罗马， 近黄昏。

我居住了近2年的鸽子屋根本没夕阳可言，放眼一望全都是一排排密密麻麻的组屋。

想当年决定只身前往这小国一晃就5年了。这地方不是不好， 只是居住久了就会开始对周边的人和事感到麻木。早上赶着去上班，晚上赶着去上课。一回到家倒头就睡了。嗯，洗澡之类的事不需在这儿细述了吧。

今早挤在地铁内一小时，趁空档浏览了背包客栈这网页，令我想起自己3 年前的罗马放浪记还没登上部落格。羞。

3年前25岁的我.还赶得上Youth Pass的优惠价，心想再不去就超龄了。工作暂丢一旁，和背包一起放浪去。说得潇洒，跟着自己满满的行程赶火车巴士，还真有走难的感觉。不到几天就累垮了。

后来到了罗马，难得可以停下脚步，站在罗马竞技场前，觉得自己变得很渺小。

我真的来到罗马了。

 

后来我坐在竞技场旁的一块大石上，从夕阳西下到漫天晨星，周围的游客都散了，我呆看那亮着灯的竞技场好久都不厌倦。

那是我放浪记最记忆深刻的一晚。

 

When in Türkiye

Instead of being greeted by the friendly, classic good looking air hostesses, what caught my attention immediately was the passengers on this midnight flight bound for Istanbul.

Right when I stepped into the aircraft, the whole deck of passengers - boys, men, uncles, old men - ALL turkish, turned and starred at me, for being the only asian and female passenger. For the next 11 hours, I felt like a goldfish in the aquarium or a monkey in the zoo. Is it not common for a girl to travel alone to Istanbul in this 21st century?

As expected, the taxi driver was totally zero in Inglize (English), so does 80% of the population. Showing him the address in Turkish doesn't help either. He dropped me in the middle of the city, pointed uphill and drove off. I can imagine myself, being stranded in the middle of the city, continued to receive strange looks from the locals. To my surprise, there are hardly any tourists around. I was climbing all the way up to the top, searching high and low for the Istanbul branch office but to no avail. I managed to ask a few youngsters (hoping that they have at least studied basic English in school?), in the end some pointed downhill, some pointed further uphill, some left and some right (Yay...), what a good start to Istanbul.

I survived on doner kebabs from the back alley during my 2 nights stay in Istanbul. Unfortunately I didn't get to see much of city. Oh wait, I did manage to catch a glimpse of a quarter of the famous blue mosque when I was on the cab with my Turkish colleague, he was screaming "Ahhh....the grand Sultanahmet Camiiand!" and pointing excitingly at a small tip of a building (erm, which wasn't blue). Sigh.

The next morning, right at 5 am, I received my morning call from the neighbourhood mosque and it went on for more than half an hour. Since I can't get back to sleep, I was hoping that I can arrange an hour off to visit the Trojan Horse (as in the big wooden horse that was filled with Greek warriors in the Trojan War myth, not the virus) before catching the flight to Antalya but I was sent to the airport 3 hours ahead instead by my kiasu colleague. Double Sigh.

Here's a magnificient depiction of the Trojan Horse, but my colleague claimed that the real horse looks nothing like this. Hmm...

Picture courtesy of http://www.weblogturkey.com.

Antalya was far more pleasant than the dusty Istanbul. The small town reminds me of Florence, with quaint shops and friendly neighbourhood. My assignment in Antalya was to complete an acquisition of a hotel that is located along the beautiful Mediterranean coastline. The sunset along the coastline was magnificent, very picturesque, albeit the mood was spoilt by the smokers around.

Being close to the coastline means that seafood is in abundance in Antalya. Thanks to my Turkish colleague, I avoided tourist traps and get to eat at places that locals hang out.

At night, I walked around the town, stopped by a small shop and picked a few postcards. The shop owner offered me a cup of hot cay, which was very comforting on a freezing night. After gulping down the tea I realised that I shouldn't. Erm, didn't your mum tell u since young that u shouldn't accept things offered by strangers? Anyway, I was probably thinking too much, and to quote my Turkish colleague 'Do not get too wary, this is Turkish hospitality'.

