Sunday, March 09, 2008
Beijing, China, 29 Feb-2 Mar 2008: 老百姓
Common Folk
Less than 6 months to the Summer Olympic Games, Beijing is a hive of construction activities. In the Forbidden Palace, scaffoldings clad the 3 Great Halls, and modern slate tiles replaces uneven stone slabs gouged out from the ancient hallowed squares. Large parts of the traditonal Dazhalan quarters near Qianmen and hutongs adjacent to Wangfujing Street have been systematically torn down, their detritus shielded by giant billboards promising urban revitalization of meretricious appeal. The hoi polloi, 老百姓 Lao Bai Xing, soldier on bravely, immutable in the sea of change swirling around them. Guards at the Forbidden Palace shout at tourists who linger too long on the bridges leading to the south entrance. Hungry customers jostle to buy their lunch orders of steamed buns Xiao Long Bao. Intrepid office workers brave the jungle of commuters on the subway and public buses. Brusque security guards patrol the busy warrens of shops selling luxury knockoffs in the Silk Street Bazaar. Life goes on. Amid the rush, there is time for reflection. Monks and nuns take in the sights at the Forbidden Palace, sharing in lunchtime victuals on the benches outside Qianqinggong, the Inner Palace. In Beihai Park, enthusiasts huddle together and sing heartily to violin accompaniment on a crisp late winter Friday afternoon. A solitary man carefully wields a large water brush over the pavement, his ephemeral writing drying up and disappearing with the angled rays of the setting sun. |
Labels: Beijing, China, garden, lake, palace, people
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Malaysia, Penang, 17-19 Nov 2007: Living With Thalassaemia
Drugs, Needles & Syringes
Thalassaemia is the commonest gene disorder in the world. In South-East Asia, about 1 in 20 persons carry the genes that can cause the disease. Thalassaemia major occurs when a child inherits affected genes from both parents, who may themselves be healthy carriers. A major thalassaemic suffers severe anaemia and requires  approximately monthly transfusions from infancy. While life-sustaining, cumulative blood transfusions over a prolonged period results in iron deposition in various organs in the body. The iron is toxic, and causes heart, liver and endocrine organ dysfunction. Indeed, heart failure from heart iron overload is the commonest cause of premature death in thalassaemia major.The body is evolutionarily programmed to conserve iron: except for menstrual blood loss, there exists no physiological process to rid the body of excess iron. With regular blood transfusions, many major thalassemics survive childhood only to die from the complications of organ iron overload in their teens and young adulthood. Since the mid 1970s, the iron chelator desferrioxamine has been used to remove excess body iron in thalassaemia major. The drug, which induces negative body iron balance only if given continually throughout life, has to be administered subcutaneously for 8 to 12 hours, at least 5 nights a week. Patients typically start desferrioxamine injections from childhood. Nowadays, there are 2 other iron chelating drugs: deferiprone and deferasirox, both oral drugs. Deferiprone appears to be very good at eluting iron from heart muscle, especially when used in combination with desferrioxamine. A few patients develop dangerously low levels of white blood cells with the drug, which limits its use. Deferasirox is a new oral chelating agent with similar efficacy to parenteral desferrioxamine. It is forbiddingly expensive, and out of the economic reach of most thalassaemia major patients. The Penang Thalassaemia Society is a NGO that is dedicated to promoting the cause of thalassaemia patients in North Malaysia. The committee members comprises patients, parents, medical personnel and other volunteers. Through private charity, it has achieved remarkable success in funding expensive patient treatment: Penang  thalassaemia patients have access to state-of-the-art medical care. Further, the Society organizes camps for patients and families to educate them about the disease and its treatment.I attended the 11th Penang Thalassaemia Camp on 17-18th Nov 2007, my second time in 2 years. The theme focused on compliance to iron chelation treatment. It was a humbling experience to watch the thalassaemia major patients perform their personal nightly ritual of desferrioxamine injection in a communal setting. For one child, it was the first time the parent learnt to prepare the desferrioxamine solution and inject the drug into the abdomen of the child. For another child, it was to be the first time she injected into herself. Alas, she could not do it at the last minute. Mummy did it for her that night, the nth thousandth time. There will always be tomorrow. |
Labels: friends, Malaysia, Penang, people
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Sa Pa, Vietnam, 27-28 July 2007: Minority Peoples
Hmong And Dzao Women
