There's a sign in a Chinatown shopwindow that says, as an explanation for the extremely reduced prices, "I want to go home". 要回家。Which is one of the saddest things I've seen. Came to this country. Worked hard. Saved up, opened a shop. And now feels: 'bugger it all, this isn't the place for me, must get out'. Personally I would want him to stay, because even though I've been back here for decades, I feel outnumbered at times, and want allies.
The news. The bullpuckey from the rightwing. The maskless idiots on the bus. The people who accusatorily ask me where my accent is from, or say that I don't sound American (enough). The sense of being an outsider, a freak, a strange natural wonder.
The sheer damned whitebreadness of it all.
Someone asked me the other day why Tabasco wasn't good enough. He probably thought that if McIlhenny's fine product was good enough for Jesus Christ, then I had no business choosing something else.
Mmm, okay dude. You can have it all.
I'm generous that way.
Elsewhere.
The headmaster of the grammar school to which I went taught us geography, which also meant other people's history, customs, and culture. There were huge maps on rollers above the blackboard -- countries, continents, world trade and climates -- and by the time I went on to middle school I could name all of those blobs. Many American educated people have a hard time finding some of their own states, and couldn't tell Vietnam from Ghana.
Following WWII we Americans had inherited the world that used to be English, Dutch, and French. Most of my fellow Americans don't even know where all of it is, or even what the significant differences are.
Surely ketchup and fries are everywhere?
And why do they all talk funny?
There's a warung not far from Green Robe Island, wich has skewered meats, bakso, cendol, and rojak. They have sambal. They speak five languages there. They don't make a fuss about accents. Or condimental preferences.
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Showing posts with label Hong Kong drawings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hong Kong drawings. Show all posts
Monday, July 11, 2022
Thursday, June 23, 2022
INSECT REPELLENT AND LONG PANTS
During the middle of the day there are fewer pedestrians on the street. It is better to stay in the shade, and one sees people cautiously remaining in the deep front spaces of the shop houses or lounging under the trees. There is hardly any breeze, and it makes the heat seem worse. The pavement shimmers and dark shadows burn themselves into the back of your brain. Best to stay away from caffeine and alcohol, so do not drink iced stimulants like Netherlanders or beer like the Australians. Better weak juice with tapioca pearls.
[Caffeine and alcoholic drinks negatively affect the fluid and electrolyte balance and how the body deals with heat.]
The little sik-siks in the nullah are too pooped to eat the insects.
Instead, they lie in the shade with their rears in the water.
Some kind of small reptile, not sure of the species.
Long rigid tails, and pugnacious faces.
Walking, with even the minimum of body movement necessary for progress - sloyong sloyong -- soon drenches one with sweat, which evaporates far too fast.
At the road there is a store selling drinks with jelly squiggles.
And they have chairs in the shade.
Can one smoke here?
Please go ahead.
We all do. Make a list of essentials for next week. It is suprisingly mundane.
Tea. Tinned cigarettes (that English brand). Aspirin. Whisky (it disinfects). Band aids.
Stay away from ice cubes because of local water issues.
Avoid blastocystis, a gut parasite.
No raw fruits.
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[Caffeine and alcoholic drinks negatively affect the fluid and electrolyte balance and how the body deals with heat.]
The little sik-siks in the nullah are too pooped to eat the insects.
Instead, they lie in the shade with their rears in the water.
Some kind of small reptile, not sure of the species.
Long rigid tails, and pugnacious faces.
Walking, with even the minimum of body movement necessary for progress - sloyong sloyong -- soon drenches one with sweat, which evaporates far too fast.
At the road there is a store selling drinks with jelly squiggles.
And they have chairs in the shade.
Can one smoke here?
Please go ahead.
We all do. Make a list of essentials for next week. It is suprisingly mundane.
Tea. Tinned cigarettes (that English brand). Aspirin. Whisky (it disinfects). Band aids.
Stay away from ice cubes because of local water issues.
Avoid blastocystis, a gut parasite.
No raw fruits.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, June 16, 2022
OLD MEN DANCING WITH FISH
Unregretfully I realize that after tea time and the relaxed enjoyment of a pipeful of tobacco which follows, I am far less tolerant of tourists and white office droogs than at any other time of day. That's primarily because the Muni bus back across the hill is packet to the skylight with them, and none of the intercoursers are wearing masks. Don't get on, auntie, the bus is filled, none of them are covering their breathing tubes, and half of them probably have asymptomiatic Covid and are spreading it. This vehicle is a floating petri dish.
Auntie is extremely lucky that the bus did not stop anywhere in Chinatown. What with being filled beyond capacity. With mostly maskless Caucasians.
If you stand well in, everybody else is your airbag when the vehicle crashes.
Got a safe impact zone all around me.
Tea time was extremely enjoyable. A woman of indeterminate Asian origin was picking up a birthday cake with durian in it, which totally guarantees that there will be enough left over to take to work the next day. A gentleman whose thick Toishanese patois is nearly unintelligible distributed fish to several of the staff from a bucket at his feet. An older fellow informed me that the pork floss buns used to be a buck fifty, now they're two dollars. Several of the other older gentlemen there finished their coffee and drifted out, leaving a clean silence.
And bakery employees members carried out several beds.
I am unclear why a bakery stocks beds.
Actual beds. Sleeping equipment.
Or why there were fish. Yeah, okay, I speak Chinese and read it pretty well. That does not mentally prepare me for the sometimes goofy shiznit to which I am exposed. Not always. Yesterday there was an abandoned sewing machine table in the middle of an intersection in Chinatown, today there were beds and fish in a bakery. As well as a durian birthday cake. Who does that? And why? That's a birthday party massacre in the making. Memorable in any case. Durian.
Cheesie ham bun (芝士火腿包 'ji si fo teui baau'), Hong Kong milk tea, pork floss bun (肉鬆包 'yiuk sung baau'). Plus a durian cake 榴蓮蛋糕 'lau lin daan gou'). Mattresses.
And, inscrutably, bafflingly, a bucket of fish.
I bet this kinda stuff goes on all the time in Hong Kong. Where the airport used to be right in the middle of the harbour, the army headquarters are in an upside down gin bottle, there are restaurants with Japanese cartoon character themes and cute desserts, there's a biblical amusement park, a rabbit cafe, and an all Indian and Pakistani 'national' cricket squad.
There's also spam curry won ton soup. Available at some chachantengs and very many late night noodle shops near your lodgings. Where it is always time for tea.
Oddness. Eccentricity. Exotic foreign unusuality.
So many things that cannot be understood.
Royal Pink Regiment sweatshirts.
Unlike dumb white people on the number one California busline spreading disease without a care in the world, because, you know, that's what white people do. Totally understandable.
Especially office worker yuppies.
The milk tea and baked snackies were excellent. So was the pipe afterwards. If you walk through the alleys instead of on the main street, you can avoid the maskless white people.
==========================================================================
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Auntie is extremely lucky that the bus did not stop anywhere in Chinatown. What with being filled beyond capacity. With mostly maskless Caucasians.
If you stand well in, everybody else is your airbag when the vehicle crashes.
Got a safe impact zone all around me.
Tea time was extremely enjoyable. A woman of indeterminate Asian origin was picking up a birthday cake with durian in it, which totally guarantees that there will be enough left over to take to work the next day. A gentleman whose thick Toishanese patois is nearly unintelligible distributed fish to several of the staff from a bucket at his feet. An older fellow informed me that the pork floss buns used to be a buck fifty, now they're two dollars. Several of the other older gentlemen there finished their coffee and drifted out, leaving a clean silence.
And bakery employees members carried out several beds.
I am unclear why a bakery stocks beds.
Actual beds. Sleeping equipment.
Or why there were fish. Yeah, okay, I speak Chinese and read it pretty well. That does not mentally prepare me for the sometimes goofy shiznit to which I am exposed. Not always. Yesterday there was an abandoned sewing machine table in the middle of an intersection in Chinatown, today there were beds and fish in a bakery. As well as a durian birthday cake. Who does that? And why? That's a birthday party massacre in the making. Memorable in any case. Durian.
Cheesie ham bun (芝士火腿包 'ji si fo teui baau'), Hong Kong milk tea, pork floss bun (肉鬆包 'yiuk sung baau'). Plus a durian cake 榴蓮蛋糕 'lau lin daan gou'). Mattresses.
And, inscrutably, bafflingly, a bucket of fish.
I bet this kinda stuff goes on all the time in Hong Kong. Where the airport used to be right in the middle of the harbour, the army headquarters are in an upside down gin bottle, there are restaurants with Japanese cartoon character themes and cute desserts, there's a biblical amusement park, a rabbit cafe, and an all Indian and Pakistani 'national' cricket squad.
