"Cooker" Wong RIP

Last month, I wrote about Cooker. Yesterday, when I returned to Hong Kong, I learned that he was found dead on the hillside behind the village. He had probably died on Saturday December 19.

Apparently, he was 86 years old and living by himself. His little trolley with some of the recyclable he had collected could be seen outside his humble home.

I saw Cooker everyday and will miss him. This is the second death in the village within the past two months. The village chief passed away in November, but he was ailing and more than 80 years old.

40 days of rain

I am back in Sri Lanka and at Pondside. The rain, sometimes heavy, has gone on for more than a month. The pond is full, and jammed with water hyacinth already.

Yesterday, I went up to Kandy to check on the renovations to the house at Hantana. About 90% of the work has been completed and I am planning to move the furniture and appliances sent from Hong Kong, now clogging Pondside, to Hantana some time in the coming week.

Where my tax $ go ...

The Washington Post recently ran an article on how the immense national security industry of the United States created since 9/11 and gobbling up taxes. The New Yorker called it a "bureaucratic behemoth" that as become so large, so unwieldy, and so secretive" that "it amounts to an alternative geography of the United States, a Top Secret America hidden from public view and lacking in thorough oversight". For example,

• some 1,271 government organizations and 1,931 private companies work on programs related to counter terrorism, homeland security and intelligence in about 10,000 locations across the USA.
• An estimated 854,000 people hold top-secret security clearance.
• Many security and intelligence agencies do the same work, creating redundancy and waste. For example, 51 federal organizations and military commands track the flow of money to and from terrorist networks.
• Security analysts of foreign and domestic spying publish about 50,000 intelligence reports every year, a volume so large that many are routinely ignored.

Now, this wouldn't matter to me so much. I am not an American citizen. But, because I taught there for six years, my retirement money went to an American fund and I, misguidedly, continued to contribute to this fund for 10 more years even after coming to Hong Kong. earlier this year, when I began to withdraw money from this fund in view of my retirement, I was taxed 30%. Remember, this is not my income but my retirement money. I now know why the American government needs cash. To fund this utterly wasteful counter terrorism programs.

A note about the 854,000 people who hold top security clearance. As I write, Wikileaks has announced the release of hundreds of thousands of confidential documents that will embarrass the United States. And who is alleged to have leaked them? A lowly Private in the army. I assume he is one of those with "top security clearance".

Cooker

We have nick names for various members of the Wong clan in our village. "The civil servant", "pipe smoker", "smiley" and the "village woman" are among the better known. Some of them have lived in the UK and have now returned home. Cooker is one such person.

We got used to seeing him around long before we had a nickname for him. He is the village scavenger, collecting anything--cardboard, metal, plastic, aluminium ware-- of any value, loading them on to his little trolley and trundling it down to Sai Kung town, a good 2 kms away. I once asked him how much he earned from each load, and he said $10. He speaks English but doesn't chat much with me. I did see him having a long chat with a Gweilo down the hill.

Smiley is the only villager who chats with us, sometimes in his halting but always interesting English. When I asked him about the old man, I was told that he had lived abroad. When I asked what he did, Smiley said "cooker". (He meant cook.) The nickname stuck.

Loading up his little trolley one morning. I once gave him a broken lap top computer and he was happy, saying he could get $100 for that.

Cooker lives in the dilapidated house which can be seen below. Other members of the clan have built newer houses, but he probably can't afford to do so.

Recently, Cooker had a bonanza. The village chief died and was buried in a plot up the hill. A few days later, the daughters-in-law began to throw out many of old Mr. Wong's possession, many of which ended up on Cooker's trolley to be sold down hill in Sai Kung.

A day with Confucius

One aim of my trip to Shandong was to revisit Qifu and the Temple of Confucius and see the Kong family cemetery, which I had missed on my previous visit. So we set off one morning from Jinan for the 3 hour drive to Qifu. Once we were out of the Jinan clutter, we hit a highway as good as any in the USA. But, it turned out to be a depressing drive; for mile upon mile, we passed derelict houses in rows, with large, dusty front yards where nothing seemed to be growing, and, except for the occasional line of drying laundry, where few people were to be seen. On the previous visit, as we drove back to Jinan in the evening, I saw women lounging outside some houses and was told that they were hookers servicing truck drivers using the highway. This time, even the women were gone, although trucks were plentiful on the highway. In stretches, I did see fields of wheat, copses of trees, and rivers. So the journey wasn't that bad.

This is Joanna, Mao Dan, my "shadow". Each time I visit a Mainland university, a student is assigned to accompany me everywhere because I don't speak the language. Usually, my shadow is an undergraduate, but on this occasion, I was fortunate to have Joanna, an MA student in Translation and Interpretation. Fluent in English and oozing with good cheer and commonsense, Joanna took me to a Pizza Hut when I got tired of Chinese food. She took care of me in a gentle, motherly way, with a maturity far beyond her age. We also visited the cathedral and the Jinan lake together had many interesting conversations. I introduced her to my favorite movies such as "Cinema Paradiso" and "Dr. Zhivago", which she told me she enjoyed, too.

