Under the Tuscan Sun

As awful a traveller as I am in the air, I can't really claim to be all that much better on land since severe carsickness assails my battered senses the moment I'm dragged away from the driver's seat. So it's only fair to say that despite the beautiful, sweeping landscapes provided by the famed hills and vales of Tuscany, I found myself resolutely shutting my eyes as much as possible.

Moreover the famed hills and vales didn't prove at all conducive to the civil engineering of straight, perfectly smooth highways which is how I found myself desperately groggy as we found ourselves jolted on a bus all the way through the winding, undulating roads of rural Tuscany.

Maybe I was meant to ride on horseback!

Nevertheless - which speaks very much for the phenomenal vistas provided - I would still recommend getting on that rattling bus.

Though perhaps with a little less consumption of the Chianti.

Which was unfortunately inevitable with a tour around the region since the world famous vineyards abound in this very area. So despite booking a day trip to Siena and San Gimignano, somehow a brief detour to the vineyards had to be slotted in for the shameless lushes. Being less than a noted connoisseur of wine, obviously it was a horrifying experience to have endless glasses of wine pressed into my shaky hands for a review.

Happily by the time we made it to San Gimignano, the groggy effects of my incipient alcoholism had started wearing off; otherwise I would undoubtedly have clumsily tumbled down the steep steps heading up to the hilly fortress town. The added prize of the best gelato ever at the main piazza turned out to be the ideal panacea for my subsiding headache. Built on a precarious ridge of a hill, the soaring towers of San Gimignano served as the perfect introduction to the walled hill towns of Tuscany - and certainly explained the amazing glutes much prized by the Italian artists.

All that endless hiking up and down certainly helped!

Far larger than most of the smaller hill towns and on thankfully far more manageable terrain, Siena certainly caught my eye with its medieval splendour spread around the peculiarly shell-shaped Piazza del Campo. Quaint stores peddling souvenirs from pottery to sweetmeats proliferate in the town centre; one of the reasons I found Siena absolutely charming and worthy of a second visit! Unfortunately there was barely any time to haggle a decent bargain since the tour bus kept hankering to leave before dark.

Fortunately I managed to snag some panforte and a couple of terracotta plates to add to my stash before hopping into the bus. 

You Had Me At Free Shipping

For a long time I tried to avoid online shopping. Not only do I have a notoriously antiquated, near-Luddite dislike of anything far too avant-garde, I also am quite paranoid about laying myself out as easy prey to the never-ending online scams we all hear about.

Not to mention I get frequent nagging reminders to save, not only from my frugal brother - but surprisingly also my mother. For someone who knows her intimately, you would think her quite amazingly contrary! For reasons unbeknownst to me, my unreasonably paranoid mother seems to think that I live a recklessly opulent lifestyle in the hedonistic jungle burning dollar bills, running up credit purchasing idle frivolities and sipping bubbly by the bottle.

I'll admit to being quite the shopaholic - but only when I'm travelling. Adventuresome folks who wander the globe without picking up knick knacks boggle my mind.

However back in stone-cold reality here, I spend almost nothing here on this side of the Big Puddle because there's almost nothing worth buying; well apart from crawling out of my hermitage for my weekly exorbitant purchase of a two-dollar ice-cream cone.

Of course in the midst of lecturing me on my apparently senseless spending, the maternal temptress herself will then see fit to send me shopping brochures.

Mom : Take a look at this!
Paul : The shopping brochure?
Mom : Yeah, aren't the items great?
Paul : Some really great stuff here.
Mom : Look at page 21. Pretty yeah. 
Paul : You want it? 
Mom : Don't buy it though. Save money.
Paul : Seriously, what kinda passive aggressive shtick is this?

I wonder is it some form of sadistic test.

Really, my mom sends me beautiful brochures chock full of tempting tchotchkes, trifles and trinkets and then with her very next breath,  adjures me to economize! Like the tantalizing siren call of a grand sale, how can anyone possibly resist? Not only is it heavily discounted - 80% off really! - but they come with free shipping?!

Wait boys, what was that I heard about a price cut? 