There's also spam curry won ton soup. Available at some chachantengs and very many late night noodle shops near your lodgings. Where it is always time for tea.
Oddness. Eccentricity. Exotic foreign unusuality.
So many things that cannot be understood.
Royal Pink Regiment sweatshirts.
Unlike dumb white people on the number one California busline spreading disease without a care in the world, because, you know, that's what white people do. Totally understandable.
Especially office worker yuppies.
The milk tea and baked snackies were excellent. So was the pipe afterwards. If you walk through the alleys instead of on the main street, you can avoid the maskless white people.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, May 24, 2022
HOW WE WON THE WAR
Because I'm on the schedule for tomorrow I tried to get everything done today. And did. The veritable peak of efficiency. I'm a "necessary task god". You may now light incense.
A logistics genius too. I pat myself on the deserving back.
Early lunch. On Thursdays the soup is corn chowder (粟米忌廉湯 'suk mai gei lim tong'), on Wednesdays vegetable consommé, and on Tuesdays Hong Kong borscht (羅宋湯 'lo sung tong'). That latter, plus the garlic baked porkchops (蒜蓉焗豬扒 'suen yong guk chü baa') and rice, and a cup of milk tea (一杯港式奶茶 'yat pui gong sik naai chaa'), prepared me for the hike over to the office building as well as the subsequent jaunt to a smoke-filled room.
The porkchops were excellent. I had forgotten that.
Maybe I'll have them next week also.
In lieu of 龍脷魚 ('lung lei yü').
You know, sometimes I wonder what Chinese people think about us Caucasians. There was an old woman wearing next to nothing, nipples hardly covered, asking for a cigarette outside on the street, a chap who looked like Gandalf gibbering and gesticulating at Grant and Clay in Chinatown, and a drunk rolling around one block further down. Nine people on the bus back home in late afternoon had no masks on, and of course they were all white too.
Perhaps the local Chinese wonder if we're ready for adulthood yet, and how on earth we won the war.
That's what I often wonder also.
佢哋準備好成年了嗎? 到底如何佢哋贏得咗戰嘅?
['keui tei jun pei hou sing nin le maa? Dou dai yu ho keui tei ying tak jo jin ge?]
Of course, I usually wonder that in Dutch or English. No wonder we invented penicillin. And intivirals. White people (especially tourists) spread disease. That's how Covid became an issue, and why it remains an issue.
Nuking Mississippi, Oklahoma, and Texas might slow it down.
Just like Trump suggested with hurricanes.
Two of the three tasks I needed to do involved native Chinese speakers, only one required English. And riding the bus required English, because there are so many of those people.
Also on the plus side, I got to smoke among an agreeable bunch of people. We were saying farewell to one of our number, who is moving up to Seattle to get off his feet after more than forty years. Which is understandable, but we'll miss him. Good conversation. Kirsch, we concluded, is virtually useless. As is liquer based on Bourbon. However Grey Goose vodka is excellent for cleaning tobacco pipes. "But you could add tonic and ice cubes." "Or use it to clean pipes!"
I enjoyed both of the briars pictured above during the afternoon. One of which conceivably contributed to our winning the war. My father smoked it as a bomber pilot with the RCAF.
Porkchops and borscht may have also played a role. But tonic probably was a factor in blackwater fever among the men, both during and after the war.
The jury is still out on the part vodka played.
It's a partisan question.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
A logistics genius too. I pat myself on the deserving back.
Early lunch. On Thursdays the soup is corn chowder (粟米忌廉湯 'suk mai gei lim tong'), on Wednesdays vegetable consommé, and on Tuesdays Hong Kong borscht (羅宋湯 'lo sung tong'). That latter, plus the garlic baked porkchops (蒜蓉焗豬扒 'suen yong guk chü baa') and rice, and a cup of milk tea (一杯港式奶茶 'yat pui gong sik naai chaa'), prepared me for the hike over to the office building as well as the subsequent jaunt to a smoke-filled room.
The porkchops were excellent. I had forgotten that.
Maybe I'll have them next week also.
In lieu of 龍脷魚 ('lung lei yü').
You know, sometimes I wonder what Chinese people think about us Caucasians. There was an old woman wearing next to nothing, nipples hardly covered, asking for a cigarette outside on the street, a chap who looked like Gandalf gibbering and gesticulating at Grant and Clay in Chinatown, and a drunk rolling around one block further down. Nine people on the bus back home in late afternoon had no masks on, and of course they were all white too.
Perhaps the local Chinese wonder if we're ready for adulthood yet, and how on earth we won the war.
That's what I often wonder also.
佢哋準備好成年了嗎? 到底如何佢哋贏得咗戰嘅?
['keui tei jun pei hou sing nin le maa? Dou dai yu ho keui tei ying tak jo jin ge?]
Of course, I usually wonder that in Dutch or English. No wonder we invented penicillin. And intivirals. White people (especially tourists) spread disease. That's how Covid became an issue, and why it remains an issue.
Nuking Mississippi, Oklahoma, and Texas might slow it down.
Just like Trump suggested with hurricanes.
Two of the three tasks I needed to do involved native Chinese speakers, only one required English. And riding the bus required English, because there are so many of those people.
Also on the plus side, I got to smoke among an agreeable bunch of people. We were saying farewell to one of our number, who is moving up to Seattle to get off his feet after more than forty years. Which is understandable, but we'll miss him. Good conversation. Kirsch, we concluded, is virtually useless. As is liquer based on Bourbon. However Grey Goose vodka is excellent for cleaning tobacco pipes. "But you could add tonic and ice cubes." "Or use it to clean pipes!"
I enjoyed both of the briars pictured above during the afternoon. One of which conceivably contributed to our winning the war. My father smoked it as a bomber pilot with the RCAF.
Porkchops and borscht may have also played a role. But tonic probably was a factor in blackwater fever among the men, both during and after the war.
The jury is still out on the part vodka played.
It's a partisan question.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, April 19, 2022
THE LOGISTICS OF CAKE
There is NO logical connection between coffee crunch cake and Kai Tak Airport. Except.
The most loved coffee crunch cake is made by a bakery in Chinatown, whose owners are Cantonese from South America. For two generations, the Filippinos down on Kearny Street, in what was then known as Manila Town patronized the place, and after the last vestige had been erased with the tearing down of the International Hotel, they and their children were still loyal customers. Some of the pilots who flew for Philippine Airlines had aunties all over the world. And a delicious cake from a distant place is, of course, a perfect pasalubong.
The plane should have arrived four hours earlier, but P.A.L. had a hard-earned reputation: plane ALWAYS late. And four hours is not that bad. My first trip to Manila was delayed an entire day. Which did not particularly surprise the folks who picked me up at the airport.
On this trip, someone in Kowloon was getting a coffee crunch cake. Courtesy of flight crew and pilot, and a designated on-board fridge. My involvement was limited to picking up the cake in San Francisco while temporarily back home.
So I picked up two: I had a personal interest in at least one of them getting to kowloon. The steep turn and descent to runway 13 could give one palpitations.
Refrigerators with cakes are supposed to be completely level, or as nearly so as possible. This wasn't even close. I could imagine all kinds of damage.
The five pounds of Peets coffee were good. Beans are perfectly fine at a diagonal.
I just hoped they hadn't slammed down into the cake.
It would have been a pity.
The cake arrived okay.
I am a god.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The most loved coffee crunch cake is made by a bakery in Chinatown, whose owners are Cantonese from South America. For two generations, the Filippinos down on Kearny Street, in what was then known as Manila Town patronized the place, and after the last vestige had been erased with the tearing down of the International Hotel, they and their children were still loyal customers. Some of the pilots who flew for Philippine Airlines had aunties all over the world. And a delicious cake from a distant place is, of course, a perfect pasalubong.
The plane should have arrived four hours earlier, but P.A.L. had a hard-earned reputation: plane ALWAYS late. And four hours is not that bad. My first trip to Manila was delayed an entire day. Which did not particularly surprise the folks who picked me up at the airport.
On this trip, someone in Kowloon was getting a coffee crunch cake. Courtesy of flight crew and pilot, and a designated on-board fridge. My involvement was limited to picking up the cake in San Francisco while temporarily back home.
So I picked up two: I had a personal interest in at least one of them getting to kowloon. The steep turn and descent to runway 13 could give one palpitations.
Refrigerators with cakes are supposed to be completely level, or as nearly so as possible. This wasn't even close. I could imagine all kinds of damage.
The five pounds of Peets coffee were good. Beans are perfectly fine at a diagonal.
I just hoped they hadn't slammed down into the cake.
It would have been a pity.
The cake arrived okay.
