So You Think You Can Blog

Well, I can’t say I intended my last post of 2006 to be about feminine hygiene products, but so it goes. Not with a bang but a Whisper, with apologies to Eliot.

And so 2007 begins. I hope you weren’t expecting anything profound, because there’s not a whole lot of profundity that I can smoothly segue to from the topic of sanitary pads. After 14 days of futile efforts to meaningfully introduce what will be one of the most important years of my life so far, I think the best way to get through this impasse is to stop trying for insightful and settle for inconsequential. So please forgive the throwaway nature of this post and feel free to kick my ass in the comments, though you can also save the ass-kicking for my next post, in which I will blame reality TV for my problems in life. (Oh, and if you’re in Singapore, watch Channel 5 at 7.30 pm today for a convenient summary of one of those problems. GO BENJI!)

Best. Souvenir. Ever.

My good friend is the sort of thoughtful person who always brings people a little something when she goes travelling. She recently returned from a tiring, stressful work trip to Panama, for which she couldn’t check-in any luggage and was subject to stringent cabin baggage restrictions due to her transit in LA. While in Panama, her duties kept her too busy to see much more of the place than the supermarket near her hotel.

Under such circumstances lesser mortals (i.e. me) just wouldn’t have bothered with bringing people souvenirs but my friend was clearly unfazed. I met her shortly after she returned and was presented with a sanitary pad. On the wrapper, she had written “Greetings from Padnama!”

Truly, we get the friends we deserve.

The Accidental (Ali Smith)

I’m quite enjoying The Accidental so far, although it appears some Amazon reviewers would strongly beg to differ. (“This book won the Whitbread Novel Award. According to another website, the Whitbread Award lost its sponsor and ceased to exist the same year.”) Here’s a passage from where one of the characters, a professor of English, finds himself suddenly and overwhelmingly enthralled by the family’s houseguest. The rather convenient entry of a large moth into the room, and its doomed flight into a candle flame, sets us up for the following:

Moths and candlelight! Like a moth to a flame! Dr Michael Smart had been reduced to cliché!

Deeply exciting, though, cliché was, as a concept. It was truth misted by overexpression, wasn’t it, like a structure seen in a fog, something waiting to be re-felt, re-seen. Something dainty fumbled at through thick gloves. Cliché was true, obviously, which was why it had become cliché in the first place; so true that cliché actually protected you from its own truth by being what it was, nothing but cliché. Advertising, for example, loved cliché because it was a kind of pure mob truth. There was a lecture in this, maybe for the Ways To Read course. Source? clearly French, he would look it up. Larkin, for instance, the Sid James of English lyric poetry (now that was quite a good observation, Dr Michael Smart firing on all cylinders) knew the power of cliché. What will survive of us is love. His old racehorses in that horse poem didn’t ‘gallop for joy’ but for what must be joy. Larkin, an excellent example. Comic old sexist living all those years in the nether librarian circles of Hull, no wonder he was such a curmudgeon, but he could crack a cliché wide open with a couple of properly pitched words. Or when Hemingway, for example, wrote it before anyone else had even known how to think to express it, didst thou feel the earth move (or however it was he faux-peasantly put it in the not-very-good For Whom The Bell Tolls, 1941 Michael believed), could he have had any idea how his phrase would enter the language? Enter! The language! Cliché was earth-moving, when you understood it, when you felt it, for the first time. Earth and movement, an earthquake, a high-pitched shattering shift in the platelets far down in the heat, below the belt, beneath the feet. Moth plus flame.

Chiang Mai Weekend Market

The weekend night market in Chiang Mai’s Old City is lovely. Just to make things clear, this isn’t the permanent Night Market which I suppose every tourist in Chiang Mai visits at some point. That one has built-in stalls crammed along a nondescript main road, this one has ad hoc stalls sprawling along the wide thoroughfares of the Old City (pedestrianized when the market is on) and spilling into temple compounds, where many of the prayer halls remain open and people sit outside eating on the grass. There’s a really laid-back atmosphere to the whole place, with absolutely none of the heat or claustrophobia that make Chatuchak a little trying even for a shopping junkie like me.

Plus, prices are great. The same slippers I saw here for 99 baht (as in, the sign said 99 baht so the real price would have been even lower) here were apparently 250 baht when I asked about them a few days later in the Night Market. I made smiley good-humoured attempts to convince the guy to match that price, but he wouldn’t go lower than 180 baht, so I walked away. S$7 is a bit much for slippers which will spend most of their time getting slept on by our 5 driveway cats.

I must admit I was a little more absorbed in SHOPPINGGGG! than committing myself to doing much photography at the market, but here’s what I did get.

I took this from the street surrounded by stalls and shoppers, but only a few metres away all is peaceful.

 

The market stays open till about midnight, which I guess is a little late for some of its stakeholders.

 

We passed these guys on the way home, playing chess on the fringes of the market. I don’t know if they actually knew each other or were just bonding through shared shopping avoidance.

 

Amuseum

Back in Singapore and a little depressed about not being on holiday any more, we look through various event listings to see if anything interesting is coming up.

Alec, reading IS: We could go to the Maria Theresia exhibition.
Me: The who? What?
Alec: At the National Museum. The only female ruler of the Habsburgs. (takes a deep breath) Maria Theresia Walburga Amalia Christina…Aguilera.
Me: Okay, I wasn’t interested originally but I totally am now.
Alec: It’ll be fascinating to see her journey. From childhood in the Mickey Mouse Club to her adult persona.
Me: An artist and a monarch.
Alec: Exactly.

