Fraser's Hill and Bentong - Part 3 - Photos
Sunset at the Methodist bungalow
Tras
Shooting the rapids
Dragonfly on the rocks
Sunset at the Methodist bungalowTrasShooting the rapidsDragonfly on the rocks
Fraser's Hill and Bentong - Part 2
As we left Fraser's we had planned to visit the SPLASH centre.
But as we got to the bottom of the Gap junction, Raub/Bentong looked more interesting. Our sense of adventure prompted us to take a left instead of the usual right and off we went on a balmy Wednesday morning, meandering along roads which were shaded by leafy glades of bamboo and rainforest trees.
We drove through the valley town of Tranum and ended up in a little hamlet called Tras before we decided to stop and have a coffee break. But even here we had not escaped the pernicious hand of "civilisation" with machine made pau's and diesel lorries rumbling through what looked like an orchard town full of durians.
We definitely drew the attention of the villagers and all of a sudden I felt like a big city interloper who had no business being there.
Sitting down to a lovely cup of local coffee (lovely because it's fried in margarine) we proceeded to peel the pau. It was definitely of the Mcdonalds franchised variety, but it still tasted decent. Fluffy, pristine white pastry wrapping the requisite sticky "char siew" filling.
Not being sizeist but I think Tranum and Tras both share half of the proverbial horse that make them, together, a one horse town. Loved them both. Does that sound too Hollywood producerish speak? Or should I add the "darling."
From Tras we swung round and eventually headed off to the busy metropolis of Bentong. On the way in, I spied with mine little eye, a signpost pointing the way to "Air Terjun Chamang."
I was awed. Water was gushing down like gravity had concentrated all it's efforts at the bottom of the falls. And it was picture postcard picturesque.
Deciding that we had enough of straying off the garden path, Allan and I called a friend who is originally from Bentong to ask her for advice as to where and what to eat in Bentong. What we didn't expect was "I'll meet you at the restaurant."
It turned out that she had come up to Bentong over the weekend to visit her family and she was going to have lunch before heading down to KL. 20 minutes later we were ensconced in her 2nd favourite restaurant ordering our food. Her favourite was closed on Wednesdays.
One thing I've noticed about food outside of KL is that it's not as intensely flavoured. I'm not certain if this is a function of LESS MSG or it's just that our food in KL tends to be hit-over-the-head-with-sledgehammer type of cuisine but sometimes I prefer less of an assault on the senses so that you can actually taste the various flavours making up the flavour profile of the dish. We had stuff which wasn't out of the ordinary but was absolutely delicious and made more so by the company. Honey Ginger Chicken, Spring onions and ginger sauteed with sliced fish, and spinach in soup.
Allan had seen some lovely golden "pisang mas" on the way into the restaurant and so we stopped by to sample some of Bentong's produce, seeing that Bentong is a well known farmer's town. Just as we walk over however, our friend points out the tau foo fa stall next to it and since it proved too much of a temptation, we indulged. Yes, where food is concerned, we're easily distracted.
Silken, glistening, fragrant, hot, just set soya bean milk sweetened with the herbaceous vanillin notes of Pandan sugar syrup. Divine. It didn't slip or slide down one's throat as much as it got incoporated into the taste buds and vanished. It was magical. If you can imagine rippling silk in gustatory terms, you'd be close. I have not had better in KL.
I'm sorry I can't give the name of the shop because it was a stall behind the wet market.
From Bentong, we found our way back on to the highway and before you knew it we were avoiding KL traffic again.
Fraser's Hill
One can forget to take a moment to stop and smell the roses. Literally.
Gorgeous flower - The ant thought so too
The birds are chirping, traffic noise is only recognizable as a distant Doppler roar, the sun is shining brightly and dominating that is the sweet, sweet sound of stillness.
No insane ringing of phones, no clamouring for attention, no orders to be filled, no duties to be completed before the end of the day.
Allan and I decided to take a slow, deep breath and head up to Fraser’s Hill for a couple of nights.
It is so incredibly invigorating to be enveloped in a stillness that is almost never present in Kuala Lumpur anymore. There is so much to hear though. The cicadas cyclical chirping, the crickets calling, and wait, that sounds like birds’ singing.
At some point, your body says “enough.” We actually came to that point a little before Chinese New Year. Things that wouldn't have been an issue became contentious and things felt like they were beginning to crowd in. Perspective was in short supply and mountains were growing out of mole hills. But the work needed to be completed and it wasn’t till this week that we managed to take a couple of days off.
In actual fact, this short little breather is really a stop gap measure. Our Godson J is coming up and a whole bunch of us are going to Redang and staying at Redang Kalong. A few of us are getting certified and the rest of us are certifiable anyway, so we're going DIVING!
But back to Fraser's. We slept. And slept. And slept. Stayed at the Methodist bungalow which was clean but basic.
The Methodist Bungalow
The adventure bug kicked in as we wound our way back down to the bottom of the Gap. But that's part 2 of the entry.
Gorgeous flower - The ant thought so tooThe birds are chirping, traffic noise is only recognizable as a distant Doppler roar, the sun is shining brightly and dominating that is the sweet, sweet sound of stillness.
No insane ringing of phones, no clamouring for attention, no orders to be filled, no duties to be completed before the end of the day.
Allan and I decided to take a slow, deep breath and head up to Fraser’s Hill for a couple of nights.