   It was a misty wet rainy morning when we arrived in Sa Pa. After checking in at the Bamboo Hotel, our tour group of six - two of us, Z and I, from Singapore, three school teachers from Spain, one middle-aged gentle giant from France who muttered only French - were greeted by our local guide, Le Thi Vu, a feisty precocious gregarious 19-year-old Black Hmong girl, sporting an attitude and an electric pink umbrella. She could really hold her own. Besides Vietnamese and the Hmong dialect, she spoke English, a smattering of French and could hurl greetings (and insults) in at least another half a dozen different tongues.    |
Unlike the rest of Vietnam where the Kinh ethnic race predominates, minority peoples like Hmongs and Dzaos prevail in Sa Pa. Mass tourism has transformed the lives and livelihoods of these erstwhile agrarian minority races immutably. Garbed in traditional wear and garish modern rubber galoshes, Hmong women and girls thronged the streets of Sa Pa town, plying indigenous textiles and silverware. Women wore their ethnic costumes proudly. These were espoused for their functionality and comfort, as well as the unique colours and ornamentation that identified the different tribes - Black Hmong in indigo black; Flower Hmong and Red Dzao decked in floral print and vermillion headgears, respectively. Most men eschewed them and donned modern apparel instead. At Cho Sa Pa, the central market, stall owners glanced worriedly skyward as the inchoate drizzle threatened to turn into a downpour. Ensconced in the two-storied market building, the women busily sewed and embroidered, making handicrafts for sale to tourists. The rain brought more customers, all seeking shelter from the heavy showers.   |
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The next day, weather improved. At the sides of Sa Pa Town Square, many minority peoples set up stalls selling handicraft, fruits and food. Z bought an embroidered cap from these women at an unbelievably low price of 10,000 VND! I wondered how long it took them to hand-make the cap. After breakfast, we went on a trekking excursion to Lao Chai and Ta Van villages. Along the way, we were joined by many Red Dzao and Black Hmong women hill guides. They trailed us throughout, sometimes helping to steady us and prevent many a nasty fall as we trudged clumsily on the interminable slippery muddy dirt tracks. Of course, at the end, they cajoled us to buy handicrafts from them. The items were all familiar - dyed textiles embroidered bags and caps, silver jewellery - and could be purchased in Sa Pa town at more reasonable prices, too. Market-fatigued and souvenir-weary, I wondered how this cottage economy could be sustainable with everyone selling the same stuff!  |
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The natural beauty in the valleys towns of Lao Chai and Ta Van was astounding. But the living was hard. We walked past the squat building that functioned as the village school. Classes have temporarily closed for summer. Only a straggling of resident teachers and fewer students remained in the largely empty classrooms. A tiny room at the corner was the village dispensary. There was no hospital nearby. The dispensary provided makeshift basic healthcare to the surrounding villagers. It was closed that day, a Saturday. The doors were firmly shuttered, and the narrow entrance was guarded by two desultory mongrel dogs. The treacherous village dirt roads were impassable to vehicles. Loads and provisions had to be carried manually. A diminutive Hmong woman, slouched low, bore on her shoulders a load of tied-up plant leaves that was twice her weight. The leaves were meal for the family buffalo. Who now was the beast of burden? |
Labels: ladies, people, Vietnam
Friday, August 10, 2007
Changsha, China, 1 July 2007: Flight CZ6306
Long Day's Journey Into Night
 H - young, petite, in a skyblue singlet with loud silvery glittery swirling letters emblazoned on the bosom, and matching eye shadow - asked me how long I had been waiting. Too long. China Southern Airlines flight CZ6306 was to have taken off an hour ago at 2:30 pm from Shenzhen Airport, bound for Wuhan, then Shenyang. But there was no sign of the plane. Neither official updates nor explanation materialized. A rumour went around: CZ6306 was still stranded at Zhuhai Airport due to bad weather. Turned out to be true. Bad luck. Well maybe not too bad after all. Zhuhai was less than an hour away."You don't sound local." "I am from Singapore." "You speak so softly and care-ful-ly. I can barely grasp what you are saying. Is this how Singaporeans speak?" "Not all. My Huayu is not vey good. I have to think very hard before I say something in Huayu," I stammered haltingly, sotto voce. "Huayu?" "Huayu. No?" Long pause. Broken only as understanding slowly dawned on H's face. "Ohhhhh. It's Guoyu. Or Putonghua. We don't call the Chinese language Huayu here in China." "That's, er, true," L nodded nervously in agreement. L possessed the gentlest of voices, cri du chat. Long hair pinned back squarely, unveiling