On my last visit to the Temple of Confucius, there were hardly 50 other visitors. But that had been a weekday and this was Sunday. Thousands of local visitors were thronging the site. There was no time to pause and contemplate the various buildings within the temple compound. The hundreds of pine trees are ancient, some as old as 2,500 years (that's how long ago Confucius lived) and they were being taken care of lovingly by the staff, although many visitors were blissfully ignoring warnings not to touch or rub these trees.

Confucius was not a rich man and, when not traveling, lived in a humble home. He did not benefit much during his lifetime but his descendants, the Kong clan, has been richly rewarded. Most of the magnificent buildings in the temple compound were built after Confucius' passing. In a small way, they reminded me of the buildings in the Forbidden City in Beijing.

This pillar had to be repaired after being damaged by rampaging Red Guards.

Where wishes could be hung after being written on red wooden slats. I wished for peace of mind. ("Dream on", you'd say.)

A mythical creature

After visiting the temple, we went to the cemetery, which I had not seen on my last visit. We had to walk from the entrance to the cemetery gate, and were besieged by tricycle and horse cart drivers. We finally settled on a peculiar contraption, a sort of a box attached to a motor scooter, barely enough for two people although four were expected to squeeze in.

I had expected a small, dusty, treeless cemetery but was pleasantly surprised by the 20o hectare grounds dotted with pines and cedars. The direct descendants of Confucius, usually named Kong, are eligible to be buries here and there are about 10,00 tombs, although not all are allowed tombstones. The cemetery is so large that we had to ride an electric car to tour it.

Like the grounds of the temple, the cemetery is beautifully maintained. These photos do little justice to these lovely grounds, forming the most serene I have seen anywhere. John Donne's sonnet "Death be not proud" kept coming to my mind as I gazed upon the shaded greenery. Surely, death could not be bad if one could lie beneath this turf? Perhaps I should change my last name to Kong and sneak in an application for a tomb.

Despite the tranquility, the cemetery too suffered at the hand of Red Guards. I was told that they dug up some new graves and hung the corpses from trees.

The tomb of Confucius. He is more quoted than read, but I am so glad I returned to Qifu to see this lovely cemetery. If I pay another visit, I'll spend an entire day walking thru the grounds instead of riding an electric car. There's no better way to savor the loveliness of this site.

Shandong revisited

I did not return to Jinan, Shandong Province, with enthusiasm. My last visit in 2004 left an impression of a dusty, cluttered city, not as polluted as Wuhan but without any charm or appeal. But, I had turned down an invitation since then, and one of my favorite students in now a Vice Dean of Shandong University, so I accepted the invitation to give a keynote presentation at the conference there. In fact, this is my first visit to China since this blog was started and I also wanted to have an opportunity to visit Qifu, the hometown of Confucius and take some photos.

Jinan appears to be permanently covered in a sheath of dust. Dust sits on roads, buildings, and roadside trees. The leaves look only vaguely green. The theory is that the region below the Yellow River (the Huang Ho) has a cloud of fine dust hanging over it. Another theory is that building construction and vehicles produce dust/pollution. The number of cars on the road has increased tremendously. In addition to the numerous VWs I saw on my previous visit, the roads were clogged with locally assembled Buicks, Toyotas, Nissans, Hondas, Suzukis, Skodas, and numerous local models. I even saw a Bentley. Thousands of motorcycles and scooters, with their polluting two-stroke engines, made the situation only worse. Bicycles appeared to be fewer in number.

Shandong University is large, with over 50,000 students. One attractive feature is the large number of birch trees that line the roads and which could also be seen all over campus. The above photo was taken by a student on a clear day. I wonder why all these trees, and the ones I saw along highways, are painted with a white band?

Any official visitor to China is soon inundated with banquets. On previous visits, I recall tables piled with meat and fish (vegetables weren't popular) and new dishes being brought even after the diners have stopped. This visit was no different, although two banquets were elegantly done, and there were more vegetarian dishes on display. The toasts can be endless. Wine is served sparingly and beer is drunk from wine glasses, which is a blessing because of the number of toasts. Tsingtao beer is brewed in Shandong, so large bottles of the brew kept appearing as the meals progressed. I wonder what happens to the leftover food? China has many poor people and wasting food would be criminal.

I had two wonderful surprises in Jinan. The first was the majestic Roman Catholic cathedral and the second was the lovely Lake Daminghu. I had missed both on my previous visit. This time, I saw the cathedral quite by accident on a visit to the old campus of the university. For the visit to the lake, I am indebted to Joanna, actually Mao Dan, my "shadow" during the visit. (More about her in the next blog entry.)

