THE CHARM OF RURAL LIVING

When the weather is fine – meaning it is not raining – the first thought is sieze the day and go for a spin in the countryside. Although the beloved and I have visited all 32 counties in Ireland, there are so many quaint villages and towns that are waiting to be explored.

We decided to go to Fethard in County Tipperary for no particular reason.

During Edward 1’s reign, fortified market towns were established. Fethard’s town walls rise to a height of 25 feet and Fethard has the most complete medieval circuit in Ireland.

 Historic sights include the Knockelly Castle and the Augustinian Friary.  In fact, Fethard began with the coming of the Anglo-Normans to Ireland eight centuries ago.

Small towns teach me a lot about country people.

I walked up to a local man who had a stick in his hand and there were some geese about him. He had actually brought the geese to a nearby river for a swim.

‘You need to be careful with geese you know’ he said.

‘Why, will they attack me?’ I asked.

‘Oh no, they are messy birds. There is so much to clean after them. But they lay good eggs.’ he explained.

‘I haven’t seen goose eggs before. What colour are they?’ I asked.

' They are white alright. Each is the size of four hen eggs’ he added.

The little conversation developed from geese to historic sights. He even offered detailed instructions on how to enter the castle if the gate was closed. He then drew my attention to an ancient pagan fertility effigy (Sheela-na-gig) carved on one of its walls. This creature would be easily overlooked if you were none the wiser.

I thought that he was very friendly and helpful. I could see the pride and the sense of belonging in his eyes.

We decided to check out the Augustinian friary. The mosaic work on the ground and the stained glass windows are exquisite, a reflection of talent and hard work. The old tombstones tower majestically and there is a sense of awesomeness in all their silence.

As we walked along the pavement of the Main Street we passed by three senior ladies who were busy chatting. They seemed to have known each other all their lives and were sharing common experiences.The moment they saw us they stopped their chatter and greeted us. We obviously did not blend in with the local colour. We had only passed them for about ten minutes when one lady walked up to us and asked whether we were looking for something to eat.

I was in fact eyeing a modern fancy restaurant across the road which had received good reviews on TripAdvisor. I asked her whether the food was any good there. I could sense that she wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about that restaurant and recommended another old time eatery. She said she preferred hearty meals to ‘rabbit’ food, referring to healthy salads and such.

I was mostly amused and not surprised that she recommended the old time eatery. It was all about familiarity with a certain lifestyle or a certain cuisine and certainly an underlying loyalty to old establishments.

True enough when we passed by the modern restaurant, I saw  a pretty younger crowd inside, feeding on ‘rabbit’ food  that came with big prices.

I have lived in the city for the most part of my life and enjoy the conveniences that go with it. City life is vibrant and on-the-go. There is no lack of  excitement as I am in the heart of noise and there is not a dull moment.

Small towns are peaceful and I feel very safe. There is no fear of snatch thefts or being mugged. Most of all, I do not need to hold on to my handbag tightly. There is this rural charm that is a breath of fresh air. I could sense the laid back idyllic atmosphere as if the earth is spinning more slowly in these  parts. We could never have enough of it and that is what drives us to go search out these hideouts ever so often.

So I’m checking the September calendar to plan our next trip to explore another small town again.



THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA
2 SEPTEMBER 2017
http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/nstnews/2017/20170903nstnews/index.html#/23/

William Butler Yeats and I

When I was in Innisfree, County Sligo, I was determined to have a peek at the lake made famous by William Butler Yeats in his poem the ‘Lake Isle at Innisfree’.

Now I have this sudden urge to visit the same county again, oftentimes known as Yeats Country because this summer marks 150 years since Yeats was born.

                                             Lake Isle of Innisfree in the background

As is befitting a legend and a Nobel Prize winner for literature in 1923, this commemorative year boasts of nationwide events with the highlight being Yeats day (June 11 – 14). On the international arena for this year, his works are also enjoyed and shared in Moscow, London, Washington, Rio and Beijing.

