Coming up

Later - probably much later - I will write about 

This:

Two and a half days in Myanmar (Jul13)

Blank.

My mind was completely blank when I tried to think of what I could expect in Myanmar.

I knew nothing of the place, other than the fact that it used to be called Burma (which a lot of people still use to call the country). No images popped up, no knowledge of what the cuisine would be like, vaguely know where it is on a world map, but mostly nothing. Oh and also somehow remembered that Coca-cola had just entered the Burmese market. But that's it. I probably wouldn't have gone if E hadn't bought a last minute ticket and dragged me along.

The first thing I saw when I stepped onto Burmese territory at 11:30pm, Yangon was - not surprisingly - a large poster of Coca-Cola, just beyond the immigration desks.

The first night was spent in a hotel near the airport, 4 hours sleep, up before dawn to catch a 6am flight to Bagan. Yangon domestic terminal was not unlike an old run-down indoor bus terminal. Checking in involved showing a man our ticket, he tick our names off a list, another man took our luggage, plopped it behind the desk and handed us our boarding passes.

Domestic terminal

Bagan

Bagan is an hour away on Air Mandalay (surprisingly more comfortable than I expected - it even has its own in-flight magazine!). Bagan airport had these really old decommissioned Japanese public buses (still with the "stop" buttons) that transported us from the plane to the terminal building, and they brought our luggage into the terminal on a separate jeep-drawn cart and handed us our bags. After changing our crisp, pre-ironed USD notes for crumbly wrinkly Burmese Kyats, we paid the Bagan entrance fee, taxied to Bagan proper (rates fixed, haggling not required), checked into the hotel and dumped our bags.

We then found our horse-cart guide man - actually he found us - as we re-emerged out of our hotel, groggy and heat-beat but energized by curiosity. Aung Aung is a kind, patient, soft-spoken Burmese who rents his cart and horse from an owner, takes care of the horse in his backyard, and in return gets a small percentage of the revenue. We didn't know this when we negotiated a "good price" for the day and a half that was to follow. He also spoke pretty good English, for a country-side man in a country that was closed off to the rest of the world only until recently. He knew his way around well, taking us to all the important pagodas, the best photo spots (his favourite word was probably "panorama" since he repeated it about 15 dozen times), and a good vegetarian restaurant.

It was the low season of the year - tourist season is October onwards, and not July when everywhere feels like a giant oven. The quietness further enhanced Bagan's ancient-ness and enchanted-ness. The place felt like it was stuck it time, more than a thousand years ago, and long forgotten by the modern world.

The ancient city of Bagan is an endless sea of temples and pagodas. It used to have as much as 10,000 structures but even after earthquakes and natural weathering, around 2200 still remain to this day. We rode around for ages and ages and all we saw are more temples and more pagodas, with the occasional village popping up here and there.

We were mainly in Old Bagan, a 13 x 8km area designated as the Bagan Archaeological Zone. The government moved a lot of people out of that area as a result of this zoning, and the few that remain are those that are involved in the tourism industry, or the lacquerware trade.

It was a very pleasant surprise just how unexpectedly nice the hotel was. Lots of greenery and open space, open air dining area, pool, and the rooms are semi-detached bungalows. The rooms were well-equipped, clean and very comfortable. And not to mention the breakfast! Amazing buffet breakfast with lots of bread and fresh fruit and an eggs counter and pancakes counter! Alright I need to stop sounding like an American tourist.

The hotel became our refuge and oasis from the incredibly hot midday sun, and we retreated for naps and showers in the afternoons between tours.

Popa, palm-products and pests

Marketplace

The next day, we found ourselves in a taxi tour to Mount Popa. The stops along the way were actually more enjoyable and interesting than the mountain itself. We first stopped off at a palm production plantation & workshop (it was actually built for tourists) - they showed us palm oil, palm sweets, palm alcohol fermenting processes (and a tasting session), a cow crushing peanuts...they were patient but their patiences didn't really pay off as we left without buying anything, much to their dismay. Onwards, our second stop was at a local market and we walked around, sticking out like super-sore urban thumbs, getting stared at - a lot. I found a lot of joy walking in these markets, the colours, the sound of cooking and haggling, the smells of freshly cut ingredients and things being fried, the randomness of things being sold - a treat for all the senses. Or at least it was enjoyable until we started being followed by what seemed to be a mentally unstable man. At which point we hastily jumped back into the taxi with our unnamed deep-fried snacks and a bag of fruit.