It is so incredibly invigorating to be enveloped in a stillness that is almost never present in Kuala Lumpur anymore. There is so much to hear though. The cicadas cyclical chirping, the crickets calling, and wait, that sounds like birds’ singing.
At some point, your body says “enough.” We actually came to that point a little before Chinese New Year. Things that wouldn't have been an issue became contentious and things felt like they were beginning to crowd in. Perspective was in short supply and mountains were growing out of mole hills. But the work needed to be completed and it wasn’t till this week that we managed to take a couple of days off.
In actual fact, this short little breather is really a stop gap measure. Our Godson J is coming up and a whole bunch of us are going to Redang and staying at Redang Kalong. A few of us are getting certified and the rest of us are certifiable anyway, so we're going DIVING!
But back to Fraser's. We slept. And slept. And slept. Stayed at the Methodist bungalow which was clean but basic.
The Methodist BungalowThe adventure bug kicked in as we wound our way back down to the bottom of the Gap. But that's part 2 of the entry.
Great Local Coffee with a smidgen of Milk
First night dinner - Chicken Chop
Activism
Protesting against slavery in Madrid (1873)Activism, in a general sense, can be described as intentional action to bring about social or political change. This action is in support of, or opposition to, one side of an often controversial argument.
As defined in Wikipedia.
Activism. Good word that. Went out with a friend last night. Our conversation was everywhere on the proverbial map. Amidst the buzz of the hawker centre, we were enveloped in a cocoon of our own thoughts, our own ideas.
My "date" was an "activist." Oh, he's not a card carrying disestablishment type. But he had his own opinions and he sets about doing something about it. He tells people about what he believes and attempts to persuade them to his way of thinking. And in such a charming way that I for one, wanted to believe.
He made his points with the crystal clarity of the true believer accompanied by a glint in his eye and the serenity that comes with absoluteness. When he spoke it was with a fervency that belied his age. Or maybe it was his age that lent to his sense of fervency. Who knows?
In any case, he believes he subscribes to an absolute truth and wishes for the world to see it as he does. And I can't say it won't be a better world. To say I was struck with him would be an understatement.
In my cynically wise dotage, I averred. I agreed with him, his stance. However, stopped short of actually persuading people to that truth. Since it was about matters of spirituality and organised religion (I subscribe to one and have a sandpapery relationship with the other) I insisted that my truth was my own. How could I take the responsibility that the truth that was my own was also appropriate for everyone? I could certainly tell others about it and recount the many blessings to me personally, to Allan and to my family,through that belief, and I have no problems sharing of my experiences if the moment seemed appropriate. Furthermore, if someone wanted me to be their guide to come to my spiritual truth I would be happy to act in that capacity.
But I would certainly hesitate to ask everyone I meet to apply my formula. After all, the solution must be applicable to the situation.
In short, my "activist-date" made me think. Like another friend of ours who I recently shared this blog with.
After visiting her blog and then going on a linking spree from her blog, it's heartening to know that there are people who will speak their minds in my "Kampung."
Many of these people speak out with the knowledge that there have been cases of arbitrary detention without trial. Our school system is still very much of the "spoon feeding" variety. And statements by leaders who should know better are not always conducive to encouraging responsible, well thought out debates.
For example, a minister recently labeled ALL bloggers "liars." Instead of taking the more substantive and educational route of debating arguments methodically, smear tactics are used.
Our society has yet to learn to deal with disagreements. Generally, we do not debate with any clarity. Facts and figures give way to rumours, innuendos and personal attacks or just...silence!
Think and think, then talkHowever, it truly is heartening to see people like my date last night and my friend who speaks up, take a stand for something they believe in.
It inspires and encourages me to do the same.
Ricky Martin in Speedos
OK, the man hasn't had a bona fide hit in...forever, but you can't deny that he has certain charms! >;-) Wouldn't you like to know how "he bangs?"
I truly did not time this post deliberately. In other words, it was NOT intentional on my part to insert it after the last post about half boiled eggs!
Half Boiled Eggs for breakfast
One of my favourite breakfasts. Half boiled eggs, soya sauce, two slices of whole wheat bread generously slathered with good salted butter and some kaya (coconut jam) or marmalade.
Yes, yes, I've heard the whole salmonella thing. But if you have to worry about every little thing, then don't get up and certainly don't start driving.
Yeah!
Shock and horror on 2nd January 2007
Read on. It's self explanatory. Professor Dr Adeeba Kamarulzaman, her husband, and her two boys are close friends.
If you agree with her sentiments, please paste and copy in your blog too.
___________________________________________________
The start to the New Year has been anything but happy for my family and I. As we settled down for the evening of January 2nd after a lovely dinner with some good friends and in readiness for work after the long Hari Raya and New Year weekend, little did we suspect the terror and horror that we were to endure only hours later .
At approximately 0300 on the morning of January 3rd, I was awoken by the blood-curdling scream of my maid from her bedroom down the corridor. At that instant I was sure that she would be dead. I opened my eyes to find two men, one brandishing a cleaver and the other a foot long knife at the end of my bed shouting “Bangun, diam, kalau tidak aku bunuh engkau semua”. My initial reaction was that this was a nightmare, these are things that you read about in newspapers, that it could not possibly be happening to us. But at the sound of my seven year old who was sleeping next to me saying “Mum, what is happening, who are these people?”, I knew that this was real, that our lives were in danger. At the same instant, my husband who was also awoken by my maid’s scream rushed out the bedroom door only to be confronted by the other two robbers. I was initially left frozen in fear with my two sons in our bed as the robbers proceeded to tie my husband up. They then came back to me and asked me to come out of the bedroom and proceeded to tie my hands up as well, all the time reminding us to be quiet or they would kill us. I was subsequently asked to get my maid out from her room where upon initially sighting the robbers in the house she had locked herself in.
