05.29.09
Eating Labuan.
When it comes to Labuan, I regret to admit that I do not know much about the island that is half the size of my hometown. All I know is that it is a place where people only go for business regarding the oil and gas industry. Oh, and of course, some duty free shopping.
However, my better judgment told me that there has got to be more to Labuan than money and cheap vices. So, I decided to get to the bottom of things, ask around the locals on where and how to experience some good ol’ Labuan cuisine.
So, we decided to spend a day at the Labuan Weekend Market, perpendicular to Jalan OKK Awang Besar and Jalan Perkhidmatan. And it was here I found all I need to know of Labuan’s local delicacies.
There was a row of stalls selling almost the same kinds of kuih-muihs at the market. They were as cheap as RM1 a pop. We found a stall selling the most variety of cakes and pastries, paid for our food, which were probably nothing over RM10 in total, and sat down to enjoy them.
Lamban is like little fingers of goodies. Although they may be small, they are still able to fill up your tummy. Made from the pulut rice, lamban tastes like the Malay’s ketupat or the Chinese’s rice dumplings. This was probably the most favourite out of the ones I tried, and I was kind of sad when there were no more left when I finished all four little sticks.
Firstly, the rice is steamed before wrapping into little cylinder forms of coconut leaves, and then put through the steaming for another time. The sweet lamban is eaten with a dip in the peanut sauce that creates a small spicy kick for the taste palettes.
Another common local food in Labuan is the Punjung. Made from rice flour, they are little cone-sized desserts with green jelly-like fillings wrapped in banana leaves. At first bite, it felt pretty much like the kow chang kou (multilayer pudding) I used to eat when I was younger, whereby I would peel off layers by layers and eat them slowly.
The making process may be simple – I mean, what could be harder than making the batter and filling them into the coned banana leaves? – but it is not. Apparently, the batter has to be of the right texture; if it were too soft, it will just drool out of the leaf before hardening.
Wrapped in lined nipah leaves are bundles of sin in the littlest forms – Jelurut. A delicacy derived from Brunei – known there instead as selurut or celurut, it is made from rice flour, sugar, coconut milk and other basic ingredients. Jelurut is the fattiest and sweetest local food of all the Labuan dessert spread. I did not really enjoy this one, though. Got jelak for me after a while.
A tourist, like me, would be ignorant and just peel the leaf off the filling and sink my teeth into the jelly texture. It is only later when I found out that the right and more fun way to eat jelurut is to twist the flat bottom to squeeze out the food. Jelurut is usually green in colour, but has picked up other kinds of flavours through time, such as durian and yam.
Tapai is quite a common delicacy found even in the Peninsular Malaysia. It is alcoholic dessert made from pulut rice, water and ragi, a fermented ingredient that is the most important in making tapai.
Because of the ragi, tapai has an alcoholic taste to it. Rice plus liquer: not really my cup of tea. Or, plate of rice.
The making procedure is fairly simple, but tapai is one of the local delicacies available that has the most superstitions revolving around it. Apparently, tapais can only be made by individuals, instead of groups, and it is best made in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep, and the maker has a lesser chance of being disturbed.
Even a question as simple as “ah, you’re making tapai?” could ruin the outcome of the dessert! Ancestors believed that when you speak, spits of your saliva might end up in the mixture, which might make the dessert go sour.
Also, tapai makers have to be in the ‘purest’ form before attempting to make the dessert. Women having ‘that time of the month’ are not allowed to make tapai, in fear that the food would turn out red! And one must ‘cleanse’ oneself before making the food, such as taking a thorough shower or something as simple as cleaning your hands with soap.
There are also other titbits you can find in Labuan, such as the sweeties like Telapam and Wajik, and the spicy Pulut Panggang and Pais Udang. You can probably find these food scattered throughout the island, but if you are a little clueless as to where to head to, just stop by the Weekend Market.
05.21.09
Book review: Three Cups of Tea
‘Three Cups of Tea’ by Greg Mortenson
and David Oliver Relin @ Amazon.com
“If you insist on keeping your kafir school, you must pay a price,” Mehdi said. the lids of his eyes lowering. “I demand twelve of your largest rams.”
