Book list for 2018

This is my book list for the year- the goal is to finish one book a month from my existing book shelf! Starting with “Seven Ages of Paris” by Alistair Horne today!

 

2017 into 2018 – minimalism and zero waste experiments

Experiments in 2017

2017 came and went, rather quickly, and directionlessly, with work taking up most of my time. I had not set any clear goals for the year, which is a change from my annual resolutions. I worked on some art projects with my friends and experimented with several lifestyle changes and ideas revolving around minimalism and zero waste.

Zero waste and minimalism

Zero waste and minimalism formed the bulk of my reading and viewing diet (see list below) in 2017. Both of these philosophies are similar, in that it promotes conscious living and for us to reconsider their relationships with objects and people around us.

The less you own, the less that owns you. I wanted to be lighter, to have a tidier life with fewer things to take care of. I tried to KonMari but stalled at the Paper category because I could not deal with my books. I have read about half the books in my collection but have not finished the rest, and many were kept for sentimental reasons, and the aspirations they hold. I did the minimalist game in September and got rid of over 500 items I did not need. The gamification of paring down made it more fun than the KonMari method. In 2017, I did not shop for clothes and survived. (I also did this in 2015-16) The exceptions were specific workout gear,  undergarments, and shoes (x 4 pairs).

In a bid to go towards producing zero waste, I stopped taking plastic bags. It was mostly successful, but I had to take a number of bags when I forgot my own bag a few times. I’ll do better this year! With regard to plastic packaging, I tried my best to avoid them but have not found alternatives for the staples that I buy (like pasta, rice, biscuits) but mostly shop for groceries at the vegetable market. This will be gradual, and a journey to begin in 2018.

Experiments in 2018

I have a list of lifestyle experiments to work on for 2018 – looking at my list, I am what Gretchen Rubin would call an “all-or-nothing” person or an abstainer.

1. Exercise in the mornings thrice a week. I flip-flopped on exercise during the past year, for a mix of reasons. Lack of commitment, the voice of fatigue and generally poor time management and discipline. I managed to exercise about twice a week in the last month but did poorly during the peak periods of work. Exercise is important for many reasons. Personally, it helps me to keep sane and manage my stress levels.
2. Clothing, Shoe, Toiletry, Book Shopping Ban.  I have enough shoes, clothing, books, and toiletries to last me the next year. I do not need more. My toiletries tend to linger, half-used before another new product comes in to take its place. My shelf is filled with many half-full bottles. I have more moisturisers than I can finish in the next year (I don’t moisturise religiously).
3. Sugar Cut. Sugar is bad, and most of us eat too much of it. During the holiday season, I decided to phase in a sugar detox for better health and consistent energy levels this new year. I don’t drink sweetened drinks most of the time, but this will go a bit further, with no more cookies, cake, and sweetened cereal.
4. Finish a Book a Month. Apart from not shopping for books, I have to finish reading the books I own (one a month) and donate/ sell them after, instead of keeping half-read books.
5. Go Zero Waste. Zero Waste is the goal- I will gradually find refillable or package-free replacements for products that I use, instead of getting the usual in disposable packaging.
6. Social Media Detox. I deactivated my Facebook account! It was taking up more time than necessary, with the endless, mindless scrolling. I should spend the time reading books and doing my art projects instead.

Ultimately, I hope to pare down all the things I own and get in shape (mentally and physically), in preparation for a big change in life in 2019. (Will I be a zero waste minimalist?) Stay tuned.

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List of books/ films on Minimalism/ Zero Waste

1. Everything That Remains: A Memoir by The Minimalists
2. Minimalism: A documentary about the important things
3. Theater of Life
4. Zero Waste Home by Bea Johnson
5. Plastic Oceans

Image from Recovering Lazyholic

Distraction from Assertion

On The School by Donald Barthelme

The School is a narrative about a series of deaths experienced by a class of young students, related by their teacher, Edgar. The story, written in a simple conversational tone, is tied together loosely with brief sentences which create a speedy pace that directs the reader to the focus of the story through a run of misfortune, to the aftermath of death and dealing with reactionary questions relating to existence.

