Saturday, February 27, 2016

Goats and Monkeys!


The Year of the Goat is over; Year of the Monkey just begun.
Here in Johor Bahru, Malaysia a big procession is due tonight — every year on the 21st of the first month of the Chinese calendar, locals advise. (28th Feb. 2016.) Streets will be closed to traffic, large crowds expected. The last two days must have been practice runs, loud and boisterous young lads making the streets shake. Very colourful and much enjoyed by the spectators, who raised clasped hands over their heads and shook them.
Last year “Big Bridge” magazine in the U.S. published a sequence of mine titled “Year of the Goat”. Here it is.









     Year of the Goat 
     By Pavle Radonic


Short two-hander from the street-or supermarket more strictly. Upstairs at the cereal stand some by-play. What's your special favourite you like with cream?... Who do you call when you need something from the top shelf? &etc. Downstairs there she was again in the queue. Work nearby?...Ya, finger pointing over the shoulder. Lorong something.... Lorong?... There were no numbered lorongs here at this end of Geylang, nothing nearby or over the shoulder.... Where, Joo Chiat?... No.Kambungan.... Ah. That explained it. That was a hike. Madam unlikely to provide for the bus no matter what she was lugging, no need ask. But why all this way from Kambungan?... Oh, the dog food. No have there.... Mmm. Ya.... Leaping ahead now, the usual question could not be suppressed: Tell me my dear, does your Madam ever walk the dog?... Some understandable confusion. Awkward, long, syntactically tricky sentence.... You walk dog. Madam ever walk?... Oya. Me. Me walk. Me. Madam never.... Morning and night I expect honey. Right?... Ya, morning and night two times.... Two times, morning and night was that?... You mean?... Careful clarification was required. Eventually: seven in the morning and then six and nine night. Clear and straight. To be sure no shitting in the corners up at the flat at Kambungan. Indian employer needs adding; Chinese nouveau riche are not the only miscreants here.



2
In the night, in the dark, the crying of little babies.... There is a pretty baby girl upstairs whose occasional cries and whimpers can be heard when she is brought down for her stroll. Nothing whatever to tell them apart. All these years one had never heard a cat cry. Only those who have lived with cats would know. In the middle of the night rarely does Auntie Helen answer the brief whimpering that comes in short little bursts as if a passage in a dream had brought disturbance. Only ever short stuttering and always quickly subsiding; odd and striking. Otherwise quiet throughout. Sometimes Auntie Helen's snoring. (Again a few days ago Auntie complained about her title: I am not married, she reminded. Don't call me Auntie.) The loving, the berating, the tender playfulness can now all be distinguished. In the midst of some unnecessary nuisance the other night clearly through the wall the schoolmarm, Excuse me!... Auntie quieted the offender quick-smart. It now seems clear too the privileged indoor crew is chosen for beauty. One handsome all sleeky black green-eyed tabby never slept in the alcove outdoors; another fuller bodied black-white likewise. Four or five out and perhaps the same within. Auntie complained the other day of her money draining away. She had gone in to check her CPF account. Whittling down, too much spent; another of her litter was in hospital. (The doctors were only interested in money of course.) A couple of weeks ago three bloody streaks down the length of Auntie's cheek, one particularly deep and raw. One of her indoor afflicted with heat rash that had produced livid welts will not allow Auntie's touch, Auntie Helen confessed the other day. So she let her be. (Small note of grievance and downcast eyes.) The others in the house were out of earshot; on the other side the Toh family must be another matter. Mr. Toh and his wife chat with Auntie Helen. What they think to themselves you can't say, but Auntie gets plenty of hearing there. Listening a couple of weeks at first one thought the different voices were visitors, or perhaps Auntie on the phone to her sisters. One or two of her local chapter sometimes come to her door evenings, standing talking through the screen. The old bent karung guni who collects the cardboard and aluminum in the neighbourhood and Auntie pities gets premium grade feed from her. More money draining. Auntie has vowed she will desist; the woman has been told. During an earlier illness in her room the radio came on every morning shortly after seven; settled back now to Auntie's rowing of her boat over the quiet waters even after eight like this morning. There are five or six of the women in the immediate neighbourhood; mostly in their sixties and beyond like Auntie. (One early twenties IT girl.) Chinese in all cases. Plausible theories on the reasons in this living in the forest of concrete towers. Hong Kong, Tokyo, New York will be the same. Now Moscow, Shanghai and the others. In the lower rung Second and Third World-certainly Malaysian and Indonesian cities-there was no evidence.