For us who love literature and poetry, this celebrative extravaganza is a sure delight.

How many of us have aspired to write a novel or have a poem immortalised on a wall of fame? Alas, in my search for similarities between Yeats and I,  I find great humour in the trivial.

Take for example, when Yeats cooked sausages to celebrate the news that he had won the Nobel Prize. The Full Irish breakfast is not the same without sausages. I have heard of elderly ladies  smuggling sausages across international borders (when on vacation) for their loved ones just like how some of us would also do the same for Malaysian delicacies. Frying sausages for breakfast is something of an enjoyable routine to me. The whole kitchen being awashed with the fragrance of hot piping sausages bursting through the skin is something to die for. Unlike Yeats, I don’t think I’ll ever get that infamous ‘You’ve won the Nobel Prize’ phone call.

There were also several people who fired Yeats’ passion.

His ideology about life took several different turns as he grew older. I guess that happens to us as well. It would be most strange to find static characters whose mindsets have not been challenged or developed. His poems too became more symbolic and complex as the years went on. I remember having had a hard time as an undergraduate comprehending ‘Second Coming’ and answering questions on his concepts of the supernatural and eternity. The fact that his poems also carried political themes did not help as we would need to be well acquainted with Irish politics.

Yeats also mentioned the ‘nine bean rows’ that he would have on the Lake Isle of Innisfree. The last time I counted I had six bean rows in my garden. Whether Yeats ever had a penchant for gardening, I do not know. What I know is he did mention beans in that poem and that is as good as saying that we are both into beans.

I am empowered by one of Yeats’ quotes - “think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people”. I have never been so immersed in a society as I do now…..mixing with people from all walks of life. Prior to coming to Ireland, my circle of friends comprised  mainly of the academia and the church. I would surely need the wisdom of Solomon to make sense of this present mingling.

Yeats also had a close circle of friends and family members as well as creative people who impacted his life. I would like to think that I too have the same. It is so true that iron sharpens iron and like minds nourish each other. Great friends are those that you make at any stage of your life and keep them.

Yeats died on January 28, 1939 in a room overlooking the Mediterranean at Cap Martin on the French Riviera. It took almost a decade and two funerals (with  the Second World War in – between) before his remains were finally brought back to Ireland. Rumours have it that it might not have been his body either, possibly Alfred Hollis, an Englishman who died around the same time and was buried beside him in the same French cemetery.

Great people do have a touch of mystery that sets them apart, even in death.

 

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  7.6. 2015  http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150607nstnews/index.html#/23/

Feeling like I'm at Home Again

Every now and again I meet up with Malaysians in this part of the world. The first reaction is that of surprise as there are not many of us around here and the next is noticing the unmistakable trademark –  the Malaysian identity that surpasses everything. We are no longer defined by psychological barriers like race, religion or class status. Instead we are all countrymen united by some form of camaraderie in a different land.

I first talked to Sham (Shamzuri) Hanifa in 2010 over the phone after watching an interesting documentary aired over national television about his success in the culinary field.

It is always lovely to hear a success story. Even more so when he is a Malaysian.

I was pleasantly surprised to see him in the flesh when I went for the National Crafts and Design Fair in Dublin in December 2014. There was a section called the Food Emporium where over 100 artisan food producers showcased the best of the season’s bounty.

Sham opened the award winning The Cottage Restaurant in Jamestown in County Leitrim in 2008. The menu at this restaurant draws on a rich culinary heritage that shines through chef-crafted selections of contemporary Irish cuisine with an Asian twist.

Not resting on his laurels, Sham recently created quite a stir with his new range of handmade cooking sauces, inspired by his grandmother’s cooking. The best part is that they are 100% natural with no artificial ingredients, no artificial preservatives, no flavourings or artificial colourings, no additives and no stabilizers.

