Last Conference Day...

Of course we began our day at the market this morning: shopping for the ingredients for Pearl's cooking course and then ordering and eating our breakfast - BIG responsibilities. We ate Kueh Kak, a stir fry of chopped rice flour pieces that were like fried potatoes and also eggs and sprouts, not leaving out our kopi o - coffee, black. As we ate at the rattly, tin table, we watched a man get ready to drive off on his motorcycle with his dog.

On our way out to the Park Royal Hotel, we passed this house, which I understand is the only house left in Penang with this kind of fancy tile work on the front.

I got to the conference in time to hear my Iranian friend give her paper on Emerson and Romanticism, after which there was a heated discussion among the Muslim Romantic "scholars," trying to determine what the Romantics meant by "God." This man claimed that God as creator is above those of us who are "creatures." There seemed to be some question about the God of the Romantics and the God of Islam - clearly not the same God, argued by the Muslims. I did ask what the difference was, but there was a certain amount of hedging when I asked why the God of Islam was hierarchical as opposed to a God that functions as the essence of a divinity, the spirit within all of us, including the natural world. The conversation got sort of stuck, but we tried to deal with the issue, and I think we did establish that without the formal obfuscation of religion, our "Gods" could be the same with respect to our ideas of a higher power. We were friends, after all.

After that session, I didn't see any that looked thrilling, most being given in Bahasa Malay, so I suggested to my Calcutta friend, Afroja, that we take a bus to the Spice Garden for a little relief. We took the tour, tasted the leaves and spices, and then saw these froggies on the lily pad. They made me feel better than the netted frogs in the market. Sigh.

When we got back and had lunch, Afroja said she had to go to her room for something, and I was left at the table with my friend who had been in the discussion about Romanticism this morning; he had gotten himself a big bowl of several kinds of ice creams with berries and chocolate sauce over the top. He was enjoying it so much that I had to take his picture, which I did, and he reminded me that everyone had returned to the rooms for prayer, the facet of Islam I had completely forgotten. Of course, that's where all my pals had gone!

I went off to the lounge to read and then took off my shoes and went out to the narrow beach to put my feet in the water. Ah... When I returned, I went to hear a man talk about Sharia law and employment and was rather astonished to learn that people who had more need were meant to be rewarded more than those who did not; for instance, a man with 5 children needs more money than a single man, no matter what the competence of each employee. Hmmm, food for thought.

After a really deadly final plenary session with a man who had gone to Temple University (!) who talked about his fear about the marginalization of the Humanities in academia. I mean, he used words like "scary" and "fear." Then he talked about the REAL troubles in Malaysia: Hell Riders, baby dumping and free sex. Mercy! This was all too much to me, and the man sitting next to me had fallen asleep, so I skipped out after trying to make it through for over an hour. Afroja and I got some tea and returned for the group photo.

Then, I left and while I was waiting at the bus stop, the man who had fallen asleep next to me walked over to the bus stop and said to me, "Oh, we were looking for you to get you some tea." I learned that he had been hired by the University from Bonn, and he was coming to live in Malaysia with his family this year. We took the bus together, and I learned that he'd spent 10 years at Yale. I never learned his name!

The Only American

Having spent two days at the International Humanities Conference at the Park

Royal Hotel in Penang, I am reeling over my role as spokeswoman for America! I am one of the few non-Muslim presenters at the conference, and I definitely am the only woman wearing a short skirt! My presentation was the first day, so I got to swim through the next day and watch my friends squirm through their pre-presentation angst. When I first arrived, I noticed a woman who had no jacket on and realized she, like me, would be freezing cold in the overly air conditioned auditorium for the welcoming ceremonies. We began to chat, and I learned that she taught Bengali in Calcutta - lucky for me as I could pick her brain about Bengali writers.

After an enormous buffet lunch and more presentations in the afternoon, we dispersed at 5:30 to reconvene at 8:30 for a dinner at which "traditional dress" was encouraged; I borrowed Pearl's cheongsam that I'd posed in several years ago, and off I went on the bus, following Pearl's warning that I must not hold up my long dress as I walked because the slit would reveal my underpants. Oh, horrors! I tried to behave, but when I saw the culinary spread before us, I wallowed in the desserts especially: sago pudding with browned cane sugar and coconut cream was to DIE for! Pearly and Chandra rolled me home, tossed me in bed, and I was up at the crack of dawn to get to Bengali friend, Afroja's, paper at 8:30.