My camera battery died by the time we got to Popa, which wasn't too bad because it turned out there was a mighty climb up lots and lots and lots of steps to the top of the little knoll, and I wasn't going to break my back carrying my DSLR up the hill. And just as well I didn't bring my camera up, cos the trail was infested with , destestable, vicious, filthy, ferociously aggressive creatures - monkeys. They were absolutely everywhere, they SHAT everywhere, and they would take everything you held in your hands. The little water I had left was snatched from me half way up, which benefitted the old and young ladies selling drinks from a box cooler that appeared every 20 steps or so. I had to go alone because E had a bad hip and would never have made it back down, and I was so nervous going up the steps I barely stopped, sweat pouring through my skin in fear of being scratched, touched or even looked at by those nasty pests. The few times I did stop was when a whole family of them lay right in the middle of the path and I was too chicken to go ahead by myself, so I'd wait for a group or to come by and I'd just join them. I would (shamefully) even run behind kids who seemed oblivious to the ferocity and disease-infested-ness of the monkeys. The view at the top was rather breathtaking indeed - but I wasn't sure if it was the view, or if it was cos I was trying to hold my breath for most of the way up lest I accidentally breath in their dried up shyte particles. But never again.

The Irrawaddy Village

Transportation methods

This was undoubtedly my favourite part of the trip.

After lunch, a shower and an afternoon snooze, we set off from our hotels again mid-afternoon by foot to the pier, got a boat (and boat man) all to ourselves, and began our short but beautiful journey along the Irrawaddy.

The boat ride itself wasn't particularly eventful. The river was very wide, and after passing a few interesting cruise boats, we made our way down the river for a while, before cruising to the other side of the river and stopping at a random village (although random or not I still don't know).

Our boat man didn't speak a word (of English, hence didn't speak). He only waves, walks, and waits. Where he walked, we followed. When we stopped, he waited.

It was as if we had been transported to another world. The fishing boats, the cow-drawn carts, the women with crops on their heads, men with tools, the monk with a bag, the dog following the monk...and the sound of water, of birds, of a breeze blowing through the tall grass, of our footsteps over sandy grassy paths, and of the murmurs of village life further inland. The air smelled of grass, smoke and country.

Snow peas

We stopped a lot to take a lot of pictures. It was probably quite strange to them, since this is perhaps one of the simplest forms of living which is still (relatively) not too difficult to reach. I suppose one of the reasons why we kept taking pictures of grass and cows and water and fields was our desire to capture some of this..this "atmosphere", of simpleness or pureness of living, "earthiness", seeing your sustenance come up from the ground in front of your eyes, manual labour, living with just the basics, living with just the necessities...but that feeling, that atmosphere of simpleness is not something any camera can capture. Nor can any words describe. Second hand account, in whatever form, won't do the real sensory and sub-sensory experience any justice. It's kind of ironic too - technology has taken us so far, it has made all this sophisticated machinery and "improved" our lives in so many (debatable) ways, and then we take these sophisticated gadgets back to the country-side and try to capture some of this essence of simple living and grab onto what life was like before these machines came about. I won't call this nostalgia as I've never actually grown up with this sort of simpleness. It's not really melancholy either. I suppose it's simply recording something that's actually new to me.

Fans

We walked through the village, attracted a small following of children who showed us their very simple village school; we peered into people's homes and gardens, got a lot of "hellos" from villagers, and waved "hello" back, wondering what kind of meal they were preparing in their front yards.

We wandered out onto a snow pea field, watching the sun slowly descending over the horizon, women carrying baskets of fresh crops across the field and back home to cook their harvest, birds and butterflies flittering in the midst of a golden hue cast over the fields by the sunset behind...it was hard to imagine anything more picturesque than that.

Boatman, guide, wanderer.

Snow pea field

Late afternoon stroll

Dusk at the Irrawaddy

Last day encounters

On the final day, with E ill in bed, I ventured out alone and rented a bike across the street from the hotel, cycling around the old town for the morning. I was hoping to just poke my head in here and there, take some pictures and talk to some people. And that was exactly what I did.

The first encounter was with a young girl who was also cycling, and said hi to me as we cycled along each other. She took me to her village by the river, and as we entered the village, she sold me some postcards and left, and I was greeted by another man from the village. He showed me around, and invited me to his home for tea with his family.

Moving on, I wandered into another village, and sat with a family of lacquer-ware makers. I chatted to the wife (well, tried to), who kindly offered me a bag of crisps, while the husband worked quietly applying gold paint to a little container thingy that I fancied. I wasn't really sure if the price I paid was considered high or not, heck I don't even remember how much I paid for it, but it was probably worth the experience and the "bother" I caused by randomly crashing into their peaceful Monday morning.

After returning the bike and a spot of lunch, we found our patient horseman Mr. Aung again, who had previously agreed to take us to his village for a look-see. We went to the school, talked to the kids and took pictures with them; got mobbed when we started handing out simple stationery (pencils, erasers, small clipboards etc), and got offered sweets. 

We also got to visit the Aung family home, and his very very young son, mini-Aung! It was a very humbling experience - seeing his very humble (and clean) home, knowing how his sole income had to support a family of 5 or 6 (his family of three plus sister and mother), AND having to take care of the horse which he doesn't even own. 