Back to the story, I was still uber concious after the cay. The owner asked if I want to affix stamps to the postcards which I happily said yes. A minute later, I saw him gliding the back of the stamp with his tongue o__o But then again, the postcard was meant to be sent out. So, if you are reading this and you receive my postcard from Antalya, that is my most local Turkish souvenir for you, with the blessing of the shop owner. Muahahahaa....

I shall end this post with a picture of a half sunken ship along the coastline, I heard from the locals that it crashed into the coast during thunderstorm months ago and it was left abandoned there till now, probably turning into another historical site. Hmm...

Breakfast at Tsukiji

Like the past 7 days in Kansai, Tokyo was pouring grumpily from day to night. In fact the wind was so strong that it broke my trusty black umbrella the night before at the cross-road of Shibuya.

I took the JR line, transitted at Shinjuku Station and was immediately greeted by horrendous human traffic during morning rush hour. My mojo was depleting as I spent almost an hour walking up and down looking for Oedo subway line. The station master was totally eigo wakarimasen and I was on the verge of giving up on my Tsukiji breakfast.

Fortunately I didn't as my senses kicked in. I reached Tsukiji late morning and it was still pouring.

I walked into a small cosy place and ordered a large bowl of don with my limited nihongo and sign language. It was quite an experience sitting at the bar counter, watching obasan and ojisan moving around the kitchen. As expected, my bowl of maguro and sake don was lovely.

I finished my food and handed over the empty bowl and teacup to obasan. Everything is self-service here. Obasan spoke a few nihongo words, but all I could say was ‘Nihongo Wakarimasen’. I should have picked up a few more words before leaving for this trip.

I continued walking around Tsukiji in the rain looking for more food. I passed by the long queue in front of a Ramen counter a few times and was tempted by the queue more than the food. It was Ramen by the way. I never liked Ramen, just like how I always shudder at Indian food.

In the end, I succumbed to my kiasu spirit and joined the queue.

There were two ojisans in the kitchen. One was cooking noodles and another one was slicing char siew. Beside the Ramen counter was a row of tables with no seats. They only serve one (1) type of Ramen which is good for me, as I don’t have to use my private limited nihongo to order.

I got myself a corner and slurped my bowl of Ramen with piping hot rich stock. I swear at that moment, I’ve forgotten that I wasn’t a Ramen eater.

Standing beside me were two Hongkies speaking in Cantonese:

'Li Gor Hai Gai Thong Lei Gar' (This is chicken soup base)

By the 7th day, I was deprived of Cantonese and felt like 'ching chong-ing' with them on the Ramen - "Hai Meh, Ngo Yi Wai Hai Jzu Guat Thong Lei Gah Leh" (Isit? I thought it is pork bone soup leh). Of course I didn't as the socio-phobia in me knocked sense into my head.

Half way slurping through the noodles, I took out my blackberry, took a picture of it and sent to Hairy – the Ramen fanatic, while he was peeling his usual orange and kiwi combo for lunch in the office.

I still kept this picture in my blackberry. Somehow I find it more appealing than my Gucci.

Oh here's another unrelated but wondrous creation that I discovered. I was drying my clothes at the laundry room one night and saw this in the vending machine.

Gasp.

It is Asahi Stout, which is 200 times smoother than other ang moh brands. Too bad I've not been able to locate it in SG supermarts.

And guess what, my first dinner when I returned to SG was Shoyu Ramen at Parco.

Sigh, I miss my Tsukiji breakfast.

The Betrayal

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If Hoegaarden was true love, what is Sapporo?

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An affair.

Because you don't get to taste it often.

Hokkaido Fair @ Isetan, Scotts Road, Singapore.
Till 9 February 2010

More about Sapporo.

Because Time Waits for No One

Friday 7 August 2009

I took out my keys to open the front gate, the corner of the wall was empty. It was an unbearable scene.

Rewind 9 years

Friday 2 March 2001

"I just bought a dog. You can have it. Yeah, from a client. No choice, a new way of entertaining client. Big business mar...heh heh"

That was from my cousin. I immediately ran to his house, which was a few blocks away from mine.

