tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61223061284707124272024-03-06T09:04:13.320+08:00MacktasticA classic tale of wanderings, whinings and wonderings.Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-31515471011474315922009-04-08T22:19:00.003+08:002009-04-08T23:40:27.602+08:00#45*Am sure it has become most evident this here ol' blog's been lacking some love this year. I have been increasing my efforts to not be sat in front of comp for nameless hours every day.<br /><br />So:<br />(-) decreased comp time with (+) increased Facebook time= (0) time for bloggering<br /><br />But! Despair not, there is such a thing as chronic procrastination and a fervent, bubbling narcissism that just won't die. Enough reason for me to be hence writing about my more recent escapades.<br /><br />So:<br />This week I've attended Qing Ming for the second time in a row. I believe that's a record for me. That's grave sweeping day for the uninitiated, btw. And finished Evelyn Waugh's <span style="font-style: italic;">Brideshead Revisited</span>. One did not cause the other, but I will find a link before this palaver ends.<br /><br />On the one hand, you really could not get more traditional than Qing Ming. It involves ancestor worship, firecrackers, food, fake riches (every Chinese occasion needs to involve moolah), cleaning (see: Chinese New Year), setting things on fire and incessant noise.<br /><br />In our family my eldest uncle is the most knowledgable in these matters so we just put things and pour things where we are told. I had the thought: what happens when I need to decide where to put things and what to pour? We are not that traditional, but still a disconcerting thought.<br /><br />Food, rice wine and chinese tea are put out, and also coffee for my grandpa. When I was dragged to Qing Ming as a kid on the rare occasion we were in town at the right time, I used to think it was a waste of a perfectly good shopping day. Standing around in the burning heat, pulling out weeds will give you thoughts like that. But now I think it's nice we do it. My <span style="font-style: italic;">gong gong</span> passed away when I was 6 or 7, so I have very sketchy memories of him. I didn't know he liked coffee so much. We sent him a yellow Mercedes this year. It's kind of a deliciously crazy image; <span style="font-style: italic;">gong gong</span> burning rubber in a yellow Merc.<br /><br />From the prism of my western education, "ancestor worship" seems equally bizarre. But I figure if you're going to show respect and create rituals for anyone, to mark the way they led their life, which is basically what religion involves, then why not your elders? It is said a child never repays a parent's sacrifice. Your own parents have more kindness for you in their little finger than some holy guy from millenia ago.<br /><br />I have been lucky I guess, my dad adored his parents. And the same is true of me. But I know the same is not true for a lot of people. That alone I think is worthy of worship.<br /><br /><insert><br /><br />So that's tradition which seemed weird but I found my way around to seeing the point/liking.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Brideshead Revisited</span> on the other hand, turned out to be something traditional I thought I would like and was kind of ..meh.<br /><br />See I have se-ri-ous banana credentials. I am seriously white on the inside. I would join a Jane Austen Book club if there was one around here. Mark Twain even better. I read Pride and Prejudice (almost) every year. I follow Stephen Fry's twitter. I love a good period drama. I will watch anything involving ridiculous hats or ridiculously hyphenated names or English manors. I will swoon at all three.<br /><br />But I feel <span style="font-style: italic;">Brideshead</span> was so so heavy on the <span style="font-style: italic;">Englishness </span>and light on the why-should-I-care factor. The curtains were so starched. The protagonist's upper lip was so. stiff. that he was barely likeable let alone someone I could empathise with. Literally none of the characters came out likeable. Doomed, hopeless, rich, nonsensical. But likeable.. no. So when everything falls apart, I had a hard time feeling sorry for the guy. Perhaps I not being British, have not appreciated the raging emotion in between the lines. Perhaps this is like a Zen rock garden. Everything has been distilled into the design, down to the last pebble. Even if it does look like a bunch of rocks.<br /><br />I am taking recommendations for the next off the list. My ones of readers: please comment!<br /><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/bigread/top100.shtml"><br />* Where I got the inclination to read <span style="font-style: italic;">Brideshead</span></a>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-13288981514023180542008-12-30T22:15:00.006+08:002008-12-30T23:14:55.673+08:00Wrapping it up<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_vnc1kRAqe5vEtDPy6pmpldvbzWBZdOMSBAdWngfSY1lA4XHPXTjGjqSl5sZasA1uiKlfObKg5fUq4roKNR7EgxJyyZdqOPZ6Ew00ix46eFKBGZsH13hLceeywz1fBeTl6VjuPqY-qFK/s1600-h/2009.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_vnc1kRAqe5vEtDPy6pmpldvbzWBZdOMSBAdWngfSY1lA4XHPXTjGjqSl5sZasA1uiKlfObKg5fUq4roKNR7EgxJyyZdqOPZ6Ew00ix46eFKBGZsH13hLceeywz1fBeTl6VjuPqY-qFK/s400/2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285587676420052770" border="0" /></a><br />Thought I'd pop back in to send you off to '09 properly and do the requisite navel-gazing that this time of year inspires.<br /><br />I can safely say these 12 months have been some of the most:<br />turbulent<br />surprising<br />upsetting<br />lovely<br />soul-crushing<br />despair-drenched<br />satisfying<br />unbelievable<br />terrifying<br />seeringly painful<br />unpredictable<br />blessed<br />beautiful<br />lucky<br />anxious<br />...that I've had in a while.<br /><br />Whatever it's been like for you, hope the new year is a good one.<br /><br />xoMinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-19845775240851400372008-11-06T14:59:00.001+08:002008-11-06T14:59:29.059+08:00Tourism Australia's campaign by Baz Luhrmann (Billabong)<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/xFyzi2C5kQg' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/xFyzi2C5kQg'/></object></p><p>Australia really isn't a hard sell. Yet the ads for Tourism Australia seem never to quite hit the mark. The previous campaign; "Where the bloody hell are ya?" had to be watered down all over Asia. This one's currently copping some flak from Australians. Beautiful, but a little hokey in its stereotypes. I'm a big fan of Baz Luhrmann, who brought us Moulin Rouge, so was a little disappointed with this.</p></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-46902429718610124232008-11-03T22:14:00.008+08:002008-11-03T23:52:56.460+08:00Macktastic Goes to Work<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://islandhippy.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/foodshot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 221px;" src="http://islandhippy.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/foodshot.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://islandhippy.com/2008/11/01/olive-leibovitz/">Image from Phil's post</a></span><br /></div><br />For those who suspect me of constantly faffing around, frittering my savings and my life on travel and dancing (is ok, I'm first in that queue)...I have evidence of work! haHA!<br /><br />I went to Singapore for a few days last month to style the pictures for a book. A whole three days was spent in a studio, knee deep in spices, wine and takeaway packs of every kind of Asian food money could buy, plus the odd crab. AND I got to go to the crockery wholesalers and pick all kinds of cute plates out. So exciting!<br /><br />Even more swoon-inducing: We got the food and wine, I laid it out, and Collin the photographer shot it(!) Then, we stood around discussing for a few minutes, and we were off to the next shot!<br /><br />In advertising, shoots are of course a bit more common than the smaller publishing budgets allow. But so many noses are poked into your business, you might as well not bother. I was working on a shoot for Chicken Essence once–there is only one BRAND you might think of there..and I had to artfully arrange 9 packs of eye-gougingly hideous, cheena-looking product for the "1st prize" shot in the competition leaflet. Oh. My. Gawd.<br /><br />I thought I'd get it over with and get to lunch. It'll be on a pad, on a bit of string, between packet soup and toilet paper. Just keep it simple, right? Nej!<br /><br />After leafing through the 5 arrangements I had to draw for the client, they agreed on one with the accounts person from the agency (like John Travolta's hair, clients' existence was based mostly on belief and very little actual evidence). Then I had to arrange it exactly how it had been drawn and we emailed it back. Then we had to wait around for client to reply that "err acherlly, I think the option number 2, like, more <span style="font-style: italic;">dynamic</span>". Rinse and repeat until some rubbery bits of tofu and a few strands of noodles are your only choice in the foodcourt.<br /><br />So, was a big thrill to go in with ideas and have them realised. It was not without hardships, which included:<br />• a hunt through a whole bag of coriander for the exact. perfect. leaf.<br />• Phil gamely going through the rubbish for a 3rd knobbly lime<br />• getting the damn chicken and the slippery skin to sit. just. so.<br /><br />Finished tired but satisfied :)Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-8989206110231755942008-10-25T19:41:00.007+08:002008-10-26T00:59:13.970+08:00Are we still on?<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Hello again to my fives of readers!<br /><br />October kind of got away from me, huh? It was kind of a big month. I would say probably the biggest this year. And this year hasn't been shabby so far neither. Here's what happened:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tioman</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A while back i heard my friends Odd (who's quite normal), SK and Claire were going to Pulau Tioman, which is one of Malaysia's many idyllic islands near Singapore and I recklessly said "Hey! I'll join you! I'll just meet you at the ferry. No worries!"<br /><br />So I spent end of September trying to get bus tickets to Mersing for a Tioman trip during Hari Raya!<br /><br />Ha!ha!ha! That is not me laughing–that is the sound of ticket sellers at KL's famously crap Pudu station on hearing my request. My choices: get there at 4am then wait til 8am for the 1st ferry, OR go to Kuantan and double my trip time then get there at 5am. OR, the scintillating-Take the train to <insert> then get a bus to Mersing at 5am. OR,.. well you get the picture.<br /><br />In the end, the travel gods smiled down on me and confirmed a ticket on the Berjaya Air waitlist. Here marks the end of my relationship with the Malaysian public transport system. Good luck and good riddance!<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmu6HIVTjSsZBQgXWoC2zLPfaSCWdSfjR5MAVZGe9hxG8laXO0WLym70z6qnjAoepL2r5igl4Hkb2A4E9ltcZ60gf4JslfZ5lXcdSjbPyItGghSiXNMcOw_uCkyBWvYMI2rNRe-7iUXn4t/s1600-h/P9280003.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmu6HIVTjSsZBQgXWoC2zLPfaSCWdSfjR5MAVZGe9hxG8laXO0WLym70z6qnjAoepL2r5igl4Hkb2A4E9ltcZ60gf4JslfZ5lXcdSjbPyItGghSiXNMcOw_uCkyBWvYMI2rNRe-7iUXn4t/s320/P9280003.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The replica plane that they sent to fill in for a real plane<br /><span style="font-family: georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">An exciting </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></span></span>wait in the under-renovation Subang airport, and I was on my way in a tiny plane with a lot of Germans. Is it the same group of Germans following me aorund? Every time I go islanding (real word, I swear)! I thought summer was over for Europeans? I don't get it. <br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></span></span><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kDVIDmtqH_oI-eGH8o09Zcf2U5UieF_PaWWsiu55Vb4xcQ-ExzF8kHjCHCXVBIoCtlHiLcK8JsnPWDf15VRP9YeMKACdgWnziVGwYWrLTKwDgTC8k5r48j2Y3sNIB_5-MsGO9VxjyULU/s1600-h/P9290013.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kDVIDmtqH_oI-eGH8o09Zcf2U5UieF_PaWWsiu55Vb4xcQ-ExzF8kHjCHCXVBIoCtlHiLcK8JsnPWDf15VRP9YeMKACdgWnziVGwYWrLTKwDgTC8k5r48j2Y3sNIB_5-MsGO9VxjyULU/s320/P9290013.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div>Anyway I flew Berjaya Air and stayed at.. Berjaya Resort and ate Berjaya food and rode the Berjaya bus...it was one of those really authentic experiences. I looked at the Berjaya view (see above) for 3 days, so I can't say I have any complaints!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">KL Swing</span><br /><br />Next up is where things begin to go off the rails... in a totally good way. In late September, I met this girl Ling who had created a <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=1600471&id=589596994&ref=nf#/group.php?gid=39859661648">KL Swing Facebook group</a> and I offered to help.