Fabulista Suggests: Convey not Confuse.

Human languages were created mainly for one purpose – the conveyance of ideas from one entity to another apart from oneself. It was made for the sake of convenience; not conspicuity.

Over coffee, Swanne (one of my coffee-buddies) shared an anecdote the importance and the essence of communication:

Charles called Alfred in the evening. It was dinnertime and it was no surprise that Alfred’s dinner had been interrupted.

Charles: You sound distracted, Alfred… are you busy? Doing something…?

Alfred (indignant): Yes, Charles, it’s evening time and I am currently masticating…

Charles (awkwardly): Oh, sorry, I guess this is a bad time… (Alfred concurs with a guttural respond).

Charles (continues, curiously): Does your wife know?

Alfred: Of course! We often masticate together… in fact, we are masticating together now…

(Alfred’s wife was heard in the background, calling for him to return to her company…)

Charles: *click* (hangs up the phone).

Fabulista Reminisce: At the gathering.

It’s surprising how much time we allow to pass between ourselves before one realizes what one misses. And for the class, it was 13 years before they realized they’ve left it that long.

Under the wafts of pita bread and hummus, they drifted into conversations. Across dialogues that were peppered with, “Is that you…?” and “Aah, you’ve not changed a bit…!” topics meandered and skipped. It was as if the flow of time had stopped when they last parted ways and now the river continues from where it was the last time.

Honestly, everybody looked the same – the familiar fabulousness that was 13 years ago. But this time round, the passage of time had left a mark on everyone of them – that indelible mark of experience, they intangible air of confidence that eluded them when they were still in the late teens and early twenties. Now, they speak with an assertive candor; they walk with a steadier gait.

Time had left an indelible mark on them, but time had also been kind. It had drawn on their faces. Then, with an artist’s loving hand, smeared the chiseled marks to soften the lines, like a photographer’s fogged up lens. The years had cast a tungsten glow on their radiant countenance – an aura of unspoken grace.

As the cutleries’ clattering left for the pings of crockery with coffee, the casual conversations and shop talk ensued. The 13 years began to rear its reminiscing head, the recollections start – the sweet and the bitter, the laughter and the tears.

“How did we survive those years?”

“What are you doing now?”

“You’re married/with kids/how many?” (followed by cursory gasps and deer-in-headlights expression.)

They’re all doing fine/well.

Thank you for organizing, thank you for coming.

Thank you very much.

Fabulista Finds: A Short Film by Someone Familiar

Taman Ho Swee (Garden of the River)
A Short Film by Goh Suhan and Alex Brown

Fabulista Laments: The Lost of Polite Language Arts

7-11 is a convenience store. The restroom is known as a convenience room (amongst others like washroom, toilet, ladies'/men's room, restroom, lavatory, powder room, comfort station, etc). This brings us to a little story, shared over coffee the other day, as Arena told me of the one time she had quite an experience over a restroom, a convenience store and a box of contraceptives.

Long time ago, Arena enjoys the company of Caucasians (she still does by the way, but now more as a singular noun), preferably of the hunkalicious, studly kind – existence of a viable brainstem, optional.

There was this one time when she met one of the aforementioned species of male over wine. Actually, I should over the glaze of wine; or many glazes of wine – well, she was essentially plastered. She had so much alcohol in her blood stream, she would’ve chemically fused with the paint on the walls of the pub.

However, she had fusion of a very kind in mind that night. The hunkalicious no-brainer had offered to “send her home” (whose? I wondered in my mind) and she had gladly accepted the “wonderfully chivalrous gesture” (uh huh, I bet). In any case, Arena claims that thoughts of a nocturnal horizontal rhumba transpired while in transit (and I believed her because, when she told me, I was born just the day before).

Rummaging through her purse, she realized she “wasn’t protected that night” to which our chivalrous no-brainer answered, “but I am here to protect you…” in his best Barry White voice (which at hindsight, she now claims to sound like Mickey Mouse played at half speed). Even in her drunken state, she was stunned by that respond that was at once as romantic as it was stupid (as in “clueless”). She made two blank blinks which matched his blank stare.

Finally getting it through to him that she needed (and preferred) the “protection” of the rubber sheath type, our Caucasian chivalry made a beeline to the nearest 24-hour mall.

When he finally got back to the car, she was woken up by a loud bang on the door of the chivalrous ride. Our man had returned, with a conspicuous sheen of perspiration, and while waiting, Arena had fallen asleep in the car.

“What happen…?” Arena asked over her semi-plastered brain activity, “you were gone for … *checks watch and gasp* an hour?!”

A guilty expression appeared on the face of our hunk d’jour.

To spare you from the insanity that is the explanation that Arena gave, our dear man was looking for the nearest 7-11, a local convenience store in the mall. He had seen a sign with a direction pointing to “something convenience” and promptly rushed in that direction without noticing where he had moved through.

When he arrived that the end of the directory, he realized he had arrived at the toilet (I know, I was equally puzzled at this stage of her tale, but read on o gentle reader). We are familiar with the type of endless corridor a mall is famous for, yes? Unfortunately, for our Caucasian traveler, one is not familiar and his mad rush (hormonally, I suspect) had not noticed where he had passed. In his panic, he kept winding around the mall without any clue as to where he was, has been and/or getting to.

In the end, our dear man of the hour, our chivalry in blond couldn’t handle it (heh heh) anymore and promptly took matters into his own hands… literally… he rushed to the toilet and erm… found his satisfaction; which explains the patina of perspiration (that and the tropical humidity).

If you are still bewildered as to how looking for a 7-11 drove our hero to a toilet, wonder no more. A few days after the incident, as fate would have it, Arena found herself back at the said mall, but this time round, twice as sober. She walked through the automated sliding glass door and let the blast of cool, conditioned air welcome her. Sashaying across the giant jute doormat and pass the information, she saw it through a glint at the corner of her right eye – a sign hanging from the ceiling.

