Australian writer of Montenegrin descent en route to a polyglot European port at the head of the Adriatic mid-2011 shipwrecks instead on the SE Asian Equator. 12, 36, 48…80, 90++ months passage out awaited. Scribble all the while. By some process stranger than fiction, a role as an interpreter of Islam develops; Buddhism & even Hinduism. (Long story.)
Monday, January 30, 2012
Keeping Time in Singapore
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ArtsScience Museum at Marina Bay Sands (where the chief casino is likewise sited) hosting a Cartier TimeArt exhibition at present. A week and more banners flying in the Arts precinct around Bugis and Dhoby Ghaut. No other place on the globe moves horological art from display case to wrist like Singapore. Full page colour ads in the Straits Times common, even after Roger Federer has slipped down the rankings (lord knows what his Rolex contract may have pulled). Cartier merely one of an extensive number of trading houses. Chap who founded "The Hour Glass" here — a Monash Uni alumnus incidentally — featuring in the paper recently after separating from his long-standing wife (also Monash - a downunder student love affair). "Horological Art" has been trademarked to this particular company. Jeweled time-pieces with visible inner mechanisms (a la Da Vinci) a large part of the sell in the trade in Singapore. Recent days our Academy star Nicole on page one caught in a lovely moment of abstraction with a thin gold band on her wrist. Her kind of English-rose bloom highly marketable in Singapore, you may be surprised to learn. And when Nic sells watches here the target is most certainly not the expat community. No, the refinement of the English overlords, their men of war, traders, clergy and law- and peace-makers, far, far from forgotten in Singapore. Indelible markings. Hong Kong must be similar, judging from some of the unfortunate name-calling of recent times across their water-way. (For further on this readers are referred to the posting entitled "Locusts and Dogs".) Whitening creams for example another big seller here, easily as large as blemish remover and anti-aging products. The blue and white striped shirt coming down Bras Basah Road this afternoon could not have been anything other than the original. One hundred metres prior the man had passed without blinking the Singapore Arts Museum (formerly St. Joseph's Institution—Jesuit) where on the lawn out front a slightly risqué plaster-cast melting Superman in oversized trunks lures tourists and courting couples with cameras. (Tropical sun more damaging than kryptonite.) Completely unflappable the chap striding by the contours of that manhood standing at about eye-level. On the opposite side of the road higher up the hill the Singapore National Museum currently hosting French Impressionists from the Musee d'Orsay (reported in a posting mid December). The Englishman had paced slowly down the incline from that quarter carrying a sunny look for his companion. In previous days he had patronized these and other museums and galleries — Singapore has a great number; the Englishman, however, a Londoner clearly from somewhere within the shadow of Big Ben, was highly unlikely to have seen on display within those walls anything to match the craftsmanship of the timeless ebony tie-clip he himself sported on this fine penultimate day of January. Early it had certainly been blowy.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Orchard Revisited (Voted World No.1 Retail Strip) Jan25
Couple of months later another journal needed and no-where like Kinokuniya for fab stationery—kid in a lolly-shop there.
The books were another matter. Difficult to buy at the best of times and in a contemporary bookstore especially difficult.
(Briefly and in passing: nothing has dislodged the top shelf of Essential Reads at Kinok in the Takashimaya building on Orchard Road. As was the case two months ago, and two months before that, the roll-call remained unchanged—Emma, Black Beauty & The Secret Garden. All out of copyright perhaps the factor, chain printing their own editions and creaming it with bucolic tales of easeful love for the hungry readership in Sin’pore...Took a wee while for the penny to drop.)
Same Marks & Spencer pavement cafe as on the previous visit, elevated from the sidewalk.
There may have been a Marine on Rec Leave in the store with wife & bub, leafing through the product on the display tables. Possibly merely banker keeping in shape.
On the Tang pagoda-like roof inserts opposite the jade was slowly fading…Purposely for the patina?
The architectural play of cladding over concrete & steel on O. here was second to none, brightest of brains enlisted.
The volume of ads from the big screen was sequenced for the traffic; simultaneously serving useful masking function. Nice syncopation with the churning machinery & rapid gear switches of movie highlights, one after another.
Motorized wheel-chair girl with amplified wind instrument had passed the audition at City Hall for the prime spot back on the Takashimaya corner, opposite the even larger, vertical screen. Always tinkering with the mix here the municipal authorities, keeping it fresh. Lady had cranked up the volume in the duel with the traffic, good bit of distortion.
The trishaw pushcart uncles with their ice-creams was good choice for grounding; olde world normalcy semblance.
