Blogging at 3am.
I've just woken up from the most bizarre dream. Dreams for me usually end up with me waking up with no recollection of them, but this one remains clearly in my mind's eye. As such, I've decided to record this down for posterity. Do excuse the somethings and I’m-not-sures; dreams are generally hazy like that.
It’s about 8am, and I have to go to this stonewalled shop-house to pick up something. However, when I get there, the something is out of stock, so I sit down, open up my black backpack and reach inside. I find two Tupperware containers containing a ham sandwich each. Just then, the shop actually turns out to be my ex-ex-workplace, and my old colleagues start streaming in. Not wanting to seem impolite, I engage them in small-talk:
“So how’s business?”
“Great, now that you’re here!”
I smile and eat a ham sandwich.
Proceeding to the pantry, I’m informed by a random Chinese woman that we’re out of coffee and tea. Faced with this horrible fact, I get onto a train to the nearest supermarket.
It is a lavishly built multi-tiered train adorned with oakwood and gold-trimmings, with a narrow staircase running perpendicular to the train’s direction, lined with people of all sorts. As we cross a majestic wooden bridge taking us over a gaping, kilometre-wide chasm, I gaze down to see centuries of civilization being washed away by torrential storms and tidal waves. Walls protect us from the angry ashen-faced cumulonimbus clouds, as brick after brick is torn away.
I turn to ask my guide who had been standing behind me all along the meaning of this. He motions with a subtle flick of his wrist to the silken-dressed man who I had just squeezed by on the perpendicular staircase, and says, “He is the new emperor, and the new empire has just begun.”
For some reason, I hesitate to question this revelation further, and get off at the next stop.
At my destination, I abandon all intentions of getting coffee or tea) and decide to check into a posh hotel room instead. Just then, I begin to get a horrible throbbing in my right ear, and everyone’s voice to me comes out crackly, like a radio station off-tuned by half a frequency. As I hammer my ear with my palm, trying to clear the sensation out, I notice out of the corner of my eye the head of hotel security, gaze fixated on me, walkie-talkie in hand. Agents in suits begin to multiply in numbers around me, and one approaches me to ask me… something… but it comes out in crackles and pops. I have to leave. I make a hasty retreat, and board a boat to Ho Chi Minh City.
(Flashfoward: When I wake up, I learn that I had fallen asleep with my glasses on, which was pressing against the side of my ear in extremely uncomfortable fashion.)
The boat is small, like a speedboat, but resembles a tour bus on the inside. It is filled with backpackers from Europe, all chatting and generally being social. My stomach begins to rumble, and I reach into my black backpack to consume my second sandwich. Before I get to take a bite, the boat/bus hits the crest of a wave/pothole, and my coins (all thousand of them) fall out of my pockets and onto my seat. As I scamper to scoop them up and hastily toss them into the bottom of my backpack, I suddenly remember my original goal: We need to get the something from the shop.
Just then, the random Chinese woman from the shophouse sits down next to me, and starts speaking to me in crackly Chinese.
“Are you Chinese?”
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Don’t you need to get coffee and tea?”
“We need to get out of here.”
She tells me that she and her daughter have to take a detour to their ancient Chinese village, but to do so, she needs my backpack. More specifically, she needs the something inside it. From the village, I will be taken one step closer to coffee and/or tea. With hunger pangs in my belly, I reluctantly hand it over, now jangly with small change, my sandwich remaining untouched inside.
As we dock at the ancient Chinese village, she looks at me in a gesture of thanks, but suddenly ties a piano wire to the bow of the boat (now definitely a boat), with the other end of the wire connected securely to the geographical centre of town. We run off the boat screaming, as she begins to steer around and around the ancient Chinese village island, forcing the unsuspecting locals to duck and leap over the encircling wire, so as to prevent limbs from being unceremoniously lopped off.
We take cover inside a stone hut, gazing out through the cross-hatched windows at the chaos ensuing outside. My companion and his girlfriend suddenly decide to make a dash for safety, running in the direction of the nearest Mcdonald’s. Lowering my head just in time to avoid another circuit of the wire, I chase after them.
The aroma of fries fills the air, as my eyes dart around the scene looking for my newfound (and lost) companion. Pushing past the burger chef and Ronald, I open the heavy doors into a hallway, one about the size of half an aircraft hangar. The walls are heaving with giant ceramic heads, and I’m inclined to climb atop one of them.
