Archive for the 'Travel' Category

My top priority during my visit to Barcelona a couple of weeks back was to look at the buildings created by Gaudi. It is astonishing that his strange, swirly, hallucinatory architecture was built during the late 19th century and the early 20th century - they seem so modern, surreal and fresh today. Even in our present time, with London’s Gherkin, the humping turtles of the Sydney Opera House and the desert-inspired buildings of Zaha Hadid vying for eye-grabbing attention, Gaudi’s buildings from over a hundred years ago still pack a punch.

We tend to assume Gaudi set out to be radical and anti-establishment in his designs just because they were so unconventional alongside the traditional classic architecture of the 19th century. But in fact he was a staunch and conservative Catholic, appears to have taken his inspiration from nature. An article in The Age quotes:

“Nothing is art if it does not come from nature, as from nature come the most beautiful and extraordinary shapes,'’ he said. “Furthermore, nature is the masterpiece of the Creator.'’

This accounts for the curved lines of his designs and the a-symmetry that characterizes his work. His furniture looks like its been shaped out of vines. His rooftop chimneys look like rocks eroded by the timeless wind. The pillars of the Sagrada Familia Temple are palm trees. Tiles are shaped to give the sense of water.

Click on the photo below to view a slideshow of some photos from our Gaudi journey:

Like many geniuses, Gaudi was not always appreciated in his lifetime. Not many people understood his work and if not for the wealthy industrialist Eusebi Guell who became his patron, Gaudi might have sunk into obscurity. George Orwell famously “thought the Sagrada Familia was “the most hideous building in the world'’ and thought the Anarchists showed bad taste in not blowing it up during the Civil War when they had the chance.” Even Guell apparently did not like Gaudi’s designs - according to Wikipedia:

Reportedly on one occasion Gaudí said to Güell, “Sometimes I think we are the only people who like this architecture.” Güell replied, “I don’t like your architecture, I respect it.”

For me, it was the trip we did to Montserrat up in the craggy mountains that really brought home Gaudi’s creative inspirations. We saw the mountains from a distance as the train chugs across the plains outside Barcelona. Within an hour, we were in the foothills, taking the funicular train up to the ancient monastery built up against the rocky face of the steep mountain. Erosion had shaped the rocks into standing figures and we could imagine them as aliens or fat man or angry warriors. Walking high up on dusty paths above the man-made buildings, heading towards the ruins of ancient hermitages, we saw rock figures tower above us and craggy sentinels line the spur down the side of the mountain, passed the bare branches of gnarled trees blasted by wind. This was Gaudi in all his glory.

While I loved many aspects of Barcelona during our week’s trip there the other week - the beautiful architecture, the great food, the shopping, the sunshine - the one thing that was a real struggle was the Spanish rhythm of life.

Lunch would start at the earliest at 1.30pm and many of the shops would close. We would be there at the door of the restaurant, starving and fainit at 12.30pm and then have to find something to occupy ourselves for an hour before being able to rush in when the owners sauntered over to let us in. The Spanish customers would turn up around 3pm, chic-ly dressed and with no sign of famine about them.

Dinner would only start at 9pm and most Spanish people would arrive at the restaurants after 10.30pm. We’d of course be there on the dot of nine, grouchy and tired from the need to eat, and the restaurateurs would still be laying out the table and doings some last minute floor-sweeping.

“I just want a light meal and then get to bed,” I’d say through half-closed eyes. But the menu would be so enticing that I’d end up eating three courses with delicious wine. By the time we got back to the hotel and ready for bed, it would be past 1am. My meal would sit there heavy and laden in my belly and I knew it would take another few hours to digest but I’d be too tired so I’d just fall asleep.

And in the morning, I would just feel terrible.

The worst was the during the two days of the EuroComm conference which started at 8.30am (”What??!” I thought when I first saw the programme). Which meant I had to be up at some ungodly hour with a belly full of lead, getting dressed, having breakfast and trying hard to be perky when I met my communicator colleagues. Groan.

Here in the UK, the cycle of my working day starts early - up at 6.30am to get into the office for 8am, lunch at 12-12.30pm, heading home before rush hour around 4pm, dinner at 7.30-8pm, bed by 11pm. At the weekends, I sleep in a bit but usually no later than 9am and I may go to bed around 1am but meal times are never far off the usual mark.

