Bad blogger
Blogging has taken a back seat this past week for me to move house and
fight flu. Now, on to the latest instalment of my post-trip snap shots. After this, I'll begin the regular journal entries.
Waiting.
He is waiting to marry his beloved. His bride-to-be lives in one country. He lives in another. He travels to visit her whenever he can, staying with her as long as possible. And when he can't stay on? Those other times, he stays in the country across the river from his beloved, separated by paper permits needed at border checkpoints. And occasionally, his beloved comes over to visit.
You see, he is not permitted to marry his beloved without a vital piece of paper. That piece of paper that says it is okay for a foreigner to love a son or daughter of the soil.
"I have paid money to have the papers done up and I'm still waiting. But, without money in the right pockets, you'll not even have a chance."
He will continue to wait, in the temporary home he has made across the river. And on the other bank of said river, his bride-to-be lives. Both are waiting, waiting for that piece of paper to sanction a new life together.
Waiting.
He is waiting for his infant son to grow up. To grow up to go to university, to walk a path he has never known because after one student protest against the authorities, there can be no more school for him. No more school for the likes of him, he who was then no older than a 15-year-old midway through his education.
Now, he works hard, commanding top dollar ferrying well-heeled tourists in his shiny, clean horsecart from one UNESCO-protected ruins to another. He lives here and knows everyone local. But unlike his more laid-back friends, he works hard not only driving his horsecart, but also honing his conversational skills.
Today, he learns a new phrase. Tomorrow, he practises that phrase on his tourist customer while providing value-added service in the form of a lively and informative narrative of each sight.
The hard work is paying off. His gleaming horsecart is a gift from a very happy customer. To honour the tourist's generosity, he displays his patron's country flag at the front of his cart. He can also afford two horses, so he now rents one to his cousin, for his cart to bring other well-heeled tourists to visit the ruins.
All the hard work is worth it, he says. Just so he has the money to send his son to university when the infant grows up.
???? Is travel a meeting of civilisation or a clash of culture?
How about these books to keep you entertained and thoughtful during one of those long, long, bus rides?
>> Terry Prachett's Interesting Times
>> Samuel Huntington's The Clash of Civilisations
Waiting.
She is not waiting, not anymore. For so long, she has just been waiting, waiting for her globetrotting husband to come back from yet another overseas assignment, while she tends to home and hearth. Twenty years, give and take a few, she reckons she has waited long enough.
"He owes her," says her friend. She smiles, but says nothing. She reserves all her zest and vocal excitement for sampling pungent Indian curries, admiring smiling Buddhas, and her next new experience.
Yet, she does not forget those at home. She carries two bottles of lao-lao whisky, bought during one of many excursions, for her husband and grown-up son, who are waiting for her to go home.
Waiting.
He is waiting to welcome the hungry horde. In the meantime, he is constructing that grand menu. For that day when the trickle of customers swells into a deluge heading for his restaurant.
On a very cool night in a one main-street town, we walk into his restaurant, which proclaims on a wide banner outside that it serves "authentic, imperial Chinese cuisine". We find him and his staff watching Pride And Prejudice, dubbed in Mandarin. No other customer walks in that night.
Why does he think there is more prospect here, as compared to Yunnan, where he is from?
"There are more and more Chinese, and Vietnamese too, doing business here. They'll want a good Chinese restaurant, where they can treat their business associates to classy dishes, not just simple homestyle food," confides the enthusiatic owner in lilting Mandarin.
Saying that, he whips out several photocopied sheets. It is the menu he hopes to get ready for his future customers. The menu is an extensive one, adorned by dishes with elegant Chinese names. The English translation, however, is less palatable.
He is happy if we can help him with the English names. Looking down the list, we can tell the menu will be an animal lover's nightmare. Is that armadillo and some kind of ant on the proposed menu? I don't even know we can eat these animals! It seems I am expanding my culinary knowledge in this modest establishment with lavish ambitions.
We do what we can with these fantastic dish names while finishing our simple dinner of homestyle tofu, pork strips with fried vegetables and Chinese cabbage soup. From such humble fare to high-end exotica? Mere wishful thinking?
Not so for this restauranteur. While he waits for customers with fat entertainment accounts to materialise, crafting a menu worthy of a top-class eatery is a step towards fulfilling his ambition.
Waiting.
They are waiting, silently, by the cool, pale dawn. Standing side by side, this couple, by the road. A mat is spread out in front of the woman. On it, two silver bowls, gleaming in the misty morning. Then, the woman kneels on the mat and lifts a bowl onto her lap. The man takes the other, standing. Both wait expectantly.
Now, round the bend, a splash of colour. In glides a column of brightly-robed monks. A few are children. Everyone holds, in both hands, an alms bowl, made of a dull, dark material. In single file, they walk, barefoot down the road.
The standing man scoops up a ball of rice from his bowl and places it in the alms bowl as each monk passes by. Next, the woman, on her knees and not looking at the monk, places her ball of rice into each alms bowl.
Quietly given, silently accepted. No contact, no word. A graceful and solemn ritual to greet a new day.
Next...
Huts & houses
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