Barthelme uses short sentences, such as “And the trees all died. They were orange trees.”,  in plain language in the story’s beginning. As such, the brevity of the sentences and simplicity increase the speed of reading due to the reader’s immediate comprehension. Despite having a neurotic pace, Barthelme suppresses a deep emotional response from the narrator with details about “orange” trees, or “tropical fish”, considerably irrelevant to the emotional impact of the tragic events that take place.

He utilises the details and reasons to lighten up the significance of the deaths- a dry humour that comes with repetition of the “run of bad luck”. The deaths become predictable as the oft-repeated word, “died”, in the first paragraph, directs the reader’s attention to the list of ominous events in the story- with first, deaths of a smaller degree, of trees, snakes, herb gardens, gerbils, white mice, salamander and tropical fish, then the death of a puppy, a Korean orphan, to deaths of greater impact, of parents, Matthew Wein and Tony Mavrogrodo. The repetition, together with the frantic passing of the numerous deaths, diminishes the emotional significance of the deaths.

The narration, punctuated by ellipses, hints at the narrator’s self-consciousness in his delivery. The pauses, along with “well”, “I mean”, search for an understanding on the part of the reader and reflect Edgar’s distracted state and inability to clearly express his thoughts. He displays a conscious effort in concealing his emotional response, possibly stemming from a need preserve his sanity in the aftermath of these disturbing deaths. Additionally, his formal descriptions of the deaths, for example, his description of the murder of Billy Brandt’s father, who was “knifed fatally” by a “masked intruder” appears to be read off the script of a newspaper report rather than being conveyed it to the reader on a personal level. Through this use of formal language, Barthelme crafts an emotional distance between the narrator and his dialogue, consequently, the reader and the events in the story.

Edgar, in a rather deadpan and resigned fashion, gropes around for reasons behind the deaths, unexpectedly gives away emotional affectation when he repeats, “We weren’t even supposed to have a puppy. We weren’t even supposed to have one” (pg. 310)- he finds difficulty in accepting responsibility leading to yet another predictable death, inevitable in the light of their continued misfortune.

Signalling the crescendo to the long list of deaths, “And finally the tragedy” (pg. 311) diminishes the significance of earlier deaths in comparison to that of Matthew Wein and Tony Mavrogordo. The earlier deaths are viewed with less gravity as compared to this “tragedy”, an indication that this catastrophe affected the narrator and his class the most, possibly because of the emotional proximity of the deceased. Despite the increased emotional significance, Barthelme retains the emotional distance by not disclosing details of the deaths, as Edgar gives a cursory, rambling explanation about a court case arising, that “the parents are claiming that the beams were poorly stacked”(pg. 341). He concludes his explanation with “It’s been a strange year”(pg. 341), expressing his inability to accept the deaths and his personal incomprehension of the reasons behind them.

Barthelme delivers his punch line that leads the reader to question its coherence with earlier portions of the story. The eloquence of the students’ speech, “Then they said, but isn’t death, considered as a fundamental datum, the means by which the taken-for-granted mundanity of the everyday may be transcended in the direction of” (pg. 311), takes the reader by surprise. The profundity and insight of the concept of death in this line decrease the pace of the story, drawing attention to the students’ age, rather than the meaning behind the words that are beyond their age.

All at once, the contrast seems apt, the non-sequitur twist made obvious by the difference in language- simplistic language is switched with a lengthier dialogue made by students whose age and maturity are now questioned. In the earlier paragraphs, one would assume based on the content of their classroom activity of keeping pets and learning about the responsibility, that they are in elementary school, but with their reasoning of death and requesting a demonstration of love-making. The precocious curiosity about love-making as an “assertion” of the “value” of living displays a conscious need to validate existence, a need that scarcely ever arises in children in elementary school. The sharp contrast in language does not appear to be part of the story but works for shock value, slowing the pace of the story as the reader attempts to make sense of the uncanny dialogue.  However, as the pace that picks up after the discussion, Barthelme pulls the reader along with the story unfolding, distraction after distraction.