And London could only cope with two rush hours a day. Imagine if there was a long break in the middle of the day for lunch and people headed off home and then had to come back again around 4pm. Nightmare…

I just don’t know how Spanish business people manage. If you’re Spanish or live in Spain, please tell me!

And whether you live in the UK, Spain or anywhere else, if your rhythm of life is different, I’d love to hear about it, too. Please add a comment.

Photo: thanks to SeraphimC from flickr.com (CCL)

I’ve just spent a week in Barcelona, partly attending the IABC EuroComm Conference 2008 where I chaired a panel discussion on social media and partly for a holiday. I’ll be blogging about the conference and the issues that came out of the panel discussion separately. But being a foodie, my first post about the trip has to be about the food we had there!

They call it tapas, the tid-bits of food that the Spanish serve in the early evening before the main meal. It’s very civilised compared to the UK where you generally gobble a packet of crisps and some peanuts with your pint at the pub. The Spanish lay out fried potatoes, spicy morsels of chorizo, sliced octopus, fried calamari and cuttlefish, fried aubergines - the list goes on. Over a long drink and great conversation, it’s just the best way to unwind after a hard day’s sightseeing or shopping. But I have to say, it makes me think of dim sum, the Chinese tid-bits that you generally have for Sunday lunch - in Australia, they call it “yum chah”, I think. My contention is that the Spanish got the idea from the Asia-Pacific region via the likes of Marco Polo, Vasco de Gama etc.

And it’s not just tapas. In Barcelona, there’s a speciality dish which is stir-fried seafood vermicelli - which looks and tastes exactly like the Chinese “chow mai fan” that you get in Malaysia. We would eat it with chilli sauce but they serve it with a daub of garlic butter - equally yummy!

We also came across a fried springroll thing but instead of veg and pork, it is stuffed with chorizo and onions.

And we were struck by the word for butter “mantega”, which is the same word for butter used in Malay. Staying with linguistics, the Spanish word “nona” means woman - I wonder if it is related to the Malaysian word “nonya” which refers to a Straits Chinese woman?

I’m pretty sure these are not merely fanciful connections on my part. Malacca and the Straits of Malacca were critical in the spice trade between West and East during the 1400s so I’m sure words, food and ideas travelled with the sailing ships between the Spanish ports and Malaya. In particular, I was struck by the Arabic influence in Spanish due to the many centuries of Moorish occupation and of course, Arabic continues to be a strong influence in Malay language and culture.

What do you think? If you have any other examples of linguistic or culinary connections between East and West, please do share your thoughts!

Photo: thanks to Gbworx from flickr.com (CCL)

by Guest blogger Alan Lane

Sir Edmund Hillary, conqueror of Mount Everest with the late Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, died in New Zealand on 11 January 2008, aged 88.

As a tribute to Sir Edmund Hillary’s extraordinary life, writer Alan Lane steps back in time to recount a conversation with Hillary in Canada on the 30th anniversary of the Everest climb. He talks about the ascent and his life at that time.

Big Ed

It is no coincident that Edmund Percival Hillary has become known as ‘Big Ed.’ As he rises from his chair to greet you, there develops a feeling of size (he is 6ft 3 in tall, broad- shouldered and close to 200lb). There is also a breadth of vision gained from a lifetime embracing challenges which for others remain permanently in their fantasies.

The appearance is craggy, but unlike the ascent on Everest, approaching the former bee-keeper from Taukau, New Zealand, is considerably easy. The grin on the weathered face is genial, and deep-set eyes trained from years of scanning distant horizons peer searchingly from beneath cliff-like brows. The handshake is firm without trying to impress.

Hillary has never given any time to pretence or the fineries of society. Loping through the Toronto headquarters of Simpsons-Sears, who he advises on sporting equipment, he is unmistakable among the well-groomed secretaries and executives. A rumpled suit and bulging, battered briefcase which has seen many a base camp, underline his down-to-earth informality and aversion to the cocktail circuit. “I have never been a great social butterfly and can well do without it,” he tells me.

For many people all over the world, Big Ed dropped out of sight after Everest. As one Australian student told him at a Sydney high school: I’m glad you’re looking so well. I have read abut you in the history books and I thought you were dead.”