She didn't walk into the room until 8:45, oblivious that the presenters had already begun without her. After the first talk she quietly reminded the facilitator that she had arrived. Her paper and powerpoint were excellent, ordered, sophisticated and thoroughly substantiated - her 6 Bengali authors writing about Muslim women's rebellion. Talag, a term I was not familiar with, was in the titles of two of the stories; it means divorce, and Afroja and I talked about the different laws governing talag in Bangladesh (state law) and India (family law).

The two Iranian women at the right teach English Literature and their subjects are Emerson and O'Neill. I kept asking them what they thought about Persepolis but neither seemed to know of it. I told them that another Iranian had presented on the novel's use of images of the veil, but they missed it. Finally, by the end of the second day I got them together with the fellow who had written about it, and it turned out that they had been at school with his professor; this called for another photo, which seems to be all we do at this conference - the flash bulbs popping at every turn!

I had a long conversation with Malaysian novelist Chuah Guat Eng, who writes in English and has gotten flak from the Malaysian academic community for not writing in Bahasa Malay. One of her novels is a detective tale, and I'm going to track both of them down when I'm in KL this weekend. She asked about my writing, and I had to confess that I'd not finished anything of substance; she admitted that all writers feel that way, which, of course, makes me feel like a coward. Sigh.

I took the bus back to Pearly and Chandra's house in the gloomy afternoon drizzle after standing at the bus stop for what seemed like an age, but I watched as maybe 10 monkeys frolicked in the trees across the street, flying from branch to branch, leaping across to other trees, skittering up and down the branches, goading each other to do it again. Just as I took this picture of the view from the bus, we stopped at a large crowd of people blocked the road; a car had gone over the edge and smashed down on the rocks and sand.

The Conference

I thought you might get a kick out of the program for the conference I will be presenting my paper at tomorrow; the following link should get you there: http://incoh.usm.my/INCoH2011_Parallel_&_Poster_Sessions.pdf Please note the list of names, none of which I can pronounce, and the dinner which is "traditional." There ARE those days when I yearn for that pleated tartan kilt with the big pin, a round collared white blouse and perhaps my old saddle shoes.... Instead, yesterday I painted my toes and urged Pearly to do the same, but when she saw the way I slopped on the polish, she declined.

This morning I took the bus out to the Park Royal Hotel where the conference is being held, just so I knew I wouldn't get lost, and on my way back, I realized that I am relieved that I did not buy that wee house in Penang.

There are an endless number of spokes sticking up into the sky, all ungodly apartment or condos with balconies, views, you name it, and the traffic is ghastly; there are simply too many people on this island, which is a sin, BUT where I am is much more civilized (or not) and we can go to the food stalls and get a to-die-for dish for 3-4 ringgit, a little over a dollar. Feeling ethnic today, I found a lovely hot Chinese "bao," a round roll with sweet bean paste inside, and then bought a nasi lamak, rice shaped in a 3-d triangle (what IS that shape called?) with some spicy sauce on it, some salted fish (or, what I feared, meat) and a half a hard boiled egg on top, all wrapped inside a beautifully folded banana leaf. Now I feel like a stuffed piggie, so loaded up with carbohydrates that I will probably wilt in an hour.

IF I can upload one more photo, I shall show my landmark for getting back to this house; it is a

corner house that looks to me like the chrome on the front of a car; I have restrained myself and not said anything about "the look," but it does remind me of one other tidbit I learned from my Chinese Malaysian friend who shall remain nameless. I understand that the hotels in Penang have to engage full time a staff doctor for the holiday months of August through October when the Arabs come for vacation. Why? I am told that the vaginal injuries are profound during those months in the hotels. The thought is so horrifying to me that today as I sat on the bus, watching a little family of three very small children, a nice looking dad in jeans and t-shirt and a teeny mom, covered completely but for the slit for her eyes, I wondered. That's all. I just wondered. And I worried for all the women who are covering up for somebody and something else that torments or paralyzes them in ways that keep them quiet, restricted but trapped. I know. Who am I to say or even question others' beliefs and lives?