CONVENIENCE ROOM*

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*For those lost in translation; the term “convenience room” is a slightly archaic and ultra formal (albeit in a Japanese-obscure) way of referring to the toilet.

Fabulista Applauds: The Loyalty Shopping Friends

Most specialty shops, as one is apt to know, have a incentive-based salary scheme; the more you sell, the more your month end financial benefits. As such, most sales executives are encouraged to attend to (potential) customers. This system has its pros and cons, of course.

The pros of it is obvious; more attentive execs, service with patience and better after sales attention. Unfortunately, its very pros is also indirectly linked to its cons. Since they are paid more when they sell more, they are more inclined to ‘target’ customers with a higher ‘potential buying ratio’.

When the Fabulista goes on a purchasing trip on the sunny island set in the sea, one avoids those abovementioned like one would a leper in biblical times (hell, I still might do so now, biblical or not). Trusting one’s instincts, I have come to know a number sales execs, many of whom have since gone on to be one of those I’d like to call ‘friends-of-the-shopping-variety’.

Let me see if I can list some of them here to share with you:

Prada – Romana at Paragon; is a very friendly and patient executive. She comes across as genuine and would wave to you when you just happen to pass by the boutique’s doors. When shopping with you, she would chat with you and share her knowledge and opinions of the collections with you. Ultimately the decision to buy and which one, is still yours, of course.

Tiffany & Co. – Carol at Ngee Ann City; is a warm and very encouraging and obliging lady. She does not hesitate to show you the different item and designs that a) have just arrived; or b) suits what you have mind on the day of your visit. She also makes suggestions to which is most suitable amongst what is available to you.

Bally – Catherine at Takashimaya; welcomes you in as a friend. Being in the boutique as a possible customer is secondary and happenstance. Many a times, I have been waved in just to have a chat with her, without any intention to buy and end up having a half hour chat.

Louis Vuitton – Janet and Vernon at Ngee Ann City; are both very obliging and efficient. I have once made an order for a one-of-a-kind bag and Janet scouted the island, with the help of the computer to make sure that I get one at the soonest possible time (I managed to get what I wanted in less than three days). I was also privy to many yet-to-be-seen runway collections thanks to her. On another occasion, I managed try on and purchase a rare runway piece in my size (which makes it even more precious) thanks to Vernon.

Hermès – Jimmy at Liat Towers; is incredible with his service and knowledge of the various collections at the historical saddle-makers’ boutique. He once scoured the island’s three boutiques to make sure that I get the EXACT product as requested. He even offered to pick up the separate pieces for me from the various stores so that I can just go back to the one place to pick the assembled piece.

Please do not say, “well, that’s their job and they get the monetary rewards at the end of it…”. Firstly, it is a very ungrateful statement. Secondly, it is very vulgar to equate service to money – it cannot be measured thus. Thirdly, the sales exec need not spend all the time on just ONE person to make a sale – they’d be better off dashing to another with better potential since it’s obvious they haven’t got what one wants off the shelf. And possibly finally, it is better, in such cases, to err on the side of generosity of judgment (since there’s nothing to lose) and find the possibility of making a ‘shopping-friend’.

So go ahead, when you’re out shopping, see if you can find the same warm service as I have – sometimes, all it takes is good intuition and a warm smile...

Fabulista Heralds: The Arrival of Berluti

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For the uninitiated, Berluti is a French-based, men’s luxury shoemaker founded by Italian Alessandro Berluti in 1895. Unlike Gucci or Prada, they are professional shoemakers (the aforementioned are design houses). Therefore, anyone who tries to compare Berluti with any of those design houses immediately sets oneself up as a plebian.

On a recent visit to one’s many in-laws, the Fabulista sighted the label’s hoarding around one of the shop spaces in a mall famous for its high-end Japanese department store (those in the know should know which mall I am alluding to).

A shoe is a shoe is a shoe. So what’s the big deal about a Berluti? Once referred to as the Manolo of Men, the reason for Berluti is the same reason for Bally, or Ferragamo or Tod’s (well, almost). The comfort that a Berluti shoe renders is the stuff of legends (of the patrons too, like Andy Warhol, Gerard Depardieu, Robert de Niro, etc). but most importantly, the unique identity of Berluti is its craftsmanship and its patina finish.

Made with a jealously guarded tanning technique, the leather acquires a colour that shows off a depth and wealth of colours from a single hue and a luxurious sheen that is at once transparent and glossy (think high quality Japanese lacquer ware).

Most of Berluti’s classic designs have virtually invisible stitching. But the one that embodies this design philosophy is the classic lace-up court shoe – an oxford-like design but crafted entirely of one-piece leather and finished in the trademark Berluti patina. The shoe is both a sight to behold as well as a pleasure to wear.

In London, a basic pair cost from £420 onwards. But the true beauty of Berluti is revealed in its bespoke service shoes, which begins somewhere in the stratospheric £2200 – a rarified air not meant for mortal consumption.

In any case, there is a reason why the new store is next to my in-law, Louis Vuitton. Here’s a word from the wise and well informed – don’t bother to wait for a sale at Berluti’s, there isn’t one (yet). Since all of their designs are unique and classics, nothing ever has been heard of as going at marked down prices. In other words, the ubiquitous four-letter word ‘sale’ is pleasantly, if not surreally absent from their boutiques.

They are after all, professional shoemakers.

Fabulista Reconsiders: Jack McCain - Hottie or Bigotry?

Warning: Some might find the following post offensive. It contains quotes with racist and religious slurs.

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I wrote recently about a newly spotted hottie in the form of Jack McCain - son of the current republican presidential elect, John McCain. However, while I was googling more info about the hottie and her wannabe fashionista sister, Meghan, I came across some creepy stuff about the guy.

Apparently, Jack McCain is buddy with some blogger named James O'Connor in high school. The guy (James) is a apparently in the military and has some very violent opinions about the whole situation in Iraq (and the people whom America is at war with). We are talking about tortures, killing by decapitation and stuff.