On the way to the cathedral, Joanna and I passed these old friends chatting on the sidewalk, happy together. Note the scooters they are using. A few years back, they would have been using bicycles. At the church square, we saw older men flying kites and spinning tops. The tops were nothing like the ones used by children and were noisy and appeared dangerous.

The first view of the cathedral comes as a shock because of its size, being probably larger than St. John's cathedral in Hong Kong. It's Roman Catholic, dedicated to the sacred Heart Of Jesus, and was built by an Austrian clergyman at the the turn of the 20th century. Begun in 1901 and completed in 1905. Qingdao, on the coast, was a German enclave around this time so their influence appears to have spread into the interior.The sky was overcast and I couldn't take a good photo, so Joanna sent me the following photo taken be her roommate a couple of years ago.

The cathedral appeared to serve as a backdrop for wedding photos, but inside, we found a lay preacher addressing an attentive group of people. The interior was somewhat bedraggled, but, considering the pollution and the shadowy place of Christianity in China, in fairly decent shape. I am sure it was desecrated by Red Guards. Now the cathedral is serene, a good place to meditate away from the chaos outside. The usual confessionals, altars, statues, candles were all in place.

The photo shows a closer view of the cathedral as it appeared on the afternoon I visited. I wonder how many visitors recognized the statue as that of Virgin Mary.

Christian churches survive at two levels in China. The recognized church, under the control of the Communist Party, appears to attract older people. The underground or "house" churches are increasingly drawing a younger congregation, especially university students and new graduates. These Christians are said to outnumber Communist Party membership. I recall Andrew (not his real name), a graduate student from Shandong who arrived at the Chinese University about 10 years ago. Soon after arrival, he drew me to a side to ask where he could attend Catholic mass in Hong Kong. Andrew must be an underground Catholic.

The fine Gothic architecture reminded of the Notre Dame in Paris.

That afternoon, Joanna took me to the lovely Lake Daminghu (Lake of Great Light), only a taxi ride away. This is a lake formed by natural springs, and is surely a welcome relief for the residents of Jinan. It covers a large area and is well served by footpaths and bridges, and lined with Weeping Willows. The numerous lotus plants appeared to be dead, this being Autumn, but, as the photo at the bottom of this entry shows, the flowers and the greenery must be a feast for the eyes in Summer. Thankfully, the surroundings have not been commercialized. Marco Polo had seen and commented favorably on the lake in the 13th century. This is a place where I could spend an entire afternoon, even a day. The cathedral and the lake are Jinan's saving grace.

Loaded with gifts, I left Jinan on an early morning flight, and was charged RMB68 for a tepid "latte" at the airport cafe. And I thought Starbucks was a ripoff.

Namala for sale

Six years ago, restless with a bulging bank balance, I invested in a small "eco-resort" in Dambulla, about a 3 hour drive from Colombo. Fawzia and I stayed a couple of nights there, were charmed by the quaint facilities and the friendly manager and staff, and ended up buying into a partnership. We didn't stop to check the accounts, the appliances, or the assets. An impulsive buy which never paid off . Sri Lanka's civil war was at a standstill then with another ceasefire, and tourism was limping along if not thriving. But, soon after we bought into the partnership, the ceasefire collapsed, bombs began to explode everywhere, and the few brave tourists who ventured into the Cultural Triangle virtually disappeared.

The manager Kanthi (not the one at Pondside with the same name) bravely kept the place going. None of the staff was fired, and when guests didn't show-up, the staff were diverted to cultivating vegetables and minor repairs of buildings. The Sri Lankan style curries were splendid as ever and we would visit for a few days each year, more to bolster the morale of the staff and to leave a generous tip which would be added to their service charge.

The civil war has now ended. Both the New York Times and the National Geographic gave Sri Lanka rave reviews in tourism earlier this year, and tourism is booming. In Kandy, above my house at Hantana, I visited a boutique hotel where rooms range from US$250 to $450 per night. Namala certainly isn't nowhere near that range but it needs a substantial investment in order to meet new demands and challenges. Having seen no returns in the past six years and needing to consolidate my assets now that I am retired, I realize that the only way to recover my investment is to sell Namala, and the other partners have agreed.

On a recent visit, I took these photos of Namala at dawn. There's 12 acres of land waiting for development and a great opportunity awaits the right investor. Running a tourist hotel is no easy task in Sri Lanka. The government imposes high taxes and tourist drivers and guides are abominable parasites, squeezing (small) hotel operators at every opportunity. But, at Namala, the pluses far outweigh the minuses. In Bali, I saw how charmingly small hotels could be run.

As for me, the lesson learned is that one does not have to buy a hotel to stay in it.

