Too often, our simple desire to do good by the planet gets wrapped up in a whole storm of painful emotions - guilt at taking more than one's share, scorn for others who do the same, shame before others who do better, a sense of impotence due to our inability to effect change where it will matter most (India and China), frustration at the endless and tedious process of altering our own habits, contempt for our "need" for comfort and convenience, and loneliness once one begins to try to leave such false needs behind. Not to mention all of the defensive reactions and rationalizations we come up with so quickly - others are worse, I can't help where and when and into what sort of society I was born, I'm generally a good person, I deserve some slack, I have other and more immediate concerns. On top of this, we tend to think of doing good in terms of sacrificing: giving up meat, using fewer appliances and gizmos, buying smaller vehicles and taking shorter trips. Thus, it's not surprising that environmentalists are occasionally associated with ascetics and heretics and radicals, all of whom challenge our certainties and complacencies in different ways, often threatening us in precisely those places where we most feel the need for security, stability, and justification. Nor is it surprising that so many people, rather than dealing with all these assaults and condemnations, simply shut themselves off, refusing to think about the meanings and impacts of their lifestyles and daily choices.
It seems obvious, then - and I am far from the first to have said this - that in order for the various "green" movements and initiatives to continue gaining traction, wannabe environmentalists such as myself ought to do their utmost to highlight the pleasures of a lifestyle approaching, or at least doing progressing towards, responsibility and equity and sustainability. I don't just mean the freedom from all of the above baggage (which, as I said above, can be achieved simply by refusing to care), but also the myriad joys that spring up in places both expected and unexpected. A (for lack of a more precise phrase) deeper sense of connection with animals, other people, and nature; an appreciation for the work that goes into things we take for granted; the expansion of our palates; a less atomized way of interpreting our lives and our bodies and our selves.
I realize this all may sound a bit vague and wishy-washy. Some part of me can hardly believe I believe it (no typo). Nevertheless. The point I'm trying to get around to making in my own self-absorbed circuitous way is that there are indeed green choices that we can make that, rather than requiring sacrifice, are pleasant and enjoyable in ways both tangible and intangible. There are a few we all know, and I would love to hear more, but the reason I'm writing this post is to share one tidbit that I recently learned. Behold, I deliver unto y'all some truly glorious gospel, good news that I hope is heard 'round the world:
MAKING PANCAKES HELPS TO SAVE THE PLANET.
Find yourself dubitating this indubitable claim? Well, according to the book "The End of Food," which I highly endorse and was fortunate enough to find in the Sadhana library, breakfast cereal can take up to thirty times more energy/fuel/resources to produce than pancakes. (I don't think it was stated whether this is a per-serving or per-gram figure, so it's hard to be completely sure what to make of it in terms of fullness-factor). I suppose this has to do with both the number of ingredients (you can make pancakes with as few as two, and it's not uncommon for breakfast cereals to have twenty) and what kind of ingredients they are, i.e. how much they're processed (milling and grinding wheat into flour takes much less work, I assume, than forming flakes and extracting syrup from corn and developing colors and flavors and isolating and then injecting vitamins and minerals). This is before taking into account the difference in the packaging of the products, which is often more environmentally costly than the production process itself. Furthermore, if I were zealously determined not to miss any hidden costs, I might point out that cereals generally require high amounts of advertising, which itself requires various amounts of various resources depending on the medium used. Nor does this take into account that cereal, at least in the'Merica, is generally eaten with milk, which is itself a highly resource-intensive product. (Though this may be a moot point [no pun intended], since pancakes are more often than not {though not necessarily} also made with milk, eggs, and butter).
Of course, some cereals are better than others, and some pancakes are better than others, and some (Organic and not-too-processed) cereals may even be better than some (refined white flour, egg and dairy heavy, or, god forbid, packaged mix) pancakes. But by and large, grandma's humble homestyle hotcakes pretty much spank Kellogg's when it comes to sustainability, and if you make them right, they're probably also better for you. Plus, what's more enjoyable, sifting and mixing and whisking and sizzling and flipping, or tearing open a bag made of some space-age material and pouring its contents into a bowl?
I guess this is actually a fairly standard example of the ways in which cooking with and eating minimally processed, close-to-whole food can be more entertaining, rewarding, and responsible than eating something prepackaged off the shelf. That's a post for another day, or maybe even another blogger, though. Like I (more or less) said earlier, I want to highlight something we can do that is both good for the environment and happy-inducing for us, something that helps to free us from the sustainability-is-a-burden mindset. So:
Flapjacks. For your belly. For the children. For the human race. For the future. For life as we know it.
