Ugh. My wordsmithing skills have rusted beyond repair. The previous post was born from the final death throes of my feisty creative writing self. I’ve squandered all my energies on work and successfully making this Jill a dull girl. Now that I’ve something incredible happening in the romantic department that makes me want to write about it a passionata, with a vivacious vocabulary and fearless ease in expressing the hooting excitement of having found a person to expose my heart to.
Throughout my mildly interesting life, I’d rather stick nails into my eyeballs than talk about feelings with another human being. However with this person, I can’t help throwing my trench coat open and flashing the private parts of my mind at him. Well, it’s his fault for wearing his heart on his sleeve and being so revealing with his intentions.
Se você esta lendo isso e você conhece essa pessoa, parabens!
This is it, I’m experiencing the ubiquitous mid-life crisis. No career to speak of, no relationship to produce on social media and nothing to brag about except a home mortgage to pay.
My chest is burning with anxiety and ennui. The fear that I cannot afford to make costly mistakes is choking me slowly. Recklessness is so tempting right now. Just thinking about packing my bags to live in a foreign country is like a quick espresso shot that dissolves into fatigue and cold shivers of dread.
I don’t know how to choose the things I should focus with my life. Work is just a means to live for me, thanks to the grim reality that sacrificing mental energies and time does not yield rewards. I am envious of 40-year-old otakus who pour so much passion on their 2 dimensional goddesses of fantasy. They are burning for something. I have lost the spark and kindling to nurture a decent hearth.
It has been years since I’ve written for myself. I can’t recall when I stopped writing about moments in my life, the flow of thoughts dammed and diverted back into the secret depths of my mind. Swirling and sloshing but flowing nowhere except within the concrete confines of a brittle heart.
It could be the fear of hurting the rice paper thin sensitivities of a person just to avoid the emotional drama. Or possibly to suppress the unfathomable burst of rage that is cultivated by the stream of judgements passed over trivial matters every second of my waking life. Even the unbearably blushing excitement of romance has become a mythical moment from the past. I loved some people in that way but now, the leaden cynic has applied a checklist to screen potential candidates. Perhaps I took the suffocating stagnancy for cultivating spiritual stillness. Say nothing and nothing will arise. I want to say ‘I love you’ one more time but trust is such a precious commodity to bestow on a stranger at the expense of a fragile fearful heart. Safe but so suffocating.
I enjoyed writing, word smithing as a friend called it when he was approaching the crossroads of his life. The wonderful sense of satisfaction that arises upon painting the white slate with an array of words, testing the writer’s vocabulary stock which dwindles as the brain succumbs to age and ennui. Indeed, when change pushes one into the crossroads and uncertainty plagues the mind with possibilities and impossibilities, the need to pour out the churning thoughts into a torrent of words is irresistible.
It is surprising to find that the words are still there, albeit lesser than in my younger days. I miss the cathartic flow of sentences and paragraphs that come from my precocious mind and reckless heart. Is the passion still there? Ironic that for someone who lives in the inner world for so long, I cannot tell with full confidence whether the broiling passions are still within me.
I might have hidden it so well that I forgot where I left it. Just like how I hid my pocket money in my younger days. I completely forgot the secret hoard until I discover the hidden stash while spring cleaning years later. Then I hide it somewhere else and forget.
I want to come back to who I was and take the passions with me, so I can move on to the next version of my self.
The Bali sun smiled on my nose, her smiles were full of passion.
My nose remembers her fiery kiss and now it’s exfoliating.
I was abducted to the beautiful, chicken-shaped island of Bali by my German friend, Jenni, who spent 4 months living, breathing, eating and , of course, studying there. Having bade farewell to the cleanliness, order and modern comforts of Singapore, I found myself standing in the middle of the airfield of Ngurah Rai International Airport with other dazed tourists as A360s roared overhead. Bali may have been the perennial tourist destination for a romantic getaway, the logistical infrastructure and hygiene standards have consistently maintained itself throughout the years for a developing country (i.e. less insane than the urban chaos in South India. Refer to my Tamil Nadu travel post ). With exception to Nusa Dua and Tommy Suharto’s Dreamland, the narrow roads are clogged with blue taxis and motorcycles on which goods and pillion riders are balanced acrobatically between biker and machine.
From the car window, I see shops, shrine, shop, shrine, rice field, shrine, shops, shrine, Kerbokan prison, shops, shrine, rice fields… Bali is the only island in Indonesia with Hinduism as its mainstream religion however instead of the bells, smoke and fire we see here, Bali has modified the practices and decorum substantially. Ritual offerings were made many times a day at the shrine, the shop entrance and even at the traffic junction. I was told the bigger the shrine, the greater the family’s wealth and influence. Duh.
On the first day, Jenni brought me to Moka’s, a French cafe, for a nice European breakfast. I was already in paradise after being served a generous bowl of honey-drizzled yoghurt fruit salad, thick avocado juice (unlike the watered down version in Singapore) , a chocolatine bun and a cup of hot tea with milk (42,000 Rph=SGD 7). Fruit salad became my top breakfast choice for my remaining days in Bali.
We strolled along the shopping street lined with glass windows displaying designer summer wear, home accessories and funky jewellery before hopping into a Blue Bird taxi to see the Monument Nasional (National Monument) in Renon Square. Blue Bird is Indonesia’s major taxi company and not only do all the taxis run on metered fare, the drivers have some proficiency in English. Getting around by taxi is both convenient and cheap and probably the only transport option for a first-time visitor. We rented a non-metered taxi for a day at a dirt-cheap rate of 400,000 Rph= SGD 60 to travel to East Bali. Even when traveling to South Bali on meter, covering Tommy Suharto’s Dreamland and Padang Padang beach (Think ”Eat,Pray,Love”), the total fare was approximately 450,000 Rph.
The Monument Nasional is a musuem which houses a series of dioramas depicting the history of Bali. Ascending a spiral staircase (menstruating individuals are not allowed, don’t ask me why) takes us to the viewing platform where one can see the whole Denpasar city landscape. What surprised me was for such a magnificent architecture as this, Jenni and I were the only foreign tourists. I was amused when the local Indonesian tourists asked to have a photograph taken with us. I guess they don’t really get to see the blue-eyed and slit-eyed in these parts. We took a cab to the Bali Museum but it was closed so we strolled around Puputan Badung Park marvelling at the giant chess board and visited the temple next to the museum. We also decided to give Pasar Badung a miss thanks to the monsoon rains and the lack of parking space.
The next stop which left an impression was Pasar Burung, a one-stop market for pets and supplies. The first thing that assaulted my olfactories was the pungent stench of salt, ammonia and wet feathers. Then the sight of birds, dogs, cats, rabbits, lizards, fish, chickens all displayed in rusty wire-mesh cages and rattan enclosures. The whole bloody domestic zoo is for sale. Matt Damon could afford this one for his kids’ petting zoo.
The monsoon rains started to pour again and we headed south to Nusa Dua to purchase a ticket (US$ 65) to the Devdan musical for Jenni’s cousin. Nusa Dua was where the ASEAN summit was held, graced by US President Barack Obama and I was excited to find dustbins lining the neatly trimmed hedges of the area. It felt like I was back in Singapore where the streets are clean, toilets are brightly lit and restaurants ridiculously expensive. Back in Kerobokan, we had a nice dinner at Warung Sobat 2 which is situated just behind the prison. The main course is served on banana leaf, sate is served on a mini charcoal grill and it comes with a free dessert of either black rice with banana and coconut milk or a scrumptious slice of sweet banana cake.
My personal favourite is the grilled squid with avocado salad and mashed potatoes. The grilled pieces of squid was succulent and juicy and it goes very well with the creamy mashed potatoes which is not in the menu. After a satisfying meal, we headed to the airport to receive Jenni’s cousin, Dani. It was hilarious to see the looks of anticipation on the arriving visitors change to shock when they see the hordes of people greeting them behind a metal barrier ( think Chennai airport at Arrivals/Departure) and the gradual slackening to an expression of dazed exasperation. Jenni brought us to a beach club for some drinks. Along the way we saw sexily clad transvestites grabbing the arms of motorists and gyrating to the music from the clubs that lined the road.
The dance club at the beach had really bad music and crawling with inebriated Australians who don’t exactly seem to know how to work their bodies to the music. That concluded my Denpasar experience for the day.