The next generation
 

We flew back to Yangon late afternoon/early evening, saw the glimmering reflection of the setting sun on the Irrawaddy from the sky, had our final seafood dinner not too far from the airport, and sat around in the airport for quite a few hours waiting for our 1am flight back to HKG. Even though it was only 3 days ago that we landed in Yangon, we packed quite a lot in, and the heat and traveling zapped all the remaining energy out of us that we didn't even bother making a short visit to Yangon city centre. Perhaps next time.

I'm kinda running out of blog-steam here so I don't really have much insight to add, or a clever way of concluding, other than this: Myanmar is a beautiful country, the Burmese are very kind and hospitable people, good food (I just realised I hadn't talked about food at all here - but I assure you it is good) and it still has a lot for me to explore. I'll be back, hopefully before even more tourists come flooding into this little Asian gem.

The last 2 months

In two months I did..

A weekend in Taipei,

A long weekend in Beijing,

5 days and a 10k race in Korea,

and

9 days in Turkey.

Life is good.

Beirut: Day 7: Jeita Grottos & Byblos

Yes there IS more!

12 April, day 7 in Beirut (my last day - SADFACE). Jen and I are on another road trip, this time going UP the Mediterranean coast, and not on a heart-attack-speed racer minibus.

JEITA.

Our ears popped as the taxi drove up the lush green hillside north of Beirut, further and further inland, after turning off the coastal "party capital of the Middle East" town Jounieh. The taxi driver (I forgot his name :/ Let's call him Joe) even made a scenic photo stop. As we approached the entrance to our destination, the Jeita Grottos, a man ran out of his stall and handed us some figs, while my other hand was busy feeding myself with the apple given to us by Joe, which was apparently grown in his own back garden in his country house. (Side note: this is the second taxi driver we've come across that has a country house. Either taxi drivers earn a lot here, or retirees like to take up taxi-driving as a part time job.

We hopped off the taxi, and hopped onto a little red cable car that took us a little further up the hill, to the entrance of the Upper Grottos. Leaving our cameras in the lockers provided, we made our way through a long tunnel, slowly allowing our eyes to adjust to the darkness that we were about to enter into.

The Jeita Grottos are nothing like I've ever seen before. It's nothing that you could ever imagine, and no words can describe how spectacular the sight was. Yes, it was one of those tourist sites that you will find at a Lonely Planet guide's list of top places to visit, but it is very impressive, and well worth it. The elevated walkways inside were well-designed and ingeniously engineered to allow passage through the cathedral-like cavity of the grottos. It was nicely lit up, accentuating the depth and height of the interior, the most peculiar shapes of the stalactites and stalagmites, and highlighting the sparkly bits of rock that almost seemed too beautiful to be real. It was quite stuffy inside though, and we were not allowed to take photos.

Seeing the lower grottos involved a short ride on a motorised metal raft, along with a big group of Saudi tourists. We were quite lucky as the water level was just low enough to allow the raft of people to pass through a small opening to a magnificent cave. The water was very clear but smelled metallic.  The air down here was better ventilated. A magical experience.

Joe, after waiting for us, took us back down to the coastal Beirut-Byblos Highway, where we paid him, got off his taxi, and successfully hailed a death-speed highway-minibus, and even more successfully got off at the right place, our next and final destination of the day -

BYBLOS.

Claiming to be the oldest city in the world, what remains of this modest seaside town's once glorious past is but a section of rubble-strewn shapes on a piece of land overgrown with shrubs, next to the port, cornered off with a ticket office plopped in front. OK maybe it wasn't that sad - not sad at all actually - it is perfectly located on a bit of land that slightly juts out into the Mediterranean Sea, and offered a magnificent view of the stunning Lebanese coastline.

We found a restaurant that seemed popular enough to warrant our custom, and sat down for fantastic falafel, superb shwarmas and tantalising things on skewers. Nothing less than a gastronomical celebration, as always (during our time in Lebanon). After stuffing ourselves silly (as always), we wandered through restored souks down to the port. We found the entrance to the archaeological site, got through with student fare (woohoo), and stepped into a history textbook.

Because I'm no history expert, I'm going to let UNESCO explain just how greatly significant Byblos is to civilisation:

Byblos is a testimony to a history of uninterrupted construction from the first settlement by a community of fishermen dating back 8000 years, through the first town buildings, the monumental temples of the Bronze Age, to the Persian fortifications, the Roman road, Byzantine churches, the Crusade citadel and the Medieval and Ottoman town. Byblos is also directly associated with the history and diffusion of the Phoenician alphabet. The origin of our contemporary alphabet was discovered in Byblos with the most ancient Phoenician inscription carved on the sarcophagus of Ahiram.