Sitting on a green ceramic head some 20 metres off the ground, I look down to realize that all the locals had been replaced by generic American teenagers. One suddenly appears on the ceramic head to my left, and tells me that this is part of a massive conspiracy to do something, and that I should never have given my backpack to the random Chinese woman. The only way that I may escape now, is to engage and beat him in a round of Wii Sports fencing.
As they pass me the Wiimote, the familiar startup sound of the Wii resonates around the cavernous hallway. The images are projected onto a massive greying tarpaulin on the wall opposite us, and the generic American teenagers have descended into a ravenous mob, watching the scene unfold and baying for my blood. I think back to the beginning of my journey, and all the steps I had taken to get to this point. I think of the coffee and tea, of the something I had never collected in the shop, of the ill-advised trip to Saigon, and of my uneaten ham sandwich. I regain my balance on the ceramic head, try and remember the last time I had played this, and take a deep breath.
Fortunately for me, my opponent had never played the game in his life, while I had just played it a week ago. I beat him soundly in three rounds. Exhausted, I jump off my ceramic mount to face the disbelieving angry mob now stunned into silence, and demand my release.
And then I wake up.
All I think about is waiting and the people we are fading into All right, farther from you every day
There was a sound, but I don't know how it goes
I remember all that we went through, blew in from the coast
You said, you are of the earth and I am of the sky
I don't even know what the hell that means
Farther from you every day
All I think about is waiting and all the people we are fading into
Farther from you every day
And I think about you dying years from now never having known
Who you are
This could be a big mistake
Farther from you every day
(Excerpt from) Farther - Third Eye Blind
Disclamers are awesome!
You! Loyal Reader! Yes, you!
As you (or your RSS reader) may have noticed, I’ve got a new post up, chronicling the first day of my recent trip to Cambodia and Vietnam, or In-do-chi-na as they say back in the day. Based on demand (not really), and more importantly my ability to keep my restless bum at my Mac for an extended amount of time, there is a possibility that the rest of my trip diary will be written, and the entire caboodle put online posthaste.
I must apologise in advance for the run-on sentences, repeated patterns and glaring inconsistencies in tense. However, in my defence this was meant to be merely a personal recording of the inside-my-head; a smattering of spurious thoughts triggered by going through the respective photos in my iPhoto album. Not only of the what, but the why, the who and the huh…?, basically everything that my mind went through at that specific moment in time, seen through the warm fuzzy embrace of hindsight. A diary, in other words. Also, writing about the past in the present tense is confusing lah.
With that in mind, please enjoy the rest of the diary as and when it appears. Do feel free to ask me about the trip when you see me in person, and I’ll be happy to oblige with much enthusiasm and appropriate gesticulations (offer me a beer first for best results).
Cambodia + Vietnam Trip Diary Day One
0600-0705: Singapore to Siem Reap via Jetstar. While waiting at the departure lounge I observe a group of ‘welfare tourists’ excitedly waiting to embark on their noble adventure.
Light drizzle when I touch down. Get picked up around 0730 by Hotel tuk-tuk. Arrive at Skyway Hotel around 0830, meet Meng, the owner of the hotel, who corresponded with me via email. Consider taking the morning to get used to my new surroundings.
Room is big, relatively clean but sort of smells of socks. Fridge is the same temperature whether plugged in or not. Great, 2 beds! One for dirty me, one for after-shower me. Bit worried that one of the windows can’t be locked, but trusts that nobody’s going to bother climbing up to the 3rd floor to steal my worn backpack.
0930: Changed my mind. Decide not to waste time, and head out straight away. I’ve got a whole day ahead of me! Thought about heading down to the Tourist Information/ Tour Guide association spot down National Road No. 6 to get some maps. Think about taking it easy at the temples today, and hiring a proper tour guide for the whole of the 2nd day.
On the way out, the driver who picked me up approaches me in the lobby and asks if I’m heading out to the temples. His name is Mao, and we shake hands. I’m a little wary, but I let him make his pitch. Apparently the Angkor complex comprises the ‘small circuit’ and the ‘big circuit’, and for USD12 he’d bring me around the small circuit today. Having read my book beforehand, I ask about the Rolous group; that would be USD12 as well. He settles on my offer of USD18 for 2 days without hesitation. I need to work on my bargaining.
