Skinny-Dipping

Think the older you get, the less inhibitions you have?

At least I do think so since these days, I don't really care a fuck about what most people think, well apart from a select few of my friends and family. The rest I could easily say go hang since it's more likely they don't really care all that much about me anyhow.

Yes, kids. Sadly all those people out there don't really care about you.

But I digress.

The growing lack of self-consciousness extends to most other parts of my life as well. Honestly even stripping at the gym or the pool seems less fraught with stranger danger these days. Don't even really care if there's an entire jock crowd downing protein shakes in the locker room, I'd just strip all the way down to change. I'll admit to a bit more trepidation as a high school student way back when. Wouldn't know if that's a side effect of the physician's life seeing everyone naked every on in a while or perhaps growing older and caring less what others think. Maybe a bit of both.

So when I'm back at the hotel at a late hour of the night and I know the pool's perfectly empty... I really see no point in digging through the mess of my suitcase ( yes, yes I do toss everything in ) for my swimtrunks.

Unfortunately I don't look like this in speedos. 

Why bother when I can just slip into the remarkably cool waters of the pool after an entire day of tropical burn in my workwear? A though that comes to my mind each time I walk by an unoccupied pool in the later hours of the evening. Far from a dedicated nudist that's for sure - so I usually glance surreptitious around quickly to make sure no one else was around, then chuck my clothes to the side before just slipping in.

Fortunately, also thanks to my work, I'm super efficient at getting changed, whether in or out.

And hey, even if an inadvertent guest or worker happens to stumble by, they usually assume you're somehow dressed in trunks. Or perhaps skin coloured trunks.

Few would suspect otherwise.

Ondel-Ondel

Prior to the rapacious colonialists sailing over to stake their claims by drawing pithy lines on a map, the borders between our South East Asian countries were astonishingly porous with ships and sampans making their way all over the local ports. After a visit to Jakarta, it has become even more obvious that we share more similarities than differences, from our shared language to the food we serve on a daily basis.

Really it's sheer ridiculousness to even claim a famous dish, a cultural practice or a folk song as your own when it was clear that none of the new nations should actually do so since it belongs to the people of the entire area, regardless of their current nationalities. 

But I digress. 

Since the sole complaint I actually had about Bali was the conspicuous lack of palatable food, I was initially worried that I'd have to subsist painfully on Indomie every other evening. I mean sure I'm a great fan of instant noodles but surely I didn't fly over to a foreign land just for that particular delight. 

Yet again, Jakarta clearly proved me wrong since the food here is... just amazing. Or perhaps just more agreeable to my specific tastes since Javanese food in Jakarta didn't really differ all that much from what we have back here in Malaysia. 

Spices yum. 

It didn't mean we weren't initially stumped by their extensive menus. Not only had the Dutch made their own peculiar stamp on the culinary practices here with their poffertjes and pannekoeken, they had also left behind certain words and phrases that made every little dish strangely alien to us. And we hadn't even taken account of the differences in our local Malay and their Indonesian Malay.

A thought to ponder upon with Billy Davidson!

Even for teatime when presented with an entire batik-covered tray of beautifully prepared kueh, I found myself perfectly stumped when the names were rattled off repeatedly by the kebaya clad servers. From ongol ongol to kueh kelepong, the words were all mystifying even though they all vaguely resembled the kueh I knew back home. Imposters I wanted to cry out! Think of it as our very own kueh but with their very own Indo-Dutch twist.

Absolutely scrumptious that's all I can say!

And the beautiful ambience of their restaurants certainly added to the experience. Say what you will but the Indonesians spared no cost in decorating their restaurants lavishly. Glam to the max. And more. Even the austere colonial buildings were clearly no match for the local razzle-dazzle that totally transformed each plain Dutch wife into an enchanting Javanese stunner.

Bengawan Solo

Since doctors rarely receive any good news despite what people may think, the year began with the usual tiresome update that our medical practising certificate would be even more troublesome to renew. Not only did it come with a cutting-edge app that would probably drive the older codgers absolutely batty, there were several bureaucratic hoops and hurdles we had to jump over before getting our renewal.

