:: Tossed Salad and Scramble Eggs ::

:: Thursday, April 28, 2005 ::

How Interesting...

I was in the kitchen when my new PRC flatmate actually broke into Chinese while speaking to me. Its hardly the case that a PRC would actually speak to a Singaporean in his mother tongue, especially me, given my not-so-fluent use of the language; but he spoke to me like he would have spoken to our other PRC flatemate. I'm honoured.

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"i met my els and zak - two very Latecomers who apparently could not drag themselves off the bed after a very late friday night....with us jamming at my playstation two and, for a very brief moment, tension as zak thought he screwed up my console. sam made a special appearance and we went down my house for soccer with my neighbours, which proved to me more of a good workout than a waste of time. dinner at afganistan was nice as both of us started talking about old times and after that, it was back to my house for live soccer matches and playstation 2 (again!). they left late - or rather, i held them back till quite late - at about half past midnight and i slept till eleven this morning. (note: incoherence here.)" - Excerpt from Eng Tat's blog

Seems like any usual day. Dear Tat, if I were around, I wonder when will I make my entrance, and I wonder, what will I say? I'm sure you guys know me too well to speculate. *wry smile

Steph

:: Stuffy 4/28/2005 04:12:00 PM [+] ::
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Hokkien phrases with CHIA in them.. my hokkien very the powder one ok..dun thk even the ah lians can beat me in that... =p


Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy: The Hokkien Way
Not say I say what II
boh CHIA png
Literally, Hokkien for "have not eaten rice". Used to describe someone as physically weak.
"Wah lau, like that also cannot carry! You boh chiak png, ah?"

CHIA lat
(tjia laht)
Hokkien adjective literally meaning "to eat strength". Means that a task is onerous and consumes one's energy. Can sometimes be used to denote being in trouble.
1. "Wah, climbing up the hill along hearst avenue is damn chia lat, if stuffy here, she sure cannot tahan one."

CHIAk buay liao
(chia'h bway leow)
Hokkien phrase meaning "cannot finish eating". It means to have come into great, unending fortune.
"Wah, the american servings here all so big, lidat i chiak buay liao man...but nvm, there's still R*****L!"

CHIAk chow
(chia'h chao)
Hokkien phrase literally translated as "eating grass". It is used to describe impoverishment, and thus doing without.
"I spent all my money on my sports coupe (my new car), so now I have to chia'h chow till pay day."

CHIAKk hong
(chia'h hong)
A Hokkien phrase which literally translates as "eating wind". It means to go on a holiday.
" my new car, the engine very powderful, when u come to cali i bring u go chia'h hong k.."

CHIAk kantang
(chia'h kahn-tahng)
Literally: "eating potatoes". A pejorative expression used to describe an Asian who speaks with a Western accent.
"wah, she go america come back then chiaK kantang liao, the accent sibeh POHser man."

CHIA KUAY-KUAY (steady, steady, pom pee pee)
(chia'h koo-eh loo-eh)
Literally translated from Hokkien as "to eat over and over", this phrase is used to describe achieving a crushing victory, and is often said with a mixture of confidence and arrogance.
Ah Beng: "Wah lao, today the stats paper only 2 questons also si beh difficult, leh."
Ah Lian: "Ai tzai lah, I got study, chia'h kuay kuay one"
See also: Sure Can One

CHIAk pah boh sai pang
(chia'h pah boh sai pahng)
Hokkien expression which literally translates as "Finished eating, no shit to excrete". A phrase used to denote that someone is frivolous and has too much timeon one's hands.
"Why must you( refering to my fren Govindasamy singh) always come and disturb me? Chia'h pah boh sai pang!"

gor CHIAm tua kuay gu chia leng
Hokkien phrase which literally translates as "five cents bigger than a bullock cart's wheel". Used sarcastically to criticise someone for thinking that his/her money is worth a lot.
"Wah, ur boyfren come all the way here u only buy him the 9 pound coach ticket.. 5 hrs train ride man...You gor chiam tua kuay gu chia leng ah?"

pah CHIAo
A Hokkien term which literally translates as "beat bird". It either describes someone with a squint or being 'cockeyed', or is used to scold someone for inability to see properly. One wonders whether the term was derived from an activity that is often said to cause its practitioners to go blind.
"That "PANDA BEAR" there so big and round u also cannot see, u must be pah CHIAo man.."
AH HUAY

:: Stuffy 4/26/2005 05:56:00 PM [+] ::
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On Humility
Just a thought.

