Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in fotoflo's LiveJournal:

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Monday, February 23rd, 2009
5:25 am	A Random Chain Of Events (... ice swimming in China) I was just going for a run (in board shorts and a tshirt) along a frozen canal yesterday on my lunch break. I think it was like 5 or 7C, but the sun was shining and my core temp was up from running up and down 13 flights ‘cause I forgot my sneakers on the way to the gym and there was a line for the elevator. When I got downstairs I felt so warm and I decided, “Fuck the gym, I’m going to change at the McDonalds and run outside.” So, as I said, I was running along this canal, actually, alternating jogging and walking ‘cause I was beat from the stairs. Anyway, as I was going along I was looking at the ice – it appeared to be getting a little wetter (it was really frozen before the spring festival), with puddles in places and this bothered me ‘cause I just bought ice skates and I wanted to go skating this weekend. I saw a place where the ice was 8 or 10 inches thick, but then I went under an overpass and all the ice under it had melted. And this really saddened me But as I kept going I started to see people walking on the canal here and there and I thought “that’s a good sign anyway, maybe it will freeze over and I can skate on the fresh re-freeze…” And as I kept looking at the people walking on the ice, I saw a couple of guys standing around a big hole, pushing ice to the middle of the canal and on the shore there was a big, red-skinned Chinese dude in a speedo toweling himself off and shooting the breeze with some other Chinese guys. There happened to be an overpass right there, and I thought to myself “I’m gonna go talk to that guy – just ask him what its like.” When I got to the other side the there were three or four guys yapping and a guy on the ice taking pictures. They were all wearing winter jackets, except for the guy in the speedo. I addressed him. “You just go in?” “Yeah” he replied “Was it cold?” At this point I don’t remember what his reply was. It’s likely that the reply didn’t even come from him. Chinese men have a way of talking to each other and they are really talking to you. Or you can never really tell who they are addressing, sort of like birds circling a topic. Anyway I must have asked a couple more questions and eventually someone said I should try it. I already knew I was going to do it but I said something about not having a towel and someone had an extra so I and took my shirt off and I could feel the cold on my skin. But my core temp was still high and the sun felt great too. The Chinese guys were getting excited but I paid them no mind and stepped over railing, and then one said something about what was I going to change into, and I hesitated for a moment and stepped back. The sun felt good and hot on my skin, even though the cold pierced through that feeling, but it was a nice day and the water looked clear. Board shorts dry pretty quickly I reasoned, and I have a nice thick t-shirt… so I went over the rail again and I could hear the gaggle of “he’s really going to do it,” they are all telling each other, but I tuned it out, and put a foot in the water. It was fucking cold, but not that fucking cold. The speedo guy was now standing next to me and I was kind of in zen mode, so… I dove in head first, and initially it was a huge shock but exhilarating. I surfaced and let out a deep guttural scream and breathed in and knew I was breathing, and moving and my mind was clear. So I swam to the far side of the hole in the ice (maybe 15/20 feet) and I was fine, and then I started to feel cold. Like I GOTTA GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE cold. So I fuckin’ SWAM and it was getting colder and colder and I really had to get the fuck out. I remember feeling my package was like a rock between my legs and the shore seemed really far away and I did a breast stroke and I heard them yelling “come back” and saw speedo guy, and I was freestyling it as hard as I could towards the shore, cold, and I thought “How much longer can I be in here before I freeze up?” and “I’m going to make it”. And then I was slipping and sliding up to some steps and I was out. And speedo guy gave me a towel that was no more then a washcloth and I wiped myself down but I wasn’t cold and my skin was starting to burn and guy number two, who seemed to be speedo’s friend was standing next to me, asking me how it was while guy number three was talking to speedo and they were saying how foreigners are different