From then they proceeded to ransack the house. My elderly mother in-law who was visiting from overseas was also held at knife point as they proceeded to ransack her suitcase. In there the robbers found a bounty as she had returned for the 75th birthday celebration of her sister and had some jewellery for the special occasion. Incredulous that I did not possess the same amount of valuables in my bedroom the robbers proceeded to ransack every nook and cranny of the room and repeatedly asked me for them. The brazenness of these robbers can be gleaned by the fact that apart from one who wore a scarf over his mouth the other three made no attempts at disguising their identities. Furthermore they were in the house for approximately 45 minutes, showing no fear of being caught as they satisfied themselves to the contents of our house.
As we sat there terrified but quiet as they went about their “job” a recurring thought that came to my mind was that yes I need to be able to identify these people. But I was also constantly reminded of my nine year old son’s advise whenever we get invaded by monkeys (of the macaque kind) at the house “Mum, never look at the monkeys in the eyes or they think you are challenging them”. And that was exactly how I felt then – these people who had invaded and entered our house that morning were no longer human beings. They were no different to the packs of macaques that regularly invade our house looking for food. They only left after finding my diamond wedding and engagement ring which I had slipped off my finger initially and placed under my pillow. It was literally a scene out of the Malay saying “macam kera dapat bunga” – for upon discovering the ring they converged and consulted one another and agreed that it was time to leave.
When my husband and I made a conscious decision to return to Malaysia after many years of studying and working overseas it was to return to our families and to contribute our skills and expertise to the country. This episode has made us rethink if this was indeed the correct decision, not perhaps for us, for yes we have enjoyed enormous satisfaction from returning up until this sorry event, but for our two young children. Will they have to grow up in this increasingly violent country where they will not be able to go to sleep at night without worrying if they are going to wake up to a knife pointed at their throats?
As we celebrate the 50th year of Merdeka and spend lavishly on attracting tourists to the country, is it too much for this citizen (and every other citizen for that matter) who chose to make Malaysia home and partake in another 10-20 years of nation building to ask that we may go about our lives knowing that we will be safe and protected?
Professor Dr Adeeba Kamarulzaman
Petaling Jaya
My new toy - Sony Ericsson K800i...and the Steamboat that went with it...
I just received my new toy. A Sony Ericsson K800i. Lest anyone think it was a frivolous purchase, let me assure you that I thought long and hard. And hard and long. Before I took the plunge. The decider was really that Allan's credit card had an offer we couldn't refuse. 12 months and it was like under RM150 per month.
So here are some pics relevant to my favourite subject...eating!
After boot camp tonight, the bunch of us, including our sensei and our "si mo", went into the deepest, darkest reaches of Taman Desa to seek out HO A ONE SEAFOOD STEAMBOAT.
Damn good value, if I do say so. Ended up paying RM20 per person.
"Stocking" up!
The Chilli makes it all right!The food was awesome. Fresh, light, intense. I've always loved the contradictory textures in steamboat. Everything is fair game; from meat to fish, poultry to seafood, noodles to rice and many nowadays even use rice porridge to "fondue" your meat. And this one was really a good representative of the breed. Good strong stock. Meat which is fresh as fresh can be. And a nice large round table to yell accross.
Let's not forget the variety of condiments to eat it with. A tart, spicy chilli paste. Not a sauce. Nice amount of heat. Not too much.
And then, at the end, that stock. That wonderful, glorious stock. Every single flavour that you've cooked in it has deepened and sweetened it to the point that every single thing you've eaten is there. Melded together. Redolent of every good memory that you've experienced of the meal.
GAYSTED
Heterosexual people getting so wasted, they slip into seemingly gay acts. The loose definition: "It is when you are soooo drunk (wasted) and dudes start dancing with you and you just sort of go along with it and then they start putting their arms around you and you just kind of keep rolling with it because you're drunk and you sort of think the dude is being your dancefloor bro, but then when you sober up you realize that the situash is sort of weird. when this happens, you tell your friends, 'dude, i got so gaysted last night."
Passion - Juwita Suwito's launch, Jaclyn Victor, & The Cammies
I was going to write about what I had for breakfast, but on second thoughts, even I don't find that to be very interesting. Except when the photo has been taken with my new phone. But that's another post for another day. Today its about...
Passion.
How can one live without it?
Passion for life. It's like the salt in Salt baked chicken. The Kahlua in Tiramisu. The food lab in Feran Adria's El Bulli. Let's face it! Salt baked chicken would be very bland without the salt!
You can make a VERY GOOD living and maybe even get wealthy pursuing a passion. Richard Branson did it. People like Anita Roddick of Body Shop fame did it. Many stars of the art and business world did it.
But then again, if you're pursuing your passion, money is not the final goal is it?
It's the satisfaction, the fulfillment of being able to do what you set out to do well. To do it to the best of YOUR ability.
Juwita Suwito is a very good friend who is a singer and performer. We had the honour and privilege of sponsoring the desserts for her album launch.