When one has an exceptional ability, would one be envied? Most likely
When one is envied, do most people take it to spite? Perhaps, but not necessarily.

Point being: Whether one has an exceptional ability (artistic, athletic, academic or practical). That is not measured by the exception of one’s ability as much as how one carries one’s talent with him. Human respect is not given by sole branding or mere talent. It is earned and granted over time by one’s character. And so the biting fact: It is of a lesser excuse (or no excuse at all) to say that others are simply resentful of what talent you have – that is mere arrogance. Would it not be better to evaluate the character and humility of thyself?

I'd like to think that although the world is not fair, it is made just by God and everyone is capable of something no matter how great or small. I suppose sometimes the smallest things matter more than bigger ones.

:: Stuffy 4/24/2005 02:20:00 PM [+] ::
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Not say I say what

Today, jalan go Edwin place then found out my Lao Hiah full blooded hokkien, wah, nur wunder his 'kkien damn hiong.

But how I know one? Sit in his room do ploject until du lan then end up juo bo, use intehnet and go talkingcock.com. He say, he spend four hour at learning grid* chiong hrough the whole site. Now I know where all his 'mai hiam' crap come from, wah lau. Navy got teach, then Lim Peh ka li kong. So impressive. I think if he everyday jio me gimme 'kkien tuition, I also tio awready.

But when I ask him, then he reply ''kkien yiah boh? you ang moh pai leh you'

What to do? Must cunvert mah, then he and I can more gum. Wah lao, now ler eh ang moh kei ao. Then tomolo must do essay. Sian.

FAT Ah Lian

*Warwick University house where students go to be chao muggers

:: Stuffy 4/20/2005 03:44:00 PM [+] ::
...

Morocco Hitch (Spring) 2005
Greece- London – Spain - Morocco



When I was younger, I used to dream of going on some great archeological expendition just like that of Lord Carnarvon, Fransisco Pizarro or that of Herman Cortes. Traveling in Europe has been an experience in itself, but globalization has made our intergration into Western culture almost a norm – nothing very new or exciting. Hiking on the accounts of Charity to Morocco in the company of Janice and Deqi (now hailed as Fatimah and Ali Cous-cous respectively) has been something valuable and an almost priceless experience.

Almost with a tinge of guilt, my impression of Morocco was first colored by media coverage of the UN helping to salvage Third World Poverty (that anywhere in Africa must be always be painted with a picture of sick and diseased children begging for food and money). And then there was the hearsay about Morocco being a place full of cheats and beggars out to con the first tourist they see getting off the bus. And not to forget terrorism; media coverage of Arabs in turbans (often represented by the Taliban) threatening a suicide bombing in the name of jihad. How wrong we were; or perhaps how lucky we were to have an entirely different experience.

In my chronology, I hope, my dear reader, I could touch you with warmth and hospitality of this beautiful country as well as the people whom we hitched a ride from.

Day 1 – 8/04/2005 Portsmouth
Boarded ferry to Bilbao at 9pm
Stopped at London after Greece and spent the night before at Kai Lun’s preparing for Morocco Hitch. Janice and I met Deqi at London Victoria station and we took a coach down to Portsmouth to catch a Ferry to France. Apparently missed the Ferry to France and after much discussion, we decided to take the 2 nights 1 day Ferry to Bilbao – Spain instead. Well, that was part and parcel technically cheating since we missed hiking in France entirely, but our objective was to get to Morocco as quick as possible and spend more time there since Deqi had an exam and school starts Monday after next; managed to get a great reduction on the ticket price after telling the lady at the counter that we were hiking for charity.

While waiting to board the ferry, Janice spoke to a family who happened to be on a land rover expedition going to Morocco via Spain. That was just it! It was what we needed. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough space since their vehicles were all packed up. We did however, receive word that there were 17 land rovers on board the ship.