and our bodies are higher quality or some reverse racist crap that they say all the time. They seemed to be repeating it, waiting for me to acknowledge that American bodies are superior to Chinese bodies, and American attitudes (balls?) are superior to Chinese attitudes which of course is all load of crap. I may be superior to you or you may be superior to me, but by saying it's my country that makes me what I am you give me no credit for my own actions, and I looked down at speedo and saw him for the first time. He was around 40 or 50, a relatively big man, tall and barrel chested for a Chinese, still a lot smaller then me and he was older maybe 40 or 50 and he had a big round face – Beijinger or a Dongbei Ren (I guess the best translation for that would be “New Englander,” if New England was Manchuria), I pegged him for a taxi driver or a retired factory worker, and his hair was salt and pepper and loose on his head and he was saying that I’m 27 (I guess I told him) and young and he is fifty and old and Americans “are like that” – they just do it and this and that, and then I looked at guy number two and saw him. Average height and build, but to me he looked short and small, chest high, and now I could feel my skin really burning, I’m still wiping myself down and my mouth is responding automatically to their queries, it was really like sunburn, but more intense and whole body and I felt different, happy, released, and somehow much bigger in my skin and I put on my shirt and ran all the way back to my office. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, January 26th, 2009
10:45 pm	We’ve covered a lot of ground (and sea) since my last update. Brief overview: We went to Langkawi (tax-free beach island on the Thai/Malay border) and back to Penang (multi-cultural culinary and cultural-tourism paradise), celebrated the Chinese new year in Penang and then flew to Kota Kinabalu and flopped into a hotel room and here I am. This whole update will be travelogue style, so those of you looking for truly interesting reading… just look at the pictures. So, now to get a little more in depth. Langkawi is a beach island – its got some of the best 5 star hotels in the world, full of rich tourists and backpackers – both all European and slightly less friendly natives (though still pretty friendly, but they know the smell of money much better then the locals in Penang and KL) – I find its usually like that. The less a place has to offer in culture, and the touristier it is, the more the locals smell money and the less they want to actually be friends with you… maybe I’m just cynical though. So culturally there is really little to say about Langkawi, so I’ll let the pictures tell my story: 1) We went to the beach every day. 2) We rented a motorcycle one day and visited a lovely waterfall. We were the only ones there and went swimming in the cool crisp water amid the fauna and flora. 3) Same day, we found this beach. I think it was called the black sand beach, though the sand wasn’t really black. We stayed here for hours, skinny dipping and sunbathing and reading on the beach. Didn’t see another person the whole time…. Till the very end. I was looking for a new shady place to rest my salty bones after a dip and I walked around a rock and there, perched and squatting 5 feet up on a rock, was a Malaysian youth (he was maybe 16) playing the peeking tom! I was just as surprised as he and he ran off and we left. So we spent 3 days on the beach in Langkawi and then headed back to Penang for less then 24 hours before our flight to KK, but it was an eventful 24 hours! As soon as we got of the boat (it was a two hour boat from Penang to Langkawi) we walked passed a great Indian restaurant and hand a wonderful meal. After the meal we walked passed a shut Chinese temple and then an heard bells ringing and walked into a hindu temple (taking off our shoes first and washing our feet, of course). Tandoori Chicken in the Tandoor (tradition Indian oven) Serving Indian Food We watched an incredibly interesting service, I didn’t take any pictures out of respect (besides, I’m not on assignment, I’m just travel-blogging for friends and family, so most of the time I like to put my camera away and get absorbed in what is happening), but later I took a walk around the temple and took some pics. The door to the Fujianese "alumni club" - a temple for Fujianese exiles Yan after the Hindu service A Deity at the Hindu Temple After the temple, we dropped off our rags and our bags at the Old Penang Guest House (a great place to stay, stylish double room for 65 