Barthelme toys with the use of distraction, placing sexuality as a form of distraction for Edgar and his students, instead of focusing their attention on grieving and dealing with their losses. The discussion about death ends without a resolution, and quickly, the students pick out sexual curiosity as their new distraction, no different from the way the puppy took the place of the tropical fish as their new pet. In the same way that he uses the distraction to divert the attention of his characters, Barthelme brings the reader away from truly reflecting on the meaning and dealing with the notion of death. Yet, as the reader identifies this quick change of subject, it may also work as a way to direct their focus to question sex as a diversion from death and life.

During the classroom discussion, Barthelme transports the readers into what almost appears like a time warp into the students’ future, or a segment that is shockingly unbelievable, but as soon as the “new gerbil walked in”, the loud cheering of the children transports the reader back into the context of the story as it began. The arrival of the gerbil renews the cycle of life into death, bringing the hope of a new beginning, a new animal to play with till its premature departure.  Once again, the children are halted in their quest for a sense of meaning that transcends death, from the “assertion of value” through sexuality. They forget about the fresh sting of death that they so feared to rattle their certainty of living. 

(February 2008)

Milestones

2015 has been somewhat of a milestone year:

1. I finally took my black belt test and passed on second try.

2. I passed my driving test and FINALLY got my driver’s license after years of delay 

3. For the first 5 months of the year, I tried online dating went on an average of 1 date per week. (Since then, I have abandoned dating and started embroidering) I learnt that:

• People write their aspired selves on their online dating profiles, just because the person seems great on their profiles doesn’t mean that there might be any romantic chemistry in real life
• How a person smells is important
• Honesty is a rare trait: Few people are honest about what they want
• People who talk a lot about themselves have few friends
• I like walking and talking
• I sit neatly in the middle when it comes to expectations of relationships: I want novelty, I don’t want to settle down as yet, I can’t deal with open relationships, I want loyalty
• I have to be more open

4. I visited the U.S. for the first time since graduation… so many memories, old and new.

5. My BFF came to visit while heavily pregnant (surprise and a surprise). A little girl is coming along soon.

Go and find love

I thought I found it already.

30 years of marriage

My parents recently celebrated 30 years of marriage. I don’t know if they would have celebrated had I not remembered it. Years ago I had looked at a red photo album with a faux leather cover, and in it was their marriage certificate. It was dated a week after my mother’s 32nd birthday. I haven’t seen the album in a while, but I remember the date.

We checked in for a night’s stay at a hotel in the city, as a present from my sister and I, to have them spend some time on their own. When we arrived in the hotel room, I found my spot on the day bed by the window, with the view of Fort Canning above the shophouses of Clarke Quay. My father lounged around, flipping channels then newspapers, before announcing that he needed to go downstairs. (Code: Smoke break) Frowning, I made a comment that it was bad to smoke so much. I have never liked my father’s smoking habit, when I was younger I thought it stank, and later I learned that it was the highway to an early death. My mother knew all along that my father would not give it up.

Two hours later, after a bit of reading by the swimming pool, I returned to the room to ask my parents what they would like to have for dinner. “What about Vietnamese?”, I suggested. My father declined, “You can go have it”. “That’s the past 30 years,” my mother said. My father is a total pain when it comes to eating out- if it is halal, we’re good to go, if it’s not and the place serves pork, he might not have any… and will sit through the meal with his arms folded. For a weekend break in Ho Chi Minh City, my sister and him had meals at the same café every night, having a panini sandwich, rather than any of the street eats that Vietnam is famous for.

What does 30 years look like? I have not had relationships that spanned longer than a year. Thirty is unfathomable. My parents spent slightly more than a year of their marriage childless, and the rest of it with me and my sister. I’ve seen in my parents’ marriage many fights, the cold wars, the laughing, the jokes, the giving in, the time-outs and possibly the most intimidating of it all, the acceptance that both of them are no longer who they were when they married.

Like Crazy

Departure halls are where all emotions flow.

On Sunday night, I saw “Like Crazy” (2011) starring Felicity Jones as a British student in the US (Anna), and Anton Yelchin (Jacob) as a teaching assistant. They fall in love but they suffer a strange long-distance love after she gets banned from the US for overstaying her student visa.