When I visited Sham’s stand at the Food Emporium, it was well stocked with bottles of homemade sauces. As there were many customers at his stand, Sham reminded me to call again at his stand before I left the fair. I did and to my surprise he packed six complimentary bottles of his flavoursome sauces for me. I was thrilled to bits because that was totally unexpected. Immediately it reminded me of Malaysian kinship and generosity. I must certainly call at his restaurant when I go up to Jamestown.

Another interesting café and bakery that is near where I live is  I tea in Limerick. Run by young Malaysians, I tea serves an assortment of Irish and Malaysian cakes and buns as well as the traditional Irish breakfast.

Situated in a corner of the Limerick Milk Market which becomes very much alive on Saturdays, it caught my attention when I was doing my weekly shopping for fresh produce. Sitting down to a hot cup of latte and a meat floss or curry bun is quite an unbelievable experience in a place where buns are usually sweet and creamy.

There was a Saturday where my beloved and I sat down and ordered hot drinks and a pandan swiss roll at I tea.

Knowing that we would not be able to finish the whole swiss roll, I asked whether we could pay for the whole swiss roll but just eat two slices of it at the café and take home the remaining portion. They told us it wasn’t a problem at all and we happily had our fill.

To our surprise when we were about to go home, the owners gave us a brand new swiss roll instead of the original half!

Again it reminded me of Malaysian kinship and generosity. So I told my Irish friends about the shop and every time I’m in Limerick, I will surely pop by the shop. I guess it is the Malaysian in me who wants to see another Malaysian succeed, just like my Japanese friends who will only buy Japanese products wherever they are.

It is amazing how a country is defined by its culture and its people. It is the little things that we hold dear like the politeness, friendliness and generosity that continue to live in us wherever we are. We may take such things for granted. But when we are in a foreign place, and we meet other people from the country that we originate from, and they treat you so well, a feeling of pride and unity wells up within.

These little touches make all the difference.

I am left feeling that I am home again.

Weblink: http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150510nstnews/index.html#/22/

The Joy of Travelling Comes in Many Forms

There was one evening when we had nothing to do (which seems to be getting more frequent these days) that we went on the balcony and did some plane spotting. There was a perfectly clear sky and the number of planes that were criss crossing the airspace was amazing. We could track where the planes were flying from and where they were going with the mobile phone. It was indeed a very pleasurable activity.

Ah…the joy of travelling.

‘Which city would you like to visit?’ would be one of my ice breakers when facilitating a group discussion.

Paris, Rome, London…usually far away places and hardly any mention of a city in the same country that they live in.

So we get a job that takes us places or we work hard, save and with that little bit of extra on the side we travel. Family money or old money is handy and I could do with plenty of that but nothing gives me greater pleasure than to enjoy one’s success or the fruit of one’s labour.

Travelling is a strange thing. There are some who choose to travel and have little savings. There are others who have money but will not travel.

The daughter did a voluntary teaching stint in Poland last summer, after which she travelled on Eurail pass to five different cities in Europe before returning to home base. As for lodging, she couch surfed. Now that is one way to see the world.

Couch surfing is something novel to me but is apparently the rage these days. As of summer 2011, there are nearly 2.9 million couch surfing members in 246 countries and more than 80,000 cities on all seven continents (yes, there is even a woman at McMurdo research station in Antarctica). The median age is people in their twenties—though there are more than 610,000 in their thirties, 21,500 in their sixties, and more than 520 octogenarians. As with all types of travelling, there are the usual security measures to take. 

I have long given up on itinerary-driven tours that span over a few countries. I prefer relaxed trips with time to visit the places that I want to see and breathe at the same time. The same goes for ‘rent-a-car’ travelling. Why get stressed over new routes, driving on a different side of the road when it is usually more convenient to take public transport?

I find that when we are busy pushing new frontiers, making friends, enjoying new food and most of all giving our bodies and minds a good and needed rest, we are rejuvenated. I love the challenge of browsing through city maps, making mistakes, getting lost, seeking help and finding my bearings again. There is a certain level of achievement and satisfaction that beats a level attained in Candy Crush.