So it was that I had to scour through the internet searching for a medical conference at least somewhere within the region - far enough that few of my own colleagues would head there so that I could ask for their help - yet near enough that I could just jet over for a brief spell without compromising too much of my regular work.

Serendipitously the name Jakarta turned up. 

Yes, I'll admit to some serious qualms when I saw the name. Utterly prejudiced as I was, all I could think of were dull, humdrum skyscrapers in the sweltering tropical heat of Java - with throngs and throngs, and throngs of people all packed together in one of their infamous traffic crawls. Not exactly a winning tourism slogan for Visit Indonesia but I figured I could easily hack it for just slightly more than a weekend. 

Boy, did Jakarta prove me wrong. 

Sure, most of the worries proved true enough since they did have the torrid weather, the terrible traffic and of course, the sadly indistinguishable gray concrete towers, all in spades. Yet it didn't take very long to see that there was more to Jakarta than just a random Asian metropolis perpetually shrouded in haze. In fact there seemed to be shades of an older, more refined Batavia everywhere I went.

For starters, having one of the hotel employees meet me right at the airport turned out to be an excellent idea since I saw firsthand right from the start that graciousness and hospitality seemed almost ingrained in the people here. From the streetside vendors serving bakso and sate to the most exclusive fine dining restaurants offering Rijsttafel, we only heard the most gentle greetings of 'Ya Pak, silakan.' None of the brash, loutish behaviour we would have associated with some of their less refined brethren working here. 

Also probably due to the fact that I chose to stay at Menteng, one of the more genteel upscale neighbourhoods in Jakarta. Just think tree-lined avenues with gracious colonial bungalows, refurbished hipster cafes and even hipper Indonesian youths. Imagine a dinner of traditional Indonesian fare with two dozen sate sticks from all the bigger islands in the archipelago coupled with artisanal black charcoal icecream serenaded by a group of youngsters playing a string quartet.

Incidentally playing a pop song by Katy Perry.  

Few boys the likes of Nicholas Saputra here unfortunately... but then again maybe they are hiding!

Not exactly what one would have expected from Jakarta.

Hows of Hospitality II : The Gay Uncles

Munching on endless mandarin oranges, feasting on seasonal delicacies and tossing firecrackers would be how most of us would spend the entire fifteen days of the Chinese New Year; but let us all not forget that the most important part of the time-honoured celebration would be the reunion of family members from near and far. Yes, whether or not we actually enjoy their continued presence in our lives - though I'm stodgily old-fashioned enough to believe that could be the time to foster closer familial ties if possible.

We can choose our own family these days but that doesn't mean we should give up entirely on the ones we were given. If you've never actually made the conscious effort to know your close relatives, how can you possibly just turn your back thinking they won't be kindred spirits?

But fear not, this isn't going to turn into a raging diatribe on conservative family values.

Let us hope the three gay uncles had a fabulous new year party all on their own!

It has more to do with the three gay uncles I mentioned a while back. Not even my own uncles but the ones belonging to Diffident David. Perhaps not all gay but elderly bachelor uncles they all are. Since the older generation has gone, it should come as no surprise that the bachelor uncles all have their own reunion dinner separate from the rest of their family.

Coming from a terribly inclusive family, I find it utterly shocking to say the least. Can't imagine what my late grandfather would have said if this had happened in our household! Turn in his grave he would!

Paul : Don't you feel for them? Isn't there a shred of empathy somewhere? 
David : Why? 
Paul : They are gay. 
David : They aren't gay. 
Paul : Nonetheless, they are single and alone. There is basically no one else for their reunion dinner. 
David : So? 
Paul : Aren't you asking them over? 

Sadly, you'd have thought the appalling lack of hospitality I mentioned only extends to random acquaintances but apparently it extends to extended family as well. Hoping that he'd changed his mind during the new year turned out to be futile since they weren't invited over for the reunion at all.

Maybe next year?

How I Got Away With An Art Market II

Initially I think all of us, Trish, Tiny, Toni and I, even with the greatest of hopes and optimism, didn't think very much would come of the very first market we planned.