&EPILOGUE: Oh man, something just occurred to me - I bet you could top your flapjacks with Durian. Hot damn!
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The King of Fruits
Remember that zany post of mine about dates and figs that I posted to the "Underappreciated Produce" section of David's blog a month or so ago? Well, it turns out that I had such a good time writing it that I feel like doing it again, though this time for the benefit of my own paltry readership rather than his. Thus, I hereby proclaim that it would be acceptable if you were to consider the aforementioned DFF post as the preface to my very own food column. Like Undeployed, I am motivated in part by a desire to enlighten the reader about the nature of certain foods that he or she should probably be eating more of; however, I hope that it also serves to help me deepen my appreciation of Korean cuisine (or rather my nearly-veganified version of it) by giving me an avenue through/by which to explain (/gloat about) various dishes to the unfortunately uninitiated.
Now all the column needs is a name. Preferably something clever, but in a joke-that-I-know-no-one-else-will-be-amused-by sort of way. Alliteration is a must, as are big words with the parts of speech changed. Perhaps it should also reflect my continually deeping admiration for and obsession with both the Korean language and Korean cuisine. Also, a hyphen. Distinctive Mike style.
Can it be done?
Ah-ha! Got it.
Mat-nan (맛난) Masticatables. (Which means delicious things you can chew).
Fits like a well-worn pair of glittens. Nice.
And now for the first post-preface/official installment, inspired by a genuinely life-altering experience during my coupon-induced exotic food court gorge-athon in Kuala Lumpur a few days back:
"The King of Fruits"
Riddle me this: what's spikier than a medieval weapon, deadlier than sharks and lightning combined (unverified but not implausible statistic), trickier to open than a land mine, stinkier than a newborn, more fetus-shaped than a fetus, and not allowed on Singapore's light rail and bus systems? If you think the answer is the creature from Eraserhead, nice try, but no. It's the Durio kutejensis, more commonly known as the Durian, most commonly known as the rankest fruit on earth. I've heard the experience of eating one likened to having strawberry ice cream in a public restroom, and, having savored the succulent beast on a few occasions now, I can't disagree. And yet there's something about this freakish fruit that makes it lovable, some redeeming qualities that I can no longer go untouted. Though it will be tough to say anything about the Durian that hasn't already been said about a pair of socks shoved into a banana-lime snotshake and left to its own devices in the hot sun for a month, I will do my best to salvage this royal angiosperm's reputation.
1) The creaminess. You know how you can take whipped cream and add it to something like, say, yogurt, in order to make it all nice and fluffy and supple? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you used whipped cream to achieve the same effect on another tub of whipped cream? If you had the guts to try the experiment and the equipment to measure the fluffscosity of the resulting squared dairy product, you would still find it lacking in comparison to a wad of Durian goop. (This is an especially important characterstic for who don't or can't consume milk products).
2) The versatility. The Durian resembles David Beckham in that, for him, impossible is nothing. Just like whipped cream and ice cream, even sloppy and indiscriminately slathered Durian will enhance most any dish. I recently encountered it inside of Japanese mochi; at the same store (Durian 24 or something like that), it was also being used as crepe filling, cake cream, tart custard, and in milkshakes. My mochi were so good that I actively sought out another vegan Durian dish: Cendol, the Malaysian rendition of shaved ice, with some sweet beans and jellyish cilia and Durian cream on top. Imagine what else you could do with it. Pies and brownies a la Durian. Durian truffles. Durian donut frosting. If I ever get married, you can be sure that all the cake's many layers will be separated by a nice thick barrier of Durian ooze.
3) The fight. The thick, spiky Durian husk is clearly nature's way of protecting the vulnerable, oh-so-edible fluff within. Thus, the act of storming the Durian's castle brings us back to one of the primordial - nay, perennial - themes of human existence: the struggle for survival amid the perils of nature. You will understand this the moment you see, as I have,
a tiny Thai woman armed with a cleaver the size of her arm go one-on-one with the fiend, using all her strength to drive the armament deep into its thorny hide, then twisting it around, pulling back, and going at it again. A battle fiercer by far than my namesake's biblical duel with Lucifer himself! It may take up to 30 minutes for the unskilled to emerge victorious, dripping in sweat, with scars on his hands and chest to seal the contest forever in his memory. Compare this to the bland monotony of standing at the kitchen island, wearing an apron and a hair net and wielding naught but a whisk, standing stooped over a bowl of whipping cream and hoping that, joy of joys, it will become a bit poofy sooner or later. (Though to be fair I have to admit that there is something charming about churning ice cream, especially if you have one of those old wooden ice cream buckets with a creaky metal crank.)