No need to tell me about getting one absolutely free on purchase when you already had me at free shipping!

You can imagine how glad I am sometimes that our country is somehow blacklisted when it comes to many online shopping sites. Just see how often we are left out when it comes to places for free shipping when even the most peculiar nations such as Malawi and Mongolia get a free pass. Imagine how much I would spend if we weren't the pariah of the mailing service!

Maybe my mother's admonitions are well earned indeed! Perhaps it really is time I got a shop to place all my bric-a-bracs.

Shorts & Trunks

Despite living close to the sea - with the sandy beach never more than twenty minutes drive away - I don't actually go swimming that often. Blame it on my near irrational fear of the scorching ultraviolet rays ever present on said sunny beaches.

Which explains my severe lack of swimwear; at least nothing serviceable. The ones I have would probably float away with the coming tide.

And I politely declined Fabulous Felix's all too kind offer to loan his super-skimpy see-through white Speedos. For shame! I might hit the gym a little more regularly these days but there's a limit to my exhibitionist tendencies.

Unless I looked like him of course. 

So with a trip to a tropical island listed on my travel schedule, I had no choice but to hit the stores. Usually one of my favourite past-times - but this time, flicking through endless racks of scanty spandex, all barely larger than a pocket handkerchief, sent chills down my spine. Not to mention in this conventional little town, there's really not much choice for men's swimwear apart from low-cut trunks and briefs in indeterminate variations of black and blue.

Find board shorts far too prudish so I picked out one of the less risque trunks. Super stretchy as the material was, I found it almost impossible to guesstimate the size.

Paul : Could you reasonably guess my size? 
Salesgirl : No need guess guess la. Just go try la. 
Paul : You're serious. I'm allowed to try the swimming trunks? 
Salesgirl : Why not! Take the whole bunch. 
Paul : I presume a whole battalion of men have gone through them as well?
Salesgirl : Not that many la. Okay one la.

Okaaay....

Yes, I've heard about the girls trying on brassieres in the changing room but wasn't this a little bit much? Admittedly a little dubious but I figured I'd just slip them on really really fast - and off even quicker. With my briefs modestly underneath, surely I wouldn't catch anything less than savoury.   

Almost Perfection

'You can never be overdressed or overeducated.'

                                       Oscar Wilde

Doesn't seem like my fellow countrymen are heeding his well-intentioned advice. Even at our own regular Netherfield soirees, we have unmindful guests arriving in their ratty tees and casual flip flops wondering aloud why the rest of us are so dressed up. The rest of us blithely wonder whether they've just rolled out of their beds to lazily snatch up whatever's left on the top of the laundry basket.

Presenting the proper image seems to be all important for the image-conscious Koreans though, especially judging by the chic, nattily dressed city folk traversing the streets of Seoul. Sure, most don't actually resemble the eeriely immaculate Kpop idols with their perfectly coiffed hair and ready smiles but it's patently obvious that just a little more care has been taken just before stepping out.

Just a tad more dressy. A little more attention to what they're wearing that day. Maybe a lapel pin to the jacket. A comb through the hair. A lil bit of lip gloss. That quick glance at the hall mirror moments before leaving.

Definitely not the swift rush-and-grab rummage through the crammed closet before rushing out that I am starting to suspect of the more casually dressed sartorial suspects. Which honestly only works if you're fortunate enough to look like this.

No, sadly I don't look like Kim Bum - who looks effortlessly gorgeous in a tee and shorts - so I have to at least wear something really nice.

Which is why we felt we needed to step up our game a little over there. After all I could hardly pass on my far from Adonis-like looks so I seriously needed something at least presentable to wear. Which seems to be cue for the endless comments from our friends on how shockingly overdressed we are.

Friend : You're wearing a spiffy suit over there? 
Paul : Yeah, a suit. 
Friend : Wah so overdressed! But it's a holiday!
Paul : So? You expect me to don bermudas and a tank top when it's 14 C?
Friend : Definitely not a suit. Maybe jeans and a tee?
Paul : Why not a suit? 
Friend : Because it's uncomfortable!
Paul : Why would you buy an uncomfortable suit!