3
Gone 7 pm, dinner plate cleared and teh arrived. Soon after Mr. Sharif delivered the latter Miaow the cook came out for something in the man's ear. Interrupting the chat between customer and waiter, by way of explanation it seemed, Miaow reveals, - (He is) my step-father....
    Oh. Gee.... Well, certainly. One needed to bow to that, a tete-a-tete between father and daughter.
    What followed was unintelligible, short little speech to which Mr. Sharif bent an ear patiently....
    A well-kept secret then. Age would fit.... Was the catty little woman with the ears and whiskers pinned on her cap kidding though? There were many second and third marriages in this quarter, some of course simultaneous and legally sanctioned.
    Virtually all the staffs at all the eateries here-there would be nine or ten separate stalls in the short fifty meter stretch from Joo Chiat to Onan Roads-all the staffs got on exceptionally well. (Had there ever been the merest hint of ruction of any kind in these almost forty-four months?)
    Miaow standing close channeling at Mr. Sharif's height some particular matter she needed to convey. And on the turn before she could escape a light touch on her sleeve.
    Without anything needing to be voiced Miaow immediately responded: - Yes, my step-father.
    Whereupon brass and woodwind up a notch for the bass tenor Sharif coming over the top immediately in answer.
    ....In the first instant before the words had left the man's mouth the outcome hung in perfect balance. Yea and Nay either way....Point of fact the guess would have been confirmation, Mr. Shar about to cover the admission of a love-child of some description with a canny softening of his own devising. An impromptu and witty response carried off neatly. Not how the script goes.
    The old Indian-Malay removes his straw boater and leaping to click heels retorts instead:
    — No, no, no. I have only one wife. Upper range pitching Crosby as he makes toward the curtain....Polygamy is no good-creased leatherly smiling like those crooners as he angled away in the footsteps of his colleague. Polygamy no good. No good in L-I-F-E. (Howsoever the allowance on paper might have it in particular circumstances and with all the careful provisions, he meant of course.)
    In this quarter a clear majority view by the way, either gender. (We're not here concerned with garden variety straying and subterfuge.)
Geylang Serai, Singapore 2015



Friday, February 26, 2016

A Burman





Take a bow Mr. Author you mini-star. The big smiling moon-faced boy picked in one for Burmese…. Myanmar, right? Yes, owned, granted, could not be denied ….. Excellent well. On the strength of that a smoked salmon salad, which would set one back near R20 — SG$7. Only a Mister Somebody could afford somethin like that. The panama fully justified. (Yesterday the Chinese lad here had remarked on the coolness. In the Tropics richly signif. and a breath of fresh air like anywhere else on the planet.) Not bad too landed. Didn’t think to warn about the mayo; simple assumption. From this corner none of the Indian parking wardens, beggars or rough-sleepers were visible. Easier to get down the grub. Sing’ you were paying little less for café 3 – 4 times a week, what’s the big deal. En route what was penned yesterday needed more thorough testing. Yep, it was the black cars that gave off decidedly more furnace blast than the light coloured: a black sporty Subaru that kindly left a gap on the other side of Wong Ah Fook was marked down as clincher. Felt a trifle silly on display with the red bandanna still furled and such a plate presented to all-comers on the street. After all the Peninsular Plaza visits down in the Southern democratic republic the Burmese hardly difficult to discern. A kind of Thai/Filipino softening and rounding with moderate colour tone. Outside the Indonesians from Sumatra mainly, the Burmese were perhaps the largest part of the cheap foreign labour contingent, said to possibly reach as high as four million altogether in Malaysia. A new registration drive was on currently. That was one thing, guessing the nationality. OK, a knowledgeable white guy, well-traveled. The homeland was opening up alright. Artists, thinkers and cool dude off-the-beaten-track explorers were shoulder-to-shoulder visiting with the Corp guys and all the other pin-heads. But pulling the lingo outta the hat like a gleaming eyed rabbit.
         —Te – zu – dje – bade.
         Not easy to produce cold without warning, but one had mastered it now.
         Left the chap seriously rocked and wobbly on his feet a couple moments. Hold steady my man, light touch on the shoulder. Well, blow me down. Rounded moon-face said it all, brightly rising. After the chap caught his breath a little unnecessarily translating, — Thank you.  
         When you were always 3rd and 4th coolest dude in Melbourne—third or fourth stop on the flute the Serbs say—and playing catch-up alla the time, a few seconds choice satisfaction.


