathed, misty mountains surrounded by white sandy beaches with crystal waters. Palm fringed, coral reefs on the seaward side. An island that actually did look like the photograph in the brochure.
I remember this place. I slept on its beaches and conversed with the fishermen who used to pull in with their small catches to sell. An old lady and her husband would cook.
So with a week to spare between assignments, I hook up with Martin the dancing bear and we sashe (or was it tango) our way down the coast looking to capture the heart of the quaint sea villages and island charm of Thailand's eastern seaboard.
From Pattaya we head east towards Cambodia looking to stop at each little town along the way and to "grow" a life as it is here essay by camera.
Inwardly I cringe a little as I write this.
It appears that the worlds (or at the very least Thailand's) entire plastic bag stock has been dumped in every place we stop to shoot. Scenes of graceful fishing fleets nestling on the low tide sands are totally eviscerated by what in my estimate were at least a tonne of plastic. Everywhere the lens looked.
When we get to the island, it actually gets worse. My wonderful little island no longer looks the picture of paradise.
Its been plasticized. And not just with plastic bag garbage. To add insult to injury, its been overbuilt with some of the ugliest buildings ever built (no way will I use the word architecture cause that implies art which this place sadly now needs).
Water has suffered a bit as well. Its brown. Cant see my feet at knee level brown.
The entire foreshore is now overbuilt with 4 star and 5 star hotels. You cant get to the beach anymore unless you stay at one of these places. I wonder where their sewage discharges to? And with all this trampling by construction crews and the odd suckered tourist, its just a mud quagmire and its hasn't started to rain yet.
I could rave on about the greed of the Thai people who did this or the apathy of the Thai people who let this happen in a listed National Park. Instead I go home, photoless and deeply saddened.
I am not accepting plastic bags anymore. They kill islands.
Mai Pen Rai eh?
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