0950: We’re on our way! The streets are dustier than I’d imagined, and traffic’s pretty crazy on the major roads (though nothing compared to those in Vietnam, as I would find out). He asks what I want to do first. ‘Food. Cambodian food.’ I reply. I suggest eating somewhere nearby first, then heading down to Angkor, but he recommends otherwise, as it’d be easier to find a place near the temples, then take our time getting around once we get there. I have no protests. On the way, I catch glimpes of lakes, temple fronts, and other tourist laden tuk-tuks leaving us in the dust (Mao’s not the fastest driver.) We stop to get my 3-day pass for USD40. It’s got my photo on it!
1030: Food. Cambodian food. I think the name was ‘Khymer Family Restaurant’. I’m the only person there. Strange to be in a place so obviously meant for tourists, with no tourists around at all. I order an omelette and cheese sandwich, expecting it to be a cheese omelette sandwich. Instead, I get a warm baguette, a (fluffy!) onion omelette, and a cube of la vache qui rit cheese. My can of orange juice is made in Singapore. Hmm.
1100: We’re ready to head off. Mao’s taken out some food, and walks me across the road to the lakeside to check out the kids fishing for some of the smallest fish I’ve ever seen. I ask if they use the smaller fish as bait. They don’t. They use them for soup!
1110: Ta Prohm. On arrival, I’m accosted by an army of peddlers, selling everything from drinks to postcards to sarongs. I turn everyone down with a smile, and a promise of ‘next time I’ll buy OK?’ Everyone’s friendly but very persistent.
It takes a walk along a dirt path lined on both sides with lush forest to get to the temple itself. On the way I see the first of many ‘landmine victims bands’, a group of amputees who play traditional Cambodian tunes in exchange for donations. From Wikitravel: Built during the time of king Jayavarman VII and is best known as the temple where trees have been left intertwined with the stonework, much as it was uncovered from the jungle. It might be considered in a state of disrepair but there is a strange beauty in the marvelous strangler fig trees which provide a stunning display of the embrace between nature and the human handiwork. This is one of the most popular temples after Angkor Wat and the Bayon because of the beautiful combinations of wood and stone. Apparently they filmed parts of Tomb Raider here. Shame about the renovations going on though; having said that, it’s a good insight into the works that go into preserving these 1000 year old structures from civilizations past.
1157: It’s ‘Next Time’, and now I have to buy something. High on the success of my USD18 from USD24 tour bargain, I try again with the mineral water girl. She wants a dollar a bottle; I ask for 3 for 50c, and only if they’re ice cold. She agrees, and heads off with a big smile on her face. Wondering again about these ‘bargains’ I’ve become such a master at, I hand a bottle to Mao and we head off to Temple no. 2.
1205: Arrive at Ta Keo. An incomplete, largely undecorated temple built by Jayavarman V. Mao advises me to ‘be careful’ climbing the stairs, and I soon see why. The steps one has to climb to scale the temple are steep and narrow, such that you’d have to take many a step sideways. I regret not leaving my bag in the tuk-tuk. Getting to the top, my palms and elbows are covered in dirt, and I in sweat. At the top, I get distracted by a local who asks in perfect English if I want to see bats. Naturally, I do. He proceeds to give me a suspiciously detailed explanation of the bats’ origin, and also of the stone that the temple is composed of. In closing, he tells me that he’s a poor student who can’t afford school fees, and would I be so kind as to give him some money to pay his teacher. I tell him off for not having prepared me sooner, and send him on his way with 50c.
1230: We stop by a collapsed bridge that caused a detour in the river on its collapse. Not much else to say here, just check out the pictures.
1245: There are 5 gates into the Angkor complex, one for each cardinal direction as well as the Victory gate. I forget which one we stopped at, but it’s the one that the army and the King took when they went a-strolling. There’s a giant face on top! First of many, first of many…
12.54: Elephant Terrace. Didn’t stay long, took a picture with the elephant statues for the sis. Also saw a bunch of smaller temples surrounding this area, 9 in total, apparently for each of the princesses of way back when.
1305: The Bayon, or: the One with all the Faces. Truly majestic design.
1340: The Big One, Angkor Wat. Yes it really is that huge. There’s some local food fair on the left as I head in. Met a really clever kid here who tried to sell me drinks and stuff. Promised to remember me on the way out.
1415: Still in AW. Remarkably, walking along the corridors that comprise the borders of the temple, I feel like I’m the only person in the entire sprawling complex.
1520: Finally done. Amazingly, yet not surprisingly, the boy comes running to me saying that he remembers me as the one from Singapore (must have been my Shiny & Arty tee). I needed some small change anyway, so I bought two cokes in exchange for change for ten dollars. Before leaving he promises to study hard and get a good job when he grows up.