Arrival - Penang

After stops in Toronto, Hong Kong (photo of landing in Hong Kong - very dramatic), I arrived finally in Penang 24 hours later, and Pearlie and Chandra were waiting patiently as I slung my wheely suitcase through customs and out the door into the embrace of the humid, hot air and the long, wagging arms of Pearlie. We drove back to their house in Penang and then off to eat a delicious bowl of Thai Laksa at the local stalls. Ah. Exhaustion set in, and bed opened its arms so I could tumble in and begin recovery.

Early the next morning I went with them to prepare for the cooking session at the Spice Garden where Pearl was teaching a class from 8-2 on making Otak Otak, a veggie, cuttle fish stir fry and a grandly spicy salad of cucumbers, pineapple, mint. First, we shopped for ingredients: spices, herbs, fish, vegetables, every single one freshly selected and bought. We went first to the dry market for veggies and then the "wet market" for fish, all of which was displayed lovingly and shingingly for photography and selection. Everyone urged me to see, smell, touch and buy.

Once we got to the Spice Garden, I took the tour while Pearl and Chandra set up the kitchen and the foods; there were only two in the class - two Australians -, but a man named Richard filmed the class, and I was trying to help as chef, spilling, tripping and blundering along as I went, frustrating the hell out of Pearlie... The Otak Otak was an intricate mixture of herbs and spices, blended and then sauteed, coconut milk added until the sauce became a gentle orange color. We added the seabass to the mixture. Then, after blanching the banana leaves, we cut them into squares, filled each square with a little of the fish and sauce on top of two other herb leaves and then folded the squares into individual bags, stapling the bags together before adding each to the steamer.

This is looking into the kitchen where Pearl gives her cooking lessons, and here she is braising the banana leaf to soften it before cutting it into squares to make the little baggies.

The cuttlefish, veggie stir fry required delicate cutting of refined slices of jicama, cabbage, carrots, but before frying them up, we sauteed the shallots until brown, taking them out, frying the garlic until brown, taking it out. Both were crispy and browned. The cuttlefish had to be salted and rinsed to rid it of the ammonia with which they dry the fish. When the veggies were stirfried, we learned that this dish is often used for families over holidays, and they serve it for 21 days, refrying each day until by the end of the time, the dish is black and so tasty that everyone kills for it! Would that I were able to post more photos, but the internet connection here is horrendous and bugs out every few minutes. I'm wondering if there is a better way to do this so that I can integrate photos into text and pass it along, and I'm thinking probably just a letter with embedded photos would do better than this.

After the long process of preparation, Chandra set up a table outside, and we sat down to our heavenly meal, as we overlooked the sea and drank a cooling lemon juice, lightly sweetened. Oh, yum. On the way home, we pulled over to buy coconuts cut so that we could drink the coconut water with straws and scoop out the young, soft fruit. IS there a better life?

Why I love Penang

I am back home, safe and sound after long hours of a bus trip to Kuala Lumpur, an overnight flight to Narita, an 11 hour flight to Chicago and finally on to Philadelphia, where my best girl Oona was waiting for me. Sister Lisa and her friend Jonathan came down from NY, Jack came from work, and Leo and my two exquisite grand children met us all for a festive reunion dinner. I feel awful about abandoning this site and felt I ought to leave you with images to explain why I have oddly fallen in love with a place rather than a person, as most people do. I will load some quirky photos that will give a sense of what it is that I love so about this island paradise.

There are peculiar angles, color juxtapositions and just funky combinations that make my head spin. If I could convey the tastes, the scents and the sounds, I would do it so that you would understand, but I must rely solely on the images. Bear with me.

There are cats in markets, signs and lines that evoke dreamscapes - well, maybe architecture dreams. There are lights from the shores of Penang and Butterworth as the ferry shuttles from side to side and images of worship and belief hidden in corners and down alleys. There are coffee shops and medicine shops, food hawkers and fruit sellers, little ladies in little lanes , mosques and temples and rickshaws as well. There are secret vistas and visions, and you cannot miss a moment or you will miss an angle, a color or a heart's tug.
I've not even begun to show or describe the other senses! But

now that I'm home, I can dream about going back to tend and renovate the house I am buying in Island Glades on the island of Penang.

Come visit any time and do check out my friend Pearly's website called My Island Penang, Pearl of the Orient.