Day two (24th Dec 11, Christmas Eve), we hired a driver for 400,000 Rph for the entire day to drive us to across the emerald terraced rice fields of Tabanan to Tanah Lot temple, one of the 6 most important temples in Bali (hence visitors are advised to cover up and leave their bikinis behind). Tanah Lot is one of the few places I would like to return for its breathtaking beauty, an epitome of paradise on earth where the azure skies and the turquoise sea are separated by the brilliant shades of blue and quartz-white sea foam. It’s a pleasure to see and hear the powerful curling waves crash against the rocks and dissolve into foam and spray. The unadulterated photos speak for themselves. Taken with my humble iPhone 4 and my crummy Casio 5-Megapixel digital camera.
The rolling waves seemed intent to swallow my hapless flip flop into the blue bowels of the sea. Dani stepped into the waters to rescue my flip flop in a Cinderella-esque act of chivalry. The amazing views do not stop at the temple. As we crossed to the other side of the shore, an exquisite sight greeted us. And again, these photos have not undergone any photo-editing.
I was so awed by the sights and the sensation of the sea breeze on my face I totally forgot about the harsh burning sun. My arms, nose and scalp were thoroughly roasted to an angry lobster red. It was so well grilled by the scorching sun that raindrops felt like bullets on my arms and head. After getting soaked in UV rays and sea water, we headed back to the villa in Umalas to dress up for the Devdan musical at Nusa Dua. We ended the night with a nice Christmas dinner at the same restaurant behind the prison.
Waking up to a Christmas morning, we found a drunk German kid asleep by the pool (wished he was sleeping inside the pool for the bloody racket he made every night).
We headed eastwards to the chicken-butt of Bali towards Gunung Agung, barreling through rustic rice fields, circling the twisting roads around the mountain which had me reach out for a barfbag. The beautiful landscape offered a brief respite before we roller-coastered towards the foot of Besakih Temple.
The Mother Temple of Besakih is the holiest and largest temples in Bali. After hiking up a slope flanked by shops peddling sarongs and souvenirs for 10 mins, we finally reached the temple where we see the tour guides a.k.a. Temple Guardians (or so these guys claim) swarm towards foreigners. Pilgrims and worshippers filed along the flanks of the main shrine with colorful offerings balanced on their heads.Peep,Peep,Peep… There were little sacrificial baskets containing a duckling and a chick cheeping away, probably aware of their fates. The monsoon clouds hung ominously overhead and when we reached a souvenir shop beyond the first shrine, it began to pour. This is when hawkers gathered around us offering to rent their umbrellas for a sum (should have brought a raincoat or an umbrella).
We continued the trek upwards to the shrine at the peak of the hill after the rains were reduced to a drizzle. We met a tourist who was making his way down towards the shop and he told us there’s a lot to see at the top. He was right and to make it even more awesome, the only tourists were the three of us. The first thing we saw at the base of the shrine was a pile of offerings and a carcass of a white chicken with it’s rear facing the shrine. The view which the sacrifice was facing was magnificent, especially when the sun offered a brief respite from dull grey Kodak moments.
I watched a Rakugo performance by Tatekawa Shinoharu (立川志の春) this evening at the school and boy, I was laughing till tears came out of my eyes for an hour. It is quite astounding that the art of story-telling with over 400 years of Japanese history could be so entertaining. When asked about how his apprenticeship was like, Tatekawa san likened it to the Jedi in Star Wars, only that his master, Tatekawa Shinosuke, resembled more of Darth Vader.
Apparently, this is not the first time Rakugo is performed in English. In Japan and the US, there are a number of Rakugo masters who successfully tickled English-speaking audiences. One of them is the late Katsura Shijaku who broke the language barrier in 1983 for non-Japanese speaking audiences in the US to enjoy this art form. There is also Katsura Kaishi who travelled the whole of US with his family in a caravan, splitting sides of every audience he performed for. Do not watch with a full stomach. You’ve been warned.
The anglophile inside has revealed itself even before I arrived in the fair city of London. For starters, Malaysians do not need a tourist visa and an adapter for my chargers which saves a lot of pain. And oh, the many lessons I have learned in this dreadfully short one-week visit.
Lesson 0: Get a smartphone, sniff for wifi and switch off the cellular data function at all times. I got an iPhone4 for this trip and it became my laptop-cum-camera-cum-telephone box (you can’t carry a red telephone box with you for starters. Her Majesty’s bobbies would come after you with their truncheons). All the photos were taken with the iPhone4 and I could do so discreetly (very useful in museums, the tube, meal tables, hurhur) and beautifully ( brilliant colours and focus). Perfect in every way, except of course, I wish Steve Jobs could extend its short battery life. <全部アイフォンでとった。アップルすごい！>
Tower Bridge and cloudy skies at Tower Hill where it began to drizzle soon after.
Armour galore in the White Tower!こんなプラモがいいんですね！
The famous Greenwich Meridian Time line.↑GMT+-
Relaxing on the cool grass and feeding pigeons while enjoying the warbling waters of Princess Diana fountain in Kensington Gardens(^^)
The National Gallery at Trafalgar Square. Lovely weather and colour isn’t it? Thanks to iPhone (>w<)
National Portrait Gallery next door: Portrait of Sir Stamford Raffles, the colonial visionary who founded Singapore.
The grand Aquarium and London Eye along the Thames (as my own eyes began to swell…(3A3))
Queen Boudicca、an example on why you shouldn’t fuck with women, more figurative than literal. Check out the thong <0><0>.
The eminent King’s College in Cambridge.
The architectural marvel at James Street in Covent Garden.
Twinings at the Strand, since 1706. The varieties of tea blends are astounding.
If you see Big Ben, you know you are in London.
The back entrance of Westminster Abbey where HRH Prince William and Catherine were wedded on 29 April 11.
Westminster Abbey holds a memorial service for the East Japan earthquake on 5 June. 六月五日ウェストミンスター寺院が東日本大地震追悼礼拝をする。
The grand British Musuem, where the history of the world is kept.
Inside the British museum. Isn’t the roof marvellous?
British museum: The Elgin marbles which was taken from the Parthenon… Greece is still pissed.
British museum: The amazingly dramatic depiction of the Royal lion hunt by the Assyrians.
British museum: One of the many well-preserved mummies around.
British museum: Japanese British tea house. 本田菊ｘアーサーカークランド ｗｗｗ
Harrods: Oh my god, Hello Kitty x Harrods?!イギリスもキティに嵌まってる？
Harrods: The famous bears of Harrods.かわいいいいオマワリサンとソルジャー♥
To get to London, what better way than to fly in its national carrier, British Airways? Just 13 hours from Singapore.
Lesson 1: For solo travellers who’d like to have the opportunity to sit next to children or even babysit them, choose the front row seats where the cots are. On my flight to London, my fellow passenger was an Englishman with his toddler, Mr B. Mr B was an adorable little gent who strews die-cast cars and carrot-cucumber sticks around him, has an incredibly tough head and has a preference for inner seats. I was really impressed by the attentiveness of Mr B’s father and the air stewards who made sure that Mr B has a comfortable overnight flight. I’m privileged to babysit Mr B temporarily and watch his “butlers” attend to his needs. (/w\)
3 friends in the Tube. London is in the Oyster card (Suicaと同じ用のカード).
Faeries do exist in London and they take buses! 夜バスで妖精さんが乗った！
Lesson 2: Stand on the Right. Mind the Gap (and the cow!). Watch out for Station Closures. Carry a Map. While on escalators in Singapore and Tokyo, keep to the left. In London, keep to the right. The platform gap of London’s stations could be as abysmally wide as 15cm! Now that is what I call a gap worth minding. With the 2012 London Olympics looming, the city is preparing to expand key stations such as Tottenham Court with lots of construction work on weekends and throughout the week. We wouldn’t want the Londoner to risk getting his toes rolled over by the vicious wheels of the tourists’ Samsonite now do we? Another thing that surprised me while commuting on the Tube is the only time I heard the English language being spoken is when there is a public announcement being made. Tourists and immigrants have helped make the train ride a multi-cultural experience. On my arrival to Earls Court, I feared the place would be similar to the labyrinth-like cities of Japan that even a map is useful as an accessory to show that you are a hopelessly lost tourist. In London, there are street signs clearly marking the direction and area. With a map in hand, I am confident to say that a friendly Londoner would approach a hapless tourist to offer help. After I was discharged from hospital(we’ll get to that in a while), I shuffled to Embankment station for bearings, trying to find my way back to Leicester Square in the rain. I had a Lonely Planet guidebook in hand and was scrutinising the map on the information post when a kind Londoner approached me and asked where I need to go. He looked like he was on his way home with his bag of grocery. He walked me towards the direction of Leicester Square in the rain, he didn’t have an umbrella mind you.