Since then he has led the first vehicle expedition overland to the South Pole and headed an international group searching for the Yeti (the Abominable Snowman). He also led an expedition travelling in jet boats up the Ganges River in India to trace its source in the Himalayas.

Physically-fit

Now in his early 60s, this maestro of the snowline has always striven to stay physically-fit. He never trains formally for expeditions but walks an hour a day. To maintain his best climbing weight he will walk for five days in the Himalayan foothills in Nepal to his work building schools and hospitals with the Sherpa people. He would rather walk than take an aircraft. Once he walked 240 km (150 miles) in 12 days, climbing to 1500m (5,000ft) when monsoons grounded flights.

This firm grasp on his physical condition has at times been elusive. One day in New Zealand as his 50th year approached, he took a look at himself and became disenchanted with what he saw.

“I had a mild hangover from a surfeit of good food and wine, my discarded clothes reeked with other people’s tobacco smoke. Almost unconsciously I was slipping into the easy habits of most of the well-meaning, self indulgent and well-heeled members of society. If I became too physically soft I would be worth nothing to myself or to anybody else.”

On a notepad beside the bed he wrote a short list of resolutions – things he had wanted to do for years which would help to keep him reasonably fit and adventurous.

The first task was to escape the telephone and the concrete jungle – his term for a city. This was achieved by building a cottage on the cliffs above the Tasman Sea, outside Auckland, in New Zealand’s North Island – facing the setting sun and without a telephone. The list of objectives has continued to grow.

Such a life has not been without its personal traumas for Edmund Hillary. The death of his wife, Louise, and daughter in a Katmandu air crash several years ago has left “a great gap” in his life. Louise was a constant companion on his aid projects in the Himalayas – the place where he has directed most of his energies in recent years, away from the high profile glories of mountaineering.

The lectures he gives have increasingly reflected deeper involvement in world problems – racialism, the population explosion, conservation of the environment and the increasing gap in wealth between the rich and poor nations.

Nepalese mountain people

During his years among the Nepalese mountain people he became committed to improving their physically demanding, harsh lifestyle. He set up his Himalayan Foundation in New Zealand and established a Canadian equivalent to raise funds for this work.

Since the early 1960s, he and a team of helpers and the Sherpa people have provided hospitals, schools, airfields and piped water for the mountain people of Nepal. It’s a major contribution to a country of 13 million people, where only nine out of every 100 can read or write, and the nearest medical care for many is several days’ walk away.

Working, planning and climbing in Nepal can take up to six months of his year. During this time he strives to prepare the mountain people for inevitable changes in their lifestyle.

“Tourism has become an important business and quite a lot of money is involved,” he says. “There is nothing much I can do about these changes but I can try to ensure, with the agreement of the local people, that they do not get left behind.

“What has happened so many times is that the local people become needed just as a source of labour. By providing education, health care and communication facilities I have been able to ensure that the Sherpas have the knowledge of how to do things for themselves – such as running the hotels and trekking businesses which have been established. I prefer to see the Sherpas steering their own ship rather than just being trampled on.”

The changes for which Hillary is preparing the Sherpas are already influencing their way of life.

“Divorce is much more common now in the community. The Sherpas are under great pressure of a type they had not previously experienced. Their previous tough, hard lifestyle had a regular pattern of habits but now they have a great deal more money and their lifestyle is changing. I want to see them confident in their new environment and I have been able to play a small part in achieving this.”

Hillary’s no-nonsense style and earthy approach to life is legendary. A suggestion that a larger share of New Zealand’s national purse should be devoted to assisting the poorer countries drew the following reply from the Minister of Finance (described by Hillary as “well nourished”): “I think Sir Edmund Hillary knows as much about the New Zealand economy as I know about mountain climbing.”

Even at what was the pinnacle of mountaineering achievement, his style remained unchanged. After the descent from Everest’s summit he told fellow expedition members: “Well, we knocked the bastard off.”

Everest ascent

Thirty years later, Hillary cast his mind back to 11.30am on May 29, 1953, when he stepped on to the summit of Everest, with the Nepalese Sherpa, Tenzing Norgay. It was a time of climbing with simple army equipment, leather boots which froze and thick hemp rope of the type used by ships – far removed from the specialized gear of today.

“My first reaction was one of surprise. I had been brought up thinking this mountain could never be conquered. Now, here was Ed Hillary on top of Everest. Who’d believe it. Everest was just another mountain. There are dozens of projects which have all been just as important.”