And the conversation continues. Surely they didn't expect to see me travelling abroad dressed like a sloppy hobo? Don't they ever heed the immortal words of Oscar Wilde? When did bermudas and flip flops become readily accepted everywhere?

Needless to say, the Koreans - especially our hosts at the hanok - were truly impressed. Even more when we dressed to the nines for a traditional music night they organized at their home. Guess we did set a pretty high bar for future Malaysians.

Bowtie Stories

Hipsters and hobos alike have always decried the class-conscious tie, habitually predicting the coming apocalypse for that absurdly expensive 12-inch strip of fabric that smacks of prejudice, pretension and pomposity. Eager to appear egalitarian and non-comformist, men everywhere are anxious about wearing them: would it make you look stuffy, old-fashioned, aged, if you wear one?

Don't have much of a choice for me since a tie is practically part of my work uniform. And one that I love. Would feel almost naked marching out to work without that sobering knot at my neck.

In fact, I wonder what the tie rebels would think if they knew that I have even developed a taste for smart bowties. Yes, I can sense a growing grimace from the readers - and I truly understand the apparent distaste. Before I used to imagine time-worn bowties purely the preserve of cherubic choir boys, crazed clinicians and crusty college dons. Hardly anyone above the age of consent with an aspiration to be fashion forward would deign to tie a bow on their necks surely.

But even the snazziest tie ensemble starts to turn stale after a while. With everyone else upping their game dressing in a more sophisticated preppy fashion, how else could I not follow?

Yum, makes me wanna tear the tie off. 
Pity there's not enough fabric to tie him to the bed. 

And hell, it does make you look dapper.

So these days, my dresser drawer has a couple of avant garde bowties mixed in with the more orthodox army of ties. Purchased half a dozen on the cheap in Seoul - from the pink polka dots to the green tartan stripes - where unsurprisingly conservative bowties are all the fad. Hard to blame them when pretty boys such as Choi Siwon look so irresistibly fetching in them.

Though I have a couple of traditional tie-it-yourself bows, most days I have to depend on the pre-tied bowties. Oh the shame! Yes, it's the lazy way but I can't very well knot one perfectly while I scramble off for a medical emergency.

Try to knot one, certainly not as easy as it looks. Hell, it takes a lotta practice :) Don't make it too perfect though, it always looks better just a tad off-kilter.

Run Devil Run

24 Hour Shopping.

How could anyone not love that!

Seriously, need I say more? Practically lost my mind shopping over there. I believe 24 hour shopping hours should be the way to go; something I think all seriously sultry Asian capitals should encourage in their crowded streets - although I'm sure our own small-minded bureaucrats would whine, wail and weep over the perceived rise in some hitherto unknown heinous crime tied to the extended shopping hours. They always find the flimsiest reasons to justify their nonsensical acts.

Back to Seoul! Just like the oft-abused phrase, over here one mall closes only to have another open. Usually right next door.

Poor Charming Calvin had to run devil run quite a lot as I sped through the endless shopping streets laid out like a treasure trail with unbelievable bargains on every corner. Though of course the number of shops catering to the ladies outnumber the men's, there are still quite a lot of stores offering beautifully fitted work attire with jackets, vests and ties in bewilderingly bold shades. Which I obviously splurged on.

Despite the fact that the clothes - and the shockingly bling ties - were all obviously made for the fragile skinny-gaunt flower boys made famous by the Hallyu wave!

Though I no longer wonder at their incredibly soft, baby-smooth skin. With at least five different cosmetic stores on every street beckoning with samples and freebies galore, how could anyone possibly resist? Seriously at the rate the hyperenthusiastic salesgirls are chucking facial creams, scrubs and masks at baffled passersby, it should be a fashion crime not to participate in the cosmetic frenzy. Every possible cream or lotion for every possible skin surface is available here.

Even a mask for the hells of your feet. I kid you not.

What? There's a BB cream sale?

While most are easily converted once they are drawn to the irresistible siren song of beauty products, the more recalcitrant visitors are literally dragged kicking and screaming by the surprisingly strong salesgirls into the stores for a full makeover. Or at least a dab of BB cream at the very least.