Monster blister, the boil that started it all.
Warded：Tuna salad pasta and a jug of water.
Warded: ”NSAIDS” to notify staff what NOT to give me. The staff took good care of me, a tourist (3w3)キュン
Lesson 3: I am happy to pay the whopping 16% VAT because it contributes to the NHS (national health service). The medical services are priceless. The thought of getting a tax refund never crossed my mind after I admitted myself to St. Thomas’ hospital for an eye-popping allergic reaction. It all started after I took ibuprofen as recommended by a kind Englishman whom I met along the streets of St Pancras at midnight. After the horrific discovery of a monstrous blister on my left little toe and thanks to the uncaring, apathetic staff at the Generator hostel, I made my way to some hospital which I have no idea how far it would take. The pain took all caution out of my mind and I trotted the dark quiet streets alone, and cold, in search of a clinic or a hospital. I was fortunate to approach an Englishman (ティムさん) from Manchester who happened to be an army medic and he took a look at the monstrosity and advised me not to walk the streets in the area alone and recommended some anti-inflammatory painkillers and remedies. He and his Canadian friend chatted with me in the cold and it made me forget about the pain and piss. Despite the disappearance of the suit and bowler hat ensemble, the English Gentleman still exists in England! I took some ibuprofen the next morning and headed to Leicester square to purchase a ticket to see Les Miserables in the evening. As usual I rambled on aimlessly and found myself in the magnificent Trafalgar Square, trotted further along the Thames to see Big Ben. It was then my eyes started watering and my gut told me it could be a reaction to the ibuprofen I took. Lady Luck smiles on me again when I found St Thomas: hospital just opposite the bridge where Big Ben is. The medical staff directed me to the Accident and Emergency to take a queue number to be registered. By this time, my eyes have swollen to the point where my vision was only 70%. The black admin staff took my particulars down and I highlighted to him that I’m not a UK citizen. Contrary to the complaint of our mentor minister perhaps it’s just his luck that there were alot of patients on that night), it only took me 15 mins before I was taken to the consultation station where the doctor diagnosed my condition as an allergic reaction to NSAIDS. A nurse (Amy) led me to a room where I was given some antihistamines and steroids and I was put under observation for the next few hours to ensure that I did not get an asthmatic attack from the ibuprofen. Later, they put me into a ward where I was very impressed by the care and attention given to the patients by the nurses and doctors. I told the nurse that I would like to be discharged as soon as possible as I had a musical to catch. The kind nurse (Katy) brought me lunch that is available in the pantry and a jug of water. The doctor discharged me upon my request and advised me not to take NSAIDs (anything that ends with -fen). At the pharmacy, I collected the steroids and antihistamines and asked how much they were. The pharmacist told me I do not need to pay for anything and sent me off with a smile. From what I described, it seems too good to be true, doesn’t it? Excellent medical treatment, compassionate staff and it is all free, even for non-UK citizens. That made me fall in love with London even harder than before.
Lovely performance at the Vortex jazz bar. The bass player was cute. (♥w♥)
Blood Brothers:The only musical that made me cry.(;w;)
Les Miserables at the Queen’s Theatre. The best of the 5!
Inside the Victoria theatre where Billy Eliot was performed. Love the dances!
We Will Rock You where the script is badly written around the music of legendary Queen.
Lesson 4: Be Nice. Smile more. Speak proper English.You might get a good seat. In just 7 days, I managed to squeeze 5 musicals into my itinerary. I burnt almost 200 quid on the tickets but you can’t experience the grand old theaters and ice cream during intermission anywhere else (perhaps the States?). In chronological order, I watched Les Miserables, Billy Eliot, The Lion King, Blood Brothers and We Will Rock You. I tried those discounted ticket booths at Leicester Square and managed to get a seat for 18 quid but with 70% view. Then I tried purchasing from the box office itself in the morning when it opens at 10am. The tickets cost up to 50 quid and depending on the person at the counter, they could actually put you in very good seats for the same or lower price. The best deal I got was for Blood Brothers where the lady seemed quite terse at first but after making small talk with her while fumbling at the coins, she put me into the center seat, 4 rows from the stage with a really good view of the cast. A good thing too because the musical was one of the best I’ve ever watched. There was emotional gravity in the performance and when it came to the tragic scene, I started crying with the audience. (;w;)
The famous English breakfast to start the day right…
Enjoy some Afternoon Tea at one’s leisure…Mmm Lovely scones.
What better way to end the day (and trip) in London with a roast beef dinner?
Hearty soups, crisp sandwiches and free wifi at Pret a Manger.
A calorific takeaway lunch on board the train from Cambridge to London. Colossal Cornish pasty…（凄く大きいです；）.
Light lunch of clam chowder soup and a scrumptious chocolate and orange muffin at the courtyard of Westminster Abbey.
JK Sheeky’s famous fish pie. The food and service is worth the 30 quid.♥>゜)))彡♥
Dining at JK Sheeky’s. Walls are covered with photos of celebrities.
Cheese and Bacon chips with a refreshing pint of Magner’s cider to wash it all down(including the bitter defeat of Man United to Barca).
…Fish and chips with pie in Greenwich (まずい！＞＜；). No wonder British cuisine gets such a bad rap.
One of the gourmet highlights of my trip in London- Salmon and Teriyaki chicken bento (ちくしょ!何でロンドンにこんな美味しいものがあるの？！はぁはぁ).
Lesson 5: Hardcore Vegan, Blood-thirsty Carnivore, Finicky Gourmet, Belt-tightening Budget, Anything Asian … London has everything to satisfy the Global Appetite. When one thinks of British food, one hardly connotes it with the word “gourmet”, thanks to a French official’s stark comment on the gastronomic value of the much maligned (maybe not) cuisine. The famous full English Breakfast, a plate piled with fried eggs, thick juicy sausages, artery-clogging-sodium-saturated bacon strips, juicy grilled tomato (probably the only healthy item on the plate) drowned in thick brown gravy sauce and partnered with crisp slices of toast covered in butter and jam, a hearty bowl of oats porridge, some fruit or yogurt and washed all these down with a revitalizing cup of English Breakfast tea. Then there is the oil-soaked newspaper which cradles crispy batter-fried fish in a bed of salt-sprinkled chips (thick fingers of deep-fried potato. The New World reshaped it into a dainty stick which they call French Freedom Fries.). Despite the health-threatening high-cholesterol offerings the British menu has, who could resist the classic English tradition of Afternoon tea where one enjoys a lovely cup of tea with boulders of scones covered in cold clotted cream and ruby red strawberry jam, the assortment of sandwiches and cakes to complement the leisurely experience? Thank god and the immigration policy-makers, newcomers from all corners of the earth brought along with them their uniquely tantalising cuisines to make the global traveller feel right at home on the dinner table. The Teriyaki chicken and salmon bento by a native Japanese chef in Leicester Square was possibly the best I ever had in my travels. Huge hunks of fried chicken and a massive slice of salmon bathed in sweet, savoury teriyaki sauce is neatly placed next to a bed of fresh crisp salad and 2 tuna maki. Fish and chips in Greenwich was a real disappointment, it could hardly match the ones I have in Singapore. The saving grace was the heavenly fish pie from JK Sheeky’s at St Martins in the Fields where I unknowingly find myself in a respectable restaurant served by waiters and surrounded by well-dressed people. The luscious cream cheese potage with fresh hunks of salmon and cod swimming under the crisp fluffy potato crust was to die for. 30 quid for the experience and satisfaction was worth it. And on days where one needs a quick bite, I usually find the ubiquitous Pret a Manger outlet for some freshly made sandwiches and thick wholesome soups, AND (more importantly) free wifi. The perfect meal to conclude the trip was roast beef with brown gravy, mushrooms, potato and carrots for dinner on my flight back home. Absolutely wonderful! (^p^)
I’m not done with London yet. Just you wait, you’ll find me crossing over to Albion’s shores once more.