Day 2 – 09/04/2005
On Board ferry (full day)
Went around the ferry asking everyone and anyone if they were going South of Spain in a vehicle and whether there was space enough to take the three of us down to the coast. We didn’t have much luck asking lorry drivers since most of them could only take 2 passengers and some others were told by their company not to take any hitch hikers. As for the other passengers on board the ship, some weren’t going our way and other didn’t have any space on their vehicle to take on excess baggage. There were passengers who supported our cause and gave us a donation – an excessively generous gesture.

Our lucky break came when the family going on the Morocco expedition found us another expedition team going to Morocco as well. They had space and they were willing to take us there. That’s when we met Dave and Fiona who did travel expeditions as a living. By coincidence, Fiona happened to be a financial administrator at Warwick up until last year. I suppose hearing that the three of us from Warwick made her inclined to helping us. Dave (a Scotsman) reminded me of one of those movie stereotypes of the stern hard man with a hidden heart of a philanthropist. When we first met him, we were greeted by scrutiny, even before a formal greeting. ‘First, let me see your passports, your travel documents and your charity sponsorship’. I didn’t feel threatened, simply because I liked the meticulous character, and somehow that introduction rest assured me that someone was serious about helping us. I couldn’t help laughing in relief once we had secured a ride – that was our first blessed moment without realizing that there were many more to come.

Scenery on board – the Atlantic Ocean
The sun was brightly shining at midday while we were resting on the open deck. The image was beautiful and serene. The waves looked like a sea of erupting volcanoes in slow motion and as the sun set later in the evening it was as if God had spray painted the sky beginning at the horizon; first with a layer of white, then yellow fading into orange and finally covering it with a backdrop of light blue fading into the dark blue sky.

Day 3 10/04/2005
Road trip down Spain
Disembark from ferry at 9am and head down south of Spain. Dave and Fiona had three land rovers. Deqi followed Dave and me and Janice followed Simon and Dan, a couple of brothers who were on the expedition with Dave and Fiona.

Spent the whole day traveling towards the south of Spain. Janice started complaining that we were too comfortable and this was too good to be true; that all we ever did was sleep and stop for coffee breaks along the way. My sentiments exactly, I wondered to myself what am I going to tell everyone if we made it back home after Morocco; ‘We went on a hitch hike to Morocco, we took a ferry to Spain, got a ride from someone going to Morocco and we ended up there – well that’s about it I guess’.

Arrived at a campsite in the evening in the Spanish town St Elena. This is the one time we actually used our sleeping bags and if not for the tent that Dan and Simon lent us, we would have frozen to death.



Day 4 11/04/2005
Leaving the land rovers, multiple Hitch Hikes down to Algeciras
Dave and Fiona were headed for the south-est coast of Spain – Malaga but they crossing over to Morocco until the following day. We decided to break away from them at Malaga and continue to the port of Algerciras. Before we left, Dave gave us some advice on where to go in Morocco, and if not for him, we probably wouldn’t have such a good experience in Morocco. Dave quite reminded me of Gandalf and we’re like the hobbits on a mission to Morocco, he certainly was a fatherly figure and if ever he has kids of his own, they’ll be a lucky bunch.

And so we left them at a service station near Malaga and tried to get another hitch towards Algerciras. It took us an hour before we got a lift from a mid 50s Spanish construction worker with a good tan. While we were cruising down the coast area of Southern Spain, it reminded me a lot of those movies with California’s long beach; the palm tree, the beach houses and people clad in tank tops. I guess people like him had 3 day work weeks and the rest of the time was just used for bumming around in the Mediterranean sun. Quite a good life, I shall note southern Spain as a potential retirement home.

He dropped us off at San Pedro and went on his way. It didn’t take us long to get another hitch from a British national staying in Spain who smoked weed and looked like he was half drunk to take us another 20km down to Estapona. I’m not a sucker for cleaniness, but his car was in a dingy dusty state and his dog was flea infected, so much so that every time it shook, I could just imagine those buggered things jumping onto me. What was highly amusing wasn’t the state of his car but when asked what kind of music we listened to; I expected loud heavy metal music. I was proven wrong when he started blasting classical compositions – something which went along the lines of Mozart, Schubert and Bach. There was just one word to describe people like that – eccentric – or in a more crude term – crazy.