When she performs, she wears her heart on her sleeve, in her voice, and in her face. It's what drove her to independently produce her own album. And she IS a musician worth following. In this country we always hear, "oh, they're very good...for a Malaysian." Well, she IS Malaysian but that fact shouldn't be the reason why you buy her album. She's just...Plain...Good! Listen to her.
Kieran Kuek is another man with a passion. We met this unassuming gent at Juwita's launch and he mentioned that he composed songs for Juwita. Me being the "blur sotong" that I can be at times did not put 2 and 2 together and just nodded and smiled! I didn't even congratulate him! Turns out he composed 2 of the songs on Juwita's album. Listen to them.
Chris Leow (MD Four Fourty Records), Allan, Juwita Suwito, Jaclyn Victor, Kieran Kuek, Yours TrulyThen, there was Jaclyn Victor. It was lovely to have the opportunity to meet her. That voice. You'd never think that a petite little thing like that would be able to produce that HUGE sound. But she does.
Passion. Just Heavenly, our company, was started out of passion. The passion for good food and desserts and for making dreams come true for wedding couples. Hence our tag line, "Designing Dreams, Serving Pleasure."
The Boh Cameronian Art's Awards (The Cammies), which held their nominations party for the 5th Boh Cameronian Arts Awards 2006 today, were established by people who had the heart and a passion to promote the arts in Malaysia. And we've been fortunate to be a part of it in the form of our acappella group; The Wicked Pitches.
A passion for singing brought us together more than 5 years ago. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves in for when we began this journey. 5 and a bit years, some tears, long hours, lots of arguments, frayed nerves, and joyous moments later, we've been nominated (you may need to register for kakiseni to see what's on the link) in 4 out of 6 categories for The Cammies. Best group performance (voice), Best production values, Best solo, and Best musical direction. This is our 3rd time being nominated but our 1st time for so many categories. The winners will be announced on 29th April.Passion. Live it.
Stories
Doesn't it strike you as glorious and amazing that everyone has a story?
Can you imagine if you had the time to talk to and learn from every single one of all the billions of people in the world, what riches you would glean from that endeavour?
I do.
Every single person, every single voice, has a unique story all their own. Each minute of their experience in this human existence as valid as the next person's. The blogging phenomenon brings this home every time I click on a new blog.
Spencer Tunick captures this in his photographs with eminent clarity. Truly, a picture paints a thousand words.
Consomme & Chinese New Year
The Dragon's Head
All the four Lions
Sans martial artists
The God of Good Fortune's Headdress
If you've never made Consomme, you have to try it at least once in your life. Gorgeous crystal clear soup. Literally. But BOY was it hard work. First I had to make the stock. Any good stock will work. But make sure you don't take any short cuts. I used lots of oxtail (about 2kg's worth), aromatics (carrots, celery, onions), some peppercorns, bouquet garni, and lots of water to cover the oxtail. Boil then simmer for 3 to 4 hours. After which, you plonk it in the fridge and chill it overnight. Make sure you make space in your fridge for the pot BEFORE you start anything. The fat will float to the top and you will be able to skim it off. Fat is the enemy of consomme; it must be skimmed off as MUCH as possible. And there'll be a lot of it from Ox Tail. The reason why I chose oxtail is there's meat on the tail which you can use to garnish and lots of bone to make the consomme slightly gelatinous. Yum!
After that I found this clarifying technique using a "raft." Here's the link, complete with pictures. I'd suggest you print it out if you're truly interested. It's very good and takes you step by step.
The raft truly floats to the top and your resulting consomme glows like a jewel with the same clarity. The word "crystal" comes to mind. I had to dilute the stock as it was soooooo rich. The best part was when I refrigerated it and it gelled (as the pic above). It's delicious served cold or warm.
Chinese New Year
Although I'm Portuguese Eurasian or Geragok (as some refer to us) our family celebrates Chinese New Year.
And because of my "rojak" (mixed Malaysian salad) background I was just reflecting on how we celebrate the occasion.
My partner being Chinese must go back to his family's place. And I've got to be at my Mum's and Dad's. Since we both want to celebrate and be together we've worked out a system where we run over to his Mum's place for a bit and then come back for a later dinner over at my place. Needless to say, this is not recommended behaviour for those who are worried about their girlish figure, since, to be polite, you have to stuff yourself at BOTH places.
In any case, because I was cooking this year, it got me thinking about how diverse and accepting our families are. Allan and I have been together long enough for his octogenarian Grandmother to be referring to my mother as his "Mother In Law." His Grandmother's words.
For one thing, I'm Eurasian but as a family we celebrate Christmas, Chinese New Year, and to a certain extent Raya (Ramadhan) because of my cousin. At CNY dinner this year, we had Yee Sang, and then went full fledged western with Consomme, Beef Wellington, and Passion Fruit banana Souffle.
On top of that my Mum asked us if our friend, S, who also happens to be gay, would like to come.
Although it get's somewhat crazy now and again, it's good being part of my family.
Life...X'mas and New Year.
If I had my druther's I'd be spending all my time sitting in front of my laptop at a wifi enabled outlet typing my blog 3 times a day.
Sigh...
Actually...I think that's just a place my mind and heart are at this moment. I have a distinct suspicion that my desires at this moment ...
...sooooooooooo cute! Just watched this young couple kiss each other as they gave each other presents. And I mean YOUNG! All of 21 or 22?
Anyway I digress...
...my desires at this moment would lead me to be bored after 2, maybe 3 days after I started doing what I said above.
So much has happened.