I thought of catching up on some history with no inkling that the Chinese movie filmed in 1988 could be so graphic. I thought it was going to be a documentary with photos and mono-color films retrieved from the history archives. I was mistaken.
For starters, I applaud the cast and crew for not holding back in recreating the atrocities which was committed and could be committed against humanity. Director T.F. Mou gave a stark portrayal of the horrific human experiments in Unit 731 headed by Lt. Gen. Ishii Shiro and no gory detail was spared. The first death at the start of the movie was a young Japanese soldier who ran into a high-voltage electric fence to escape from his superior. What followed was indescribably gory that had me skipping a few scenes. I’m pretty sure a bunch of rats were burnt alive in the making of this film.
My thoughts on the movie?
Grossed out. I’m completely grossed out. I don’t even want to write about it in detail but neither am I able to sit still without drumming up my keyboard to comment on this film. I felt that I had to watch to get a sense of what happened in the 2nd World War and what cruelty people could be capable of committing.
It is as stomach-churning as watching a PETA video where minks are skinned alive.
It is not for the faint-hearted or those with weak stomachs.
It is the kind of movie you should watch before you die (but only just once).
Vacation duration:1st of November 2010 to 12 November 2010
Destination: Kanto to Chubu region, Japan (Yes, the 2nd trip in 2010)
Temperature: 13 to 26 degrees celsius
Budget: S$4,000 approx.
JPY to SGD exchange rate: Very damn high.
Accommodation: Basically a quilt on wooden floor under a foldable table. What can I say since lodging is free…
Apologies for the travel update that is long overdue. Thanks to the convenience of uploading photos onto facebook, maintaining a blog regularly has become quite an impossibility for a bum like me. Finally, I get to savour the autumn season of Japan where the flaming red and yellow leaves paint the streets and land with rustic, warm colors despite the creeping cold of winter. The snow dust that froze my lips in March that year lingered in my mind as I stuffed my luggage case with heatec and heat packs. When it comes to warm wear and souvenirs, I was sufficiently prepared after learning the cold, hard lesson in Hakodate. However, in Japan, like any other exotic locale with their unique cultures, I was still mentally unprepared for the least expected.
After arriving in Narita airport via ANA’s spanking new Airbus, I was shuttled to the domestic flight area for the transit flight to Nagoya where my classmate, YH 部長, was posted to live like a Japanese for half a year. I was expecting a modest sized jet engine plane to ferry me across the Japan hinterland. As the limo bus approached the jet plane it turned and steered towards .. … a small aircraft with massive propellers. One of the passengers, a Japanese salary-man probably in his late forties, went ”OH!” in shock.
For me, I was stunned. Not just about the propellers which could shred a migratory flock to pâté but also the fact that ANA is using a domestically designed and manufactured aircraft for their domestic flights. The NAMC-YS11, a model which I came across while doing some investigative research in my course of work. Those propellers and the fact it is completely Made in Japan left a real deep impression. I realized their full turbo power after finding myself strapped to the window seat with a full view of the spinning blades.
The plane took off and buzzed like an angry bee over the snow-capped peak of Mount Fuji and onwards to the west of Japan. The famous peak flanked by rusty-brown landscape and jade-green bodies of water had the passengers snapping away with their mobile phones. The ride was rough but the view was exquisite.
After I arrived in Chubu Centrair airport Nagoya, I took the Meitetsu train to Kounomiya station near Inazawa where YH san is living in. Finding his house has to be the most tiring, exasperating, $%#@ing, bone-breaking part of the trip. The locals were helpful and I appreciate their willingness to direct a gaijin to the right place. A kind couple walked me to a property agency and asked for directions on my behalf. Apparently the maps were last updated a decade ago and YH’s house was not recorded on the map. Dragging 18kg of baggage across 2km of empty streets was bearable. Searching for the elusive location with an outdated map for over an hour left me drained, hungry and sore. I actually sat in the middle of a residential carpark and groaned theatrically for 5 mins before dragging myself to another alley to try my luck. I came across a building with a sign written in katakana and containing a very important word ”international”. For any foreigner, this word is tantamount to ”English speakers here! ”. True enough, a lady who graduated from the States walked me out and gave me clear directions to YH san’s place. I found his place and the key, let myself in, took out the quilt, curled myself into a ball to sleep and dreamed of my bedroom.
The place is for single use. I guess the petite physiques and grace of the natives makes it easy for them to live comfortably within a room of liliputian proportions and exploiting every inch of the limited space to the max. The bed sits atop the storeroom where the ironing board and the like are kept. The kitchen stove and sink is a hole in the wall along the corridor which leads to the main door. I learned to tread carefully, avoiding tripping over wires or making large gestures, but my elbow always gets battered by the walls and tissue roll holder.
YH san was kind enough to let me bunk in and add to the mess in his house. Given the stratospheric exchange rates, the accommodation costs would have left a large hole in my pocket and an empty stomach. I didn’t mind sharing a room with a guy because one of us is sleeping on the floor (I take the floor). Anyway, I could catch up on my sleep in the Shinkansen.
Nagoya is a bustling city centre, just a few stops away from Inazawa. The Takashimaya mall next to the JR station was massive with over 10 stories for patrons to satisfy their shopping needs. The platinum customer service is deadly to the purse. I couldn’t resist spending S$500 on a Samantha Vega bag after the store assistant brought out all the bags on display and treated me like a taitai despite my shabby appearance (see photo of Hachimaru mascot). Getting around is pretty convenient with the Meguru bus for tourists and all you have to do is just get off when 70% of the passengers alight. Nagoya castle is a must-see with its famous tiger-headed fish (Kinnoshachihoko) which adorn the tips of the castle roof and yummy green tea ice cream. My personal favourite is Osaka castle though, with its lovely park and ruins.
When in Japan, one must try out all the gastronomic delights it has to offer. Unfortunately, to a South East Asian, the servings can be pretty huge. Food is affordable in Japan especially if the meals are prepared at home. When shopping at the supermarket, it is advisable to bring your own bag otherwise 5- 10 yen would be levied. (I used a Cold Storage plastic bag to carry the spoils from the hypermarket in Kanayama district www) A 1-litre carton of milk costs around S$2.50 and ready-to-eat pasta costs less than $4. Eating out at family restaurants and revolving sushi bars was not too expensive either. Making lunch out of your friend’s rice which he saved for dinner is another money-saving option. Heh heh www
Delicious gourmet from Nagoya contrasted by my fried rice which I nicked from the refrigerator.
On 3rd November, I took the Kintetsu line to Yokkaichi to meet an online friend, Chanmai san for the first time in person. I met him in late 2009 in one of the DFF paint chatrooms and I always thought that he was a ”she”. Even though he has indicated his gender in the profile, I thought he was a girl who’s joking around (My facebook gender was Male from 2008 to 2009 and reverted to Female when I started getting spammed) Everything changed after I heard him speak through a voice chat on Skype.
Manly voice = Not female.
(^p^) I had no inkling how he looks like since I didn’t ask for his photo. The only thing to identify each other with is my tote bag with cats emblazoned on it and his cat t-shirt.
My first impression was he really wore a cat t-shirt as promised. I should have requested for Hello Kitty… www
He drove us to this fantastic restaurant called Hatsune which serves very good grilled eel on rice for lunch. Reservations must be made in advance and we saw a few customers waiting in their vehicles for the shop to open. The waitress called on each patron’s name until the seats were filled.Chanmai san filled my notebook with hilarious sketches until the food finally arrived in beautiful lacquerware. The eel was grilled to perfection and it practically melts in your mouth. I doubt I could ever savour such a perfect dish in Singapore or anywhere else. The beancurd was an exquisite appetizer, rich with the creaminess of soybean and yielding to the tongue.
This is probably the best meal I ever had in my life. Even at this moment, I can’t help but drool all over the keyboard.(0p0)
We headed to Iga-Ueno city, a quaint town famous for its ninja history and historical figures. They are namely,ninja Hattori Hanzo and poet Matsuo Bashou.