“As you wish,” Haji Ali said, turning his back on Mehdi, to emphasize how he had degraded himself by demanding a bribe. “Bring the chogo rabak!” he ordered.
You have to understand, in these villages, a ram is like a firstborn child, prize cow and family pet all rolled into one,” Mortenson explains. “The most sacred duty of each family’s oldest boy was to care for their rams, and they were devastated.”
… All the boys wept as they handed over their most cherished possessions to their nurmadhar. Haji Ali led the line of rams, lowing mournfully, to Haji Mehdi, and threw the lead to him without a word. Then he turned on his heel and herded his people toward the site of the school.
… “Don’t be sad,” he told the shattered crowd. “Long after all those rams are dead and eaten this school will still stand. Haji Mehdi has food today. Now our children have education forever.” – p.152, 153
This is why Mitch Albom does not work for me: I read Tuesdays with Morrie, and I was not impressed at all. Some could get all emotional with the advices given, but all I saw was an old man with a lot to say before he dies. And mostly they are advices you probably would have figured out by yourself the more you put yourself out there in the world anyway.
There was no character growth, no suspense, no conflict, no climax. Just. One spoiled young man getting bitch slap verbally to his senses. You just wonder if Albom is writing self-help books, or just writing self-indulging books.
Three Cups of Tea may not have been as interesting if Greg Mortenson has not lived it. Merged together with David Oliver Relin’s appropriate writing style, it was published with enough dosage of descriptions on the destination, as well as the Muslim culture there, and also punchy facts that could grab you heart with one single sentence. He does not overdo his writing to grab anyone’s attention, because he knows that the story he is writing will already be good enough to do all the captivation.
The excerpt above is one of the more touching parts of the book. It showcased a wise old man, Haji Ali, who went faced with a thread or any problems life throws at him, would remain calm and let things unfold naturally in the name of Allah.
Heck, he even gave Mortenson a whopping when he was pushing against time on the people to build the school in Korphe, and also gave him a good scolding when he wandered into Waziristan without asking for help.
Another favourite character of mine would have to be Jean Hoerni, a former climber who hit the jackpot when he created a computer chip that is used widely till today in the Silicon Valley. It was funny the first time they spoke on the phone:
“I know what you’re after,” a sharp voice with a French accent interrupted. “Tell me, if I give you fund for your school, you’re not going to piss off to some beach somewhere in Mexico, smoke dope, and screw your girlfriend, are you?”
“I…” Mortenson said.
“What do you say?”
“No sir, of course not…”
And.
“So. What, exactly, will your school cost?” Hoerni barked. Mortenson fed more quarters into the phone.
“I met with an architect and a contractor in Skardu, and priced out all the materials,” Mortenson said. “I want it to have five rooms, four for classes, and one common room for-”
“A number!” Hoerni snapped.
“Twelve thousand dollars,” Mortenson said nervously, “but whatever you’d like to contribute toward-”
“Is that all?” Hoerni asked, incredulous. “You’re not bullshitting? You can really build your school for twelve grand?” – p.55
Beats an old man sitting on his death bed giving mere lectures any day, don’t you think?
There will always be a reason out there for us for doing charities. We can tell ourselves that we don’t have the money of famous celebrities or millionaires, and that we are not capable of supporting even ourselves to help the less fortunates.
But here is Mortenson, who set up home in a self-storage box and sleep at the back of his car, eat $0.99 donuts for breakfasts and have $3.99 croissants and coffee for dinner, all because he want t o save a little more for his journeys back to Pakistan. And nobody else would offer donation because he was not a climber who scaled K2, but one who failed to.
Here is a poor helping an equally poor; what do you have to say for yourself now?
When you are reading Three Cups of Tea, don’t expect to be pulled into travelling there with Relin’s descriptions of the flowing Indus River, or the hustle and bustle of the Rajah Bazaar, or the innocence of Korphe Valley, or even the spectacle that is K2. Relin provided the dark side of this land, as blunt as it is supposed to be over there.
But Relin still managed to capture the readers with enough amount of descriptions merged with straightforward facts. I was grabbed instantly at the first chapter, titled ‘Failure’. Not only did Relin mentioned about Mortenson failing, he also talked about the many mountaineers who not only failed, but died, on the way down from K2 years before Mortenson’s attempt. Which shows that Relin did his homework when putting together this book.