Just when I have settled down to some routine, the mind gets busy and the feet get restless and it is time to pack those bags again.

When one of my friends wanted to visit me the other day, she asked whether I was at home, I said ‘yes’.

So another friend quipped, ‘When are you ever at home?’

My answer was ‘once in a blue moon’ and the last time I checked the moon was quite blue, by my standards anyway.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS TIMES  5/4/2015 :http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150405nstnews/index.html#/25/

Like Frogs We Can't Skip Our Past

My friend bought a house with a pond but decided that she did not want the pond. So she had it transformed into something else, not realising that she was about to face another problem.

The pond was once home to a bunch of happy frogs. Even after the pond was drained, to her horror, she discovered a mass of dead tadpoles lying there.

Apparently, frogs go back to the pond where they were born to spawn. It is probably that they use magnetoreception to locate the general position of their home ground.

At some point or another we are also interested in our roots.

In Ireland ancestry tracing is big time. We have television programmes like ‘Who do you think you are?’ Every week, a popular personality traces his roots. This journey through generations of ordinary lives reveals extraordinary stories. 

Since I was back in Malaysia recently, I went back to my hometown which had become almost unrecognizable. The roads that I once cycled on had become very busy one-way streets as cars zoomed noisily on them. The schools that I went to all looked so different. There used to be a rubber estate next to my primary school and in our school uniforms, we would excitedly look for birds’ nests and such during recess time. There was also a stream where we could wash our palettes and brushes after art class. A housing estate now stands in its place and the school is fenced in with barb wire.

Tengku Mariam Primary School

Temenggong Ibrahim Girls' School (secondary)

Batu Pahat High School (Form 6 )

I miss the old.

As it was the school break, there was no one around. So I sneaked into a classroom and sat on a small wooden chair and relived the moments of my primary school days.

I could actually hear the ‘ghost of teacher-past’ telling me about Amsterdam and cheese and clogs. Geography was one of my favourite subjects and that planted the ‘I must see the world’ seed in me. If only I could tell the teacher that I have visited Amsterdam, tasted the cheese and worn the clogs.

I used to be very afraid of entering the school toilet because of all the ghost stories associated with it. So I purposely made a trip into one, to confront my fears.

Next was a visit to my favourite haunts. Somehow everything was magnified through the eyes of a child. The hawker stalls seemed more varied then and the food I thought was the food of gods, failed to convince. However, visiting the houses that I once lived in and the town park where my father brought me in a trishaw to play, brought back irreplaceable memories and pride.

I could not trace my ancestral line beyond my parents. Although I have no affinity towards any living relations, it would be rather interesting to see the village in China where my father had lived as a child.

As I savoured the local coffee served in a porcelain cup and saucer (complete with a small porcelain spoon to stir the coffee) I felt that taking a trip down memory lane is a trip of affirmation. It affirms my perception of life – the familiar and the unfamiliar. The town of one’s childhood has a lot of say about who we are and what we have become. In fact, many great people have come from my town – the respectable and the bohemian.

It is a lovely thing to go back to where we were born.

So why should I be surprised if frogs go back to the same place to spawn?

The last I heard of it, my friend has decided to reopen the pond for the frogs.

If you can’t beat them, join them.

THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY NEW STRAITS  15 March 2015 TIMES http://digital.nstp.com.my/nst/books/150315nstnews/index.html#/19/

About time

It never fails to amaze me how many films there are on time travel. Time travel has long held a fascination for many of us. Apparently, even famed astrophysicist Stephen Hawking believes humans are capable of time travel into the future. There are at least 150 well known short stories and novels dating back to 1733 about time travel. As for television series on time travel, early recollections go way back to 1951 where Scientist Captain Z-Ro,  had a time machine, the ZX-99, both to view history and to send someone back in time.

Popular movies on time travel include Back to the Future,  Groundhog day, The Lake House, The Time Traveller’s Wife and recently About Time. The main thrusts? Reliving past events, returning to yesterday and even the possibility of changing what had been.