<br /><br />We are both Malaysian-ish and had both been in town for about 6months, separately bitching that there was no Swing dancing. In between then and early October, we held a free taster class in Tiara's Aroma Beauty Salon in Bangsar (good floors, crap sound system, cheap) and then she promptly accepted a job in Singapore!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBwuHjlWftUARK10TnoV-eVwjjq-6sRI5a20z8-Akp1KGpmSPKa_4zF5FcrUOkCo-gvnyjBrwBVkQjAaHsfZUryjW59AbTH3C3SsJVfKhr8blEUsqX5qqgF4xosa4t8_MAotDDaTQnH3r/s1600-h/PA090070.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimBwuHjlWftUARK10TnoV-eVwjjq-6sRI5a20z8-Akp1KGpmSPKa_4zF5FcrUOkCo-gvnyjBrwBVkQjAaHsfZUryjW59AbTH3C3SsJVfKhr8blEUsqX5qqgF4xosa4t8_MAotDDaTQnH3r/s320/PA090070.JPG" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Note the awesome black light deco<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;">That meant I was on my lonesome for the Oct 9 workshop we had organised with Sinclair, my teacher from Singapore. I like to think I am realistic. I probably err on the side of glass woefully half empty. Just to be, you know, safe. So I fully expected to find myself alone, in a Punjabi bar called Topaz (good floors, crap lights, cheap :D) but to my great surprise and delight, most everyone who replied on facebook, and then some, showed up.<br /><br />They very obligingly learned the 8-count in mood lighting–I had asked the manager to help me turn off 1) the disco ball 2) the strobe lights. I tried for 3) non-smoking, but he wasn't having a bar of it.<br /><br />Having noted I could safely get enough people for the class, I began the search for a proper studio. Weekday nights are dance studios' bread and butter, so it took alot of calling around before I found 2 separate ones for Sinclair's next visit, which was last Wednesday and Thursday.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn754adLipBhEpU-S8aOtNgMTBJy6Zrp0xW1vLB4cmQ4ttREWqF6Hy5pRlAZcefHynL58Ip-fc1mD_3gRug2yQohC774V9ThTNcpxaBKhP4qtfRGbEOOE_xW9swsjz7OhExmx0lxulP4mL/s1600-h/Picture+006.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn754adLipBhEpU-S8aOtNgMTBJy6Zrp0xW1vLB4cmQ4ttREWqF6Hy5pRlAZcefHynL58Ip-fc1mD_3gRug2yQohC774V9ThTNcpxaBKhP4qtfRGbEOOE_xW9swsjz7OhExmx0lxulP4mL/s320/Picture+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Wednesday went great, once it got started! Monsoon rains, immigration queues and mega traffic meant Sinclair's trip from the airport was much longer and arduous-er than expected. Started half an hour late, but we got there in the end!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups.php?ref=sb#/photo_search.php?oid=39859661648&view=all">More pix here at FB</a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Singapore</span><br /><br />In between workshops, I popped down to Singapore for some work. Some very exciting days spent in a darkened room! My first coffee table book shoot. I really really wanna share, but that'll have to wait.<br /><br />I also got to hang with my girls J & P who very bravely took me to Bellini Grande for "A new realm in live entertainment"–according to the poster. It was another realm all right! It boasts about a bajillion musicians and an all-hot cast of singers and dancers. It's meant to be in the vague vacinity of Swing Jazz, but it's more closely related to a cheesy day-time Vegas variety show than a Big Band. It's all showbiz T & A with a Kermit puppet, a faux-Southern singer and an Elvis impersonator to boot. My face really hurt when I left from all the laughing-I recommend everyone do it once! Is cheesier than the whole of Wisconsin.<br /><a href="http://www.facebook.com/groups.php?ref=sb#/photo_search.php?oid=39859661648&view=all"></a><br />Oh yeah, somewhere in there I turned 29 :) So far, it's not too bad. Not too bad at all.<br /></div></div></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-59514335813067418462008-09-09T00:01:00.011+08:002008-09-20T00:49:37.991+08:00Sammi country, Norway and Copenhagen<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >[After side trips to Chiang Mai and Singapore, Macktastic has returned to battle the never-ending post...]</span> <div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/0LribMgyn6PPSqPmB96uEw"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlXdWta4BI/AAAAAAAADxI/13BVOjSJ7eU/s400/Hammerfest%20%284%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Taking a short flight to the very north of Finland, we took a long ass bus...further north to Saariselke. On the way,we stopped for a "Sammi Experience". As in we experienced drinking tea in a hut with costumed people. I think they were actually Sammi people, but it's kind of cheesy. Like me walking around in a cheongsam doing a teacup dance (yes, it happened, no, there's no photos). They are the indigenous people of those parts and their original job is herding reindeer, but like many indigenous people the world over, they also fill tourist itineraries.</span> <div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/hMauW4P-VMa8hB9db_e6xg"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlVcLyidBI/AAAAAAAADs4/03XWEv8I-P0/s400/2.Hurtigruten%20%2826%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Official Cruise Outfit</span><br /><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">After our last night in Finland, we crossed over to Kirkenes in Norway, for the 6-day Hurtigruten cruise which would take us down Norway's western coast to Bergen. It's touted all over their literature as THE MOST BEAUTIFUL VOYAGE IN THE WORLD. It's more like THE COLDEST VOYAGE IN THE WORLD, but I'm not one to mess with people's copy.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It began as a postal ship serving the people of northern Norway who would be cut off without it in winter. Now it carries cargo and tourists daily from each port. So it's a very nice way to travel, but it's not one of your huge commercial cruises with 24-hr buffet and rock-climbing wall.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I had a conversation with a Norwegian at Herrang about it:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Me: I went on the Hurtigruten.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Norwegian: ohhh the HUER-ti-groo-TEN</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Me: umm yep.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Norwegian: Which ship did you take?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Me: The Nordlys.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Norwegian: ohhh the NAWRT-liss</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Me: You know it??</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Norwegian: Sure, everyone knows them.</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Me: You've been on it then?</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Norwegian: Nah, too expensive.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Me: ...</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />The expense is because well, it's Norway, but really you can't outsource this kind of product to Asia:</span> <div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/RWEbZtHZQZ0IqMib_--7BA"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlY0kQE0ZI/AAAAAAAAD3o/LvWVxFIWdA8/s400/Tromso%20%288%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Stunning Midnight Sun at Tromso<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/DdRvVo7SQ7WXYXk7MVHabw"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlb-0eklgI/AAAAAAAAD-s/nCCOeLqYxiQ/s400/Trollfjord%20%2816%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Awe-inspiring Trollfjord<br /><br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/OmnlevmB9LOWLyCZdO6jSw"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJla6kgE-gI/AAAAAAAAD5s/LLPJRqZ0VPo/s400/Risoyhamn%20%2824%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Beyond-charming fishing villages<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/B1gnNzjJihiu1EgwIoLL6Q"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SLKrHwSY8bI/AAAAAAAAFSc/dBE6FulYVFg/s400/Scandinavia%20%282793%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Drool-inducing Chef onboard :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Sadly, the voyage did come to an end, but happily it was in the bustling port of Bergen:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1YO1Wy7vzHdBzaRw7kqHBA"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKGmAKQ8AeI/AAAAAAAAEMw/-iY2jtNE3SM/s400/Bergen%20%28135%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Bryggen in Bergen!</span></span><br /></div><br />'Bustling' is such an old-fashioned word, but I think it's right. Bergen has a World Heritage Site in Bryggen-a collection of the old buildings that they used to process fish through. The town centre is pretty much wall-to-wall heritage buildings though, and has a backdrop of seven mountains. It's basically a fairytale.<br /><br />Which is why it's not hard to imagine that Bergen's most famous son is the composer Edvard Grieg who wrote the classic <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAMLCDnCLzs&feature=related">Morning Mood</a>. If you think of dawn breaking and birds chirping and rainbows and morning dew, that is the music of Bergen you're hearing in your head.<br /><br />We only had one night there though, before we set off to Oslo via the<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial,Helvetica;font-size:100%;" >super scenic Flam</span> railway.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/1_hLsrmLx383FzdO2PJMPA"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKLrRHzpT8I/AAAAAAAAEWU/EZPM7fiSgpM/s400/Scandinavia%20%283307%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br />But though the views that we got whilst speeding through the mountains was spectacular, it was what happened inside that stuck with me. Getting to our seat had been a real bunfight. Once the doors opened, it was like a very fancy version of the scramble in musical chairs, except with a lot more Japanese tourists armed with pointy umbrellas.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/GI_HuYUZ_P7o0SY4mExJag"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKLrHFOw0_I/AAAAAAAAEVo/m0Z1mZeXf54/s400/Scandinavia%20%283298%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div>Luckily for us, we got in the same cabin with a Spanish group. Particularly a Spanish padre, who decided to serenade one of the aunties on the tour. The whole cabin joined him in "Guantanamera", "La Bamba" and a very passionate rendition of "Besame Mucho". Love when stuff like that happens :)<br /><br />After hopping off the Flam Railway, there was <span style="font-style: italic;">another</span> <s>long-ass</s> scenic bus journey to Oslo. Which disappointingly, looked like this:<br /><br /></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/5QttTpwpvIE_Yp7BX7F7Ww"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKuMQQwHurI/AAAAAAAAEgU/W-IcCQab9E0/s400/Scandinavia%20%283480%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">This is where I slag off Oslo:</span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Oh man, we at Macktastic thought we could say we heart Scandinavia, but Oslo is standing in the way! Maybe it was a bad hair day for Oslo, but the whole of the city centre was under construction. Was a big disappointment after super-slick Stockholm and happily-neat Helsinki.<br /><br />Wickipedia says it's the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oslo#Demographics">"fastest-growing Scandinavian capital. The increase is due, in almost equal degree, to high birth rates and immigration"</a>. I'm from Australia, I am a big fan of multi-culturalism, and until Oslo, thought it'd be a good thing for everyone.<br /><br />Now, I'm not so sure. The rest of Norway, and Scandinavia for that matter, was safe, clean, well organised and had very few street people. Oslo in contrast was more like New York-grotty, chaotic and security-challenged. It doesn't feel like the rest of Norway at all, which was kind of sad.<br /><br />I can't recommend skipping Oslo though, because it has one saving grace, and it's pretty big. Vigeland Sculpture Park is part of an 80-acre park and is more than 200 scultpures, plus a monolith and a fountain. It was sculptor Gustav Vigeland's lifetime's work and the monolith (that's in the background of the pic) was finished just before his death.<br /></div></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/HZJMIT5CBVRvHSFTH3lkNQ"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKuLjevntpI/AAAAAAAAEdM/xVLL5Jc3q_k/s400/Scandinavia%20%283419%29.jpg" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The sculptures are all human figures and when you walk through it, the experience is of seeing the entire gamut of emotion and relationship from birth to death played out in bronze and granite. I am so in love with this place. I think I could have spent the whole 2 weeks here and it would have been worthwhile.<br /><br />See more of the stunning figures in my <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ming.pang/7Oslo">Oslo pix</a>.