I’ve been writing in this space for a past 8 months or so and it’s time to move to a new domain. Better still, it’s time to move to my very own domain.

Thanks for a support these few months, and I do hope you’ll continue to support me in my new space here:

wanderfolly.com

I haven’t been in this space for a couple of weeks now, but I thought I’d start the new year well by sharing these photographs of how I spent the past year.

Presenting, my 2010 in 25 photos:

This post will also be my second last here. Thank you for reading these past 7 months. But I’m not dropping off the face of this earth! I’m simply moving. So watch out for my last post as I finally reveal my new home.

Thank you 2010. You were absolutely fantastic. Now, I wonder what my 2011 would look like?

Monkey see monkey do

It was a wet afternoon at the Akechidaira plateau. I was walking about alone trying to catch a glimpse of the famed Lake Chuzenji and Kejon Waterfall and saw neither; it was too foggy and could barely see anything 10 metres in front of me. Seeing how I had wasted my time and money making the trip up to the plateau, I headed to the bus station to take the next bus back down to the city centre of Nikko.

There was no one else around, save for one person who was manning the visitor centre booth. Or so I thought.

I heard a scream and saw two tourists, about the same age as I, running. After a few metres, they stopped, turned around and whipped out their cameras and began snapping. There they were, a family of five Japanese macaques.

What follows was the second smallest one (not pictured here) chasing and scaring the sh*t out of the three of us. The other four did not bother much about us, thankfully. I would not have wanted to leave Nikko mauled. Here’s the father macaque and youngest macaque standing by the side of the bridge we were on, staring out into the distance. The cutest sight ever. Would not have been too cute if they did chase us too though.

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Every photograph we take contains a story, but we often do not spend enough time sharing that story with others. Hence, Foto Friday was born to give some recognition to these forgotten photographs and the memories they hold. Taken over many trips (2004-present) using my crappy cameras and whatever minimal photography skills I have, these photographs serve to give you a little insight into my travels. And if you haven’t realised by now, they’ll be out on Fridays.

The Vain Swan

We were sitting by a pond in the middle of the city watching the swans and ducks swim about as we waited for our turn to go for the Hamburg Rathaus (City Hall) English tour. Occasionally, some passersby would stop by the pond and feed the birds some pieces of bread. This swan, probably upon seeing that it was getting quite an audience, decided to strike a ‘pose’ for us.

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Every photograph we take contains a story, but we often do not spend enough time sharing that story with others. Hence, Foto Friday was born to give some recognition to these forgotten photographs and the memories they hold. Taken over many trips (2004-present) using my crappy cameras and whatever minimal photography skills I have, these photographs serve to give you a little insight into my travels. And if you haven’t realised by now, they’ll be out on Fridays.

Tibetan grandfather and grandson

We had taken a stop at a tsampa (barley flour) mill when we met this Tibetan grandfather and grandson waiting by the side of the road for someone to stop and bring them to their destination. A few vehicles passed by and none ever stopped to give them a ride. I can’t recall where they were going to exactly but they were headed in the same direction as we were. My friend asked our guide (it’s mandatory for foreigners to hire a guide and a bus/van when travelling in Tibet) whether they could join us on the bus, but our guide said no, explaining that tourist vehicles were not allowed to pick up locals. When we left, the Tibetan grandfather and grandson were still standing there waiting for a kind soul to pick them up. I wonder whether they ever managed to hitch a ride.

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Every photograph we take contains a story, but we often do not spend enough time sharing that story with others. Hence, Foto Friday was born to give some recognition to these forgotten photographs and the memories they hold. Taken over many trips (2004-present) using my crappy cameras and whatever minimal photography skills I have, these photographs serve to give you a little insight into my travels. And if you haven’t realised by now, they’ll be out on Fridays.

We’re in a two metre deep pit, with an archaeology trowel in one hand and a dust pan in the other, ready to attack the one metre pile of dirt in front of us. We had already dug through 30centimetres worth of gravel – made up of cement and sand I believe – and barely found anything save for an occasional piece of ceremic n some old plaster. I learn that the section I was digging was not old, probably not more than a few decades old since it was previously dug up for telephone line laying purposes.

Dust pan and archaeology trowel

Another volunteer hard at work. Notice the grey band? That's the 30 cm gravel we had to dig through.

Some of the things we found

One of the two pits we were working on that day

Undug portions of the area

With me for company was a First Year Arts student from a local university. Other volunteers included an Archaeology exchange student from Australia, a recent graduate from a local polytechnic  who was interested in taking up Southeast Asian Studies at a local university, and some members of “Southeast Asian archaeology” I believe. One volunteer had even taken two weeks of leave off work to be part of this meaningful exercise. Another man had stumbled upon the site, walked in for a chat, and for the next one to two hours began digging away.

