Fall in May

It smells like fall. "And the leaves that are green turn to brown..." (Simon & Garfunkel). Nice. Clean. It feels like late October. Football, pumpkins, sweaters, cider. Wait...it's May?!? Funny how the weather can confuse.

Sydney's fall is funny, with New York's as a touchstone. Some people are in full winter gear, hats, scarves. Others in summer dresses and flip-flops (thongs, as they call them). It's hot in the sun, cold once the sun sets. And at first glance, the city is much more culturally mixed than Singapore. Multicultural, even among native Aussies (pronunciation: Ozzies). I like. I have to admit, the people seem a bit more tawdry here, though. Bleached out beach culture, fashion trendier than classic. More LA than NYC. Granted, I've only been here for 6+ hours. Who am I to judge?

I'm having a Kilkenny at Paddy Maguire's, in homage to South Park. The bartender is from the Czech Republic, working, from what he says, among Irish. How is it that all over the world the bartenders are Irishmen? I guess we do what we're good at. And we do what we like. The song Joey just came on in the music rotation. I'm defecting.

Here's the next plan. To live spring and fall only. Travel the globe chasing the two, or perpetually escaping hot and cold. Forget the extremes. I'm going to live moderation in the moderate. Ha. What a laugh. To travel to spots all over the world that would allow me to live out those two seasons only for the next two years. Nothing dieing, dormant. Only life anew and the hint of winding down. Then, I'm off! But I wonder. Would you then spring forward in October? And fall back in May? Oh, me. Time is constant, regardless of who keeps it.

On dasher

Classic. Another classic move from this one.

Chilling, doing some writing, after a lovely salmon fillet and salad, my moms asks, "So. What time is your flight tomorrow?" I'm headed to Sydney for a week or so. Lackadaisically, I wander over to my email to check. "It says I leave Tuesday at 00:25 hundred hours!?!? WAIT...that's just after midnight, right? I'm leaving in a couple of hours??" Mad dash to pack. Thank god she asked.

A drink in hand, belly up to the airport bar, I've made it. Man, I am off my game. And here I'd thought I'd have a day or so to get an itinerary set for Sydney. Guess not. Going to dive right in. But I am the luckiest girl in the world. I can go anywhere. Do anything.

Chinatown

We spent the afternoon in Chinatown. Just inside the doors of the People's Park complex, you're hit with quite a strong odor. Tiger balm. It's referred to as the perfume of choice for the mature Chinese woman. And I'm guessing a whole of lot of them must shop here.

To Yum Cha for lunch, it's Singapore's most well-known dim sum spot. All sorts of steamed delights. Barbeque pork, prawns. Tasty. Chinatown in Singapore is much nicer than Chinatown in New York. Or Kuala Lumpur, for that matter. I picked up a few things here and there, a mahjong set being one of them. And you thought I was joking...

We closed out the day visiting the Buddha tooth relic temple. We did a quick stroll more than an intensified tour. As it stands, the tooth has been proved not to be from the Buddha's mouth. But those who believe believe still. Along the left side of the temple, workers were loading a truck full of orchids to be tossed. What a shame to see something of such beauty and rarity chucked in the back of a pick-up.

White Tiger

Now, here's a book I'd recommend: White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga. The story of a kid growing up in a poor, rural village, this novel paints a rough if unflattering portrait of real-life in India. In letters to a Chinese official, the narrator and protagonist Balram reviews the twists and turns of his life, revealing the dark and light, the ying and yang of everything around him.

A rite of passage story, the reader is drawn in by Balram's innocence and naivete. He is a meager son of India, among so many just like him. Pulled from school to support his family, Balram's last name identifies him as a part of the sweets-makers caste and he gets work in a tea shop. With a lucky break, he manages to get a job as driver, moving up in the world. But taken to the city, far from his family and village, he changes.

Living among the wealthy, he eavesdrops on conversations, learning, listening. Still a servant, however, he cannot pass through the bars of his caste cage. As the caged white tiger, Balram watches and waits. And in another stroke of luck, he seizes a chance opening of the gate, pouncing on any standing in his way to freedom. Violent in action and sly in reaction, he manages to avoid punishment for his wrongdoing and make it in society. But once Balram frees himself his cage, he gives more respect to those still in their cages than those who've broken free. A boss, rich, respected, the white tiger identifies with and provides for those who remind him of who he once was.

Corruption among the higher castes, their abuses visited upon those below them, the author spares none in this work. While a quick read, the story is full of details an outsider can appreciate, from men's addictions to chewing betel nuts to the difference in deposit value of empty liquor bottles. Adiga does not spare religion in this work either. Hinduism a mask for Balram, a formality, he uses it as a ploy to better his situation. A true entrepreneur. Likewise, prejudice against Muslims surfaces in the novel. India, a melting pot, and, as Adiga describes it, ready to boil.

Black and white

Another day of rain. Another bummer. So, to the streets I go.

I am fascinated with graffiti around the world. I'm fascinated by a lot, let's be honest.

While far from an artist myself, although hopefully a creative person, I am interested in people and their work. Globally. Tags, art, stories, perspectives, which and whatever. Whether a simple message, political stance, or art for art's sake, the images with which we choose to surround ourselves speak to life. And while a fair amount of work is needed on my part to give credit where credit is due, hopefully, some exposure is better than none. Indeed, I am far behind.

While wildlife and nature are what Borneo is known for, things haven't worked out exactly as I'd hoped while here. So this shall remain my impression of Borneo and a different kind of wildlife.

The images in this post are from an abandoned lot in Kota Kinbalu. White columns, the bones of a building yet to be erected, have been made into a makeshift gallery. The power of the image shared equally in the hands of the artist and the eyes of those looking.

Critters

"It's raining, raining. Ooh, baby it's raining..." I'm neither a fan of Rihanna or, today, of the rain. Yesterday spent in the mountains, today's supposed to be the day for snorkeling and a hopeful beginning of a SCUBA certification. With poor visibility and high winds, we won't be checking out any ocean critters today. We were planning to island hop, too, but sitting in the rain on an isolated island? I don't think so. There's always tomorrow! And a bit of a slap in the face, just before dusk, the skies cleared and the sun came out. Another gorgeous sunset, the day doesn't feel like such a loss, the sun having shown its face at least to kiss us goodnight.

And how wrong I was. Our dining experience this evening was one of a kind. Port View restaurant on the water in KK is unique. Just inside the front door, welcome to a wall of fish. Greeted by aquariums stacked to the ceiling, massive tiger prawns stuck in plastic Coke bottles, a rainbow of fishes, lobster, you pick your poison at Port View. At varying prices per gram or kilo, the daily catch is yours to be had.

Once at a table, the house menu offers a long list of supplemental dishes, veggies, chicken, soups, rice. Wine, beer, Chinese tea, fresh juices, while nice, remain at best sideshows to the fish. It's a good idea to make it an early dinner in order to get the freshest selection. Suggestions of cooking styles for the fish also vary, but I'd stick to steamed were I you. We had prawns sauteed in garlic, a bit of overkill. Oh yeah! And there is a show, too! Dancers squeal and squawk past diners to take the stage in a revived tribal number or two.

Note: having investigated the restaurant a bit online, watch out for endangered species being enthusiastically suggested and sold at special prices, passed off as, for example, parrot fish. Buyer do beware.

Akira

Just a quick shout to one of my buddies. This one's for you, Les! Miss you, love you.