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We got rushed out of the park to be on the ferry to the last stop on the tour: Copenhagen in Denmark.<br /></div><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/DQdR1CecWH3EuS0HqbHESQ"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SKwmkHdcAKI/AAAAAAAAEi0/CUQ9v2Y-nlY/s400/Scandinavia%20%283530%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Copenhagen was the most fun place of the whole trip for me. I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with that I could wave goodbye to the tour, and was finally free (!) The accoms came down quite a few stars. Actually all of them. But, post-ye olde tour and pre-Herrang, I'll be ever grateful to Copenhagen for giving me some awesomely awesome days there. So a big TACK for that, and a big SORRY! for causing those biking accidents on the streets :p<br /></div><br /></div><a style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ming.pang">For the full set of pix of eeeevvverything, go here.</a><br /><br />[Macktastic promises not to harp on anymore about Scandinavia now. No, really. I really mean it]Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-89073867400988912902008-08-28T22:41:00.013+08:002008-08-30T01:07:17.663+08:00Hej Stockholm and Helsinki!<span style="font-weight: bold;">Stockholm</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thehurricanewatch.files.wordpress.com/2007/01/swedishchef2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 385px;" src="http://thehurricanewatch.files.wordpress.com/2007/01/swedishchef2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I basically never thought I would get to Scandinavia until I was diving in a pile of money Scrooge McDuck-style. So what I know about the place can be summed up in this list: Ikea, Volvo, Absolut, Nokia, and from my design degree; an ability to speak briefly and shallowly about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egg_%28chair%29">Arne Jacobsen's egg chair.</a> Also, the most famous Scandinavian of all: the Swedish Chef from The Muppets.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Armed with this scarily in-depth knowledge, I boarded a Finn Air flight with the 20+ other uncles and aunties on the tour + mum + 'real' uncle + aunty. Joining me in the under-40 crowd was my 7 year-old cousin. The planes were old-school, with only the screens in the aisle viewing PG movies involving pigs/dogs. This caused me to immediately curse myself for being too cheap to buy an iPod.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I turned to assessing my fellow travelers for entertainment. There were a lot of older people on board, but they were distinctly stylish old people. They sported interesting hairstyles and the heavy-framed glasses that I associate with creative types. It was more akin to being at an architect's convention.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 1stockholm="" 5231258894168497762=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJkqP3MEHmI/AAAAAAAADLM/gLdzfZHdp2s/s400/Stockholm%20%2816%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br />We finally got to Helsinki, where we were thoroughly checked before being allowed to wait for our shuttle to Stockholm. Only this time I saw something unbelievable: hot airport security staff.<br /><br />From the waifish girl who pokes a gloved hand into your bag, to the windswept guy monitoring the scanner and the well-coiffed people ready to pat you down; one and all looked as if they were just earning some cash until their gig as a model/lead singer/TV host took off. I wasn't allowed to take pictures, or run back through the scanner and put some metal on so I could be patted down. Boo.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 1stockholm="" 5231259846385944690=""><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJkrHSeZSHI/AAAAAAAADPM/fFrztas1IG0/s400/Stockholm%20%28138%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br />When we finally got in to Stockholm, it was about 8pm and we got our first glaring taste of the long sunlight hours. Next morning, we were whisked around on a city tour. Our tour guide happened to be the one person in Stockholm who doesn't have great English, but no matter. Stockholm is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe I've been to, so it speaks for itself.<br /><br />Having been the centre of an empire in the 17th century and more or less stayed out of war since then, there's been a lot of peace time and money to get things right. Everywhere you turn, there is an impressive building or structure decorating the skyline. Gamla Stan, or Old Town, has the main concentration, but the rest of the city isn't short either.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 1stockholm="" 5231276988647236626=""><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJk6tGX-ZBI/AAAAAAAADT0/WBfthu0OPqQ/s400/Stockholm%20%28140%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br />Then there's the water. Stockholm is set on a few islands at the heart of an archipelago of 30,000 islands. The directions to anything involve "...then you cross a bridge..". This is a good thing for those totally hopeless at directions (like me) but also because it's pretty everywhere you look. It's not just glittering in appearance either; you can swim and fish in the heart of town.<br /><br />In fact the only thing as ubiquitous as the water, is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H&M">H&Ms</a>. They are EVERYWHERE! Initially, it was like a dream come true. But after your first 10 or so mega H&Ms, it starts to get old. I know, I didn't think it was possible either.<br /><br />Just as I was figuring out how to pronounce the A with the little o on top, we were off on a ferry to...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Helsinki</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 1stockholm="" 5231260286369695346=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJkrg5ishnI/AAAAAAAADQw/55AxV8mQloA/s400/Stockholm%20%28267%29.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The overnight ferry was our first of many boats on this trip. This was the Viking line, which is Swedish for duty free alcohol/cigarettes and poker machine bonanza. Just like the original Vikings. We got our own tiny cabins but other people preferred to sit on the freezing deck and drink through the night. Awesome. Clearly the famous Scandinavian prudishness on alcohol doesn't extend to the open seas.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 2helsinki="" 5231284174724947506=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlBPYmaXjI/AAAAAAAADg4/fiHmyqp3PtY/s400/Helsinki%20%28161%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The harrowing effects of alcohol abuse<br /><br /></span></span></div>It also doesn't extend to Helsinki. Finland, I would find out, is culturally closer to Russia, whereas Sweden-Norway-Denmark are more Germanic. Hence the open tolerance, if not encouragement to enjoy a tipple, or twenty, outside. It's all done very safely though; I was walking around at 2am and the only threat I felt was from the cold.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 2helsinki="" 5231282438352127026=""><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJk_qUG3xDI/AAAAAAAADbI/HR-ebynCrus/s400/Helsinki%20%2874%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div></div></div><br />Helsinki was an outpost of the Russian empire, so it doesn't have the grandeur and importance of Stockholm, but it's charming nonetheless. And the prices are <s>less heart-breaking</s> more reasonable. This was the largest and most well-equipped hotel room that we got. Ironing boards! Hairdryers! Is enough to make a girl dizzy with happiness.<br /><br />The only downside is they seemed to have a lot less people who look like part-time models and a lot more who look like guitarists in a death metal band. You can't move for all the people with blond roots and stringy black hair trying to look disturbed and haunted.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 2helsinki="" 5231283275974654242=""><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlAbEfpOSI/AAAAAAAADec/Kdaq_bUHOkM/s400/Helsinki%20%28119%29.jpg" /></a><br /></div><br />This girl struck it lucky with great hair, and great everything else; if your sunnies don't match your bag and bike, I wouldn't know why you bother leaving the house. I vote her most stylish cyclist in Scandinavia, which is a pretty tough competition. She wins my approval, and isn't that pretty much all anyone needs?<br /><br />Next: Brrr NorwayMinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-80058636839741165782008-08-21T18:29:00.014+08:002008-08-30T22:11:42.356+08:00Scandinavia-the round up<span style="font-size:100%;">So Wednesday morning, we woke up to an empty driveway.<br /><br />The 6-week-old car vanished overnight. And the gate was closed. As if it had just popped down to the shops.<br /><br />After we managed to close our mouths, I got my first entry into a Malaysian police station. My parents were at the counter with a lady living in the next street who was also reporting a stolen C-RV. Another 3 had gone from another suburb. Clearly it was a syndicate, filling an order.<br /><br />The possibilities began to click through in my mind about how it happened: they'd definitely hacked our gate's remote control lock, because there was no damage...we were lucky they didn't come in..how did they find us?..maybe they paid off someone at the dealership?..maybe the salesman is part of the syndicate?...crooked police? Basically anything that might be a plot twist in airport fiction, is a plausible possibility in Malaysia.<br /><br />And it's here I begin to be wistful for Scandinavia; that rare combination of being a place you would want to go and a place that's safe to be.<br /><br /><br /><iframe marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=117474271477274827188.00045443fbf4624005020&ll=63.439107,18.19336&spn=15.525626,25.839843&output=embed&s=AARTsJoyAOxTMc7rkV1bDIlgj7k6PGmTeg" frameborder="0" height="350" scrolling="no" width="425"></iframe><br /><a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=117474271477274827188.00045443fbf4624005020&ll=63.439107,18.19336&spn=15.525626,25.839843&source=embed" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 255); text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The route: Anti-clockwise on the Blue line for 2 weeks with the tour. Then Pink line on my ownsome.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />With the exception of Oslo which has seen better days, from the beginning in Stockholm, right around the landmass, and over to Denmark, I was only ever in danger of offending locals by misusing the words <a href="http://goscandinavia.about.com/od/scandinaviatripplanning/p/scandnordic.htm">"Scandinavia" and "Nordic"</a> (oh yes, there's a difference)<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" 3ivalosaariselke="" 5231285947805398514=""><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SJlC2l1u9fI/AAAAAAAADmg/T5sTys7tRdA/s400/Ivalo%26Saariselke%20%2821%29.jpg" /></a><br /><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Rudolf's posse spotted scoping a joint</span><br /><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">All the time I gawped at new bicycles</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> left unsecured on the street, potted plant arrangements left unvandalised, and struggled to spot so much as peeling paint, let alone graffiti. There's a level of civic consciousness that's astounding. It's like Japan; safe, expensive and culturally homogenous but with more trees, less people, slightly less fish and a lot more reindeer.<br /><br />Sure, as a tourist it's unlikely "historic crackwhore den" would be included on the Copenhagen city tour, but as a comparison, </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">in San Francisco </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">you can't go the two blocks from your overpriced tram ride in Market St to the statue in Union Square without passing at least </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">4 homeless people panhandling, 3 of them with AIDS, </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">2 junkies cursing...<br /><br />"And ooonnne crazypersonmuttering toooo themmmm...sellllllves".<br /><br />It was just really relaxing to not-worry about maintaining a vice-like grip on my bag, to not-worry about security in the hotel rooms, to not-worry about drivers going through zebra crossings, to not-worry that my bag would be stolen when I went to the toilet.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">Maybe it's just because I was there with Malaysians, so given our exchange rate, no one would want to steal from us anyway! But for a place that often looks the stuff of fairytale, my favourite part couldn't be photographed.<br /><br />I'll be doing a run-through of the different stops on the route in the following days. It won't be blow-by-blow, I promise. I know you can't be arsed to read that, but more importantly, I can't be arsed to write it.