I am a god.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, March 03, 2022
AN EXCESS OF JOY
A friend overseas takes issue with some of the things I've posted recently, writing: "watching Americans "make this all about them" and use the situation to attack their perceived narrowly national political "enemies" (who in all cases constitute about half of their fellow Americans, no matter from which side this is being done) just makes me sad.
I mean, if doing this gives you joy, zei gezund. you are part of a very large and inclusive club. and I suspect I have more excess joy to spare than you do. but it still makes me sad for you, because I like you."
Well now. I love the idea of him happily skipping through fields of wildflowers over there in the Shomron without a care in the world, wearing his tie-dye mumu and playing the Grateful Dead on his headphones, overflowing with an excess of joy.
Because joy is what it's all about.
On a forum for screaming leftwingers, the Indians, Pakistanis, Brazilians, and Argentinians are also filled with joy. Joy that Vladimir Putin has given the West a black eye, and joy that we're powerless to stop him. Also, absurdly, joy that Nato will soon be forced to give up the Falkland Islands and return the Islas Malvinas to their rightful owners. I note, by the way, that much of the non-Western world abstained from censuring Russia. They don't want their supply of smetana to dry up. That would lessen their joy.
So, to rediscover joy, I cruised into foreign news sites. Turkish drones. Drug smuggler arrested in Aruba. Obligatory corona tests. Excellent coffee is important for a good work environment. Mariupol without gas or electricity. What are we ordering online today? Manic crabs captured on underwater camera. Do Indians believe women make better politicians? We Muslims are treated like the sacrificial goat. Indian students stuck in Ukraine desperate for help. How mindfulness can make you a darker person. Why do so many babies and pregnant women in Africa die? Die Suche nach Moskaus versteckten Milliarden; Jachten, Immobilien, Geld – der Westen will das Vermögen von Russen im Ausland einfrieren. Warum das gar nicht so einfach ist. Coronavirus in der Schweiz: BAG meldet 23'023 Neuinfektionen und 132 Spitaleinweisungen, 7-Tage-Schnitt steigt leicht. Russen, die gegen den Krieg protestieren, gehen ein grosses Risiko ein – der Unterdrückungsapparat wird immer brutaler.
On the other hand, over in the Shomron, a blithe spirit is skipping gaily through fields of wildflowers wearing tie-dye and listening to the Grateful Dead.
Most of what I post on social media are pictures I've drawn. Like this one. They do not make political statements, but colourfully reflect a quiet life mostly unconcerned with politics, the pandemic, tie-dye mumus, or wildflowers in the west bank. Instead, a cup of hot chocolate, skewers of chicken satay above glowing charcoal, a rabbit enjoying a cup of hot coffee and a smoke in his pipe, a butterfly, and Stonehenge. As well as a stuffed turkey vulture looking perky and rather pleased with himself.
I admit that I have not drawn a sprite amidst the wildflowers.
Joy, dear Jonathan, is gar nicht so einfach.
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
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I mean, if doing this gives you joy, zei gezund. you are part of a very large and inclusive club. and I suspect I have more excess joy to spare than you do. but it still makes me sad for you, because I like you."
Well now. I love the idea of him happily skipping through fields of wildflowers over there in the Shomron without a care in the world, wearing his tie-dye mumu and playing the Grateful Dead on his headphones, overflowing with an excess of joy.
Because joy is what it's all about.
On a forum for screaming leftwingers, the Indians, Pakistanis, Brazilians, and Argentinians are also filled with joy. Joy that Vladimir Putin has given the West a black eye, and joy that we're powerless to stop him. Also, absurdly, joy that Nato will soon be forced to give up the Falkland Islands and return the Islas Malvinas to their rightful owners. I note, by the way, that much of the non-Western world abstained from censuring Russia. They don't want their supply of smetana to dry up. That would lessen their joy.
So, to rediscover joy, I cruised into foreign news sites. Turkish drones. Drug smuggler arrested in Aruba. Obligatory corona tests. Excellent coffee is important for a good work environment. Mariupol without gas or electricity. What are we ordering online today? Manic crabs captured on underwater camera. Do Indians believe women make better politicians? We Muslims are treated like the sacrificial goat. Indian students stuck in Ukraine desperate for help. How mindfulness can make you a darker person. Why do so many babies and pregnant women in Africa die? Die Suche nach Moskaus versteckten Milliarden; Jachten, Immobilien, Geld – der Westen will das Vermögen von Russen im Ausland einfrieren. Warum das gar nicht so einfach ist. Coronavirus in der Schweiz: BAG meldet 23'023 Neuinfektionen und 132 Spitaleinweisungen, 7-Tage-Schnitt steigt leicht. Russen, die gegen den Krieg protestieren, gehen ein grosses Risiko ein – der Unterdrückungsapparat wird immer brutaler.
On the other hand, over in the Shomron, a blithe spirit is skipping gaily through fields of wildflowers wearing tie-dye and listening to the Grateful Dead.
Most of what I post on social media are pictures I've drawn. Like this one. They do not make political statements, but colourfully reflect a quiet life mostly unconcerned with politics, the pandemic, tie-dye mumus, or wildflowers in the west bank. Instead, a cup of hot chocolate, skewers of chicken satay above glowing charcoal, a rabbit enjoying a cup of hot coffee and a smoke in his pipe, a butterfly, and Stonehenge. As well as a stuffed turkey vulture looking perky and rather pleased with himself.
I admit that I have not drawn a sprite amidst the wildflowers.
Joy, dear Jonathan, is gar nicht so einfach.
==========================================================================
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LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Thursday, February 17, 2022
LANDING AT KAITAK AIRPORT
啟德機場
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Wednesday, February 16, 2022
DO YOU SMELL THAT, SON?
In the modern era smells drive people wild. My apartment mate had been gifted an expensive perfume by a relative, probably as a Christmas present, that smells rather nice. I have no idea what it's called. The strong top note is startling, but fades in a while leaving a pleasant sultry but lighter middle note and base to influence your thoughts while she rants about rich snobby uppercrust childmolesters like Prince Andrew, about whom she is watching informative and analytical youtube videos. A disgusting royal degenerate. Shocking.
That fragrance mismatches the subject.
[It might be L'Ombre Dans L'Eau, by Diptyque. Black currant leaf and Bulgarian rose, bergamot, musk, ambergris.]
Years ago I used to smoke Latakia mixtures, being particularly fond of Dunhill's London and Standard after Balkan Sobranie got bollicksed up. Hard to get in some parts of the world, and even back then "refined" people frowned upon the fragrance. The aromas of a fishing village and shipbuilding area were stronger however, and some people still used woodfires to cook. And there was drying fish. So one could 'fly under the radar', so to speak.
[Latakia imparts terpeneols, creosote, and resinous woodsmoke. Faintly floral, profoundly sexy.] In San Francisco we've forgotten our past. The port is less active than it was during the middle years of the twentieth century, military ships seldom dock here, mercant marine activities have shifted to Oakland, San Jose, and Long Beach, and except for crab fishermen the seafood activity of San Francisco Bay has stilled. There are no shrimp canneries anymore.
You really would not want to eat what comes out of the water here.
People in San Francisco tend to have kittens about smoking. One of the main reasons I tend to hang around Chinatown is that everyone there has a relative who smokes, or IS the relative that does so, and they tend to mind their own business.
Besides, they probably would rather have a discreet Dutchman who smells of Virginia blends passing through their alley than a gaggle of Midwesterners reeking of lutefisk, or Frenchmen ponging of perfume and cheesy unwashed body parts.
[Virginias have carotenoids and a higher natural sugar content. Delicate, contemplative, and old fashioned.]
Plus my imperfect Cantonese gets me treated like a regular person, whereas my English / Bostonian / Irish / Australian accent (or however it's misidentified by Anglos) prompts stupid behaviour elsewhere. No, I bloody well don't speak Cockney, nor do I hail from Yorkshire.
And what you're now throwing at me does NOT sound Irish or Scottish.
I am not the English fellow from that last time.
And I cannot stand Mary Poppins.
By the way: Dried salt fish is Haam Yü (鹹魚), you should try it sometime.
It's much better than lutefisk. Goes great with pork.
Adjusts your attitude.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
That fragrance mismatches the subject.
[It might be L'Ombre Dans L'Eau, by Diptyque. Black currant leaf and Bulgarian rose, bergamot, musk, ambergris.]
Years ago I used to smoke Latakia mixtures, being particularly fond of Dunhill's London and Standard after Balkan Sobranie got bollicksed up. Hard to get in some parts of the world, and even back then "refined" people frowned upon the fragrance. The aromas of a fishing village and shipbuilding area were stronger however, and some people still used woodfires to cook. And there was drying fish. So one could 'fly under the radar', so to speak.