A hostage rescued from the Taliban on the march over some rugged terrain. One of the Special Forces guys, Navy Seal whatever, over-stepping the mark and getting a good whack. You don't notice the acoustic with the sudden camera jolt.
Sent the lad flying. That'll teach him how to treat a lady, albeit under duress. Gal like that ain’t gonna take no nonsense from no one, sweet enough to take home to meet Mom, if they ever get outta that pickle in one piece. (Scruffy unshaven Taliban raising the bar pretty high as victims of heroics.)
The old red-ragger Michael Foot with the white mane from the back recesses of memory. Good to recall the long-forgotten, old serviceable rebel. Must have been railing against the Falklands flotilla, sole voice in Parliament, conscience of the house.
Great hair-dressing Meryl; excellent Oscar costuming & make-up chance.
Veolia gutter-sweep had undergone a recent uniform inspection himself. Passed muster handsomely; impressive laundering. Would be a sizeable shock to see her colleagues on Geylang Road unbuttoned to the navel, grimy, long stretched spit-gobs hanging over the gutter.
Safe House. More action. Every day the shoot delayed on the Osama @ Abbottabad was a lost opportunity for the cinaplexes. With some decent luck—no more tsunamis or power station meltdowns, untimely Iranian rescues—a clear run might have them going all the way to Christmas and not outta the question into NY. Timed for Obama's re-election campaign, stills of the Operations Hub bunker at the Pentagon, cut with the re-creation in the advertising.
In the Land of Blood and Honey looks more terrorism, balanced, kinda.
Perfect spot for the Martian landing. A half hour here, dusted down and presentable, the survey of humanity in a nutshell. Paterson & Orchard corner, premier global shopping strip. (See the official confirmation in the first Orchard Road posting of Friday, 9 December 2011.)
Coffee Club, 501 Orchard; possible Levis tie-in down in the bowels. Finally got to the bottom of the charging mystery. The standard latte confirmed $6.10% Service Charge, then add 7% GST. Legit S$7.06. (2013 mind.)
Thank heavens for the AU$ & Chinese raw material thirst. (Few days ago the AU$0.74c against the SG; three years ago 10c under.)
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Gold
The advertising is interesting in the different culture. Nuance telling, language, image, presentation, slant. Jewelry likely features everywhere, from Egypt back into undiscovered time and out beyond us until other glinting rocks elsewhere are discovered. This girl is fairly representative of the type: virginal-pure in the chief aspect, either daughter, prospective wife or young mistress. Delicate, unobtrusive make-up for the role; long mussed hair; fine contemporary silk blouse — achieving the carefully constructed untarnished presentation. This gal deserves gold; it is in her, as the accompanying script states. The overlay is all product: more than a dozen chains in the fine, jeweled necklace; even more of bangles; wide band possible on these slender fingers. Only a clean blank canvas able to carry it all. Getting an extra glimmer on her ear judged a tad too much — and the fall of hair important in the composition. The fabulous lost vulnerable promising gaze coming to the top of the pile in the day's shoot.
The tagging likewise needs to be just right. Tricky in English, and doubly so for the S'inglish audience. Echoes of the adopted Christianity ringing clearly (newly elected — unexpectedly only by a whisker — President Tony Tan an Anglican for example).
i am gold
Gold is true. Gold is trust.
Feel it in yourself.
Find it in all that is Poh Heng.
(Clearly Poh reliably matchless in this city-state: Nothing Is Quite As Precious As Trust — Poh Heng.)
Friday, January 27, 2012
Locusts and Dogs
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Epidemic (Worse than Bird Flu)
Kick-off (updated Sept23)
Got a great deal going for her, Rina; her unaccountability above all. Nothing studied or vampish; entirely, all-up natural. Tall, slightly buck-toothed, glasses & long straight hair. Highly deceiving. One might guess some little part of the hidden, but Rina exceeded expectations.
As soon as she got into the room, two steps inside the door, a little skip had her sandals off beside the bed. That was for starters. Quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. Little laugh in the action. Or was that when immediately after, uninvited, she gave the bed a provisional inspection, dropping to test the mattress? The resulting bounce pleased her. The little stool beneath the dresser might only have been noticed later.
It was the girlishness that was striking. Another would have remained standing a moment, chin in hand, metaphorically at least. Sat on the corner, knees together. Not Rina. There was definitely a giggle there.
These were chartered waters, quickly the sense of that grew. But Rina alone piloting. Had she come to a decision on the stairs and along the hotel corridors? Or was the action itself the decision, plopping on the mattress?
Running into Rina by chance that afternoon brought it all back, all too clearly. Two weeks ago another encounter where she had no time, nor inclination possibly. This afternoon was more hopeful. There was a chance she would return.