At Estapona, we waited in vain for an hour at a petrol station (Shell if you’d like to know), but after much discouragement we walked another km until we reached some private housing. For awhile, it reminded me of home. We managed to get a lift from a British national who also stayed in Spain and sold cars for a living. He got us down just before Algerciras and we were just 20 mins away from the port. The final lap was taken by taxi but we still missed the ferry by 5 mins.

Day 5 12/04/2005
Crossing the border into Morocco
Today was milestone. After staying the night in Algerciras we ferried across to Ceuta (on the African continent but Spanish owned) and bussed down to the border of Spain and Morocco. The sight at the border was amazing and it was a pity I couldn’t take any pictures due to tight security. Once we crossed the border, only Arabic and French were spoken.

Scenery – at the border
The sight was nothing like that in Europe which I have ever seen. There were three long divisions at the side of the road which looked like 3 narrow cages. In them were people, mostly old hunched backed women, packed like animals moving through immigration. The narrow cages led up to a hill where, from behind the walls of the immigration barrier, we saw men and women staggering up the rocky slopes. Many of them were carrying heaving goods on their back, a kind of primitive manner which one normally sees in less developed countries. The atmosphere was claustrophobic, but it was fascinating. This was daily living.

In accordance with the negative hearsay we made sure that we were on high alert in every sense of the word. Took a taxi down to Tetuan and then to Meknes( 5 hrs) and down to Erfoud (10 hrs).

On the bus on our way to Meknes, Deqi started talking to 3 Moroccans - Brahmin, Aziz and Fahtimah . They knew only French and Arabic, and we knew only English.



Experience – Language barriers
And perhaps it was only then I realized that the magic of humanity lies in our ability to communicate with one another despite language being a barrier. We don’t have to speak the same language to learn about one another. Our actions, expressions and our creativity have allowed us to transcend language barriers and strengthen our sense of communication. And as proven, actions always speak louder than words.

Fatimar taught Deqi and I how to count in Arabic and a few other Arabic words. To pass the time away on the coach, we pointed at objects and asked ‘Arabic?’ and ‘Francais?’ and in turn, we told them the ‘Anglais’ translation. Despite difference in culture, this is one time I am thankful for Westernisation.. The Moroccan boys exclained ‘Jean Clad Vandame’, and then remembering that he was French, I exclaimed back ‘ Celine Dion’ and they repeated her name in acknowledgement. They were much amused at us Singaporeans as we were of them. And then they asked Deqi as best as they could in English if he would send them a British postcard when he got back.

Day 6 13/04/2005
Reached Erfoud at 4am. Trip into the Sahara.
Scenery – on the evening coach to Erfoud
While we sat on the coach on its way to Erfoud, we watched the sun set and the stars appear. The night sky was cloudless and it was like an astronomer’s dream to see the stars so clear that I thought them unreal in the night sky. I wish I knew how to read the constellations which were brimming and there was simply nothing blocking its well defined patterns.

I would never forget the sight we saw when we reached Erfoud at 4am in the morning. The streets were empty as if not a soul had existed in the town. There were no homeless, just a blank street ahead. We hurried on our way knocking on every door of any hostel or hotel we found but we were lucky that it didn’t take long to find a good accommodation and arranged for transport into the Sahara desert – Erg Chebbie as recommended by Dave.

At 6am, we headed to Erg Chebbie for a four hour Camel ride into the desert oasis where people lived in tents.

Scenery – Sahara Desert
I have never seen finer sand than that in the Sahara. It was magnificent and dramatic, almost surreal. I was reminded of the movie ‘The English Patient’ and remembered the hero was a Hungarian map maker in the Sahara Desert. When the wind blew, the sand was so smooth that it looked like waves washed up on the sea shore and then gently sloping down the highest sand dunes like water until it formed layers of ripples on the leveled ground. The sand dunes lay in multitudes, some small and insignificant, and others vast and deep. Our guide took us to the small village near the oasis where people lived in tents. He was a villager whose life evolved around bringing tourist to his village to experience his simple way of life. What I saw was just a glimpse of life in a desert, but even that was commercialized.