[Latakia imparts terpeneols, creosote, and resinous woodsmoke. Faintly floral, profoundly sexy.] In San Francisco we've forgotten our past. The port is less active than it was during the middle years of the twentieth century, military ships seldom dock here, mercant marine activities have shifted to Oakland, San Jose, and Long Beach, and except for crab fishermen the seafood activity of San Francisco Bay has stilled. There are no shrimp canneries anymore.
You really would not want to eat what comes out of the water here.
People in San Francisco tend to have kittens about smoking. One of the main reasons I tend to hang around Chinatown is that everyone there has a relative who smokes, or IS the relative that does so, and they tend to mind their own business.
Besides, they probably would rather have a discreet Dutchman who smells of Virginia blends passing through their alley than a gaggle of Midwesterners reeking of lutefisk, or Frenchmen ponging of perfume and cheesy unwashed body parts.
[Virginias have carotenoids and a higher natural sugar content. Delicate, contemplative, and old fashioned.]
Plus my imperfect Cantonese gets me treated like a regular person, whereas my English / Bostonian / Irish / Australian accent (or however it's misidentified by Anglos) prompts stupid behaviour elsewhere. No, I bloody well don't speak Cockney, nor do I hail from Yorkshire.
And what you're now throwing at me does NOT sound Irish or Scottish.
I am not the English fellow from that last time.
And I cannot stand Mary Poppins.
By the way: Dried salt fish is Haam Yü (鹹魚), you should try it sometime.
It's much better than lutefisk. Goes great with pork.
Adjusts your attitude.
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Wednesday, February 02, 2022
TURN RIGHT BEFORE DEEP BAY
My father was a bomber pilot, having joined the RCAF before the United States was in the war. It is something about him that I admired. Among many other things. Even with the hindsight of decades, he still seems a most exemplary man. In some ways I have unconsciously emulated him. Probably because by his example certain things seemed natural and familiar.
I did mechanical drafting for a few years, I smoke a pipe, I speak German.
And I've striven to be as much of a gentleman as possible.
But I am not an engineer, nor a pilot.
Any bombing I may do will be from ground level.
I've known a number of pilots, including several Brits. Kaitak was their most challenging airport. Approach across the peninsula, and as soon as you see the checkerboard, bank sharp right and descend, putting the plane in line for runway thirteen. It wasn't the only landing strip in Hong Kong, though. Far less challenging was the British airbase at Sek Kong.
ROYAL AIRFORCE STATION SEK KONG [石崗機場]
ICAO AIRPORTCODE:VHSK
RAF Sek Kong is now held by the mainland armed forces, though also home to civilian flight enthusiasts on weekends. Like Kaitak, it is surrounded by buildings and people. It is located in Yuen Long District, and there are still a number of formerly military connected personell residing nearby.
In the picture above, the approach is from the northwest, Kam Tin Road (錦田路) is on the left of the runway, Kam Shui North Road (金水北路) on the right. Further south and not visible is the Kam Tin River (錦田河), which flows twistily north until it joins the Shan Pui river (山貝河), and shortly thereafter drains into Deep Bay (后海灣 aka Shenzhen Bay: 深圳灣). Kam Tin Road eventually joins Route Twisk (荃錦公路), which meanders across the mountains east and southward before till it enters Tsuen Wan (荃灣.
This afternoon I put one of my father's old pipes in my coat pocket to smoke after tea. Many of the places in Chinatown are still closed -- it's day two of the New Year Festival -- so I ended up at a place I haven't visited in two years. Not much in the display cases to choose from, but the milk tea was good and strong, the waitress quicker and more alert than I remember the staff there ever being (she must be new), and tables clean.
Some things are more important than you might think.
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I did mechanical drafting for a few years, I smoke a pipe, I speak German.
And I've striven to be as much of a gentleman as possible.
But I am not an engineer, nor a pilot.
Any bombing I may do will be from ground level.
I've known a number of pilots, including several Brits. Kaitak was their most challenging airport. Approach across the peninsula, and as soon as you see the checkerboard, bank sharp right and descend, putting the plane in line for runway thirteen. It wasn't the only landing strip in Hong Kong, though. Far less challenging was the British airbase at Sek Kong.
ROYAL AIRFORCE STATION SEK KONG [石崗機場]
ICAO AIRPORTCODE:VHSK
RAF Sek Kong is now held by the mainland armed forces, though also home to civilian flight enthusiasts on weekends. Like Kaitak, it is surrounded by buildings and people. It is located in Yuen Long District, and there are still a number of formerly military connected personell residing nearby.
In the picture above, the approach is from the northwest, Kam Tin Road (錦田路) is on the left of the runway, Kam Shui North Road (金水北路) on the right. Further south and not visible is the Kam Tin River (錦田河), which flows twistily north until it joins the Shan Pui river (山貝河), and shortly thereafter drains into Deep Bay (后海灣 aka Shenzhen Bay: 深圳灣). Kam Tin Road eventually joins Route Twisk (荃錦公路), which meanders across the mountains east and southward before till it enters Tsuen Wan (荃灣.
This afternoon I put one of my father's old pipes in my coat pocket to smoke after tea. Many of the places in Chinatown are still closed -- it's day two of the New Year Festival -- so I ended up at a place I haven't visited in two years. Not much in the display cases to choose from, but the milk tea was good and strong, the waitress quicker and more alert than I remember the staff there ever being (she must be new), and tables clean.
Some things are more important than you might think.
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Tuesday, January 11, 2022
THE UPSIDE DOWN GIN BOTTLE
For some reason the apartment mate and myself were discussing buildings which are recognizable, the high rises and constructions that are the signature parts of every urban landscape. Like the Notre Dame cathedral, the well known monuments of Washington which have been turned into a set of lovely and detailed cigar humidors, stuff in London, and Amsterdam Central Station, the Rijksmuseum, and the Stedelijk.
Or, in San Francisco, the piramid and the old Folgers building on the waterfront.
So I mentioned the Upside Down Gin Bottle.
Prince of Wales Barracks.
In Hong Kong. When Adrian was still in Hong Kong, he would smoke outside the highrise where his company was located, NOT outside what is now the People's Army Headquarters, but he could probably see it from there. Or, in any case, he knew of it, and would instantly recognize it.
As would everyone else; it's distinctive.
The proper pipe tobacco to smoke while observing this building, or enjoying a lazy break outside one of the imposing structures in Central, would, quite naturally, be Dunhill's Elizabethan Mixture. As Adrian did when away from his office.
AFTER WORD
What I smoked tonight while waiting for the bookseller at the usual spot in Chinatown was Greg Pease's Embarcadero. Mostly red Virginia, goodly wallop of Smyrna, in a loose broken flake form that scarce needs any rubbing out. Which is very nice. Deep.
Goes very well with hot milk tea, and Cantonese food.
Not refined cuisine, but working class goodness.
Had some after pastries and a cuppa earlier.
It has been a three-pipe day.
Very pleasant.
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Or, in San Francisco, the piramid and the old Folgers building on the waterfront.
So I mentioned the Upside Down Gin Bottle.
Prince of Wales Barracks.
In Hong Kong. When Adrian was still in Hong Kong, he would smoke outside the highrise where his company was located, NOT outside what is now the People's Army Headquarters, but he could probably see it from there. Or, in any case, he knew of it, and would instantly recognize it.
As would everyone else; it's distinctive.
The proper pipe tobacco to smoke while observing this building, or enjoying a lazy break outside one of the imposing structures in Central, would, quite naturally, be Dunhill's Elizabethan Mixture. As Adrian did when away from his office.
AFTER WORD
What I smoked tonight while waiting for the bookseller at the usual spot in Chinatown was Greg Pease's Embarcadero. Mostly red Virginia, goodly wallop of Smyrna, in a loose broken flake form that scarce needs any rubbing out. Which is very nice. Deep.
Goes very well with hot milk tea, and Cantonese food.
Not refined cuisine, but working class goodness.
Had some after pastries and a cuppa earlier.
It has been a three-pipe day.
Very pleasant.
==========================================================================
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YOU CAN EAT AND SLEEP THERE
Imagine a place filled with backpackers, Indians, and curry. It isn't Nepal. Or anywhere near the Taj Mahal. The dulcet sounds of Urdu and Punjabi (well, can't really describe them as "dulcet", but I'm so used to those sounds that "ugly guttural, hairballs" doesn't seem right -- that's Russian) everywhere, turmeric and ginger, faint whisps of strawberry incense .....
A very multinational place. Where everything is sold, and people live their entire lives without going outside. Densely alive at all hours. Lodgings, bistros, masala chai stalls.
Sort of the residential hotel of a feverish imagination.