For such a small town with hardly any artistic gatherings as such, there seemed little chance we would even be able to collect enough promising vendors to form an artisan market. About a handful was all we expected and we planned it as such with a smaller event space than the one before. And even though we had decided to revive a lackluster market that happened semi regularly, the crowd at their very last event had been less than gratifying.

Hardly a ringing recommendation for the next.

Shouldn't come as a surprise then that I didn't have very high hopes for the customer crowd so I tried to reasonably manage everyone's expectations.

Paul : Guys, it's just our first market, a test for the crowd in town, so don't worry if not many people appear.
Tiny : There will be a huge crowd. 
Paul : At least we hope. Nonetheless it's just an opportunity for us all to get together and know one another. 
Tiny : There will be a huge crowd. 
Paul : I really hope you repeating that would actually make it happen. 

Turns out that seemed to do the trick.

Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, the ancient Chinese proverb goes to explain the spectacular talents hidden in people yet undiscovered. A phrase that has certainly turned out apt for our particular situation since artists and crafters came out of nowhere when our first offer went out. Seems like right beneath our noses, we had painters, calligraphers, sculptors etc. all ready to showcase their hidden talents. Didn't take long before we were already getting worried whether we even had enough available venue space to fit them all in.

Like it or not, it was the management of such a diverse group of temperamental artisans with peculiar needs and wants that turned out to be a challenge. Urgent messages on every social media possible went zinging to and fro as we handled the occasional mercurial diva.

Tiny : It's your turn. 
Paul : I did it this morning. 
Trish : I'll do it but you guys owe me dessert. 
Paul : As long as I don't have to handle that melodrama again. 

Not to mention handling each other with our eccentricities since we had only started to know each other - meaning Trish, Tiny, Toni and I.

How To Get Away With An Art Market

Rather than make a new year resolution that I would probably fail miserably at, I decided to do something far more productive and rejuvenate an art market already present here. After all I've always wanted to run a little artsy bric-a-brac store of my own so why not try out my rusty shopkeeping skills with something a little less permanent, and a tad more substantial than just a pop-up store!

For years on end, I have been a frequent visitor at an annual arts and crafts market here - and yes, I've often wondered often enough why it hasn't become a more regular event rather than only briefly during the run up to Christmas. After all, there seemed to be quite a growing crowd of participants each year. Few could answer me however, though I could easily guess the reason was mainly due to the semi-active participation of a couple of overtaxed expatriate housewives who tended to flit in and out of the town throughout the year.

Hardly the sort to help make the fledgling market a more formally established item on the city's itinerary. 

Which is where we come in. One of the more determined participants, henceforth to be named Tenacious Tiny, corralled some of the more vocal people into a tight band to jointly organize more art markets here. Through Terrific Trish and Trusting Toni whom I've met on and off through the various events in town, I found my way into this group who hoped to bring together the crafters and creators in Miri under one single umbrella. 

Or at least that's what our main objective said!

Though none of them remotely resembled this fellow sadly. 

Despite my initial misgivings, the number of interested vendors in our market idea turned out to be quite significant; with a rare handful heaving a sigh of relief that someone had finally taken charge to make it more permanent. All I could think of was why hadn't they? Guess initiative is harder to find than I thought!

Several evenings of coffee and brainstorming followed between Trish, Tiny, Toni and I as we figured what to keep and what to change about the upcoming events. Thoughts of shifting the market venue to a more convenient location turned out to be far more tricky than we imagined. Not only did Tiny adore the original rustic location in a beach hut bistro, she as a local agoraphobic native didn't fancy driving more than five metres away from her house. Took a little bit of convincing but we managed to divert to another location closer to the town centre. 

Even the dates of the event kept moving around the calendar as we tried to balance the logistics of preparation with the advent of the Chinese New Year. 

Fortunately with Trish ever so adept at computer graphics, we soon had several posters and ads ready to place up around town; which Tiny and I sneakily plastered up at the more prominent junctions in town. Helping with the social media accounts, I found myself embracing the role of a peppy millennial coming up with wildly animated, enthusiastic remarks to accompany our numerous adverts.

Gotta admit there were some days I found myself utterly exhausted from being that vivacious- and wished desperately for a cup of thick black coffee.