<br /><br />:)<br /></span></span>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-8372311518931678262008-08-08T16:26:00.007+08:002008-08-10T22:53:28.478+08:00Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 2<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Volunteering</span><br /></div>Heaps of people are already seated in the driveway of Folkets Hus when I get there a titch before 9am. Impressive. Clearly they had all filched their lunches at the breakfast buffet faster than I had managed.<br /><br />ID cards and fluorescent t-shirts are handed out, people in charge introduced, then the crucial business of divvying up into teams under team leaders. I'm in the Ice Cream Parlour (ICP) team, which right now sounds totally fun. We're a group of 8. There's one Russian guy and Lithuanian girl, then the rest are Swedish girls a lot younger than me.<br /><br />Before I start checking if they've finished highschool, our manager introduces herself. Helena is bubbly and fun and is totally pulling off the 80s look. She has a monobrow, but manages to make it look super cool. I didn't even think that possible. I consider one myself for about 5 seconds, then aah I remember I'm not Swedish. They just get away with a lot more!<br /><br />She's great, the other girls seem nice, the job of baking doesn't seem too hard, it all seems like a fine way to spend a week.<br /><br />After training wraps, I see about my booked accommodation. The bed that I got assigned is miles away. In the woods. Past the tents and the caravans. It has an outdoor shower, and is costing 2000SEK for the week. i.e. a bajillion dollars. When you book, there's no online options, so you just get whatever they confirm in the email.<br /><br />I explain to reception when it's open, that this isn't ideal, is there anything else? I am mentally prepared to grovel, snivel and plead. They look, and Yes! Yes there is! right next to the school! and it's 1300SEK! Woo!<br /><br />Such is Herrang, that I have to feel a flutter at the prospect of a private indoor shower.<br /><br />Giddy with my new place, cycling on my newly rented bike, meeting my new Russian roommate, I'm thinking things are looking up.<br /><br />They did look up. For about 5 minutes. Then they looked doowwwn, waaay dowwwn.<br /><br />I find out volunteering for me involves 10+ hr days next to the oven. Alternatively punching out banana bread and choc chip cookies. In between, bussing tables, washing dishes and mopping floors. Lunch hour would be spent napping, sending in laundry, checking mail and finally, eating a ham and cheese toast--the most lunch-like thing at the ICP.<br /><br />Which brings me to...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Food</span><br />One of the benefits I guess of ICP was the food. Whilst others were eating microwave mac n' cheese or cooking on those tiny camp stoves, I had all the ham and cheese toasts, banana bread, ice cream and cookies I could filch :D<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggsnkuPa4k0JPZSqoG9AHKsObyk9F-10lSS-gbbiTfgM910nHOoNkddyAOury9qDuQ5QMn1bH2MlEIWvgobFwm3yoSbLQVlblRU0Qq_LmHpPy2M7lHVKJx7CPfCTuBYJrD746fmZqF-7ID/s1600-h/Scandinavia+%283839%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggsnkuPa4k0JPZSqoG9AHKsObyk9F-10lSS-gbbiTfgM910nHOoNkddyAOury9qDuQ5QMn1bH2MlEIWvgobFwm3yoSbLQVlblRU0Qq_LmHpPy2M7lHVKJx7CPfCTuBYJrD746fmZqF-7ID/s320/Scandinavia+%283839%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232081861107515090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Banana bread of Dooooooooom<br /><br /></span></span></div>That combined with aforementioned deep-fried meatballs, were, culinarily-speaking, sitting pretty for Herrang standards. I did try the camp restaurant once. It's misleadingly called Yum Yum, and set in the school canteen. On the night I was there, they served what looked and tasted like reheated frozen fish fillets, accompanied by a pile of shredded cabbage and, bizarrely, whole olives and canned mushrooms.<br /><br />I'm not expecting Michelin stars, but for 95SEK/USD$15/Rm50, it's hard to resist the urge to go in there and show them what they can do with the shredded cabbage. I totally would have too if I already wasn't nodding off into it.<br /><br />Which brings me to..<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sleep</span><br />This was one of the things I was told the truth about: "Hooo, hope you're not intending to sleep. Wait til after!" And it was totally, miserably, cripplingly, true. All the regulars told me to sleep from 9pm-2am, then the best dancing is between 2 and 5.. by which time I figured just keep going until work starts at 7. I started counting sleep in minutes, as in "40min at lunch, plus an hour 40 after dinner, before the show at 9pm.."<br /><br />It's not a schedule I've been able to manage since I was 18, so unsurprisingly shit started to happen...<br /><br />1) Wore a skirt and biked to work one morning. Misjudged the breaking on the balding tires and managed to do a crash landing into the bike rack. Escaped with a few bruises and scratches. NOT helped by the group of lounging Russians nearby.<br /><br />I got lucky with the bikes actually, one girl fell off the back when the rack broke, and another guy broke a rib when his chain came off (!)<br /><br />2) Managed to successfully burn myself a bunch of times on oven racks<br /><br />3) Sent just a blank sms to my parents. Freaked them out big time. I remember starting it, but I just ran out of batteries and keeled over into bed.<br /><br />4) Accidentally put melted butter instead of room-temperature into cookie mix, and none of them held shape. So ended up with THREE gigantic, cookie-tray-sized cookies. I had to re-do it, but the other volunteers were super happy I was such a crap baker :p<br /><br />That's like an avalanche of bitching, but in the end, I did meet some fun people, and I did dance more than I have in probably the last year and I did do Swedish karaoke; how many people can say that? I also do a mean banana bread, which I don't want to do for a long time, so don't ask, ok? :p<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQAkvsPKTLToTUGx7wnPytBVyBjivG9BwfJbz6y-YMJRImFOnAW9Rfggc5OGLB6WRwOP0o3Y8NtJWAcISAMDZ7b2-XbcHSz2nr0aMkG8V-BGCmdrLt6oRG9MnE93rcOzNaf-0rzX0f2dU/s1600-h/Scandinavia+%283846%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQAkvsPKTLToTUGx7wnPytBVyBjivG9BwfJbz6y-YMJRImFOnAW9Rfggc5OGLB6WRwOP0o3Y8NtJWAcISAMDZ7b2-XbcHSz2nr0aMkG8V-BGCmdrLt6oRG9MnE93rcOzNaf-0rzX0f2dU/s320/Scandinavia+%283846%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232897983485855858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:85%;" >Finally, some truth</span><br /></div><br />I realise a lot of times travel is a bit masochistic. If you don't want to be outside your comfort zone, you should just stay home. But there are different levels that you can prepare yourself for. And I've decided for Herrang volunteering, you need to be near the top at Mr Park.<br /><br />Mr Park was my tae kwon do teacher when I was 17. Lessons were held in a dojo near our local seafood market. It wasn't so much dojo, as a big carpeted hall with some gear stacked at the back. He was like any other Asian uncle, except one thing; hanging near the entrance, was a picture of Mr Park, when he was Mr Korea in the '70s. Oiled and flexing, like a Korean Schwarzenegger. This was the first thing that was pointed out to new students. I nodded to show that I was impressed.<br /><br />He was now in his 40s, I guessed, with two daughters a bit older than me, and definitely wider round the middle.<br /><br />At first, he would let his daughters take us, during the punching and kicking exercises. But one day, he took over. Instead of using the pads, he asked us to aim for him. "Go on, punch me in the stomach" he said. When he saw our hesitation, he'd exclaim "I can take it! Come onnnn". So we'd punch him in the stomach until our arms were as jelly-like as his girth.<br /><br />In conclusion dear reader; Mr Park loved a punch in the stomach and so should you, if you're planning on some volunteering at Herrang.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeQAkvsPKTLToTUGx7wnPytBVyBjivG9BwfJbz6y-YMJRImFOnAW9Rfggc5OGLB6WRwOP0o3Y8NtJWAcISAMDZ7b2-XbcHSz2nr0aMkG8V-BGCmdrLt6oRG9MnE93rcOzNaf-0rzX0f2dU/s1600-h/Scandinavia+%283846%29.jpg"><br /></a>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-16967987380788209032008-08-04T17:09:00.022+08:002008-08-10T22:55:10.494+08:00Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 1I just read <a href="http://bobfisk.blogspot.com/2008/08/it-dont-mean-thing-if-you-aint-got-that.html">this</a> by some-time Swede, Elin, and it got me angry.<br /><br />Angry like when a vending machine eats your coins without giving you Doritos, ANGRY.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">GRRRRRRRRR</span></span><br /><br />That's cos you can't find a swing dancer anywhere, who WON'T add to the already Atlantic-sized ocean of love for Herrang Dance Camp. I couldn't find anyone who'd utter even a non-committal word about it.<br /><br />Leaving n00bs, like ME 2 months ago, with the perception that heaven exists just about 2 hours north of Stockholm. The deception has to stop people.<br /><br />So even though I have hours on Facebook to log, I guess I'm going to stop that important work to tell the truth about Herrang. I know it's a drop in the ocean, but someone needs to counteract the hype. And since I could definitely be a medallist if Hatin' was an Olympic sport, I bravely step up to the line and risk the ire of the converted.<br /><br />Also, I notice the burn mark on my arm is about to flake off entirely and the blister on my foot went a few days ago. The orange-sized bruise and various scratches on my leg is fading too, so I want to note down my vitriol before the golden light of nostalgia causes me to succumb to the mass amnesia that has clearly infected everyone else.<br /><br />For the non-swing people reading, Herrang Dance Camp is a mecca for Lindy Hoppers. It's held in the tiny town of Herrang for 4 weeks every summer. "Herrang" roughly means "Mr Meadow". That's really only the beginning of the strangeness.<br /><br />For me, it started badly, and maybe I should have heeded the signs. When I found out I'd be in Scandinavia, I checked straight away about registering. Unfortunately, there were no more places for follows (girls). So I considered volunteering. If I worked there this year, I could get classes next time for free. Hmmmm given the distance and expense, I might never return, but that seemed my only choice, so I grabbed it.<br /><br />After farewelling my family and the tour group in Copenhagen, I stayed an extra few days then I hopped an 8-hr sleeper train to Stockholm.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Bound for DANCE NIRVANA!!!! WOOOOT!!!!!</span></span><br /><br />Having spent the night in a space about three shoe boxes big, I thank the deities for being short, and for pulling up to Stockholm on time at 7am.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Dance nirvana, here I come! Woo!</span><br /><br /></span>I killed time and paid to use toilets for 3hrs until the shops opened. Then I tooled around in a costume shop on Stockholm's outdoor touristy shopping mall. Come 1pm, I headed back to Central Station and collected my bags.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">dance nirvana...i'm gonna make it.</span><span style="font-style: italic;">..</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXvbd40GL16HGEWp5ilHdCDwHd2sDw_VRfsioUUwUucZgFItVx7wcQhqvs2hb0PTHcjMLoK8fKj2vuK1kXcKaNXUs9pfVfayolS9y2oMOIg-rzw5UYw5M4nSoDkolR0Buy5ADHplkLEYs/s1600-h/Scandinavia+%283771%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXvbd40GL16HGEWp5ilHdCDwHd2sDw_VRfsioUUwUucZgFItVx7wcQhqvs2hb0PTHcjMLoK8fKj2vuK1kXcKaNXUs9pfVfayolS9y2oMOIg-rzw5UYw5M4nSoDkolR0Buy5ADHplkLEYs/s320/Scandinavia+%283771%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231317461043341698" border="0" /></a><br />There I got on a metro. Then I got on a bus. For over an hour. I waited 40min then I got another bus. The meadows became more lush and expansive. Hmmmm cows and hay. Am I on the right one? Is this it?<br /><br />Thankfully some Swiss dancers show me the right stop and point the way to the Folkets Hus, or Community Centre. So 4 hours after leaving Stockholm, 20 hours after my last shower, I finally arrive.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >where can I eat?</span><br /><br />I ask a volunteer in a fluorescent t-shirt for some help. In the afternoon light, I explain that I'm a volunteer, I'd like to check in and find a bed until my booked accommodation opens up tomorrow.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7Yw-eu_AW0rYktJzoI_3nHjD6fs64uHyfEb5zvO8nKUbODj12TerLizQIu4RGxHcUI9mLGus3LiSnLzSeXNgnqsKPt-4xyrKFQAHW1NPLlNjt-Hp-qfmQ4hxfzqv3HNLDKXZemiY3Etn/s1600-h/Scandinavia+%283774%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS7Yw-eu_AW0rYktJzoI_3nHjD6fs64uHyfEb5zvO8nKUbODj12TerLizQIu4RGxHcUI9mLGus3LiSnLzSeXNgnqsKPt-4xyrKFQAHW1NPLlNjt-Hp-qfmQ4hxfzqv3HNLDKXZemiY3Etn/s320/Scandinavia+%283774%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231318056872861650" border="0" /></a><br />And here began my downfall: What I was expecting was a bunch of people who, though a little disorganised, were nonetheless helpful and fun.