The description on the Art Gilkey Memorial caught my attention specifically:
For two days, Mortenson and Darsney drifted in and out of the facsimile of sleep that high altitude inflicts on even those most exhausted. As the wind probed at their tents, it was accompanied by the sound of metal cook kit plates, engraved with the names of the forty-eight mountaineers who’d lost their lives to the Savage Mountain, clanging eerily on the Art Gilkey Memorial, named for a climber who died during a 1953 American expedition… But the number of metal plates chiming in the wind would multiply, as four of the sixteen climbers who summited that season died during their descent. – p.15
I look at the world today, and often question what has happened to us. A pregnant woman killed because another man’s greed for money to indulge his date. Families killed because of jealousy and desperation of another. Even in your everyday lives, drivers cannot even do the easiest decency of giving way on the road. It just makes me wonder if there is still any good left in this world.
But when I read Three Cups of Tea, it moved me that somewhere out there, there is a man in a foreign country, doing his bit to make the world a better place. Out there somewhere, there is a community of people, who would still extend their helping hand and into their very own homes when you were lost and in need of hospitality. People, who has no idea who you are, would just volunteer to help you out in whatever you want to do without any prejudice. For a while, as long as you keep the pages turning, the world seems alright.
++
For more information, stop by http://www.threecupsoftea.com and http://www.penniesforpeace.org.
05.12.09
Miri International Jazz Festival : Day two
Event: Miri International Jazz Festival 2009
Venue: The Pavilion, ParkCity Everly Hotel
Date: May 9, 2009 (Saturday)
Being in my second jazz festival, I still find it hard to get used to seeing the media having normal conversations at the table with the musicians. I was always under the impression that musicians are a kind of celebrities that are unreachable. You know, the type that will only talk to you during press conferences and only when you ask questions that they like to answer.
So, it was nice to have breakfast with Mia Palencia, or lunch with Raphael Geronimo, or drinks with Pascal Seixas, exchanging pleasantries and making conversations and laughing at bad jokes.
At the ParkCity Everly Hotel’s restaurant, we were not media people nor musicians. We were just normal people, who happened to be at the same place and at the same time, sharing the same interest in music.
Friendships were formed too amongst the musicians. There was even a friendly football match between the Frenchmen and Australians that afternoon, and surprisingly enough, the Aussies won 3-1. Heh. Made you look at the French team in a whole new light, does it not?
That night, Dites 34 picked up where Alamode left off the previous night with their jazz rendition of traditional French folk music. Instilled in their songs were the typical kind of cheekiness I grew to love in Yann Tiersen’s songs.
Overheard @ MIJF: “Some girl came up and asked where’s that French guy with the typewriter.”
Although most of them were few with words, the members were quite amazing onstage. The rigid force of Quentin Biardeau’s alto sax and the languid flow of Guy Giuliano’s accordion harmonised well to the kind of folk French style that is lovable. Sebastien Janjou’s easygoing guitar licks and Adrien Chennebault’s quirky percussion, together with Pascal Seixas’ witty double bass contributed their part in the world music-ish sound of Dites 34 that made them stand out the way they did at MIJF.
As Giuliano had performed with Alamode the night before, likewise Spaccavento offered a part with the Frenchmen with his own saxophone jams.
Jeff Maluleke was this single entity sitting at the corner of the press conference room the day before, but he won the hearts of many media personnel instantly when, due to his lack of English, started singing in his own language. His voice was an orchestra by itself.
His band kicked off their set with the conventional kind of African Jazz/Reggae with the calming thuds of the congas. It was soothing and soulful, and halfway through the set, I thought to myself, “man, wouldn’t it be nice to have a joint right now”. Heh.
However, to me, his voice seemed to have been robbed of by his band. I thought he would have pulled off quit a show if he had just done his performance singing and beatboxing all by himself.
By the second half of his set, the Pavilion had filled up immensely as Maluleke delved into a more upbeat tempo. People were dancing and clapping along, singing in unison to the encore of ah-oh-ah-eh-ah-oh.
Up onstage, Maluleke was dancing around to his own music, enjoying the night as much as the audience was. Like it was his own full blown concert. By the time he was done, the crowd was cheering and whistling; it was probably the loudest encore at this year’s MIJF.