With far fewer SFPD busting down doors.
Chungking Mansions.
Years ago I was the cashier/factotum/rational adult on the premises at an Indian Restaurant, and also the man people went to for answers. Not some of the staff, because Punjabis know everything there is to know, but Caucasians. Several of whom liked "curry", but often felt that the food was too spicy. Even the rice pilaf. They were curious.
"There is too much chili in all this (there wasn't), the bread is too spicy (it isn't), the rice has too much pepper (none), the tea (masala chai) is undrinkably strong (a mild beverage toned-down for the gaura-log), and why on earth did you put garlic and chilis in the mango juice?!?!"
Okay ... I think your nose is overruling your brain.
Some people really shouldn't travel anywhere outside of the Midwest or perhaps the East Coast. Not even to a local foreign edibles restaurant. It shortcircuits their senses, they experience too much stimuli, and become slightly onthutst and lose their moorings.
Chungking Mansions is filled with Indians, Pakistanis, Malays, East Africans.
As well as their shops, eateries, hair salons, tailors.
There is no daylight there.
17 floors.
It's worth a visit.
There's pizza.
==========================================================================
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A very multinational place. Where everything is sold, and people live their entire lives without going outside. Densely alive at all hours. Lodgings, bistros, masala chai stalls.
Sort of the residential hotel of a feverish imagination.
With far fewer SFPD busting down doors.
Chungking Mansions.
36–44 Nathan Road, Tsim Sha Tsui, Kowloon, Hong Kong
Years ago I was the cashier/factotum/rational adult on the premises at an Indian Restaurant, and also the man people went to for answers. Not some of the staff, because Punjabis know everything there is to know, but Caucasians. Several of whom liked "curry", but often felt that the food was too spicy. Even the rice pilaf. They were curious.
"There is too much chili in all this (there wasn't), the bread is too spicy (it isn't), the rice has too much pepper (none), the tea (masala chai) is undrinkably strong (a mild beverage toned-down for the gaura-log), and why on earth did you put garlic and chilis in the mango juice?!?!"
Okay ... I think your nose is overruling your brain.
Some people really shouldn't travel anywhere outside of the Midwest or perhaps the East Coast. Not even to a local foreign edibles restaurant. It shortcircuits their senses, they experience too much stimuli, and become slightly onthutst and lose their moorings.
Chungking Mansions is filled with Indians, Pakistanis, Malays, East Africans.
As well as their shops, eateries, hair salons, tailors.
There is no daylight there.
17 floors.
It's worth a visit.
There's pizza.
==========================================================================
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Wednesday, January 05, 2022
THE RAVINE OF YELLOW BAMBOO
He graduated sometime in the seventies, and after over three decades retired from the force. Whereupon he emigrated to the United States (several relatives already lived here), because Hong Kong had changed. Change is good. Except when it isn't.
For many years he had been stationed in Yaumatei, near Canton Road, north of the park.
There was a noodle restaurant near Lai Chi Kok and Portland Street he liked, as well as one on Sai Yee Street. But when time permitted, he'd go to a chachanteng for a baked dish. When he was growing up chachantengs were rare, but what preceded them as a place for tea with milk and HK Western food was the ping sat (冰室). Cold frothy drinks, red bean floats, shave ice with mixed fruits or pineapple or boiled lotus seeds, and cheap snack food. The chachanteng would focus more on strong milk tea, real meals at affordable prices, less ice or ice cream.
At a chachanteng one could sit for hours reading the papers.
Hepped to the eye brows on tea.
This all came out during conversations in which I mentioned going to Ping Yuen on Jackson Street in the late eighties, multiple newspapers and cups of coffee, and a pastry or a slice of pie, after work. It sounded relatable. What a pity Ping Yuen no longer exists! Chachanteng are not common in San Francisco, ping sats are quite unknown. I think he would be pleased at some of the current business in C'town. There's a place on the corner of Washington and Grant, another at Grant and Broadway, that he might like.
But of course things have changed.
He had grown up on the island, and didn't even go to Kowloon until his last year of high school. After passing out (graduating) he moved there. It was a different world. As a kid he didn't even visit the southern side of Hong Kong. Why would he? No reason. The police college is there, in an area with clear breezes from the South China Sea.
黃竹坑 ('wong juk haang'; Staunton Valley, or Wong Chuk Hang, on the southern side of Hong Kong Island). 黃竹坑舊圍 ('wong juk haang kau wai'; Yellow Bamboo Ravine old settlement) the fortified village which was the original 'Hong Kong', formerly known as (香港村 'heung gong chuen'). A new fortified village was built in the 1860's and 70's nearby. The fragrance in the harbour of the name refers to sandalwood and gaharu, material for incense. An area with sunlight. More often than you might think. Also largely exposed during typhoons, which usually come in from south or south-east, May to the end of October. There are many more Pizza Huts and 7-elevens in Hong Kong nowadays that ping sats or chachantengs. It's a younger hipper place than it was, far more worldly.
There is an actual 'ping sat' in Brooklyn, but that's a bit far from here. And there aren't many other reasons to visit New York, so perhaps we'll backburner that for future consideration. Red bean shave ice has become more common here in recent years, part of the boba tea thing. Given that I prefer my red beans as a finely ground marzipan like substance baked within layers of pastry, and find boba less than divine, I haven't explored the phenomenon.
There's alway Metro Hong Kong Desserts (地鐵站奶茶) on Stockton Street.
A place I occasionally go to for a cup of HK milk tea.
As close to a ping sat as there is.
ADDENDUM AT 20:08
A Police College passing out parade would often have the band playing Highland Cathedral.
Plus, at the end, as quick marches (120 steps per minute more or less) Old Lang Syne and We're No Awa Tae Bide Awa, on bagpipes. I know this because 'reasons'.
Other tunes: Happy Wanderer, South Down Militia.
Liberty Bell, Pentland Hills.
==========================================================================
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For many years he had been stationed in Yaumatei, near Canton Road, north of the park.
There was a noodle restaurant near Lai Chi Kok and Portland Street he liked, as well as one on Sai Yee Street. But when time permitted, he'd go to a chachanteng for a baked dish. When he was growing up chachantengs were rare, but what preceded them as a place for tea with milk and HK Western food was the ping sat (冰室). Cold frothy drinks, red bean floats, shave ice with mixed fruits or pineapple or boiled lotus seeds, and cheap snack food. The chachanteng would focus more on strong milk tea, real meals at affordable prices, less ice or ice cream.
At a chachanteng one could sit for hours reading the papers.
Hepped to the eye brows on tea.
This all came out during conversations in which I mentioned going to Ping Yuen on Jackson Street in the late eighties, multiple newspapers and cups of coffee, and a pastry or a slice of pie, after work. It sounded relatable. What a pity Ping Yuen no longer exists! Chachanteng are not common in San Francisco, ping sats are quite unknown. I think he would be pleased at some of the current business in C'town. There's a place on the corner of Washington and Grant, another at Grant and Broadway, that he might like.
But of course things have changed.
He had grown up on the island, and didn't even go to Kowloon until his last year of high school. After passing out (graduating) he moved there. It was a different world. As a kid he didn't even visit the southern side of Hong Kong. Why would he? No reason. The police college is there, in an area with clear breezes from the South China Sea.
黃竹坑 ('wong juk haang'; Staunton Valley, or Wong Chuk Hang, on the southern side of Hong Kong Island). 黃竹坑舊圍 ('wong juk haang kau wai'; Yellow Bamboo Ravine old settlement) the fortified village which was the original 'Hong Kong', formerly known as (香港村 'heung gong chuen'). A new fortified village was built in the 1860's and 70's nearby. The fragrance in the harbour of the name refers to sandalwood and gaharu, material for incense. An area with sunlight. More often than you might think. Also largely exposed during typhoons, which usually come in from south or south-east, May to the end of October. There are many more Pizza Huts and 7-elevens in Hong Kong nowadays that ping sats or chachantengs. It's a younger hipper place than it was, far more worldly.
There is an actual 'ping sat' in Brooklyn, but that's a bit far from here. And there aren't many other reasons to visit New York, so perhaps we'll backburner that for future consideration. Red bean shave ice has become more common here in recent years, part of the boba tea thing. Given that I prefer my red beans as a finely ground marzipan like substance baked within layers of pastry, and find boba less than divine, I haven't explored the phenomenon.
There's alway Metro Hong Kong Desserts (地鐵站奶茶) on Stockton Street.
A place I occasionally go to for a cup of HK milk tea.
As close to a ping sat as there is.
ADDENDUM AT 20:08
A Police College passing out parade would often have the band playing Highland Cathedral.
