Monday, March 21, 2005

TRAVEL: California 15 Feb - 09 Mar 2005

Having just returned from one of my most rigorous adventures yet, I've been busy with other commitments of life, which to say the least, are not too far less rigorous than the miles of uphill hiking I did in the US. So this is a completely incomplete account of my holiday, the pages of which are in transfer from my hard journal.

Do check back!

15 Feb 2005, Tuesday – Narita Airport, Japan

2.25 pm. Narita Japan again. Gosh, more than 4 hours to kill before the connecting flight at 7.10 pm. This stretch of 30- and 40-something gates is boring. Little to browse, even less to stimulate fervent purchase interest. Well, great for the pocket though. But I’d better remember to pick up the cute doll-snack on the way back. One has gotta love Japan’s merchandise – so full of character that I doubt the US could closely match. We’ll see.

5 pm. Still 2 hours to go!! Why is time moving at snail pace?! Sigh... I hope the flight to San Francisco would be less eventful. Not that the earlier flight was bad. The flight was not full so the 2 of us were comfortable in a 3-seater. It had been okay save for a few bouts of mild turbulence that spilled my elderly neighbor’s tea on my pants and stained my socks.

But that didn’t really matter. What piqued me was the “random security check” at Changi Airport. Was it really random, or targeted? If the latter, what was the reason? My passport or the e-ticket? I’d check with Hui Ling if she had similar experience. Let’s hope the entry to the US would be less unnerving, although the strict security enforcement was really quite… comforting.

15 Feb 2005, Tuesday – San Francisco

It was surreal. As I walked on the aerobridge, through the airport hallways, across the custom gates, out of the arrival hall, into the BART station, on the train, into the rain and the cold of Union Square, up Powell Street, down Sutter, up Taylor Street and finally arriving at the USA Hostels, I looked around me thinking – this is surreal. Surreal. Surreal.

I don’t think I’d ever felt like that before on my many other trips.

The plane landed at about noon. It had been a reasonably good flight, mainly because I slept through most of it as I was the only person occupying the row of 3-seats. In fact, the flight was so empty that many of us had the chance to recline and sleep like first class passengers. Yet when we landed, I was in a sort of daze. Jetlag? Hmm…

The folks at the USA Hostels were great but they’re screwed by some irresponsible hosteller, which also meant I was completely screwed too. I would have loved to settle quickly into the room, have a quick shower and possibly a short nap since it was raining and I wasn’t too keen on the idea of sightseeing in wet weather. Where’s the romance unless you’re on the arms of some hunk but that’s beside the point.

The point is, the room that I was assigned to did not have a bed for me! The girl at the reception could not help me right away because she had to check with someone else but the reservation records showed that there’s supposed to be an empty bed in that room. So after dumping my bags, I went to hang out at Borders. Thank God for Borders.

I’d also spotted the Disney Store on the way to USA Hostels… this is an excellent location really. Union Square, the hub of downtown San Francisco. And a bed at the bargain price of $9 per day (it’s on half price because it’s Valentine’s week), wow!

The multi-floor Borders indeed was stocked with books and music of every variety to amuse myself on cold lonely nights… or afternoons. One of the gems that I immediately took myself to was the screenplay of the highly-acclaimed ‘Sideways’. I’d heard so much knew so little about the movie that my curiosity just about built to the max. I pounced on the book, and made it my own for the 5 consecutive nights I spent in San Francisco, save for one when I was too tired to keep my eyes peeled.

When I went back to the hostel to check on the status of my room, I had the bad news that they had to move me to the Sutter Street building. Jim, the manager in charge, apologized profusely and helped me carry my bags in the transfer. Hmm… I was hoping they’d offer a discount to redeem themselves for the screw-up but oh well…

The situation seemed to redeem itself, though. The original room was a hell of a mess that when I first entered it, I was frankly quite appalled and dismayed that I’d have to live there for 5 days. The new room, although with 5 beds (compared to 4 on Taylor) was completely vacant when I checked in. I was later joined by an Australian girl who was working at Berkeley for nothing but for the experience (given the chance, I’d like to try it too!). The two of us had the room to ourselves for 3 nights before 3 other girls checked in on Friday.

After a shower and a call home to report my safe arrival, I decided to hit Borders again. The rain had not abated. So I read Sideways till my eyes could no longer be kept awake and my mind could focus no more but on the growl in my tummy, I left to pick up a pizza and retire for the night. At 9 pm. Ridiculous.

16 Feb 2005, Wednesday – San Francisco

It’s a beautiful day! Despite turning in early the night before, I woke after 9 (although I was jerked from my slumber at about 5.30 am by my roommate’s alarm clock – she needed an early start at work). I quickly washed up and went down to the kitchen for the free pancake breakfast. But found none. Then I remembered a complaint on a website that the free breakfast was a hoax. Or maybe I was late and missed it. It didn’t really matter anyway.

Since the weather’s great after so much rain the day before, I was determined to pack tonnes of sightseeing into this one. First stop though, would be breakfast. But where at? And which part of town should I be spending the day at afterward? Since it’s Chinese New Year, and only 6 days into it, perhaps the most logical choice would be to bask in the festive atmosphere right there among the largest Chinese community outside of Asia. Besides, I needed to use the Internet and the Chinatown public library seemed to be the closest.

24 Feb 2005, Thursday – Hollywood

The bus pulled into the Los Angeles station at approximately 0500. The bus to Hollywood would not depart until after 0600 so I had to find something to amuse myself with for more than an hour. There wasn’t very much, only restless or tired travelers streaming about the busy station. Busy at this hour, I guess they operate 24 hours a day.

Just when I thought the hour would drift by uneventfully, a security high drama, or close to one, unfolded. Two security officers approached a drab, emaciated man, pummeling him with questions. He seemed like he was high on something, and the officers eventually led him away from the station. Peacefully.

The ride to Hollywood came and in less than a half hour, I was strolling the Walk of Fame, some of the stars I recognized, many I didn’t and most I couldn’t care less. My sense of direction was warped by the insistent thought of cozying up in the dorm bed as quickly as I could. After crossing some streets and Schrader Blvd never came in sight, I re-consulted the map and uh huh, I was strolling down the opposite direction.

The guy who checked me in was sort of in a daze, maybe lack of sleep, or if that was his usual demeanor, the unusually laidback attitude almost set my nerves ablaze. It was even less comforting that a bed would not be available until after 10 am when the current occupant checked out. Great, and I spent the hours in between watching Good Morning America in the kitchen.

Which wasn’t half as bad, really. Fellow hostellers started streaming in for their free pancake breakfast, which they had to make themselves. Some made beautiful golden ones, some could pass off for charcoal but the animated conversation amongst these young and (some of them) very good-looking people were the most entertaining of all.