Midway through the film, there was a scene of Anna sending Jacob off at the after they had spent some weeks together in London. They stare at each other on the Piccadilly line, in silence. Later, Anna is alone again, on the Tube, glancing at a couple who are embracing. It’s tough being the one left behind, with those shared spaces of memory confronting you everyday.

In another scene, they separate at the Departure Hall, where they promise each other that the next six months will pass quickly. She remains there, with stop motion flashes showing the passing of six months and she picks Jacob up at the same spot.

The poignant, wordless scenes that reminded me of my time with X. We changed as people over the five years or so of our relationship that we can’t seem to define.  We never knew emotional attachments could run so deep. We knew it couldn’t work but we clung on stubbornly for years. What we had was a complex, long distance love that might sound bizarre to most.

“I don’t really tell people about it because they can’t understand.” In his words, what we had “met the basic needs of human companionship” and we were somewhat whole, but apart. I could never lift the heavy weights of distance and the obligations that both of us are bound to.

The film was a bit of a struggle to sit through. I called X today, with the intention of telling him to watch the film. We spoke for 2.5 hours over the phone, for the first time in more than half a year. “It doesn’t feel like it has been that long.” The time will pass.

Pass it on

“Home within Home” by Do Ho Suh

I have been on the receiving end of many good things. People older and more experienced have helped me to prepare for interviews. I’ve been offered delicious meals for nothing in return. I’ve received encouragement in times of adversity and failure. Now, as an older and hopefully, wiser, person, it is my time to give back.

Driving

In my family, my mother remains to be the only person with a driving license but she hasn’t touched a steering wheel in years. According to my uncle, she was a notoriously slow driver. I thought it was so grown up to drive when I was a teenager… my friends with cars in their family all learnt driving when they turned 18, and I was given car rides and lifts. 7 years ago, I thought I would get driving classes.

2007- I passed my basic theory and advanced theory tests on first try, but never ended up taking practical lessons in favour for more exciting things. There was a short window period between passing my first test and before leaving for college; there was a mountain of paperwork to file and things to pack. I was asked to go on a trip to volunteer in Cambodia, then backpack to Phnom Penh and Ho Chi Minh City after. I went, then returned to move to college in Chicago.

2008- My friend and I had planned to buy tickets to Los Angeles and drive around California (he would do the driving) but that fell through as our friendship soured. I later thought that I would return to Singapore (early) to finally take practical driving lessons and get my drivers’ license while my advanced theory test results were still valid (for 2 years). I never made it. Instead, I went to Scotland to visit college mate JJ, who was studying at Glasgow School of Art. The trip started in Edinburgh, then to Glasgow and her hometown in Hexham, in the north of England, near Newcastle. I returned to Chicago, then Singapore for a summer internship at a school, and then back to Chicago for six weeks of summer school. I occupied myself with a long-distance love and applications for an exchange programme in Madrid,  as well as Spanish classes outside of college.

For Thanksgiving, my pals Lucka and her partner, Carmen, Jaime and Noelle went on a road trip to a National Park in Iowa and trekked through forests of dry leaves that crunched beneath our feet. Lucka and her partner drove the entire trip while Noelle and I knitted and spun wool in the back. None of us were American and familiar with American roads but we trusted Lucka and her partner to find their way and take us along to have Thanksgiving dinner in an empty house belonging to an artist.

Is it because I’m dying?

Tarts at Carpenter & Cook

I had a great day. From the time that I awoke, I received a ton of messages from all over the world that were filled with love. I felt appreciated and energized. I didn’t expect to feel like this at age 20+x.

S and I kicked back, ate French food (beef cheek and guinea fowl) and stuffed ourselves with tarts for dessert. We spent an evening laughing and feeling glad that we are celebrating our single lives and traveling the world (instead of having children… phew)

There is only one life to live. I feel so happy and alive.

Onigiri for October

Today’s picnic will take place in the middle of the city, surrounded by the museums and a university campus. As always, the sun shines, the humidity hovers around 70% and people are still wearing singlets, shorts and flip flops, showing more skin than desired some of the time.