Plus, at the end, as quick marches (120 steps per minute more or less) Old Lang Syne and We're No Awa Tae Bide Awa, on bagpipes. I know this because 'reasons'.
Other tunes: Happy Wanderer, South Down Militia.
Liberty Bell, Pentland Hills.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, January 04, 2022
NORTH POINT
Barely a year after it was finished in 1966, the police stormed the building and flushed out bomb factories and a communist revolutionary emergency hospital set up to deal with combat wounds during the riots. 1967 was a turbulent year in Hong Kong, mainly because of mass psychosis across the border. The Kiu Kwan Manion(s) highrise was at the heart of it. Because the tactics of the rioters involved bloodshed and mayhem, the public turned against them. The deaths of children and a popular radio commentator did not help their cause; the assasination of the latter by what was widely reported as a death squad probably put paid to it entirely.
Notoriously, Fujianese refugees who were long-time residents of Hong Kong were heavily involved in sowing discord, making explosive devices, and plotting against the authorities.
One could suspect an enduring pro-Peking slant among that group, given their damned well criminal activities during recent years.
At one point the commander of the garrison across the border (黄永胜 'wong wing sing') seriously suggested invading the Crown Colony, having by that time organized succesful massacres in Guantung and Guangsi. His plans were foiled at the highest level.
He was purged in 1971, put on trial for various offenses in 1980.
He was released from prison, and died in 1983.
The riots came to an end when Peking ordered their cessation. Cooler heads prevailed at the top levels, and the insanity faded. The bombing campaign by red thugs achieved nothing.
From May until October there had been turmoil.
For nearly fifty years a Fujianese Department store (華豐國貨有限公司 'waa fung gwok fo yau haan gong si') has occupied the bottom two floors in the building.
North Point (北角 'paak gok') has for several decades had a large population of Shanghainese and Fujianese, and even today there are numerous speakers of Minnan there.
It's an interesting and diverse place.
Very bourgeois.
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Notoriously, Fujianese refugees who were long-time residents of Hong Kong were heavily involved in sowing discord, making explosive devices, and plotting against the authorities.
One could suspect an enduring pro-Peking slant among that group, given their damned well criminal activities during recent years.
At one point the commander of the garrison across the border (黄永胜 'wong wing sing') seriously suggested invading the Crown Colony, having by that time organized succesful massacres in Guantung and Guangsi. His plans were foiled at the highest level.
He was purged in 1971, put on trial for various offenses in 1980.
He was released from prison, and died in 1983.
Kiu Kwan Mansion at 395 King's Road, North Point, Hong Kong.
The riots came to an end when Peking ordered their cessation. Cooler heads prevailed at the top levels, and the insanity faded. The bombing campaign by red thugs achieved nothing.
From May until October there had been turmoil.
For nearly fifty years a Fujianese Department store (華豐國貨有限公司 'waa fung gwok fo yau haan gong si') has occupied the bottom two floors in the building.
North Point (北角 'paak gok') has for several decades had a large population of Shanghainese and Fujianese, and even today there are numerous speakers of Minnan there.
It's an interesting and diverse place.
Very bourgeois.
==========================================================================
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Tuesday, December 14, 2021
YELLOW BAMBOO PIT
The parade ground at Wong Chuk Hang (黃竹坑) was where graduates of the Hong Kong Police Training School (黃竹坑警察訓練學校 'wong juk haang king chat fan lin hok haau') had their passing out parade, at the southern end of the island. It is across Sham Wan (深灣 "deep bay") from Ap Lei Chau (鴨脷洲 "duck tongue island"). Nam Long Shan (南朗山 "south brightness mountain"; Brick Hill) is directly south of there.
Spectators, often, had umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun.
Hot and blazing in that climate at that time of year.
Old Lang Syne as a military tune.
A quick march, British style.
Played on bagpipes.
Clear skies, open space, forested hills in the background.
An old friend who has a bookstore on Kowloon lives and has her home office on Ap Lei Chau. One of the last smokers of Erinmore Flake in Marin County remembered that area, as well as Stanley Fort nearby, where he was imprisoned during World War Two. He passed away a few years ago. On the other hand, one of the other occasional smokers of Erinmore resurfaced about a week ago -- he had quit for a few years. He's walking with difficulty, and dodders, though seems well-preserved besides that. Erinmore Flake keeps you hale. QED
To the best of my knowledge Adrian never smoked Erinmore Flake habitually. And his stamping grounds were the Central District and the peak. 中環,維多利亞山(太平山)。
Because of those bagpipes I am now imagining the Cantonese language pronounced with a heavy highlands accent in the early years of the Crown Colony. By drill sergeants.
And I cannot imagine it; it would be entirely beyond unintelligible.
Worse than Cantonese spoken by Shanghainese.
Or Dutch by Americans.
You ought to be familiar with my trains of thought by now.
They often get hijacked by what's in my head.
==========================================================================
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Spectators, often, had umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun.
Hot and blazing in that climate at that time of year.
Old Lang Syne as a military tune.
A quick march, British style.
Played on bagpipes.
南朗山
Clear skies, open space, forested hills in the background.
An old friend who has a bookstore on Kowloon lives and has her home office on Ap Lei Chau. One of the last smokers of Erinmore Flake in Marin County remembered that area, as well as Stanley Fort nearby, where he was imprisoned during World War Two. He passed away a few years ago. On the other hand, one of the other occasional smokers of Erinmore resurfaced about a week ago -- he had quit for a few years. He's walking with difficulty, and dodders, though seems well-preserved besides that. Erinmore Flake keeps you hale. QED
To the best of my knowledge Adrian never smoked Erinmore Flake habitually. And his stamping grounds were the Central District and the peak. 中環,維多利亞山(太平山)。
Because of those bagpipes I am now imagining the Cantonese language pronounced with a heavy highlands accent in the early years of the Crown Colony. By drill sergeants.
And I cannot imagine it; it would be entirely beyond unintelligible.
Worse than Cantonese spoken by Shanghainese.
Or Dutch by Americans.
You ought to be familiar with my trains of thought by now.
They often get hijacked by what's in my head.
==========================================================================
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All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, September 14, 2021
FRAGRANT TWILIGHT
It was too chewy, and I should have known better. The last time I had ordered the substance it proved impossible to eat, despite manful attempts But it's very Hong Kong, and I was feeling adventurous. As well as hungry, because as usual I had skipped breakfast, and having spent too much time putzing around at home, a very late lunch sirene-songed at me.
Really, I should have eaten earlier. I would have chosen better.
蒜蓉豬肚
Suen-yong chyu tou
Pig stomach, sliced thin, marinated with crushed garlic, a dash of soy sauce, and a smidge of sesame oil. Served cold. It was of course absolutely delicious, and quite impossible. Some Hong Kong foods are not meant for human consumption. Unless you have good strong sharp teeth, and extreme patience. The owner is from Hong Kong, and there was no one else there at that hour -- although someone did call in an order for pizza (比薩) to pick up -- so there was no one to bother me as I chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed.
Probably should have had the pizza instead.
Or the cauliflower with salty meat.
臘味炒菜花。
After giving up and drinking my tea I went out to smoke. Chinatown was quiet, most people were probably inside having dinner at that time, the tourists were largely absent, and the streets were nearly empty. A few buses trundled past, one or two cars.
Slanting light from the western sky. Mild breeze. Tranquil.
That eatery's owner has two kids. The younger one is a sweet little fellow, ambulatory and developing into a person now. The last time I saw him he was still an infant in diapers, with all the dis-appeal of that age. But it has been over a year and a half since then.
I fervently hope that the virus passes over that place.
And all of the neighborhood, actually.
==========================================================================
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==========================================================================
Really, I should have eaten earlier. I would have chosen better.
蒜蓉豬肚
Suen-yong chyu tou
Pig stomach, sliced thin, marinated with crushed garlic, a dash of soy sauce, and a smidge of sesame oil. Served cold. It was of course absolutely delicious, and quite impossible. Some Hong Kong foods are not meant for human consumption. Unless you have good strong sharp teeth, and extreme patience. The owner is from Hong Kong, and there was no one else there at that hour -- although someone did call in an order for pizza (比薩) to pick up -- so there was no one to bother me as I chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed.
Probably should have had the pizza instead.
Or the cauliflower with salty meat.
臘味炒菜花。
After giving up and drinking my tea I went out to smoke. Chinatown was quiet, most people were probably inside having dinner at that time, the tourists were largely absent, and the streets were nearly empty. A few buses trundled past, one or two cars.
Slanting light from the western sky. Mild breeze. Tranquil.
That eatery's owner has two kids. The younger one is a sweet little fellow, ambulatory and developing into a person now. The last time I saw him he was still an infant in diapers, with all the dis-appeal of that age. But it has been over a year and a half since then.