Welcome to Hollywood.

When the dorm bed became available, the sheets did not. That didn’t really bother me although housekeeping did. Vacuum cleaners buzzing down the hall, loud music playing and people in… more animated conversation. By the time the team stepped into my room, drowsiness had already bade me goodbye. For the record, the housekeeping team was pretty impressive at keeping the room and amenities in tip top condition. Kudos to them.

A stroll down Hollywood Boulevard on a sunny afternoon was swell after a whole week of overcast sky and freezing cold raindrops pelting my face in San Francisco (and Las Vegas).

First stop, the Visitor’s Centre. The walking map was simple enough and I shouldn’t have bothered, really. There were only 2 main streets worthy of closer scrutiny here – Hollywood Boulevard which I was on, and Sunset Boulevard, of the Divine-Hugh Grant fame.

Scouring for props may be a logistic headache for us producers in Singapore, but here in Hollywood, they are everywhere … some even on characters plying the streets, tourists or aspiring actors hoping to catch the eye of a discerning casting agent? The street was flanked by shops selling eccentric clothing, collectible movie memorabilia and like a true tourist town, souvenirs in all price ranges with only one thing in common – the word “Hollywood” creatively eternalized on the most prominent surface.

10 blocks didn’t seem like such a long walk from Vine Street to the Kodak Theatre and Gaumann’s Chinese Theatre, both the star attractions of Hollywood, as asserted by the Visitors Information Center dude who tried to get me on a bus tour of Tinseltown. Must be a slow day.

Kodak Theatre was bustling with activities and that little stretch of Hollywood Boulevard was closed to traffic. Only then did I realize that the Academy Awards was happening that very weekend. Alas, I wasn’t going to be around – I’d be frolicking with Mickey Mouse in Disneyland on Saturday, and then rocking on the long ride back to San Jose on Sunday as the red carpet which they were rolling out just about now played host to the most glamorous of Hollywood’s stars on Oscar night.

A visit to the Hollywood Museum felt like a stumble through the wardrobe on the sets of movies from the early days of film-making to recent blockbusters. Although not every movie was represented in the museum, all the exhibits were well-preserved.

My favorite was the Marilyn Monroe corner. It was almost like a shrine in tribute of, in my opinion, the most misunderstood and media-wrecked star of her time. Exhibits included her dresses from movies and public appearances, and photographs with quotes from the photographers. But the highlight, at least to me, were the video autobiography and her autopsy reports, all congruent to allegations that Marilyn Monroe did not commit suicide. It was murder, which appeared to be a high-level act.

I spent at least 2 hours lingering in the museum (never thought I was such a museum-lover!) When I was finally outside, it was past 4 pm. The Oscar production and security teams were still very hard at work setting up for the big night. Kodak Theatre was off limits so I had only the Chinese Theatre to hang out at. There was, of course, the shopping mall that spanned these 2 landmarks, if I ever ran out of places to go to.

I deliberately skipped the guided tour of the Chinese Theatre because I did not deem the fee value for money (although I’m rather curious why’s it called a Chinese Theater besides the architecture and why Chinese architecture at the hub of western film industry). Besides, I enjoyed checking out the who’s who of Hollywood who left prints and messages on the slabs of stones that now adorned the sidewalk leading up to the heavy doors of the theatre.

With all the temptations of this glamour town, I chose McDonald’s for dinner. Perhaps, all the star-gazing today was getting to me and McDonald’s was the much-needed reality check that would keep me sane for more Day 2 adventures. Ciao.

25 Feb 2005, Friday - Hollywood

Whatever kept me in bed for 10 straight hours, I did not know. Could be sleep in arrears from the overnight bus ride into Hollywood from Las Vegas the previous night, or was the upper bunk cozier than the lower one I had in San Francisco? Whatever it was, I had all the rest I required for a 3-mile hike up to the Hollywood Hills.

The weather was not as good as the previous day. The Hollywood sign was shrouded in thin mist as I navigated through an immaculate neighborhood whose sidewalks were lined with palm trees that had become synonymous with California as far as TV shows went. Hopefully, the mist would soon lift and the sign would be bathed in golden sunshine for my million-dollar picture of the symbol of a billion-dollar industry.

Although it was a relatively easy hike, the long, quiet and somewhat meandering Beachwood and Ledgewood Drives made the journey seem longer than it actually was. When I finally got close enough to the sign, alas, there was still a thin veil of mist over it. Not the most picturesque of shots but the mysterious quality was somewhat appealing. Maybe I was an optimist, or was I just trying to justify the effort put into getting up close to this … thing.

Spending no less than a good half hour walking back and forth in anticipation of the lifting of the veil, er, mist, my patience eventually paid off. Although the lighting condition was far from perfect, at least the sign was sporting subtle glints of gold. Well, not exactly a million-dollar shot like I’d hoped for; I bet this one’s worth a couple of Starbucks coffees…

The trip to the Hollywood Hills proved to be the last straw for my Reebok sneakers, whose sole had already shown signs of falling apart. Coincidentally, a store near the USA Hostels was having a sale and I picked up a cool white and tan leather-suede Guess shoes for bargain price. And another pair of sporty blue suede Guess for… just in case.

I did not have very much to do that afternoon except shop for souvenirs for family and friends back home. Oh yeah, and that must-go “Build-A-Bear” store, which I found the day before but was closed for the day, that was similar to the Basic Brown Bear Factory in San Francisco. But alas, for whatever reason it was closed when I went a-knocking (maybe because it’s Friday? Or maybe because it’s Oscar weekend)

So I had plenty time to browse and pick the best gifts for my family and friends, and the cash registers sure had fun “ka-chinging” my purchases while my burnt little pockets must be screaming in excruciating pain, on which I turned a deaf ear. Hollywood was a shopper’s paradise. Very attractive merchandise, very beautiful clothes and shoes, unparalleled haute couture, lovely shoes, stunning tops and skirts, cute shoes… oh did I mention the sexy shoes that the 4 Sex and the City girls would kill for? Ooh…

Shopping is indeed a time killer. Before I knew it, the day was getting dark. On the way back to the hostel, the sound of music drew me into a place called The Musician’s Institute. A band was performing with a black lady vocalist that could give all the American Idol contestants a run for their money. So mesmerizing was the performance (and the drummer J) that I decided to sit down and immerse myself in the melodies of this group of aspiring musicians, artistes. I was sure that many of my revered musicians, BT for one, had had a similar gig at some point in their lives. It was cool that these creative persons had this avenue to showcase their talents and have fun. It is something that the more affluent countries in Asia should emulate in promoting of the arts; I’m happy to note that the occasional performances at the Esplanade and the MITA Building came close.