Monday, February 22, 2016

Games and Stuff


Passionate greybeards giving directions from the sidelines to young lads on the green. Good dental work and grooming, hair-cuts and moisturizer, catwalk suits and overcoats accentuate the absurdity. Here at Geylang Serai the EPL, the Italian and the Spanish Leagues have their fans, but the great majority completely ignore the screen. The apparel rare among the youth; almost none of the football madness. Grass growing in the tropics has made things difficult at the billion dollar stadium built for the S-E Asian Games last year. Starchitects had done their darndest and the cheap foreign labour slaved tirelessly, yet still the grass refused to grow. (With the roof-cover even on the equator the lack of sunlight created problems.) Then on the other side the spectacular monsoonal rains—a couple of days ago at the old stadium a match needed to be abandoned after ten minutes. The Chinese have fallen prey to a minor degree; not the people who bow five times daily to the higher power. By the same logic too very much lesser victims these latter of a whole lotta other associated stuff and nonsense.


Thursday, February 18, 2016

SUPER


What one would have done for one of these back in the day. To die for! B/W serial colour would not have mattered. In the States the range might have been around right from the start, the early 50s was it? growing out of the war or even earlier. Man of steel. Leaps tall buildings. Commercial aviation still getting off the ground. Had they appeared at all on Melbourne streets five years ago? One forgets. Here throw a rope around thirty people in any quarter of the island you are bound to capture at least a pair—kiddie, middle or ancient, either gender. At KV today for lunch a badly faded blue & red opposite unreasonably irritated; possibly the first within the walls of that bastion. In Singapore any kind of faded tee is rare, rare as can be, at least out on the streets. With all the China apparel stores even chaps on sub-zero wages can afford Nike or Adidas. Abercrombie & Fitch must be going cheap. Denizen, Hush Puppies, I Heart SG (which was of course government promo in the lead-up to the election), Reebok, Levis, Wrangler, Lee Cooper, the EPL range, Giordano. Mr. Lee here famously bent and opened wide for all the corporations when U.S. imperialism was on the nose in the region, and boy oh boy did they ever answer his call. For non-branded you needed to search high and low. It was the first thing noticeable on the returns from Jogja. With One KM Mall now in the neighbourhood we have a Superheroes store conveniently located on the ground floor beside the escalators adjacent Starbs. Batman, Spider and Super in unexpected vibrant colours on all the racks. Outside the entryway the Chrissy decorations have served Thaipusam and CNY—giant bell, ribbons, baubles and streamers. With the water spouts fixed the loose and cracked tiling needs weekly attention. In Watt Street back in the day with one of the SSSSSs on the chest leaping from the trees and parapet wall would have soon had one up in the clouds.


NB. A new one never sighted previously on this or any other shore. Fattie Girl Friday type poor dear, plugged at the Bugis Street bus-stop in her athletic gear. Girrrrl power. And you never knew where you might strike a prospective employer on the prowl for a candidate who walked the talk. FANTASTIC CAPABLENo need whip cracking there, lass would self-flagellate a treat.
         It must be a week since OSAKA last appeared. Many more London and Eiffel towers. Come to think of it, I Heart SG had had a lean run the last long while. A couple of foreign workers all that can be recalled; freebies gone off the boil. LONSDALE has been omitted—a mystery what that tag could suggest to the folk. The dream razzle-dazzle of NY and NYC and NY Style of course.

Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Unforgiving Sun (Dry El Nino Nor' east Monsoon This Year)


Something the young Indian lad waiting wanted to share.... Oh yeah, OK. Sure. (Caught a bit in dreamland).... The three girls at that table, two dark.... Ah-ha. OK. The Chinese made the reference a little tricky at first, but gotcha now.... Odd one out was white. Tall girl, a little statuesque. Nothing super-dooper special, but easy to understand the lad's fixation. In broad strokes not far off some of the sweeties selling high-end watches, jewellery, skin-care and handbags on the billboards, the magazines and newspapers and no doubt all the other media, radio included voice-suggestion. Chap had made eyes at her earlier. Not bad hey? Eye-brow-raising across the room. North Indian, tall himself, fair shade. When the three departed he must have been at one of the outdoor tables and watching the mermaid rears switch away over the winding path. Three women, two dark, one with umbrella. But what do you know? Latter was wielded by the dark one, the Indian. Not the white....Ah ha…. Waiting again on the slow uptake.... Ah. Oh. Hmmm.... Told about melanomas on all skin types regardless, all being susceptible, failed to impress the lad. It was not this that he meant.... Ah, OK. She wasn't hiding behind the shield for that reason, granted. Fair enough. Her complexion….But. But. That was it. This was the point: ….But none already. Or (there was) nothing there...How did he phrase it particularly? A Poly boy's striking creole? Was there faintest sign of cream unabsorbed on his skin quickly applied just starting his shift?... Rusty blonde hair high-lights.



NB. Some days ago an old Montenegrin saying came back; not strictly relevant here and in the Tropics not quite transferable, though all the old sages of the ages and all the traditions here would agree with the sentiments: Da nije sirotinje nebi ni sunse grijalo. Were it not for the poor neither would the sun shine. (Warm and give life the fuller sense.)

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Swine in the Year of the Monkey




lo hei — tossing yusheng at this time of year (a noodle, prawn & veg. salad) produces lots of pictured pollies in the newspaper – the President of the Republic and his wife pre-eminently, shown with the deserving, the elderly and other fringe groups. The fixed camera-smile of this pair and the look of interest casting over displays and ceremonies is beginning to irritate one must be frank. Last night coming out from Feidu an altar on the corner lorong holding the usual incense sticks, candles and oranges, perhaps there was a large "bomb" pomelo, but also a richly glazed long pig laid flat like a resting cat. Perhaps 7-8 kgs if not more. A sudden dart after such a term in these Muslim communities. Granddad Pavle got rich on the trade in swine from over the border in Herzegovinia, over the back hills through Krivosije where grandma Ruza was born — at a guess 5-6 hour hike. Returning with the herd must have taken the live-long day. Father Lazar and his older brother Petar were later sent by the old patriarch and after the war and the dispersal of the family Petar went himself a few years. In a village near Trebinje old Pavle had established business partners who sometimes came across to Montenegro themselves, announcing their arrival from the side of Bastik hill above the houses. During CNY here the swine must be imported from Thailand or Burma, shipped from southern China perhaps; the Chinese operations in Malaysia would likely be insufficient. A long term of feasting here and in the region, still numerous Chinese outlets closed up over a week later.


procul harum 1967, a very good year/play it loud


ahhhm... yr kidding? could not, imposs, do more than 35 secs i think it might have been. fella was squinting too hard trying to recapture. a dye job mighta helped. here you could not poss get away with retro without a good dye doesn’t matter who you are. neil diamond, tom jones... harry konik?... no, the other one did chrissy & love songs, crooner also not long after bing might have been english. way back he goes, remember the pic in the promos next to the piano like seeing a ghost.... loved returning to his aircon 6 Star sg hotel room that he remembered from 1962...name escapes. liebskind loves returning to sg too, the food, the gardens blah blah. procul haram musta been here, probably settling for the sg symphony with maybe a guest conductor/soloist. stones maybe can get away with grey, nobody else. nowhere in asia maybe, but here in sing' specially. few years ago they were putting on the mousetrap. ag christie. you prob missed it first and second time round as i did. was a bit stumbled finding the fliers under the arches at raffles, soooo many of them it couldn't have been a cheeky joke from the regional chapter of the anarchist club breezed through on a stop-over. oh my, oh my, oh my. only months and months later discovered this was not retro sg particular spectacular. shit no. in fact big big hit in london town shortly before. aggie’s mousetrap. musta had the lot, something for everyone in the family. costumes you can magine, music of course, might have been the anniversary of one of churchill's speeches or thatcher's attack on the falklands. without looking it up i betcha procul harem has entertained here, prob sentosa using that same kinda tent as there in Norway only airconed rather than heated, units buried in the sand, beach-lounges, waiters, pedicures. “conquistador”??? so they didna do whiter shade a pale? i'm confusing them with someone else? did the beatles guy produce them too, georgie martin?