And if the dozens of beauty products available still can't help attain the expected results, there's always the friendly neighbourhood plastic surgeon ready to perform the impossible. Also seemingly available on every street corner.

The Koreans really take beauty regimes seriously.

London Calling

Plaster cast about six inches tall of a free-standing clock tower painted in bronze and gilded in gold.

Nothing much really but that's about all I could afford back then. Always been one for tacky trinkets - thankfully the loose bits of change I had in my woefully thin pockets as an impecunious student were just enough to justify the exorbitant purchase on an underwhelmingly minuscule replica of the towering Big Ben. Yet it was the most I'd ever squandered on a holiday.

So it was all I could do not to have my foolish blundering maid summarily executed on Tower Hill when she clumsily chipped it during an unfortunate dusting misadventure. To say I was livid would have been a severe understatement.


Where shall I begin?
It has been a while. More than ten years later I stood before the towering monument yet again, this time very much older, far from wiser and significantly more plump in the pockets.

And obviously more than ready to splurge.

Like an old trusted friend, the city remained much the same with the shopping streets written clear on the back of my hand. Much to the dismay of Charming Calvin - himself an ingenuous first-timer in the Big Smoke. No doubt wide-eyed with endless wonder over the treasures that the city of London had to offer, he found himself instead confronted with an irate boyfriend at the steps of the Green Park tube station early one October morning.

Paul : List down ten places you want to visit in London.
Calvin : Only ten? There are so many sights to see. I don't know if -
Paul : Didn't you make up a list on the horrific thirteen hour flight here with a monstrous 8 hour layover?
Calvin : I slept!
Paul : Well I never can sleep a wink on planes so I made a list.
Calvin : Would that be a shopping list?
Paul : Clever boy! Speak now or forever hold your tattered visitor's guide. My shopping spree will commence in about 24 hours!

Dithering between tourist sites, Calvin found it hard to make a snap decision when faced with such an ultimatum. Accustomed to such nervous agitation, I saw no other recourse but to drag him to the Tower. Lucky for him though no grim executioner awaited him at Tower Hill but a gregarious Yeomen Warder ready to show him the historical sites.

Hometown Idol

Haven't been back home since I came back from Beijing so my Tibetan stool's still sitting at the corner.

At work, we usually get swamped with a mountain of onerous work after taking some amount of time off. Kinda sweet revenge from the rest of our colleagues still slogging pitilessly at the grind :) Still I do get messages from my merciful friends back home. Had a very funny message late at night from an inebriated Big Bicep Barry no doubt back from one of his drunken weekend revelries :)

Barry : I won! I won!
Paul : The wet t-shirt contest?
Barry : No! I won a singing contest! Well, admittedly in a lil village concert but still... some of my gym friends put my name down for a singing competition and I won a trophy!
Paul : Your Gymbot Gang? With no warning?
Barry : You really call them that? Yeah, they just suddenly pushed me to the stage. I sang a Mandarin song - some of the rest sang Hokkien songs.
Paul : You didn't unbutton your shirt and shake your moneymakers, I take it.
Barry : Not much need to. I doubt the judges would have been impressed. Two uncles and this lady.
Paul : GASP. Just like American Idol! Did the lady comment on your pitching? Did the uncle in the tight tee say rubbish in a posh Brit accent?
Barry : No nasty comments. They wouldn't dare. My friends - the Gymboy Gang as you say - were sitting close by ready to throttle them if they commented.

Can you possibly imagine getting on stage in front of everyone and belting out a Hokkien song? Much less with the judges' committee frowning critically right in front. Certainly no dazzling Tracy Turnblad who can burst out into song at cue so I'd probably freak out the moment the spotlight hits me! Stage jitters, always had them! Minute the director calls on me, I find my knees turning to jelly and my throat literally choking up.

But I am trying to overcome that weakness :) Would love to perform on stage sometime in the future but that doesn't mean that I'll be ready for an impromptu performance anytime soon. Of course once you've got me started on stage and warmed up, it's almost impossible to tear me away from the mike :)


Me, sing in public? Oh but I couldn't... I'm so ... so... shy!
Some boys though adore the spotlight. Barry himself isn't immune to the nigh-irresistible lure of the stage, our versatile man has been up there a couple of times since I've known him and obviously shown himself quite adept at holding an audience captive. Well at least without getting brickbats or rotten tomatoes tossed at him.