<br /><br />What I wasn't expecting was couldn't care less, and can't be bothered. If I wanted that I could have spoken to some staff at Northwest Airlines He couldn't help me on the beds, I had to find my own. But he could helpfully remind me that when I got my stuff sorted out they needed extra hands with the decorations for that night's party. Thaaanks.<br /><br />I head inside the main building and see some kind of registration process in the library. I sidle up to the slow-moving queue and spend a good 10min there before checking it's the right one (clearly spent too long in Singapore). When I run upfront and inquire, I'm told this is the queue for a weekend beginner's course and volunteers only needed 9am tomorrow. And where to sleep? General Accommodation. I steal an info booklet for students to find where it is.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">General Accommodation</span><br />This is a euphemism for the bunks crammed into the school gym and some extra rooms. It's free to sleep here, so it's not surprisingly full. It looks like there's been a 3-week baggage handler's strike in there. Bags with their bowels spilling out, on bunks as far as the eye can see.<br /><br />There's meant to be a labeling system, but buggered if I can tell which ones are legitimately taken, and which are the ones I can rightfully push stuff off. But who am I kidding? I'm a polite Asian. Call me thin-skinned, pussy-footed, lily-livered, or denigrate some other part of me, but I am just not the person that pushes someone's stuff off a bed. Others apparently did do this, and I met their (legit) victims in the reception the next night.<br /><br />It's madness on a Friday night because of the crossover between those leaving and those arriving, and there not being enough beds. So clearly they expect people to apparate in at 8.55 on Saturday morning. Either that or a tractor beam from the mother ship, perhaps. I can't fathom any another explanation for having nothing available. Oh wait-there ARE more beds down near a place called the marina, but that's a long trek away, in the dark, especially with a backpack, and the bike rental closed 2hrs ago, lady.<br /><br />Frustrated and pissed off with no bed still, I head back to Folkets Hus to find some food. I'm pointed to the burger kiosk down the road, where I spend 60SEK/RM35/USD$10 on a few deep fried meatballs, with powdered mash and shredded iceberg lettuce, plus can of Coke. This turns out to be one of the better options available actually.<br /><br />After dinner I get acquainted with the showers. Do you remember teen movies in the 80s? It'd be called Porky's or Goonies, or something else that was easily-pronouncible. Many had totally unbelievable (I thought) female school shower scenes in them. It'd be scores of totally fake-boobed chicks walking around a tiled room lined on one side with shower heads, completely starkers, with nary a towel or dividing wall in sight.<br /><br />Well, imagine that, minus the silicone, take the number of showers down to 3, take the grittiness of the floor up to public pool levels, add a lot more random, used clothing in the changing room, and you're about there. I won't go into the gory details, but it's not sexy, I can tell you that much.<br /><br />I did go to help with the decorations after that (my other option, to cry, I would end up taking later). That got me into the hippy-themed party for free, but after doing a few laps of the hippy festivities in a turban and sarong (no, there are no photos), and a half-hearted round of the dance floor, I decided to call it a night.<br /><br />Sitting in a tent, mercifully lent to me by the ONE person I do know (all hail the wonderful Cat), with the sounds of the party still in the air, waving my phone around to find an apple, chocolate, or ANYTHING to eat, was not really how I'd imagined my first night in Herrang.<br /><br />I went to sleep, praying to all the deities, for the beginning of something better tomorrow.<br /><br /><a href="http://minginsf.blogspot.com/2008/08/herrang-diaries-or-punch-me-in-stomach_08.html">Continue to Part 2</a>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-20185353020137080152008-07-30T21:27:00.002+08:002008-07-30T22:11:16.563+08:00Heyda* Sweden!Well, I hung laundry on a line I didn't put up, I used a FULL SIZED towel to shower, and it's only 10pm and already dark outside. Hot damn! I must be back home!<br /><br />After a plane trip which started sometime last millenia, going through Stockholm-Helsinki-Bangkok-KL, am finally reunited with my family and my shoes. *sniff* I missed them so...Not necessarily in that order!<br /><br />Some thousands of pix to sift through and digest for your easy consumption..coming sooon-ish.<br /><br />*Pronounced hey-daw and meaning goodbye in the Svenska!Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-37927616949656876352008-07-26T02:30:00.002+08:002008-07-26T02:37:57.785+08:00Hello from HerrangIs the last night of the one week experience at the dance camp and I'm trying to use up the last of my internet time.<br /><br />I don't know what to say about this yet. I really wanted to like it and it didn't turn out that way.<br /><br />More when I get home. For now, I'm trying to top up my one hours sleep before the big final party tonight.<br /><br />Lots Love,<br />mMinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-46414058937007071142008-07-14T06:10:00.003+08:002008-07-14T06:29:35.255+08:00Norwegian Coast-Bergen-OsloOooh finally managed to get that most coveted thing of all: FREE internet! Wooo! The rate onboard the cruise was akin to just taking the kronor and chucking it in the sea, so I decided against.<br /><br />I'm going to do pix and write-up at home I've decided, so I'll just jot notes here. Internet jsut costs too bloody much here for anything else! Last I left you in Saariselke. From there we took an enormously long busride to Kirkenes, which is pretty much the top of Norway. On the way there was reindeer and Sami excursions...we saw Russia...that's just how far north we were.<br /><br />Kirkenes was the beginning of our 6-day cruise down the west coast of Norway. The line began as the postal carrier for that region, and has since added on passengers. Suffice to say it's nice, but it's not the Fairstar Funship. Probably a good thing.<br /><br />We'd drop off in the little fishing villages along the way for anywhere from 15min-1hr. The landscape is pretty dramatic. The route weaves in and out of the thousands of islands and fjords off the coast above the arctic circle.<br /><br />At each scheduled stop we all collect at the foyer and wait for the gangway to be put down. Then as the harbour workers go about delaing with the post and cargo, we rush out in a frenzy and madly snap pix. They are pretty much all quaint and have traditional architecture and colours.<br /><br />The weather is harsh but the houses are cute. Who'd figure?<br /><br />Hastily cobbled thoughts so far: Sweden, which used to be the home of an empire, looks by far the most affluent. Finland, which began life as an outpost of Russia, kind of still looks a bit homely. We've spent most time in North Norway, which is fish fish fish. Oslo so far has been kind of disappointing. More like a regular city--dirty, homeless people, dodgy people, police patrols etc.<br /><br />Onto Copenhagen next. Wish me luck with handling the 26 tour aunties and my little rascal of a cousin another few days!Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-19040508347838683452008-07-07T02:24:00.003+08:002008-07-07T02:59:11.582+08:00Macktastic Arrives in ScandinaviaA big Hej to my fives of readers!<br /><br />In the last few days I've survived nearly 30 hr trip to Stockholm, via Bangkok and Helsinki, where we spent a couple days in awe at how hot Swedish people are (ok that was mostly just me). Then hopped an overnight ferry to Helsinki (again) for a quick gander at some of the world class architecture and record-breaking drinking going on there.<br /><br />Right now am in Saariselke, a town deep in Lapland, the top bit of Finland--Hello to my geography PhDs out there! It's home to Sammi people, reindeer, the Real Santa Claus, and tonight if I'm lucky, the midnight sun. Whilst waiting for aforementioned heliotropic occurence to, umm, occur, have decided to spring for the 8 euro net connection. As there's only so much I can sigh at the "closed" sauna sign before the receptionist send me to the wolves.<br /><br />Thoughts so far: I finally get why designers go weak in the knees for Scandinavia. These people have been creating things beautifully and thoughtfully for generations. They even thought to colour code the centuries on Swedish buildings!! It's all very beautiful in an unassuming kind of way. The things, like the people, look great, but also friendly.<br /><br />BUT it's expensive in a way I never thought possible. You should know, I've got spendthrift tendencies. You couldn't teach me the value of a dollar for nuts. But I got a train ticket to Stockholm from Denmark and felt financially and emotionally violated. I had to go and sit on the beautiful timber chairs in the Central Station and have a few deep breaths.<br /><br />I'm writing this on a wireless keyboard using a flatscreen TV, but the whole impossibly high-tech set-up left no room for a USB drive! So pix must wait.<br /><br />Seeya later, or as they say here in Finland, Nahdaan Myohemmin!Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-13616623832637793692008-06-24T21:44:00.007+08:002008-06-30T10:31:00.350+08:00Top 10 signs of impending holidayness10. A new camera has arrived in the house (SLR!! eee!)<br />9. A notebook is busting full of errands and to-dos<br />8. The winter gear is seeing the light of day<br />7. A new International Hostels card has arrived too<br />6. Work is going bananas<br />5. Distinct rising level of panic at all the beds not booked and the tickets not bought<br />4. Distinct rising level of panic about how the hell I fancied myself a backpacker<br />3. Sudden franticness about organising stuff for after I get back (in a month!)<br />2. Gut-wrenching twistingness about the ever-expanding cost<br />and...<br />1. it's T minus 6 til take off!!Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-39951757809127423122008-06-16T22:37:00.017+08:002008-06-19T22:45:58.153+08:00Sounds like Kampung Spirit<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" baganseraiandipoh="" 5210996594440949554=""><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFE2PnIeaFI/AAAAAAAADEk/mLKhqNF6AlE/s400/DSCF0200.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />So last week we headed north to my mum's hometown.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" baganseraiandipoh="" 5210996594440949554=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFEtyylsTzI/AAAAAAAADBk/qaPSJLZ8zTY/s400/DSCF0303.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />It was for what I call the zhongzi festival, but what Wikipedia calls <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duanwu_Festival">Duanwu Festival</a>. It's a day commemorating a poet's suicide with wrapped dumplings.<br /><br />Never say us Chinese don't know how to cut loose. In yo face, Easter!<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Then the other reason (I don't cross state lines for less than two) was a cousin's wedding. Actually that in itself is not so unusual. Given my mum has seven siblings, I'm surprised if a weekend goes past that someone in the family isn't married/born/graduated/coming back/leaving/abducted by aliens. However, I was a little anxious as I haven't been back for nearly a decade.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" baganseraiandipoh="" 5211006514700857890=""><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFE20Ob9siI/AAAAAAAADFE/9L3t8kqCvnU/s400/DSCF0167.JPG" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pour quoi</span>? you ask. Because you're French like that. Well, <span style="font-style: italic;">mon ami</span>, it's an out in the sticks <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Village#Southeast_Asia">kampung</a>. That's why! Since I had a choice about it, I've consciously avoided the mechanics shophouse on Jalan Besar (Main St for my 5's of international readers).<br /><br />It's the business that my grandfather started, that kept the family going through the war and the Japanese, where my mum grew up and where my 80+ y.o. grandma still reigns supreme; insisting on climbing the steep-as-hell stairs every day. To look down on it, I know, pretty much makes me an up-herself Westernised snot.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFE2nH1-1hI/AAAAAAAADE8/RFWxaSYcY3E/s400/DSCF0180.JPG" /><br /></div><br />Yet looking at the five-foot way littered with greasy spare parts, and the buckets of used oil out the back, I remembered why as a kid I always dreaded coming here. I also don't speak Cantonese, so that left me quite the dumb-mute in a house full of screeching, bellowing feistiness–the Cantonese are nothing if not the feistiest feists that ever feisted.