Very shortly after I dumped my stuff in the room, I set off for Amoeba. Like the one on Haight Street, this is a really cool store which a wide selection of everything. Still, most of them are more than I could afford so after a short while there, I was off to Jack-in-the-Box for dinner. I wish we had more burger choices, such as this and the In-and-Out Burger, back home.

I had spotted Borders on the way back from the Hollywood Hills and that was where I spent the rest of the evening. Picked up some Valentine’s merchandise on 70% discount – a couple card game for Hui Ching and Raymond, and a Love Is… notebook for Hui Teng who needed a diary. And if she didn’t want it, I would gladly keep it for myself. After all, I had religiously cut out the cartoons complete with quotes on what Love Is, published everyday in the New Straits Times about a decade ago, and still have them in my safekeeping.

At Borders also, I had the good fortune to catch a gig by a husband and wife team. It was a pity I did not stay throughout the performance which I thoroughly enjoyed because I had to wake up early the next day to catch the train to Anaheim, and I didn’t have my handphone which doubled as my alarm clock with me. Of course, I had the alarm function of the iPod but I wasn’t confident that a single beep could jolt me from a deep slumber. So to play it safe, I’d better have enough sleep and let my biological clock set the alarm.

26 Feb 2005, Saturday – Disneyland, Anaheim

I think I hardly slept that night. Or if I did, I woke very early this morning, way before the designated 0545 set for the alarm. Still, I lazed in bed until 0545. A huge mistake, because by the time I checked out and started walking to the Hollywood/Vine Metro subway station, it was already past 0615. And alas, I missed the train and only caught the next one about 20 minutes later.

One really interesting thing noteworthy of the US public transport system is that everyone could travel virtually free. I had dutifully bought my ticket at the machine before realizing that there wasn’t any barrier ala the MRT auto-gate to validate the ticket, much less an inspector onboard. I had also ridden free before in San Francisco on their street and cable cars – the operators of the former had seemed more than happy to take us on a free spin.

Anyway, I arrived at the Union Station 10 minutes after the collection time for my reserved Amtrak ticket to Anaheim. I was glad my reservation still held, and at the same time, I could collect my 3 other reserved tickets to Lake Tahoe and Yosemite the following week.

Upon boarding the train, I realized I shouldn’t have bothered reserving. The train was quite empty. I had felt like an idiot the day before while making my reservation at the public phone in a crowded kitchen of the USA Hostel, trying to keep my voice down as I spoke and sometimes, repeated my answers several times, to a voice-recognition reservation system. To the outsider, I had certainly seemed crazy talking to myself! Haha…

The journey to Anaheim was very comfortable and I resolved to ride Amtrak in future if the price was comparable to Greyhound’s. I had certainly made the right decision refunding the Greyhound ticket.

A short cab ride after arrival at the Anaheim station, and I arrived at the Anabella Hotel at about 8.30 am. En route, the cab driver told me that the beautiful weather would be short-lived - the rain, which had stopped just a couple of days before, was expected to resume the following week. It seemed we were extremely lucky to be there at the right time. What fun would Disneyland be in wet weather?

And hell yes, we were extremely lucky indeed! Hui Ling and her colleague had arrived earlier and while they were waiting for me at the lobby, a couple gave them a 3-day pass, of which they had only used once the day before. Gee, that’s a saving of US$106!!

Another pleasant surprise awaited us. I wasn’t expecting much of the room for the price that we paid for, and its exterior didn’t seem all too impressive either. But once we stepped in, I thought that was really great value for money. Immediately, I had the urge to snuggle up in the many soft pillows and snooze.

But the 2 delicious complimentary chocolate strawberries brought me back to earth and soon, we were all set for DISNEYLAND – the happiest place on earth!

The place was huge. Even the search for the main entrance and ticketing booths required some sort of skillful navigation. And once we were in, we were at a lost where to go first. To first launch into “Tomorrowland”, which was near the entrance, didn’t seem like the most logical choice before a picture with some of Disney’s historical figures such as Mickey, Minnie, Pluto, etc. But alas, just as we wielded our cameras, the stars began to retreat to their “trailers”, promising to be back soon.

So into tomorrow we went, without the past. And we quickly discovered that it was the colorful past that was the most lustrous.

Like the Dumbo Ride. Or the Snow White & the Seven Dwarves stage musical performance, which was truly outstanding (besides the fact that the prince was gorgeous). Or the Mickey & Friends street parade and the Disney Princesses Royal Party that to say the least, thrust forth the little kid in everyone of us to sing, dance and wave to all our favorite Disney characters from days past and present.

The warm day became increasingly chillier as evening approached. We had all left our jackets back at the hotel so that was the perfect excuse to hit the souvenir stores for one of the pricey but pretty sweaters, and be distracted by a myriad of merchandise that effortlessly but surely drew cash from the pockets of the faint-hearted.

We hurried over to the Rivers of America in Frontierland where the night’s grand finale, Fantasmic, was to be staged. The show had not started but the venue was so swarmed with people that it was impossible for us to get a good view so we decided to return for the second show an hour and half later at 10.30 pm. So we utilized our FastPass for priority entry to the Big Thunder roller coaster ride, the queue to which was unbelievably long. After the ride, I completely understood why it was worth the wait. It’s got to be the best thrill ride Disneyland had to offer.

Right after Big Thunder, we left for Frontierland again to reserve the best seats for Fantasmic. The first show had just ended so we easily secured the front row just above the river. But there’s almost an hour to go before the show started and quite frankly, the wait in the cramped seated position in the cold was not much fun. We should have opted to stand. This was confirmed when the host warned that those in front would be wet because of the spectacular water magic that Mickey conjured up in battle with his enemies. Nevertheless, the half hour show was a magnificent finale to a fun day at the happiest place on earth.

TRAVEL: New Zealand 28 Apr - 09 May, 2004

There and Back Again

I hope I’d do as good a job as Bilbo Baggins reiterating his adventures in Middle-Earth, scaling mountains and fighting Smog the ancient dragon. I did not see dragons, much less fight them. What laid before my eyes were, paraphrasing Elijah Woods’ words “every geographical and geological structure imaginable… and some unimaginable” and all that I fought was an overwhelming urge to deliberately miss my flight when the day of return to Singapore drew near.

But alas, here I am again, back in my scorching hot home after a swift 12-day adventure to New Zealand but the memory of it is far from fading.

It is the perfect getaway from the vicissitudes of life. A calming place for one to recollect him or herself, pull focus and get a new, possibly different, perspective of life that could sway one’s destiny. It was a trip for the spiritual self, and I’m glad I went on that journey.