Further, there are some comments on James' blog that are signed off as "Jack McCain". Excerpts from some of the comments include (*offensive words are asterisked*):

Anonymous said...

i think every one fo those f*****g towel heads deserves to be shown that their f*****g god isnt so great, that them dying for their "god" is just a stupid bullshit way of life, that they can all go hump the sheep vaginas they popped out of.

F**K AL**H

al**h is a son of a whore whose best parts were left on the cruddy cumstained straw mat he was conceived on

kill all towel heads, camel jockeys, sand niggers, and dune coons

-Jack McCain

and

"a***h akbar my f****n cock"
-Jack McCain

All the above comments were attributed to/signed of by Jack McCain. Also in one of James' blog, titled "My Last Post", there are several photographs of Jack with his classmates, thus proving that the two young men probably do know one another. One of the photographs actually has a dedication to Jack:

"Jack McCain- Fucking Drinking in Sedona, smoking cigars, strip bars, chasing ass, and making fun of your small asians cars. good luck at Annapolis".

A google search reveals that the McCains do indeed have a place in Sedona and we know that Jack is currently a Midshipman in Annapolis.

While I know identities are easily stolen on the Internet, but so far there hasn't been any refutes or accusations of identity thefts, if you know what I mean. While one might think that these at its incriminating best are quotes by the son, not the senator, but one should also consider that such opinions are nurtured, not nature. Even if they were not encouraged, they have obviously not been discouraged or stopped.

Fabulista Applauds: The “Get Smart” Effort.

Those in the know, and those who are young at heart (at thereabouts only) would do well to remember the 60/70’s series “Get Smart”. I am one of those in the know *ahem*.

In any case, as the Fabulista, I also know and have thus watched the latest movie franchise of the series. “Get Smart”, the movie stars (overexposed) Steve Carrell, (saucer-eyed) Anne Hathaway, Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson and Alan Arkin. There are many tiny nods and homage to the original series. These were made blatantly in the beginning of the film in the form of a public museum exhibiting all the gadgets from the series – the “Cone of Silence” that never worked, despite Smart’s faith in it; the red Sunbeam convertible, the telephone shoe; the suit; etc.

There were others, of course, in terms of characters and one-liners. The apologies (“Sorry about that, Chief…”); Agent 13 who is always stuck in weird places; Siegfried from KAOS and amongst others, Larabee who appears at the end (appropriately, since he appeared in the last season on the original TV series) but as a robot.

Is it a faithful production of the original “Get Smart” series? I can’t tell for sure. But I can say that I truly enjoyed the movie with its non-stop, laugh-a-minute gags and one-liners. There were also attempts at updating and connecting the sniggers:

When KAOS attack was imminent: “Hmm, I wonder what the president could be doing in L.A.”. Flash to president reading inanely to group of young children. (Think Bush, 9-11)

President - …a new-kew-ler threat…

Control Chief – NUCLEAR! (again, think Bush)

My opinion, don’t expect a faithful reproduction of the series. It’s not meant to be that (what with the end of the cold war, amongst other stuff, like technological advancement, etc). But just go expecting a good laugh and an enjoyable session with the somewhat incompetent, accident-prone secret agent who gets away from trouble by the skin of his teeth and always manages to save the day at the end of it all. In this aspect, even if you’ve never heard of Don Adams or even the “Get Smart” the TV series, you can still enjoy the movie (though you may not be able to appreciate the little inside jokes; like the cone of silence that NEVER works, even now...).

Fabulista Reels: From Withdrawal Symptoms.

It always happens and without fail! Every time I come back from a long holiday, I suffer from withdrawals. It’s devastating effects include loss of appetite, lethargy, boredom and every often bordering on depression.

Flashes of memory from the trip keeps haunting my mind. I look at the day and keep thinking, “Monday… I was doing this, this and this at here, here and here today… last week.” Having a photographic memory the potency of an elephant’s does not help to alleviate the pain. As a matter of fact, it makes matters worse.

Sigh… if I could just stop time and take all of it that I need to reel myself back slowly… slowly… like the gentle caressing waves on the soft faces of the sandy beaches along Cat Ba’s many sandy coasts at low tide.

But honestly… I am glad I was able to make the excursions in Hanoi, especially to Hoa Lo prison. The personal encounters I heard from a close and beloved relation became real to me; but made ridiculous and laughable by the outrageous and blatant propaganda about “Hanoi Hilton”. Its desperate and farcical attempts to obliterate the truth cheapened the events about and around it.

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George Santayana reminds us that the lessons of history are invaluable in determining the course of the future: "Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat it."

I once saw a slogan on a T-shirt:

If you can read this; thank the teacher.

If you can read this in English; thank the veterans.

How true... we owe those who sacrificed for us to live our lives full, to live our lives well.

Fabulista Spots: A Hottie!

I am a fabulista, not a republican. Whatever! Sheesh, as a matter of fact, I am not politically-inclined at all. But I do know that John McCain, current republican presidential elect, veteran POW in the Vietnam war has a son who is following in his footstep. Jack, 22, is a Midshipman in the US Navy. Check this out...

Jack (right) and his sister Meghan.

I don't know him too well, but I can see that he's a real hottie! I also know that he's not too good with grammar (as seen in this sample). Must be the curse of the heartthrob - it's a burden to be beautiful... you have no time to be smart.

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N.B. Okay, maybe I am being a little too harsh... Jack's probably a real nice guy who opens doors for ladies and carries their shopping and greets people with a 'sir' or 'm'am'. (Oops... do I sound like I am gushing...?)

Fabulista Slams: The Happening.

For lack of a better way to express my opinion about the film (there might be; I just haven’t figured it out yet), I’ll just go right out and say it – the film is trash. It sucks big time and is complete waste of my money.

For a movie that is supposed to be a horror, suspense thriller it got more laughs from me (and the audience). Filled with inane lines and ridiculous melodramatics, the movie made completely no sense at all. It’s really stupid!

I also tried to look at it from a romantic movie point of view (yes, the situation was desperate). But even then, the acting was too crappy (even for Mark Wahlberg to save).