I took a little toilet break during the intermission. The out-of-order sign made me steered my way to the second floor, only to find Seixas checking out the two sape players playing by the stairway. When I got out of the washroom, he was already sitting down with a sape in his arms, eager to get the tune and technicality right.
This was what comforted me: musicians being so passionate about their music they just want to create music with any instruments they can find, even though it is an instrument they are unfamiliar with.
To me, a true musician does not need an essay to explain what music is to them; just look in his eyes the way he falls in love with a new instrument, and how meticulously he would like to learn it. It speaks more than the thousands of words I can never begin to describe.
Overheard @ MIJF: “Raphael!!!! I love you!!!“
When I first met Raphael Geronimo, he was all alone in the restaurant for a late lunch in the next table from mine, and I thought it was kind of cute when he said ‘terima kasih‘ to the waitress. I thought he was just a patron of MIJF until he mentioned that he was a performer.
Geronimo seemed pretty much a normal fellow offstage. His kind soul took him around for conversations with many people, and when bored at his own conference, he would doodle sketches on notepads discreetly. But when he was all dressed up and had tuned his timbales for the band’s set, he was very much a different person.
Overheard @ MIJF: “You know that conga player – from Rumba Calzada. Don’t you think he looks like, well – Mr Potato?”
Rumba Calzada was back for their second year at MIJF, after being voted most favourite band in 2008. They were even a nominee for the Juno Music Awards in Canada; that is saying something about the band, right?
Their salsa beats brought to the plate something different from the other bands featured at MIJF this year. Whether they were fast in tempo or slow in rhythm, everyone was dancing. Heck, even us media were going at it backstage until the organisers told us off. Heh. It could have been the tequila doing its works, but while they were up onstage, even the most prepped and uptight people in the room seemed to have let down their hair and ties and just went with it.
It was amazing.
This year, MIJF ended with a band – literally – with the 17-piece powerhouse from Singapore: Thomson Big Band.
Overheard @ MIJF: “No wonder the flight is full; the Thomson Big Band is with us!”
Saxophonists, trumpeters, percussionists and such crammed into the small stage and performed jazzy tunes that reminded you pretty much everything New York City is all about. They were probably the only band hitting straight for jazz.
It was grand and it was glamorous, and they got the crowd swaying to their sensual sax solos, and snapping their fingers to the ch-chi-cha-ch-chi-cha’s of the percussion’s crash cymbals.
Overheard @ MIJF: “I bet they met up in the toilet earlier and came up with the jams with eye signals, and decided ‘hey, let’s not tell the audience and see them freak out.’”
A jazz festival would not be complete without a great jamming session with all the performers. Judging from the size of the bands for MIJF this year, it was a mighty mighty session indeed.
Neptune whipped out his shakuhachi, while Spaccavento his saxophone and Giuliano his accordion and Geronimo his timbales, Palencia and Maluleke their wonderful vocals… And when Bombay Baja went up onstage, it was bonkers.
Bombay Baja exited the same way they entered the night before for their set, leading a trail of audience behind them, as if to a wedding procession down the road. Now, this is how they should be performing. Not onstage blaring their horns at the audience while jumping around awkwardly, but at the lawn with the crowd surrounding them and dancing to their music. It was then they seemed more appealing than last night.
Overheard @ MIJF:“Jazz is the common language for people from different parts of the world, speaking in different tongues and living in different cultures.”
I had an awesome time there. Not only were the music good, the people were good too. Media, musicians and organisers included. It was like one big family, and I was glad I was a part of it with such interesting people.
The following morning, we all boarded the same plane with heavy hearts back to KL, while some would hop on the next planes back to their own countries. For a weekend, the world outside of Miri did not seem to matter – did not seem to exist – until that moment when we parted. Reality calls, alas. But I guess, that is what makes the memories fonder, no?
05.11.09
Miri International Jazz Festival 2009 : Day one
Event: Miri International Jazz Festival 2009
Venue: The Pavilion, ParkCity Everly Hotel
Date: May 8, 2009 (Friday)
The sun beamed at a 5 o’clock hue that is warm and tender. Outside my balcony, the South China Sea lapped languidly against the shores of Miri, and downstairs at the ParkCity Everly Hotel lawn, tents were set up ready to welcome the many guests for the Miri International Jazz Festival that night.