4) The taste. It's not the same as the smell. It's a little sour, and a little pungent, but sweet at the same time. Somewhat like certain cheeses. Which leads me to:
5) The philosophicality. The Durian poses, represents, instantiates, or deconstructs numerous dilemmas, concepts, and fundamental questions and could probably serve as a valuable teaching tool in Phil 101 classes. EG:
5a) Essence: Is the essence of Durian to be creamy or to be thorny? It appears that nothing can be both, and yet it is. Do we have to give up on Aristotelian logic if we admit that it is both A and Not A at the same time?
5b) Equality: If I have 2 Durians, and you have none, am I morally obligated to give you one?
5c) Induction: Every Durian I have ever opened has had several pouches of oh-so-nice gunk inside. But what justifies my belief that all of them do? Can I really be certain?
5d) Theodicy/Liebnez's Best-world hypothesis: Why would an omnipotent, omnipresent, omnibelevolent creator make such a desirable fruit so difficult to get into?
5e) Evolution: How do we reconcile the concept of "survival of the fittest" with the continued existence of such a monstrosity?
5f) Zen: If a Durian on a tree is reeking, but nobody is around to smell it, is it really there?
5g) Linguistics: How does the word "Durian" affect our perception of the object? If we called it "Rose," would it smell different?
5h) Kafka: Joseph wakes up one morning to find out that he has become a Durian. WTF?
5i) Consciousness: Is the Durian conscious? Does it have a self? Could it be engineered to pass the Turing test, and if so, what would that tell us?
5j) Other minds: What can we know about an entity so definitively other? Is there such a thing as the experience of being a Durian? Does our being human limit our ability to know anything about said experience?
5k) Existentialism: Imagine that someone were condemned by the gods to spend his entire life opening Durians with his bare hands. His fingernails are split, his fingertips raw, his knuckles rheumatic; the bloody wounds on his hands never have time to heal, his joints are stuck in one position for eternity, and his overworked muscles never have a moment's respite, except for that all-too-brief instant when the Durian finally pops open, the flesh is visible, and the gods themselves snatch it away and replace the empty Durian with a new one. This is a metaphor for your life. Is it worth it?
I could go on, but, somehow, I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't see the point. Goodnight, or whatever.
Now all the column needs is a name. Preferably something clever, but in a joke-that-I-know-no-one-else-will-be-amused-by sort of way. Alliteration is a must, as are big words with the parts of speech changed. Perhaps it should also reflect my continually deeping admiration for and obsession with both the Korean language and Korean cuisine. Also, a hyphen. Distinctive Mike style.
Can it be done?
Ah-ha! Got it.
Mat-nan (맛난) Masticatables. (Which means delicious things you can chew).
Fits like a well-worn pair of glittens. Nice.
And now for the first post-preface/official installment, inspired by a genuinely life-altering experience during my coupon-induced exotic food court gorge-athon in Kuala Lumpur a few days back:
"The King of Fruits"
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
Riddle me this: what's spikier than a medieval weapon, deadlier than sharks and lightning combined (unverified but not implausible statistic), trickier to open than a land mine, stinkier than a newborn, more fetus-shaped than a fetus, and not allowed on Singapore's light rail and bus systems? If you think the answer is the creature from Eraserhead, nice try, but no. It's the Durio kutejensis, more commonly known as the Durian, most commonly known as the rankest fruit on earth. I've heard the experience of eating one likened to having strawberry ice cream in a public restroom, and, having savored the succulent beast on a few occasions now, I can't disagree. And yet there's something about this freakish fruit that makes it lovable, some redeeming qualities that I can no longer go untouted. Though it will be tough to say anything about the Durian that hasn't already been said about a pair of socks shoved into a banana-lime snotshake and left to its own devices in the hot sun for a month, I will do my best to salvage this royal angiosperm's reputation.
1) The creaminess. You know how you can take whipped cream and add it to something like, say, yogurt, in order to make it all nice and fluffy and supple? Well, have you ever wondered what would happen if you used whipped cream to achieve the same effect on another tub of whipped cream? If you had the guts to try the experiment and the equipment to measure the fluffscosity of the resulting squared dairy product, you would still find it lacking in comparison to a wad of Durian goop. (This is an especially important characterstic for who don't or can't consume milk products).
