close of Jan twenty ten

Red Brick House


Uniform Pattern


Lovely snacks


Pretty Sights


Wonderful Place


Small things


Weekend Postcards

End of Jan, twenty ten. Next chapter.

today better than yesterday

Shouldn't be breakfast. Make it breakslow.


Windows to the sky - they need opening


Oh, how it draws you in


Which is your Happy?


Underscore, Abovemarks


Shine below, hear their silent speeches

Friday Blues

It's usually the day I look forward to, but today I am feeling restless and down.

Running the eastern coast

Weekend came early on Friday last week. I had a run at East Coast Park in the afternoon at three plus, with the invisible warm rays of the sun shooting down on me. People asked me was it not hot to run in the afternoon? I couldn't really reply, for what would their reaction be if I told them that I enjoyed the run, I enjoyed the warmth of the sun, and I enjoyed running in the warmth of the sun with the sea beside me. It was hot, but it wasn't sweltering or scorchingly hot. I could do with the heat.

A's reaction when I said I was going for a run was this: 'Such a solitary activity', and she gave me a rather sorry look. Yes, running can be solitary because you don't need another human being to be able to run. With a pair of shoes and socks, and running shorts, you are good to go.

Yet some of the best runs that I had were hardly solitary affairs. I remember running with Eugene for more than an hour, covering part of the route that includes the stretch I did on Friday. We were having a conversation throughout the run, talking about our interests, sharing our opinions on different matters. It was thoroughly enjoyable, and we probably had a better workout than if we were both running on our own. And it was during the run that I found out snippets of his journey thus far in life, like how he used to cycle with his Dad.

Then there were the Friday training runs with Jon and Teddy Bear. They always start with jokes and stories from Jon, which inevitably fade into sounds of our breathing and thumping on the ground as the run progresses. Short runs eventually became something like 12km; long runs would be a loop along East Coast, from the SAFRA chalets to Fort Road. It was crazy, but foolhardy men like us like the idea that we can be crazy. We need to prove our mettle as we grow older.

The runs would invariably end with dinner/supper at Bedok 85, where we would order bak chor mee, stingray, bbq wings, carrot cake and lemon lime juice to fill our famished stomachs. Whether we run or don't the calories don't bother us. We eat what we like and what is nice. More than once I took a midnight cab home, the consequence of living on the other end of the island, while friends who drive live on other ends. If not, I would be on a long journey home on the train, which I don't mind because I get to sit down. The endorphins courtesy of the run and the company of the night help ensure that I was never feeling a moment down, and sometimes the happy feeling spills over to the next day.

Despite the sorry state of the beach, East Coast Park is still a wonderful place to do a lot of leisurely things. Its position as the eastern coast of Singapore and its affectionate household name have ensured it a place in the lexicon of famous Singapore places. Where else on our tiny red dot can you enjoy a long, scenic uninterrupted stretch of path where you can walk, run, cycle or roller blade? A pity I don't drive and can only depend on Chance to bring me to the stretch for running. When the opportunity does come, I will be running down the peaceful and seemingly unending road, past familiar landmarks that I have mentally noted, stop at the toilets to have a few sips of water, soak in the sea view, and finally finishing with a splendid cool shower, changing into a fresh pair of clothes and slipping into my flip-flops.

ScrabbleliciouS

The last few minutes of 2009 shall be remembered for the scramble to a certain house in Bukit Timah to pick up Scrabble and other assorted board games, and then fervently praying that I would not have to celebrate the new year in a car with T or, worse, while we are rushing from the carpark to jw's home. That would have been, well, pathetic. We did manage to dash into the apartment in time, and even had a few minutes before the fireworks began - on the screen, of course. Instead of sparkling champange or wine, we had pokka green tea to toast to a new year.

The first few hours of 2010 would be remembered for a mind-boggling session over forming English words, short and long, common or never seen before. I also learnt a new word - the first in a year that had just barely begun: Tufa. It sounds suspiciously fraud but, yes, there is such a word. Henceforth my vocabulary expanded by one more word - within the first two hours of 2010.