Everyday I woke up to imageries of Jurassic proportions that had been sculpted by the gentle hands of time. One or two hundred million years old? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure they will still be there, more beautiful than ever, long after I’m gone.

Quite frankly, one can’t help but feel small, ephemeral and temporary amongst the mountains and rivers that are going to outlive us all by a few million lifetimes. And with so little time between now and the end, shouldn’t I already seek affirmation to my own purpose of existence? What better place to do that than here in New Zealand, where time seems to stand still? An embarrassingly-tiny fraction of the time needed to create this magnificent land is what will take to fuse my thoughts, shape my mind and bolster my courage to reconnect with life.

28 April 2004, Wednesday: Singapore – Auckland – Christchurch

Every great journey begins with a single step; that would be the moment I boarded the plane. After a glass of white wine to go with my fish dinner, I was comfortably knocked out for most of the 9-hour journey to Auckland. One hour at the customs, another hour idling at the domestic airport in transfer and there we were in Christchurch – ready to rock and roll in one of the country’s oldest cities and one that held the strongest bond to its English heritage.

29 April 2004, Thursday: Christchurch

Our bus captain-cum-guide, Peter, is a fine example of old English charm. Not without what I’d theme the New Zealand sense of humour – don’t believe everything he says – a common denominator amongst New Zealand men as I would gradually discover. Well, whatever gets the rather passive Asians going can’t be too bad a thing.

First stop was the Antarctic Centre. It’s really not my type of thing to do, visiting museums. I’d had enough of confined, claustrophobic spaces – I couldn’t wait to run out and embrace the wondrous wilderness that this country was so famous for. But the fact that the US had based its Antarctic research centre in the next building and that it was the only place where flights departed on their perilous journeys to the Antarctica rendered it worthy of some closer scrutiny. While excitement peaked at the haglund ride and a simulated Antarctic snowstorm, it had at least been an educational tour.


Temperature at the South Island dipped below 10oC at night – a very nice change from the heat at home although our teeth began to chatter after a while. I worried constantly that we were under-prepared without winter jackets but maybe it was only a matter of adjusting to the new chillier climate.

While our natural thermostats did the adjustment, a walk around Cathedral Square proved too cold to handle so we snuck into Starbucks for some piping hot coffee and chocolate just before dinner. The Chinese dinner was decent, the hotel was cozy and I slept like I never slept before. I was definitely looking forward to the Tranzalpine train ride the following day, which would undoubtedly bring us into the heart of New Zealand’s scenic country.

30 April 2004, Friday: Tranzalpine Train Ride & Fox Glacier

The 2-hour train ride offered a spectacular view of the Southern Alps that formed the spine of South Island. Standing on the open deck with only a woolen pullover, the chilly country air bit into my cheeks as the train rumbled over ravines and rivers into tunnels beneath ancient mountains reminiscent of the mines of Moria. Ironically, the momentarily still air in the pitch darkness was a much welcomed relief to my cold-numbed cheeks and Rudolph-red nose.

When we finally alighted at Arthur’s Pass, I wondered what else could New Zealand offer that was more beautiful that what we had just seen. As it was, I found that photos were not going to do it enough justice, and no words could ever capture the glorious landscapes or explain the emotions that these splendid works of nature conjured. In fact, I’m embarrassed at this attempt to describe the majesty of these impeccable natural sculptures with my humble English vocabulary. But I’ll do my best – this is only but the beginning.

I cannot even begin to describe the pristine glacier towns that we came to – the Franz-Josef Glacier where we stopped for fuel, drinks and where we cleaned out the minimart’s peanut slabs, and the Fox Glacier where we’d be going for a glacier walk the following morning. These were clearly tourist towns, with young glacier challengers enjoying a moment of solitude beneath parasols on the balconies of cafes before taking on those massive icy landscapers. Mountains in the distance were breathtaking but it was how the sky lit up in the evening sun that amazed me. A gorgeous blend of orange, pink and fiery red – the last time I saw the sky in that palette of colours was in Texas on a smoldering evening.

01 May 2004, Saturday: Fox Glacier – Haast Pass – Wanaka

The fiery sky of the previous evening did not forewarn a misty morning. As our group departed for the Fox Glacier though, the mist cleared up a little with soft morning sunrays parting the heavy clouds. Not having to trek the glacier grounds in showers sure lifted our spirits. For me, the cute guide had a lot to do with it. We got a little worried for mom though, because Ben (that’s the guide’s name) mentioned the terrain would get rough. Mom was a tough woman and she was going to rough it out with us, and that got us a little worried. The tough lady soon proved us wrong.

It turned out the trek wasn’t too bad. The constant stops to catch a breather helped. By the time we came face to face with the mouth of the Fox, I was actually perspiring a little in the chill mountain air. For Heaven’s sake, I had on 3 layers of shirts, one jacket and a raincoat!

Ben wouldn’t let us go beyond the mouth of the glacier. I guess it was for people with more time, on a half-day or a full-day tour. Time was not a luxury that we had on this trip so off we went, retracing our steps in bitter disappointment. Well, not quite so for me because I managed some small talk with the cute guide all the way to the bus. Informative too, so I’d be very well-prepared the next time I decided to challenge the Fox. But would Ben be there? We were just lucky he took us out that morning, probably standing in for his over-booked staff (this is the best time for glacier climbing!), and groups were not part of his regular tour of duty.

By the time we bid the Fox goodbye, it poured. It rained 200 days a year so we counted our blessings for the 2 hours of good weather that morning. All the way out of the mountains, over the Haast Pass, it poured, rained and drizzled. Finally, warm sunshine greeted us in Wanaka, a most welcoming gesture just like everything else that this gorgeous little town ever spawned.

I fell in love immediately with the calm waters that swept the long, sandy shores of Lake Wanaka, the faraway cries of the gulls, the Southern Alps that brimmed the opposite end of the lake and the lovely folks who had the good fortune of calling it home. Mom panicked when I told her this was where I was going to settle down and raise kids. I wasn’t kidding. I’m working towards that.

Most appropriately, the wonderful news of my greatest inspiration’s new daughter came in the midst of this supreme beauty. My shoutout to you, BT – a nature-lover yourself, and little Kaia Nui.

02 May 2004, Sunday: Queenstown

Today, I turned around and watched our coach pull out of Wanaka. It suddenly occurred to me that every step into new amazing Kiwi experience brought us that many steps away from something no less spectacular. So I left a little bit of myself behind, which I vowed to return for later.

The next town that we came to was a gold-mining town called Arrowtown. It was where the inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree was set, the place where the 4 hobbits were supposed to meet Gandalf but ended up in the company of Strider (Aragorn) in the Fellowship of the Ring. Some distance away from Arrowtown was a bungy site where the adventurous took a steep dip into the river gorge from a bridge suspended some 40 feet above the gushing water below.