Carmine san and Michael san brought us to the Iga-ryuu Ninja museum to see real ninjas at work.
The resident ninjas gave exciting demonstrations on the use of main weapons such as blades of various sizes, shuriken and kusarigama. There were somersaults, death-defying combats and anal trauma www There’s even ninja children gamboling in the area. We also visited a real ninja house with all sorts of trickery fit for an ancient 007. To spread the ninjutsu tradition, Chanmai san bought a kusarigama for my brother to assassinate me.
Another highlight of Iga-Ueno is the place itself. The quiet streets are lined with charming shops and tea houses. It seems that we have walked into a mish-mash of history where wooden shop houses display ancient cameras, walls plastered with posters from the eighties and coin-operated kiddie rides. Carmine san and Michael san led us to an interesting tea house called Murai Bankoen（むらい萬香園）. Iｔ is owned by Motoharu Murai san whose grandfather was one of the last ninjas in Japan.
His passion for the ninja tradition and history was impressive. Murai san generously shared stories of his grandfather, life’s anecdotes and his amazing collection of weapons and ninja paraphernalia. I never thought I’d get to handle muskets, pistols, daggers and swords. The owner even sneaked up on us in various disguises not to mention attempting to assassinate Carmine san www.
Things get wilder after this… …
If I return to the Chubu region, I’d definitely want to visit Iga Ueno again. When it got dark, we parted ways with Carmine san and Michael san and we headed to Suzuka for a ramen dinner.
It took Chanmai san about 2 hours to drive from Suzuka to Inazawa, covering 50km just to send me home. And the best part is, he has to drive back to Suzuka where he lives! I enjoyed the ride as a passenger but at the expense of Chanmai san in the driver’s seat. わるかったが本当に感謝しましたよ(;w;)rz
The next morning, we met up again at good ol’ Yokkaichi station and headed for Osaka where Chanmai san used to live with his family. Guess where…the legendary Nipponbashi a.k.a Den Den Town! Nipponbashi to Osaka is what Akihabara is to Tokyo. The streets are lined with stores selling electronic products, comics and anime goods, maid cafes and other stuff that makes it an otaku paradise. Ying san and I missed it in our last trip when we went to search for some gastronomic delights in Dootonburi.
We entered a strange little shop selling all sorts of T-shirts. It was the mannequin with Abe’s famous expression that caught my eye. The owner was a petite lady with an assortment of piercings. She showed us all sorts of funny T-shirts with iconic memes printed on them. I got 2 shirts with ”Yaranai ka” printed on them which I’m sure would be safe to wear in Singapore or elsewhere. Heck, people might even find it cool just because there’s japanese characters printed on it.
We walked into a shop that says ”cosplay” on the outside. Inside, I realized it was a shop specializing in cosplay for adults if you know what I mean. There’s * censored* and *censored* for the couple to *censored* and *censored* into the person’s *censored*. The low birth rate in this country does not do justice to its phenomenal adult entertainment industry. There’s even a handkerchief depicting all 48 positions. I wanted to get it but I can’t imagine my aunt finding this in the laundry basket…(x_x;)
Nipponbashi proves to be another book paradise for me. I’m a real sucker when it comes to shopping for books in Japan. Animate, Toranoana, Bookoff… books to me are what shoes is to Imelda Marcos. I enjoy the thrill of finding a much sought after doujin or book. For this trip, I found the last copy of B-kaigishitsu’s latest doujin in Toranoana. Chanmai san gave me a present, a DIY (Draw it yourself ww) book titled ”萌える戦国武将の描き方”. This is the perfect present for a Japan-crazy, BL-addicted visitor like me. In Singapore, you see men and kids waiting outside boutiques while the women shop for clothes. In Japan, the men wait outside the bookstores while the women shop for ”restricted material”. Well, that’s just a generalization based on my own experience ww Chanmai san waited outside the Animate bookstore while I scoured the BL-filled store. CH san’s husband always goes to the convenience store to browse while the girls go doujin-hunting in Mandarake.
For lunch, we visited a maid cafe. It is my first time going to a maid cafe and I finally understood why this niche industry could survive so well in Japan. The french maid uniforms were adorable, the waitresses were kawaii, the service was top-class , the food… I was too busy ogling at the waitresses to notice. Unfortunately, photos are not allowed in such establishments.
I apologize for behaving like a chee-ko-pek, grinning like an old, balding lecher at the girls. Even Chanmai san told me to stop leering at the maids. (If only my cousin was with me, we could leer together www) I marveled at the maid’s arm strength as she balanced the large platter of omelet rice with her left arm and squeezed a ketchup bottle to decorate the platter with her right hand. I can never accomplish such a feat without looking like a Parkinson’s patient.
It was enjoyable to ride in Chanmai san’s car. I enjoy watching the changing scenery along the highways, talking with him and watching the shows on his GPS screen. And whenever I travel, I sleep half of the time whether its on the Shinkansen or the bus. I understand it must have been dreadfully tiring to be the driver. Chanmai san obviously looked so shagged from driving that he had to make a stop at a nearby mega-mart to use the massage chair. (><;)
I’m not sure if he’d want to be driving me around again but I’d definitely would want to be his passenger (^^) またドライブしませんか？
The 2nd highlight of my trip is to Hiroshima. Unlike the loud, fast-paced Tokyo, metropolitan Nagoya or the quiet Hakodate, Hiroshima has a balanced and charming atmosphere. If I had a choice of cities to work in Japan, I’d probably choose Hiroshima. It is hard to tell that this beautiful city was once destroyed by the atomic bomb.
Thanks to YH san, I learned that Rail Pass holders can board Nozomi trains for non-reserved seats. The city has a very interesting tram system which allows passengers to pay a fixed fare of 150 yen to ride within the city centre.
We visited the A-bomb dome and the Peace memorial museum. The tragedy was deeply felt when we read about the catastrophic aftermath of the bombing where ordinary people were wiped out in a flash at the epicenter, leaving only shadows behind. From our history textbooks (which was displayed in the museum!), I could not fathom the destruction just by looking at photos of a mushroom cloud billowing from the cartographic view.
Those who survived faced radiation sickness, starvation and thirst from the extreme heat of the blast. Body remains were preserved by the musuem to show the physiological effects of the radiation.The only consolation for us is we came with an empty stomach. We had a quick okonomiyaki lunch in one of the nearby shopping arcades and took a long tram ride to the Miyajima ferry port where we boarded the ferry bound for Miyajima. Miyajima is a cultural heritage site known for its iconic red torii gate. When we arrived to port, the tide has subsided, leaving a carpet of seaweed and the torii gate exposed. It was fun picking up the seaweed and throwing coins onto the ledge of the torii gate.
The food was absolutely scrumptious. I had grilled rice cake with a plump, juicy oyster as we walked along the arcade facing the coast. Sorry I forgot to take a photo of the delicious treat because I couldn’t resist wolfing down the rice cake drenched in soy sauce. After visiting the temple at the mountain top, we headed to a nearby shop selling handmade momiji manjuu, a maple leaf shaped sponge cake with red bean filling. It was still warm and we were served hot roasted tea. Back in the bustling arcade, we joined the queue for grilled oysters when we could no longer resist the smells wafting from the shops. We were lucky to get the last few oysters before it was sold out. The juicy plump oysters was to die for and I virtually licked the shell dry just to savor the rich salty flavors.
As sunset approached, the shops and restaurants closed for the day and we had no choice but to return to the city where we checked in and went to a nearby ramen shop for dinner. The small ramen shop was run by an delicate old lady and her muscular, body-building son. I couldn’t help but comment on the wall plastered with photos of beefy men flexing their muscles. The ramen was delicious with a light soy sauce based broth and thin noodles characteristic of the Hiroshima variety. For breakfast, we had another round of okonomiyaki at a restaurant recommended by the friendly guesthouse personnel before heading back to Nagoya.
Armed with my dog-eared JR Pass, I headed to Kofu in the Yamanashi prefecture to visit the Takeda Jinja, a shrine built to house the spirit of Takeda Shingen.
Statue of Takeda Shingen holding the iconic metal fan which he used to deflect Uesugi Kenshin’s attacks.
I couldn’t help but snap this picture of the wall. Takeda and Yamamoto are just too kawaii.