I fervently hope that the virus passes over that place.
And all of the neighborhood, actually.
==========================================================================
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Wednesday, June 30, 2021
TAI NAN STREET
What originally caught my eye was the toko (on the right, near distance). For a dislocated Dutchman, a toko (Indonesian grocery store or general store) is a magnet. Because, of course, if nothing else, there are sambals, spekkoek, and neon-coloured sodas on the premises.
Also very likely speakers of Bahasa Indonesia, but that spans a vast gamut of peoples and differences. There are tokos all over the Netherlands; there were at least three of them in Valkenswaard when I returned to the United States, and when I visited my father in Eindhoven before he passed away, I found one in the nearby winkelcentrum, where I purchased several sambals. Despite having lived for several years in the tropics, my father's wife had not been bitten by the sambal bug. Food at their house lacked a certain oomph.
Whenever I travel to Europe, I bring along sambal.
English food is milder than Dutch food.
And sambal aids digestion.
In Hong Kong, a toko does not really cater to the exiled 'Ollander, but to the Indonesian and Indonesian Chinese individual, resettled, sometimes permanently. Many Hokkiens left the Indies during various waves of anti-Chinese agitation and discrimination.
Some have lived in HK for generations.
Still, a toko also indicates that guleh, kurma, satay, and soto can probably be found not too far off. Ayam kuning, babi panggang, and various spicy salty sour sweet noodle dishes.
And a strong cup of coffee afterwards.
Probably not the typical Dutch cigar; that taste is not universal.
Genever? Maybe not. Not likely in any case.
I'm rather obsessive. I got so absorbed in adding to this painting that I smoked three pipes without even thinking. Missed out on serious enjoyment because of it.
I think it was Astleys 109 for two of those bowls.
Anyhow, it's later than I expected now. I should shower and get dressed, there's stuff I need to buy in Chinatown, and I need something to eat. I'll smoke another pipe afterwards.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Also very likely speakers of Bahasa Indonesia, but that spans a vast gamut of peoples and differences. There are tokos all over the Netherlands; there were at least three of them in Valkenswaard when I returned to the United States, and when I visited my father in Eindhoven before he passed away, I found one in the nearby winkelcentrum, where I purchased several sambals. Despite having lived for several years in the tropics, my father's wife had not been bitten by the sambal bug. Food at their house lacked a certain oomph.
Whenever I travel to Europe, I bring along sambal.
English food is milder than Dutch food.
And sambal aids digestion.
In Hong Kong, a toko does not really cater to the exiled 'Ollander, but to the Indonesian and Indonesian Chinese individual, resettled, sometimes permanently. Many Hokkiens left the Indies during various waves of anti-Chinese agitation and discrimination.
Some have lived in HK for generations.
Still, a toko also indicates that guleh, kurma, satay, and soto can probably be found not too far off. Ayam kuning, babi panggang, and various spicy salty sour sweet noodle dishes.
And a strong cup of coffee afterwards.
Probably not the typical Dutch cigar; that taste is not universal.
Genever? Maybe not. Not likely in any case.
I'm rather obsessive. I got so absorbed in adding to this painting that I smoked three pipes without even thinking. Missed out on serious enjoyment because of it.
I think it was Astleys 109 for two of those bowls.
Anyhow, it's later than I expected now. I should shower and get dressed, there's stuff I need to buy in Chinatown, and I need something to eat. I'll smoke another pipe afterwards.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Tuesday, June 29, 2021
WHERE EYES ARE NOT THE THING
In Manila they look at your clothes, never your eyes. The clothes betray what kind of man you are, as well as the standards you assume. It's superficial, but somewhat accurate. The tourist wearing a tie-dyed tee-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops has perhaps unwittingly dressed like a labourer or a juvenile thug, and will not be treated very well in direct consequence.
Crisp slacks and a clean collared shirt are better than a passport.
Being white alone just doesn't cut it.
Out in the provinces it's a different storey. First because your average mukang puti ("kano") rarely travels away from air-con, secondly because you are an interesting man. Yes you are. What is the weather like where you are from? What is your religion? How much money do you make? And where are you going?
Can you sing?
[It's perfectly all right to NOT hear the questions you do not want to answer. It's warmish at times, cold at other times, not so much rain. Some form of Christianity (or maybe not), heading toward Cebu, and I cannot sing because I'm from Mars.]
I have never been an example of bespoke tailoring. More of a rumpled man. Loose clothing, unfashionable shoes, and non-designer shirts. Clean, neatish, with a faint odour of tobacco and caffeinated hot beverages, rather like your bachelor uncle who is still at Trinity after all these years, working on the phd he will never finish. His ties are soup and spaghetti practical (they won't show the occasional dining mishap unless you really examine them). I rarely wear ties.
I doubt that I could feel comfortable in Central, or Tsimshatsui (Canton Road before Yau Ma Tei). Which isn't were I would want to be anyhow. At expensive shops they look at your clothes; eye contact is far more likely at a bustling grocery store catering to the people who live in the sixteen stories above it and around the corner. Kennedy Town (堅尼地城). Kwun Tong (觀塘). Absolutely NOT Mong Kok (旺角), though that is a fascinating area.
This came to mind because I was outside smoking a rather nice Comoy sandblast, after dark, and I noticed that several people were still dressed as if it had been a warm summer day. This is San Francisco. Tee-shirts, shorts, and sandals are not seasonally appropriate right now, never socially appropriate. And rather silly.
But we're not snobs about it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Crisp slacks and a clean collared shirt are better than a passport.
Being white alone just doesn't cut it.
Out in the provinces it's a different storey. First because your average mukang puti ("kano") rarely travels away from air-con, secondly because you are an interesting man. Yes you are. What is the weather like where you are from? What is your religion? How much money do you make? And where are you going?
Can you sing?
[It's perfectly all right to NOT hear the questions you do not want to answer. It's warmish at times, cold at other times, not so much rain. Some form of Christianity (or maybe not), heading toward Cebu, and I cannot sing because I'm from Mars.]
I have never been an example of bespoke tailoring. More of a rumpled man. Loose clothing, unfashionable shoes, and non-designer shirts. Clean, neatish, with a faint odour of tobacco and caffeinated hot beverages, rather like your bachelor uncle who is still at Trinity after all these years, working on the phd he will never finish. His ties are soup and spaghetti practical (they won't show the occasional dining mishap unless you really examine them). I rarely wear ties.
I doubt that I could feel comfortable in Central, or Tsimshatsui (Canton Road before Yau Ma Tei). Which isn't were I would want to be anyhow. At expensive shops they look at your clothes; eye contact is far more likely at a bustling grocery store catering to the people who live in the sixteen stories above it and around the corner. Kennedy Town (堅尼地城). Kwun Tong (觀塘). Absolutely NOT Mong Kok (旺角), though that is a fascinating area.
This came to mind because I was outside smoking a rather nice Comoy sandblast, after dark, and I noticed that several people were still dressed as if it had been a warm summer day. This is San Francisco. Tee-shirts, shorts, and sandals are not seasonally appropriate right now, never socially appropriate. And rather silly.
But we're not snobs about it.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
THEIR WOOLY WEATHER
Yesterday morning it rained heavily in Hong Kong. Which, to a Californian, sounds rather nice. We don't get much rain, and the state is tinder-dry. Fire season has started earlier this year, and there have been a few dangerous hot spells. Summer rain in Hong Kong is skirts and windbreaker weather, not cold, and not always gentle. Landslides, mud floods, traffic disasters, and closing of schools, some government buildings, and the stock market.
In contrast, here in San Francisco we've had pleasantly cool fog in the morning and evening, with some remarkably hot weather inland where people are crazy.
It gets greyish. Perhaps the pavement darkens.
Then we read about people in Portland and Texas pulling berserk stuff because of the heat.
Or fireworks accidentally causing grass fires and burning down a house.
Casually we scrape the mildew out of our ears with cunning little scoops, as we are wont to do, and consider that the rest of the country is unbearable, and often insane.
How do people even live there?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
It gets greyish. Perhaps the pavement darkens.
Then we read about people in Portland and Texas pulling berserk stuff because of the heat.
Or fireworks accidentally causing grass fires and burning down a house.
Casually we scrape the mildew out of our ears with cunning little scoops, as we are wont to do, and consider that the rest of the country is unbearable, and often insane.
How do people even live there?
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, June 23, 2021
NOODLES, TOMATOES, AND A PORK CHOP
Once you descend the narrow street, the smells of toast, and tomato stews hit you. And you understand why this ramshackle cafe on Mei Lun Street is popular among the neighborhood people. Underneath the tomato scent, beef brisket soup. But you decide that it is too warm to eat hot food, and you amble on, to avoid temptation. Two blocks further something else.