Would he do it again?

“I am physically incapable of doing it again. If I did try, I would tackle the most difficult route.”

He is amazed how the mystique of Everest has been retained. “We really felt it would all fade away when we conquered it. But there are still people lining up waiting to climb.”

On climbing and challenge today, he has this to say: “It is nonsense that people climb mountains just because they’re there. You wouldn’t put up with all that discomfort and grind your heart out just for the sake of it. It’s the challenge of fear and danger. You struggle with them. You extend your limits.

“There are challenges all around us if we take the trouble to identify them. Modern mountaineers are doing much more difficult things today than we were. The purpose of climbing then was to find the easiest way up. The route we took on Everest was only moderately difficult. Now the challenge is the difficult route.”

Rather a tent than hotel

As the interview draws to a close, Edmund Hillary prepares to leave for the United States, where he will test camping equipment for Sears Roebuck.

“I’m looking forward to that,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “I’d rather sleep in a tent any day than stay in a hotel.”

We shake hands and it’s time to say farewell to this giant of a man.

As he sets off down the street, I recall his style of parting from fellow climbers at a crossroads deep in the Himalayas. They would be simple affairs. With a cheery “see you in a few months,” Big Ed would set off on foot heading for perhaps India, Tibet or Pakistan, quietly disappearing into the mist. In comparison, some of the traumas in our own lives could seem a little overdone.

While in the United States, Hillary will continue to raise funds for his work in the Himalayas. There, among the great mountains, he is known by the Sherpas as ‘Burra Sahib’ (Big Sir).

These hill people are never far from his mind. They gave him his most prized accolade for climbing Everest: a decoration from the Katmandu Taxi Drivers’Association.

His concern for the Sherpas’ future is well founded.

Tenzing, now 69, and known as the Tiger of the Snows in his home town of Darjeeling, said earlier this year: “There is a lot of change since Nepal opened for trekking. Everything is too commercial. Even the monks are having tea shops now, not praying any more.”

Alan Lane Toronto 1983

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tribute

11 January 2008. The news of Sir Edmund Hillary’s death made me dig deep into my files for a copy of this interview. Past conversations are not normally worth resurrecting; but the life of a bee-keeper from New Zealand was different. Here was someone who saw the big picture. Here was someone who managed fame and humanitarian work with equal humility; someone who grabbed life and ran with it.

Meeting the great man, the first on the roof of the world, left a lasting impression.

© Copyright Alan Lane Poole, UK January 2008

Alan Lane is founder and chief executive of VASGAMA providing reputation management consulting to international corporations and government.

Photo: thanks to achievement.org

So I wasn’t just being feeble, going down with flu a few weeks back. A study shows that the flu virus thrives in cold climates and dies out the nearer you get to the equator where temperatures get nice and hot and humid. The New York Times reports:

“Flu viruses are more stable in cold air, and low humidity also helps the virus particles remain in the air. That is because the viruses float in the air in little respiratory droplets, Dr. Palese said. When the air is humid, those droplets pick up water, grow larger and fall to the ground.”

But before we all up sticks and rush south for the winter, it’s worth remembering that in the tropics, you may not find the flu virus but there are all kinds of other grim illnesses you can get - malaria, dengue fever, yellow fever are some that come to mind.

I was reminded of a bout of fluey-type exhaustion that I experienced in my late teens while I was at Uni in the UK. I went off to the doctor who tested me for glandular fever, also known as the “kissing illness” for its prevalence among college students in the West. It came back negative and my symptoms continued to be a mystery. During the summer vacation, I headed back to Malaysia for the holidays and my parents took me off to a doctor in Kuala Lumpur. This time, they tested me for tuberculosis. I was un-nerved as TB in my mind is a pretty serious, nasty illness that killed off loads of poetic, sensitive types in English literature. But the tests also came back negative, much to our relief! In the end, the symptoms passed and I was restored to full health after some rest and relaxation at home. To this day, we don’t know what it was. But looking back on that time, what is interesting is that the different doctors tested me for wildly different illnesses, based on what would have been the most likely given their location.

It must be tough being a doctor these days in the age of global travel. It seems to me you’d have to know not just about illness that are prevalent in your locality but also about illnesses from the far corners of the earth!