On the last occasion, the last morning, her reaching out early in the piece was another of those surprises of Rina's out of the blue. That was always preferred, a lady of her own mind and freely exercising.
Rina's unexpected leads, coming out of no-where, always made you marvel. Rina led from the front.
The move was like the tending of a wound; bending to the rice stalk—motions from Rina's kampung carrying the meaning of the ages.
The first encounter down at the Teh Tarik tables when she had circled back and hovered just behind the shoulder, waiting to be noticed. A moment longer she would have gone, turned on her heel and disappeared, just as she had now.
Like many of these gals, Rina enjoyed the jockey mount.
Removal of the glasses in advance, before anything was properly under way. Afterward it was clearly understood: a chap recalled who had once done likewise as a dispute was brewing.
As often the case in the tropical jungles, there was never presumption. No disrobing; steady, imperceptible progress without intervals or divisions. The unfolding would proceed with no hands, as it were; of itself. Always a boon.
Bright lipstick. Not always helpful; in Rina's case a strong element.
Wherefore art thou Rina!...
Saturday, January 21, 2012
CNY - Singapore
All hands required on deck today. Streets and shops noticeably vacant, especially of maids: the clearest hint of the New Year preparations. All leave cancelled. Those who receive a free Sunday from their employer will be prevailed upon one way or another today. (In the case of the Chinese at least.) There will be storms cooked up through the course of the day. Culinary writers will give those details. Something called yusheng seems to be part of the tradition. Judging from a number of photographs in the newspaper, noodles of a particular kind (vegetarian "prosperity salad"), which in get-togethers are "tossed" with the other ingredients in company with those nearest and dearest. (In days prior pics of the President and his Lady gracing homeless shelters; in the usual promotion of ecumenicalism, today a media event of the same in an Indian temple &etc.)
The maids will be busy with the spring cleaning too, not to be left for the last minute. As in other traditions, a new clean start to the year ahead. After the winter and the year past, renewal: cleanliness of the house and peace, order and forgiveness in the household.
The maids who have fortune on their side will get a month's NY bonus in their little red packet. Less fortunate may get a tenner or twenty. Some Chinese have even switched to the chief "bonus" coming at Christmas and only a token at NY.
Junior family members usually receive a small amount; a superstitious even number: two dollars the bare minimum. Alfred the optometrist in Joo Chiat Complex will give his teenage sons a hundred crackers each; in a little parcel that reminds of the fire-crackers of old. (No one will be surprised: crackers are banned in SG without stamped approval, signed and dated by the relevant authorities.)
Bigger than the hajji, the Roman Saturnalia festival, Chrissy and Ben Hur combined — on a global scale none other matches the pilgrimage of Chinese NY. This year as the diaspora, both internal and external, strove to return to their home-towns, records were set to be broken: three point two million trips predicted on trains, planes, buses and boats.
Boxes of oranges have been mounting up at all the fruiterers in Geylang the past fortnight. "Mandarin" oranges specifically — a kind of in-between mandarin and orange. Somewhat larger and firmer - both the fruit and its casing - than our kind back home. Many are sold in prepacked plastic wrapping - an extra courtesy. (Fifty cents each; care as always needed in selection.) Ten days ago in the chief broadsheet newspaper, the Straits Times, a three quarter page advertisement from the Japan Food Export Co. for especially succulent, almost completely free of pips, luscious and juicy (sun ripened) mandarin oranges.
GUM or KUM = orange in Cantonese; a homonym for "gold". More than enough reason to be taken as auspicious. Following the end of winter, plentiful in the orchards. In days of yore, before Orchard Road, the bright colour alone would have signified hopefulness.
Again, pairs offered. When the parents are visited on NY morning, a pair of oranges is presented first of all. Only afterward does the red packet follow. The glowing orange orb a mini sun after all. Rather a difficult challenge for the contemporary imagination (obesity, gadgets, itunes, flatscreens &etc. &etc. And cameras of course.) The traditional cookies made by grandma might prove very difficult to present to the present-day youngster as a special yummy treat..
Like church, temple visits have fallen away; together with vegetarianism. In place of the temple and prayer, more usually it is the mahjong board that comes out after lunch — for a spot of "dry swimming" (hands waved over the board, especially for a collect). Five cents a turn for starters. In the course of the day family tempers known to fray. Funny how the Chinese sound so familiar.
The bright red long sleeved tee washed and ready for the morning, rain, hail or shine. Can't do new clothes on this budget travel, but intend to show the colour bright and early with the best of them.