In the end, I just had to concede that what I’ve been suspecting is true – Night has ended – the creative genius that made The Sixth Sense has reached the light at the end of the tunnel.

Darkness is no more (scary).

Fabulista Questions: The Propaganda

It was the last day of my stay in Hanoi and I wanted to make the most of it. I did eventually, with the usual Fabulista panache and aplomb. I started off at Hoa Lo Prison (aka the famously nicknamed “Hanoi Hilton” POW-camp during the Vietnam War) before having a break at Highlands Coffee (a local enterprise similar to Starbucks®, complete with wait staff and proper lunch – which unfortunately accepts only cash transactions). I continued with a visit at the Vietnam National History Museum. After that, it was off to visit a few landmarks – the Hanoi Opera House (next to the ACTUAL Hilton Hanoi Opera Hotel) and the Sofitel Metropole – a hospitality establishment since the French colonial times.

At the Hoa Lo Prison visit, the propaganda was bold and blatant. It recounts the French-Indochine war; the brave revolutionists oppressed by the colonists, suffering under depraved guards and equally harsh conditions. How righteous it was to drive the domineering colonists, who were only interested in the economic gains from the region (true) and how a communistic rule is the only way to an egalitarian and progressive society (questionable, given the country’s and other communist countries’ poverty gap).

It also showcased (yes, I do mean it) the humane and comfortable living conditions set up by the Vietcong for the “arrested” American pilots. Note: the soldiers were never considered Prisoners of War as Vietnam had always claimed that America and Vietnam were not at war. It was always (viewed by the Vietnamese) a case of America coming in to oppress them or something like that. Thus, they claimed, the Geneva Convention (whom they are also a part off) does not apply. How convenient.

"Ahh... the comforts of a straw mat on a metal bed at the end of a *torturous* day..."

Anyway, your question should be, if the conditions of Hoa Lo as a POW-camp (ahem) were really that ideal and comfortable, then why, oh, why did so many captured American pilots, tried to escape? Why are there so many accounts of abuse and unconventional (read: torture) interrogation accounts? Are ALL those veterans under some sort of mass hallucinogen?

What do you think? Strange but true fact? Or strange but true farce? Before you decide, perhaps you might want to read the information and articles published here and here.

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Hanoi Opera House

Fabulista Muses: Literally!

Vietnam Fine Arts Museum

Van Mieu (文廟）

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Fabulista Dismisses: Cat Ba Island Resort and Spa.

It’s the last day of my stay in Cat Ba Island Resort and Spa (which really is a misnomer; more about that later). The day was moody and rainy for most part, but ended which a romantically hued sunset. I thought it a suitable time to think and comment on my experience with the resort and its hospitality.

It’s not very often that the Fabulista dismisses a hotel that one stays in. After all, one knows one should be a gracious guest and should always try to find the silver lining. Unfortunately, after lodging for eight days (with no chance of checking out, since it was pre-booked), there is none for one to find and speak of here. The saving grace for oneself, however, is that one did not choose it. Rather, one was checked into the resort through one’s friends. Those friends in turn, were fooled into making reservations through false advertising. A look at their website and you’d understand what I mean.

While there are promises of a SPA, restaurants and various other facilities, one did not see a complete array of the amenities. One was told, “the SPA under instruction” [sic] (one could only assume they meant ‘under construction’) but room massage service is available. One of my fabulous friends tried it and promptly decides that I wasn’t missing much.

Further, there is only ONE restaurant, as oppose to the much advertised three (ahem, arithmetic, perhaps?). In addition, its kitchen closes at 9 p.m. thereby limiting its supply hours as well. Hello, 24-hour room service? Heard much? Which brings to mind the fact that its breakfast hours begins at 6 and end 9(!?). Excuse me? I am on H-O-L-I-D-A-Y! When do you expect me to wake up for breakfast again?

The breakfast schedules raised the issue of the chambermaids. While being efficient at making up the beds and providing fresh towels; they cannot and do not perform any further duties. As a result, cups are left unwashed, dirt on the floors unswept – and I, the paying guest, had to do it myself. Hello, where does the money go?

On the topic of the paying guest, one assumes that one’s comfort level should be paramount, to be efficiently and overwhelmingly provided for and thus catered to. However, it had been one’s experience on several occasions where public spaces had their air-conditioning kept at a minimal, if not completely turned off. One is aware of the global-warming issue, however, one is also aware that it is more about being energy efficient rather than cutting off energy consumption altogether. Imagine a room built for 30 with even the fans turned off? Can you even breathe?

The penultimate straw came when it was found out (the hard and painful way) that the Beach Resort’s beach is not exactly human friendly. Its waters are scattered with sharp, hidden rocks that are precision-blade sharpened by the crashing surf. This did not help enhance the popularity of its pool. Unfortunately (again), my fabulous self had to find that out the not so, ermh, tactile and visual way. I had tried to take a dip in the waters, only to find out that despite being a pool, I could hardly see anything in the water after my chest level (wreugh…). To make things worse, I actually saw (and felt) dead insects and other assortments of, well… flotillas on the surface. That was when I found out the truth – the water filtration and pump system was either not turned on or non-existent, despite the appearance of gullies and traps.

But what really broke the proverbial camel’s back was when I found out that the place is supposed to be a 4-5* hotel. Hello? Such an establishment and all your staff speak only a minute smattering of English? That is completely UNACCEPTABLE by ANY tourism standards and more so in the hospitality industry.

I guess, in a way, this resort’s level hospitality in terms of welcoming its guest is best represented by its keycards. On two occasions, (which, really is two occasions too many) where we were locked out of our own rooms after a day of exhausting activities. This meant that on two wearing episodes, one has had to clamber all the way back to the reception to have one’s keycards checked. The cause of the failing keycards? They were programmed to expire, thus effectively checking us out, before we were.

My final verdict? This beach resort is way below sea-level. One might give it miss for the next couple of years. That when they might finally get their act together and just begin to re-establish themselves.