We swung into Queenstown – the city fit for Queens – a little bit after noon. Who dared suggest that this quaint little town was anything less than royalty? Its main lake, for a start, was nothing short of majestic. According to legend, the village hero rescued his love from a giant he had slain, whose monstrous carcass fell and created a huge dent in the ground, which became Lake Wakatipu. A vast network of rivers fed this massive body of water from ski fields in the distance, the very same mountain ranges that were glimpsed in the Lord of the Rings movies. Oh yes, somewhere along the Kawarau River “stood” the Pillars of the Kings, the Argonath. Our exhilarating one-hour jetboat ride that afternoon might have taken us beyond the royal gateway.

After a hearty Hard Rock café dinner, we snuggled in our hotel beds watching the penultimate episode of the New Zealand Idol. No surprise, it’s more a contest of popularity than raw talent. It was good bedtime entertainment nevertheless. The night was still early and we had no need to wake up early the following morning. It would be our free day and we could idle in bed all day if we liked!

03 May 2004, Monday: Queenstown

We woke up early all the same. The rest of our tour group had already left for Milford Sound, an optional day tour which we opted out of. Following breakfast, we headed back to bed and I drifted back to dreamland while my sister checked out brochures to find something adventurous to do (as I had promised Peter) the following day. It didn’t take her long to convince me that the Caitlins tour would be great fun. Indeed, it took me only one brief glance at the brochure’s description – the rugged Caitlins coast was the only place where rare yellow-eyed penguins, fur seals, elephant seals and sea lions co-exist in their natural habitats! Let’s go hunt some seals! I wondered if they had walruses.

Nobody warned us that Queenstown was right smack in the middle of a wet season. The Caitlins tour operator did promise great weather the following day and he’d better be right. Because I wasn’t going to be stuck in the rain again like this afternoon, high above Queenstown at the Skyline building after a pretty cool gondola ride up that seemed too risky to descend the hill on in the heavy downpour.

So we waited, and I read the Lord of the Rings Location Guide from cover to cover. It was nice to discover that we had passed or at least come in distant contact with a number of the film sites. In fact, a few scenes had been filmed in and around Queenstown such as the mountains beyond Lake Wakatipu. Wow.

Wow again when the rained finally stopped and the dull-coloured mountain ranges were now covered with pristine white snow! It was a beautiful sight – we had a good view before heavy fog clouded over. I was just glad it rained while we were up here. Simply gorgeous.

Simply cold too! The temperature must have dipped several degrees after the downpour. There was no way we were going back to our hotel without something nice and warm to settle our grumbling stomachs first. So Bombay Palace was the obvious choice. What could be better than good, spicy, hot curry over streaming rice on a freezing cold night? That was the best dinner of the tour.

04 May 2004, Tuesday: The Caitlins Adventure

Charles, our Caitlins discovery guide was very punctual. We weren’t too bad ourselves, all ready for the day’s adventure at 5 minutes to 7.30 am. The sky’s looking great – all signs pointed towards an awesome day for the great outdoors.

We’re the only ones up for the Caitlins adventure that day, except for one other young man from Auckland whom I’d mistaken for an acquaintance of Charles’ right until after the trip. Morgan was the epitome of friendly, chatty Kiwis. Seated next to Charles, he was full of questions from the start of the road trip right through the end, and kept us all entertained with his wacky antics. It’s a pity I was in the middle of the vehicle and couldn’t listen in on the conversation, or I’d have found out all there was to know about South Island and Charles’ family by the end of the trip.

First stop since leaving Queenstown was a fruit shed in Alexandra where huge bags of apples went for only NZ$5. Payment method? Just slip the cash into a wooden box at an unattended counter. It’s amazing how rural folks placed such good faith in their counterparts, or they simply couldn’t wait to get rid of the perishable goods with or without payment of any kind?

Shortly after that, we stopped for Charles’ home-made tea served with authentic Cromwell cheese on sesame seed cookies by a river in Roxbury – a beauty whose serenity belied multiple drowning incidents. Then we’re on the road again, driving past a sign that read “Jimmy Pies”.

Jimmy pie, oh Jimmy pie. New Zealand’s finest meat pies that we had the opportunity to learn about but no chance to try. It took Charles and Morgan quite a while to stop raving about it.

“The coast is near.” It felt like an eternity before Charles finally cued us on the approaching Caitlins coastline. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of it but alas, we weren’t near enough yet.

Suddenly, it rose over the next bump! A massive bed of calm, clear blue water whose seamless convergence with the cloudless azure sky would have gone unnoticed but for the golden highlights of the afternoon sun on the faraway horizon.

Here, I shall pause and take a deep breath. I’m going to need all the oxygen to help me articulate this impending deluge of thoughts, words and emotions that I hope shall adequately describe one of the best days of my traveling life.

The panoramic view from a few hundred feet above sea level was absolutely stunning. Everywhere within a 180-degree pan on my left was a brilliant array of blue. Getting out of the vehicle to begin a short trek up to Nugget Point was the highlight of the trip so far. It brought us that much closer to the tantalizing Caitlins coast although I yearned to descend the steep cliff and plant myself atop one of the age-old boulders where a brontosaurus or two rested so long ago maybe? If those little guys in tuxedo (the penguins) could waddle their way up here to Nugget Point, I believed we could descend to the waterfront and get back up again later. Only time was not in our favour.

The rugged coast was out of reach for certain, at least for now, but we could see it up close through the eyes of the binoculars. I had been a great fan of physical geography for as long as I remembered. And for just as long, I had never been able to fully explain how every rock, river or mountain could be so immaculately sculpted by the forces of nature and I sure didn’t have the answer this time either. The stunning view inspired other thoughts but I could never imagine how these great structures had been created and co-existed in perfect harmony for multiple millennia, and if they would ever be transformed again before the end of time.

It took a trained eye like Charles’ to find seals among the rocks. And if you were a first-time binoculars user like me, happy adjusting focus and comprehending sight through magnifying lenses. Once I got a hang of it though, I had a blast watching seals and pups play or rest on the calloused rocks, or disappear underwater for a cool dip or fish. They were particularly fond of a narrow canal between two huge boulders that cast a nice shadow over the water, swimming among floating fronds, a camouflage that often fooled my eyes. Was it a frond or a seal ebbing and flowing with the tide? Ahh… it’s a pup!!

Several moments of utter tranquil, punctured only by Morgan’s occasional “scare-antics”, and many great pictures later, we were greeted by a group of boisterous kids on vacation. The viewing platform was obviously getting a little over-crowded so we thought we’d let the kids have their share of the breathtaking view and retreated to our vehicle.