Ringgit, 13 euro, free breakfast, warm and friendly staff, `and a great social vibe at night) and headed to the Zhou’s house for dinner #2. (See pic of Yan with baby & grandpa from previous note). We met the baby’s parents but we were full and too late for dinner anyway, so we chatted for a while and they suggested we go to kok lok si, an amazing temple up in the hills. Again, I rented a motorcycle (cheaper, faster and more freedom then a taxi) and we were off. That was last night. There were fireworks (it was Chinese new years!) and Buddhas and lights, monks and intricate carvings, candles, incense and the tallest bronze buddah in the world. Yan and I agreed it was the best Chinese temple we have ever seen, in or outside of China. And then this morning we flew to KK (Kota Kinabalu) in Borneo. Boy what a disappointment that was – we walked around all afternoon in the tropical heat looking for a hostel, sweating and hungry. I had my first bad meal had in Malaysia. Chicken livers and hearts in yucky brown gravy, and overly sweet and sour shrimplets (mini shrimp) over boring white rice. Later we found an expensive and unfriendly hostel with slow internet access - same price as the Old Penang, no private bath, people mistakenly opening our room door with their key, lousy atmosphere and borderline rude service. Everything is expensive here – the cheapest can of beer at the 7/11 is two USD. And we want to go diving ($150 per person), climb mt kinabalu ($200 per person) and island hopping and generally have a good time. After a nap and a decent dinner (still my second or third worst in Malaysia) I am feeling a little better about this place, but apprehensive about my savings disappearing a little too quickly, and the possibility of not making friends and an itchy and painful sunburn and a sandy urethra (figure of speech). I’m sure everything will get better. I’m going snorkeling tomorrow, and I’ll have a few expensive beers downstairs and then a good sleep and report back in a few days. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 21st, 2009
5:14 pm	21 incidents in Penang 21 things that happened (in no particular order) in the first 24 hours here: 1) Bus broke down on the way to Penang from KL. 2) Another bus picked us up. 3) Ran around the island – including up the steps of a light house. 4) Skinned garlic with old ladies on a “jetty community.” 5) Took tour of old ladies house. 6) Ate Burmese food with Moe Lay – 30 year old Burmese virgin gardener (“I very much like agriculture. I see plants more then girls”, “Mrs. Yan, One day I come to China, you help me marry Chinese girl”, “My family is only me and my father”) He never said the junta killed his mother, but he made it understood. 7) Bought sunglasses (in KL) – bargained very hard for them – when I paid for them, the salesman said “are you happy?” with a beaten look on his face. Felt bad about it. 8) Lost sunglasses. 9) Siesta every day. Today woke up just in time for siesta. 10) It is such a pleasure to travel with Yan. I make friends with some people and she makes friends with others and we sort of share the friendships. We are also very much in love. Far more then I knew. 11) Drove past hours and hours of oil palm plantations, as well as some rubber and some papaya and others. Also many clear cuts and burns. 12) Met Dave the Brit on the broken down bus. He runs an environmental consultancy in Penang– biodiversity is his thing. We had a great chat about sustainable development and agribuiness here. 13) The oil palm has a thirty year grow cycle. After 30 years they cut them down because they are too tall to harvest, and they start anew. 14) Bought Yan 2nd hand shoes for 5 Ringgits (one euro). 15) Drank beer and chatted for hours with fellow travelers outside the Old Penang Guest House. 16) Watched Obama get inaugurated. 17) Went to an old fujianese ancestral temple and hung out with the Sikh and Hindu caretakers and their dog for about 3 hours. Sikh was a joker. Told the same weird jokes over and over though. “Shaggy (the dog) loves the girls, he follows them around and sniffs them. I think he scared the one girl but I told her he was just doing his job. He has to check for drugs” “take the picture of me, call it wanted alive or alive, don’t say dead or alive.” 