2) The versatility. The Durian resembles David Beckham in that, for him, impossible is nothing. Just like whipped cream and ice cream, even sloppy and indiscriminately slathered Durian will enhance most any dish. I recently encountered it inside of Japanese mochi; at the same store (Durian 24 or something like that), it was also being used as crepe filling, cake cream, tart custard, and in milkshakes. My mochi were so good that I actively sought out another vegan Durian dish: Cendol, the Malaysian rendition of shaved ice, with some sweet beans and jellyish cilia and Durian cream on top. Imagine what else you could do with it. Pies and brownies a la Durian. Durian truffles. Durian donut frosting. If I ever get married, you can be sure that all the cake's many layers will be separated by a nice thick barrier of Durian ooze.
3) The fight. The thick, spiky Durian husk is clearly nature's way of protecting the vulnerable, oh-so-edible fluff within. Thus, the act of storming the Durian's castle brings us back to one of the primordial - nay, perennial - themes of human existence: the struggle for survival amid the perils of nature. You will understand this the moment you see, as I have,
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
a tiny Thai woman armed with a cleaver the size of her arm go one-on-one with the fiend, using all her strength to drive the armament deep into its thorny hide, then twisting it around, pulling back, and going at it again. A battle fiercer by far than my namesake's biblical duel with Lucifer himself! It may take up to 30 minutes for the unskilled to emerge victorious, dripping in sweat, with scars on his hands and chest to seal the contest forever in his memory. Compare this to the bland monotony of standing at the kitchen island, wearing an apron and a hair net and wielding naught but a whisk, standing stooped over a bowl of whipping cream and hoping that, joy of joys, it will become a bit poofy sooner or later. (Though to be fair I have to admit that there is something charming about churning ice cream, especially if you have one of those old wooden ice cream buckets with a creaky metal crank.)
4) The taste. It's not the same as the smell. It's a little sour, and a little pungent, but sweet at the same time. Somewhat like certain cheeses. Which leads me to:
5) The philosophicality. The Durian poses, represents, instantiates, or deconstructs numerous dilemmas, concepts, and fundamental questions and could probably serve as a valuable teaching tool in Phil 101 classes. EG:
5a) Essence: Is the essence of Durian to be creamy or to be thorny? It appears that nothing can be both, and yet it is. Do we have to give up on Aristotelian logic if we admit that it is both A and Not A at the same time?
 |
| From 맛난 Masticatables |
5b) Equality: If I have 2 Durians, and you have none, am I morally obligated to give you one?
5c) Induction: Every Durian I have ever opened has had several pouches of oh-so-nice gunk inside. But what justifies my belief that all of them do? Can I really be certain?
5d) Theodicy/Liebnez's Best-world hypothesis: Why would an omnipotent, omnipresent, omnibelevolent creator make such a desirable fruit so difficult to get into?
5e) Evolution: How do we reconcile the concept of "survival of the fittest" with the continued existence of such a monstrosity?
5f) Zen: If a Durian on a tree is reeking, but nobody is around to smell it, is it really there?
5g) Linguistics: How does the word "Durian" affect our perception of the object? If we called it "Rose," would it smell different?
5h) Kafka: Joseph wakes up one morning to find out that he has become a Durian. WTF?
5i) Consciousness: Is the Durian conscious? Does it have a self? Could it be engineered to pass the Turing test, and if so, what would that tell us?
5j) Other minds: What can we know about an entity so definitively other? Is there such a thing as the experience of being a Durian? Does our being human limit our ability to know anything about said experience?
5k) Existentialism: Imagine that someone were condemned by the gods to spend his entire life opening Durians with his bare hands. His fingernails are split, his fingertips raw, his knuckles rheumatic; the bloody wounds on his hands never have time to heal, his joints are stuck in one position for eternity, and his overworked muscles never have a moment's respite, except for that all-too-brief instant when the Durian finally pops open, the flesh is visible, and the gods themselves snatch it away and replace the empty Durian with a new one. This is a metaphor for your life. Is it worth it?