The Wicked Pitches had our show in November. We didn't even have time to experience the post show blues/anticlimax. Allan and I pretty much dived into Christmas and since then it's been non stop weddings/cakes/social events.
It's been all horrendously fun but very much a gaussian blur.
Christmas came and went all too quickly and now even New Year's is over.
I miss the times we used to be able to actually take a couple of days off before Christmas.
But having said that, its shaping up to be an exciting year. Lots of new things happening and lots of exciting changes. We hope.
Take care all, Merry Belated Christmas and a very Happy, Healthy, and Prosperous New Year.
Much Love.
The Wicked Pitches - "Mostly, We Moon..." 16th to 19th November 2006 at Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre (KLPAC)
This acappella concert will be in aid of Hospis
For those of you can't be bothered to click, here is the map itself! ;-)
| When; | Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, 16th to And a Matinee show on |
| Where; |
|
| Tickets & Reservations; | Available from Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre AND The Actors’ Studio Bangsar - Tickets go on sale Reservations; 03-40479000 or 03-20949400 |
| Prices; | RM62, RM42, RM30* for shows from Friday to Sunday 17th to RM80 for CHARITY show in aid of Hospis |
Langkawi Dream Engagement & Pulau Tenggol
Capt Ed and Bolero
Swan 59 Class of YachtWe've been very very fortunate guys!
We had the opportunity to plan a dream engagement for a couple who won the prize of the dream engagement from Hennessy. The itinerary was truly dream fulfilling. A stay at the 5 star resort of Sheraton Langkawi Beach Resort. An evening cruise on board a racing yacht (Swan 59 class) and a lovely romantic candlelit dinner for the couple plus an excursion to the the misnamed suspension bridge by cable car. Misnamed because it really is a Cable Stay bridge. Something that W, an engineer by profession should know something about. ;-)
The weekend after that we pissed off to Tenggol for a short diving break. It's one of those things that is so addictive, that even a bad experience, like bobbing up and down on the sea for 55minutes doesn't put you off it. You chalk it up to the experience and move on and enjoy yourself. Have a look at the pics. ;-)
Descent to the depths
Blue Dragon Nudibranch
Lionfish
The Flying Dutchman? ;-)
Pic of giant clam copied from D's pic. Frankly, if D wanted to, he could become a truly wonderful professional photographer. As they say, the only difference between a pro and a passionate amateur is that one get's paid for it.
Nemo
Glass shrimp - see if you can spot them
Sea Slug sex or Nudibranch Nookie - Can you spot the penis?
Surfer Dude
Ah...
Idea of North
Had the privilege of attending a Master Class conducted by The Idea of North.
Fantastic acappella group and all round nice people.
Here's a pic of Mimi and I with them. :-)
Messages from the Aethyr
Mum, Dad, and myself have been planning to go to Singapore for a couple of weeks now. We were going to go visit a cousin of mine who is not too well and we were leaving on 14 May.
Plans change.
A string of events led to that change in plans. But in and of themselves, they seemed innocuous enough.
Last Thursday, after servicing our Honda, we brought the car back and noticed that the crack in our front windscreen had grown and was now stretching all the way down the left side of the glass. We ignored it.
On Friday, when Allan went to start the car on our way out to a dinner, there was an explosion which we later found out was an exploding battery. Kudos to Honda by the way for the great service and efficient and timely communications! But the service centre later told us that it was not common and our car was the first one that that centre had ever seen happen.
While the car was being serviced on Saturday, we made alternate plans to drive Dad's Merc down to Singapore. The car had just been serviced and it was running nicely.
With my car being serviced, and Dad using Mum's car, I had no choice but to run around in Dad's car. When I switched the airconditioner on, warm air blew out of it and remained that way for the next 10 minutes, the time it took me to get to my next destination. Yes, the airconditioner was on the fritz.
At this time, Dad and I agreed that maybe we should try the busses to get to Singapore. So off he goes to try and get tickets.
By now, looking back at the string of events that had occurred, I was not quite comfortable going to Singapore. It seemed like something was trying to tell us not to go.
The phone rings and it's Dad. He tells me the bus tickets are full. Going down on Sunday. Hmmmm! At that point I decided that we're not coming down.
Something was telling us not to go. I'm certain.
KELLIE PICKLER has been kicked out!
YAY! YAY! Joy! Joy!
And yes, "American Idol" is my guilty pleasure!
Continuation of my previous blog on "Gubra."
Ustaz Khoiron
By Karim Raslan
Published on August 20, 2002
http://www.ytlcommunity.com/karimraslan/article.asp?theid=30
The Holy Koran opens with the words “Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Rahim” – “In the Name of Allah, the Merciful, The Compassionate.” The immortal phrase follows you wherever you are in the Islamic world – it’s inscribed on the walls of mosques and homes and yet very few people, let alone believers actually stop to consider its meaning.
Clearly, forgiveness is an integral part of Islam’s timeless message and the prominence with which these two qualities – mercy and compassion have been singled out from the Ninety-nine names of Allah has, over the centuries provided a source of reassurance and solace for believers.
But man is flawed and all too often practitioners have been anything but ‘forgiving’. Instead, faith and belief is reduced to little more than a list of ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’. In fact, contemporary Islamic practices in the Middle East (and especially the vein associated with Wahabism) appear to have sidelined the idea of forgiveness. Public debate – the Friday khutbah or sermon concentrates almost exclusively on transgression, on sin and on the suitability of punishment. Ritual has become all-important, assuming precedence along with a series of nasty ‘fire and brimstone’ lectures delivered by men (and occasionally women) who have no comprehension of humanity or a capacity for compassion.