1530: Ooh a treehouse! The result of a Japanese-Cambodian collaboration, it’s a massive 7-storey high construction. Some of the steps are alarmingly shaky, but no harm done, so yeah whatever. At the top, Mao and I discuss what to do next: go back to the hotel and bum around, or head to the Tong Le Sap to check out the floating village.
1700: I opt for the latter. We stop by the hotel for a driver change over, Mao has to start work at the hotel, so here’s Mao Sr. Nice chap, but doesn’t speak a lick of English. This should be fun.
On the Tong Le Sap, I find that tickets aren’t cheap, and they charge a ridiculous additional premium for the ‘sunset’ cruise, i.e. all boats that set off from 1730 onwards, despite the obvious lack of tourist traffic.
1705: Hey I’ve got the whole boat to myself! The crew to passenger ratio is 2:1, and we get to know each other quickly. The more experienced of the two spoke halting English, but we got to discussing two of the finer things in life: beer and football. I say ‘more experienced’ as he had to keep running to the helm to take over the wheel, so as to prevent us crashing into other boats. That was worrying.
1740: There are peddlers EVERYWHERE. Even out in the middle of the biggest lake in Asia. A middle-aged guy rows his boat laden with iced drinks up to ours, and his 5 year old boy climbs aboard to ask for my business.
1750: We arrive at the crocodile farm/ fishery. It’s very kelong-ly, and smells of tourist trapness. On the rooftop, I meet the younger brother of my boat driver, who proceeds to tell me about school and their daily life. Enlightening stuff. In the distance, foreboding layers of grey angry clouds threaten. I’m starting to feel very glad I didn’t opt for the sunset cruise.
1805: The storm’s hit us full scale, and the 2 of us scramble to lower the rain shutters around the boat. I’m not keen to visit the floating school, but it’s apparently part of the tour, so here we go.
1807: Oh wait not yet, I apparently need to buy some gifts for the school from the stationery bookshop right next to the school. This reeks of bullshit. A pack of exercise books for USD20? Seriously? They’ve got a floating full-size basketball court though, which is nothing but awesome.
1830: We arrive back onto dry land, but Mao Sr. is nowhere to be found. All the tuk-tuk drivers try to give me a hand, and we finally find out that he’s gone to look for me at the secondary dock, as the sudden storm had thrown a lot of the arriving boats into chaos, with regard to their docking locations. On the way back to the hotel I take a much needed nap, cocooned within the welcoming warm embrace of the carriage. The rain continues to batter the world outside.
1930: Back at the hotel, slightly soaked but none worse for wear. Mao’s serving food in the hotel café. As the rain doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, I decide to take it easy and eat here tonight.
2030: After a fantastically warm shower, I head down for grilled pork on rice, and an iced Coke. My order of fried vegetables on the side somehow gets interpreted as fried rice instead though. While waiting for the food I set about updating Live Messenger on the hotel’s computer.
2130: I settle in for what would turn out to be my one and only early night of the entire trip. Decide to catch an episode of Big Bang on the iPod, before turning in with the comforting familiar sounds of Channel Newsasia in the background, and the storm raging outside my un-lockable window. This could be a good trip.
Bon Voyage Mr. Mini!
So come this time tomorrow, despite all my valiant attempts to retain his inimitable presence in our home, my beloved MINI will be on a boat to Indonesia. They come tomorrow, the representatives from the evil Car Reseller's Company, to drive him away as innocent collateral, and in his place will stand my brother's new car.
In the best case scenario, he'll be resold (the MINI, not my brother) to a wealthy Tycoon looking for his next vintage investment, who will treasure him and keep him in a lush, air-conditioned gallery, for all to view and admire.
In the worst case... I'm not even going to begin considering the options.
But anyway, having just taken him for a final spin around the block, down to the empty roundabouts of Changi Business Park and tearing down the straights on the way to the airport, I suddenly thought of the best way to forever immortalise him in our hearts: I'd do a list, where anyone and everyone is welcome to contribute their fondest memories of Mr. Mini. To remember him as he is now: a strong and remarkably long-lasting 2003 MINI Cooper Mk I, with that characteristically whiny Brazilian-engine and stiff suspension (apologies to the rear passengers as always).
Mr. Yellow MINI Cooper, we salute you for having been such a reliable carfriend for so long, and may you always be awesome, for many years to come.