Then I ask myself if ever I am confronted with such a possibility, would I do it?

To satiate my curiosity I would certainly like to see how Van Gogh painted his sunflowers, how Beethoven composed the 5^th Symphony or how Thomas Edison invented the light bulb. Nearer home, I would like to see how my parents lived as children. Maybe I would like to see again all the good stuff that happened to me in the past. I would like to see what would have happened if my life choices were different: careers, relationships, ambitions, values. But I certainly would not like to travel into the future because I am not brave enough to see unfavourable events unfold, especially if they concern the people that I care for.

The possibility of ‘altering’ the sequence of events is also very tempting. Just imagine that I had done something totally awkward and because of that one incident, my whole life had been ruined. Or I had uttered one wrong thing and lost my good friend in the process.  Unkind words, like feathers tossed from a roof, float everywhere and cannot be gathered back. How simple it would be to travel back in time and undo what I had done.

Or we may also be laden with the ‘save the world’ responsibility where we could stop evil from happening. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up very tired with all the travelling into the past to repair the errors of world history - to stop despots and bad emperors from ruining the lives of their subjects.

What if we travelled into the past and befriended some cave men and they decided to follow us back to real time? Imagine the amount of adaptation they would have to undergo.  

But then again comes the trap of not being accountable for our deeds. We make mistakes and hopefully, in so doing we learn, grow and change for the better. If we could always go back and make good what went wrong, then it would be like a short cut to life. What we learn would be getting into a machine, fixing the problem and then coming back to the present in the machine. Imagine the chaos if time machines were easily available to all and sundry! Then there would certainly be great congestion in space, maybe some kind of space-jam.

 Like everything else, time travel has its repercussions. Changing the time line is a paradox. The elimination of your ancestor for example would mean you no longer exist.  We might even accidentally disrupt the normal course of various events, setting off a chain reaction that turns the future into a dystopian society – the horror of it all.

The whole element of the antithesis will be absent if we could time travel. We cannot see light without darkness. We cannot appreciate good unless we have seen the bad. We cannot hope if we are always fixing the past. Then we cheat ourselves of the joy when we see expectation realised and anticipation fulfilled. With time travel, we are in control and we sit and watch how we would like things to be. That certainly deprives us of the element called spontaneity.

Opting for the alternative – which is living in real time might not be such a  bad idea after all. By living in the here and now we learn to notice. Noticing imbues each moment with a new, fresh quality. This is called the ‘beginner’s mind.’ By acquiring the habit of noticing new things, we recognize that the world is actually changing constantly. And that is fun.

This is the last Sunday for 2013 and we will embrace the next Sunday in a new year. Where did all the time go? So, for the moment, I will just be content with Uber Morlock’s statement in H.G. Wells  The Time Machine.

“We all have our time machines, don’t we?  Those that take us back are memories…And those that carry us forward, are dreams.”

Source: The New Straits Times, http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/the-present-moment-is-always-enough-for-now-1.380330

Hidden gems in the Algarve

I was looking at this lady who was busy journaling. Her male companion was staring at an insect that rested on his pen. He was probably someone with the national geographic and  she a travel writer or they may be just tourists with nothing better to do in the Algarve.

Travelling is always fun but digressing from the usual group tour whereby we trail behind a tour guide who holds a plastic bottle up high is certainly better - given that we know the routes of the strange country or better still if we have a friend who is nice enough to bring us around the strange country.

When I first learnt that we were going to the Algarve for a holiday, images of beer guzzing youth, crowded beaches and noisy nights flashed by – not exactly what I would make a beeline for. Known for its good weather and beaches, the usual tourist heading for the Algarve  would check into a hotel usually in Albufeira, go to the beach, sunbathe and return to the hotel. He will do this every day until it is time to catch the next plane home in his new tanned skin. Nothing wrong with that, except that I would prefer to experience more.