When asked where was the toilet, Mohammed looked at me and said, its everywhere and then he went off laughing. They had no medication, but I saw a French lady (possibly a volunteer worker) bandaging a Berber’s foot using only washing powder detergent as her only medication. And yet, our guide, Mohammed, had a twinkle in his eye whenever he spoke of his Berber tribe and their life in the desert. It wasn’t easy getting by since every morning, the villagers (which only comprised of 20 people) would go into the town area of Merzouga for work, but they get by as well as they could. Mohammed looked content with his life there, it was what he knew, it was his home.

In the open desert, we could vaguely see nomads with their camels, but we had no interaction with them neither were we able to get a close look at them. A pity, I would liked to have seen how they looked like and what was their way of life.







Day 7 14/4/2005
Overnight coach to Meknes and Meknes city
On our way to Meknes, we met a new friend. We were first approached by Abdelatif while waiting at the bus station for the coach. When he first approached us, we hesitated thinking he was out to con us with his over friendly approach. He asked if we were going to Casablanca (which was his destination) and wanted to know where we were from. We didn’t trust him on first sight. As travelers inexperience with the culture and norm we didn’t know what to expect and feared the worst.

I noticed something perculiar. He had a crossword puzzle in his hand and it puzzled me to think that if he were a conman, it would be quite an amusement that he should be holding on to a crossword puzzle. He boarded the bus with us and sat next to Deqi. We slowly warmed up to him and spoke to him. He was a student trying to find work in the financial sector in Casablanca ( the commercial hub of Morocco). He studied English from an American teacher at a French Corp which helped developing nations. What made us so ashame to have doubted him was his kind gesture of finding us a taxi and speaking to the driver to get us to a cheap hotel when we arrived in Meknes before continuing on his way to Casablanca.

While on board the coach, we learnt more Arabic words from him and Deqi taught him some Chinese words. He struck me as a bright young man with high ambitions of making it big in the city away from his small town village in Erfoud.


Meknes City
Did I tell you that Janice broke a cup at the bus station café on the way to Erfoud? Well we went back to the café to say ‘hi’ to the owner and he invited us back to his home for dinner. We hesitated, but decided to go ahead with it with our fingers crossed anyway.

Meantime, we visited the star sights in Meknes (Christian Slaves Prison where Deqi wanted to leave me and Janice there, Moulay Ismail Shrine etc – nothing unusually exciting) and stumbled across a High School Madrasa. And as usual we astounded the students with our race, a few of them started talking to us. Being sympathetic, we allowed Deqi to have his 5 mins of fame of being associated with Bruce Lee, Jet Li and Jacky Chan. Everywhere we went in the city; we were greeted with whispers or shouts of such undeserving acknowledgement.(My dear Deqi,beauty is in the eye of the beholder *shrugs)

Conversations with the locals have always been a pleasure. I spoke to a young boy my age. In life, there are certain individuals whom you see special by instinct on first encounter. Dave was one of them; and this young boy. His quiet demeanor and his eyes told me he was just different. I haven’t a clue why he confided in me that he grew up in an orphanage before attending this high school, and then he told me that none of his friends know that. When asked what he wanted to do after his final year, he told me that he wanted to specialize in English to become a journalist. The conversation flowed smoothly as he begged my pardon by conversing with me in fluent English.

Lasting Image – primary school children, no more than 7 in age I think?
We were walking along the busy street when Deqi greeted a bunch of school kids, ‘Salamu Walakum’, they responded in turn. And then we counted in Arabic (‘Wahid, Jooj, Thlata, Arba, Khamsa’) and they chanted along with us. Then, Deqi started counting in English (Anglais? – One, Two , Three…) and the school kids chanted along in turn. They knew. It was encouraging to see that they were so keen and eager to learn English. You may refute me dear reader for bending over to the imperial powers that be, but is there any other choice given that English has been an institutionalized language in the First World? For them, learning English can go a long way.

Numbers. When I told a friend in jest that I finally learnt how to count in Cantonese, he responded that that was the first thing to learn when you learnt another language. Deqi told me in some random conversation why he appreciated numbers. I will never fully appreciate math and its jargon, but I will appreciate that image of us chanting numbers together with those school kids. It established a certain distant friendship with a stranger. Numbers are universal in every language and now I see why.