Lunch was on the long albeit narrow beach but alas, I had my sneakers on so I had to keep my distance from the water, until I thought what the heck, let’s get wet! Finally a warm day on a fabulous beach and I wasn’t about to let it go to waste!

From beach to bush, things were just getting better as the afternoon drew on. Surat Bay where we’d be trekking through wild bushes for some sea lion sighting welcomed us in quite a bizarre way – underwear sunning alongside sneakers and slippers on the fence, inspiring Morgan’s notion of brassiere for flippers and his curious questions later about fashion in Singapore. Hmmm…

Mom wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prickly bush walk, much less the trek over soft sand dunes. The Milford Sound cruise would have suited her better but the Caitlins adventure would be etched deep in her memory as one of her most remarkable travels. Her trepidation abated when we arrived at the bay. We had to keep our excited voices down to prevent rousing sleepy sea lions hidden in the thick shrubs or spread out on the beach. Charles had forewarned us of the incredible speed that these animals could move at, not to mention their teeth could penetrate 3 layers of thick clothing. Judging from my current apparel, that really translated to as deep as my bones.

Our sea lion encounters were pleasant. On a few occasions, I followed Morgan’s lead and took several brave steps closer to the sleeping lions of the sea. One of them woke, looked us in the eye, yawned and went back to sleep. Such is a day in the life of a sea lion.

We took a different, rougher route back to the vehicle to avoid the sand dunes. Mom was still complaining about the rough terrain but I could tell she was rather pleased with her collection of shells and stones from the bay. So, no regrets.

We drove on for another half an hour or so before stopping at a spot overlooking yet another beach, where the waterline bordered the last remaining rain forests on the eastern shore of the southern parts. Again, as we pulled away, I was struck by overwhelming sadness leaving behind something so beautiful.

What we drove to proved to be well worth it. The Purakaunui Falls, one of the most photographed New Zealand wonders was an intriguing 3-tiered waterfall in the middle of a lush rainforest, which in tune with the seasonal change in the rest of the country, sported glimpses of gold in its canopy. Unfortunately, the time of day was not favorable to great photography. Mornings were the best, as the gushing water sparkled in soft sunlight – a mystical, surreal sight that appealed to both human senses and camera lenses.

In the delight of its tranquility, I once again marveled at the power of nature. Where did the water come from and where was it headed? Did water erode the sturdy rocks into these 3 distinct tiers that we saw today? How long did it take? I couldn’t help but draw parallels of our life journeys to the course of the water. If we couldn’t move boulders that obstructed the journey to our goals, we shaped them into something wonderful which would live on to be appreciated by future generations long after we’re gone…

It was slightly after 4 pm and almost time for us to journey back to Queenstown. Charles offered to make us tea before we embarked on the long journey. With great reluctance, we re-traced our steps out of the woods. I took it really slowly, while Morgan asked for a bit more time at the falls. My snail-paced walk out allowed me to soak in the sounds and sights of the jungle. It was great fun examining the wild flora even though I had no clue what they were or if they had a name. One thought clung to my mind – exactly how old were they? – for these woods seemed aged.

I had a close encounter with one of the ancient trees, presumably deceased because its trunk was hollow. It was into the hollow that I slipped, on the suggestion of the guy who lived life on the edge – Morgan that is, who took 2 great pictures of me in the belly of this sleepy hollow. My clothes were soiled after I eased out of the hole at the foot of the trunk. Morgan helped clean them and for a crazy moment, I relished the closeness so much that I thought this could be one guy that I’d like to get to know better. Why not, since he’s obviously someone who could show me a good time and for now, that’s a very important characteristic that I didn’t find in most men I knew. But alas, our short trek out of the woods did not leave enough room for a good get-to-know-you-better session save for a quick question about Auckland.

At half past 4 after we’d had our tea, Charles urged us to begin the journey back. There was only about another hour or so of daylight left for one final glimpse of the scenic south.

Sunset rising over the next bump was an awesome sight. But the real magic happened after sundown when the full moon was high, its rays penetrating the light drizzle to create a rainbow at night! How many times in a lifetime does one see one? It was certainly a first for me and I was truly stunned to even whip out my camera for a picture of this rare phenomenon. There it was, a complete arch over the plains where sheep and cattle had grazed just hours before, in its full grayscale glory. It held my gaze for as long as my eyes could behold.

The drizzle became heavy showers as we approached Queenstown. When it was finally time to say goodbye, our new pals earnestly welcomed us back to New Zealand, perhaps with more family and friends. As we made our way back to our rooms, I had a feeling I would be missing a piece of myself when we departed for Auckland the next day, left in Queenstown with ironically, someone from Auckland. Then again, what’s part of a travel experience had better remain as just that.

05 May 2004, Wednesday: Queenstown – Christchurch – Auckland

The rain of the previous night had created heavy fog that kept Mount Cook well out of sight. It was a pity that we had to give it a miss. The bitter disappointment soon turned sweet as my taste buds were treated to some of the finest raw salmon meat ever. What a fine platter of sashimi out of the milky blue waters from the glaciers. The original plan was to see some salmon swim in the farm’s ponds but really, salmon ready to serve was more appealing. Actually, only to me, as most of our tour group reeled from the sight and thought of fishy flesh sliding down their throats. Well, they didn’t know what they were missing, that’s for certain!!

Another stop at an animal farm and we were back in Christchurch, barely a week since we first landed there. In a mere 4 hours, we’d be up in the air heading back to Auckland. How sad… for I loved the South Island to bits. Would the North have just as much to offer? Perhaps better?

The opportunity to find out was delayed by an hour because our aircraft was stranded in Wellington due to bad weather. It was almost midnight before we were checked into a posh hotel only to enjoy a few hours of sleep in the oversized, over-comfortable beds and a scrumptious breakfast in the morning. Let the North Island adventures begin!

06 May 2004, Thursday: Auckland – Taupo

I was torn between idling in bed for another hour and going for a quick walk outside to look up the famous Sky Tower, just in case I didn’t have another chance before we took off for home. I chose the latter and my feet picked the road towards the harbour. I had no idea it was that close!!

The sun was just over the horizon, the harbour peaceful. I took a moment to reminisce my final morning at the Boston harbour 3 years ago, watching planes take off from the Logan Airport, the very place where 3 days later, one fateful aircraft would lift off the runway and into the World Trade Centre in New York.

After a few great pictures, I headed back to the hotel for a great albeit rushed breakfast. Our guide, John, a chatty local Chinese, arrived on the dot. After loading our luggage, we set off for Taupo. When I learned that we’d be driving through Matamata, a.k.a. Hobbiton, I was beyond ecstatic. What a sunken feeling I had when John said we would not be stopping by Hobbiton, for that required a day tour and trust him, it was not worth the money. I also stupidly passed up the chance to have a picture taken at the door of Matamata that said “Welcome to Hobbiton”.