finely-plucked eyebrows and bemused eyes that danced behind long narrow drawn eyelids, her quiet diffident air was made complete by a below-knee sun-dress with sea-green floral prints and floppy large collar that screamed girl-next-door. H was different - modern, vivacious, confident, spunky, the only one with make-up on. They had been utter strangers before they met at check-in but were now talking animatedly like old friends. Both were traveling by air for the first time. "I have a few days off from work. I am flying to Wuhan. My big brother is there. He's a hairdresser," intimated L shyly. "Isn't Wuhan very hot this time of year?" I queried in wonderment for I did not relish my own first trip to - and upcoming week-long conference in - Wuhan notorious for its oven-like summer heatwave. "It will be fine. I am so looking forward to seeing Wuhan again. I remember having a swell time when I visited with my family more than ten years ago, although my memory of the sights is now blurry. I was only a small child then," L's eyes twinkled, her excitement grew apace, undented by my thinning enthusiasm. "I shall be going onward to Shenyang. I hope the flight will board soon. With this delay, it will be very dark when I arrive," H intoned worriedly. And with sibyllic prescience, as we were all to find out. Flight CZ6306 arrived two hours late, accompanied by gathering glowering clouds and light rain. We met M in the flight boarding queue. M, with the sad doe eyes and tired beautiful face, was in a tee-shirt and a matronly overall top. She too was flying for the first time. To Shenyang to meet some friends there for a holiday. Bound by their common predicament and situation, H, L and M broke into easy chatter. "I should have taken the train. It's way cheaper. At least I know when I will actually arrive," M rued, her plans in limbo. "No way. It's more than thirty hours by train to Shenyang. I am almost sure we shall be in Shenyang in but a few hours," H injected wishfully, albeit with little conviction. Sheep-like we filed into the plane, glad to be going somewhere finally. Almost 6 pm. From my window seat, I thought I could see the intersection of the Yangzi and Hanshui Rivers. They divide Wuhan, the capital of Hubei province, into three parts: Hankou, Hanyang and Wuchang. I hurriedly studied my notebook for details of how to make the long journey by bus from the airport to my destination: Bahaolou, Huazhong University of Science and Technology, Wuchang. My thoughts were jolted suddenly by the pilot's announcement. Due to heavy thunderstorms in Wuhan, it was too dangerous to land. The plane had to turn around from the city and detour to Changsha. "WHAAAAT!" the passenger cabin exploded in spontaneous collective protest. Changsha was in another province, Hunan, almost one-third of the way back to where we started off - this I quickly discovered to my dismay, flipping furiously to the map section of the inflight magazine. Hands shot up, voices were raised, children cried. The toddler seated behind me had to go to the loo. Number 2. "Too bad, no can do," was the stewardesses' brusque business-like brush-off. Illumined by the dying rays of the setting sun, Changsha's verdant hills, rice paddi fields and mirror-like lakes looked serenely beautiful from the air. Huanghua airport was, in contrast, drab and cheerless. I searched for and found H, L and M huddled together on a row of chairs, eating Niushifu brand beef-flavoured instant cup noodles. The 8 RMB noodles were overpriced, but were the only food available. Ubiquitous boilers dispensed hot water for cooking the noodles. "Hi. Sit down here," H patted on the seat beside her. "Have one of these." I sat down, accepted her proffered savoury snack, peeled away the tacky plastic wrapper and nervously bit into an anonymous thin slab of spicy saltiness. "Duck's tongue. Local specialty produce. Very good," H volunteered in quick staccato, before turning back to continue her conversation with L and M. She was showing them photos of her colleagues taken that morning, the final day of her job. The last two years, she had worked in a Shenzhen shop, selling cosmetics, 9 am to 9 pm daily, one day off a week. It was a good job, better-paying than the factory work she did previously. Nevertheless, she wanted to move on to better things. She resigned from her job, packed her bags, stuffed her hand luggage with expensive cosmetics, and was traveling to Shenyang to meet a friend. If things went according to plan, they would set up a business there to sell cosmetics. Youthful brashness, but impressive self-assuredness. "I make these," L pointed at my backpack. She worked in a factory making branded backpacks for export. No, she could not afford the expensive bags she made. Neither were they available for sale locally. "I make these," M pointed at my shoes. She too worked in a factory. Making branded shoes for export that she could not afford were they sold locally, which of course they were not. Deja vu. One and a half hours into the wait, China Southern Airlines mustered up packed dinners for us stranded passengers. We supped joylessly on rice, shreds of oily cabbage and meatless hog bones. It was scant comfort for our growing frustration. 