The Streets of Meknes
We met Abdelkadel, the waiter at the restaurant and followed him back to his neighborhood, not far from where he worked at the bus station. If ever one were to ask me what was the most special gift I have ever received, I will gladly say that it was from a stranger who allowed me to peek into a small part of his daily life.

Abdel spoke little English. Why and what made him trust us so much is still a phenomena to me, he treated us as if he had known us for years. He had only seen us twice and probably remembered us for being Chinese and breaking a cup, but when he saw us again, he greeted us with a warm smile and invited us back to his house. How does one trust a stranger, or is it that we have we been so ingrained with the childhood philosophy of ‘not talking to strangers, that’s what ma said’, that we fail to have any faith in the good nature of human kind? He reminded me of the Good Samaritan. He just offered, no questions asked. What simple faith.

He introduced us to his family – His parents, his younger brother of 24 who works as a hairdresser, his little brother of 7 – a child prodigy who trains for the Meknes state team and his little sister of 5. His three older sisters have all been married off. He used to be a boxer until he broke his nose and he loves football. When I pointed to his brother’s picture (his brother in a football jersey on the soccer field) and then pointed to his poster of Ronaldo and said ‘your brother’, he laughed and said ‘Ensh’ allah’ (Arabic: If God be willing).

We went for a walk in his neighborhood, something that a typical tourist or even a journalist would never quite experience. Everyone knew everyone else in the close knitted neighborhood. There were hardly much street lights except for the shops which were still open at nightfall. The rows of houses along the dingy narrow streets were bustling with children playing catch and playing football. We asked him if he used to play along the streets like that and he nodded his head. We visited his brother at his coiffeur (hairdresser) shop and went down to the neighborhood pool place where Deqi and his brother played a friendly match. It was nothing compared to Singapore’s pool centres, the room was dark and smoky with only two pool tables. But the mood was similar, it was the hot spot for juveniles to hang out at night. Abdel bought each of us a postcard of Morocco and a small piece of chocolate while he got a cigarette for himself. Then we went to his father’s restaurant and he ordered some drinks for us. Being visitors, it was more than we could ask from a host.

His hospitality was a wonderment, and his carefree nature a profound astonishment. What I saw at the end of the night was laughter and friendship. It was a pretty sight seeing Jan, Deqi, Abdul, his brother Idriss and myself in merriment. Then Jan taught them how to skip – something that she taught me a while back (a liberating momentum). I pointed to the green tiled roof across the row of houses and Abdul whisked me high up just so I could touch them. How do people of different backgrounds, culture and above all language becoming ‘mezziene sahdaki’ (Arabic: good friends) in one evening? I guess I'd never know

Day 8 15/4/2005
Meknes and overnight coach to Erfoud
Spent the day at Volubilis (Latin for morning glory) – an ancient Roman ruin just in the outskirts of Meknes before heading for the towns markets and taking a midnight coach back to Erfoud.

Day 9 16/4/2005
Crossing the border into Spain and flying home
When we were stuck at the south of Spain despairing for a hitch after an hour, Janice said to me ‘If God has taken us here, He’ll take us there.’. He did. We were blessed beyond measures. We spent two days on board a ferry, two days hitch hiking down Spain and four days in Morocco( Meknes and Erfoud-Merzouga).

‘But what then? What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this long and weary journey?’ – Jules Verne. In four days, we learnt Arabic and a little French. We had seen a natural wonder. We experienced a different way of life. We learned more of life’s lessons. And of course, we learnt the meaning of hospitality to its fullness. And yet theres still so much more to see. I now understood why Dave has been to Morocco 40 times.

I dare say, I feel as if I had been one of Jules Verne’s characters from one of his adventure novel with two of the best traveling companions, whom I’m sure have a story of they’re own. And I would imagine that years from now, my two traveling companions would somehow return, ensh’ allah; and pardoning my wild imagination, I would imagine Deqi being an English teacher to the Moroccan kids and Janice maybe somewhere along the lines of having a dowry of 20000 camels (private joke) in the Sahara cooking Tajine and Cous cous for the rest of her domestic life. And myself? I’ll leave that to you, dear reader, to speculate.

For now, my weary hand must rest.

:: Stuffy 4/19/2005 01:51:00 PM [+] ::
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