Our long drive – in excess of 3 hours – was an informative one as John tried his best to provide us with extensive historical, cultural and socio-economic background of New Zealand.

Being the volcanic land where steam wafted out of rocky soil to create some of the most spectacular geysers and geothermal power stations that supplied at least 3% of the country’s electricity consumption, one would expect the North Island to be much warmer than the South. To our dismay, it turned out to be just as chilly especially after sundown. The steaming hot fries at McDonald’s were a huge relief. They never tasted better.

The day was relatively uneventful. Its highlight included a quick descend into the crater of a dead volcano, now a massive lake known as Lake Taupo, and a trip to the Huka Falls. Somehow, hurling volcanic rocks into the centre of the crater was less enjoyable than rippling the tranquil waters of Lake Wanaka with stones from its rocky shore. The rapid Huka Falls was just as dissimilar to the serene Purakaunui Falls. Instead, it triggered the zest for white and black water rafting, something that I would be returning to New Zealand for.

07 May 2004, Friday: Taupo - Rotorua

Today, we set off for the smelly city of New Zealand, Rotorua. This sulphur-filled land, though smelled perpetually like rotten eggs, was also clear of snakes for eternity. In fact, the entire New Zealand was snake-free!!!

Snakes were a great turn-off for me but I loved the rest of New Zealand’s animals! A quick visit to the Agrodome put us in close contact with sheep, lambs, hairy cattle and the rare alpaca, among others – it felt great to have them feeding out of my palm.

Our journey continued on to the Maori Village where we’d get up close with Maori culture, art and craft. John had earlier on briefed us on the history of the Maori settlement and where they stood in the modern New Zealand society today.

“Ki-o-ra” meant hello in the Maori tongue but I did not have a chance to say it. So it seemed the Maoris were well-assimilated into the “white, European” culture where English was the lingua franca. Oh well, better for me, there was no risk of the towering Maoris coming at me for mispronouncing the word. You know how a perfectly decent word can be completely twisted in meaning with just a single wrong syllable. Such is language.

I did not believe the Maoris were savage anyway. Their art form was delicate and the attention to detail was impressive. Nevertheless, much of their wood carvings were war-themed but it could be for self-defence, not offensive.

The Hangi feast – Maori-style dinner – at night proved me quite right. Although very capable of war cries which were really quite intimidating at times, and I had no doubt they could inflict serious harm on enemies by virtue of their stout physique, the Maoris appeared to be peace-loving with their own unique form of song and dance that told stories of love. Even though the food fell short of expectation, the concert performance fed my senses well.

08 May 2004, Saturday: Rotorua – Auckland

The final full day in New Zealand was a Saturday. Spirits were low but I’m pretty much speaking for myself. The road back to Auckland was much shorter. We arrived well before noon and after a short debate on the best lunching spot, we settled on the Victoria Market, a sort of a flea market where good bargains were expected of everything New Zealand. My appetite was thin so while my mom and sisters went for some lousy Chinese food (as they complained later), I decked out in the warm afternoon sun enjoying a live jazz performance by a duo in the central courtyard. The music heaved my spirits but also heightened the melancholy of my imminent departure from this wonderful country.

That evening, we took a walk down Queen Street, now crawling with Chinese students who according to John, had bashed the reputation of the local Chinese community with their vices. His disdain for them was not unfounded as I, too, got a disturbing vibe from the crowded sidewalks. My sister even chided a drunk Chinese who tried to be funny.

Fortunately, the rest of Auckland was much more pleasant. Earlier, we stopped by a different part of the harbour where we could get a closer look at the Auckland Bridge, New Zealand’s testament that it was no longer the little brother of Australia. A drive across the bridge was breathtaking; the sight of hundreds of sailboats anchored at an exclusive bay where membership fees ran into tens of thousands of dollars, was magnificent.

Mount Eden gave us a good bird’s eye view of the city. This dead volcano is now overgrown with grass, maintained not by a crew of park rangers but by cows who were as much a part of the New Zealand population as anyone else that they had to carry out civic duties!

It was a great spot for viewing the sunset but we did not stay. I later tried to catch it at the harbour but alas, darkness came too soon. So we made our way into the Sky Tower although not to the top. That night, I had some great pictures of this towering splendour from our hotel window as one last piece of souvenir from Auckland.

09 May 2004, Sunday: Auckland – Singapore

My heart was filled with gladness that I did not wait till the last day to take a morning walk down the streets of Auckland and its harbour because this day began with foggy weather.

At 8 am sharp, John arrived for our airport transfer. The check-in was quick and we were soon lingering in the departure lounge, watching other planes roll up and down the runway.

And there it was, one of the Lord of the Rings planes with Aragorn and Legolas on the walls made a graceful touchdown, rolled past our window and parked at a gate, waiting for the next departure. It was joined by yet another one, this time with Aragorn and Arwen. There were a total of four aircrafts in the Lord of the Rings fleet and we had sighted two. We saw neither the one with the Hobbits nor that whose walls were graced by Arwen and Eowyn. I wondered if we would ever have the great fortune of riding in any of them.

Our flight was scheduled for 11.55 am but the heavy fog set departure back by several hours. At one point, I hoped that it would be canceled totally. But come 3.30 pm, we were safely tucked in the cabin of the aircraft though not a Lord of the Rings one, ready to roll down the runway, into the skies and back to the lion city.

Goodbye Middle-Earth. The real Earth beckons.


POETRY: Portrait of a Stranger

My first attempt at writing poetry, although I've seen many, sung to a few and my name definitely is one.

"Portrait of a Stranger" is inspired by the lady at the Far East Plaza bus stop at 9 pm most nights. My heart cried for her; its lamentation I poured out in this song.

9 o’clock in the evening
This human being
She’s all bent…
…she can’t stand

Who are you kid?
It doesn’t matter…
… a little bit

Can I lean on you
… after we say hello
No other can I turn to
Not this ol’ lady bent low
Languishing in her own sorrow

What’s her story…
Was she pretty
… or plain like Mary

Was she rich
… or just the kid
… down the street

Look beyond those eyes
I see…
Wisdom beyond age
Sorrow beyond heal

What wrong was cast
… that no right can unmask

This face of pain
This portrait of a stranger

FEATURE: In Memoriam, My Grandma

This is a tribute to a woman I have greatly admired, I regret not expressing this love and admiration as much as I should when I had the chance. Hopefully, in this space, my love for Grandma flows freely for the first time into a sea of eternal love – a body of inspiration for all who have been afraid to express love and display passion. Fear not now...