Rating: * (1 tiny starlet – out of compassion).

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View from balcony.

It was cloudy most of the days when I was there (despite the locals' claims of "Cat Ba more sun than rain" [sic].

Fabulista Says: Music and Phone and Internet... oh my?

After waiting for light years (in technology time), I wonder is there a point to the iPhone hype anymore... even if it is a *yawn* 3G.

Fabulista Recommends: Luang Tung in Cat Ba.

After a day's hard trekking, it was great to settle for great food and fantastic service - in a language that one understands. In this light, the Fabulista thus recommends Luang Tung Restaurant.

The restaurant is owned by an enthusiastic foodie couple who is as passionate about business as they are about food. You can tell from the way they recommend dishes and describe them to you (albeit in their quirky Viet-glish). What I appreciate most is how they try to communicate in English when most of their neighbours couldn't even be bothered.

Don't be surprised if you see the boss sitting at a table next to yours. He likes to entertain his friends and relatives. In fact, it is also a good way to learn new dishes; just peer over to what they are eating. If you like what you see, order one for yourself too.

Fabulista Trails: Viet Hai Village.

Images of Day Trekking: From the Forest to Viet Hai.

Video Montage - Vistas of Viet Hai

Fabulista Reveals: The Misguided Truth about Cat Ba Guides.

I am affronted (going for a touch of British dramatics ala Beatrix Potter)! Never in my traveling experience have been so deceived and misled to such an unparalleled nth degree!

For my first trekking trip into Cat Ba National Park, the travel information personnel told me that a local GUIDE would take me through the terrains. I was also promised a GUIDE for my second trip (former was half day; this one being a full day – and more about it too, but later).

From my past experience trekking with genuine, qualified trekking guides, they go beyond the basic expectations of sending one into the terrain and out (optimistically, in one piece). They have always been able to share about the national myths, intimate knowledge of the hinterland and even provide information about what one sees and touches along the way. Most importantly, the basic mandate of being able to speak the trekkers’ language(s) is, not only expected, but also paramount.

Trekking guides are more than just tour guides. More than just skimming a country’s urban landscape, they bring you right into the heart of the country – the virgin part of the country that still pulses with natural life; the part where life actually begins. So as you can see, trekking guides is not a easy title to carry. Certain (great) responsibilities and expectations come with the title.

So imagine my chagrin and disappointment when what I got was not a guide. Instead, the person was at most local who knows the terrain (who henceforth will be known as ‘local’). How can I be so decisive and sweeping about my statement? Read on, O’ gentle reader…

First, well, it’s not exactly the local’s fault. The travel agent promised, on the full day trekking trip that “the trek is very gentle… villages, road… blah blah blah…” so I thought, “ok, gentle slopes, what can be so tough?”. Well, in actual fact, VERY TOUGH. Apparently, the locals have a knack understatement. What might be advertised as “undulating slopes with scenic vistas at everything turn” is in actual fact heaving 60º reliefs.

Secondly, the designation “guide” is a radical misnomer. As mentioned earlier, these lead trekkers are at best locals who are familiar with the terrain (which is obvious since they are born and bred here). Otherwise they have no idea whatsoever about ‘guiding’ trekkers through the terrain. First of all, there is the language issue; how much can you learn from a trekking trip when the most exciting thing they can tell you during the trail are basic nouns like “butterfly” and “ants’ nest”? Seriously, not even the species of butterfly perhaps? Or even explain why ants built their nest in mud clumps on branches instead of holes in the ground?

Since they can’t relate the interesting features of the local hinterland and its corresponding biosphere, you can forget about local myths and legends. Next comes the complete lack of the concept of “guiding”. Yes, I know being a local, one is deadly familiar, even bored with the flora and fauna one grew up with, However, as visitors, one is completely new and rare to the scene and is curious about the surrounding.

Even if one is not equipped to share their secrets, at least allow the guest to take in the scenery and atmosphere. Instead, what happens is a chase down the trail in what seems like a rush to the deadline. The local ALWAYS is at least 10 meters ahead of us. We aren’t even sure which is the safest and most efficient path to take. The fellow was more couldn’t be bothered to ensure that we are on the efficient track, much less our safety. An inconsequential “be careful” or worse, a grunt of “ooh” when one hears a skidded sole or a bumped bum, does not a safety measure make!

Being a trekking enthusiast, I’ve had many excellent prior experiences with guides when traveling overseas (god bless them). They share their knowledge readily and enthusiastically. Even when language fails; which is rare since they are prepared and well equipped to share their knowledge, we would be engaged in some wild gesticulations with utters of common nouns and verbs just to get the message across. At these moments, it’s their passion and enthusiasm to relate their understanding of the hinterland that both intrigue and impress.

The language and expertise issue is just a couple of the deeply pervading issues that render Cat Ba, and indeed the other parts of Vietnam that I have visited, ill-prepared and ill-equipped for tourism. It’s akin to inviting friends over to one’s home, expecting these guests to just move around the dwelling themselves without any intention to describe the effort put to do up the apartment.

In simple words – a campaign in vain.

ADDENDUM:

In case you are a trekking enthusiast and interested to go on a trekking trail in Cat Ba, here are some prior-information that you may be interested to know to help you prepare for your journey. Note: they are NOT optional. Seriously!

The Terrain:

It’s T-O-U-G-H! I can’t emphasise this enough. I am not kidding when I talked described the 60º undulating landscape. These up-and-down oscillations can rise for tens of meters before they fall steeply. It is NOT for the fainthearted who are used to mild, gentle trails.

The trails are composed mainly of granite boulders which provides no grip, especially after a tropical rain or a particularly wet morning (humidity).

The Locals (aka ‘unqualified guides’):

They are necessary and will bring you in (or up, depending on the trail you choose) and out of the trail, but don’t expect anything more; unless one speaks Thiên Việt.