As usual, it’s another uphill trek that took me 30 mins to reach the shrine. After paying my respects to the great shogun whom I learned about from the Taiga drama ”Fuurinkazan-風林火山” and searching for one of the 24 land markers that depicts Sanada Yukitaka, Yukimura’s grandfather, I grabbed a box of inari sushi and a scrumptious minced pork patty (total cost =400yen/$5) and headed to Tokyo by train.
After arriving in Tokyo, I bought a Koppepan (bun filled with red bean jam and margerine) to sing to the theme song of Fuurinkazan (youtube video above www). Just joking, the Koppepan’s for breakfast and it is not priced at 120yen www
The next day, I headed to the controversial Yasukuni shrine which always have Chinese nationalists jump up to protest whenever a Japanese Prime Minister pays the shrine a visit. True, the terror and misery caused by the Japanese occupation was completely whitewashed and the Nanjing ”incident” was only a one-liner. Well, China made no mention of what terrors occurred when the Communists marched into Tibet either. For the curious and those wanting to see the Japanese perception of history, Yasukuni shrine is definitely worth a visit and the Yuushukan museum is well worth the 800 yen paid to gain admission.
The Yuushukan museum is a military otaku’s paradise. Thanks to ジェプレー社長’s recommendation. Just at the entrance, one could start getting trigger happy with the camera. There’s the life-size Mitsubishi Type 0 carrier plane, the C56 Locomotive no.31 which ran along the Death Railway and big guns. Only these exhibits can be photographed whereas after paying 800 yen to enter the museum all camera devices have to be kept off. I guess it’s for a pretty good reason since the FAQs paint the country as a victim of circumstances (unfortunately it continues to be so). When will there ever be an official apology like what Germany did, I don’t know.
It took me more than an hour to walk around and gawk at the large collection of military memorabilia and weapons. There is a life-sized submarine, the Sakura fighter plane which carried kamikaze pilots to their demise, more big guns, swords, uniforms and the like. Thousands of black and white photos of young men were fixed onto the walls. Some look as young as 12 years old. Also, visitors get a peek into the letters written by soldiers to their family and friends. No idea whether such letters have been screened by the military government at that time since most of the content describe a highly patriotic soldier who is willing to sacrifice for his country and is bidding his last farewell to his loved ones.
At the museum shop, there is a whole array of military paraphernalia and content for sale. I even saw a book that claims the Nanjing massacre was exaggerated and false. It comes in both Japanese and English. I admit I had no guts to purchase such highly controversial material even for someone who could nonchalantly buy piles of BL manga. In the end, I bought a CD collection of military songs for 3,000 yen/$40.
It was nearly 3.30pm and I took the train back to Ikebukuro to have a ramen dinner and to do some last minute shopping. I went to try out Muteki Ramen which already had a queue at 4.30pm! The pork broth squeals of pig and the braised pork was a heavenly melt-in-your-mouth experience. The only downside is the broth reminded me of pork liver mee suah.
Whenever I come to Tokyo, I’d always visit Ton Chin in Ikebukuro to slurp up their rich tonkotsu ramen. It became my first love when CH san and her husband brought me to shop in the summer of 2008. I brought Ying san and MC san to slurp up the ramen last Spring. On top of the hearty broth and springy noodles, one can ogle at the nice arms of the cooks cum servers cum ramen decorators.(^q^) This year, their black uniforms with navy aprons became white and the counters have been renovated with a metallic finish.
The next day, I zipped off to Kyoto via the Shinkansen. First stop was to Uji, well known for its delicious green tea and the setting for one of the chapters of the Genji Monogatari. I stopped by a tea shop to ask for directions and was offered to sample good quality sencha. The tea had body and a savory sweet flavor which is completely different from the usual cheap green tea we get anywhere else.
Byoudouin (平等院) is another world cultural heritage site famous for the lavishly decorated Phoenix Hall which houses a massive Amitabha Buddha statue. The Hall itself was featured on the 10 yen coin. Entrance fee to view the hall from the gardens is 600 yen. I guess the maintenance fees must be pretty steep…
I had doria for lunch at a nearby Saizeriya restaurant and headed back to Kyoto for more sightseeing. The bus terminal was swarming with locals and tourists alike. Since almost 80% of the temples charge an admission fee, I decided on visiting the famous Kiyomizu temple (清水寺). The bus was crammed with people and with all the noise, I really wished I could jump out of the window. I wonder how the local residents could tolerate this in their daily commute. I got off and followed some local tourists up the hill towards the temple. Along the way, I was lucky to find 2 maikos making their way down and being the gaijin tourist I approached them for a photo to be taken. I don’t even have to cram myself into the bus to get to Gion to see the maikos.(^^) Don’t you think the maiko on the right looks more ‘hiao’ than the one on the left? www
One must have strong knees and legs when it comes to visiting Japanese temples. Most of the shrines and temples are built above ground. After the slope, there’s a whole lot of stairs to contend with. Stairs that lead to the entrance gate, more slope and stairs to the admission counter where tickets are purchased for 300 yen. Then a little bit of stairs to get from the famous stage to the temple which houses a buddha and some more steps on the other side of the hill which provides a full view of the stage.
The wish written on the wooden tablet says : I wish for a ♥Kawaii♥ girlfriend. I hope his wish comes true www
The view was magnificent. It is amazing that the wooden structure is built without nails and has survived for centuries. It is believed that if you jump off the stage and survived the fall, your wish would come true. You jump, I jump. Nobody did www
All the climbing made me peckish for something sweet and hot and my butt was yearning for a seat. I stopped by a tea house for some oshiruko, grilled rice cake in sweet red bean soup. It was so sweet I could feel sugar crystals form in my kidneys.
I took the bus back to JR Kyoto station and walked for 10 mins to the Honganji temple (本願寺). Admission is free hence my interest to visit the temple which houses an Amitabha Buddha www Unfortunately it was closing time when I reached.
As my legs and butt were screaming for a seat, I decided to walk into Nakamura Tokichi and ordered a dessert set consisting of matcha ice cream and a complimentary green tea jelly. I observed that the local customers would make a sandwich out of the clam shell wafers and consume the ice cream sandwich in this manner. I followed their manner of consuming this dessert and ended up with melted ice cream streaming down my arm… …
By 5.30pm, it’s a slow trot back to JR Kyoto station where I waited for WTR san to have dinner and chat about DFF. She’s a charming friend whom Ying san and I met online. I’ve never met anyone who’s as faithful to Zidane from FF9 as her. I even forgot that it was 11 November where I’d draw a picture of WOL from FF1 to commemorate. We had okonomiyaki for dinner in the shopping basement of the station. It’s fun to hang out with WTR san and she’s always generous. Thanks to her, Ying san and I became Black Thunder addicts. She passed me some Kyoto snacks and KNK san’s outrageous doujin (we can never get enough of it ハァハァ). She walked me all the way to the Shinkansen entrance and I ran to catch the train before it departs 3 mins later. The funny thing is, both our periods came after we reached home. I suspect there’s something about the food we just ate. Hmmm…
Esto no es en espanol. It’s Jap-glish meaning ‘Escalator’.
For the remaining 2 days, I headed to Akihabara to maximise the use of my Rail Pass. I went to grab a few more books and started pillaging every convenience store of Black Thunder. Basically I wiped out the whole stock of Black Thunder that day (0///0) For lunch, I had Shrimp burger at MacDonalds. This could probably be served only in Japan. I would be really ashamed if any Japanese visitors discover that Singapore is selling the Samurai burger.
Gundam cafe with its legendary Char Zaku toilet www
On the last day, it was a long train ride to Chubu Centrair Airport on the Meitetsu. The sky was gray and cloudy. I was hugging 22kg worth of luggage and nodding off while 2 high school kids opposite me were playing hanky-panky. I got my backpack and luggage checked in by a nice lady at the counter who told me the luggage would be transferred to the chartered plane bound for Singapore so I have 30 mins to hang around in the transit lounge.
The transit at Narita airport was a nightmare. Some idiot staff told me I had to collect my baggage and insisted that I go to the belt to collect it. Thanks to the imbecile, I wasted 30 mins of my time standing there waiting for the baggage that never came. I checked with one of the counter staff who verified that the baggage has already been transferred to the chartered plane. The F-word came out loud and clear before I could shut my mouth and I could see the poor lady was really stunned. (><;) I apologized and sprinted back to the transit customs with my Samantha Vega paper bag flailing on my arm.