While smoking a cigarette outside, a saxophonist practised his scores and notes a few rooms down. Despite the tiresome jet sets to the Borneo island and back again for the past couple of weeks, the musician’s precise slurs echoing in the premises assured me that this would be quite a weekend.
This year’s MIJF took off nice and easy with Malaysia’s own Double Take. With the vocal powerhouse of Mia Palencia and the complementing guitar licks of Roger Wang, it was as simple as it can get.
Overheard @ MIJF: “Roger looks like some ah pek out on the street, you’ll never know that when he performs he’s this musical genius!”
Palencia’s strong and deep voice is the kind that reminds you of a good time during Christmas. You know, fireplace, hot cocoa, chestnuts roasting on an open fire kind of works.
Their performance suited the MIJF early Friday crowd well. With only less than 1,000 then, Palencia’s aggressive voice bounced off the audience’s heads and rose up to the high-ceilinged venue with a bunch of covers: Somewhere Over the Rainbow, jazzed up versions of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean and Man in the Mirror for the encore, and Sting’s If You Love Someone, Set Them Free.
However, despite all that Double Take has, I was not really grabbed just yet. They have the kind of style a lot of Malaysian bands would like to go for, and I was hoping for something different. Nonetheless, they did put on a great show and it felt like a great start to a perfect festival. But in the sense of being blown away, I was far from it.
Overheard @ MIJF: “Here’s my key card. Oh, and bring your turban. *growls*”
Now, when I first heard of the Bombay Baja Brass Band, I was pretty much intrigued. Out of the nine members, seven of them were Brits, and they were going around in Punjabi suits and turbans. Heh. They were quite a fresh breath of air.
But, after hearing them twice before their performance – once at the MIJF welcoming dinner and another during their soundcheck of sorts out in the Everly premises – they kind of became boring for me after a while. I mean, how differently can you get with the kind of rhythm the dhol can offer? 30 minutes into their set, it felt like they have gone on for two hours.
Yet the crowd seems to like them. The band got the crowd to do the Bhangra dance of “screwing the lightbulb” while “patting the dog” at the same time. They had good showmanship, I would give them that. Like I said, it was a fresh breath of air, but like all oxygen in a new part of the world, it smells the same after a while.
And, it was around this time we found out that Everly serves pretty awesome mojitos at RM12. Heh.
When you listen to John Kaizan Neptune talk, you know he is passionate about his music. So passionate that he seems a little, well, off. He tends to go on and on about his view, and he always seems to be gazing a little off to the distance from the present world he is in.
When he started talking about the technicalities of his music instruments, half of the crowd did not really care and was chattering away. But when he started playing on his shakuhachi, a Japanese bamboo flute known to be used for zen meditations, the people were snapped into his trance, just like that. This is the time when we were able to share his often distant looks and off-ness.
He performed with Steps in Time, a multi-cultural ensemble of Indian drumming and strings, jazzy guitar glides, funky wild bass and a rocky steady percussion. It was a performance with a base of Japanese traditional music fused with Indian beats. The violin came out like the Chinese er hu, and together with the Japanese flute, it was like a perfect duet of two lovers. At the background, the timid manjira and bopping ghatam fills the air, welcoming you to feel the romance.
It was sensual. It was comforting. Close your eyes, and you would be transported to a world of falling sakuras in Kyoto and the shibuya centre of Tokyo. Perhaps there is where John Kaizan’s mind is.
Overheard @ MIJF: “They keep on turning their backs on me, I get to check out their asses.”
Since leaving Australia after studying there for two years, I guess I will always have a soft spot for anything that hails from the land down under (meh, that was cliche, guilty as charged). So, I felt a bad itch in my heart when Alamode took the stage and did well in bringing along the entire city of Sydney with them.