Wear:

• Long sleeves tops and long bottoms.
• Proper trekking footwear; NO slippers, NO sandals. They MUST provide excellent grip on muddy and rocky, bouldery terrains.
• Insect repellant (of the strongest kind and keep reapplying).
• Sun block (you need it, especially at the peak)

Bring along:

• Extra socks.
• Insect repellant.
• Sunblock.
• Basic first-aid kit.
• Water (at least 1 liter).
• Poncho (disposable ones are ok).
• Camera (of course).
• (Keep all these things in a convenient backpack and waterproof, i.e. Ziploc™ them).

Fabulista Trails: The Karst in Vietnam.

It was a rough and tough uphill climb, but at the end of the rough trek, we made it to the top of Ngu Lam Peak.

A look at the peak of Ngu Lam peak, with a dose fresh of air.

Fabulista Breathes: New Thoughts on Living.

At the end of the track around town, I settled for lunch at Noble House (a holiday house with a bar and restaurant attached, set up by an Aussie) with E. While answering nature's call, I had an epiphany...

It's surprising where you can find nuggets of gold - even on the door of a public john.
*click on the pic to read the writing*

Fabulista Goes Down: The Town.

Another day with nothing on the itinerary. Things are getting desperate and people are getting exasperated around this island.

You know it’s sad when people start playing with their food to entertain themselves - even if we did get two eggs with three yolks - really!

I decided to go exploring around town and that’s not as ambitious as it sounds. This is an island fishing village with one town center the size of a residential estate. But I did try to venture as far as I possibly could and did manage to find many gems in the tiny village that seems ambitious and willing to try and improve itself.

The house of Anthony Hung - Vidal Sassoon of Cat Ba Island; I assume.

One man operated petrol kiosk.

Ma petite maison est belle, non?

Status symbol? You have probably made it when you can have your own house with a permanent motor(bike) way.

Future Ambition? Development of a full island community resort in Cat Ba.

A scenic fishing pond in the middle of a fishing island.

Tuyet Beo and Cat Tien (pictures above) are two of the floating restaurants in Cat Ba. It's different from the ones found in the far south of Asia (e.g. kelongs in Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia). These floating restaurants are modeled after their floating fishing villages - they are literally clusters floating houses; residences buoyed on flotillas made of plastic drums. This means that they are more susceptible to the ravages of the tides and the waves.

I was really looking forward to an experience on one of the restaurants (Tuyet Beo comes highly recommended by the locals, by the way). Unfortunately for me, two things happened - seasick traveling partners and electrical failure on the floating restaurant.

Sigh...

Fabulista Tracks Down: The Bluff.

On the right of the resort is a winding trail along the rock face of the rising granite formation. It intrigues me. Well, actually, on this island with nary a thing to do, even watching paint dry intrigues me.

Anyway, with nothing scheduled to do and having had enough of people watching for the afternoon, I decided on a little jaunt down the track.

With the boat cruise the other day, I have already found out where the trail leads to, but I wanted to find out for myself the actual resort on the other beach.


Walking the trail was a beautiful experience. Each winding corner reveals a vista and sounds meant for angels (but mortals who ventures are duly rewarded).


The waves crashing on the rock face below is a symphonic wall of sound to accompany the sights for sore eyes.

Fabulista Decides: A Change is in the Pot.

It’s bright, sunshiny and everything lovely about the weather today. My travel buddies experience some rock climbing. I have decided to sit that activity out. (Seriously, can you imagine the manicure damages and scarring potential? Uh-huh… now multiply that by a hundred times… there – a rough picture). All these translate to a rest day for me. Which in Fabulous talk translates to elegant slumming in the sun. Which meant that I can catch up on my skin colouring process (I mean, ‘tanning’ is such a ‘last millennium’ term) whilst reading. Nothing like a good mix of intellect and esthetics all rolled into one.

However, this is not the first time I’ve been down to the semi-private beach at the resort. Having a semi-private beach meant that pass a pseudo border is where the local hangout for beach activities too. It is at one of these trips down the beach that I notice the veritable sculpture gallery on exhibition. It’s enough to drive Michelangelo on visual overdrive.

Apparently, one does not need to go down to Miami Beach to see the boy beautiful. Just Cat Ba will do. The best part is; they’re not even conscious about it! That is unlike those who walk around the beach and act like they’re the nicest piece of meat on the shelf.

Go down the promenade of Cat Ba any day and you’ll find out that on every male person, a six-pack is de-rigueur. The same of a female body – slim, graceful and delicate, regardless of the social-economic background. There’s nothing to show off and everyone is indifferent to the fact that they are the body beautiful defined. In fact, it seems to be such a uniform that no one is impressed with another’s physique. At all!

Apparently, this corps l’beautè is a direct result of their high-vegetables, low-meat counts in their diet. Maybe, I should consider changing my diet as well. In the meantime, I know you (yes, you) are having an “imagination running wild” episode about the abs and pecs scenario.

And yes, let them run wild – it’s all true and more.

Fabulista Sings: In Praise of Youth(ful Looks).

It’s not everyday that one gets complimented, left, right and centre, about how brilliantly good looking one is. This is one of those days. And the Fabulista loves to be reminded, even though one knows that as a fact each time one stands before the mirror.

I woke up at 6 this morning in preparation of the imminent trip round Lan Ha Bay around Cat Ba Island. At the breakfast café, the chef who commented, “YOU ARE VERY GOOD-LOOKING”, pleasantly surprised me! Is there a better entrée for breakfast? I think not…

Alas, one cannot continue to sashay too much and too long at the café before one starts to feel beautifully conspicuous and ridiculous. Beautiful, yes. Conspicuous, yes. Too.

So one embarks on the day’s pre-planned journey… a boat cruise around Lan Ha Bay.

Floating Villages

Floating Fish Market

Kayaking

Boat journey video montage

Fabulista Sings: In the Rain.

Woke up this morning for breakfast at 8. We thought we were going to miss it since the reception told us they close at 9. We chat over a fulfilling breakfast over coffee till about 10. I guess time limits are quite different in Vietnam.