Some of the volunteers

This group of people have been at this for a couple of days, while this was the first time I was joining them. My back was starting to ache, and my hands were cramping up from the constant digging, while my fingers were starting to blister due to the roughness of the gloves against the skin. I begin to wonder how they could do this everyday without a rest day.  I look around and see two volunteers digging and chatting at the same time, completely unperturbed that their clothes were gradually becoming a shade of soil-brown. I look down at my own clothes, and saw that it was still as good as new. “I must not be working hard enough,” I thought to myself.

Soiled gloves

As I continue to dig, I imagine a whole pit full of 14th century vases waiting for me to discover them. It has always been a childhood dream to become an archaeologist but I’ve never found the means to becoming one, especially not in Singapore. I’ve always dreamed of ‘hanging out’ with King Tut and his ‘mummy’ friends, as well as sweeping 2,000 year old Vesuvius-ian ash off the perfectly preserved bodies of Pompeii; digging here in between two of urban Singapore’s oldest buildings – the Former Supreme Court and the Old City Hall –  is the closest I’ve ever been to becoming an archaeologist, and probably the closest I’ll ever be.

The Archaeology site

After six hours of digging an approximate 2 by 1 by 1 metre space, this was all that was found:

The Find

Some rusted nails and bolts, blue and white European/Chinese ceramic pieces (could not be identified at that time), Fourteenth century water jugs, celedon pieces, a mouth-blown glass bottle mouth piece, Twentieth century machine-made glass bottle pieces. Not a lot for a day’s work, but still giving a little insight into the life of present, colonial, and Temasek (pre-Raffles) Singapore.

This is the actual sand of Singapore's beach of the past. Legend says that Sang Nila Utama was allured by the white beaches of Singapore at that time. The City Hall area has been built on top of this old beach. Thanks Chen for the mini History lesson.

Stratification of the soil. The area of the left is the "untouched" land of Singapore. The bottom-most is the old beach, the middle, soil that was placed on the beach when land was being build, and the above band, rocks that were placed for foundation for the roads. The right side is an area that had once been dug up to place piping.

More artefacts found

The green shards are pieces of celedon ware

It was fulfilling one day of digging and playing archaeologist. If you want to join in to help Singapore understand her past better, you can contact Chen (shien[at]seaarchaeology[dot]com) with your name,contact number n available timings. The dig goes on till 30 Nov (0930-1830 everyday, rain or shine, save for Mondays). For more information on the archaeological happenings in Singapore and on this dig click here and here respectively. I’ll be there again next Sunday (14 Nov) if you would care to join me.

We stayed at the Lige area of Lugu Lake. Most travellers tend to stay at the LuoShui area of Lugu Lake, but we were advised not to stay there as it is highly commercialised. Lige, however, is increasingly becoming very commercialised as well.

Let’s just let the photos do the talking here:

The view of the Lige area of Lugu Lake

水性杨花 (Shui Xing Yang Hua), the name of this flower and a term used to describe a woman's infidelity

Can you spot the Lugu Ness monster?

There. The Lugu Ness Monster. ie: a really small snake.

Locals barbecuing

My attempt at playing boat woman. It's very hard work.

My friend, HX playing with some of the local kids

Dinner with our Israeli friends

Here's a Labradoodle (Labrador + Poodle. Not sure how that came about). There were two in the hostel we stayed at. One was free to roam around, but this one was chained. Reason according to the hostel owner? He's not "honest" and likely go around to partake in "walking marriages"

Photo credits: Thanks to Seng for some of the photos. Your photographic skills do the place more justice.

Leaving Lijang Gu Cheng (Lijiang Old Town) and a 7-hour bumpy bus ride after, we arrived in Lugu Hu (Lugu Lake). Lugu Lake was not like what everyone had raved about. Translucent blue waters and clear cloudless skies? Neither of these was present. What we were treated to instead were dark waters, which only reflected the state of the skies – gloomy, grey and cloudy. We stayed for two days (not by choice, rather because we could not get a seat on the next day’s bus) walking around doing nothing much.  We had wanted to cycle around the lake, but changed our minds when we found out that not only was the lake’s circumference 53 kilometres, the route was an undulating tarred road we had to share with vehicles that passed through the area. That said, the two days spent at Lugu Lake were no less fulfilling and enjoyable for a couple of reasons – the company and the mini history lesson I received.

Lugu Lake is located in the North West region of Yunnan Province. The villages surrounding the lake are home to various ethnic minorities, including the Mosuo people (some 20,000 of them stay in this area). Now, one of the most fascinating aspects about the Mosuo people is that they are probably the only (or at least one of the very few) matriarchal societies that still exist in the entire world.