10 pm. News broke that the weather in Wuhan was clearing. A boarding announcement was made. Hurrah! Ecstatic beyond belief, H, L, M and I eagerly went through the perfunctory identity and ticket checks, and walked, almost bounced, to the waiting bus on the tarmac. Squeezed into the bus, we were quickly ferried to the waiting plane. There was another one hour's wait in the plane. In the meantime, two other planes flew off to Wuhan. Our pilot said we had to wait to see if these earlier planes could actually land before we set off. "WHAAAAT! AGAAAAIN!" the passenger cabin exploded in spontaneous collective protest. Again. Murmurings of passenger mutiny grew louder and louder. Invectives were hurled at the hapless stewardesses, who ploughed up and down the aisle with stern grave expressions, doing nothing useful really. ARRRRGGH! Nonplussed with bewilderment, I was by now numb to everything around me. I just hoped for an end to the lugubrious ordeal. Around 11 pm, our plane took off. How much the decision was instigated by vocal passenger insistence, I did not know. If we had waited any longer, the aircrew would surely have been lynched. I dared not think about whether the decision was a safe one. The plane landed in Wuhan around midnight, eight hours late. The weather was eerily calm: wet glistening runways and scattered damp drizzle the whimpering vestiges of the foregoing thundering malevolence. Zombie-like, I collected my luggage and exited the airport. Luckily there was a waiting bus to Wuchang's Fujiapo bus terminus. I bought my 30 RMB ticket, deposited my luggage in the trunk and boarded the bus seconds before it moved off. The bus sliced effortlessly through the thick darkness of the Wuhanese night, on roads almost empty of traffic. The first stop was Hankou railway station. As the bus started to slow down near the stop, I felt a hand brush lightly across my shoulder. "Hope you have a good time in Wuhan. Bye," L purred softly. Her body, back-lit against the glaring suddenly-switched-on lights on the bus, flitted past me and floated to the front of the bus to get off. I could barely make out a shadowy silhouette in front of her. Her brother, surely. As the bus pulled away from the stop, and their figures slowly receded and finally disappeared from view, I felt I had lost something. I never got to know their names. It had not seemed necessary. Then.  |
Labels: China, ladies, people, transport
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, 22 July 2007: Saigon Bride
Pictures At A Wedding
 I visited Vietnam again recently. This time to attend the wedding of friends, Thu Thao and Kwang Peng. Kwang Peng's entourage of family and friends flew the day before from Singapore to Ho Chi Minh City for the occasion. On the wedding day, 22 July 2007, before the bridegroom's party arrived at the bride's grandparents' home, I managed to snap several candid photos of Thu Thao and her family as they went about with their busy preparations. |
Labels: friends, Ho Chi Minh City, people, Vietnam, wedding
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Bali, Indonesia, 18-23 Apr 2007: People & Faces
South to North - Nusa Dua, Kuta, Ubud & Beyond
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| Night, 18th. Arrived in Denpasar airport, Bali, around 7pm. Pitch dark already. Checked into Nusa Dua Beach Hotel (got an upgrade to the Palace Wing - which was nice). Recce'd shopping area just outside the Nusa Dua compound, found a reasonably-priced 'spa'. Decided to try it out with some friends the next day. Afternoon, 19th. Got a 3-hour session with body massage, hair treatment and foot reflexology (Rp 230K). No aircon, no frills, but still great! |
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| Evening, 19th. Dinner at Kuta. Great Balinese food at Warung Satria - spicy. Chilled out at Hard Rock Cafe with friends (the same spa gang), then the Bounty Disco. Watched while they played pool (I am hopeless with the cue). Near the entrance, there was some energetic hip-gyrating joget dancing set to pulsating Techno Gamelan. |
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| Afternoon, 20th. Went on a tour. Visited the beautiful Pura Taman Ayun, Mengwi, which was set in a sprawling garden (rare for a Hindu temple), and surrounded by a moat. Ended the tour at Tanah Lot. Saw awe-inspiring sunset views of the Indian Ocean and temple complexes. Tourists were not allowed to enter the holy Pura Tanah Lot. Ritual Hindu blessings were dispensed at the base of the temple knoll. Had dinner at a restaurant on the edge of the cliff, with vantage view of the sunset. The grilled seafood was good. |