I miss the fall weather in temperate cities- trench coats, light wool sweaters, wool fedoras and printed scarves… Mountains of dried brown with nearly skeletal trees lining the paths. We can feel the year drawing to a close with the variation of the colour.

I want to feel a change that I’m not experiencing here and now.

Yogyakarta

Architecture of life

Someone told me, back in 2009, 

“Look, you can’t design your life like a building. It doesn’t work that way. You just have to live it and it will design itself… Listen to what the world is telling you and take the leap.” 

 

The New Year in a few words

2012 was a great year and I am grateful for the easy transition back to life in SG.

We spent the morning of New Year’s Eve in Uffizi Gallery looking at paintings by Botticelli, Da Vinci, and odd court portraits hanging lined up along the edge of the ceiling on the second floor. Some of those portrait sitters were truly odd looking- expressions of fear, surprise or real discomfort. We had to laugh it off. We rushed back to the hostel to claim our baggage and waited for our bus (which never came) to go to the Florence Peretola Airport, a tiny airport about 20-minutes from the main Stazione in Florence. Eventually, we took a taxi. The flight back was uneventful for me (I fell asleep before the plane even took off), but traumatic for A, who hates flying. We made it to Paris, my favourite city, and I was delighted. 

Bonjour.

I might have read that e-mail 100 times over and looked at your photograph, crying myself to sleep for the days that followed. Tu me manques. x Bisous. 

Making sense

There are so many more decisions that we make with our heads than with our hearts. The heart should have its way, sometimes. Making sense is secondary to following that compass in the gut. 

Bottles that speak of loss, hope, fragility and something beyond the present.

Words for blanks.

_ ____ ___

What does it mean when someone first says “I love you”?

Does it mean that he likes you enough for him to want to hear that you do too? He wants you? That you are a fantastic person? That doesn’t matter though. He never said it- maybe it was masked in the way he signed off his e-mails with a to-the-point “kiss!”, the same way he said goodbye over the phone, in the lingering hugs but never uttered.

He was painfully private. There was that wall that kept everyone out- a thick one built with lengthy explanations of why he wouldn’t say it. It looked like death.

_

____

___

_

____

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_

____

___

_

____

____ ____ ___ _ ____ ___

That is the expanse of deserts between Paris and Singapore, the ocean between Lille and Chicago, the whispers from Munich to Madrid-

The mapped distances from point to point, the lines of dragging suitcases,

of waiting for passport stamps, perhaps a dimly lit end of the tunnel, and.

After years of being emotionally available to someone not physically present, I gave up.

I let go after I said it, firmly. I LOVE YOU BECAUSE.

_ ____ ___

At that point, I was quite certain that I wouldn’t hear it, ever. If we never speak again,  you know I did and I do and I know you didn’t.

These days I find the colossal tropical trees fascinating. They grow taller than buildings. They have thick roots that force cracks on sidewalks, where puddles eventually form. They bear flowers which shed and after one of those wild tropical thunderstorms that I’ve had plenty of since my return, the ground is covered with a soft pink carpet that glistens.

The news recorded that it rained 64mm over one night, when elsewhere in the world, that’s about a fifth of their annual precipitation. Nourished by the sun and the rain, these trees have wildly-twisting trunks adorned with bird’s nest ferns and creepers never seen on deciduous trees.

I never remembered this tree being so tall. It has been here since I was a child.

Fear

Here’s the fear of losing my life: my free time to do everything I’ve loved to do, the fear of not doing enough, not meeting the expectations and not doing everything I can to be who I want to be. 

And well, fuck it. I will just do what I can. And do the best that I can, for now. 

And my heart beats a little faster.

Sueño en Español

Approaching Hendaye

On board the Euskotren from Hendaye to Irun

Bus from Irún to Madrid

On my first week back in Singapore, I signed up for Spanish classes at Las Lilas, a centrally-located Spanish school. It was a choice between Spanish and French, but since I had not taken Spanish lessons in years (since 2009), I decided that this year I will take a DELE test and work on something unrelated to my day job.