NB. relented: rapido on google seems they haven’t toured, aren’t big enough, lottsa others lining up for this stop-over gig, the long haul down there you can understand.

NB 2. an old musician friend down in Melbourne had been riffling through youtube.


                                                                                                                                    Singapore, Feb. 2016

Sunday, February 14, 2016

The Rain




Walking up to Al Wadi for supper on the edge of a cloud. Finest light gerimis the Malays call drizzle, brought across on drifts of wind. Directly overhead good patches of bright blue (after 6pm too); on the other side of the road and further inland blanket grey that had developed over the previous hour. Over an hour the dark had been watched closing in from the hotel window, the dim light meaning eventually paper had needed to be brought to the window ledge. First rains, even heavy downpours, can often remain unsighted through the glass on the third level at Four Chain View. Rain was audible before it was visible in this back corner of Geylang. Once the suspicious sound was heard one needed to rise from the bed and look down onto the corner of the lane where a puddle quickly developed in a hollow in order to establish the matter. The pastel walls of the madrasa opposite, the condos further along and adjacent failed to betray rain. In the upper grades of primary school once a false report of an outing was unfolded one afternoon for the class during Show-and-tell. Everyone seemed to have a tale of some kind from weekend outings and holidays away. The Clearys spent each Christmas at Cobram, dux of the school had a retreat at Airey’s Inlet. Jamiesons was another other-worldly setting like in the story-books where the young adventurers roamed. One could not remain without all the long while. Somewhere the story of rain far away falling on one side of a road but not the other had been heard and with a little adaptation there was a fine tale of a trip outside the city that held the attention of the schoolroom and gave everyone something to marvel at and envy. A provisional falsehood.


Saturday, February 13, 2016

Tiffany


Read that, stiff shit being tossed outta Cabinet, heart bleeds for the man. Report seemed to suggest the guys thought they were fakes. What would they know bout $30-40k watches. Here they're big, big biz. Small limp weenie, little mousey fella slightly cross-eyed, a Rolex Oyster fixes that in a jiffy. Utmost respect. Full page ads almost daily. A such-and-such isn't extravagance for the vain and egotistical wannabes. No-one ever owns one of these; rather a purchase is custodianship for the next generation. Daddy in fine wool sweater, nice fluffed hair on a lawn with pretty little boy, you hardly see the time-piece under the cuff. Reminded of the kinda shots they used to sell Jean-Paul Belmondo in the 60s or—a name you might not know—Alain Delon. The Chin corporates wouldn't know the names either, but they sure know if you wanna see Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower, ski the slopes of the Matterhorn and not be looked upon askance by sophisticated Europe, you strap a glinting Rol on your wrist. Brokering a deal, say buying submarines, you're a dirty brown/yellow nuthin’ if you don't gleam with Swiss know-how. Reminds me: when even mid millionaires here motor up to Malaysia, they strip off their gold chains, watches and bracelets, garage the Mercs and hire Toyotas. Lottsa kidnappings and muggings. One of my riff-raff mates got his hand on an old Rol few months back, felt-lined box, showroom condition, someone had looked after thinking of the heirs. Someone else had looked after it too and made it walk. The fence was trying to sell it locally for one G., thought he had a deal with a pawnbroker, in the end had to go off-shore, Indo from memory. There's one particular young English kinda rose who alternates page 3 & 5 here last few months. Private school grad., still at home with mum and dad, but seeing a nice boy. Daddy buys his girl the best corp execs can manage. Straits Times is English of course, but native English readers make up10% max. More like 5 with everyone else thrown in. All the poor bananas drooling and dribbling over her. Not in the best Orchard brothels you gunna find this gal. It's all put-on there, Four Floors and all the others. This heavy slim wrist on your member under the table-cloth at Imperial Jadetakes some special doin’. My old landlord Tan cries and bawls for a white girl, any price don't matter. Filipinas, Viets, Thais, done 'em all to death. A girl like the Tiffany before he drops dead, just one night. Always thought the store was make-believe from the movies, never credited. Here at Takashimaya, across from Mont Blanc and Bvlgari. Might not have mentioned the fake Mont B. shoulder bag I bought in Jogja. Rp180k; $18. Every couple weeks catching the No. 7 after lunch over to Orchard for the LRB, Omar it was gave warning: they catch you there going past they can have you for fraud, intellectual property theft whatnot. That would take the cake!