However, the capacity to forgive and to be compassionate has not been entirely forsaken. Faith – true faith – can and does flourish in adversity, manifesting itself in the strangest places. Last month, in the heart Surabaya’s grimy, red-light district of Bangunsari – just ten minutes away from the bustling port of Tanjung Priok, I came across an understated couple who showed me – without realizing it themselves, that man hadn’t entirely failed to live up to the powerful and persuasive message. 
Ustaz Khoirun with Suparti and Titin, photo by Rama Surya, Surabaya
Ustaz Khoiron and his wife Roudatul possess the quiet confidence of those who are truly religious. They are comfortable in themselves, they know that actions spoke louder than words: they don’t need to show off or pontificate.
I knew they were unusual even before I’d met them. I’d heard about the work they were doing in the lokalasasi (a designated area set aside for prostitution) – about the two schools they’d set up, the prayer classes and the ceramahs they organized as well as the impressive thirty-three meter high minaret that Khoiron had recently added to the local mosque. Located at the entrance to the lokalasasi, on the lane that brought many of the clients and ‘johns’ to Bangunsari, the Masjid al-Fatah’s striking minaret was an indication of the area’s growing sobriety: the encroaching world of the middle classes. Khoiron had also pointed out and proudly the small library alongside the mosque. In the evenings the building was as lively as one of the whorehouses, crammed with youngsters who had nowhere else to go.
Still, it took a simple and unexpected gesture by the forty-one year old Khoiron before I really sat up and took notice. At the time, I was observing a ceramah that Khoiron and a local community leader, Gusrianto arranged every Friday afternoon for the neighbourhood’s prostitutes. One of the girls (Linda, a 29-year old from Jember) had just completed a heart-felt, if halting recitation from al-Nisar, (The Women) the fourth Surah of the Holy Koran. Her voice was hoarse and her throat was obviously dry. Just then, Khoiron leant forward to offer her a small plastic container of water.
It was ingenuous act. However, given the woman’s profession his thoughtfulness was almost shocking. Most ustaz’s I knew would have been disgusted and appalled to have been in the presence of so many prostitutes even though all fifty of women were dressed demurely. But, for Khoiron, the women were a challenge. They were his challenge. Somehow, they gave him justification: they were his target – his objective: he wanted to win them over.
Later when I talked to Roudatul at their small home, I began to get a sense of the passion that had propelled the couple. Roudatul was thirty-three years old and despite the seedy environment she was always generous with her smiles. She wore a hejab, albeit casually. Still, the plain, white material couldn’t quite hide the beauty of her warm, guileless face. She cradled her youngest son in her arms as we talked.
“Khoiron and I had an arranged marriage. I was a pesantren girl – ten years studying at Bangil. I certainly didn’t know I was going to end up living in an area like this! I was so upset when I first arrived: I was angry and embarrassed. The prostitutes were right outside the house! They were everywhere. But later I realized that this is ‘my’ battle. I wouldn’t move anywhere else now: you must help people and we – Khoiron and I – must help these women to change their ways.”
The forty-one year old, Nahdatul Ullama ustaz Khoiron laughs when I ask him about his work in the lokalasasi. He’s a handsome man: darker than his wife and well built. He has a firm handshake and an easy manner: like a businessman. As we talk, there are moments when he looks slightly Arabic. This is not altogether surprising given the Pesisir’s (the north coast of Java’s) strong historical and cultural links with the Arab peninsular and the Hadramaut in particular.
“Can you imagine how bored I’d be if I was living in a quiet little community surrounded by santri (or religious students)? When I first started here, twenty-five years ago there were three thousand girls. Now there are only 900. You ask anyone about Bangunsari! It’s so close to the port and full of seamen. It was notorious!
“From a philosophical viewpoint we must remember that Allah is very loving. He gives food and drink to all men and women: good and bad. Who am I to judge? Who am I to say you’re evil or you’re good? My responsibility is straightforward: I must win the people over. Besides, if everyone was good I’d have nothing to do!” 
The girls listening to Ustaz Khoirun's talk, photo by Rama Surya, Surabaya
Living in a tiny house along a narrow gang (or lane) in the middle of Bangunsari, Khoiron’s home is little different from the girlie bars that surround him, except that there is mushollah (a small prayer hall) on the first floor. The family is clearly industrious and hardworking. His mother who still wears a tightly wrapped traditional Javanese baju kebaya every day runs a small warung and his wife supplements her income with a Wartel (a telephone store). Otherwise the ustaz’s home is essentially as simple as his neighbours’.
The Nahdatul Ullama does not support individual ustaz’s: the families are on their own. Essentially, they depend on the surrounding communities for their livelihood. As a result Khoiron earns his income by giving ceramahs, officiating at weddings and even accompanying pilgrims to Mecca. His wife also organizes religious classes for over six hundred children every week: the parents pay Rp2,000 (RM1) per child per month. The house shudders when the kids dash up the external staircase to reach the mushollah. Their shrieking is almost deafening but Roudatul is so used to it she’s says she’d miss the commotion if it were to stop.
Every Friday afternoon, Khoiron and the local community leader arrange a small ceramah for the prostitutes. The location is neutral: the hall nearby – not the mosque. Having followed Khoiron as he walks through the lanes of the lokalasasi and watched him talking to the women I know the ceramah will be interesting. He is polite with them, respectful even. He smiles and says hello. He doesn’t treat them disdainfully and they respond positively to his manner.