So I was pleasantly surprised to find out that a wonderful friend, Michael Henchy was there to collect us at Faro airport and unknown to us he had drawn up a meticulous plan to bring us to scenic sites in the many towns in the Algarve: Alcantarilha, Gaio, Monchique, Lagos.  To add icing to the cake, he was extremely punctual and manoeuvred the narrow and often steep lanes of the towns with such dexterity.

To me some things make a wonderful trip:  a comfortable bed, elements of culture, great food and friendly people.

I am easily pleased and a clean place to stay with basic amenities will make me happy. Imagine driving through high and ornately decorated cast iron gates into the rambling grounds of a beautiful hotel in Alcantarilha. The added bonus of us being the only guests there made me very happy indeed.

Portuguese architecture is beautiful.  Archways and textured walls bathed in bright yellows, reds and blues reflect the vibrancy of Mediterranean life. Hand painted tiles with asymmetrical designs or pictorial images in colours not unlike that of Holland’s Delft blue never fail to win my approval.  Flat roofs remind me of lazy days when idle kings would walk and view his subjects. Such was the flat roof that King David of old walked and saw his future wife Bathsheba.

 There is this chapel in Alcantarilha   that is decorated with human skulls and bones because the grounds that the chapel was built on was a graveyard once. Strangely, there is nothing spooky about looking at the skulls adorning the walls  in Capela Dos Ossos unlike the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Kampuchea where looking at the skulls left me with sleepless nights. But then again, the circumstances were different as the skulls in the museum were those of tortured victims under the Pol Pot regime.

I saw the cork tree, the eucalyptus tree, the pepper tree and even myrrh shrubs on the way up to Foia (Monchique) which is the highest point in Algarve.  I learnt that you can actually peel cork from the tree trunk just like a sheep being shorn. I saw little mounds of stones carefully stacked for good luck, similar to that along the Camino Walk.

Walking on cobbled stone streets conjure scenes of horse drawn carriages or wagons scuttling away in the dark.  I tasted trickling spring water, home-made butter lemon buns, fruity yoghurt in glass jars and juicy pomegranates fresh from the tree. Deliciously prepared cataplana or Portuguese seafood stew and bacalhau com natas (creamy cod) will whet any seafood lover’s appetite. Incidentally, Sir Cliff Richard has a vineyard in Guia and the piri piri chicken originates from this part of the world as well.

A trip is never complete without some shopping. After hours of walking around the Faro old town, there are benches to lie down under a shady tree and let the Peruvian playing ‘Time to say goodbye’ on his musical instrument caress the weary tourist to sleep.

Finally, friendly people make  all the difference – people who make you feel at home and at ease. It sounds odd but to me, language is not a barrier if I do not make it a barrier.

Sitting in a restaurant and having the waiter explain to you in animated gestures, halting English and fluent Portuguese what the name of the restaurant ‘ A Cisterana – Casa da Pasto’ meant, was a lesson in itself. In another instance, a hotel worker tried to apologise profusely in Portuguese about the disruption of the internet service  in our room. Strangely enough I could make out what he was trying to say, the important bits anyway. This reminds me of another instance in Seville where a Spaniard explained to me in Spanish about the bull fight and I understood the gist of it.

I think I could sit for hours just sipping aromatic coffee and then suddenly getting shocked out of my wits when the bells pealed unfailingly. What made it more endearing was that the bells pealed twice every hour...once before the hour hand reached the designated hour and again when the hour hand reached the designated hour. This was certainly most beneficial to those who needed to be reminded of  the time. An enigma indeed.

So to all who love travelling, if at all possible, go down the road less travelled. Seek out the hidden gems in a new country and you will be amazed at what you will find. And in the words of Arnold Swarzenegger, I would say to the Algarve, ‘I’ll be back.’

Source: http://www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnist/hidden-gems-in-the-algarve-1.390520?cache=03%252F7.198169%3Fpage%3D0%3Fpage%3D0%2F7.72648%3Fkey%3DKuala+Lumpur%2F7.321287%2F7.323459