18) In 24 hours we ate: Baked Chashaobao, Steamed Chaoshaobao, Steamed and then backed Chaoshaobao (I love Chashaobao), green Chinese cakes, Satay, dim sum (from a street cart at 2 am), banana pancakes (from the neighboring cart, 5 for 2 Ringgits), Chinese noodle soup, Taiwan “fried oysters” with eggs & goopy fried 淀粉 (starch), a coconut emptied into a plastic bag and drunk with a straw, Burmese food (with Moe Lay, curries, Chinese-ish stuff, a really great fried dried fish, dried meat and garlic and pepper dish where everything was chopped very finely), Chicken in brown curry, chicken in black curry, Naan, 麻团 (balls of sticky rice with sesame paste inside. Iced tea, iced coffee, iced tea with sweetened condensed milk, iced coffee with sweetened condensed milk, Chang beer (thai). 19) Met another guy on a “jetty community” and Yan held his 7 month old grandson and we chatted for 1/2 hour. Then he took us into his house and we met his wife and hung out for another hour. His wife was getting her hair curled. 20) Switched hotels from 35 Ringgit SD guesthouse to 50 Ringgit Old Penang Guesthouse. Room was technically better at SD (shower in room, less noise, better wifi), but Old Penang is much nicer place to live. More company, better design. 21) Six hours of battery life per charge on my new laptop, allowing me to type this, Photoshop images and more. And some observations: Hakka, Fujianese, Cantonese, Malay, Burmese, Thai, British, Singaporean, Punjabi Sikh, Indian Moslem, Indian Hindu – these past few days I have met people who identify as any of the aforementioned ethnicities/nationalities, but it’s interesting to notice, with the exception of the Brit and one of the three Singaporeans, all would say “I am |insert ethnicity/nationality| first and Malaysian second.” That, and 90% of them were born here and have never been home. Mostly people I have talked to are 4th or 5th generation. But most of them are also old enough to have children or grand children. How is it that so many distinct cultures can remain in one place, and yet remain distinct? In America it can take as little as zero generations for a mother language to die. My father’s oldest brother was born in Poland, and my father’s first language was Yiddish, but after his parents died (before I was born), he stopped speaking Yiddish and now he has forgotten it almost completely. There seems to be very little interbreeding here – though the Sikh I met told me that he speaks hakka because when he was growing up his friends spoke Hakka. And why is it that I have met scores of 4th and 5th generation Chinese Malaysians in these few days, and the only one that had ever been to China went to Xinzhang on vacation, (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, January 18th, 2009
11:26 am	First day in Malaysia WOW Well, I've been busy for the last 103 weeks, (not to mention that the great firewall started blocking livejournal)) Anyway, I'm in Kuala Lampur, Malaysia on vacation now and its my first day here and I wrote a little story and took some pictures, so I decided to post them here! I just took 2 weeks off from my job in Beijing for the Chinese New Year, or spring festival as we call it. Anyway we had an excellent first day in KL. Love it here. Such an interesting mix of cultures… You know how NYC has 1000 cultures, but it sort of feels like they all just got there, and then there are a few old and established ones. Its like how the guy in the deli barks rough dago-brooklynese, while the taxi drivers speak a hundred different languages, and they all mutilate English in different ways. Well Malaysia is different. Here in KL, there are only 3 main cultures - Indian, Chinese and Malay - and they have all been here, mixing, for 100 years, so they are pronouncedly different, yet slowly mixing, spiraling together. And here, it sort of feels like days are slow, years are fast, decades bring huge HUGE change, but the centuries; they come and go like wispy nimbuses in a windless sky. It’s funny how the cultures mix. It’s the thing that's the hardest of all to nail down about this oddly incomprehensible place. I understand my image of KL is a snapshot in time. It feels like I’m just experiencing that moment of convergence - like when you add sweetened condensed milk to iced Sumatran coffee and it swirls into the mix of ice cubes and coarse ground coffee beans and that richly brown/black liquid that’s so addictive and satisfying. There's that one moment, a moment there where it's all swirling together, the colors haven't yet combined, the ice cubes haven't yet stopped spinning and the grounds still haven/t settled into a thick mud at the bottom of the glass. That fraction of a second where the milk and the coffee are still separate, but insuperable. That’s like a hundred years here. In this decade you can feel the people being lifted out of poverty, cars and motorcycles abound, new