I could go on, but, somehow, I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't see the point. Goodnight, or whatever.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Address
About 5 days ago, I returned to Korea, alive and mostly unscathed, after 5 months in India. I've mostly been spending my time visiting old pals and searching for used or sustainable or socially responsible goods shops and markets, from the inventories of which I hope to furnish and outfit my abode and feed my face. So far I've been pleasantly surprised at the amount of fair trade, pesticide free, local, and organic shops and products and produce around, though this surprise is accompanied by an equally strong suspicion that either a)I'm being duped, or b)that even buying such warm and fuzzy products is probably not enough to reduce my footprint to anywhere near sustainable or equitable levels.
Anyhow, I am still going through all the bureaucracy involved in getting my foreigner/alien ID card, which I need before I can get a phone, an ISP, or health insurance. Once the hospital verifies that I don't have AIDS and that my blood is methamphetamine-free, I can go ahead and submit everything to immigration. Then it'll take about two weeks for the card to come out, at which point I can reconnect with all the modern technology I have been feeling so ambiguous about.
So, while I'm off the radar, if you feel like doing something sweet, how about sending me a card or something? It would be much appreciated, both for the sentimental value of whatever you should choose to send as well as for the help it would lend me in testing the Korean postal service and paving the way for possible future shipments of veganish products from the West.
Mike Roy
대한민국
대구 광역시 북구
복현2동 260번지
복현 우방타운 105동 1308호
Mike Roy
Daegu Kwangyeok=si Buk-gu
Bokhyeon 2-dong 260 Beonji
Bokhyeon Woobang Town Bldg.105 Apt. 1308
702-829
South Korea
Anyhow, I am still going through all the bureaucracy involved in getting my foreigner/alien ID card, which I need before I can get a phone, an ISP, or health insurance. Once the hospital verifies that I don't have AIDS and that my blood is methamphetamine-free, I can go ahead and submit everything to immigration. Then it'll take about two weeks for the card to come out, at which point I can reconnect with all the modern technology I have been feeling so ambiguous about.
So, while I'm off the radar, if you feel like doing something sweet, how about sending me a card or something? It would be much appreciated, both for the sentimental value of whatever you should choose to send as well as for the help it would lend me in testing the Korean postal service and paving the way for possible future shipments of veganish products from the West.
Mike Roy
대한민국
대구 광역시 북구
복현2동 260번지
복현 우방타운 105동 1308호
Mike Roy
Daegu Kwangyeok=si Buk-gu
Bokhyeon 2-dong 260 Beonji
Bokhyeon Woobang Town Bldg.105 Apt. 1308
702-829
South Korea
Friday, February 19, 2010
Weirder Than Monkey Fondling (AKA If You Thought My Last Post Was A Doozy)
It occurred to me today that maybe when I left the US back on Nov 28, 2006, I never landed in Korea. Maybe, instead, I got sucked into some kind of Truman Show or into a random-pointless-life-experience-generator algorithm on a computer somewhere. That's just about the only way I can explain to myself the bizarrity which wrapped its greasy octopodian tentacles around me and dragged me along the streets of Kuala Lumpur today.
To start at the start: After buying a year's supply of biodegradable soap and toothpaste off of the welcoming team, I left Sadhana yesterday afternoon, unleashing, in my approximation, approximately 40 centiliters of tears as I said my goodbyes to everyone. I caught the (3.5 hour) bus to the airport, eating an organic guava or two along the way, and chucking the inedible parts out the window, as one is allowed/expected to do in India. The bus dropped me at a restaurant near the airport, where I dined on Rava Dosa (crepe-thickness pancake of fermented rice flour, cooked with onions and cilantro and black pepper) and Onion Uttapam (similar but thicker), served with wondrous sambar (thin sauce of water, dhal, tomatoes, and other veg), onion ginger chutney, and for the first and last time on my trip, some incredible mint chutney. Two other foreigners sat down to eat with me; it turns out they were German-speaking Italians who spoke even worse Italian than me. After some chatting and gifting them a guava for dessert (I left Sadhana with 6 of 'em in my bag), I moseyed on up to the airport, waited around till 23:30, boarded, slept for 3 hours, and woke up in Kuala Lumpur at 5:30 local time.
Now for the weirdness. Outside of the gate, some airport staff were waiting with names on pieces of paper, one of which was ROY/MICHAELANTHONYLINDE. They told me that because of my long layover (5:30AM until 11:30Pm) I had been selected to participate in the grand opening of the "Showcase KL" program, a new initiative by the City Council to draw tourists out of the airport and into the city for the day. I was skeptical, having been led around despite my better judgment many a time, and asked at least 10 times if everything was free and if they intended to take me to some pewter factory or silk shop and pester me to buy something. They backed up what their denials with lots of documentation, and there were hordes of them with badges and brochures and stuff, so I decided to roll with it.