<br /><br />I realised I was like a bad foreign student in my grandma's house; dismissive of the strange workings of a different way of life and watching the clock until I could get back home. So this time I tried not to expect to feel comfortable, just to give people the same room as I do when I'm travelling.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFE1hbmONjI/AAAAAAAADD8/Otcuhz9GCB0/s400/DSCF0245.JPG" /><br /></div><br />Most travelers would die to be taken into a traditional home and partake in the preparations for a festival, right? So in that perspective, I was quite happy to wrap some zhongzi.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" baganseraiandipoh="" 5210996594440949554=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFEtyylsTzI/AAAAAAAADBk/qaPSJLZ8zTY/s400/DSCF0303.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />My mum got to show off her skillz, and I got to practise my rusty ones. Sat on a tiny stool in my grandma's rustic kitchen, surrounded by all the ingredients at our feet, the woodfire stove going and sunlight streaming in through the one skylight, I guess I got to make a little peace with the mechanics on Jalan Besar.<br /><br />Less peaceful and mostly just ear-curdlingly terrifying was the wedding we attended that evening. First off, it was in Taipeng, the nearest major town. When Taipeng is "the big smoke" the hairs on my neck already prickle. Watch out: Racism and middle-class snobbery up ahead!<br /><br />When we got there, the restaurant was packed to the rafters with shouting, pushing, gobbling Chinese people and about a billion little kids (Memo to small towns: Need more entertainment options).<br /><br /><br />Then we found our table, to my dismay, was right up the front–next to a gigantic speaker. Worse, the evening's 'host' sporting an interesting haircut and electric blue sneakers, was on stage and fancied himself auditioning for Malaysian Idol.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" baganseraiandipoh="" 5210996524585441506=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SFEtuuW12OI/AAAAAAAADBg/mxrLXZyWgOw/s400/DSCF0305.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></div>He chose a Mandarin ballad, and after some banter, proceeded to serve it up to the chewing masses with an extra helping of D-I-V-A. He'd clearly been practising the singing AND the exaggerated hand gestures AND the dramatic facial expressions.<br /></div><br />He was singing of love lost, but my appetite went pretty quickly too. For after him came the happy coupleS. Yep, that's a multiple. The restaurant was hosting TWO weddings at the same time–beat that for efficiency, Singapore! After Mr Mariah was done, he then invited the first couple to pop champagne, pour it onto the pyramid of glasses, and do yum seng. Then I guess the glasses were rinsed, and my cousin repeated.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFS421PekoOd6dQwnhfeuVjrAhKhdGSv5qF_EPL6KhAikAVusnWz9rrHmGt0qD68g8BXFIGWxSM9K905jw-fh3_Yub-u47uJ-m7By960X_9PA71gVsE-0J6-XECpB_lbqssPtelH03BEl/s1600-h/DSCF0307.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFS421PekoOd6dQwnhfeuVjrAhKhdGSv5qF_EPL6KhAikAVusnWz9rrHmGt0qD68g8BXFIGWxSM9K905jw-fh3_Yub-u47uJ-m7By960X_9PA71gVsE-0J6-XECpB_lbqssPtelH03BEl/s320/DSCF0307.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5213597659519761202" border="0" /></a>So far so bearable. That is, until the first groom strutted and styled his way through a power ballad and then his wife joined him for a duet, complete with a big finish. If I hadn't already considered sticking myself in the eye with a chopstick to dull the pain, then I was seriously contemplating it now. They too had practised, though not as much as Mr Mariah.<br /><br />To my dismay, my cousin and his wife followed suit after them. Then again, it's their big day. So I guess they're entitled to do whatever the hell they feel like.<br /><br />Less entitled, but no less enthusiastic, were the string of uncles and aunties that followed up with ear-drum-bursting renditions of their favourite Cantonese/English/Hokkien numbers. Of course someone HAD to do "My Way". Frank might have had too few regrets to mention, but I bloody well did!<br /><br />Mercifully, the dessert was declared not up to snuff, so we proceeded to disembark from the dinner. Sonically beaten to a pulp, I headed out to the carpark with the continued warbling ringing in my ears.<br /><br />PS: Pix of froofy blue bridal gown which we really really wanted to put in, not included to protect us from familial retribution at some later date. Thank you.Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-57750056173855796372008-05-23T21:56:00.001+08:002008-05-23T21:56:33.338+08:00ONCE: Falling Slowly<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><p><object height='350' width='425'><param value='http://youtube.com/v/CoSL_qayMCc' name='movie'/><embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/CoSL_qayMCc'/></object></p><p>This movie is crap to look at but hauntingly, divinely, unsettlingly beautiful to listen to. Lyrics that tear at your heart and melodies from angels. I wanted to hug strangers after it.</p></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-70653391567049578312008-05-18T17:04:00.008+08:002008-06-12T21:29:00.268+08:00Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbEmg-5n7I/AAAAAAAACtg/DeX5ChZsnGk/s400/DSC00842.JPG" /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A friend of the family's in KK had sms'd that "KK is not that special.. but Sandakan is great!"<br /></div></div><br />That's all we needed to add it to the itinerary. The Lonely Planet was strangely quiet about it, but I thought "Woo! Finally we'll be seeing something of real Malaysia, not on the tourist route. SWEEET!" And then proceeded to feel very smug about myself.<br /><br />The big draw for Sandakan is that there's an orang utan sanctuary about 45min drive away in the jungle. Most tour groups just fly their people in at 8am (it's a 30min flight), do the 10am feeding, have lunch, then return to KK. The other big attraction they have is the islands (kind of) nearby which harbour nesting turtles and very much more awesome diving than KK.<br /><br />Between those two and the superior seafood, I thought we were set to enjoy an undiscovered Malaysian gem of a seaside town.<br /><br />Turns out I was mostly kinda.. *sigh* well if you must.. WRONG.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199059239216717810=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbE1Q-5n_I/AAAAAAAACuA/J-8updtHvEg/s400/DSC00848.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Let it be noted what I had read was accurate–the seafood was GREAT. So fresh and really very reasonable.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199070423311556962=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbPAQ-5oWI/AAAAAAAAC0E/jrS-kyUxwKQ/s400/DSC00887.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Also the Orang Utan sanctuary at Sepilok doesn't disappoint. It's well managed and who can get enough of orang utans? Especially the babies!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199058753885413250=""><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbEZA-5n4I/AAAAAAAACtI/wsMWY0gdtaE/s400/DSC00838.JPG" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The thing is, attending a feeding and a seafood lunch takes about.. half a day? Then you're left to contemplate what else there is to do, and you realise FAAARK! You've booked 4 days in a 1-horse town. Which, come to think of it, reminds you of Ipoh 20 years ago, just with more utes. And now that you mention it, many of the buildings look exactly like a building looks when you do nothing to it for more than 2 decades.<br /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199059861986975922=""><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbFZg-5oLI/AAAAAAAACvk/g8AspfsYzXA/s400/DSCF0127.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Thankfully one thing I didn't cock up was the hotel. Having made a last minute booking, we asked the taxi driver to stop in at various other hotels in town, just to see if we should change. Turns out <a href="http://www.nakhotel.com/">NAK hotel</a>, one of the first 'proper' hotels in Sandakan, and having gone through a recent renovation, is the only place in town that looks like they actually hired an interior decorator. The hotel's facilities are simple, but the whole thing's been decked out in a nouveau-chinois kind of style, which cheered me no end. And a suite was RM106! That was cheer-inducing as well.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199526883845841682=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SChuJw-5oxI/AAAAAAAAC7I/-ioiqJDo8VI/s400/DSC00986.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />The wonderful Linn at the hotel also hooked us up with a day trip to the Turtle Island of Selingan. It's one of the 3 islands nearby where mama turtles come to lay their eggs. We'd spoken with a few travel agents who said it couldn't be done; it takes an hour and a half to get there, you have to stay overnight etc. I think this is because the island is run by one operator and they only need enough people to fill their chalets. More than that they're not really interested in.<br /><br />But, we managed to wrangle it, and were happy to see the island, if not the turtles. Turns out though, that we got real lucky! When we noticed a baby come out of the sand in the hatchery, we asked the ranger to help us take a picture (they're kept under watch because eggs left on the beach get stolen and sold by guys holding carrier bags in the street outside Sandakan market). Instead of doing so, he reached in to grab it and asked us to follow. We proceeded over to the beach and let it go! Like some kind of baby turtle freedom fighter. OK so am not up for any awards from Greenpeace yet, but it was such a special experience. I said a prayer for the little guy as he turned into a speck in the blue.<br /><br />I figure <a href="http://www.cccturtle.org/sea-turtle-information.php?page=threats">he needs all the help he can get</a>.<br /><br />New suggested tourism tagline: Sandakan, Not As Bad As You Think. Catchy, huh?</div></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-39978630096561123372008-05-13T18:25:00.008+08:002008-05-21T01:29:43.213+08:00Sabah Trip Part Satu (1) : KK Diving<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199058569201819474=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbEOQ-5n1I/AAAAAAAACss/eIrPPhSbm-0/s400/DSC00834.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />Yen came back from SF for Dad's 60th, so we thought we'd go somewhere for a family holiday. Having (sort of) successfully convinced my dad the diving trip I had planned in Sabah was for his birthday, we hurriedly packed after the cake was cleared away and headed off the next day for Kota Kinabalu. Or KK for the Malay-challenged.<br /><br />KK is in West Malaysia, in Sabah state, which is the top right part of Borneo (how much do I rock at geography!). Now, most people go to KK for Mt Kinabalu, the river safaris, the exotic jungle wildlife and such. Me, I give you two words: cheap diving.<br /><br />Whilst <a href="http://www.etriptips.com/wiki/Sipadan">Sipadan</a> off the west coast of Sabah is a magnet for divers (and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sipadan">sometimes terrorists..</a>), you'll also end up paying resort prices to learn in the shallows, and there's sweet FA for non-divers, so I went with KK where there's a plethora of choice. Also a refreshing lack of 2000m drops!<br /><br />I had enough trouble getting to this point (the trip initially was for China, don't ask), so I only booked hotels, no activities. Luckily KK is fantastic for the last-minute and unprepared traveller, like <span style="font-style: italic;">moi</span>. They have this lovely place called Wisma Sabah in the little downtown. It's a building housing only travel-related companies. Dive tours, Air Asia, hotel bookings, jungle safaris... whatever you want to do you can ask for details, compare prices, and book in the same floor. How cool is that!<br /><br />Jennifer at <a href="http://www.scubaparadiseborneo.com.my/index.html">Scuba Paradise</a> was very helpful and we were able to book some Mt Kinabalu/river safari things for mum and dad as well as Open Water PADI diving course for Yen and I. Rm 840 for 3 days instruction from personal dive master, equipment rental, lunch, hotel pickup and certification. W00t!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199052324319370466=""><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCa-iw-5nOI/AAAAAAAACmk/kPHNnmj7iSI/s400/DSCF0086.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />The first day of training was loooong. The PADI DVD is immensely cheesy and there's 5 modules to go through before a final "exam". It's pretty much high school physics (buoyancy, gases, light, refraction..), safety stuff and using a table to figure out how much nitrogen is in your system. It's brain hurtin stuff though, for a holiday. So, we were really glad to escape at the end and quickly sniffed out the waterfront mamak stalls covering the essential food groups: anything fried, desserts with condensed milk, chicken wings and MSG.