Some sources say it's even dated back to 8800 BC, and believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. On top of that, the name Byblos is Greek for "papyrus", which was one of the major products exported to the Aegean through Byblos. The English word "Bible"also derives its name from byblos as "the (papyrus) book". It is also believed to be the origin of the Greek term for books, biblia. (cheers Wikipedia).

Looking at the ruins, it was hard to imagine that people were standing on the same spot as I was, 8000 years ago, building all this. I don't think they would ever imagine this once-bustling trading port would be reduced to a fishing town, welcoming foreign guests that would come and look down at sunken structures that crumbled under the forces of war and weather.

We dragged our tired bodies and gobsmacked minds back up the souks and the slope to the highway, and waved down a medium-sized bus - at this point I wouldn't have minded an F&F (fast & furious) minibus at all, but we were too exhausted to care.  Or notice. It was too late when we realised that this was a grandpa-snail-paced bus for non-adventurist. The important thing was we didn't get back too late for my final dinner at home.

Thus concludes my first (but hopefully definitely not last) Lebanon visit.

***

Thoughts/Observations:
Lebanon was nothing like I've ever visited. (To some, I have visited a lot places, but to some and to myself my travel-resume still has a lot of room for improvement).

The people are friendly, warm, curious, forward, relaxed and good-looking. They are chaotic drivers, considerate tour guides, sweet talkers, and pipe smokers. They are diverse with a wide range of ethnic backgrounds and looks - some have very fair skin, green eyes, light coloured hair; but some are dark-skinned, have black hair and thick eyebrows.

It is a bubbly melting cauldron of cultures, religions and races. But I don't think they've met many east Asians - to them, even a halfie like me looks Asian to them. They kept asking me if I'm Japanese or Korean.

Their history is rich, complicated, with power struggles that still exist and manifests itself in everyday life to this day. Just take a look at the requirements for the cultural/religious make-up of their government, it's crazy. The country still bears a lot of very visible scars from civil war, as well as French and Ottoman and Lebanese architecture, some with all three in one building. Yet two steps away are masses of cranes and building sites surrounding the place.

It's an exciting, nostalgic, culturally mind-boggling place. A place I would never ever forget. A place I would strive to come back for more.

Eye-opening, unsettling, worrying.

Be ready for this.

Be ready to watch it, be ready to feel unsettled, and be ready to perhaps think that maybe it's time to change the way we eat, drink, shop, and make those simple daily life decisions.

http://www.realfarmacy.com/eye-opening-six-minutes/

Rant: Flaking around

Maybe it's the heat and the humidity that's been suffocating the city centre but here's  another rant that I just can't keep to myself any longer.

Smartphones, and the destruction of social etiquette.

With smartphones, we are reachable almost anytime, anywhere and in every way. Plans and meetups however grand or casual can be formed in 2 minutes and carried out within the half hour, or changed or cancelled with just a few taps on our tiny pocket-sized devices.

But it feels that it's exactly this tight connectivity that we have, making communication too easy and too instant, which is causing a rapid breakdown of social etiquette - or what I like to call FLAKINESS (please refer to this urban dictionary link for a more all-rounded definition). This is what I mean:

1. Not responding

If I send out an email or a message specifically inviting a few people to something, I DO expect a response from everyone. I'm not talking about Facebook events that are sent out  to the masses and their mothers, nor am I talking about an invitation to an big event where headcount is flexible to the plus or minus twenty. I'm talking  about a personal, small private event, inviting only a select few, where headcount matters.  I'm not even going to demand any hellos and thank yous (even though that really ought to be a standard reply to an invitation) - but seriously, how long does it take to hit reply, and typing out a simple "yes" or "no"?

2. Unpunctuality and justifying it with a text

If we're meeting up at 3pm, I do expect one to be physically present at 3pm (+/- 5 minutes), and NOT a freaking text message at 3pm saying they'll be X minutes late or X-quarters of an hour late. The text or whatsapp message doesn't make me feel any better about awkwardly standing at a street corner or awkwardly sitting at a table by myself like an unwanted loner for 20 minutes, waiting for your incredibly SELFISH ass to trot along at your own convenience.

3. Not turning up and justifying it with a text AT THE LAST MINUTE

Quite self-explanatory, and this infuriates me a lot. How selfish can you be to cancel on someone last minute? What kind of friend are you if you just leave someone hanging like that? I won't even do that to strangers.

I'm not even making this stuff up. Very sadly, this is happening right now, regularly. Time is precious, and the last thing I want is people wasting my time. Not to mention the disrespectfulness caused. There's just no more motivation to organise anything anymore.

Related: Top 9 smartphone etiquette blunders

EDIT: I myself am guilty of all the above charges. I admit that. So change for me starts now.

Beirut: Day 6: Roadtrip to Saida!

