Fruit Farm Visit in Pahang, Malaysia

         

  

    

 Two friends got together and started this fruit farm in Pahang between Bentong and Raub. Primarily a durian farm, they also grow mangosteens, langsats, rambutans, papayas and some other fruits. 

                         Self-invented contraption for getting the smaller fruits.

                                              Plucking mangosteens

                                               

 Daughter was there the week before on their way back from some camp. When she called me, there was such a racket in the background. She told me some were picking fruits, some were eating, some were just playing with the fruits; some were taking the dog for rides in the scooter, some were going to jump into the pond, some were fishing, some chasing the chickens, some trying to climb trees, etc. Wonderful break for active city kids.

                                            The rambutans were my favourites

 I was rather reluctant to go as I'm not a durian eater. Sad because I think I've got some kind of allergy to the fruit, always developing sorethroats after eating no matter how small the quantity or how I drink salt water from the shell or eat copious number of mangosteens offset the 'heatiness' of the this king of fruits. 

The Westerners say the fruit looks like cream, tastes like custard and smells like shit. The durians available includes most of the popular varieties like the the D24, D101, Red Prawn and the Raja Kunyit ( Mao Sang Wong ) which is the most expensive of the lot. There was much eating coupled with extensive discussion of the texture and taste (whether creamy or bitter or less sweet is better), shape ( regular or odd or oval or round and  size ( big or small or medium ).

Eat and tao-pao ( takeaway) for durian parties. Visitors pays RM10 per head for a eat-all-you-can visit and takeaways are changed according to weight of the fruits.

                            Some brave ones want to camp the night there with 

                         only the mosquitoes and the stars for companionship.

Singapore Trip Dec 2009 Part 2

The Singapore Botanic Gardens had been around as long as I can remember. When we were young, before the onslaught of shopping malls, it was a real treat to be taken there. The main attraction for us kids there were the many monkeys swinging from tree to tree. One could buy a pack of peanuts wrapped in a newspaper and feed them. However some can become aggressive and my sister had the whole packet snatched away at one go. Years later, my son had his plastic ball snatched and tore up by an aggressive fella hoping to find food inside.  Some other complaints of additional bad behaviour got the whole lot of them moved into the zoo.

Chopin and his wife near the orchestra pit       

                                                                                    

This could be a park in summer in Australia or even Europe

             There used to be some black swans but this time, I only saw a couple of white ones.

The lovely water-lily pond                                      

               

The sun-dial

 The pavilion where we had our cell group meetings once upon a time
    

  To my great joy,  the Botanic Gardens had remained fairly unchanged except for some improvement, e.g the spice gardens, a couple of upmarket restaurants, the dearth of mosquitoes who loved me dearly. The main change is the Orchid Garden which have become a paid attraction.We did not get to visit as we were short of time. Instead we sat outside and watched the various  different varieties of doggies, some huge and furry, some tiny and yappy, others still sleek and proud accompanied by Philippino maids who also took the opportunity to fraternalise. These was no sign of the black swans which an the attraction in the 70s. Only a couple of white ones and some ducks were around.  I remember when I was staying in Raffles Hall when the University of Singapore campus was at Bukit Timah, we used to jog in the Botanic Gardens after tea each evening. Sometimes we will ask the kitchen for leftover bread to feed the swans, ducks and fishes.                                                 

                                                     

In the lovely golden afternoon sun, a stroll through the gardens;

on an old wooden bench,

me and my book. 

Forget the neighbouring bustling Orchard Road,

its hurrying crowds and fairy lights,

its dazzling shops and dollar signs;

just give me my peaceful green bit of paradise.

Regrets

On Boxing Day, we attended a Malay wedding. It was at a place called Kampong Medan near the glitzy Sunway Lagoon Resort. In 2001, this little place was the place of a racial tragedy where marginalised part of societies acted out their frustrations against each other, sparked off by a funeral, a wedding and a misunderstanding over a broken lorry window. The result: six people dead and scores of others seriously wounded and a broken trust in the racial harmony that took more than 3o years to rebuild after the horrific May 13th incident in 1969.

 However, two weeks ago, Kampong Medan was a cheerful, noisy place with many Malay weddings, parties and open houses going on. Our friend's wedding was in one of the councils' hall. It was a big affair and though not high budget, it was well-organised by relatives and friends.

All through my life, I had always enjoyed Malay weddings. I love the bersanding when one and all can admire the gorgeously dressed bride and groom. I love the bunga telor in which something so humble as an egg can be so prettily packaged and decorated. Somehow the egg always tastes better than usual. And the door gifts are always so attractively done up no matter how simple its content. This wedding was no different. As often, we were the minority of non-Malays and because of that everyone, hosts and their guests too, tried to make us feel extra-welcomed. I noticed that all the non-Malays were given an additional door gift.

Most memorable was this Malay wedding we attended in a small isolated kampong in Langkawi. We were served endless sumptuous servings of curry chicken, mutton rendang, satan vegetables and colour kueys. As we were leaving, I notice that the other guests were just sharing a bowl of curry with one piece of chicken and  vegetables at each table. It then dawned upon me how poor these people were and how hospital and generous they had been to us because we were not Malays, and really guests in their village.