Thanks to the idiot, I did not get the chance to purchase any Umaibou, a tasty and cheap corn snack which is not sold in Singapore and ended up sweating like a pig. Apparently kaizen which is central in the work culture of Japan has stopped somewhere. Well I guess they place more importance in incoming tourists and homecoming natives than outbound passengers. Hmph. =/
This trip is entirely different from the one I had in March. I got to learn what it is like to live in Japan and the social norms that prevail in the country. Love it or hate it, I can never get enough of this country and its people. (0w0) またくるよ～げへへへ
It was only 5 months ago when I made the decision to dump $55 onto the reception counter to take the Japanese Language Proficiency Test Level N3.
I had a ready pool of JLPT2 notes and textbooks to swim in before the test however… life is always full of distractions.
Let me count the ways:Japan vacation, BL manga, BL novel, Panty and Stocking with Garterbelt, 801 etc
Today is the day of reckoning and I reckon the folks who set the papers are a bunch to be reckoned with. The main grouse we all had, N2 and N1 examinees included, was the load of unfamilliar grammar and vocabulary that ambushed us at every turn of the page. I cannot recall whether I was actually taught the words ‘区切って’、 ‘なだらか’ or ‘暗記’ nor actually seen them.
I can only hope for a borderline pass after spending half of the time playing dice with my eraser with the hope for a divine answer to each question. Other than shading random circles on the optical answer sheets, I took the liberty to decorate the question paper with sketches of the Anarchy sisters.(ちゃんまいさんのおかげで、集中できない)
Was the cramming in the past weeks all in vain then?
Perhaps not.
I was able to comprehend 60% of the Kichiku Megane novel that I am currently reading now without turning to the electronic dictionary for help and getting hooked on sexy underwear.
Thanks to the stagnant Japanese economy and Singaporeans’ taste for nippon, ramen shops are mushrooming all over the cosmopolitan heart of the city. Ying san and I are avid consumers of Cool Japan i.e. gaming, manga, washoku etc. and the constant yearning for the rich pork broth ramen we had during our trip in Japan in March this year gave us a mission in Singapore living.
Before Japanese ramen chains began their invasion this year, we used to slurp up the milky black pig ramen at Tampopo to quell our addiction. It is still rated as the best ramen in Singapore, probably. From the day Ying san invited me to get sashimi-ed by her at some ulu pandan part of River Valley Road, we spent over a hundred dollars on ramen and other gastronomic delights. Another ulu pandan part of the city where we went ramen hunting was in Parco at Millenia Walk. We tried Keisuke ramen which served up thick prawn miso broth and crab broth. Unfortunately, in a region where you can get prawn noodles for less than $4, I did not find the dining experience a unique and memorable one.
The egg salad was heavenly but the chicken charsiew rice brought us back to hell…
The thick, coying prawn flavour left me desperate to scrape my tongue.
The highlights of our gastronomic adventure would have to be Ippudo Tao and Sanomaru Sapporo Ramen.
Ippudo Tao’s noodles were thick and submerged in a bi-colored broth of white soup and black sauce.
We plan to return to the restaurant to try out the 爆裂豆腐 (Exploding beancurd?!). As for ambience, the Japanese customers set the mood with their rowdy, salarymen conversations, otherwise I’d rate it as average. The tea comes in a white chinese teapot and typically small chinese teacups (how authentic… ). Pepper and other condiments are rationed out by the waitress who would go from table to table to sprinkle fixed amounts of seasoning into the ramen.
Sanomaru Sapporo Ramen is rated tops by Ying san and me. I was a skeptic when my Japanese sensei raved on his facebook that he would give the person a full refund if the ramen is not good. After trying out the ramen, I’d probably do the same www. I usually approach miso/shio/shoyu soup bases with trepidation where the high sodium levels could crystallize my kidneys to rocks. But Sanomaru’s soups are surprisingly light and balanced without diluting the flavours of the soup. Upsized Shoyu Ramen Shio Ramen Miso Ramen
For both visits to Sanomaru, we were serviced by a Japanese lady whose attentiveness, moeness and perfect english reduced us to grinning like perverted old men at her. She gave us warm water after we finished our beer. Isn’t that sweet? Now I understand why Japanese men queue up to sit in maid cafes and pay ridiculous prices for diluted coffee. It’s the moe factor which is a combination of attentive care, platinum customer service and a pleasant appearance which makes the customer a regular.
Sorry Tampopo… You should have worked on your staffing.
As a sign of appreciation and to appease the volunteer workforce who had sacrificed their time and delicate palate during the Games, the organising committee has thrown in another chunk of expenses into the miscellaneous account of the controversial budget. I’m not complaining since I pay my taxes and let the CPF transfer a fifth of my measly income to oblivion. It would be perfect if the party was held on a weekend but I guess it might have been much cheaper to book the amusement park on weekday night.
I met the fellow volunteer LY at the iconic Universal Studios fountain after an eventful 1 hr of waiting for a bus that operates on weekends only. I was really excited and memories of Tokyo Disneyland raised my expectations. In reality, it was more like Genting Highlands on an island. Starving, we settled for American burgers at the nearest feeding ground, Mel’s Diner. The burgers were lip-smackingly good and juicy. After we had our fill, we headed to the streets where we saw people in purple polo shirts and a lone Charlie Chaplin. Where’s Betty Boop or Shrek?! For Chrissakes you could at least give us Merly and Lyo…
The best rides were the ones that made both of us scream our lungs out. The one that tops the decibel meter would have to be the Revenge of the Mummy attraction. It really felt like we were in the set of the movie with its towering mock statues of Anubis and other Egyptian deities and flaming torches. The queue stretched through endless winding passageways and it didn’t seem quite worth a 20 min wait for a 2 min ride. The sudden backward jerks, dips, scorching flames and hair-raising speeds made up for it.
The next one was in Farfaraway where we are treated to a 4D movie experience. We screamed when Donkey sneezed and we felt a wet spray onto our faces. The third one would have to be Jurassic Park’s Pteradactyl flight ride where our legs are left dangling in the air as we are swung around. As the carriage climbed up to the air and ready to swing to the right, we heard the guy who is facing the front swear the F-word. That’s our cue to scream and hold onto dear life. Perhaps its a blessing in disguise to sit facing backwards and not knowing where we are heading…
In 3 hours, we covered almost 80% of the attractions. By the time we got to the entrance, it was clogged by a sea of purple. The volunteers were queueing to receive the goodie bags which contains a towel, memorial CD, brochures, a pin badge, a Universal Studios key chain and a pen. By the time we got our goodie bags, the last train had left and we had no choice but to head to the taxi stand to queue some more. The good thing is there is a snaking line of taxis queueing to get in too.
I have nothing much to complain about since it’s free and I had an enjoyable time with my fellow volunteer. If I’d paid S$75 to get in, my response and choice of words would be totally different. I’m sure you know what I mean.
The Chinese Mid Autumn Festival, 中秋節 in Chinese, is a time where families gather to savour mooncakes and watch their children burn paper lanterns and ants. Well, that was how my childhood was. Making candle wax cakes and a bonfire out of litter was a memorable feature too (^p^)
Thanks to Singapore being such a FINE city, the younger generation make do with multi-colored torches and china-made plastic lanterns. That put the fire out of the Mid-Autumn festivities until now…
Pig blowing a towering Dragon rod?! That thick orange tower surely resembles what I wasn’t born with.
Along the fetid riverbanks of Clarke Quay, we found colossal lanterns depicting the 12 zodiac animals. Ying san and I were quite bewildered. It felt as if we had stumbled into the twisted forests of Happy Tree Friends. Instead of blood and gore, this is all about adult matters.
Let’s take Monkey for instance, why is there a long, curling appendage sticking out at the front?
Oh, and thanks for directing everybody’s gaze to the characters crotches. It sure helps to train us to look at more important things in (making) life. Everyone knows what a ‘cock’ is. Whether English (cock), Chinese(鸡), Spanish (Polla) etc. Is there a need to label it?
It has finally arrived! The highly-anticipated FriWOL anthology which Sardine san promised as a reward for my half-baked labours (Labour? What labour?) has finally found its way into my HDB postbox.