I know how incredibly slowly this Beirut series is coming out but time doesn't grow on trees around here and when I do have time I get sucked into a procrastination-bubble that demobilises all my brain cells.

SAIDA/SIDON

Old Caravanserai

Another day-trip out to another corner of Lebanon! After breakfast we hopped into a taxi to the cola intersection (with, I must say, a really nice and dashingly goodlooking - in an older, almost silver fox kinda way - taxi driver who didn't talk much but when we got to the intersection he asked around and made sure we got on the right bus to Saida).

I says bus, but I really mean minibus, in fact what I really mean is one of those old rattly white Mitsubishis vans that can sit about 10-12 people or so if we squeeze and hold your breath (because it was pungent with body odour and second hand smoke). It was quite an experience, being the only "foreign" girls in a van packed with mainly men (who looked a bit like labourers or construction workers) and a couple of head-scarved ladies. The van dashed down the coastal highway, at speeds which, if you hadn't been on a Hong Kong red minivan, would probably have left you with more than just sweaty palms.

In the souks

We managed to arrive Saida in one piece – albeit a little shaken. We took a look at the Sea Castle, decided that we didn’t want to pay to see the interior which would look the same as the exterior, but rather wandered around the souks and wandered into free museums/monuments such as the Debbane Palace (where the entrance was just a random staircase in the souks which anyone could have easily missed), and the Old Caravanserai. We also visited the Soap Museum and learned about the significance of Sidon as an ancient stronghold for trade between Europe and the Middle East. 

But for me, the most enjoyable thing was just getting lost in the souks, children (and old men..but mostly children) yelling HELLO! at these two girls who clearly don’t look like they belong, taking pictures of friendly children (and old men), eating falafel from “the famous falafel uncle” on the roadside while people-watching, trying Turkish/Lebanese sweets from little old sweet shops run by old uncles and grandpas, asking for directions to and being personally escorted to the Grand Mosque by a random one-armed grandpa – who also gave us a silent guided tour of the place (after reminding us to scarf our head before entering the Mosque).

 The problem with having someone guide you is that when they leave you, you don't remember where things are and get lost even more easily. So there we were, two girls looking lost and out of place, going around in circles trying to find a cafe or convenient store for a drink before heading back to the bus terminus for another hair-raising journey back to Beirut. Our lost looks and maps promptly drew the attention of a kind uncle who offered to help, who even more promptly walking us to a bakery + ice-cream shop while telling us his life story on the way. He ended up treating us ice cream, éclairs and water - further contributing to the mind-blowing-ness of how kind and friendly and open people are here.

The Grand Mosque

Shisha uncles outside the Grand Mosque

Falafel!!!

Sweets of Lebanon

....sweethearts of Lebanon..!? :P

We managed to survive the minibus trip back to Beirut, and a not-so-hassle-free taxi ride back home. We even had some energy left to cook dinner for the family and recount our eventful day out.

Oh how I would love to live here for a few more months just exploring the nooks and crannies of each town and city. If only there was no war in Syria next door, spilling it's unnecessary violence across the borders, and if only I had a job that does not confined me to one geographical location. But I am grateful, nonetheless.

The Grand Mosque

Typhoon Fruit Salad

Winds outside are blowing at 120kph, the trees on the hill outside are bowing down to the world's largest tropical cyclone of 2013, and the rain its dragging along is giving the windows of this thirty-something-storey apartment building a good washing (and battering).

With all the fruit lying around the house, and with all the time I had because we got the day (or at least morning) off, I decided to make myself a healthy fruit salad for breakfast! 

INGREDIENTS (aka stuff I found at home): Papaya, peach, blueberries, mandarin
Topped with: Squeeze of lemon juice, teaspoon of olive oil, and sprinkle of cinnamon. The olive oil was inspired by randomly watching a snippet of an episode of Master Chef UK (or Professionals?)  when a girl served her chocolate pudding with a side berry salad which was highly praised for its innovative olive-oil-and-lemon seasoning. And then I added the cinnamon myself because I found some. 

And voila!

I didn't think about taking a picture (or even blogging this) until my last few bites, so this is all you got. 

(And YES I feel immensely proud of being able to think of applying the olive-oil-and-lemon seasoning to my own creations, only to be knocked down by my Chinese mother for consuming extra oil than necessary...)

(And also I kind of regret having that salad now because I had already woken up with a cough and Chinese doctors always say avoid fruits and cold and oily stuff)

But whatever. TYPHOONS ONLY COME ONCE A YEAR.