 In those days, during the wedding season in Langkawi which is usually the schools holidays and after the harvest, I would often see guests going to weddings, carrying with them a gift in a plastic bag. Out of curiosity, I asked what they were giving. It turned out to be two katis of rice or two katis of sugar! Gifts that will definitely be put to good use in the months after when the next harvest season is a long way off.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to a nightmare come true. Two nights ago, my husband was going on about what the Chinese papers said about the use of the word 'Allah' and the court ruling. I shut him up unceremoniously, saying that we shouldn't make a big issue out of the whole thing now that the ruling has been made.  The truth is, I felt uncomfortable about it even though for weeks, we'd been praying in Church for a favourable ruling.   A sense of foreboding that some quarters will not let things rest, I guess. And now it has come true. Many Malaysians of all races and religions are devastated at the bomb attacks at the churches. Something so fragile, so priceless, so precious has once again been shattered. 

Once again, the Agents of Division, of Disorder, of Hatred had scored a victory in Malaysia. But now that the harmony and peace has been severely disrupted and threatened, we pray for the rise of the Defenders of Peace, Tolerance, Humanity and Justice in Malaysia.

Sometimes God works in strange ways and makes good things come out of bad. Of course Marx may regard it as a form of dialectism.

Singapore Trip Dec 2009 Part 1

This trip I'd decided to do the Orchard Road Christmas lights, something I'd shied from for years ever since I saw the large crowd spilling onto the road on Christmas eve in the 70s before they took to road closure on Christmas Eve. We made a  illegal u-turn for lucky escape from the massive human and traffic jam. But since Norah is into photography and everyone in Malaysia talks about it, I thought I'd better go. Not that different but Centrepoint and some of the others was a disappointment. Maybe cost-cutting? 

My favourite is the Christmas tree outside Ion. One could go inside, good for photo bugs.

                                                      Inside the tree

                                                

                                             In front of the blink-blink at Paragon

The most amazing thing about Orchard Road especially during the peak period (public holidays, Satturdays and Sundays) is that one can hardly find any Singaporeans there. In the trains or on the road, most of the time I can't understand what everyone around me is saying, all are conversing in foreign tongues. Where are the Singaporeans? Gone to the cheap, cheap Malaysian Sale next door? On holiday in China? In the NTUC supermarts at the heartland malls because things in town are too pricey? Or in their elitist clubs discussing the prices of properties?

Furthermore,especially for the tourist, it is also next to impossible to buy any products made in Singapore at Orchard Road.

Besides Orchard Road,  National Library and Bras Basah Complex, there's the compulsory hunt for food. Norah and I ate the teochew dried mee pok at least 5 times. 

We also ate kuay chap, wan ton mee, fried kuay teow, or chien (fried oysters and egg), chui kuey, soon kuey, kuchai kuey, sliced fish soup, mee rebus, mee siam, fried carrot cake, black fried chay tow kuay, soya bean curd, ice kacang, letow suan (green bean dessert), etc. Also the old style Polar cake with the rich butter icing which no one except me likes, hahaha.

 All in all, 2 weeks of eating hawker's fare. How thoroughly unhealthy! How simply wonderful!  Now, I'm familiar with the pricing again: localised coffee shop or non aircond  food center - $2.50; aircond food center in heartland shopping centre - $3- 3.50, food court in city shopping mall, eg Food Republic, $4.50 & above. 

No photos of these food as we pigged them out as soon as they appeared. All these plus the more up market restaurants and home-cooked meals made my food orgy complete. Burp....

         

             ( To be continued)

The Ultimate Hero

                                             

              Years ago it was Titanic, now it's Twilight. Long before that it was Shakespeare's  Romeo and Juliet and the Chinese Butterfly Lovers.

 All the fans, especially girls, love the stories and wouldn't mind watching the shows or reading the books over and over again. 

                                            Why?  

We all love romance in our lives, especially females because we all want to be loved. Guys, of course may find it too soppy to admit but don't they too desire to find the one? 

We want to hear the ultimate love story, we want to find the ultimate lover.

We want to to seek out the true Hero who loves us and put us and our well-being upon a pedestal above his own; who is unafraid of all dangers, all pain, all humiliation and  sufferings for our sake and who will even sacrifice his own life and die for us.

In other words, we are all seeking for the man called Jesus Christ.

Alice

Alice was my hairdresser for more than 10 years. We'd see each other about 3 or 4 times a year, sometimes just twice. Somehow,we seem to connect well and as she patiently snipped off of bits of my hair away, gently reassuring me that the outcome will be very feminine and won't make my husband flip, we will chat endlessly about all sorts of things. No agenda, just two very different people from different backgrounds but we will just talk.