Pic of John Keats: thanks to users.dickinson.edu

My cross-cultural view tends to focus eastwards and southwards to South East Asia and the Far East - inevitably, since my roots are in Malaysia and Chinese culture. But there is of course so much more world out there. So from time to time, I’m going to explore blogs from other countries and cultures here on Fusion View to widen my horizon and learn a bit more about the world beyond.

To start off this globetrotting journey, I came across the photoblog, A Unique View of the Arctic by Thomas Laupstad in Norway, who says on the About page, “I want to show you northern Norway from my point of view.”

He has some fantastic photos of Norwegian landscapes and captures that special northern light beautifully.

He writes that he took this photo in February. “At this time of the year the sun is only shining for a hour or two and in this photo the sun has disappeared below the horizon. The golden reflections are coming from sunshine higher up in the snow filled mountains. It was a very beautiful sight.”

I’ve never been to Norway and it seems unimaginable to me to go through months on end where there is only an hour or two of sunlight. I find it difficult enough here in the UK when it gets dark at 3.30pm in December. It must be so strange to wake up in the dark, spend the day in the dark and go to bed in the dark.

Thomas also has other amazing photos on his blog - one of a pine forest covered in snow, also taken in February. Of this one, he writes, “I think the scene looks like it is taken straight out of “The Chronicles of Narnia” with all the snow hanging on the Norway Spruce.”

If you’re a reader from Norway or a Scandinavian country - or with family or roots there, I’d love to hear from you - do add a comment or email me.

I never liked Continental breakfasts. To me, a Continental breakfast is a dry bread roll, a dollop of butter and some tasteless jam. Given the choice in most hotels between an English breakfast and a Continental one, I’d go for the bacon, sausage, fried egg, mushrooms, fried bread, grilled tomato and baked beans every time. It’s a no-brainer.

But then, when we were on holiday in Delft a couple of weeks ago, we stayed at the Hotel Emauspoort and they served a Continental breakfast that has changed my life. Well, my eating habits anyway.

Buffet-style, they laid out home-made warm and fluffy croissants and an array of rye bread, fruit bread and other baked goodies. We could help ourselves to cheese, ham, salami, gherkin and boiled eggs. There was a bottomless bowl of fresh fruit salad with strawberries and jugs of fresh orange juice. There was yoghurt and milk and cereal, too.

After the first morning, I found myself day-dreaming about the next day’s breakfast, already feeling the croissant break crisply and yet softly in my hands, tasting it’s fresh, yeasty, buttery flavour in my mouth. I just loved that European mix of cheese and cold meats and gherkin in the morning - excellent for protein and yet light and refreshing. And afterwards, a bowl of fresh fruit salad to cleanse the palate.

The next weekend, I was back in London and we went out for breakfast with a friend. I had an English breakfast and found myself not really enjoying the over-salty, chewy bacon and the over-salty sausage and that oily full feeling you get with fried foods. I longed for the fresh tastes of Delft.

I’d always enjoyed the British morning fry-up - it’s what this country specialises in. Now, it looked like its place in my Breakfast Hall of Fame was about to be eclipsed by the rising star of a Dutch breakfast. Was the breakfast at the Hotel Emauspoort really the best breakfast I’d had to date? It got me thinking about the other great breakfasts I’d ever had.

Alongside the English breakfast, I’ve also loved the so-called American or cowboy breakfast - steak, egg and hash browns. When I was on a road trip across California and Arizona years ago, we’d often walk over to a diner like Denny’s from our motel room and I’d indulge in a fortifying steak and black coffee before setting off in the car.

In Malaysia, breakfast could be anything from deep fried or steamed dumplings to prawn noodle soup, nasi lemak, laksa, curry and fried noodles. The Chinese Dim Sum is a selection of tidbits that in some places is eaten as breakfast. There’s something special about sitting at a table in a Malaysian market next to a steaming vat of curry parked on a three-wheeled motorbike, with the chaos and noise of the stalls and traders around you, eating laksa in the early morning.

If I had to choose my favourite breakfast in the world, which would it be?

Oh dear, I can’t make a choice. I love them all.

English fry-up? Laksa? Steak?

If you forced me to choose, I’ll have to go for the steak, egg and fries - the American breakfast. Perhaps it’s because it reminds me of the open vistas of Arizona. Perhaps its that satisfying feeling of being set for the day, packed with protein and good coffee - and without being as oily or salty as an English breakfast.