Happy CNY! (In all probability the dragon likely to meet the bald eagle not too far down the track.)
.... Fair Price was closed tonight at 5pm. Not open at all tomorrow. The Post Office at Paya Lebar, regional HQ, at 1pm. (In the best tradition of the-post-must-get-through, from memory it was open Chrissy morning at least?) Nothing like it in almost seven and one half months. Far bigger than Chrissy; bigger than Good Friday easily. Nothing to compare. And all temporal holiness; the other kind entirely an add-on. You have to go back to mid October nearly a century ago for the benchmark; and CNY stretches a way further back. Shutters down through the whole of Joo Chiat. Now the natural allies the Malays and Indians and no one else.
In our vacant streets back home one gets used to it. But here in this busy, practical, can-do anytime day-or-night town, everything-for-sale, the effect is something else.
News In Brief - Jan 2012
Page one PM Lee hoping for the usual boost to native birth rates in the forthcoming year of the Dragon. (PM Lee Hsien Luong himself is a Dragon.) Judging by the scale of the prostitution industry, it is not copulation per se that is going out of fashion here. Historic lows in the Total Fertility Rate: this last year up slightly to 1.20 from the all time nadir the previous year of 1.15.
Suspicions too that financial incentives and other stimuli are insufficient; the "social climate" identified as an area of concern. The Government now in the unusual position of facing an opposition bloc of six in the new parliament.
Slow news day otherwise on CNY Eve.
Friday, January 20, 2012
JB Again
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Johor Bahru
Took some foot-slog to find Hotel Meldrum despite googling beforehand and sketching a map. Close to the Immigration Checkpoint, JB City Square & the waterfront. Reviews online turned out reliable. Four star seemed a bit rich; nevertheless, at RM100 it was $10 cheaper than Joo Chiat and double the size of room.
En route condo estates in the west of Singapore like encampments in acquired territory: Bukit Timah, Bukit Panjang—where Yati was holed up with three of Ma’am's kids in the room with her, while Ma’am sleeps peacefully with Sir—and Woodlands.
Astonishing the number of churches, strategically spaced liked the McDonalds, which might have been lesser in number. Attached to schools, free-standing on the highway with large parking allotments, one modernist example with a nautical flourish for the Latter Day Saints. Strange the motor car-dedicated ministry.
Second feature: along more than ten kilometres of heavy equipment roadworks, the dark labour gangs in clusters down on the grass in the shade, relieved of yellow boots and helmets. There must have been over a hundred young men staring out vacantly, the look of noonday cotton-fields in the States a couple of generations ago.
The No. 170 was a nice surprise, one of the rackety old things from which the Brits used to construct TV comedy.
There was ample evidence of a good bit of vacant land remaining on the west of the island for more condos and shopping complexes, another golf course and zoo if needed.
Confirmation too Singapore was the world-beater in the beautification of road-side verges. Neat, regular trimming over the length and breadth of the island.
Past the Sikh temple (a significant Indian community in this corner of JB). Right by the mosque loudspeaker. Under the shaded walk-way one glass-fronted shop—many of them beautiful old-style magazins—held a range of blonde wood coffins.
Nearby was the joss stick shop. It had been passed on the first round searching the hotel. Candles were available there, the smallest in their holders perfect for remembrance.
An hour in the afternoon the light burned beside the dead TV, and again bedside in the evening. A flame helped fix the mind: four years now that mother passed out of the world.
Supper was taken on Wong Ah Fook looking down the crossing to the old railway station. Around 6 a small rush-hour unfolded. Bus conductors called out beside old wagons in deep reds and oranges, even older than the 170. The rapid dusk softened features and accentuated colouring,
All the while the drama of an approaching downpour like the swelling sound-track beneath a film sequence.
Back a way the first beggar in his mid-sixties had both arms off at the elbows. There was a stump for a leg too. It was on the stump that he rested, while the other leg was crooked. A free-standing posture like no other.
The look in the eyes had prevented closer scrutiny. Once the man could be passed with mouth agape and pocket untouched; not on the return with the newspaper. A boy ahead showed how it was done.
There was no receptacle. It was the shirt pocket, already well stuffed. At home the man would get help; or else from the young chap from the stall where he waited.
In the evening in another case it was the adaptation of footwear that struck.
Footwear was a misnomer, as this second man had no feet. On one stump there was an over-size track-shoe fastened somehow back-to-front. The other limb was longer, its end encased in a sheep-skin that had been crafted for purpose, shaped in a kind of flute or ski form. The first gave the kick along, while this second slid over the wet roadway.
The man had been spotted crossing the intersection. Five minutes later he suddenly appeared at the side of the table after having somehow rounded from behind.
