Monday, 3 November 2008
Macktastic Goes to Work
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!
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!
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!
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.
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!
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 dynamic". Rinse and repeat until some rubbery bits of tofu and a few strands of noodles are your only choice in the foodcourt.
So, was a big thrill to go in with ideas and have them realised. It was not without hardships, which included:
• a hunt through a whole bag of coriander for the exact. perfect. leaf.
• Phil gamely going through the rubbish for a 3rd knobbly lime
• getting the damn chicken and the slippery skin to sit. just. so.
Finished tired but satisfied :)
Saturday, 25 October 2008
Are we still on?
Hello again to my fives of readers!
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:
Tioman
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:
Tioman
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!"
So I spent end of September trying to get bus tickets to Mersing for a Tioman trip during Hari Raya!
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 then get a bus to Mersing at 5am. OR,.. well you get the picture.
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!
So I spent end of September trying to get bus tickets to Mersing for a Tioman trip during Hari Raya!
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
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!
The replica plane that they sent to fill in for a real plane
An exciting 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.
KL Swing
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 KL Swing Facebook group and I offered to help.
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!
Note the awesome black light deco
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
More pix here at FB
Singapore
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.
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.
Oh yeah, somewhere in there I turned 29 :) So far, it's not too bad. Not too bad at all.
More pix here at FB
Singapore
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.
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.
Oh yeah, somewhere in there I turned 29 :) So far, it's not too bad. Not too bad at all.
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Sammi country, Norway and Copenhagen
[After side trips to Chiang Mai and Singapore, Macktastic has returned to battle the never-ending post...] 
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. 
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. I had a conversation with a Norwegian at Herrang about it:
Me: I went on the Hurtigruten.
Norwegian: ohhh the HUER-ti-groo-TEN
Me: umm yep.
Norwegian: Which ship did you take?
Me: The Nordlys.
Norwegian: ohhh the NAWRT-liss
Me: You know it??
Norwegian: Sure, everyone knows them.
Me: You've been on it then?
Norwegian: Nah, too expensive.
Me: ...
The expense is because well, it's Norway, but really you can't outsource this kind of product to Asia:
Stunning Midnight Sun at Tromso
Awe-inspiring Trollfjord
Beyond-charming fishing villages
Drool-inducing Chef onboard :D
'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.
Which is why it's not hard to imagine that Bergen's most famous son is the composer Edvard Grieg who wrote the classic Morning Mood. 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.
We only had one night there though, before we set off to Oslo via the super scenic Flam railway.
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.
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 :)
After hopping off the Flam Railway, there was anotherlong-ass scenic bus journey to Oslo. Which disappointingly, looked like this:
For the full set of pix of eeeevvverything, go here.
[Macktastic promises not to harp on anymore about Scandinavia now. No, really. I really mean it]
Official Cruise Outfit
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.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. I had a conversation with a Norwegian at Herrang about it:
Me: I went on the Hurtigruten.
Norwegian: ohhh the HUER-ti-groo-TEN
Me: umm yep.
Norwegian: Which ship did you take?
Me: The Nordlys.
Norwegian: ohhh the NAWRT-liss
Me: You know it??
Norwegian: Sure, everyone knows them.
Me: You've been on it then?
Norwegian: Nah, too expensive.
Me: ...
The expense is because well, it's Norway, but really you can't outsource this kind of product to Asia:
Stunning Midnight Sun at Tromso
Awe-inspiring Trollfjord
Beyond-charming fishing villages
Drool-inducing Chef onboard :D
Sadly, the voyage did come to an end, but happily it was in the bustling port of Bergen:
Bryggen in Bergen!
'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.
Which is why it's not hard to imagine that Bergen's most famous son is the composer Edvard Grieg who wrote the classic Morning Mood. 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.
We only had one night there though, before we set off to Oslo via the super scenic Flam railway.
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.
After hopping off the Flam Railway, there was another
This is where I slag off Oslo:
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.
Wickipedia says it's the "fastest-growing Scandinavian capital. The increase is due, in almost equal degree, to high birth rates and immigration". I'm from Australia, I am a big fan of multi-culturalism, and until Oslo, thought it'd be a good thing for everyone.
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.
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.
Wickipedia says it's the "fastest-growing Scandinavian capital. The increase is due, in almost equal degree, to high birth rates and immigration". I'm from Australia, I am a big fan of multi-culturalism, and until Oslo, thought it'd be a good thing for everyone.
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.
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.
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.
See more of the stunning figures in my Oslo pix.
See more of the stunning figures in my Oslo pix.
We got rushed out of the park to be on the ferry to the last stop on the tour: Copenhagen in Denmark.