I had taken a beginner’s Spanish class here back in 2006 and stopped.The following year, I moved to Chicago and over two semesters, studied Spanish 1 and 2 at college. There was no Spanish 3, so a year later, I began classes at Instituto Cervantes in downtown Chicago and slogged through it during a 16.5 credit semester. I should have attained a better level of fluency than I have, but every time, it’s 2 steps forward and one backward without the necessary, constant practice. I occasionally forget my terms and the conjugations, and worst of all, mix it up with French and end up with Frespañol, an unfortunate combination of Français and Español. (Si, si, ya lo sé, mais…)

While in Madrid, I spent a lot of time with C’s family, who patiently corrected my errors, furnished the right words and listened to me as I thought long and hard about what I wanted to say then self-corrected every sentence that I uttered. I remembered days when I went home from school after hours of trying to make out rapid-fire Spanish conversations and all I wanted to do was speak English or not speak at all. These days I miss those conversations in Spanish with strangers in Madrid, the camarero at El Brillante who asked me to marry him, the South American waiter at a café who would smile politely as I stumbled over my words, or get wildly impressed when I didn’t. A Skype call to Madrid might cure that longing for Spain, or an upcoming language exchange will build those scenes of Spain that endure in my head and in my heart. Sometimes I close my eyes and find myself on the Euskotren carriage, crossing the Basque border between Hendaye in France and Irún in Spain. That 14-hour trip by bus and train from Bordeaux to Madrid, when the SNCF train tracks were blocked because of the mistral winds, is by far, one of the most memorable overland trips I’ve had. Car-sickness, the beautiful, hilly Basque country, glimpses of the English Channel and fatigue…

I started reading The Motorcycle Diaries by Ernesto Che Guevara, just to start dreaming about my next backpacking trip around South or Central America. Or Cuba?

Living someone else’s life

The year started on a shaky note. I found myself sobbing, intermittently, during the plane ride from London to Singapore. I was sitting next to a 12-year-old girl who would move on to her next phase in life, secondary school, as I was (also to a secondary school as a teacher). I didn’t think it was my life. I was afraid to live this new life.

Adventures on my bicycle from London to Singapore

I am now an owner of a Brompton folding bicycle, which costs 2 arms and 2 legs (all my bruised limbs). Something like 2 months’ rent. I had delayed purchasing a bicycle while in London because I lived too close to school to have needed a bicycle. Some of my Londoner friends are fervent cyclists who bike to work (A biked everywhere save for the south), some of my friends have biked around the world through Europe and to Mongolia (Andy of Slowquest/RideEarth, my friend from Couchsurfing, Toby, a book-making pair biked from London to Cornwall). They always, always said to me, “You should get a bike!”. And so I did, in place of a gym membership. Now that I have started work, I’ve been cycling part of my journey from home to work. Today I cycled home- about a 12km ride.

Two weeks ago, I was biking uphill from King’s Cross to Tufnell Park, sweating through layers of warm clothing in the wintertime. (Uniqlo’s Heatech proven effective). Today, the wind swept my ponytail and blew into my ears as I cycled home, along the bike paths of East Coast Park. I saw the large cargo ships parked off the coast, many more than I remember from ten years ago.

Overdue

I extended my stay in the UK and will be spending Christmas in Northern England with an old friend J. My four-and-a-half years abroad is coming to an end and I am grateful for all of it.

Thank you.

Tufnell Park, London

I’m back in London after six weeks of travelling around the Middle East. Back on a bed with a warm duvet, courtesy of Y’s flatmate who is away in Rome. It’s winter- wet, cold, but nothing quite as bad as December in Chicago.

On a whim, I changed my flight after feeling the ache of leaving and realizing that there are far too many people I want to meet up before I go and things that I want to see in London (museums, I mean) that I haven’t seen. London you have my love. ❤

Sinai, by the Red Sea

Tonight I’m in Taba. Tomorrow I leave Egypt for Eilat in Israel after nearly two weeks in Sinai. I’ve been ill, and then a bit bored from a certain routine of work and life in the camp-which doesn’t do it for me. M and I have rather different preferences in the things that we enjoy doing… I don’t really like sitting around with smokes, drinks and seeming nothingness. My love for people-watching isn’t satisfied in a deserted tourist town.