 

 

NB. A friend back home reporting the case of the junior Cabinet Minister tending his resignation after being exposed brokering a deal in Beijing and being duchessed with some expensive time-pieces.


Friday, February 12, 2016

Look-out




Pimp jailed; collected over a million quick-time, p. B8 Home section in today's newspaper. Another one. They run at about one every three weeks, at least as reported in the Straits Times. At Fxxxxx last night Rich provided the details on the little chap who sits in a chair usually—sometimes squats—on Geylang Road watching the traffic. Early fifties lined fella, regular dyes, hair-cut that in attire would pass for government-biz. roundtable conferences. Short, thin, tattoos not visible, working nights often a nicely tailored puffer jacket. Magazine spread sense of style, rather ruined somewhat here by the shorts and sandals. An incessant smoker, keeping a sharp look-out always within the same stretch in front of the row of hairdressers and pedicure places. There was never any doubt; Rich simply provided the details. Numerous other look-outs in the same area, including the next parallel thoroughfare, some crouched or squatting within bushes. For a shift in his chair the Puffer earns $60-80. Easy, simple task pretty well remunerated for a fellow like that, Rich suggested. Colleague camped outside the cop shop relays number plates of departing vehicles, marked or otherwise. That's what you're looking out for, eyes peeled. See it pass, pass it along the line. Lorong such-and-such is the usual target for raids. Rich explains the police in Sin'pore are difficult to bribe; the operators therefore forced to use other means. When the alarm does sound one can see the young girls dashing helter-skelter every which way in their high-heels, elaborate make-up and cheap jewelry, giggling often the young ones who still think it's a lark.



Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Slow-coaches - The Montenegrins