Dried fish. Not strong. Delicate almost. And then, faintly, a ghostly hint of durian.
Maybe you should have stopped for someting stewy with tomatoes?
Perhaps you will. Next time.
Years ago I smelled durian while descending Sacramento Street at two thirty in the morning. So I followed my nose (always a bad idea) to the intersection of Valejo and Stockton, where a small lump of rotten fruit flesh peered up at me from the gutter. Six blocks.
It had sent its sirene aroma quite a distance.
Beef noodle soup with tomatoes is actually delicious on a warm day. So perhaps you should have stopped for a bite. Yes, they use instant noodles -- many restaurants do, it's an accepted local taste -- but made with fresh tomatoes, the result is stellar at a low price.
And, if an insane fit hit you, you might have durian afterwards.
I am intellectually more fond of durian than in reality.
It's one of those things stuck in the mind.
Or, quite often, the nose.
Like stinky tofu, Hong Kong people have a berserk love affair with it which is entirely baffling. Durian is quite delicious if you stop breathing for five minutes to enjoy the suggestion of vanilla pudding or custard, but once it's entered you nostrils it lingers, and hours later might come back to haunt you. So I can't say I enjoy it any more.
But I like introducing innocent people to its charms.
Beef noodle soup with tomatoes is much easier to like, and quite delicious. Nowadays most of my meals involve noodles, sometimes with fresh vegetables including tomatoes, sometimes with a curry broth. Nothing involving long simmered stocks or tamarind, because I'm lazy.
Just stuff thrown together with a careful plan. And chili paste, of course.
Sing Heung Yuen (勝香園) in Sheung Wan is a famous dai pai dong that has a reputation for pretty darn good tomato stew noodle dishes. Typical Hong Kong style, and your choices of meats include everything that you might add at home; luncheon meat, sausages, egg, odd meats, pork chops, chicken wings. And bacon.
"Please allow some time as all food are prepared fresh to order. Apologies for any inconvenience caused."
They also have toast with condensed milk, butter, and kaya.
And hot Coca Cola with lemon and ginger.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Dried fish. Not strong. Delicate almost. And then, faintly, a ghostly hint of durian.
Maybe you should have stopped for someting stewy with tomatoes?
Perhaps you will. Next time.
Years ago I smelled durian while descending Sacramento Street at two thirty in the morning. So I followed my nose (always a bad idea) to the intersection of Valejo and Stockton, where a small lump of rotten fruit flesh peered up at me from the gutter. Six blocks.
It had sent its sirene aroma quite a distance.
Beef noodle soup with tomatoes is actually delicious on a warm day. So perhaps you should have stopped for a bite. Yes, they use instant noodles -- many restaurants do, it's an accepted local taste -- but made with fresh tomatoes, the result is stellar at a low price.
And, if an insane fit hit you, you might have durian afterwards.
I am intellectually more fond of durian than in reality.
It's one of those things stuck in the mind.
Or, quite often, the nose.
Like stinky tofu, Hong Kong people have a berserk love affair with it which is entirely baffling. Durian is quite delicious if you stop breathing for five minutes to enjoy the suggestion of vanilla pudding or custard, but once it's entered you nostrils it lingers, and hours later might come back to haunt you. So I can't say I enjoy it any more.
But I like introducing innocent people to its charms.
Beef noodle soup with tomatoes is much easier to like, and quite delicious. Nowadays most of my meals involve noodles, sometimes with fresh vegetables including tomatoes, sometimes with a curry broth. Nothing involving long simmered stocks or tamarind, because I'm lazy.
Just stuff thrown together with a careful plan. And chili paste, of course.
Sing Heung Yuen (勝香園) in Sheung Wan is a famous dai pai dong that has a reputation for pretty darn good tomato stew noodle dishes. Typical Hong Kong style, and your choices of meats include everything that you might add at home; luncheon meat, sausages, egg, odd meats, pork chops, chicken wings. And bacon.
"Please allow some time as all food are prepared fresh to order. Apologies for any inconvenience caused."
They also have toast with condensed milk, butter, and kaya.
And hot Coca Cola with lemon and ginger.
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
Wednesday, June 16, 2021
PRECISE PERSPECTIVE
Four years ago Adrian was still in Hong Kong, after having spent several years posted to an even warmer place with much less rain. Hong Kong was a halfway point between there and England, where he's been since retiring. And Adrian liked to smoke Dunhill's Elizabethan Mixture while there. We know this because there was photographic evidence.
The picture below is of an area not far from where he smoked then. But it might as well have been a world away, across the harbour, where Cantonese is more common than in Central. No, it's NOT San Francisco.
Strong milk tea, a toasted buttered piggy bun (called that because it looks like a little piggy), and a place to shelter from the rain that blows in late morning or early afternoon. An umbrella is not really necessary, although the pipe smoker is advised to carry one just in case.
Smoking under a shopkeepers awning may not be the way to go.
[As with any painting on the computer, if you cram in enough blobs, stay away from the stronger hues, and then reduce like topsy, something close to photo realism is achieved. The great advantage of Paint on the computer is that mistakes are not permanent. Given that my right hand occasionally spasms and right-clicks, which erases what I just drew, and that I still haven't fully got complete obsessive control of my hand back since that episode several years ago, this is good.]
Lunch today was a little chicken pie I got in Chinatown yesterday. Bought four, my apartment mate took two of them for her lunch at the office, there's one left, which she can have too.
Can't find piggy buns in C'town. They may not know what those are.
It's mostly mainland Cantos and Toishanese.
I'm smoking Elizabethan Mixture right now. It's not produced under the Dunhill label -- wasn't made by them for two decades anyway, but by Orlik under contract -- so this is actually the STG version marked as a Peterson product. Same factory, though. Peterson as a brand for pipe tobacco was bought by STG, and it's same recipe.
There are five products that help maintain a semblance of civilized living: tea, pipe tobacco, marmalade, hot sauce, and medicated foot powder. That last is not meant for the mouth. In hot weather and humid climes foot powder is essential, preventing itch, discomfort, and odour. You'll grow to like it, and might even become addicted. Powdered feet are happy feet.
Judiciously applied it also keeps the wooden floor from creaking.
Can also be used as talcum in a pinch.
FURTHER TIPS ON CIVILIZED LIVING:
Get enough sleep and start the day with coffee; this makes you bearable.
Always shave and put on a clean shirt before going in to work.
Maintain a healthy relationship with a book shop.
Bathe regularly.
This is the way.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
The picture below is of an area not far from where he smoked then. But it might as well have been a world away, across the harbour, where Cantonese is more common than in Central. No, it's NOT San Francisco.
Strong milk tea, a toasted buttered piggy bun (called that because it looks like a little piggy), and a place to shelter from the rain that blows in late morning or early afternoon. An umbrella is not really necessary, although the pipe smoker is advised to carry one just in case.
Smoking under a shopkeepers awning may not be the way to go.
[As with any painting on the computer, if you cram in enough blobs, stay away from the stronger hues, and then reduce like topsy, something close to photo realism is achieved. The great advantage of Paint on the computer is that mistakes are not permanent. Given that my right hand occasionally spasms and right-clicks, which erases what I just drew, and that I still haven't fully got complete obsessive control of my hand back since that episode several years ago, this is good.]
Lunch today was a little chicken pie I got in Chinatown yesterday. Bought four, my apartment mate took two of them for her lunch at the office, there's one left, which she can have too.
Can't find piggy buns in C'town. They may not know what those are.
It's mostly mainland Cantos and Toishanese.
I'm smoking Elizabethan Mixture right now. It's not produced under the Dunhill label -- wasn't made by them for two decades anyway, but by Orlik under contract -- so this is actually the STG version marked as a Peterson product. Same factory, though. Peterson as a brand for pipe tobacco was bought by STG, and it's same recipe.
There are five products that help maintain a semblance of civilized living: tea, pipe tobacco, marmalade, hot sauce, and medicated foot powder. That last is not meant for the mouth. In hot weather and humid climes foot powder is essential, preventing itch, discomfort, and odour. You'll grow to like it, and might even become addicted. Powdered feet are happy feet.
Judiciously applied it also keeps the wooden floor from creaking.
Can also be used as talcum in a pinch.
FURTHER TIPS ON CIVILIZED LIVING:
Get enough sleep and start the day with coffee; this makes you bearable.
Always shave and put on a clean shirt before going in to work.
Maintain a healthy relationship with a book shop.
Bathe regularly.
This is the way.
TOBACCO INDEX
==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================
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GRITS AND TOFU
Like most Americans, I have a list of people who should be peacefully retired from public service and thereafter kept away from their desks,...