Last Temples - going native

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Today I wisely waited until later in the afternoon to do the temple thing and spent 3 hours this morning at the Angkor Museum, which is really quite terrific; if it is any indication of the way things are going here in Siem Reap, this little place is in for big times. "My driver" arrived at 10, after I booked my 10 hour bus ticket for tomorrow morning to Kratie via Kompong Cham. He seems to wait and chatter with all the other snoozing, dozing, dawdling tuk-tuk drivers while I go to museum or, as I did today, grab a quick lunch in the center of town where I ate on the Khmer side where all the Cambodians eat; the other side is the fawncy restaurants for the foreigners. Often it has the very same food, but for more money. I was perfectly satisfied with my papaya salad; whatever you eat here has so much garlic, onions and chili in it that nothing could go wrong. Also sugar. Everything has sugar - loads of it!

So, just for the record, before we went the 30 some kms to Bonteay Srey, Nat took me to meet his month old baby, his wife and his mother, all of whom were sweet and lovely, and of course I felt more kindly toward Nat who was charging me a lot more than I knew others were paying for the very same excursion. Then we had to fill up on gas - the justification for his higher price today - and we were off on the bump, bump, bump for miles and miles to reach the most exquisite temple ever. The carvings are SO, so intricate, so exhaustive and so detailed
that I got lost in them, trying to identify who was who and which God was which God or goddess, as the case may be. The temple was not terribly crowded, but the people who were there were mostly Asians; I met a Korean group which spotted me immediately as from the U.S., but I tried to ease the pain by assuring them that I liked kim-chee and Bee Bim Bop; the lively man leading the bunch, grinned and in his broken English said, "I like hamburgers," and we all chuckled. I think Korea may be on my list, assuming I could ever afford it.
I hope you are noting the bottles to the right and wondering what Johnnie Walker red and black have to do with my story, but those of you with clever wit will recognize immediately that these bottles are holding gasoline. Duh! And a fill-up is a full bottle, as I discovered when Nat filled up his tank for 800 riel, less that 25 cents.
After the heavily carved "temple" fairyland,we went to East Mebon and Pre Rup. Because the sky and light were so flat the morning I went to see the sunrise over Angkor Wat, I had hoped to hit a golden, pinky, orange sunset over Pre Rup tonight, but alas, it was not to be, so I have more photos of flatly lit carved lintels, pediments and door edges than I care to confess. After finally getting back to my treehouse room, I was ready for my last dinner at my favorite Khmer restaurant and bolted out for my "fresh spring rolls", draft Angkor and Cambodian curry. Then I had a papaya shake (spelled "snake" on the menu) at a different stall on the side of the road. Walking back to the hotel, things just felt a little more festive, and I realized it was Saturday night; I guess Saturday night is Saturday night all over the world, and this is what the mood was in the native part of town. The motorbikes are all lined up outside this little restaurant where I'm told Cambodians like to go for "beer and meat" on their way home from work. Guess that puts a little less pressure on the little lady at home... Needless to say, across the bridge in the city, things were hopping in a different way, wide -eyed tourists trying to look casual as they scope out the dining options for tonight. Last night I heard a loud "Hey!" and when I turned around, I saw three Chinese men who had been traveling with a group of us on the Delta. They had settled themselves into a Chinese restaurant. I suppose even though I like kim-chee and the Korean man likes hamburgers, some of us like what is most familiar.
That's all for tonight. I'll try to keep posting as I journey up the river, not always by boat because the water is very low, at least on the Tonle Sap. Tomorrow, Kratie.

On a more sublime note

After sushi and green tea, I trekked over to the National Palace, East Garden and strolled through all the nooks and crannies until I thought my legs would wither. Found a Starbucks and spent over 3 dollars for a black coffee - a gal's gotta get her fix - and then hit the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art and then the Crafts Museum. At this point, I was SO wobbly on my feet that I walked to the Tokyo train station, used my JR Rail Pass and hopped a train to Shin-Fuji, hoping to catch a glimpse of the great mountain, which, as you can imagine, was covered in clouds. Not to worry. I bought a rubbery sweet of some pear-like flavor and substance, hopped the train back in time for rush hour experience, getting back to Asakusa by about 6:30 and found a soba noodle restaurant where I had edemame, beer and a soba salad. I've been fiddling with this damn blog since then! Tomorrow a run and then I begin heading off to Ho Chi Minh City where I will meet my friend Joseph from Kuching. We we spend 5 days exploring the Delta before I begin my journey up the Mekong River. Stay tuned!