I was looking around, trying to spot a cute brown puppy. Could it a Golden Retriever? Or a Labrador? Hmmm...it could be a Terrier or a Beagle. I don't mind. I was already grinning.

.

"Where? Where? Where? Where is the dog??

My cousin pointed at a steel cage. Behind the black bars was a fur ball in white...

Which looks nowhere near like a 'dog'.

I showed my cousin a sepuluh sen face. "Huh? I thought you told me it is a 'dog'?"

"Yeah. A Pekingese what. It is a dog, you dummy. Oh but it does look like a cat hor? Garfield..hahahah!"

The next thing I know is that something furry landed on my lap. It is her. She came towards my direction and cuddled up herself on my lap comfortably. She was not wary of me at all.

That was the sweetest thing I have ever seen in my life.

I looked at her in her eyes. "We'll go home together, ok?"

She wagged her furry tail. I think she answered 'yes'.

* * * *

I believe, Marley aside, she is by far the most difficult and fussy dog to keep.

She sworn by heart not to take any dog food. Pedigree premium biscuits, chewy sticks or chicken-in-can. She spat out whatever dog food that we bought.

Her peculiar eating habits will make you wonder if she reincarnated wrongly into a body of a white Pekingese. She really knows how to eat.

She likes durians. D24. No kampung. No thai.

Like owner, like dog? I don't deny that.

My stay with her didn't last too long. 2 years later when I finished my high school, I left her at home and moved to Subang Jaya to do my A-Levels. And then it was degree in Australia, followed by working in KL. Until now stationed down south.

Wherever I go, she remains the one closest to my heart.

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Until the day when my mum returned home to find her laying on the floor in her usual position, but this time round stone cold.

It hurts me everytime to think about her departure. What really happened to her while no one was around at home, and the things that I would give up just to listen to her barking at the background whenever I call home or to see a running fur ball whenever I open the front gate.

I hope you had a happy life whilst staying with us.

Rest in peace, my girl.

# 2 The Black Echoes

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Read the first part of the Tales of Saigon here.

That irritating sound won’t stop.

It just won’t stop bothering me.

258 was the number of days that I have been counting.




There it goes ... I heard the sound again, echoing in the tunnel.

I moved myself to the adjacent burrow. I can feel that it is coming towards my direction. Wait, something is not right here. From the back of my body.

......

Was I dead or did I just pass out in the dark? All I can feel is the numbness in my nerves.

I hate the sound of machine guns.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I grabbed the handle strongly, so strongly that I almost clutched myself to the seat right in front of me. The bus was rocking a hard way through the terribly uneven muddy path.

'The absorber is worn out.'

Again, my head hit high into ceiling of the bus as it runs over a huge crater on the road.

We joined a day tour to Cu Chi and Cao Dai for less than USD 7. For that price, I certainly didn't expect a long arse journey on the bus. I think my lungs, kidneys and stomachs sagged by 1.5cm after spending 5 hours travelling on the rocky road.




Our Bobby Chinn look-alike tour guide was very entertaining.

'Miss, whe du yeu kam frum?'

'Malaysia'.

'Ohhh...de land famous for robbers!'

Astounded by his reply, I found out later that he means ‘rubber’. Certainly one of the most interesting remarks in this journey.

The journey throughout Cu Chi was a remarkable one. I was particularly amazed by their perseverance and determination. Imagine a bunch of Viet Cong soldiers living in the dark, humid and claustrophobia-inducing underground. The American troop described the conditions within the tunnel as ‘black echoes’.



We did try to explore one of the sections of the tunnel that has been expanded to accommodate taller/ larger sized tourists.

It ain’t fun.

I was a fool to believe that the tunnel has been enlarged to accommodate the big size us. *imagining walking around the tunnel freely like visiting museum liddat*

Half way crawling through the tunnel (I almost laid flat on the floor and creep towards the end), I was sweating and screaming in my heart…the tunnel seems to be never ending. How did the Viet Cong soldiers manage to survive in the tunnel for 20 over years when I find the dark claustrophobic atmosphere unbearable for mere 2 seconds?

I am a true brat spoiled by modernity.

After the exploration, I found something amusing. I really wanted to try that real thing. At least once. The guy recommended M16, so I bought 10 bullets (USD 17) for that.