When we finally got to our room, the sky was also ready to cry. And it did… till 2 in the afternoon. I thought it was a good time to try out the pool in the resort. After all, what’s a holiday in a well-appointed resort without a dip in the pool, right? Well, apparently someone thought that a good joke, because 30 minutes into the dip in the pool, the sky laughed till it cried. Again.

Depressing. Our first day in “the tropical sunshiny island of Cat Ba) and we are greeted with showers of blessing. Well, I guess in true ‘us’ fashion, we finally thought it a good time to start our lunch (well, you can take us out of the country; just no the country out of us). A very late lunch.

When we arrive at the restaurant (the one in the resort, since it was raining and we weren’t too keen on walking all the way out, in the rain, to town. Since we were bored out of our brains (don’t quite understand this phrase, but…), we weren’t too keen on thinking (sort of explains the “bored brains” bit). We ordered the set lunch for two, a watermelon juice and a Vietnamese coffee (what else) for myself.

When the juice arrived, we experienced W-A-T-E-R-M-E-L-O-N juice. A sip of the juice drink was like a whammy of 10 watermelons shot at you at once. The flavour was intense and so was the sweetness. What do they feed their fruits? Steroids? Okay, someone call the international fruit sweetness association; this is not fairplay.

Anyway, it wasn’t too long when the dishes arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. And arrived. Yup, by the fourth dish, we realized maybe the set lunch for two was a misprint. I am very sure the set could well feed a family of four… giants… or gluttons… or Americans... well, you get the picture.

At the end of the meal, delivered straight out of the magic set-meal pot, the sun finally decided to show up on the island. Talk about being a diva! Well, I‘ve got news for you sun, it’s 15 freaking MINUTES late to be fashionable, not HOURS! Hello!

I sunbathe for the last one hour of sunlight on the island. Diva! Next time you come out early and stay out long! But when the sun went down, I went walking down this track that winds along the coastal rock face of the island. It was a beautiful walk. The path winds down and as you move forward, so the vista changes. Every scene that reveals itself is new and refreshing and seemingly more beautiful than the one before. It really was like looking at a scrolled up Chinese painting, as you unroll the scroll, a new and beautiful scene shows up, telling a breathtaking story of the landscape. Breathtaking.

There was one particular spot that overlooks another granite formation. Along that spot on the path, was a huge boulder. As I sat there in the quiet, I could hear the birds above me, the waves lapping from the right, caressing the formation to the left. The atmosphere was gentle, gentle, uplifting, spiritual. I could have stayed there till the sunset. It was a transcendental spot for the soul.

As we were making our way back, we met an Irish couple. Like us, they had just arrived from Hanoi. They came here for a breather after finalizing their adoption of a local baby. I applaud them for their perseverance (they waited 5 years for the procedure to be finalized) and they loving-kindness. In fact, I think that all adoptive parents should be applauded. It is one thing to love your own children, but quite another to have that love spill over to love another that is a complete stranger, someone apart from you. So on a side note, if you are thinking of adopting, I salute you, but I also want to ask, “ what are you waiting for?!”. It is one of the most beautiful thing one human being can do for another – to offer shelter in the form of selfless love.

Being who we are, we also talked about how dining on the island’s restaurants is an experience in hit-and-miss (see previous post). In any case, in their generosity, they offered the name of a restaurant “Green Mango”. A couple of European tourists had recommended it. Judging from the name, I had thought it to be some local restaurant of high standards. But I should have known better, knowing the recommendation came from a couple of Europeans (won’t name their nationality, but they are well known for their butter cookies).

When we got there, a look at the menu wrenched two reactions out of me. First a stunner – they were all European food (schnitzel, pizza, pasta, surf and turf, etc) and a assurance of conclusion (you can stop them from colonizing, but you can’t stop them from being colonists).

Please, you visit another country and you go only for food from home? What’s the point in traveling then? Might as well just stay home and serve home cooked dinner while watching the travel channel. That way it’s cheaper!

In any case, I always think that going to another and still insisting on eating your own food is akin to visiting your friend for dinner and criticizing their food. It’s just downright rude and disrespectful.

If one is adventurous to leave one’s country to visit another country, one should experience the foreign culture. And there is no easier way to experience it through food!

Be a traveler; not a tourist. Or worse – a colonist.

Fabulista Moves: On to Cat Ba (Island)

11:30 a.m. It’s amazing what the bourgeoisies can do. I also believe that a picture paints a thousand words (see left) – or at least in my case, enough to describe what I am trying to communicate and thus rest my case.

4:00 p.m. Arrived at Cat Ba (finally) after a 5-hour journey via road and land (“Planes, Train and Automobile”?).

5:00 p.m. Moved out of the hotel for a very late lunch (or a VERY early dinner, by local standards – hell, by any standards actually. Unfortunately, 5 is not exactly a common time for locals to eat. So my strategy of “see where the locals dine” can’t be put in use here.

We settled at a “hai sahn bienh” (literally - seafood restaurant) “for the ambience”. I suppose if you come from the city, a restaurant with everything constructed of bamboo can be considered “ambience”. However, I guess in local terms, that would be known as economizing.

We ordered a few items; only the vegetables were passable as restaurant-style dishes. The grilled prawns which we were excited about were dry – I guess in Vietnam, they don’t grill with baste – and had obtained the texture of chicken. In my opinion that’s a great feat, surf that tastes like turf. Not easy.

Next we ordered, fried chicken, which was a misnomer. It should really have been called rubber chicken. The meat from the thigh, which is known in the culinary world as the tenderest part of the fowl meat was served on a plate and resembled something akin to dried clay. It was dry as the desert and with one bite, it threatened to crack even my molars. Although I do have a taste for certain types of rubber, in my humble opinion, they should be reserved in a different room – just not the one for dining purposes, please.

At the end of the dinner, we decided on a walk around Cat Ba town. The little jaunt took us to the remnants of what was a busy wet market, say two to three hours ago. And trust me, unless you are familiar with a wet market, the lingering scent of it is not what you want to partake of. However, watching the facial expression (read: grimace) on some of the less-experienced was well worth the trip down the alley way.