At any rate, it looks like the delicate taste of fluffy croissants in a charming European setting is great but just not great enough to be my No. 1 Favourite Breakfast of All Time!

What’s your Favourite Breakfast?

I’m going to tag some bloggers to see what their Favourite Breakfasts are:

1. My cousin Pey Colborne, who is a poet and also a foodie. Her blog has photos of meals she’s about to have and that her husband (what a star!) has made for her. She’s bound to have something (poetic?) to say about great breakfasts.

2. Massage therapist and friend Melanie Crowe, who is South African but based in the UK. She blogs about massage, de-stressing and health. I’m curious to know if she’s fond of fry-up breakfasts or if she eats tasty yet healthy breakfasts.

3. Silvia Cambie, who is my associate and co-author of New Trends in International Public Relations, is Italian and now also lives in the UK. She has lived all over Europe so I’m hoping she can share some breakfast delights from the Continent.

When you’ve been tagged, the rules of this tagging game are:

A. Blog on the theme of My Favourite Breakfast on your blog.

B. Link back to (i) the person who tagged you AND (ii) to this originating post My Favourite Breakfast on Fusion View.

C. Tag three more bloggers to share the fun.

D. Refer back to these rules on your blog.

Even if you haven’t been tagged, you can still share your thoughts (or tastes!) - add a comment or email me. Or write about it on your blog, link back to this post and follow the rules A-D.

Photo: thanks to fremontdock.com

During my few weeks away from blogging over August, I spent some relaxing and delightful days with my family in Delft, Holland. Every time I go to the Continent, I am always struck by how civilised and stylish many of the cities there are - a great contrast to the chaotic, sprawling, hectic and stressful metropolis that is London.

Delft is tiny - the centre is probably not much bigger in than my South London suburb. Like many Dutch cities, it is the canals that dominate. The streets alongside are too narrow for more than the occasional car so pedestrians and cyclists are king. Unlike the cyclists in London who are all decked out in Lycra, helmets and goggles and who will find any excuse to pick a fight with cars, trucks and pedestrians, routinely swearing, shouting and waving fists, the cyclists in Delft are in their ordinary clothes, the breeze blowing through their hair and give pedestrians right of way, stopping to help lost tourists and generally, taking the time to stop and chat with friends they meet on their way.

It was delightful to sit at canalside cafes and chat without having to shout above the sound of traffic and breathe in fresh, cool air (in London, sitting at a streetside cafe gets you lungs full of CO and you can barely hear yourself think from the noise). It was a joy to hear the sound of church bells wafting over the city (in London, they are drowned out by traffic noise). It was relaxing to stroll along the streets while cyclists wove around you (instead of being shouted and cursed at as per London).

We took a cycle ride ourselves out to a farm which had a restaurant and cafe. Outside of the centre, the roads and streets are specially adapted for cyclists with cycle lanes and special traffic lights at major intersections. In the country roads, there are much fewer cars than in the UK, with most people preferring to hop on their bicycles for errands. We saw older ladies in smart skirts and high heeled shoes pottering along country lanes on their bikes with their groceries in one arm.

The one weird thing about Dutch cycling for us is the brakes - they are in the pedals and not on the handlebars so you have to back-pedal to stop. Eeks! It takes some getting used to and is particularly nerve wracking as you wobble towards a canal and are trying frantically to brake with non-existent levers on your handlebars…. I’m relieved to report that none of us fell in though we had a close shave one time!

This is the last in my series on the influence of food in my life. Having cried over English school food and introduced my Uni friends to nasi lemak and laksa, it’s time to bring the English over to tropical Malaysia for some real treats…

When I’ve brought my English friends back to Malaysia for a holiday, they are always taken by the hospitality and friendliness of my extended family and my Malaysian friends. Uncles and aunts and cousins always make a point of inviting us all out for a huge slap-up meal, making sure that the UK visitors try the tastiest and most exotic dishes. My local friends take us out to the pasar malam for hawker food that my guests have never experienced before. The challenge seems to be to offer the wildest and most unusual foods to the mat salleh. My great-aunt had the dubious honour of being the Malaysian that gave my first boyfriend fried pig’s fallopian tubes. Some cousins brought a huge pile of the stinkiest durians for a group of my friends from law college. Other family members came up with a plate of chicken’s feet fried in soy sauce. My UK friends have all gamely tried everything, winning the hearts of the Malaysians - and their respect. One French girl I brought to KL was sniffy and picky about what she ate and point blank refused to even taste some dishes. No-one liked her. And eventually, I found, neither did I and she was dropped from my address book.