So away and apart we go, for now.

Remember, you’ve got to live many crazy adventures

Sometime ago when I first started Couchsurfing (CS), it was a relatively new concept, especially in Singapore. A friend I had met through CS was writing a newspaper article at that time and wanted to feature couchsurfers and I had agreed to be photographed and interviewed. A major concern about CS was safety. Are strangers dependable? Despite there being safety nets in the form of testimonials and vouching, there is risk involved when choosing to meet a stranger or couchsurf with someone you have never met before.

I was 20 on my first solo trip. I had planned my itinerary to continue after a work trip, then fought to stay on after falling ill with stomach flu which began during the tail-end of my work assignment in Madrid. I saw Madrid, Granada and Barcelona. And it was amazing. It was the beginning of my flirtation with wanderlust, which has not ceased.

After going around Spain being hosted by strangers who eventually became friends, I survived and enjoyed enlightening exchanges with people because I had put aside my misconceptions, and put away my reservations about meeting strangers. I was quoted in the newspaper interview, on my experience and advice about CS, saying that if people were open enough to invite one into their personal space, they cannot be that bad. My older friends who read the newspaper called me, “Hey, I saw you in the newspapers… I didn’t know that you did that. What on earth were you thinking?” 

Red lanterns and Chinese food by the Red Sea

We took a morning taxi ride from Petra to Aqaba, arriving slightly before 8am, to purchase tickets for our ferry to Nuweiba, Egypt. 10 days ago, one of the ferries run by AB Maritime, caught fire on the way to Aqaba and the passengers had to be evacuated. We’re taking the ferry service offered by another company- Meenagate, which our WWOOF host in Egypt connected us with.

M and I are sitting in a Chinese restaurant in Aqaba, in a mall complex by the corniche on the edge of the Red Sea. I know what you’re thinking- that I’m doing what Asian tourists do. I can’t help it, really. After countless meals of hummus, falafel, foul mudamas, kofte meat balls and arabian bread all around the Middle East, I crave for noodles and soup, something that doesn’t need to be scooped up with bread. I usually avoid Chinese restaurants in places where there aren’t large populations of Chinese immigrants because the taste of the “Chinese” food is usually altered beyond recognition. This place, Formosa Restaurant, has been reviewed by our Lonely Planet guide and TripAdvisor, so I decided to give it a shot. We were waiting for the restaurant to open when the lady owner, a Taiwanese married to a Jordanian, arrived with her Malaysian friend. They let us in, served us water and a roast beef sandwich that her Malaysian friend had brought. They left us there with the wi-fi password to do our stuff online while waiting for the chef to arrive. We had glass noodle soup and 拔丝香蕉. We are filled with food and contentment.

The rest is very much needed. Covering Petra in a day was rather ambitious. Yesterday, we scaled 2 rock mountains to catch the views, each with about 800 steps. The way to the monastery at the far end of the Petra site, covered by the jagged mountain cliffs littered all over the ancient city. We climbed up the steps to Al-Khubtar, a high place overlooking the roman theatre, which was carved into the rock like the spectacular façades Petra is known for. 

Dead Sea, Jordan

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“I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.” – Mark Twain

The Dead Sea. After all the wonders we’ve seen over the past weeks, the variety of strange experiences that we’ve had in Kenya and the Middle East so far, the Dead Sea is heavenly and unreal. A purple sunset and a bright round sun setting over the saline waves. We are at a resort hotel for us to take baths, swim and stuff ourselves at the buffet breakfast, before roughing it out on the road again.

M and I are ridiculously happy to be doing nothing at all…

The plan for the day: go to poolside to read, go to the Dead Sea beach and cover ourselves with mud, float, eat, watch back episodes of HIMYM and sleep like a baby on the soft sheets.  M and I have been travelling together since mid-September and while there have been moments of frustration with each other, there are few people that I would rather travel with.

More travel quotes here.