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199056967179017634=""><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbCxA-5naI/AAAAAAAACog/JWdI5q3pVI4/s400/DSC00767.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />Next morning we took off from the jetty at Sutera Resort, the fancy new one in town. It's just chockers with Korean ladies off on a boat ride to the islands with their matchingly dressed and coiffed man and stilettoes.<br /><br />I curse my slowness in taking pictures! They were truly breathtaking.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199057431035485714=""><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbDMA-5nhI/AAAAAAAACpk/26dEOqH7pdg/s400/DSC00788.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />If I were learning in Australia, I'd have studied by myself and spent this part in a pool. Instead, our first stop was the shallows at Sapi Island, ten minutes away. It's much more convenient to go to the island than to find a swimming pool actually!<br /><br />Pulau Sapi is one of the five islands in the TAR marine park off KK. The snorkelling and diving here isn't going to compare to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sipadan">Sipadan</a>. As we were to see for ourselves, most of the coral has been dynamited, leaving only a few patches here and there of natural coral reef. Still, the water is clear, warm and thick with all kinds of fish, so it's very good for beginners.<br /><br />At the beginning, as with most things, it's all weird and uncomfortable. The equipment is just a tangled mess of hoses and valves with some really indecipherable gauges thrown in. Then there's the actual diving...<br /><br />I don't have pix of the dives unfortunately–need a whole underwater setup for that. Besides, I was initially, ..what's the right word.. freaking-the-hell-out. It felt so unsafe to willingly 'drown' and then keep heading down, even when you can't see the bottom. My mental dialogue: "faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrk!!!!"<br /><br />Mental hysterics over, I realised I'm not going to last long if I keep this up, so I turned it into underwater meditation class: Breathe iiiiin, breathe ooooout. Don't think of anything else.<br /><br />It's quite good training, cause screwing up the calm breathing=drowning. So on pain of death, you must keep calm.<br /><br />With each dive and learning exercise, we got more comfortable. I went from holding the instructor's arm in a death grip to being able to navigate away and come back (it did take 2 goes, but no one's perfect!).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" sabah="" 5199057744568098418=""><img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SCbDeQ-5nnI/AAAAAAAACqY/bxYGMpZPgwc/s400/DSC00801.JPG" /></a><br /></div><br />On the second day, after a swim test, we were finally certified!<br /><br />I must say initially, I was hoping for a different instructor. Perhaps tall, tanned and French..dark hair...deep soulful gaze.. just a suggestion! But we got safety-minded, old-hand Jeffrey instead. Which turns out was exactly the person I wanted to be in sight as I was freaking out in the murky depths.<br /><br />It turns out dive instructors, like winners of the World Cup, can't be picked on their good looks alone. Who knew!<br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="on down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span><br />This was even more apparent as we got off the boat triumphantly at the end of the 2nd diving day. Another boat had come racing in behind us and there was a lot of kerfuffle as a British girl was taken off on a stretcher in agonies. She'd managed to step on a stingray...ON THE BEACH! We hadn't even seen any in the water!<br /><br />As her quite hot tour guide was frantically shouting into his phone in the parking lot, it was a timely reminder that a whole bunch of unexpected stuff can happen at sea, and safety, whilst boring and not as good looking is paramount :p<br /><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/ming.pang/Sabah"><br />For more Sabah pix and rapier-like wit click here.</a><br /><a href="http://minginsf.blogspot.com/2008/05/sabah-trip-part-dua-2-sandakan.html#links"><br /></a>Next: <a href="http://minginsf.blogspot.com/2008/05/sabah-trip-part-dua-2-sandakan.html#links">Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan</a>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-19231279555978087682008-05-11T23:06:00.006+08:002008-05-11T23:33:16.955+08:00Burma Emergency<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHpgIbcqKo6NDeDMxajPcqBAGtqtpLbG7cBCXOTxSKGUVwZfxUjw-FQ29VtuAMPWoWTvzQD7kl5yv1UsHBSiyjAzLO9MorGcDm8G2OwZ-7-AivJcG3yYizKyGkgdxLO0Lj62shvHC1bRW/s1600-h/p17605.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAHpgIbcqKo6NDeDMxajPcqBAGtqtpLbG7cBCXOTxSKGUVwZfxUjw-FQ29VtuAMPWoWTvzQD7kl5yv1UsHBSiyjAzLO9MorGcDm8G2OwZ-7-AivJcG3yYizKyGkgdxLO0Lj62shvHC1bRW/s320/p17605.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199142879409840786" border="0" /></a><br />Just got back from Sabah on Friday. I saw the headlines about the cyclone in Burma in my hotel newspaper, but being in holiday mode, I was in my own dreamland of diving and beaches.<br /><br />Which makes me feel a right twat now that I really realise that it's really real.<br /><br />The numbers for deaths in Burma are on their way to making the tsunami seem like a cakewalk. And the options for survivors are to stay and starve or flee to a refugee camp in India, China or Thailand.<br /><br />I only know that because a friend's aunty is one of those survivors.<br /><br />Given the global shortage of food, especially rice, I don't know what kind of reception they'll get.<br /><br />I'm not going to go into the whole situation with the generals, because I'll likely have an aneurism from how fucked it all is. Anyway in times like these, better to have a lot of action rather than a lot of talk.<br /><br /><a href="http://donate.ifrc.org/?navid=02_02">PLEASE DONATE TO THE RED CROSS</a>. Whilst I read reports of the UN having their cargo interfered with, the Red Crescent (Red Cross's sister society) at least have already got supplies coming in and people on the ground.Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-76008089575181171132008-04-25T22:24:00.015+08:002008-04-30T15:50:43.448+08:00Where Our Treasures Lie<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >"It is as if we have been forced to go on a long journey in search of what we've no interest in. The road back will be painful. We won't feel like we fit in and our friends need time to return home as well. But that time will happen. And we will come to see where our treasures lie"</span><br /><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" > </span></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >The Witch of Portobello, </span><span style="font-size:85%;">PAULO COELHO</span><br /></div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" perthapr08="" authkey="ftroQcX4Tms#5192470920187133058""><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/ming.pang/SA9cyoBMvII/AAAAAAAACh0/GY-zWhcFdMY/s400/DSCF0073.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">When I left Perth for Singapore 7 years ago, I packed my 2 suitcases and a sense of self-satisfaction that I was going toward exciting things. Perth is many things, but ever-evolving and fast-paced it is not.<br /></div><br />With each successive trip back over the years, I managed to conclude that I made the right choice. That having swapped the quiet life for long hours at work, big projects, big shopping, a cleaning lady, and monthly pedicures...was the right thing thing to do.<br /><br />Whenever taxi uncles found out where I was from, they always used to explain "Har? What you doing here?" It only took me another 6 years to ask myself the same question!<br /><br />But of course this time back was different. I've completely switched over to freelance and get by on so much less. My credit card is dusty from under-use and I just cut my own nails like a pleb :p<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And whilst I'm a fair way from packing my bags (for Perth anyway), its blue skies and fluffy white clouds, its courteous drivers and verdant wildlife, don't seem like the marks of a suburban backwater anymore, but something of how life should really be.<br /></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-80863889716424123022008-04-02T22:47:00.003+08:002008-04-03T00:02:06.967+08:00How to Pack for a Long-Term Trip Part 2: Macktastic-Style<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/content/knowhow/glossary/rolling-swiss-roll/image.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px;" src="http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/content/knowhow/glossary/rolling-swiss-roll/image.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>When it comes to packing, there's a few schools of thought. Some want you to layer like kuih lapis, others want you to roll like a baguette.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />We here at Macktastic have come up with the soon-to-be legendary, ground-breaking and much more delicious, "swiss roll" school of thought.<br /><br />Layer <span style="font-style: italic;">then</span> roll. </span></span></span></span>The idea is to keep stuff in a category in the same bag/roll/sack. <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Like so:<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302121436111682""><img src="http://lh6.google.com/ming.pang/R_JXT9SA40I/AAAAAAAACfQ/3B15fY2ex44/s400/DSCF0002.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">1. Collect all the same category of clothes together. Here are my pants/jeans in a lengthwise pile on top of a larger piece of clothing laid flat.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302130026046290""><img src="http://lh4.google.com/ming.pang/R_JXUdSA41I/AAAAAAAACeE/W9KOARnGbzE/s400/DSCF0152.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">2. Roll the pants up toward the dress.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302130026046306""><img src="http://lh4.google.com/ming.pang/R_JXUdSA42I/AAAAAAAACeM/g4dPsAoHrpI/s400/DSCF0153.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">3. Then wrap the resulting sausage with your cover piece and secure with rubber bands. This pic doesn't have it, but you should label your sausage before you forget what's inside!<br /></span></div></div></div><br />Awesome! Now you can go ahead and wrap sausages made from all your categories of clothes e.g. t-shirts, jackets, dresses etc. Since you're going somewhere for a long stay, you're not going to be too worried about keeping everything creaseless, more like keeping everything identified.<br /><br />OK, that's the big clothes done. Here's how you can handle the other trickier stuff:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://lh4.google.com/ming.pang/R_JXUdSA43I/AAAAAAAACeU/rh39KHE0N1o/s400/DSCF0010.jpg" /><br />Necklaces and bracelets can be laid out on a plastic bag...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302134321013634""><img src="http://lh5.google.com/ming.pang/R_JXUtSA44I/AAAAAAAACec/26BQnznSCYI/s400/DSCF0011.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">..to make jewellery roll!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302679781860242""><img src="http://lh4.google.com/ming.pang/R_JX0dSA45I/AAAAAAAACek/fGzxPPfnBN8/s400/DSCF0005.jpg" /></a><br />Delicates or anything in a fragile state can go into ziploc bags.. (just get a whole bunch. You'll also need one for your tiny-ass in-flight toiletries). Not pictured here are the mesh handwashing bags that can be got for a few bucks at supermarkets. Keep undies/bathers/bras etc in them. Also awesome.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302684076827570""><img src="http://lh5.google.com/ming.pang/R_JX0tSA47I/AAAAAAAACe0/pYEes3q3x8E/s400/DSCF0114.jpg" /></a><br />The all-important shoes! Not much you can do about their space-hoggingness, apart from stuff every cavity with socks. But, having a pic helps you remember which ones you are missing weeks and months later when it's all a foggy blur.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" packing="" authkey="JYWPKzaUkOY#5184302684076827586""><img src="http://lh5.google.com/ming.pang/R_JX0tSA48I/AAAAAAAACe8/tgh28aYMk14/s400/DSCF0108.jpg" /></a><br /></div>The end product: Sanity. You've effectively created drawers in your luggage, so open a roll to take out or put something in and you'll always know where your stuff's at.<br /><br />True story: After having already been delayed 12 hours by No-one Worse Airlines, I stood gobsmacked at the Singapore Airlines counter in SF facing sour-faced unhelpful crew who "can't find my (re-routed) reservation". I needed the number of my travel agent in Singapore to get the booking code to sort it out. It was on my SG phone in the depths of my 25kg bag, which I fished out in a minute from the electronics bag, called from a friend's phone and saved my seat from the depths of SIA's booking system.