Both these men appeared at least part-Chinese. Earlier a few Chinese had appeared here and there. As evening fell there were none.
Walking up for dinner and then again through the course, the realisation struck more and more what an oddity Singapore was with its Han majority. How large was this Malay sea in which they were marooned, after not much more than a thirty minute bus ride.
Winding back slowly on the return, the night market was found. The girl said it opened every night, 7 - 2am. The snippets of bahasa Malay became useful; delivered with the right timing, the stallholders were charmed.
A downpour it proved indeed, just when something called the dry portion of the monsoon had been proclaimed down in the south.
January 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Beggar Aunt (Feb25)
This beggar was a novelty. Chinese woman in her late-50s presenting the plastic cup across the table. A few silver coins sat in the bottom. Bending herself to table level, her broad, clean face loomed close. A large gap showed between ground front teeth, though there seemed to be none missing. Wordless before the ang moh, but not a mute, as her thanks demonstrated afterward. There would have been no English in her command, her social class was evident. The smile she offered conveyed more than any language. Lord how she radiated. The fondest, most doting aunt of the old style could not have out-done this woman. A treasure. A smile like hers was learned in a large, fortunate family and passed down. There was none of mere pleading in this smile. Half a century there had not been anything of the kind in that oldest of continents back home; only on the streets of Fitzroy on the faces of the oldest inhabitants. Or among our own people in our suburban quarter back then.
Opportune on this morning of the re-election of the Kuomintang government in Taiwan, aided in no small part it seems by the leader Ma's wife, described as the "aunt next door" type for her humility, warmth and grace. In these communities on the Equator everyone instantly knows the example, there was no mystery or oddity.
Opposite Geylang Serai on Changi Road mid-morning in the run-up to CNY.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Two Hander
The two fellows are near forty if not tipped over, tall and short. To compensate the latter is up on the footpath, his friend down in the gutter on the road. At first encounter they had both been up on the footpath, holding hands and smiling at each other without cease, one up to his friend and the other down, a little shyly it seemed. They had not been caught from the very outset. By the time the observation had fallen on them the linking of hands was almost by the finger-tips only, a striking chain of union like for a pair of lovers, securely toying with each other. Certainly not youngsters this pair. There was no grey as yet, nor thickening. But the working life, early rises and long days showed them a little older than their years. An unexpected encounter that had stopped them on that corner; acquainted from earlier days on one of the building sites here, or even back home. The cheap digs in Geylang, the eateries and drinking holes, and yet they had not encountered each other how long was it now? The smiling would not let up. A switch had been pulled and would not dim. Beaming at each other and still clasped. The short was more of a natural smiler, a little more free. Tall had never had much to smile about; his wife rarely saw it. Still, he was stretching it here, encouraged by his friend. How could he possibly resist in the face of that? And the chain unbroken had to be three full minutes, four possibly. Fingers interlocking, both stretched a little by it, full of their pleasure. They had reason for their delight in finding each other, something proved and established. There was a good deal of it here among the foreign workers in Geylang far from home, far from family, both the Chinese and the Indians too the same. Hard long days, industrial accidents, dirty, taxing work down in holes and up on high scaffolds, sleeping fifteen and twenty to a room, queuing for showers. There was no natural right for free, easy, relaxed spirits, laughter and clasping. There was precious little of it nearer the town centre here, you would be hard pressed to find it trawling through the streets one after the other the live-long day. Three or four minutes this clasp was observed. The length of the smiling unquantifiable—twenty full minutes if it happened at all. Heartening watching. The short guy was really stretching his friend. The former seemed to have some authority, or seniority. A direct raised gaze straight and clear. The other slid a little left and right, unequal to the task, clothes a little more drab, lacking the wrist-watch of his friend. Down from the footpath the tall had stepped as if to give required due. Somehow the chain was broken, uncannily. The eyes had not been taken from them for an instant. The smiles remained. The tall held a tightly packed plastic bag, which now goes from one to the other hand when both were free. Northerners possibly, the Mongol invasion their heritage, certainly the short. When they turn to lean on the rails of the lorry parked beside them (illegally parked a metre from the corner as always here), the latter remains on the footpath, the equality retained. A third man happened along briefly, tall better known to him. Got himself off without intruding. One more going past gave a friendly slap to the short without the merest glance returned, without a flicker. Finally a phone call interrupting. Slapping hand over on the short's shoulder, off they trooped together. While the man talks on the phone the connection was retained with the resting hand. The surprise encounter and the talk had held them on the spot. In fact both were headed in the same direction. Hail fellows. Well met.