Then again if I had a hulking, silently threatening Gymbot Gang close by ever ready to deal with unpleasant reviews, I'd be all too willing to strut my stuff as well.

Judge : What was that ear-splitting caterwauling? That was utter rubbish.
Neanderthal : You make fun of friend. Hulk thump you now. Break bones.
Judge : What are you talking.. oww oww oww oww...

Always good to have a friend.

...***...

Hey look out for that moving van
Driving down our streets
You better lock up your man
Before he meets
The new mall in town

Been to the spanking new mall in town, the Pavilion ( was there any doubt? ) and I believe it rocks! Amazing design, endless plazas, airy wakways but shockingly low balconies just perfect to send that persistent enemy of yours plunging down seven floors. The mall's not fully open yet but it shows such sweet promise. And btw there's a small cafe in the basement level that hasn't opened yet but you'll find me there soon since it shares my name :)

See ya at Paul's.

The Proverbial Manbag

Bet you don't know this but for years women have been subtly misappropriating essential items generally considered masculine domain from cigarettes to business shirts to pants, even shaving come to think of it - and the men have been patently oblivious to the fact that their closets have been breached!

And somehow by the grace of God, the shrewd ladies have actually made it all work better!

So does it mean it's time that we borrowed from them as well? Every few years, the thriving leather industry working hand in glove with the devious fashionistas attempt to hoodwink gullible men into believing that the male handbag is what's lacking from their sad sartorially-deficient lives. And for the past few years it seems that the nefarious plans actually worked.


Did I just drop something?
After all, we've all seen these so-called man bags around town, slightly larger than the usual wallets yet smaller and daintier than tough manly briefcases.. stashed under the arms of smartly dressed business execs, strapped around the shoulders of sensitive new agers. Seems like a near indispensable accessory to the well-dressed metrosexual these days!

Even the raging homo with his pink dollar.

Paul : What's with your handbag, auntie?
My ISO : Hey, it's a man bag.
Paul : I'm sorry. Not even Joey could pull that off.
My ISO : See. I have all these pockets.
Paul : Which are empty.
My ISO : Which I shall fill...
Paul : With tampons?

If I recall, even Dashing Dan - and Charming Calvin despite his protests - also own a man bag. Despite dressing it up as the latest in-thing accesory, have to say the name still takes a bit to swallow. Not exactly sure why they're termed man-bags though the term still puts a queer smile on my face. Could I check out your manbag sir? Then again calling it a man-purse or murse would be even worse. Maybe we could call it a satchel instead.


Damn! There goes my heels!
Kidding aside, I do see some of the good points of carrying a man bag. Not sure exactly what I intend to put in it - not even sure if I'll get it! - but it would surely be easier toting a manbag rather than lugging all my belongings about in various unflattering plastic carriers ( vague hints of sloppy slipper-wearing aunties schlepping to the wet market ). I gotta admit after passing the age of 30, hefting a school backpack seems almost sophomorish.

Of course I don't have all that many paraphernalia to load into it of course - unlike girls who inevitably pack for the coming Apocalypse with fluids and rations for the next decade, not to mention essential feminine products, make-up and birth control. But there are days when I'm bogged down with my handphone, my increasingly expanding wallet and my stethoscope ( and that's not even counting endless techgadgets such as the iPod and the Blackberry that I wish to get but can't handle! ), I do wish I had a handy manpurse around to shove it in. Seems like a far more elegant solution rather than have unsightly bulges tenting up the chinos.

Not sure if I could carry it off though. Sure, a macho dude like Chewbacca that hairy Metrosexual Wookie can lug around a manbag and still make it look chock-full of testosterone. Hell, David Beckham could wear stiletto heels and still come off all hyper masculine but I'm not sure if a dull Mr Average like me could pull off the man-bag though.

What do you think? To man-bag or not to man-bag?