<br /><br />Good, huh? That's what I thought. You know what would be better? Not having this much stuff to worry about in the first place.Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-66373803707043890892008-03-26T17:58:00.014+08:002008-04-03T00:02:58.153+08:00How to Pack for a Long-Term Trip Part 1: How Much Crap Do I Really Need?I've had to pack for 3 long-term trips now, and it's daunting and hard.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ca%20href=" com="" pang="" mumbai="" 5169366009311308898=""><img src="http://lh3.google.com/ming.pang/R71G_zr6rGI/AAAAAAAACDw/AwwR8pepjuE/s400/Picture%20228.jpg" /></a><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Not this hard, but pretty tough<br /></span></span></div><br />They are the kind of trip to fall somewhere between "I'm going there for a few months" to "I'm going there and maybe staying", and everything that falls in between. You can't bring your whole wardrobe (i.e. you're not using movers), but you also can't survive on 5 black separates either.<br /><br />If this is useful stuff to you, then congrats on your big trip! Maybe you are studying, maybe you landed a new gig. Maybe you're not sure and going anyway. Well done on having some cajones cos you'll need them. But, you won't be needing that 3rd pair of black shoes (just sayin..)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-T02zlSzzG9O5hYmcP6HveaxLvihQMMDlwwNkCAJMVW7N_N7gITS3sAdhXbQjqZFteQ-z4v_SVvdhp38Z9g9zW0vsn2usF24VBTQvzXw6RMOttFa85aaW3UpEdLdm2B56nvVcsn4P5KG/s1600-h/98495075_acad3db8a3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS-T02zlSzzG9O5hYmcP6HveaxLvihQMMDlwwNkCAJMVW7N_N7gITS3sAdhXbQjqZFteQ-z4v_SVvdhp38Z9g9zW0vsn2usF24VBTQvzXw6RMOttFa85aaW3UpEdLdm2B56nvVcsn4P5KG/s320/98495075_acad3db8a3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183089639283548946" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:85%;" >Packing list: Pants-Yes, Cowboy boots-NO<br /><br /></span></div>This first post will be about how to edit your random crap into some kind of sharply-honed fashion miracle. Why? Because when you're away from home, terrible, cataclysmic things can happen. I'm not being dramatic. When traveling, you should just expect it (yes, wonderful, delirious things happen too, but let's not harp on about it).<br /><br />So when that thing happens, and you're ready to kill yourself or someone else, you can at least look in the mirror and be reminded you too used to be sane once.<br /><br />The second post will be how to pack it all. Not just for the trip, but for the week you'll probably spend re-packing, finding stuff when packed and un-packing on the other end too.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6uFfuCT_tottMsbSoLXEzP0psobqBzZ_y0ezkKQ29l4FaDk56mrVjI9XKiNwnI3uP4LdmSFjs1yH3p_7dfDAmIbGHel2oCKUyIgrl9Lb47QJLlj1oBflfuBaPDdur61KPFdMoqVzvJ6q/s1600-h/1227005825_0e0353d9bd.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn6uFfuCT_tottMsbSoLXEzP0psobqBzZ_y0ezkKQ29l4FaDk56mrVjI9XKiNwnI3uP4LdmSFjs1yH3p_7dfDAmIbGHel2oCKUyIgrl9Lb47QJLlj1oBflfuBaPDdur61KPFdMoqVzvJ6q/s320/1227005825_0e0353d9bd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183173000303797026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Be a happy monkey: Pack wisely<br /><br /></span></span></div>Be warned, it gets quite anal. But then, attempting a big move requires a kind of military precision in the details in order not to go completely monkey-nuts crazy (for me, anyway).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">GETTING A FIRST CUT</span><br /><br />When at home, our wardrobe is like a government department. Entities can languish inside for years and never have any use.<br /><br />However, taking the show on the road immediately demands a justification for everything that's taken. Suddenly everyone has to pull their weight or even do double duty. So, who makes the pick?<br /><div style="text-align: center;">Most obvious question is: Where are you going?<br /></div><br />A little research will let you know what's going to be appropriate culture-and-weather-wise. After that, it gets a little murky, which is where some self awareness helps. Use the following handy spectrums to scientifically ascertain your packing persona.<br /><div style="text-align: center;font-family:arial;"> <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">My fashionista status is DoA................................................Vogue is on hold</span></span><br /></div></div><br />If you're happy to go ahead with a random sampling of all your beige clothes, then you're probably not reading this anyway.<br /><br />To my fashionistas: My advice is to tone down the variety of your clothes and dial up the tone of your accessories. Belts, scarves, jewellery all can pack a sartorial punch and take up less space. Shoes are always going to be a big space-hogger but they also make a lot of difference, so bring something fancy if you must, but make sure you use it! Same goes for bags.<br /><br />Another point to note–if you're also contending with seasons or weather very different from your own, don't bother too much about getting stuff beforehand (I'm thinking of Americans buying sarongs and flip flops from Macy's or Southeast Asians getting winter gear). Your local shops probably a)aren't going to be up to snuff in range and b)the bargains will be better in the new place. Bringing bare essentials will suffice.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;font-family:arial;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">My moolah is stronger than Moses................................I'm drafting up a ramen budget</span></span><br /><br /></div>Those looking to travel light always back it up with, "If I really need it, I can get it there". That's true, but travel is an expensive business mostly and how much shopping you can do there depends not just on your available funds, but also a lot on the strength of your currency.<br /><br />If going to Cambodia, for example, a Gap t-shirt at the Russian Markets runs about USD$1-4. At those prices, you can go with just the clothes on your back! Meanwhile, those same t-shirts are $16-20 in the 'real' Gap in the States (bitches). So feel relaxed if your dollar is strong, but if not, keep in mind the different situations you'll need to be prepared for.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm going to America (bringing a sink).............I'm e-baying Mary Poppin's bag right now</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: arial;"><br /></div>Depending where you go, and what kind of airline you go on, luggage allowance differs so get clear on it early. Trips to America allow 50kg in 2 bags whilst budget intra-Asia flights allow only 15kg. If traveling budget, I would plan on springing for the extra luggage space. Even going to the States on the largest allowance known to woman was not easy and involved many borrowings once I got there.<br /><br />Start off with the right luggage and work from there. If you are lucky enough to be buying luggage, look for sturdy but store-able. My Victorinox (something like <a href="http://www.ebags.com/victorinox_swiss_army/mobilizer_nxt_reg_4_0_30_collapsible_wheeled_duffel/product_detail/index.cfm?modelid=104117">this</a>)fit 25 kg easily and packed down flat(ishly) to fit under the bed when I got to the States. Which left me feeling very smug. Which is about all that we're really after, isn't it?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EDITING DOWN<br /><br /></span>Once you have pretty much covered your bed and surrounds with stuff you think you'll take, you can call it your first cut. Now it's time to examine your collection more carefully for:<br /><ol><li>Quality</li><li>Fit<br /></li><li>Usefulness</li></ol>..in that order.<br /><br />1) Quality<br />Nix anything that doesn't look as though it can take a rough washing machine (you'll want to keep the hand-washing down to a minimum)<br /><br />Nix anything that isn't in good condition, or get it fixed. Buttons, hems, seams all fall apart like a mofo once they leave your area code.<br /><br />2) Fit<br />Generally everything should be just so, but especially jeans, bras and shoes all need to be doubly examined for fit and quality. They are often not easy to get right, so finding replacements won't be easy either. Consider carefully! If something pinches or is not quite right at home, you always have options. But on the road, you'll be stuck with it until you get round to finding a replacement who knows when.<br /><br />Someone I know, I'm not saying who, went to the US and packed on the pounds, promptly ruling out half her pants in 2 months. Something you may want to keep in mind when considering your 3rd pair of skinny jeans!<br /><br />3) Usefulness<br />Hold on, it's still not ready to go into the bag yet.<br /><br />Ask yourself:<br />Can I use this in at least 3 different ways?<br />Will I really be going to that many cocktail parties/yoga classes/wilderness hikes/[insert sartorial situation here], to justify taking this?<br /><br />Once an item has jumped all those hurdles, then it can go in. Congratulate it, cos it's fit for travel!<br /><br />Next post: Getting it into the bagMinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-57606455038812475552008-03-26T11:05:00.002+08:002008-03-26T11:08:34.190+08:00Earth Hour 2008Am full of work at the moment and working on a biggish post. In the meantime..<br /><br /><a href="www.earthhour.org">Have some fun in the dark for a good cause.</a>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122306128470712427.post-11418732424625601812008-03-18T21:36:00.004+08:002008-03-18T22:24:52.009+08:00Udon Thani<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBgVhxEq4uyn3mxcM5KVlTobZYAX4asriDldVDz96U2lE8a24B1pZZyCu9snDe9jUwlW39GVSIgM0CbZIqB-G8gGqPC23rkoXPPUlYGQQOYBF5At6k3ts5VyaQMhjxvYLGlHYCvhhA0s6/s1600-h/DSCF0006.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBgVhxEq4uyn3mxcM5KVlTobZYAX4asriDldVDz96U2lE8a24B1pZZyCu9snDe9jUwlW39GVSIgM0CbZIqB-G8gGqPC23rkoXPPUlYGQQOYBF5At6k3ts5VyaQMhjxvYLGlHYCvhhA0s6/s320/DSCF0006.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" align="left"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span>I was recently lucky enough to tag along when my mum was invited to share Ayurveda at a couple forest monasteries in Northeast Thailand. They're not really places you can just rock up, as everyone needs the permission of the abbot to enter, so the opportunity was rare. Thanks to the awesome Miss H's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Who-Ordered-This-Truckload-Dung/dp/0861712781/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1205847899&sr=8-1">Christmas gift</a>, I was nearly half-bottle full of information on the Theravada, or forest monks' way of life when I got there.<br /></div><br />I was ready for the one-meal-a-day quota, I was ready to sleep on the floor and I was ready to go to bed with the sun. I was not ready, however, for the cold. Mum's warning that it's "a bit chilly" there turned out to be completely false. It was bloody freezing! Enlightenment apparently requires warm pajamas. As I was sleeping next to a hole in the floorboards, I proceeded to catch the mother of all colds. I would meet one of the spiritual advisers to the Thai King with a snot rag in hand. Great.<br /><br />Sinus issues aside, the talks went well, the monks got their livers cleansed and I woke up before 7 (it's an occasion so rare and selfless, that I feel some kind of commemorative statue to be in order--something in gold leaf perhaps).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://lh3.google.com/ming.pang/R9_CskOR6VI/AAAAAAAACZs/XPC26W3p4J8/s400/DSCF0015.JPG" /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">"Stoking the home fires" is not really an expression so much as a daily job</span></span><br /><br /></div>Most everything else was different and an adjustment as well, but in quite a good way. Rising with the sun also means sleeping with it too (10 hours sleep. woo!), as only the kitchen has electricity (for lights mostly, not stoves :p) Everyone has their own <span style="font-style: italic;">kuti--</span>a kind of self-contained hut, and eats together at breakfast with the monks.<br /><br />It's probably as close as I'll get to living on a commune. They don't farm, but they do have extensive gardens and prepare the food together. With thick forest and pristine air, I can see why so many Bankok-ians(?) were in residence. In comparison, Bangkok with its choking traffic and already a chore to live in, takes on a pretty bad light.<br /><br />With the impossibly nice Thai people, the abundant random cute squirrels/butterflies/birds, the awesome food (the one meal is a 20-30 dish affair) and of course being in the presence of wisdom, I could definitely do an annual stint there. Ideas!<br /></div></div></div></div>Minghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01021028417804618234noreply@blogger.com1