Three weeks in Sri Lanka

Pending retirement, I sent my furniture and appliances from Hong Kong to Pondside, and that was in February. The photo shows what the small living room in Pondside looks like, jammed with stuff. The two bedrooms, one recently built and with a floor area of 500+ sq. ft, haven't fared any better. So, works remains to be done.

My October stay at Pondside, except for some irritable developments, was pleasant. Rain had fallen ending an intense drought, so the land was green. The pond was filling up although it did not spill over. The effects of the drought could be seen on the cashew trees, where some buds and young leaves had dried up prematurely.

I slept in the large room built recently, often with the windows wide open. A breeze seemed to blow through constantly, and one moonlight night, I woke to find the garden bathed in light. At 5.30am sharp, prayers and hymns would blare thru loudspeakers, broadcast from the nearby St. Anne's Catholic church. My village is 90% Catholic but isn't particularly pious. At one time, it was infamous for moonshine production; burglaries, violent disputes over land ownership, spousal abuse, and drunkenness were common. I have met the parish priest, a youngish man who appeared to have some common sense. So the broadcasting of hymns and prayers comes as a surprise. Like me, many villagers probably wake up with a curse at the noise, and it certainly won't add to their religious fervor. The Buddhist temple, located on the fringe of the village, also began to broadcast chanting, but has been rather subdued recently, although I can hear the chants when the wind is blowing in my direction.

The church noise would stop about half an hour after it began but then my neighbors would begin their noise pollution, with amplifiers turned up at full volume going "dum, dum, dum ..." aimlessly. This is supposed to be music. Like in most places I visit (except Japan), noise at full volume appears to be part of life so my village hasn't escaped.

Because we would need more space after retirement, I extended a room and the kitchen at Pondside, while adding a small toilet and adding to the height of the water tank (to increase the water pressure. We pump from a well.) I now have a spacious bedroom with a nice deck where I sit, chatting with visitors, enjoying my breakfast, and doing nothing, especially late at night. An open deck is not a common concept in Sri Lanka, so I am never short of advice from visitors. Some insist that I put up a roof (to protect the wood), others advice me to concrete it over. After it's been there for nearly a year now, I think the idea that it's a place to relax is slowly dawning on the villagers.

The cost of renovation and construction has been staggering, coming to nearly US$20,000 (HK$160,000). This is an incredible amount in Sri Lanka, but not in my village. As I've written previously, many fellow villagers live and work in Italy, and like to flaunt their wealth by building mansions in Sri Lanka.

These are two examples of "Italian" houses in the village. First, a large parapet wall with an elaborately designed gate is built. A year or two pass by, and, as more cash is accumulated, the rest of the house comes into shape. These "Italians" are not in professional jobs, often working as housemaids, cooks, and caregivers to the elderly, and some even working as street vendors. Lacking intelligence or common sense, most of their earnings are dumped into building these mansions, which are, in the absence of owners and grown children (who reside in Italy), usually occupied by their elderly parents and spoiled children of school going age. Local contractors, masons, and carpenters are exploiting the situation to the full, overcharging for their work. Because they don't build according to architectural advice, the designs of these houses change according to the new styles that come along. (Bathroom fittings and other appliances are often brought from Italy.) So, as I learned, any type of building construction is extremely costly in my village, thanks to these "Italian" expats. Unfortunately, such houses are being build in other parts of Sri Lanka, too.

In retirement, I have decided to reduce the number of properties I won, so the house at Digana, 14 kms. from Kandy town, is on the market. Only Rs. 5.2 million, which translates to HK$360K. Any takers? (see below)

Kanthi, who takes care of Pondside, provided my meals. I went out and bought fresh fish and prawns from the beach, and she got the vegetables I like. For dinner, I walked over to cousin Marie's house, usually for a feed of hoppers, a thin, crispy, pancake like delicacy. The hoppers were not baked at home (the preparation is rather elaborate) but bought from a street vendor near the railway station. There's a saying in Sri Lanka which goes "selling like hot hoppers". I saw what that meant, with people lining up to buy the stuff every evening.

Hoppers. One is an egg hopper.

The street vendor. She was operating 4 burners, and may have cooked hundreds of hoppers every evening.

This is Tommy, the new dog at Pondside. Only 6 months old, and frisky. The senior dog, Tarzan, a born Romeo, had a habit of wandering off in search of female company, and would return after a couple of days sated but bruised from numerous fights with other male dogs. This time, two weeks after he left, Tarzan had not returned, so I may not see him again.

This is my cousin Chryshantha with his kids. He was in charge of my house renovation and construction. With his tall good looks, Chryshantha was chosen years ago to play the role of Christ in the Passion Play staged by villagers. The history of the village Passion Play needs to be told, but that'll have to be on another day.