I was intrigued by the contents of the package. It felt like there was more stuff than a book in the envelope. So I just stuck my paw in and pulled something out.
Voila! It’s … It’s a handtowel with Nara’s controversial mascot emblazoned on it. Followed by phone accessories and an awesome memo pad. The most precious of all would be the weighty FriWOL anthology, complete with an ‘obi’ and a glossy cover. It looks good enough for display in Kinokuniya.
The stories inside are beyond entertaining. It’s hilarious! Well, makes up for the lack of hardcore -beeep- which I usually enjoy www
My heartfelt thanks to Sardine san and the contributors for their amazing works and efforts. I feel quite bad for wasting pages with my crappy work though… ごめんなさいorz
”The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” – Toulouse Lautrec, Moulin Rouge.
The artistic midget could never say it better in the movie than that but just like him, the statement is entirely fictional. That’s what I used to think until now. It’s still partial hogwash since the greatest thing I’ll ever learn is how an eight-legged mollusc never fails to control the destinies of football playing countries, I mean, predict the winners in the 2010 World Cup accurately 8 times in a row.
Yes, it’s a nice thing to love and to be loved in return. But 90% of the time, I let myself get bulldozed by infatuation for the beautiful people living in my head and cyberspace (Refer to entry ‘Missed Target‘). I’d like to play the game of romance but haven’t gotten anywhere near the finals yet (i.e. birds and bees). And since no game lasts forever, I cultivated a healthy cynicism towards love and marriage. All I’m waiting for now is the One with the right qualities and natural abilities who can complement my perfect flaws and quirks. Any gender or race or creed is fine as long as there’s mutual consent (although I’ve developed a taste for non-con through a steady diet of BL, joking). If all else fails, there’s still ”me” to last a lifetime. Sigh, if only I can replicate another me. I envy Henry in ‘The Time Traveller’s Wife’ …
Then what of the 10%? I enjoyed the thrill of the chase during my love-blinded exploits. From the joy of speaking with the target and learning about his/her life (i.e. through stalking) to the bitter sweet ache of waiting for the target’s arrival. Unfortunately, it seems what goes around comes around. In fact, I feel sorry from the bottom of my heart for even having a crush on them thanks to my overactive pituitary gland.
Based on my narcissistic deduction, I believe a person had (note: past tense, better stay that way) a crush on me in Paradiso di servizio civile.
In the 1st month, I was impressed by his attentiveness and genteel manner to everyone. My tumbler magically filled itself up, lunch invitations and even free porter service to the MRT. Then things take on a turn for the ‘better’. I usually like to end off lunch with a healthy dessert option, like fruit or yogurt. One fine afternoon, he asked me what flavor I prefer for yogurt. I typed my reply ‘Strawberry’ (I wish I can have Strawberry Yazima chan in my yogurt wwwwwストロベリーおいしそうｗ). The next day, a strawberry yogurt cup appeared on my desk. And the day after, another yogurt cup. And the day after… … I wished I’d replied ‘999K gold bars’ or ‘10,000-Japanese yen note’.
The yogurt cup did not come with a spoon. Without a utensil to consume the item with decency, I would dispense the item into the fridge on my way out of the office. The effort of having to walk to the pantry to take a spoon and cover the same distance twice just to consume the yogurt outweighs the perceived benefits of improving bowel movements. My dad did a great job in raising me into a perfectly useless, maid-dependent adult where I would die of starvation if not fed by hand. Soon, the fridge was filled with strawberry yogurt cups.
He saw that the fridge was bursting at its seams with yogurt cups and he asked me whether I’ve been chucking the lot of ’em inside. I gave him the affirmative and told him he could have them or share it with the others. He said the yogurt is meant for me and no one else. He seemed mortified when I suggested that he should share it with our lovely colleagues otherwise the fridge is going to turn into a cheese factory. Thankfully, he distributed the yogurt cups to everyone and the girls seemed really happy by his sweet gesture.
And from then on, the yogurt cup never made its appearance on my desk again. The end.
In my opinion, romantic love or the perception of being in love is always unsettling because the pervert+hormones=pheromones make the loudest noise
(There is a reason why God made me a woman instead of a man. So I won’t get charged for rape or something along that line for succumbing to the moans of nature, snigger). And when the vuvuzela of romance starts to sputter, the whitewash fades and the horrors of drab, ugly reality rears its head to greet you ‘Good Mourning’.
I believe that a relationship cannot be constructed synthetically with money or other material inputs like foodstuffs, it has to be cultivated with care and wisdom, putting in the right words and actions at the right time.
Yes, even something morally agreeable can come out of a filthy, sex-infested mind like mine. I love you, ME.
Just be glad I remembered the password to my WordPress account.
It’s been ages since I’ve blogged. It’s been ages since I’ve even seen wordpress. *snigger*
I’m sorry I’ve abandoned this blog temporarily to sort out my life (and to have a smashing good time in Japan).
One entry is not enough to record all the amazing (to downright uninteresting) experiences I had in these 7, yes, SEVEN months. I shall hereby document the events of my life that took place from 23rd March to 9th June 2010 in a manner described as ”succinct”.
23rd March to 07 May 2010 – Sent out 17 job applications of which 5+1 was shortlisted for interviews. 3 interviews were successful. (+1 was for a position with a recruitment company)
From the results of the above, I conclude 3 things:
(1) Accounting is never in my blood and the finance managers, who are the interviewers, can smell it.
(2) Although Accounting jobs SEEM plentiful and available, the same cannot be said for the working environment and salaries.
(3) One can score an interview perfectly if one is genuine. (Make it genuine even if you know you’re gonna make a seat reservation in Hell) CON-vince yourself before you CON the interviewer.
(4) If you don’t believe in an unseen higher power, be a believer now. You wouldn’t believe me anyway until desperation starts clawing at your behind.
(5) I suck at numbers and my memory is failing me.
10 May 2010 – First day at work in Paradiso di servizio civile.
11 May to present – Random rocks of responsibilities and a seething pile of backlog files waiting to be processed. This is aggravated by training courses which are dreadfully interesting and dreadful meetings. Kind and patient colleagues help soothe the pain and keep the place happy. Wished you were here.
-Agonized over comicstudio to submit a 4 page manga in exchange for a freebie from Japan. Currently agonizing over SAI to submit an illustration in exchange for redemption due to poor quality of above-mentioned manga.
-Amused by 5 year old brother who tried to stop his fart by covering his behind with his hand.
I only started looking for a quote from an unread book after the picture was finished.
Been reading bits of Ovid’s ”Metamorphoses” and Kazuo Ishiguro’s ”An Artist of the Floating World”.
Simple, vanilla prose really.
Somehow, erotica doesn’t seem to appeal to me as much as when I was in my teens.
I tried reading ”’Caliente!’, an anthology of short sensual stories by Latin writers but was so utterly bored that I kept thinking of ketchup and mustard while the heroine gave the hero a terrific handjob.
It seems I’m turning into a jaded reader.
I’ve no patience to go through the whole book after the 3rd page and good stories that are skilfully told are so hard to come by.
In the past, I could finish a romantic novel in a day. Yet now, I could hardly flip to the 3rd page without tossing it aside and commit the book to a blanket of dust.
Only the likes of Oscar Wilde and other classic literature can make my eyes devour the pages at one sitting.
Have my reading needs ascended the Maslow pyramid or gone the other way round?
My first impression was he really wore a cat t-shirt as promised. I should have requested for Hello Kitty… www
The resident ninjas gave exciting demonstrations on the use of main weapons such as blades of various sizes, shuriken and kusarigama. There were somersaults, death-defying combats and anal trauma www There’s even ninja children gamboling in the area. We also visited a real ninja house with all sorts of trickery fit for an ancient 007. To spread the ninjutsu tradition, Chanmai san bought a kusarigama for my brother to assassinate me.
His passion for the ninja tradition and history was impressive. Murai san generously shared stories of his grandfather, life’s anecdotes and his amazing collection of weapons and ninja paraphernalia. I never thought I’d get to handle muskets, pistols, daggers and swords. The owner even sneaked up on us in various disguises not to mention attempting to assassinate Carmine san www.
Shio Ramen
Miso Ramen
Arzen's Studio 