It still ain’t fun lorrrrr.

I was a fool to believe that ear muff works. The NRR (Noise Reduction Rating) is close to ‘0’. The impact of the shot was so powerful that every shot leaves my ear drum with a numb (wee wung wung…wee wung wung…) feeling.

Special thanks to Hairy for capturing all my retarded looking moments.

Food was more or less the same throughout the 3 days. Pho, Pho & more Pho(s) which I enjoyed thoroughly.

I’m glad that I insisted on trying out Nguyen Trung’s coffee on our last day despite the fact that we were supposed to rush to the airport.



We ordered “The Legend” which was nothing like the ordinary Starbucks cappuccino. The coffee was really strong and bold, definitely one of the highlights of my trip. *Love*

Later on when we return to SG, we found out that there is actually a branch located at Liang Court, Clark Quay. *Double Love*

My fave picture of all

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For now, I’m more than happy to return to my comfort zone, happily munching on my routine subway ham and egg, surfing dumb websites, and crossing the road without the fear of being smashed by 58 motorbikes into a slab of tomato paste in the middle of the road.

Bar none, I still love you, Saigon.

Yellow stars missing in sight ...

-The end-

Tales of the Unexpected from Saigon

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#1: Untold Secrets of the Message Room

When darkness falls, everything turns into a picture of dead silence.

I stepped on the narrow staircase leading to the underground.

'Shhh...be quiet...you don't want to wake them up...let me show you the way.'

I saw this young boy when I stumbled upon this place. In fact, I saw him everywhere. From the main door, the message room to the combat officer room... He was there, everywhere.

I lost him soon after.

'Tub...tub...tub...'

The floor is so thin that I can feel the tremble. I heard that coming from the back.

'Dooom...'

When darkness falls, everything turns into a picture of silence ... a dead silence.

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I didn't dwell myself too long in that B-grade horror flick as I walk through the underground tunnel of the Reunification Palace.

Oh by the way, I was at Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City) for 3 days. Thanks to the free air tickets from the lucky dip.

The first, second, third and fourth floor didn't excite me. There were numbers of meeting rooms, conference rooms and dining rooms of different themes, a place previously resided by the presidents.

We were just wandering around the Palace and stumbled upon one eery staircase that leads to the dark underground. That really intrigued my interest.

There were secret rooms (or message rooms) with bulky and dusty switchboards, the very 60s phones and the good old typing machines.

Hairy attempted this shot ala Wong Kar Wai mode that inspired the series of dark tales.

The young boy is definitely not from our hallucination but he was really everywhere. Everywhere that we went. He loves blocking our way, interrupting at the background when we were shooting photos and looking at Hairy with a creepy smile.

'Sekali you see him in one of the black & white pictures hung on the wall' said Hairy with a blank look.

How interesting.

Obviously we didn't spot him in any of the pictures, in fact the pictures shown were depressing and disheartening. Nuclear bombs, massacre and concentration camps. I just want to get out of that place.

Back to reality, we were caught in the middle of the junction with motorbikes coming from all 4 directions and with 58 bikes honking at us at the same time, as if we were blocking their ways *sweat*

Funny mode of transport in Vietnam

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I was literally distressed, I think a bowl of piping hot noodles would be a good cure.

We dropped by Ben Thanh Market (we call it the 'Beh Tahan Market') and zoomed straight into the food section.

Tell me about pracitising food hygiene, there were a few dead cockroaches lying under my seat.

To eat or not to eat? Gulp...There goes my first bowl of pork knuckle noodles in Vietnam and L-S (diarrhea) on the very next day.

At night, we strolled along the night market street and the dai chow stalls came into sight. Born to be gluttons, we settled for another round of food.

The return of the alcoholic.

Can you believe that a bottle of Saigon beer costs only 90 cents (10,000 dong)?

But that 90 cents can only give you a taste of gassy plain water. I stopped at one bottle.

Oh well, the journey didn't end here. In fact it only started the next day - a five hours helluva extreme journey that can only be found in Vietnam.

To be continued.

Photo credit to the legendary Hairy from Black Tie White Lie.