Wash off the ants from the banana. Not going to let it go to waste like that. (And forgetting for the moment good Buddhist principles.) In this case some splitting of skin had perhaps opened the door possibly. From reports from locals it seems banana skins of any sort cannot keep out a colony of hungry tropical ants. In cooler parts one does not get ants of this calibre, this speed and determination. Another version of the Asian tiger.
         It was still a mystery how they had entered the honey jar on two occasions now in the room at Four Chain View. Special care was always taken with the screw top and the jar kept on a wet shelf in the bathroom. To no avail. Unable to let it go to waste. If one or two ants had drowned in the liquid how much harm could that do? Finally the best measure was a little moat construction: a plastic container half-filled with water and the jar placed in the middle. The year before the same resort had been taken. As the jar emptied the problem of flotation arose that brought the jar tipping over to the plastic wall. In that case an appropriate sized weight could be added on top of the lid.
         The speed more than anything surprised. There was no tardy crawling along here. No meandering. This was rapido get on with it, chop-chop no hanging back. It reminded of a joke told by an old Croat woman outside a Brunswick Street bookshop, up at the northern end toward Alexandra Parade in Melbourne where you sometimes still got more than arty/hipster/lumbersexual/yuppie types.
         One blissfully cool afternoon looking in the window at the display. That was always more interesting than browsing over dusty shelves in any bookshop. Old kinda leftist chap seemed to be the owner, nice smile, not too sangfroid a bookworm.
         An ethnic woman like that exiting a secondhand upscale bookshop was not so common. She had been in need of directions was it? That might have been it.
         Perhaps mid/late-sixties, fairly easy to pick. Romanian or Magyar otherwise.
         We worked each other out pretty quickly. Croat; Montenegrin. Oh yeah.
         Lady of the old Yugoslav school, robbed of her country, resisting all the fierce, ugly nationalism. Good cheerful soul. Cheeky and sociable.
         Did you hear of the Montenegrin in the hunting party then?
         Ah, no auntie. How did that go?
         Well.... There they were going along, climbing hill and dale. No faun or deer about, no wild swine. Trekking. Whereupon the Montenegrin notices a snail behind him.
         Oh.
         Fellow goes on.
         Gurgling rivers, rock-strewn ground, green all round. Turning casually behind, the snail.
         Hey! Taking better note this time. Snail.
         No time for stopping. Onward. Goes and goes. Not having much luck with the game. Only every time the hunter, the Montenegrin, pauses for a bit, the snail. Where his companions, the other hunters, have gotten to the Montenegrin doesn't know and the Croat doesn't say.
         Shadows lengthening. Long story short, the Montenegrin has not shaken the snail on his tail. (Usually there was a Bosnian, Dalmatian and Slovene making up the remainder: Dumb, Boozer and Miser. Irrelevant here.)
         WTF?... Gotten jack of it this marksman. Finally slinging round loses all patience.
         — You bloody devil! Whadya mean tracking me like this, curse you.
         Without further ado, BAM-BAM-BAM. And one more for good measure: BAM. Every bullet on target. A snail that nevermore will hang on the tail of a (tardy) hunter outta luck.
         In the Former Yugoslavia the Montenegrins were much maligned as lazy, wouldn't work in an iron lung, layabouts. Philosopher types like our great prince poet celebrated by Goethe, Petar Petrovich Njegos. Handsome young tall gangly rake. Tuberculosis was a cover for the pox doing him in. But hush, hush.
         Croat smiling quietly. Somehow she knew she was not going to offend.
         That's how fared the Montenegrin hunter. Proverbially, the old Montenegrin would ride the donkey while his wife lugged the firewood back home; &etc. A race of giants, loafers, talkers, famed for their hospitality. (The Montenegrin Bestman officiating at a wedding took the first night with his mate's wife. Getting the blood part over with, presumably.) Soaring spirits, like their eagle emblems. How in this late age to witness the celebrated Montenegrin kolo, the slow step dance similar to the Greek of Zorba fame, arms out-stretched like their winged totems. Beautiful national costumes. Survived in the mountain wilds on tatters and goats cheese. Curled moustaches. Devilishly handsome. (Short uncomely ones would apologise for blighting of the race.)
         In Asia, in the year of 2016 when Lonely Planet pronounces the town of Kotor the No. 1 global destination for tourist travel, they need to know a little more about the land. Look at a historical atlas of the latter centuries of the last millennium you will find the Balkans covered by the Ottoman horde: Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, Hungary for a good time and the gates of Vienna besieged. A small little red dot proudly free and independent. Black Mountain. Named by Venetian sailors more than likely from the partial view of the galleys. The interior, the glorious hills, stand all karst dotted white. If one ironed-out Crna Gora, Montenegro, we would be bigger than Amerika.)


Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Putting in the Tropics


A former player in the region—in fact if the author remembers rightly it was the Mount Isa angel Gabby—posed the question some years ago on the number of golf courses in Singapore. 

How many do ya reckon?... 

Innocent, uneducated guess back then… Aaahmm. Three? Four?... 

Turned out five times that number on this tiny little red dot hot spot. 

Oh. Oh, OK then. Yeah. 

The million/billionaire contingent was quite high; disproportionately so. (Highest per capita on the planet in fact.) 

Cheap foreign labour. 

The colonial inheritance. (Not forgetting social psychology entwined.) 

And last but not by any means least, the traditional association with corporate/politico wheeling & dealing. (Soeharto and many of his cronies were keen golfers; founding father LKY here unbeatable on the course.)

The Singapore Open in its final stages presently, sponsored by the SMBC Japanese bank. 

Rain and thunder disrupted yesterday's play, as it has done on three of the last four years of the tournament. (This year a resumption after a hiatus of three years.)

Steep fees at clubs of course; big dollars. Mid-level entrepreneurs were shooting across to Batam and over to the Peninsular for their recreation.

…One was forced to wonder about fans discretely mounted at tees and around greens. (Ensconced within the branches of trees?) 

What had been the ingenious solution on the palm-fringed beaches of Dubai? Air-con units buried in the sand between lounge-chairs?

The thunder and rain god in the tropics was still a force to be reckoned with during the monsoon season. Horse racing can be run at night under lights; golf was more problematic.