They walked me in my groggy state to the ultra-lush CIP (Corporate Important Person) Lounge (by way of a private immigration checkpoint), where a continental breakfast of rice, peanuts, cukes, baked beans, fish sauce, eggs, french toast, pastries, OJ, coffee, and tea was laid out, allowed me to use a gigantic marble bathroom with a shower in it (didn't use that part), and then sat me down in a nice big arm chair to explain the day's schedule. I will quote directly from the sheet:
"6-8: Your arrival at KLIA where you will be greeted by the Welcoming Team. You will then be taken to the Corporate Important Person (CIP) Lounge for breakfast and Immigration clearance. As our invited guest, you will be given a Showcase KL Badge.
8:30: Arrival of The Mayor of Kuala Lumpur - Y. Bhg. Datuk Seri Ahmad Fuad Ismail at the CIP. All guests will be introduced to the Mayor. Casual talk over coffee before proceed to the Immigration Counter and Custom clearance.
9:30: You will board the ERL Express train to the KL Sentral together with the Mayor. Your journey will take 28 minutes.
10:00: You will arrive at KL Sentral. At the launch site ,the Minister of Federal Territories and Urban Wellbeing and other invited guests will be greeting you. Enjoy a 5 minutes of KL Multi - Cultural Performance by Kuala Lumpur City Hall Cultural Troupe. Short Speech by the Minister and launch of the Showcase KL.
11:00: 5 minutes Lion Dance performance before joining KL Tour on KL Hop On Hop Off for free. During the tour you ca nhop off at any of the attractinos. Just show your tour badge aat our partner attractoins such as Aquaria, KL Tower, Bird Park, National Museum, and enjoy free entrance. At Pavilion besides shopping you can enjoy the variety of gastronomic delights at The Food Republic by using the RM30 coupon, courtesy of the Pavilion."
Thus, after a brief sleep in a cushy armchair and a breakfast of rice, peanuts, beans, and cukes, I had the good fortune of having a million publicity photos taken of me while shaking hands with the slimeball (deliberate overstatement) mayor of KL. I really wanted to ask him if he thought orchestrating and carrying out the 5-hour ambush of a pack of 25 unsuspecting tourists was a good use of his time, or if he thought the government should be using taxpayer money to purchase environmentally wasteful, suffering-intensive food products (eggs) for a bunch of white people, but he was mostly in the mood to talk about cricket and trout fishing. He chuckled constantly, called lots of things "fantastic," and made sure to outdo everyone, letting a New Zealander know about a nice little town and telling me that he had driven longer distances in the USA than I had.
After the little gathering, a gaggle of paparazzi surrounded us and we marched through the airport to the express train, taking pictures of us talking to each other and of the mayor and his consorts talking to us. I couldn't help but feel like I was being used, so I sabotaged every picture I could by making weird faces or holding my camera directly in front of my head.
We arrived at KL Sentral, the main transport hub for the city, to find the MoFTaUWb waiting for us. Two women in full flight-attendant style dress and makeup handed him gift eggs all wrapped up in lace, which he presented to each of us with a handshake. I accepted the shake and refused the egg, explaining to him that I didn't think it was a very kind gift to be offering. He ignored me, as expected, and we sat down to watch a nice if brief dance performance. Then he got up on stage and explained that the KL Showcase "Product" had been conceived in the spirit of Malaysian Hospitality* to help cure the "mind-numbing boredom" of guests in the airport. He didn't mention whether it was also an attempt to extract as much money as possible from people who otherwise wouldn't have ventured them into the city by cleverly leading them out of the airport and into the major shopping centers, conveniently located all along the bus route. (Oddly enough, as I was being all cynical, grumbling and gurgling and doing my best to take notes of all the sliminess, people continued taking pictures of me.)
The address culminated in a whole load of corny music, steam, and bubbles accompanying the cutting of the ribbon, and then yet another photo shoot, this time of the government officials in the middle of all us tourists. Then we got pushed onto the bus, were instructed to pretend to have conversations with the Mayor and Minister, and had more pictures taken. Then they left us alone to go about our day.