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| Afternoon, 21st. Checked out of hotel and journeyed to Ubud. Visited a gold and silver workshop in Celuk village on the way (no purchase) as well as an Artists' Cooperative at Ubud. It was raining heavily when I was at the gallery. Hence I spent some time (and money) there. Bought 2 paintings in the Keliki style - detailed miniatures of traditional Balinese scenes. Took a photo of the artist, Sutiawan, aged 28 years, who had been drawing since ten. |
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| Afternoon, 21st. Arrived in Ubud. Driver helped me to find a local homestay, losmen. There were several along Jalan Kajeng, at the centre of town. Decided on Rojas losmen on the second attempt, Rp 70K per day, with breakfast. After putting down my stuff, i had lunch at Ibu Oka 2 streets away (driver's recommendation), which specialized in roast suckling pig, Babi Guling. I had the special set (Rp 20K). Ubud is a quiet town. I rented a bike and cycled around a little, including the Campuhan area and Monkey Forest. |
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| I stopped at a hole-in-the-wall stall along a small alley off Monkey Forest Road. Ordered iced avocado juice. Was entertained by the antics of my 'waitress' who brought me my drink in sassy style. She happened to be in the shop buying grilled fish for her family, and gamely helped out. Also took photos of the proprietress, her daughter (striking resemblance) and another family friend. |
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| Evening, 21st. Returned the bike. Walking along Jalan Kajeng. Saw a another homestay owner packing floral offerings unto his motorbike. Asked for permission to see his losmen, which he granted readily. Realized that his was a Legong (a traditional Balinese dance, danced by prepubescent girls in elaborate costumes) performing family. Saw his daughter doing her make-up. She was due to dance at a nearby temple in an hour. |
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| Morning, 22nd. Woke up early. Walked to Ubud market at 7 am. Saw these mischievous boys as a got out of the losmen, along Jalan Kajeng. They playfully posed and strutted for me. |
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| Ubud market was filled with people. Many women shoppers had already completed their shopping, and were heading home with their parcels balanced precariously on their heads. |
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| Colourful stalls sold fruits, vegetables and flowers. Rose petals in all shades came in large baskets. This lady seller smiled coyly when she turned and saw me taking her photo. |
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| For breakfast, I ate heavenly tuna sate (tuna meat was minced and flavoured with spices before being charcoal grilled, Rp 500/stick) and nasi campur of rice porridge mixed with vegetable-coconut salad and minced fish grilled in banana leaf (Rp 2K). Used my hand to eat it. Messy but good. Also slurped sweet black rice porridge (bubur injin) from the plastic bag. |
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| The Balinese are big on ritual offerings. Canangs, small offerings of flowers and leaves piled onto tiny baskets woven from coconut leaves, are ubiquitous. They either make them themselves or purchase them from the market. |
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| Morning, 22nd. Hired a driver for the day, and went on a tour of West and North Bali. On route to Gunung Batukau, saw a few cremation ceremonies. It happened to be an auspicious day for cremation. Cremation ceremonies often take place long after death, when sufficient money becomes available for the relatives to conduct the expensive ritual and when the date is deemed suitable. Effigies may be substituted for the actual corpse in the ceremony. |
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| Halfway up Gunung Batukau, Pura Luhur Batukau was a tranquil oasis. There was a cremation ceremony going on in the central temple complex (tourist access was expressedly forbidden). Worshippers carried offerrings into and out of the temples. |
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| After Guunug Batukau, I visted the Yeh Panes (hot spring), Jatiluwih, Pacung, Bedugul and Gitgit Waterfall in the north. My driver, Mr Agung, is pictured here having lunch with me at Cafe Jatiluwih - with stupendous views of rice terraces - and at Gitgit Waterfall. |
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| Evening, 22nd. At the losmen Rojas, the family temple occupied a fairly large garden. The matriarch surveyed the grounds in preparation for a ceremony the next day. That night, before bed, the family was up busy preparing the offerings. They do this every 15 days. I did not get a chance to witness the ceremony. Morning, 23th. Flew home. |
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Labels: art, Bali, Indonesia, market, nature, painting, people, religious site, waterfall
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These are the 30 countries that I have ever set foot on. Airport stopovers don't count!