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
[Macktastic promises not to harp on anymore about Scandinavia now. No, really. I really mean it]
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Hej Stockholm and Helsinki!
Stockholm
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 Arne Jacobsen's egg chair. Also, the most famous Scandinavian of all: the Swedish Chef from The Muppets.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
In fact the only thing as ubiquitous as the water, is the H&Ms. 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.
Just as I was figuring out how to pronounce the A with the little o on top, we were off on a ferry to...
Helsinki
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 areless heart-breaking 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.
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.
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?
Next: Brrr Norway
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 Arne Jacobsen's egg chair. Also, the most famous Scandinavian of all: the Swedish Chef from The Muppets.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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
In fact the only thing as ubiquitous as the water, is the H&Ms. 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.
Just as I was figuring out how to pronounce the A with the little o on top, we were off on a ferry to...
Helsinki
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.
The harrowing effects of alcohol abuse
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.
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
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.
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?
Next: Brrr Norway
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Scandinavia-the round up
So Wednesday morning, we woke up to an empty driveway.
The 6-week-old car vanished overnight. And the gate was closed. As if it had just popped down to the shops.
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.
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.
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.
View Larger Map
The route: Anti-clockwise on the Blue line for 2 weeks with the tour. Then Pink line on my ownsome.
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 "Scandinavia" and "Nordic" (oh yes, there's a difference)
Rudolf's posse spotted scoping a joint
All the time I gawped at new bicycles 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.
Sure, as a tourist it's unlikely "historic crackwhore den" would be included on the Copenhagen city tour, but as a comparison, in San Francisco 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 4 homeless people panhandling, 3 of them with AIDS, 2 junkies cursing...
"And ooonnne crazypersonmuttering toooo themmmm...sellllllves".
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.
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.
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.
:)
The 6-week-old car vanished overnight. And the gate was closed. As if it had just popped down to the shops.
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.
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.
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.
View Larger Map
The route: Anti-clockwise on the Blue line for 2 weeks with the tour. Then Pink line on my ownsome.
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 "Scandinavia" and "Nordic" (oh yes, there's a difference)
Rudolf's posse spotted scoping a joint
Sure, as a tourist it's unlikely "historic crackwhore den" would be included on the Copenhagen city tour, but as a comparison, in San Francisco 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 4 homeless people panhandling, 3 of them with AIDS, 2 junkies cursing...
"And ooonnne crazypersonmuttering toooo themmmm...sellllllves".
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.
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.
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.
:)
Friday, 8 August 2008
Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 2
Volunteering
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.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.
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!
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.
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.
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!
Such is Herrang, that I have to feel a flutter at the prospect of a private indoor shower.
Giddy with my new place, cycling on my newly rented bike, meeting my new Russian roommate, I'm thinking things are looking up.
They did look up. For about 5 minutes. Then they looked doowwwn, waaay dowwwn.
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.
Which brings me to...
Food
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
Banana bread of DooooooooomI'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.
Which brings me to..
Sleep
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.."
It's not a schedule I've been able to manage since I was 18, so unsurprisingly shit started to happen...
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.
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 (!)
2) Managed to successfully burn myself a bunch of times on oven racks
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.
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
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
Finally, some truthI 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.
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.
He was now in his 40s, I guessed, with two daughters a bit older than me, and definitely wider round the middle.
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.
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.
Monday, 4 August 2008
Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 1
I just read this by some-time Swede, Elin, and it got me angry.
Angry like when a vending machine eats your coins without giving you Doritos, ANGRY.
GRRRRRRRRR
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Bound for DANCE NIRVANA!!!! WOOOOT!!!!!
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.
Dance nirvana, here I come! Woo!
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.
dance nirvana...i'm gonna make it...
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?
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.
where can I eat?
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.
And here began my downfall: What I was expecting was a bunch of people who, though a little disorganised, were nonetheless helpful and fun.
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.
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.
General Accommodation
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I went to sleep, praying to all the deities, for the beginning of something better tomorrow.
Continue to Part 2
Angry like when a vending machine eats your coins without giving you Doritos, ANGRY.
GRRRRRRRRR
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Bound for DANCE NIRVANA!!!! WOOOOT!!!!!
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.
Dance nirvana, here I come! Woo!
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.
dance nirvana...i'm gonna make it...
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?
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.
where can I eat?
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.
And here began my downfall: What I was expecting was a bunch of people who, though a little disorganised, were nonetheless helpful and fun.
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.
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.
General Accommodation
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I went to sleep, praying to all the deities, for the beginning of something better tomorrow.
Continue to Part 2
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