Weirdness over. For the rest of the day, I just took the bus to the bird park then to the old market, walked around for an hour or two, found the Petronas twin towers, ascended KL Menara (the big tower), rode again to the aquarium, then again to the giant megamall for dinner, and then back to the airport, where I'm preparing myself for the certain and immense shock my system will receive upon landing, due to 1)the freezing weather; 2)the fact that my veganism is about to undergo its first big test; and 3)the oh-shit-now-I-have-a-job-again factor.
*There's even a theme song, which includes gems like:
The soul of Asia [Ahem...I believe Seoul claimed this in 1988, if not before]
The essence of Asia
In this land where dreams come true
Malaysia
Malaysia...is truly Asia.
To start at the start: After buying a year's supply of biodegradable soap and toothpaste off of the welcoming team, I left Sadhana yesterday afternoon, unleashing, in my approximation, approximately 40 centiliters of tears as I said my goodbyes to everyone. I caught the (3.5 hour) bus to the airport, eating an organic guava or two along the way, and chucking the inedible parts out the window, as one is allowed/expected to do in India. The bus dropped me at a restaurant near the airport, where I dined on Rava Dosa (crepe-thickness pancake of fermented rice flour, cooked with onions and cilantro and black pepper) and Onion Uttapam (similar but thicker), served with wondrous sambar (thin sauce of water, dhal, tomatoes, and other veg), onion ginger chutney, and for the first and last time on my trip, some incredible mint chutney. Two other foreigners sat down to eat with me; it turns out they were German-speaking Italians who spoke even worse Italian than me. After some chatting and gifting them a guava for dessert (I left Sadhana with 6 of 'em in my bag), I moseyed on up to the airport, waited around till 23:30, boarded, slept for 3 hours, and woke up in Kuala Lumpur at 5:30 local time.
Now for the weirdness. Outside of the gate, some airport staff were waiting with names on pieces of paper, one of which was ROY/MICHAELANTHONYLINDE. They told me that because of my long layover (5:30AM until 11:30Pm) I had been selected to participate in the grand opening of the "Showcase KL" program, a new initiative by the City Council to draw tourists out of the airport and into the city for the day. I was skeptical, having been led around despite my better judgment many a time, and asked at least 10 times if everything was free and if they intended to take me to some pewter factory or silk shop and pester me to buy something. They backed up what their denials with lots of documentation, and there were hordes of them with badges and brochures and stuff, so I decided to roll with it.
They walked me in my groggy state to the ultra-lush CIP (Corporate Important Person) Lounge (by way of a private immigration checkpoint), where a continental breakfast of rice, peanuts, cukes, baked beans, fish sauce, eggs, french toast, pastries, OJ, coffee, and tea was laid out, allowed me to use a gigantic marble bathroom with a shower in it (didn't use that part), and then sat me down in a nice big arm chair to explain the day's schedule. I will quote directly from the sheet:
"6-8: Your arrival at KLIA where you will be greeted by the Welcoming Team. You will then be taken to the Corporate Important Person (CIP) Lounge for breakfast and Immigration clearance. As our invited guest, you will be given a Showcase KL Badge.
8:30: Arrival of The Mayor of Kuala Lumpur - Y. Bhg. Datuk Seri Ahmad Fuad Ismail at the CIP. All guests will be introduced to the Mayor. Casual talk over coffee before proceed to the Immigration Counter and Custom clearance.
9:30: You will board the ERL Express train to the KL Sentral together with the Mayor. Your journey will take 28 minutes.
10:00: You will arrive at KL Sentral. At the launch site ,the Minister of Federal Territories and Urban Wellbeing and other invited guests will be greeting you. Enjoy a 5 minutes of KL Multi - Cultural Performance by Kuala Lumpur City Hall Cultural Troupe. Short Speech by the Minister and launch of the Showcase KL.
11:00: 5 minutes Lion Dance performance before joining KL Tour on KL Hop On Hop Off for free. During the tour you ca nhop off at any of the attractinos. Just show your tour badge aat our partner attractoins such as Aquaria, KL Tower, Bird Park, National Museum, and enjoy free entrance. At Pavilion besides shopping you can enjoy the variety of gastronomic delights at The Food Republic by using the RM30 coupon, courtesy of the Pavilion."
Thus, after a brief sleep in a cushy armchair and a breakfast of rice, peanuts, beans, and cukes, I had the good fortune of having a million publicity photos taken of me while shaking hands with the slimeball (deliberate overstatement) mayor of KL. I really wanted to ask him if he thought orchestrating and carrying out the 5-hour ambush of a pack of 25 unsuspecting tourists was a good use of his time, or if he thought the government should be using taxpayer money to purchase environmentally wasteful, suffering-intensive food products (eggs) for a bunch of white people, but he was mostly in the mood to talk about cricket and trout fishing. He chuckled constantly, called lots of things "fantastic," and made sure to outdo everyone, letting a New Zealander know about a nice little town and telling me that he had driven longer distances in the USA than I had.