To me, every city has a music of its own, and most of them sound like jazz. And if Sydney is all about the jazz, she will be what Alamode sounds like. Beau Golden’s chromatical keys and Daniel Walsh’s choppy guitar riffs imagined a cop chase down the busy freeway for Cops Come Twice. Paul Spaccavento’s saxophone and Paul Muchison’s trumpet were like brothers in arms, creating such power in their songs like Dee Cees (I think), notes as punctuated as their inflated cheeks. Scott Page’s bass and Michael Avenaim’s percussion, always an addictive pleasure to jive along to the band, paving blues streets and top hats.
They even got Dites34’s typist-I mean, accordionist (heh) Guy Giuliano to collaborate with them for a song.
Frankly, I liked it that they did not come with any vocalists. Spaccavento did quite a splendid job stealing the show by creating solos where a voice should sing, and it would kind of flatten Alamode’s unique music style if his saxophone were to be replaced.
It was quite a good start for this year’s MIJF. Although a little slow and catching the mood, but a sultry beginning with Double Take and with Alamode for a climatic end, it is a sign that by the second night, things are just going to continue getting better.
05.07.09
Taxing taxi calls.
I have had enough bad runs with Public Cab to dread morning flights to assignments outstation that requires me to hail a cab to airports.
Oh no, it is not the taxi drivers I have a problem with. In fact, most of them are quite kind and civil now. One even struck up conversation with me while driving me back home. So far, the worst kind of taxi driver I met in my short life was in Australia, and man, was he a bastard. So yes, kudos to the drivers, but the minutes leading up to going into these good people’s taxis, are just. Just. Sigh.
For one, their operators are pure bitches. Alright, so you have to work the morning shifts, but it’s not like I enjoy ringing you up at 5 in the morning asking for a cab either. I’d rather sleep in on mornings and not have your bad attitude ruin the rest of my day. And note that it’s not just in the mornings. Wee of the mornings I have to listen to soft-spoken mumbling Malay operators who get bitchy when I ask them to repeat themselves, while in the afternoons, I get snappy Chinese operators who just want to hang up as soon as they pick up.
I just think it is only common to have at least a tolerable tone when you ask your customer where you are heading to, where to pick you up, and a few simple pleasantries of “good morning”, “how may I help you” and “thank you for calling”. Not snappy “Call you back – click-” or just impatient replies to our pardons because you spoke so fucking softly on the other line.
Also, when the customer is trying to explain that she has cancelled her taxi booking to get an earlier ride, fucking stop and listen to her explanation. Don’t keep on going how she could have reached her destination already when her ride was to arrive 15 minutes ago, and why her destination is different. And then without pausing to wait for her explanation, conclude with a rude and (finally) loud, “It’s OK, miss, thank you for your call.” Oh, so the only time you want to be sarcastic, you show your manners? Nice, man.
A few times already I had been left hanging and almost missed my flight, so I would like to avoid that if that is possible, even if that means cancelling my booking and getting an earlier ride. And if you “would have gotten a message saying the taxi is cancelled, so it means you have not cancelled it”, well, maybe you would have gotten it if your colleague would have been woken up enough to actually hear me cancel it when she called earlier. Sheesh.
And the whole “sorry, no taxi” deal – I don’t get it. I am sorry. Maybe I missed out on the seminar on how to book a taxi right when I first came to KL, but it’s just silly. Imagine waking up at 4 in the morning, all showered and packed and ready to have a taxi bring you to KLIA, which is just far off – period – and the taxi company strung you on for about half an hour before calling you back saying “sorry, no taxi”.
Then what? Do I cancel my flight and forget about my assignment? Do I keep on calling you every minute and get the same response every time? I can call up other taxi companies but they might give me the same response, and of course, by doing all these calls, I have wasted quite some time already.
And if that does not work you into a corner, try ringing them up a day before only to have them say “we don’t do advance booking”. What the heck? Maybe that lady is lying, I do not know. If you don’t have advance booking, don’t fucking put up ads on your taxis about advance bookings, and have a website up with an advance booking option. And fix that page, will you? I cannot even set the date of my pick up right. Sheesh.
When former Tourism Minister Dato’ Azalina Othman Said was appointed her position to help with the Tourism industry in Malaysia, she said frontliners like taxi drivers should be educated on how to treat tourists with respect and manners. Well, perhaps she should have considered these bitchy operators too. So, I do hope the current Tourism Minister Dato’ Seri Ng Yen Yen would look into this matter at hand, especially the Public Cab company.