So without further ado, loyal and patient readers, here's the list I've got so far. Some are personal, others are shared experiences. How many of those can you identify with?
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1) Parking in the middle of the Parade Square next to all the 3 tonners. Noone minded, not even the RSM, simply because it looked cute.
2) Freaking out my easily-startled OC into a white-knuckle frenzy when my officer asked me to demo the MINI's lack of body roll while taking sudden stupidly tight turns, with the OC in the passenger seat.
3) At Rovers Camp, packing 3 trolleys full of groceries in the boot and in the rear seat and on my rear passengers
4) Packing 4 (5?) fully-grown men into the back of the car on the way to my house party.
5) Having my first ever accident, being rear-ended by a cab on the ECP ("xiao di, wo de brakes huai lah", he said.)
6) Having my first real bust-up in a relationship in the Holland V carpark.
7) To all who have ever sat in the front seat, NO YOU CANNOT PULL OPEN THE COMPARTMENT LABELLED 'AIRBAG'.
8) Every U-turn ever.
9) Parking in one try, everytime.
10) Turning into the Zouk carpark, past the snaking queues going into Phuture, me trying to look cool.
11) Breaking down outside SCGS, leaving a burning smell in the car and my fan belt... behind the car (never quite figured out why.)
12) Revving too hard and getting that funny burning rubber smell from the aircon vents (oh hang on...)
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Alright, that's all I've got right now... feel free to suggest anything you may recall!
Where sometimes spellcheck just ain't enough...
Feeling Dirty.
So I'm sitting at the bus stop, waiting for our ride to arrive, when I suddenly get a tingly sensation on my inner leg, under my jeans (settle down, this is not
that kinda story). It sorta felt like those Daddy-long-legs spiders I used to see around all the time back in primary school, so I swish my pants a bit to try and shake it out.
After awhile the tingling stops, so I figure it must be an ant/my imagination/an ant that's fallen out.
Halfway through the conversation, I then start to notice something biting on the back of my knee -damn that ant must be persistent!- so I reach around to try and shake it out. Doesn't feel like an ant bite though, more like an insistent nibble... Ah there it is. Right around the back of my thigh -something hard? Must be a beetle of some sort.
Mildly perturbed now, I circle my upper thigh with both hands, and like squeezing a giant tube of toothpaste, I run them downward towards my shoes. Nothing happens on first attempt.
2nd try, squeezing harder this time, making sure I haven't left any gaps between my jeans and my cupped hands, and -ah here we go- a HOLY SHIT OMGWTFBBQ MASSIVE COCKROACH pops out from under my jeans to the floor. Mildly enraged, I kick it to the road, where hopefully a massive vehicle will run over it, never to be seen again (except to haunt my nightmares).
I spend the long walk home jumping and flicking at my jeans incessantly.
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Strangely enough, I didn't freak out at that point in time. On hindsight though, EUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! Sorta reminds me of the time a cockroach fell on my face while reclining in a chalet hammock all those years ago. Ah the memories...
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Epilogue:
Having gotten home, I've just turned my jeans inside out... my new friend seems to have a left a couple of nasty looking brown spots on the inside of my pant leg. Smells funny too :(
eek eyeballs!
note to self: gotta pay more attention to the quality of posts i make. thanks to RSS, people do in fact actually still read this blog in a timely fashion.
flossy!
holy shit! a post! first time in 2 years!
this obviously isn't going to last (it never does), but what the heck. i'm bored at work and it's worth another crack at this.
i've totally copped out though, and marked my re-entry into the blogosphere by posting a NEW WIDGET WHOOHOOO!!111!!!!!!1!! so go, have a looksee. check out my visual DNA.
it's all pretty cool and dynamic and all that. shame about the fact that it now ends up posting a picture of a Very Hairy Back on my blog every few seconds. i really should've picked a different picture...
the Key Lime Pie @ Seah Street Deli...
... is quite possibly the most sinful dessert ever. I'm not sure if the picture quite does it justice; basically imagine a soft cookie with a lemon (cream? sauce?) centre. Then heap the world's supply of pure sugar icing on top and BBQ it with a lighter to get that funky caramelised effect.
Now I've never tried a KLP before (not sure if that makes me suaku or just sane) but suffice to say, this will be a regular addition to my gastronomical palate from now on.
Where "regular" means once a year. Or less. Kinda like what I said about Carl's Jr (once every six months!!), only with more discipline.