She’s been there all my life, always a source of love, strength and peace. She was there the day I took my first step; the day I spoke my first word, learned my first English alphabet, wrote my first Chinese character; the morning my eyes filled with tears because mommy couldn’t send me off on my first day at school. She was there when I failed Math test for the first time, the day my heart broke over some bloke, the evening daddy caned me for being such an incorrigible rascal.

I never doubted she would always be there – to see me graduate from university, witness my wedding, name my first child. I was wrong. She had beamed at my university degree but she would never be physically present on my wedding day or at the birth of her great-grandchild.


Ephemeral
… this world is
Ethereal
… now she is
Flitting free
… but anchored in memories
This grandma

… we shall all miss

My beloved grandmother left us that quiet afternoon of August 12 2003, the day the world lost yet another sparkling jewel. She was 98.

All my life, her presence had always been taken for granted, or simply because I couldn’t bear the thought of her eventual passing one day. Today, I feel her in spirit, guiding me through life like she’d always had. Like the day she, the spunky lady of 70, pushed the 2 little imps, my sister and I, in our prim little pram, in the direction of my mom who clocked out of work at 5pm some kilometers from where home was.


Grandma was mom to me in many ways. Lucky me, I was the apple of grandma’s eye. Maybe because I was the first long-awaited child of her youngest son – my father. Much to my sisters’ envy and my mom’s dismay (you see, she tried to maintain meritocracy in the family), grandma always managed to save the best of goodies for me.


Oh wisdom…
See yourself in her centenarian gaze
Untouchable
But flow you will

This young creek must fill today

She would be the first to wake every morning, making sure I had a full breakfast – which had to include a glass of milk until I graduated primary school – and my lunch box packed for recess. Then she would stand on the threshold, her gaze holding my receding figure as I sprinted off in the distance; I knew she would have come with me had age not caught up with her and wrecked the muscles in her legs.

Looking into her ageing gray eyes, one saw wisdom beyond her years. Married with kids at an age when I was only about to shed my adolescent shell, grandma was one hell of a tough lady. Why, she’s seen 2 World Wars, not including the Korean and Vietnam Wars closer to home, and the 2 Gulf Wars of recent times.

Like the old Chinese saying, she had certainly “consumed more salt than we have rice”.


Abandon…
Material pleasures
Revel in…
A simple kind of life


My grandma single-handedly brought up 7 children on the demise of my grandfather when daddy was a very young boy. Thrift was a virtue that ran in the family. With that, she saw all her children through school. At a time when many families were plagued with poorly educated offsprings, grandma’s children would go on to graduate with diplomas in teaching – all of them. That, in those days, spoke volumes.

Never one to indulge in luxuries, grandma preferred to savour the simple pleasures of life. As a young girl, I loved the presence of grandma’s few close girl friends who dropped by our home every other day. They would discuss mundane daily matters animatedly, gossip about other mutual friends, share recipes… I do not recall many occasions when grandma ventured out of home but when she did, a trip to the temple was quite certain. I have missed the flowers that she would bring home from some of those trips… “put these in your bath water… be blessed by the Goddess of Mercy”. Her strong religious beliefs have filled a spiritual void in me, a space that I can seek refuge at on the gloomier days of my life.


This is her life story…
One tale of victory and glory
One made of many short takes

of perseverance, diligence, dignity

Grandma sure could appreciate a great tale. She could not read… but she loved stories from the news that we filled her in from time to time. She sighed at the freak incident of a young man swallowed alive by a monstrous python – “to think I’ve lived this long to hear this weird tale”. She cursed all the new wars “didn’t the world wars break enough spirits”. Those horrific days must still be very vivid in the eye of her mind that her account of the Japanese Occupation atrocities always triggered a deep chill down my spine.

After all that she had been through, it was small wonder that Grandma found some form of cathartic release in television dramas that revolved around life struggles. In many such programmes, there were scenes that she could exemplify with real life stories. Although the small screen images were fiction, Grandma’s stories were a true account of the plight of early immigrant Chinese – a story of resilience and diligence – one like her own, and one that subsequent generations should heed as the mantra of life.

Aye, grandma’s stories do get repeated. Every little thing reminded us of the grand old lady. A neighbour gave us a bowl of vegetables yesterday and my mom immediately said, “it’s your grandma’s favourite. She loved it. She’d ask me to get it whenever I saw it at the market but she’s also always so afraid to eat it.” It’s a species of tall leafy green vegetables, which I have always known as (in Hokkien) “toa chye”, which translates to “big vegetable”. The “toa chye” has “wind” and would cause her joints and back to ache. But its soft and smooth texture was pleasing to her almost toothless mouth, not to mention the sweet fragrance that emanated from the pot when it was simmered with pork that even I found it hard to resist!

The pain in her joints and back would intensify nearer the change of “seasons”. In the Chinese calendar, there are 24 “seasons”. And Grandma could approximate every single one of them by heart, or took cue from the intensity of the pain in her bones. She would then ask me to consult the calendar and confirm her guess. I didn’t understand the significance of these seasons initially, except that they caused her more pain than usual.


Is change painful
the old bones will tell
for better or for worse but never for the fool
the wise will embrace
Change is the start of every great tale


The 24 seasons may be significant in several other ways but the one that I know of, each “season” marks a different stage in the farming cycle and were religiously observed by farmers in China where Grandma came from many years ago, whose livelihood depended solely on the harvest of the crops. A bountiful year meant meat on the platter for the next spring celebration (Chinese New Year); otherwise, the entire family would usher in the New Year hungry and cold, and praying for a better harvest that year.

She may not have much to keep her stomach filled, much less to experiment with, in those early days, but my Grandma was a very decent, if not the best cook, that I know. Every guest has only words of praise after tasting her fragrant chicken rice with my mom’s homemade chili sauce, sea cucumber boiled to perfect tenderness in thick black sauce with ginger and wine, hard-boiled eggs simmered in black sauce spiced with Chinese star anise and garlic, rice dumplings with meat fillings, yam rice, mixed porridge, and the list could go on till I drool.

This is her legacy we uphold. My mother had been a good student in Grandma’s kitchen. The fragrance of these dishes fills the air on the few occasions when we offer ancestral prayers – death anniversaries, the Hungry Ghost Festival and the eve of Chinese New Year. On other days, the chicken rice, yam rice, and other delicacies from Grandma’s recipes make regular appearances in my mother’s kitchen.

With every dish and every whiff, the memory of dear Grandma creeps into our minds, her timeless stories remembered and revered as the guide that keeps us from stumbling, walking this uneven path of life.


She is sorely missed
… but never forgotten