As M’bak Yah a prostitute in her forties says of Khoiron: “He’s a good man. He treats us decently. I like his ceramahs – lots of us go. He isn’t proud or haughty. He encourages us to go home to our families.”
Gubra, Religion, & Entertainment
At first glance, the title given to this post seems contradictory. Paradoxical almost.
But after having watched "Gubra" you know that the 3 can perfectly coexist.
"Gubra" is a film that finally restores my faith in the potential of Malaysian cinema as well as, dare I say it, Malaysians in general.
I had the fortune of sitting next to a doyen of Malaysian cinema at a dinner party not too long ago and we had an amazing conversation. Datuk L. Krishnan has directed more films than I know during the 50s and 60s and spoke with conviction when he said "I keep telling these fellows to produce MalaySIAN movies, not just Malay movies."
Never was a truer word spoken.
And yesterday, I had the privilege of watching a true MalaySIAN film which entertained, tugged at your heart strings, made you laugh, made you cry, and made you believe that the best in our society is out there.
SPOILER ALERT!
From the beginning, Gubra was a film that took risks. A Muezzin who pets a dog, which must be shocking (but watch what happens when the dog "walks" off) to our more fundamental brothers, a bare (but cute) bum flapping in the wind along with the hospital robe, pork being chopped in an ostensibly Malay film, penis jokes, Muslims who looked the part of "Koran" Thumpers but subscribed to the best part of Islam, a devout muslim couple who took time to make space in their lives for a couple of prostitutes, a meaningful loving hug for an HIV positive person who rejects it at first, a delicate discussion about non-Malays in our society ("Sometimes I wonder if you guys realise how hard it is for the rest of us to live here. It’s like being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back."), and most of all a juxtaposition of prayers which for once highlights the similarities between Christianity and Islam.
I've always believed that being brothers of the Book, Christians and Muslims have had their faiths hijacked by vocally aggressive fanatics who have no compassion or mercy or love. And for faiths that are 99% similar in preaching peace, brotherly love, truth, honesty, and compassion, those same vocally aggressive fanatics also set the agenda for discussing, arguing, fighting, and warring over that 1% of difference. A difference that can be attributed to nothing more than differences of understanding the same message.
From the opening scenes right up to the closing and the surprise ending (after the credits) I was marvelling at the humour, the heart, and the outright talent of Malaysian filmmakers and actors. "Gubra" articulated the best in our people. Fancy that, a film that makes me say "our people" without hesitation. This film made me proud to be a Malaysian. It just goes to prove, that with heart and passion, Malaysians are capable of being the best of the best.
I can't encourage, urge, coerce, or push everyone enough to go and see this stand alone sequel to "Sepet."
In the words of Jellaludin Rumi, which is flashed onto the screen at the end of the film, "The lamps are different but the Light is the same."
Well done, Aunty Yasmin!
Mo-ayy or Mw-ett?
Many years ago, I had the privilege of visiting the Champagne region of France during a school break. Those were the heady days of RM3.80 to the £1. No visas were required, so it was literally a hop, skip, and a jump by ferry over to Calais one Bank Holiday weekend with two friends. My Greek buddy, an American friend, and I picked up a Pug (a Peugeot 305) in Calais and drove down to Paris through the Champagne district of France.
It was the first time I ever drove a Left Hand Drive car. I didn't really have any problems and it was late spring/early summer. The weather was, as they say in "Famous Five" books, glorious! Just the type of day for a picnic with bags of tomatoes and lashings of ginger beer!
I sorta had a thing for this Greek guy. So it made it all the more interesting. His name was Angelos. He had these really intense Meditteranean eyes and that accent...
Of course, I wasn't out yet, so had to yearn after him in private. It didn't help that he was very affectionate. He used to have his arm around me all the time. I put that down to the European in him. But then on some mornings to wake me up, he'd climb in to bed with and cuddle. Years later I actually wondered if maybe he was trying to tell me something. It was sort of a lesson I learnt; never miss an opportunity!
Anyway, I digress.
The sun was shining, the breeze was balmy, and we were in our late teens, early twenties. We thought we were such hot shit! NEXT was the big mid range clothing store of the day and bright jumpers, baggy pants ala Duran Duran/New Romantics were the rage.
We drove into Reims, parked and proceeded to be tourists. First, we visited Reims Cathedral, a gorgeous gothic icon. Next we visited the House of Pommery. A very popular brand of champagne then and now. They had these magnificent chalk cellars left behind by the Romans which keep a constant temperature year round. Although I doubt Methode Champenoise was invented then!
After that, we went to Moët & Chandon. As we were being taken round, by the resident tour guide who was also one of the employees of Moët, I noticed he kept on closing out the 'O' and pronouncing the 'T' of 'Moët.' Sort of like 'Mo-wett." I of course, being the impatient soul I am asked him about this, because the French don't usually pronounce the 'T's', and I had always thought it was pronounce 'Moh-ayy.'
He explained that Claude Moët was a French citizen but that his family was originally from the Netherlands. So Moët was actually a Dutch name. Hence the pronounciation 'Mo-ett' with the hard 'T'.