cell phones enter the market to begin their five year journey from the richman's hand to the farmers mouth, and yet, fancy restaurants aren't everywhere, people are still poor, unemployment is noticeable in the cafes and the pace of a cup of sweetened milk tea. New cars, yes, they are sold, but its not like HK or Singapore where everyone has a new Benz or a Lotus or a Ferrari. But this is only half of the moment - the sense of increasing prosperity, mixing cultures - being pierced by the green eyes of a woman in a burka you get off the bus (this is the other half), only to get whiplash as a girl in a headscarf with hip-hugging jeans flies gaily by in the other direction - and she's talking in sweet but abrupt Bahasa Malaysia to her gel-headed Indian boyfriend, who laughs and smiles and croons and then hops the monorail to Chinatown where he hawks Chinese sunglasses or flip-flops to an Aussie tourist at five times their price in China. His boss is a gray hared, yellow-eyed Chinese who speaks with a Cantonese accent, and tells you, sweetly, but not without cunning, "I know you want to get the lowest price, but you have to think of me too." And his store is literally overflowing with goods and infused with the sickly sweet smell of poppies burning - but it’s not poppy, it’s incense and its coming from the shrine – and then the day breaks in half as the searing sun forces you from the streets and the walking puts you to sleep. And you’ve walked and eaten your way across town by now, but somehow the same big bellied Buddha proudly watches over another store, this time tea beckoned you in. The character 茶 (“Cha” which means tea) is taped in ancient Chinese coins onto the glass window of the door, and your lovely travel companion peeks her head in and it’s dark and cozy and homely, and all of a sudden you’re sitting and chatting in Mandarin with the store owner – who, it turns out – sells sapphires and precious stones and jade carvings (not tea) and maybe the odd fake antique too. And the beautiful girl you are with is enchanted by the stones, and you can tell too that the shop owner is enjoying this random break in his newspaper – he hardly ever gets walk-ins he says – he mostly trades with established partners and the sapphires come from Goa and the amethyst is called 黄水晶and, of course, the Jade is from Burma, and “here’s something that makes a good souvenir” he says, pulling out a crudely carved piece of opaque green and white marbled bottom-barrel jade. “we get those in Beijing as well” says the girl, “but the workmanship is different here” he says. But he doesn’t push the sale and you are back to being friends and no one’s feelings are hurt and soon your feet are rested and you are cooled from the AC and you’re back walking again. And you walk and walk and walk, and its dark and you, a Jew, have a wonderful, cheap Indian dinner in a Muslim café full of scull-cap wearing Moslems and TVs with Gazans and Israelis killing each other and free mini-bananas. And you’re walking again and walking and blisters form and pop under the rubber from the newly bought flip-flops and now you’re walking barefoot and you can smell the shit in the gutter as you cross an ally to a street where maybe (and you doubt it) you can find a taxi. And as you exit the ally you hear music. It’s Chinese music. And the street is closed off for this banquet of 700 people and there’s a bandstand at the T intersection, with the crowd on all three sides and children playing in front. You stand watching as a lovely Chinese singer sings a song in the cool evening breeze. The backdrop says “the 11th annual fashion import export meeting” and the people sitting at the table directly in front of the bandstand offer you an orange and soon you are sitting with them, toasting with Tiger beer and yelling in mandarin over the speakers. But they see that you’re with you’re girl and they back off a little and then the singer sings 月亮代表我的心, (a sickly sweet love ballad “the moon represents my heart”) and you and she know all the words too and sing to each other) and a huge plate of prawns lands on your table as the singer is replaced by a fire-breathing beauty and you are delving into the depths of the flip-flop importing business with the Chinese men at your table – the best table, front and center – and the boss with the orange sunglasses has a long beard and you think you recognize him from somewhere… And then the singer begins a song about Caishen, the money god, a big fat Buddah who comes at Chinese New Year bearing bulging red envelopes. (4 Comments |Comment on this)