Good News For People Who Love Bad News

Back from Siem Reap. The bad news is that almost as soon as we arrived, my beloved digital camera went missing and is still missing.

The good news is that because Russ is the sort of photography nut who brings both film and digital cameras with him on his travels, at least I was able to use his digital camera throughout the trip. Apart from the shock of losing the camera, being somewhere as amazingly beautiful as the temples of Angkor and not being able to take pictures of them would have depressed me even more.

So, despite the circumstances there will definitely be Siem Reap photos up here in the near future. You’ll just have to ignore the tear-stains. :(

Chiang Mai: Day One

Perhaps there was turbulence during our flight to Chiang Mai, but given that it took off at six in the morning I slept like a baby the whole way. We landed about nine, checked blearily into Chiang Mai Thai House at ten, then promptly fell asleep till two. Not the most intrepid start to the holiday then, but hey, h-o-l-i-d-a-y.

Recharged at two, we sallied forth into the Old City (a five minute walk from our guesthouse) and headed for Wat Phra Singh, figuring that since it was at the other end we’d get to see lots on the way. People were setting up their stalls for the weekend market to be held later that evening – hence the photo in my earlier placeholder post.

Wat Phra Singh seems to have a fairly large population of young boyish monks relaxing picturesquely around its compound, which added to its already considerable aesthetic appeal.

 

Life-size monk statues covered in gold leaf sit in permanent meditation beside the main altar. Each is obviously modelled after a real person, presumably an elder monk who has passed away. Being more accustomed to the somewhat more monumental style of European church memorial statuary, I found the tender realism of these quite moving.

 

Here’s a view of the altar just to put the monk statues into context. There are about five but it was hard to capture all of them.

 

Candles in front of the chedi outside, which is in pretty good shape for something built in 1345.

 

Next to the chedi, each tree bears its own signboard with a characteristically Buddhist exhortation. We came across these in other wats during our trip, but Wat Phra Singh’s trees were the only bilingual ones.

 

This was just a nice moment I happened to glimpse between a young monk and his friend. The dogs you can just about see in the top right are only a few of the numerous dogs in the temple compound. At 5 pm (I think), temple gongs were sounded and in response the entire pack of dogs howled for about 30 seconds.

 

The walls of the viharn are covered with murals. I loved the light streaming through the sides of the door but assumed my camera wouldn’t be able to capture it, only to be proved wrong. Yay Canon Ixus.

 

Some detail of the murals on the walls. The woman in the middle with the cigar somehow made me think of Frida Kahlo, despite having two distinct brows.

 

More mural detail. I love the depiction of the waves.

 

Some detail of the door. While I was composing the photo the monks I photographed at the start of this post got up and started heading into the temple. Based on how damn slow I always am at sightseeing, they must have been chatting a long time.

 

We finally finished seeing Wat Phra Singh and walked around a little more in the roads around it. I love Chiang Mai’s profusion of wats, and how each wat we visited always felt like a distinct and active faith community. Kids were playing basketball next to this one. I don’t know its name or whether it has any historical significance, we just wandered round a corner and found it.

 

Aroon Rai looked like a good choice for dinner since it seems to have widespread guidebook and Internet forum acclaim for cheap authentic Northern Thai cuisine, but unfortunately we were rather disappointed with it. We ordered pork with ginger, chilli and tomato paste, which was supposed to be a Northern specialty but tasted a lot like a dish my Eurasian mum’s been cooking all her life. It was tasty, but not spectacular. Our second dish of stir-fried kale with crispy pork had no crispy pork whatsoever. Our third dish was so forgettable I don’t even know what it was any more. And, while I admit our taste buds have perhaps become too spice-dependent for their own good, all the dishes seemed quite bland – which is about the last thing you expect from the average Thai meal. I don’t know why this place is acclaimed, it was pretty much the sort of meal you can get from a decent economy rice stall in any Singaporean hawker centre. It was cheap and filled the belly, but nothing more than that.

After dinner we headed for the weekend night market, now in full swing. I’ll write about that in the next post since this one’s already rather long.

Chiang Mai: Placeholder

Yeah, as you might have guessed I haven’t quite got my act together yet for blogging about our trip to Chiang Mai and Chiang Dao. And with Russ arriving this Saturday and our, er, “happy” threesome trip to Siem Reap the Friday after that (heh, the boys are gonna have soooo much fun!), and the wedding planning hamsterwheel we’re constantly on, I’m afraid I can’t pretend I’m suddenly going to be the world’s best time-manager.

But in the meantime, here’s a display of bare flesh to make up for my dearth of content! Don’t say I never put it all out there for my readers.

Eep

In preparation for next week’s trip to Chiang Mai and Chiang Dao, I went to a money-changer in Parkway Parade. I asked for 5000 baht and was quoted about S$215. Since I didn’t have that much cash on me, I handed my bank card over to pay and waited to key in my PIN.

I have to admit I don’t always bother to check the amount on the screen before keying in my PIN. No reason, just carelessness. For some reason though, tonight I did.

The screen said “$51,386.73”.

I’m still wondering what might have happened if I hadn’t checked.