Super-unimpressed

Despite having heard reviews that the new superman movie Man of Steel was not very impressive, I still went and watched it, partly because I'm curious (later to have my curiosity punished by losing 2:20 mins of my life), and partly for the muscles. And I must say, the 4 seconds of Cavill's perfectly sculpted and chiselled torso was glorious. But the rest of the 2hr 22min 56secs of it was rather appalling. Here are my reasons why:

*spoiler alert*

1. It's in 3D. No explanation needed. See previous rants.
2. The "Love story" had no grounds whatsoever. All she did was listen to a short story about his past. Damn, I sure hope the people to whom I've shared a bit of my past with does think I want to start a romantic relationship with them (at least not all of them).
3. Lois Lane appears out of nowhere: after Superman just flew to the other side of the city from where she was - ALMOST AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT - and killed the 'bad guy', Lois turns up right there and then, and gives him a hug.
4. And how the heck did she climb over a glacier, wearing a beanie, in the middle of the freaking North Pole!? 
5. Ridiculously tiring 40mins solid of relentless fighting and destruction and these non-earthlings being thrown through buildings, sometimes the same building twice 
6. Music: sounded like someone accidentally sat on the bass super-booster / sub-woofer for far too long
7. Or tubas on steroids
8. CGI on steroids
9. Minimal humour - in fact the ONLY supposedly "humourous" line in the entire film (where the lady soldier comments on how she thinks "he's kinda hot") - not even funny, and came out of nowhere, like they suddenly realised that the whole film was lacking in a crowd-pleaser-funny-line, and shoved it in there without much thought or context.
10. The ideologies it is based on - nothing new (genocide, ethnic cleansing, exploiting scarce resources, end of the world...blah blah blah)
11. Russel Crowe plays the "powerful man" character - nothing new
12. THE WHOLE THING WAS JUST INCREDIBLY BORING. My (film-fanatic) colleague said it was like watching a cartoon. But a boring cartoon. He'd rather watch Dragon Ball Z.

If there's one thing that I did take away from this film is that: Krypton - supposedly thousands of years ahead of us in civilisation - was still governed by a political system that obviously failed abysmally such that it actually brought upon the destruction of it's own people. The lesson is: no matter how long we try and develop and try to find a perfect political system, we're effing doomed.

The other thing that I took away is: Hollywood films are a waste of time.

Beirut: Day 5

After our epic road trip through Lebanon (so epic that it took up TWO posts, but now that I come to think of it it was actually very leisurely just being driven all over the place), we took a break from the road-tripping and spent a relaxing day in Beirut.

After a leisurely breakfast, we went out and just walked and walked and walked a lot. Walked along the Corniche, walked along crumbly pavements and dodged unruly traffic, walked in and out of shops, including jewelry shops, christian music shops etc...and just walked everywhere. We went home to pick up J and baby E, and set off to the nearby AUB (American University of Beirut) to visit a stall at the University set up by Migrant Workers Task Force, a volunteer organisation that J regularly helps out with, at the University's "society's day" kind of thing.

For lunch we got veggie/hummus/whatever wraps and sat down looking at ambitions (and fashionable) students buzzing around a very pleasant AUB campus. When a rain cloud passed over we popped into the campus archaeological museum and nosed around inside.

When the rain stopped, we wandered out of campus and got coffee and more food at one of many hipster cafes in Hamra, watching people, playing with Ellinor, appreciating the interior decor, and just savouring vacation life in an exotic part of the world.

When father K arrived to pick up J and E, Jen and I decided to take another long walk to see the Raouche rocks again.

For dinner, we all squished into the bite-size family car, drove to Mar Mikhael, and had a lovely dinner at Seza, an Armenian restaurant. They had a tiny open kitchen, with only a few ladies working in there, but it was silent - no banging around of pots and pans, no clinging of utensils, no yelling, and no faffing about. And the food was delightfully satisfying.

Jen and I were eager to look for some live music within the thriving Beirut night life, (apparently?) one of the party capitals of the Middle East. We walked along the main road in Aschrafieh, checked out a few bars, but nothing with interesting live music. We finally came to a bar called The Angry Monkey - which was actually suggested by our hosts - and surely enough they had a 4 (or 5) piece all-dudes cover band belting out popular (yet not too teeny-bopper to drive us away) hits in the middle of a thriving bar packed with young rich hipster Lebanese. We drank, we talked, we listening to the (actually rather decent) sounds coming out of these American-accented musicians and their instruments, and tried to pursuade Jen to take the mic and guitar and jam up a tune (for she is, in fact, quite a talented musician herself).

We ended up chatting to some local Lebanese people who thought we looked "bored" (they so happen to catch us at a lull in our conversation/soaking up the atmosphere/thinking of songs for Jen to jam), nearly got coaxed into going to another club for some "more serious" partying, but instead headed home in a taxi where the driver took his daughter to work with him. A rather mellow Lebanese night out, I'd say?

It's just one of those days...

Whenever life gets you down, rather than actually being destructive and breaking stuff, I much prefer keeping things intact and finding a certain inexplicable joy by watching this Limp Bizkit video.

An instant mood-lifter!