When we decided to return to our hotel, it was 7:30 p.m., aka LDT – Local Dinner Time. That’s when things became clearer – the locals were eating at places that were nearer the resort. I made a mental note of the restaurants where the locals were. Those are the place that we’d try the next few nights.

The restaurant where we ate was completely empty.

Fabulista Considers: The Markets in Hanoi.

The Wet Market.

Crossing several streets and moving through several wet markets was an assault to the senses – olfactory and culturally. The traffic in Hanoi flashes the red man, not the green. For a while I was disoriented and wondered what it meant (more of that later).

Next was the wet market. They sell produce so fresh it was amazing. There were prawns that are still swimming, crabs and all other manner of seafood still alive and, well kicking. I heard the chickens crowing and clucking on the street ahead – I caught myself thinking, your alarm clock in the morning might well become your lunch by midday. Morbid, I know, but you have to admit there’s a certain dramatic twist to it.

I have also forgotten how a wet market could smell – memories from twenty over years ago came flooding back through my nose via my amygdala. The condition of the place is the urban environment agency’s nightmare coming true (or its sadistic inspector’s wet dream manifested).

The Tourists’ Market.

Went to Ngoc Son Temple (Jade Mountain Temple). You can’t miss it – it’s the one with the giant Chinese brush set in quasi-obelisk. Talk about compensation. Anyway, I pass that erection and went straight to the temple.

“As the heavens peers into the hearts of Man; should the words of Man benefit another.” – couplet by the entrance to the temple.

The temple is located in the Hoan Kiem district ON the lake Hoan Kiem itself (literally Returned Sword) and the whole area has a famous legend with an almost Arthurian feel to it.

Later in the evening, we went back to the area to catch the water puppet show at the famous National Theater of Water Puppets. It was an altogether wonderful show. But of course, it had to be spoilt by the presence of the bourgeoisies and the cranially in capacitated.

A fat boy of a nationality famous for their ‘domestic help” exports decided to go trigger with his PSP in video-capture mode. Idiot. As my grandma would describe of such people in her native tongue – he whose body fats has obstructed the flow in his brain and cannot think. Idiot (but I already said that). Being ever the information vulture, I bought myself two books and a DVD on the subject – of water puppets, NOT FAT IDIOTS.

The Property Market.

But back to the day’s trip. After the sojourn at the temple and lake, I went for my Hanoi cooking class. Needless to say, I was the fish in water when it comes to such stuff, it’s just widening my already fabulous knowledge on world recipes.

Learning how to cook locally has been a habit of mine since my trip to Bali, where I learnt 27 recipes and preparation of common Balinese and Javanese dishes. In this lesson package at Hidden Hanoi, I learnt how to make fresh spring rolls, green papaya salad, tangy fish soup and sweet and sour prawns. It’s enlightening to learn how the Tao philosophy and its focus on universal balance is infused into their daily lives, even to their cooking and diet styles. For every heavy element, there must be a light; for every heat, there must be a cold – balance is paramount when preparing every meal.

I also learnt that the flashing red man is equivalent to the flashing green man back home. But what was really interesting however, is the interesting local information about the bizarre property market trend in Hanoi.

Apparently, it is WAY expensive to own property in Hanoi, especially in the city area. In fact, one needs three life times just to earn enough to own a piece of land that is currently rented. However, the property can be pass down through the generations. Unfortunately, in a country where most have more than one kid, how are you going to divide a land among your children? Dilemma.

What I can’t figure out is, if the cost of living in Hanoi isn’t high and the demand for land isn’t high either, why is the property market skyrocketing like so? Another case for the financial twilight zone mystery series? Well, since even the economists can’t seem to solve the mystery despite their protracted efforts, I ain’t gonna hold my breath for nobody now.

Fabulista Flashes : Instead of Horn-y.

Finally arrived in Hanoi – after a three-hour delay. Was picked up by the hotel liaison, which turned into another adventure in itself. Apparently, Hanoi has a unspoken, unwritten policy of “no horning” at least in the evening hours (I think, if what conspired this evening is anything to go by).

However, what they do as the alternative to that is to flash their headlights, flickering them at a crazy intense pulse. This technique, it seems is what our designated driver appears to have a knack.

Now translate that to actual horning, he would have been quite a terror on the road, which translate to anxious passengers – namely my company and me, which equals “not funny”.

It was such a relief when we arrived at the front desk of the hotel – with warm lemonade as welcome drinks. Sigh…

P.S. I was right. The “no horn” curfew is only an evening thing. Was woken up by the incessant blare of horns from the traffic outside my room’s window.

Fabulista Travels: Budget.

“Feline Airways always gives problems! If it’s not delayed, it’s canceled… it’s scary!” I warned my other friends. “Besides, it’s the only airline that uses the cheap flight terminal… it’s too unglamorous, even for you Jen.” (Jen is my fabulously frumpy friend). Unfortunately, it was the only airline with a time schedule that suited our itinerary. So (sigh) Feline it was (but I am not feeling it).

That was 3 weeks ago. Today is the day of the journey. Resignedly, I arrived at the terminal and let reality… and my designer luggage carriers fall to the ground. The terminal is EXACTLY as I remembered it – a glorified warehouse, complete with howling air vents.

Ironically, what should I see as I sat for my cup of passable latte? Hullo? What have we here? My in-law’s (Louis) monogram luggage? Following the mister was the missus hand carrier from my in-law’s neighbour, Aigner? It was as if I’d step out of the taxi and entered Twilight Zone. Curbing my urge to give directions to the couple, somewhere along the line of “excuse me, the first class flights are at the other airport terminal…” I continued to sip my cup of latte-served-in-a-wrong-receptacle.

By the way, you do realize that my altruistic thought to give directions was an unfulfilled, well-restrained sarcasm.

P.S. True enough, the flight was delayed… for 3 hours.