Scrabble can be an intense game. No, change that to - Scrabble IS an intense game. Or as my friends would likely say, yours truly takes forever to make his move and, going by rumours, need the help of women to compete (those treacherous gossipers!). I was one Man pitted against 3 pairs of brains. I put up a brave fight, but was defeated still in the end, no thanks in part to Mr Z and Ms Q which are notoriously known to be difficult to rid of. One of them cost me negative 10 points, which is negative ten too costly. By the end of the game, nearly two hours later, I was brain dazed.

But scrabble is a lot of fun. In fact, Cal & Sab played scrabble for 12 hours while in transit during their honeymoon. I don't know how they did that, man. It must have been many rounds because Sab the strategist and analyst must have easily killed off Cal!

Untill the next game, I shall endeavour to unravel more Tufa-esqe words and unleash them at the battle. Hear my war cry, Scrabblelicious!!!

a rare treat

I made an unexpected but pleasant discovery on Sunday. I chanced upon a quiet corner in the dazzling Ion mall, that current crème de la crème shopping haven that still oozes sass and luxurious appeal even though it's opened for some time already.

It is a small café that is hidden away at an inconspicuous location inside the tastefully styled bookstore Prologue. I have never visited the bookstore since it opened for business even though I very much wanted to. This trip was, however, a coincidental stopover: I was in town to run some errands and decided on a whim to drop by to check out if it sells any diary planners for 2010 (this was already 3 days into the new year).

I was looking for the stationery section when the floor space suddenly opens up to a more spacious area that is occupied by the snazzy cafe. The small space was clean and sleek in its design. Most important, it is devoid of the obnoxious crowds that have descended upon the other cafes in the lower floors of the popular mall. Dinner was not long away but it didn't take long for me to decide that I shall finish my errands quickly and visit the cafe.

For Style, Taste and a Classy 2010

Cheers!

short stories delight

It's not often that I finished reading a book and decided that I want to own a copy myself. Wena Poon's stories and her writing have a sparkle that charms and makes you smile a subtle relish smile that betrays delight.

My friends once remarked that they can't read short stories because they feel somewhat shortchanged or unsatisfied at the end, as compared to reading a novel which has a full, unfolding plot that requires time to ingest.

To that thought, Irene has a sound and genuine response: 'You can't read a short story like you do a novel.' She should know better, for she teaches literature.

"Edward marvelled again at the random connectivity of life, the enormous consequences of tiny blips of electronic mail pulsing, faster than the speed of light, through the wide world. For the past few weeks he had felt, intermittently, the terror of the void. And yet the void had sent him back something: her smell, her flesh. Out of eternity he had redeemed an hour; out of the unknown he had experienced a sudden consummation in which for a few seconds the universe contracted into the smallest possible ball of anguished joy, before expanding again and petering out into nonthingness. The void, consequently, became a little less terrifying. Even as he thought so, he found it impossible to tell her. He had already decided, earlier in the evening, that she had picked him up at random, that he was being used, perhaps even objectified. But now he didn’t mind. He smiled in the darkness. “You know what you are? You are a sex tourist.”"

"“Oh, God.” Buried in her words was a footnote about his love life. But she always stopped right there. She had a light touch with her boys. She believed that if she did not edit their existence, they would grow up sensible."

-The Proper Care of Foxes, Wena Poon

Sunday, 27 Dec was spent like this:

Morning


Afternoon


Evening


Dusk

Looking Back: Vietnam Adventure

Exactly a year ago, I was busy preparing to set off the next day for what would be a trip of a lifetime of sorts. The trip, as it turned out, had all the ingredients of a miserable journey: biting cold, shriveled souls, incessant rain, ‘liquid shoes’ that do not dry, and overnight stays at rather decrepit lodges.