The food highlight experience for my visiting Western friends used to be a trip to the wet market in Pudu. My mum used to do all her grocery shopping there until traffic and parking made it impossible. When she first got married to my father, my father’s mother took her to the market and introduced her to all the stallholders there, saying, “This is my daughter-in-law, treat her well. If you cheat her, you have me to answer to.” Once every few weeks, my mum would put on her oldest clothes, take off all her jewellry and put on her marketing shoes and head to Pudu market early in the morning. So we would wake our visitors before dawn and all pile in to the back of her car, groggy and half asleep still. At the market, we would follow her to the chicken man and watch as she chose the chickens for him to garotte and throw into a drum of boiling water to loosen the feathers. My friends began to pale. Next, we passed the cute puppy dogs in cages - and no, they are not pets, I would say to our visitors - making our way to the beef butcher, careful not to slip on the blood from the decapitated cow on the slab. Now, my friends were turning green. My mother would then buy vegetables and fruit and spices and head back to pick up the chickens and some chunky roasted pigs trotters for breakfast, the smell of spices and fruit and raw meat mingling in aircon. An hour later, back at home, we would be showered and sitting down to a breakfast of pigs trotter congee while my English friends looked ill, asking weakly for some dry toast. “If you eat meat, you should know where it comes from,” my mother would say. “At the market, you know it’s fresh and just killed for you.” And even as they nodded, I would see my friends pining for the shrink-wrapped sanctuary of a Tescos.

Of course, Malaysia is more than its food and Malaysians abroad and at home have achieved impressive and astonishing things in the 50 years since independence. But for me, food and meals have brought people together for millenia. To sit together around a spread of food, whether at a table or on the floor or on a mat on the bare ground, people and cultures have met each other at the deepest level since civilisation began. At a meal, in past centuries, they left their weapons and differences outside. These days, we don’t carry weapons but most of us try to leave our differences outside at meals with friends and family. We share and eat each other’s foods and also our personal stories and cultures. Even a lunch of baked beans on toast told me in more than words about the UK I had come to back in 1975 in the same way that an abundance of durians told my UK friends something about Malaysians and their sense of humour and pride. In the simple, natural act of sharing our food with others in the countries we travel to, I feel that Malaysians abroad have shared - and continue to share - what is truly valuable about who we are: warmth, generosity of spirit, joy in the good life, graciousness and common humanity.

Photos: scenes from Pudu Market - my photo album c. 1995

lffd

I just came across the blog Global Culture which is a fascinating read and could keep me up for hours tonight if I don’t consciously pull myself away. It’s “a blog on migration, globalization and their impact on global culture”. It’s categories of posts include topics on Global Culture, Local Culture, Ethnosphere, Multiculturism, Folksonomy alongside Diversity, Migration and Diasporas. A must read for anyone who’s interested in cross-culture - as I am and I expect as most of you are!

The blog’s creator is someone called Juan who says of himself: “When I’m not blogging I create technologies that allow global citizens to tap the true power of the web to express their culture and in the process redefine the mechanisms by which travellers immerse themselves in local cultures, facilitating the spread of cosmopolitanism.” That’s a rather cool job, I have to say.

In the sidebar, Juan has posted this poll:

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Global Culture Poll

What is the most important tool of the Global Citizen?

* Money
* Dictionary
* Travel Guide
* Camera

I was going to vote but then I couldn’t make a choice out of those four items. I hesitated, I think, because the choice I wanted to vote for wasn’t in the list. It took me a few moments of pondering to reach towards the semi-formed thought in my mind. What was it that is - for me - the most important tool of the Global Citizen?

Curiosity.

Okay, technically, that’s not a tool. It’s a quality or a state of mind. But I suppose in my mind, nothing else matters if, as a Global Citizen, you don’t have that: curiosity.

You see how I could stay up all night exploring Global Culture? Just a fun little poll like that gets me thinking and mulling and questioning….

As I said, what a great site.

Photo: from Global Culture