She's single whereas I'm married; she's from a Chinese-speaking background, I'm English-speaking, barely able to read Chinese; she's a staunch Buddhist, I'm Catholic: she comes from a small town, I grew up in a big city. Our superficial differences makes conversation interesting and our similarities in underlying outlook in life makes us click. Popular hairdressers like her are also very good listeners. They know how to empathise with people. They are patient and genuinely interested in others. They remember what you told them months or even years ago. They often fill in the void that busy husbands and grownup children had left behind. Because of this, they are a wealth of information. They know about the economic situation before most of us. They can tell you where to eat, which country to avoid on holidays,  what are the latest scams in town, and so on.

Alice treated cutting hair as an art. Each year she would forego weeks of earnings to attend international hair-shows followed by a vacation. In the recent years, she would even take all of the 15 days of Chinese New Year off, something most business people would never do, to celebrate the New Year with her mother in her home town, Sitiawan, followed by some meditation camp in some quiet location.

When she was not working, Alice took up yoga, went for meditation and Buddhist classes. During weekends, she went to old folks home and gave them free haircuts and listened to their stories. In the recent years, Alice had turned totally vegetarian. We discussed at great length about health foods, too. She introduced me to a couple of good vegetarian restaurants and places to buy organic foods. She even taught me how to make enzymes. She was also going to pass me some more recipes but alas, it was not to be. In August, my daughter who refuses to go to any other hairdresser but Aunty Alice, was able, at long last, to take time off her studies to have her haircut. I called the saloon, only to be told that she was not well but would be back later part of the year. I found out later that a few days after that, on the 14th day of the Chinese seventh month, Alice passed away of breast cancer.

 I remember my second trip to her saloon and the story she shared with me. it goes like this:

Once upon a time there were two monks who were very close friends. They did everything together and were inseparable. As they grew old, they promised each other that when they died, they will try their very, very best to find each other in the next life no matter what form they were incarnated as.

Eventually they both passed away. The first monk was reincarnated and travelled all over the world looking for his friend for many years. However, he had no success. Very exhausted, he cannot understand why there was no sign of his good friend who must surely be searching for him too. Still, he held on to this promise and continued his journey dreaming about the great things they would do together once they found each other. 

Then one fine day, his persistence was eventually rewarded. He found his long lost friend. But sadly, he had been incarnated into a worm in a pile of dung. He wanted to help his friend to get of the shit in the literal sense, to give him a new clean home, to take him along to travel the lengths and breadths of the world, to continue their previous discourses about the meaning of life, to enjoy poetry, art music and all the fine things they used to share together. But try as he would, his friend would not  bulge. Finally, sick of his pestering, his friend turned around and said to him:

' Look, I'm happy here. I've got lots to eat and no need to work. I love this pile of shit. I don't want to go any where or be anything else. I don't remember what promises we'd made in the previous life. Please go away and leave alone me to enjoy the life I like in peace.'

 Thoroughly disappointed, the first monk had to accept his friend's choice and continue his journey sadly without him.

We laughed heartily at the end of the story and Alice said that she didn't want to be just like the worm, only eating shit and existing. That was why she took time off to travel, to learn new things, to meet new people, to help others, to improve herself.

Each time I look in the mirror at my increasingly messy hair, I think of my friend and find it hard to believe that I can't just dial the familiar number to make an appointment to see her. Then I remember this little tale and am sure she's really gone travelling to the beyond.

Alice, wherever you are, may the Almighty bless you.

I live in a construction site

My house had been surrounded by constant construction for the past few years. Initially it was renovations, then it became redevelopment. Because ours is an old area, many of the single storey houses are being transformed into brand new doubled storey houses Our neighbour even wanted to put in a hundred piles just a few feet away from us. Fortunately, the one across the road advised against it and all I have to put up with is the constant demolition, hacking, cement grinding, shovelling, drilling as well as the Indonesian colonies that spring up in the compound. Little make shift shacks for the builders of these grand mansions but once almost ready, a guard is employed, these people are quickly locked out of the place they help build, shipped off to another shack in another site.

Each house wants to be the grandest and the tallest. I truly welcome this, the former so that the burglars will not target us, the latter so that lightning also will not strike us. It is really interesting to watch the progress of the whole thing. Initially, all the lights, chandeliers, garden lights etc will be on every night. There'll be laughter, excitement and streams of visitors. Then the smell of satay and roast lamb, with cars blocking the tiny road as open houses takes place at the slightest excuse. Then the lights will slowly dim leaving only a few major ones or even none (like my next door Datuk's). There usually will be some yelling at the maid or maids for something or other for not doing things correctly or worse still for wrecking their brand-new expensive stuff. 

There will be quite a bit of activity in the garden, owners, maids, gardeners etc doing gardening, planting, watering beautiful flowers or making new additions. There will also in the mornings or evenings be people exercising in the compound, children playing and laughing. Gradually however, the novelty will die down and soon, all that one sees are cars coming in or out of driveways and maids doing something or other. After a while, even the maids seldom appear, only when their garbage collectors friends or the postman comes. More junk pile up in the previously pristine compound: stacks of newspapers, shoes lying around, bicycles that had seen better days....

Of course not all houses suffer the same fate. But ours did!