A bit of a history and culture lesson:

The Matriarchal Society

In Mosuo society, children are under the custody of their mothers, take their mothers’ surnames, and live in their mother’s household. One woman, the “grandmother”, though not necessarily the oldest of her generation, but the strongest, will become the head of the household. In short, the women in the family run the show.

We went to a local's house. This lady introduced herself as "the future head of the household"

So what then do the men do? To quote what a Mosuo man, whom we met who told us stories on the Mosuo culture, said:

“In the Mosuo culture, it is the women’s world, but it’s the men’s paradise.”

Men have no say in the household, but they do have to go out and work, though I’m not too sure what work they have to do. They do not have to manage their children, although they are very much part of their children’s lives. They have no say in their own household, neither do they have a say in their “wives” household. They have no part in the kitchen or in managing finances. Isn’t this then, as the local said, “men’s paradise”?

A Mosuo village

A typical Mosuo house

The Interior of a Mosuo Household

A Mosuo feast

The Walking Marriage

Another interesting fact is that the Mosuo society does not subscribe to a system of marriage that we’re used to – man and woman marry; woman moves into man’s household; man are the head of the household. Instead, the Mosuo man and Mosuo women do not marry and believe in a “walking marriage”.

Picture this: A Mosuo woman at coming-of-age (13 years old) gets her own room. She meets a suitor and if he’s interested, he will go to her room at night, and hang his hat outside the door to indicate that someone is in her room. He must then leave by the morning. This happens every night during their courtship. The day the man is no longer interested in the woman, he will not show up. The day the woman is no longer interested in the man, she closes the door and does not allow him to enter. As simple as that. Hence the term “walking marriage” was borne from the action of the man walking to his partner’s room every night and leaving in the morning.

This may sound like the optimum setting for promiscuity, but in actual fact, apparently some 90% or so Mosuo people stay faithful to their partners once their relationship has been stabilised.

Mosuo women (and one Mosuo man) in their traditional outfits in some touristy dance event we attended.

The History

Historically, the Mosuo people became a matriarchal society as a means of survival. To cut the long story short, every person in the Mosuo household, which typically has 10-20 people (sometimes more), has a role. In the event of a union between man and woman in the Mosuo culture, or rather the stabilising of a relationship since the idea of “marriage” does not exist, neither man nor woman will leave the household. This means that each household will not lose a particular role overnight and will remain strong in numbers in the face of adversity. Many centuries later, this culture remains almost the same.

An old Mosuo woman sitting by Lugu Lake

Those are three pigs deboned and preserved for future consumption, a tradition in a Mosuo household

Some local Mosuo kids we met when exploring the area

I had first heard of the Mosuo people in a documentary I had chanced upon on TV some years back and was most intrigued by its culture and the idea of “walking marriage”. Having known of their existence, it was most insightful for me to get a taste of  the Mosuo culture, interact with actual Mosuo people and see their stories come to life.

And here’s one ethnic minority group in China slightly better understood. Now another 54 to go.

Photo credits: Thanks to Seng for some of the photos. Your photographic skills do the place more justice.

Can anything be better than watching a play facing the Atlantic Ocean on seats carved by hand?

I sat down on these hard rock “seats” and waited for the modern version of Shakespeare’s “Comedy of Errors” to begin. It was a summer day’s evening and the Minack Theatre was quickly filling up with other theatre-goers. In front of us was a small stage, and behind that stage, the Atlantic Ocean as the backdrop.

I was unfamiliar with this Shakespearean play, but felt that it was indeed entertaining and worth the watch. However, the main purpose of my visit there was not to watch the play, but to just be there, sitting on a “seat” of this magnificent work of art, this theatre on a cliff carved by hand by just one woman. Her name was Rowena Cade.

Cade began work on the Minack Theatre in 1932 and worked on it till her passing in 1983. From a simple garden, which was originally Cade’s backyard, the area evolved into a full outdoor theatre with seats and a stage. Patrons from around the country would travel down south to Cornwall during the summer to catch a glimpse of this theatre and the plays that were performed there. Almost eight decades after the first stone was laid, I, a foreigner, was there too, embracing the hard work, blood and sweat that the remarkable Cade had put into constructing this impressive piece of work.

You can read the whole history of the Minack Theatre here.

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Every photograph we take contains a story, but we often do not spend enough time sharing that story with others. Hence, Foto Friday was born to give some recognition to these forgotten photographs and the memories they hold. Taken over many trips (2004-present) using my crappy cameras and whatever minimal photography skills I have, these photographs serve to give you a little insight into my travels. And if you haven’t realised by now, they’ll be out on Fridays.