Road trip Lebanon [continued]

Baalbek

We were already quite tired by the time we got there. There were just a few shops selling touristy junk and trinkets. There was no big crowd, no tour buses. There was no magnificent entrance, or indeed anything that might have suggested that it we were about to see something quite as epic as the temples of Baalbek. There was simply a ticket gate with a few old men hanging out inside, where we bought our ticket, and (after brief persuasion) hired our guide.

I don't even know how to begin describing this place. Anything I write or say, or even the pictures, will just be a gross understatement of how incredibly magnificent the experience was. Seeing this majestic site that was built over 2000 years ago and still standing, the grandeur of the structures, the intricacies of the detailed carving in the stones, the height of the pillars still standing and the width of those that have toppled down...we would have been overwhelmed if we weren't trying so hard to decipher our guide's heavily accented and speed-of-light explanations of the various columns and corners of the place.

It also amazed me how much our guide (and historians) knew about this place, how it was supposed to look, how things were built, where things were supposed to be, the purposes of each nook and cranny, and what happened when and where. The only thing they couldn't figure out was how people back then managed to move stones so bloody huge that even machines today can't move.

The Temple of Bacchus

We took more time than the taxi driver Jaad had wanted us to take, but I still felt like it wasn't enough. I wanted to stay longer and almost take pictures of every stone and pillar and carving.

We were treated to more coffee and a tour of this tiny shop that was filled with metal trinketty stuff and "artefacts" from the site, where we politely peered around and backed away with the pretense that we were poor students. We treated Jaad to a coffee for making him wait so long for us, and to ensure he was awake enough to drive us safely back to Beirut.

Baalbek is definitely definitely definitely a must-see when one visits Lebanon. I think I can do this 5 times more and not be sick of it.

Novice Peach Crumble

I had less than half a day to 1. decide what crumble to make 2. figure out how to make a crumble 3. get ingredients for a crumble 4. make a crumble. And I had never ever ever ever in my life made crumble before. Never.

The internet! I thought. Yet each link I clicked into offered drastically different recipes for the same straightforward dessert.

So I messaged an SOS to a close crumble-maker friend, who had conveniently just typed up her personal recipe for another friend a week ago.

After a few personal alterations to my crumble-maker friend's recipe, this is what I came up with (...ok this is largely still her recipe):

Filing: 

- canned peaches (large can) x 1

- keep the syrup

- sprinkle of cinnamon powder

Crumble: 

- 1.5 cups of flour (double it if you want to make both top and bottom crusts) 

- 1 teaspoon baking powder

- 1/2 to 2/3 stick of butter

- 1 cup of sugar (depending on how sweet you like it, brown sugar is a great alternative and is less sweet)

- some loose oats

- chopped almonds or walnuts

- cinnamon powder

Instructions: 

1. Slice peaches and lay them on the baking dish, sprinkle cinnamon

(For apple crumble: Slice apples and place them on a baking tray. Bake for 15-20 mins till it softens (but don't let it get too dry!), add cinnamon powder and mix)

2. Mix together flour and baking powder and nuts and oats, then add sugar and melted butter to the flour mixture. The amount of butter would depend on how you like your crust, the more butter the more crust-like it'll be, less butter = more crumbly. Add cinnamon powder to the dough/crumble, to your liking. 

3. Preheat oven to 180C, (optional: put dough/crumble on bottom of the pan and) add filing, then cover with more dough/crumble. Sprinkle some of the syrup from the canned peaches on top, and sprinkle more cinnamon and more nutty bits. BAKE!

Best eaten with chilled plain yogurt!

Small joys

The nearly-midday sun was beating down on this cloudless June Saturday, but I wasn't sweating because of that - I was sweating because I was deciding whether to risk and wait for a taxi, or run and end up at the dentists' late and drowning in my own sweat. But there were a good number of people dotted along the road looking like they were waiting for taxis. What to do..!?

I noticed that standing near me was an old Indian couple, strategically locating themselves in the middle of a junction so that they can catch taxis coming from both streets. I walked up to them, asking them if they were waiting for a taxi, and where they were heading. "Pedder Street...Yes! Join us! If we manage to get a taxi...not so easy this time of the day."

Three minutes later, we were cruising inside a nicely air-conditioned red cab on our way to Central. It was only a 5 or 6 minute ride. She told me I had nice pedicure colour, and he told me he only flies with Cathay Pacific. I love them already. When we got to our destination, I already had my wallet out and was ready to pay for hi-jacking this old couple's taxi. But not surprisingly, the old Indian couple didn't let me pay a single cent, saying "I'm older than you, of course I pay! I'm like your father! You cannot pay!"

We got off the taxi, said our goodbyes, and respectively disappeared in to the crowd and noise and traffic.

It really wasn't that big of a deal. But that small encounter made me really happy. It's...the small things.

Yalla - road trip Lebanon!