After the little gathering, a gaggle of paparazzi surrounded us and we marched through the airport to the express train, taking pictures of us talking to each other and of the mayor and his consorts talking to us. I couldn't help but feel like I was being used, so I sabotaged every picture I could by making weird faces or holding my camera directly in front of my head.
We arrived at KL Sentral, the main transport hub for the city, to find the MoFTaUWb waiting for us. Two women in full flight-attendant style dress and makeup handed him gift eggs all wrapped up in lace, which he presented to each of us with a handshake. I accepted the shake and refused the egg, explaining to him that I didn't think it was a very kind gift to be offering. He ignored me, as expected, and we sat down to watch a nice if brief dance performance. Then he got up on stage and explained that the KL Showcase "Product" had been conceived in the spirit of Malaysian Hospitality* to help cure the "mind-numbing boredom" of guests in the airport. He didn't mention whether it was also an attempt to extract as much money as possible from people who otherwise wouldn't have ventured them into the city by cleverly leading them out of the airport and into the major shopping centers, conveniently located all along the bus route. (Oddly enough, as I was being all cynical, grumbling and gurgling and doing my best to take notes of all the sliminess, people continued taking pictures of me.)
The address culminated in a whole load of corny music, steam, and bubbles accompanying the cutting of the ribbon, and then yet another photo shoot, this time of the government officials in the middle of all us tourists. Then we got pushed onto the bus, were instructed to pretend to have conversations with the Mayor and Minister, and had more pictures taken. Then they left us alone to go about our day.
Weirdness over. For the rest of the day, I just took the bus to the bird park then to the old market, walked around for an hour or two, found the Petronas twin towers, ascended KL Menara (the big tower), rode again to the aquarium, then again to the giant megamall for dinner, and then back to the airport, where I'm preparing myself for the certain and immense shock my system will receive upon landing, due to 1)the freezing weather; 2)the fact that my veganism is about to undergo its first big test; and 3)the oh-shit-now-I-have-a-job-again factor.
*There's even a theme song, which includes gems like:
The soul of Asia [Ahem...I believe Seoul claimed this in 1988, if not before]
The essence of Asia
In this land where dreams come true
Malaysia
Malaysia...is truly Asia.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
I feel like anyone and everyone who reads this blog has a serious interest in knowing that
the other day, outside of Muthunga National Forest and Wildlife Reserve, I saw some monkeys on the side of the road. 15 or 20 of 'em. Mostly they were just hanging out, eating banana peels and picking through plastic bags to see what goodies they could find. Walking around, hooting, suckling, climbing, dashing. Normal monkey stuff, ya know? AND THEN!
Monkey A is just chilling in walking position, with all 4 limbs on the ground. Monkey B walks up behind Monkey A, sticks his hand between A's rear legs, and grabs A's penis Everything goes slow-mo and I can't believe what I'm seeing. B pulls A's member down and backwards between his legs, and it seems to stretch like silly puddy. He relaxes his grip, it all goes back to normal, and then he gives it three or four more tugs. I stand in both awe and disgust at the elasticity of A's 6th appendage. B then scampers off hollering, and A, seemingly after contemplating whether or not the event was shameful enough to warrant retribution, plods off after him.
Unfortunately all four of us had already put our cameras away, figuring that we'd content ourselves with some photos of monkey moms and babies and a sweet tree squirrel the size of a cat. Just my luck.
Monkey A is just chilling in walking position, with all 4 limbs on the ground. Monkey B walks up behind Monkey A, sticks his hand between A's rear legs, and grabs A's penis Everything goes slow-mo and I can't believe what I'm seeing. B pulls A's member down and backwards between his legs, and it seems to stretch like silly puddy. He relaxes his grip, it all goes back to normal, and then he gives it three or four more tugs. I stand in both awe and disgust at the elasticity of A's 6th appendage. B then scampers off hollering, and A, seemingly after contemplating whether or not the event was shameful enough to warrant retribution, plods off after him.
Unfortunately all four of us had already put our cameras away, figuring that we'd content ourselves with some photos of monkey moms and babies and a sweet tree squirrel the size of a cat. Just my luck.
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