I blogged this because in the last 2 days I've heard numerous people pronouncing 'Moët' 'Mo-ayy.' And me being the infinitely curious soul I am, had to do a bit of searching to confirm my suspicions. Call it my bit of OCD. I can't stand NOT knowing. So, I headed over to Google and this entry came up on Wikipedia;
"Commonly mispronounced "mō-way", the actual pronunciation is "mo-wett". Moët is indeed French champagne, but it is spelled with a diaeresis, and this is where the confusion lies. Claude Moët was born in France in 1683; however, his name is not French, it is Dutch."
In any case, the subsequent drive to Paris was every bit as exciting as every tour book, and everyone said it would be. We lounged at cafes, picked up baguettes to eat with ripe Brie and Camembert along the River Seine. Ate at underground French bistros serving rustic French food, and of course, to wash it all down, straight from the bottle, sans glasses or cups, our "Mo-ett."
M! The Opera
It's so easy to be negative. And perhaps for some of those who post on kakiseni.com, they feel it's clever, but I feel it defeats the purpose of CRITIQUE; especially when it's not even dignified with the inclusion of their own name. Which, to my mind, makes their opinions so much hot air.
It's a lot tougher to be constructive.
Antares wrote a brilliant review. Balanced, constructive, and he called it like he saw it. He was diplomatic, almost to a fault; but in this country, it's tough to know where to draw the line. Especially since the community is so small. Having said that, he was, I felt, compassionately honest.
My 2 cents...
Generally, I enjoyed the show.
I was awed by the creative energies that were so evident in the show. The amount of time, effort, and most especially, the talent that was poured into the show was nothing short of stupendous. It made me proud to sit and watch a show produced, created, and staged by fellow Malaysians that could be staged anywhere in the world.
That's not to say it would have been as kindly received! ;-) As we know the world's press is a lot less "forgiving" than our local establishments. And of course, sensationalistic negativism always sells more papers. Being bitchy is always seen as being so much more "clever" and witty.
The music on the whole displayed flashes of brilliance. Staging was really good. The cast, to a man, sang well. The mix of pop voices and operatic voices worked well. The costumes were, in short, fabulous!
My partner saw it twice. And he felt that the show was better the 2nd time around. Because of changes.
Therein lies my first problem.
Changes during the run?
A show of this magnitude should strive to be as consistent as possible, during the run. Changes during a run can only mean that the creative process, while certainly awe inspiring to a first time viewer of M! like myself, was allowed to run unfettered. At the beginning of a production, that is a good thing. But when you come to the actual staging of the show, it is not. Especially when you need to make sure the mass audience consumes a consistently high quality product.
In other words, the artistic has total control to the detriment of the commercial. There needs to be, I believe, a balance of both. With the slider bar moving from "art" to "commerce" closer to the date of performance. A certain discipline needs to be exercised to draw a line. It's not easy.
My second issue lay with the coherence of the Opera. The music was brilliant, if somewhat inaccessible during the more experimental bits. Some of the ballads were heart stoppingly beautiful. Saidah Rastam is indeed a composer of international stature.
However, a leitmotif to tie the entire opera would have made a huge difference.
As it was, I felt I was watching vignettes rather than a seamless Opera. The entire feel was choppy.
The use of recitatives to move the plot along interspersed with individual Arias (that's what they were) were classic Opera devices.
The libretto was at times, somewhat enigmatic. There were some deep metaphors which were being explored which meant that you really had to think about what you were watching. This may be culturally accurate. Malay plays I believe use metaphor a lot. But for an opera which aspires to the international stage AND to be a commercially viable piece, it can make it tough for the mass audience to understand. The question is, how do you make it subtle enough not to be sledgehammer obvious for a certain amount of sophistication, but not to shroud the whole thing in metaphor that too much thinking on the part of the audience is required?
Which brings me to my summary of M! The Opera. In general, I really liked it. On a cerebral level. There were flashes of absolute brilliance. The staging, music, costumes and performances were up there with almost anything I'd seen before.
But it wasn't something I felt in my gut. I did not step out of M! gushing. Nor did I come out hating a particular character, nor did I leave humming a particular tune. For all it's brilliance, a theme, a motif would have been the ribbon on the present.
Kudos to all the performers; George Chan (who stole the show from Khir Rahman, who himself was very very good) Doreen Tang, for her singing, performance, and obviously, her tireless efforts at portraying a muse. Cindy Yeap, Peter Ong, Timothy Ooi, Azean Irdawaty, Paula Malai Ali, Maizurah Hamzah, Mia Palencia, and the ensemble for delivering above and beyond the call of duty. Yes, I heard about the rehearsals! ;-)
But above all, Kudos to Saidah, the producers, Chako Vadaketh, the director, Jo Kukathas and everyone involved with the show.
I feel that with a certain amount of editing and judicious scoring M! The Opera could be a certifiable hit. It has all the right ingredients. Love, hate, jealousy, murder, remorse! Everything a good Opera needs.
I certainly hope the hoops and the hurdles won't stop this bunch of merry people from moving forward. M! The Opera, for all it's faults was a very big step in the right direction.
LowTee Swimsuits
If you have an old favourite tshirt (mine is my black, Halloween Hard Rock Maui T shirt with Skeletons surfing), you can now save it by sending it to LowTee and have it converted to a speedo style pair of swim trunks.
Check Maddie's concert tour tshirt out;
I've got a sneaky suspicion however, that the creators of this fashion brainstorm must be targetting a certain fit segment of the market. Their sizes max out at "L" for Large at 34-36 in waists.