9 Apr Tuesday

An early, self-inflicted stressful start - after a night of debating with myself and with everyone else whether or not I should extend my stay in Lebanon, I was finally unable to win the debate and took everyone else's side and took the plunge: I whatsapped my supervisor, and asked, with lots of SORRYs and WONDERING IFs and MAYBEs and BUTs and NEVERMINDs, about extending my leave for another two days (so that I could stay for another four, connecting the weekend). After a short but nerve-wrecking (2 minute) wait, he goes online, goes into 'typing...' for (what seemed like) a very long time, and finally gave me the go-ahead. I promised to be back by Monday morning (which turned out to be a failure - see "Hezbollah" post about 3 posts ago sigh), then Jen and I headed out for our Lebanon-outside-of-Beirut expedition.

Jaad our driver was a few minutes late but all is forgiven knowing Beirut traffic and knowing that he's going to be our chauffeur and guide for the next 8-9 hours. Leaving the coast and the lowlands to fester in their weekday traffic, we escaped up the Shouf, meandering up the mountain roads into the heartlands of the Druze community. The mountains also came with spells of drizzles and fog, which (optimistically speaking) was strangely romantic and mystic. And kept tourists away. At least those that aren't eager beavers like us.

The Shouf

The mist

Our first stop was the Beiteddine Palace, apparently where they host the Beiteddine Festival every summer, where performers included the likes of Mariah Carey, Elton John and Ricky Martin. It dates back to  early 19th century, and supposedly one of the finest remaining examples of Lebanese architecture - and it indeed looked very unique and well-kept and (almost) fully intact. The myriad of rooms and halls, beautiful mosaics, courtyards, ottoman architecture and the huge hammams (bathhouse) kept us busy for a good hour or so. The hammams intrigued me the most...and made me wonder whether Japanese onsens (温泉) & sentos (銭湯) and these hammams along with roman baths had any relation to one another, or what sort of cultural or historical similarities resulted in the birth of the baths, or was brought about by the love of public bathing? Hmmm..

Beiteddine Palace

Beiteddine Palace

Hammam @ Beiteddine Palace

We hopped back into taxi a la Jaad, up up up the hill and into the fog and down down down the temperature went. We arrived at the Al Shouf Cedar Nature Reserve, greeted by a couple of chatty old uncles and strong black coffee in a shabby little cabin. On one side of the cabin was a huge cabinet full of jams and honey and oil and other things in bottles and jars produced by the Nature Reserve. Jen and I were rather tempted to stay in the warm cabin and examine each jar and chat to the uncles than to go out in the rain and the cold to get lost in a cedar forest.

But we braved it nonetheless. But not before borrowing an oversized raincoat from one of the uncles.

The Cedars of Lebanon

It was wet, muddy, cold, foggy, quiet, cold, and a little creepy. There were a lot of cedar trees. But it wasn't in full bloom yet. Following very vague directions from one of the uncles and armed with our phone cameras, we set off almost speedwalking through the misty forest to find the largest cedar tree in the region/world/galaxy/universe/whatever. When another man suddenly appeared a mere 10 steps away I nearly jumped. I'm glad we snapped a lot of pictures along the way, because honestly speaking, the experience itself was a bit (excuse the pun) overcast by the weather, but looking at the photos now reminded us how worthwhile the trip was. While we couldn't see anything beyond 20 metres, and completely missed the view of the valley from the hill, there was a different sense of awe, standing alone in a quiet forest, surrounded by these huge and old and healthy cedars, breathing in moist fresh cedar-scented air, listening to the rain drops fall gently on the leaves and the ground around us.

In the misty forest

Even for us who have endured seasons of British weather, it was still too cold. Plus our shoes got shamefully muddy. So after we found the gigantic cedar tree we made a bee-line back to the cabin at the entrance. We each picked out a jam, drank more coffee, took photos with the uncles on our phones, scrapped off the mud from our shoes and set off in the Jaad-mobile back down the hill.

We made a pit-stop at the Khafraya winery, with true student/budget-tourist style tasted some free wine, used the free bathroom, and left in high spirits but empty handed. We carried on driving, stopped for lunch at a local cafe/restaurant, listened to Jaad continue telling us about his life story, telling us about his children, perhaps even trying to hard-sell his son to one of us, as we munched on our tasty shwarma and falafel.

The Bekaa Valley

With yum-filled stomachs we quickly dozed off soon after getting back on Jaadertaxi as it whizzed along the Bekaa Valley through the masses of Lebanese-Syrian traffic.

It was around 3 or 4pm when we finally arrived at the place we had been looking forward to seeing, and our final destination of the road trip - Baalbek. The incredible, magical, spectacular archaeological wonder that I was most excited about.

BUT, since I've already taken far too long to write this post already, I'm going to leave Baalbek for the next post. Haha. Stay tuned.