But this turned out to be a trip that I deeply relished and which I now recall with great fondness. Together with 22 other companions, we cycled and bused down from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City over some 9 days. Though we had expected Hanoi to be cold, we did not in our wildest dreams foresee that we would end up pedaling our bicycles in an unforgiving rain from start to end. It was as if the December sun over Vietnam was playing a cruel joke on us: it had hidden behind an ocean of conspiratorial clouds only to re-emerge in its full glory on the tenth day when we had completed our bicycling journey. Talk about perfect timing, was it mocking us or had it come out to congratulate us on surviving our wet ordeal? Perhaps it wanted to show us its benevolence and hint of our good blessings, for the scorching heat reminded us that the sun may be mightier and more fearful than the rain.

Rain, Rain and More Rain

When we started cycling down from the north, the cold winds and rain proved to be a formidable combination. It wasn't long before the rain started drumming relentlessly down in torrents. Our windbreaker was of little use against the ferocious droplets. With some improvisation, many of us resorted to using primitive raincoats to shield our shivering bodies from the onslaught of the rain. One cycling mate - a mother of three grown-up children and wife to a doctor - even turned the ubiquitous NTUC plastic bag into a headwear. Others cut out plastic bags of all sorts to cover various parts of their bodies in a bid to keep them dry. We ended up looking like a motley gang of fanciful riders cycling through towns, past verdant landscapes and along the major highway that runs from north to south.



The rain was but just one aspect of the amazing ride, although it was the singularly most significant. Virtually every other memorable detail was spawned out of the rain and its consequences. Some days we would start our ride in the rain, which is a rather sad situation. (Imagine getting soaked when the day's journey has barely begun.) But we adapted, and as quickly as we lamented the callous weather, we soon got used to being wet and cycling around like Jedi knights in clumsy raincoats. The rain aside, we had to contend with treacherous potholed roads and blasting air horns from speeding vehicles. The latter had an especially unsettling effect on us cyclists who were perched on the edge of the road. The number of punctures was recorded, as were the mileages and breaks that we took.

Tales after dark

The nights were always enjoyable, if only because we were finally out of our depressingly wet clothes. No more wet socks and soaking shoes - until the following day, that is. Stories were exchanged over dinner and beer, while gossips about other cyclists - who rode ahead of the pack, who blew the whistle at every turn - were openly shared. Laughing at each other and our common miseries helped to bond the group.

The most salient feature of each night, however, was a decidedly uninspiring task: laundry. Impractical as it may seem, most of us would wash our wet and dirty jerseys, shorts and socks at night and hope they would dry the next morning. This was not always a futile endeavour: there were strong winds on some nights, while the air-conditioning in our rooms served as a powerful drying agent. Still, the rain often poured on throughout the night, and the chilling December air was saturated with droplets. Consequently, our clothes were often incompletely dry the next day.

For that matter too, we were extremely grateful for the invention of the hairdryer. In our desperate hour of need, we had turned to it for quick remedy, and it rarely failed us. Our clothes would dry considerably after we blow hot air at full blast over them. Because the hairdryers were typically old models of the sort I've never seen before, this had meant a certain level of perseverance on our end to achieve some results. On more than one occasion I had unwittingly burnt my clothes.

In misery we unite

Misery and suffering is a peculiar condition of human beings. When experienced alone, it is depressing and spirit-breaking. But when it is a shared experience, it seems to be more bearable and can even be turned into a rallying point of sorts to uplift spirits.

This partly explains why despite being in a wretched state for most part of the trip, I was going from one high to another, cheered on by the hilarity and ridiculous circumstances produced by our situation. Amongst our motley group were a lecturer, a designer, a lawyer, a Japanese who flew in from Japan to join us, engineering technicians, and a property agent. The oldest member was a sprightly 71-year-old who's as fit as a bull and loves his beer.

As with all things in life, a sense of humour helps put things in perspective and gives people strength. There was plenty of humour supplied throughout our adventure. Once I came to terms with the perpetual state of deluge, I was able to enjoy the cold rain: cycling in tandem with the beating droplets, hearing the splish-splash of groundwater, listening to my own thoughts while enjoying beautiful sights that passed us by. When you are completely soaked, you don't worry about getting any more wet.

Cycling & the beauty of impermanence

The other reason why I am fond of the our Vietnam adventure is this: nine days of cycling, in spite of harsh conditions and a modest mileage, bore 9 days of joy and never before tasted sense of freedom.

It is hard to describe the immense sense of liberation felt while journeying in a foreign land on your two-wheeler. You feel a sense of infinite happiness as worldly concerns are cast aside while you wholeheartedly embrace cycling. Waking up each day up to the prospect of another day of cycling was  a joy. Every spin that your wheel makes leads you further and brings you new scenery: ubiquitous padi fields, school children on humble bicycles, small unremarkable towns, amongst others. The ceaseless rain did cloud the experience as one had to keep focusing on the road ahead instead of freely enjoying the landscape and scenery. Yet I would wager that it had the effect of heightening the experience of cycling.

At times when I was not battling the shivering cold, I endeavoured to be conscious of 'living the moment': breathe in the cold air, admire the constant changing of scenery, feel the cool breeze caress my face, take in every moment of what I was going through. I was trying to retain as many transient moments as I could, knowing that the impermanence of life's experiences would no sooner become misty memory than you had lived through them. Perhaps I was wrong, for now I could still recall many moments of the trip and the elation that I felt.

A relished experience

It's been a year since the trip. I am writing this only now because I have always wanted to but could not find the time. After we returned from Vietnam, I used up most of my energy working on a ride report and producing a DVD slideshow of the photos (drawn from the collection of as many as half of the group) together with K. It was our contribution to the final chapter of the group's adventure. But this laborious enterprise sapped both our energies deeply. After the completion, we could not bear to look at the photographs or talk about the trip due to a severe bout of 'Vietnam fatigue'.

One year on however, over a wet Christmas in Singapore, I finally found time to write about this 'trip of a lifetime of sorts'. During this trip I suffered a bloodied toe not because of heroic cycling but because I knocked into a slab of concrete while walking towards an eatery to eat Vietnamese Pho. At the end of the trip, I discarded my pair of incorrigibly soaked shoes in Vietnam, lost a costly cycling tool-set as well as much precious weight. It is cliched to say this, but I took away much more, including a wonderful memory of cycling in Vietnam, as well as the opportunity to pen this happy piece.


At the old quarters of Hanoi where we put up for the first night


Our 'test ride' on the first day. Our bicycles were boxed and flown to Vietnam, and we had to assemble our bikes before setting off. There was light rain, and this was possibly the driest of all the days we spent on the road.


Cycling as a pack


Having dinner cum supper at a roadside porridge stall on Day 2, when we were 'lost in paddy field'


Journey to Phong Nga Caves in the city of Dong Hoi. The super unglamorous raincoats that we donned can be seen.


Local market - we managed to walk through just before the vendors wrapped up for the day


Feast in the wilderness: Carbo loading to fend off the cold and mountainous terrain


Delightful Paddy fields


Relentless Rain


Splish Splash!


Wet roads and wet bikes


Dirt and Mud


At the historical city of Hue


Wondrous Coastal Road


Our bikes at the side of the road during one of the breaks


A cyclist's handy tool


Steep slope here we come!


WC. Let's see from the colour of the wall where the 'water' goes.


K and I laughed so hard at this because the kid in purple raincoat was a splitting image, albeit a miniature, of our friend Kenneth


Cycling through this quiet road flanked by lush forested trees, with a threatening storm chasing us from behind


Kind support crew rinsing the mud off one of the bikes at the end of day's ride


At a beach where the winds were blasting strong


Arriving at Quy Nhon City on Day 8


Heading for yummy supper at Nga Trang City


At the beautiful Ca Na Beach in Tuy Phong


The delightful, if rather touristy, city of Hoi An


Hoi An


Pretty lanterns


They carry more weight than us and god knows how far they cycle everyday!


Poklongarai Tower - En-route to Ho Chi Minh


Potent Vietnamese drip coffee


Pho




Bustling Ho Chi Minh City


Bustling Bustling Ho Chi Minh City


Farewell!