Travels With A Tangerine: A Journey In The Footnotes Of Ibn Battutah

by Tim Mackintosh-Smith

I have to say it’s not a fast and easy read, but I am glad I did persevere to finish it. My first book to finish in 2009!

At moments the book does feel a bit repetitive, as the author visited one tomb after another, in unfamiliar places, of people I’ve never heard of (the maps in front were indispensable). He was following the 400-year-old footsteps of Ibn Battutah, the most famous Arabic traveller from Tangier (hence the Tangerine in the title – no other citrus was featured in the book). I am sure if I were more knowledgable about Middle Eastern culture and geography, I may find it more interesting; on the other hand, even were he to travel in search of European castles, Asian temples or Napa vineyards, things could still go stale after a while. What makes the book interesting was the human contact throughout his journey. Most of the people he met were friendly, easy-going, tolerant, cultured and generously hospitable. Incidentally, a few days ago I watched an Anthony Bourdain show, where he travelled to Saudi Arabia. His conclusion of his visit was in a similar tone, that he found the people open, generous and fun-loving, very different from the images we were usually shown or conditioned to conjour up.

The author is a scholarly traveller, and the amount of research he did about IB, his work and his period was evident. He did, however, write with a witty sense of humour. Not the laugh-out-loud type of J. Maarten Troost, but a subtle type that is more likely to joke at himself than his subjects.

Finding George Orwell in Burma

by Emma Larkin

Emma Larkin is the pseudonym for an American journalist born in Asia. She embarked on a journey to visit places in Burma, following the footsteps of the author George Orwell. George Orwell was stationed in Burma during his youth, his first post as an imperial policeman. Burma was an unpopular first choice for overseas posting, but was Orwell’s because of his family connections, his mother having grown up in Burma and part of the maternal family still living there.

In Burma (now Myanmar, although the new name is not recognized by opposing parties and minorities within the country), George Orwell was known more than an author though. He was known as “the prophet”, because his work, 1984 and Animal Farms, had eerily described the future of Burma, as the military took control, oppressed democracy and turned the country into a totalitarian regime who seriously repressing its citizen. Current residents feel that they are living through the story of 1984, where their every move and word is censored and reported.

Larkin travelled through Burma, to cities such as Mandalay and Rangoon. While many travellers see the poetic scenery and gentle people, a peaceful tropical paradise, (as a matter of fact, Burma used to be among the richest Asian countries and a major exporter of rice grown from its rich, delta soil) Larkin reported the undercurrent of oppression and hardship. She recorded some of the experience of ex-political prisoners and other freedom fighters, but the thickness of the air permiated the book: in conversations which ended mid-sentence, until a comment of food or weather brought the topic back on safer grounds; in mysteriously appeared men who suggested the author to retreat to her hotel; in the author’s growing paranoia: is the potted plant next to her coffee table bugged? Did someone steal her diary?

The quoted passages from George Orwell’s books echoed the present condition of the Burmese, as Larkin travelled in the seemingly timeless landscape, imagining Orwell’s life as she stood among the ruins of the colonial buildings. An excellent travelogue that capture the essence of the places she visited, interweaving fiction and fact, past and present. Well worth a read.

Expat: Women’s True Tales of Life Abroad

edited by by Christina Henry De Tessan

This is a nice selection of works, with different styles of writing and all sorts of places represented; from trendy Paris to boa-filled jungles and everything in between. (I was thinking of saying “all continents represented”, but then realized that somehow there is no homesick letter from South America, just Mexico and Berlize.)

My favorites are the Before and After Mexico, of a family uprooting themselves to move to a remote Mexican village for a break from the frenzied San Franciscan life. Watching Them Grow Up, of a mother noticing how different the child rearing philosophy is for her husband’s Eypgtian relatives: instead of raising a child, you sit back, relax, and watch them grow. Never-Nnever, a humorous growing up story of a child being teased for being a Yank in Australia, then suffered through the pains again when the family returns to America. Desperately, she wrote to the Australian Embassy in hope that she can go “home”. A Mediterranean Thanksgiving, Take Two, is a woman’s attempt to cook a Thanksgiving dinner in France. Her guests were overwhelmed, not by the quantity of food, but by how all dishes are served together and everything heaped onto one plate, rather than an endless meal of one course after another.

The book reminds me of one episode. Once on vacation visiting my parents back home, my mom asked my husband and I to prepare a salad as part of a feast. On the assumption that Americans eat salads and that we are sort of vegetarians (she once lamented, If you haven’t gone to America, you won’t have become vegetarian!! in her belief that no one, fed on her excellent cooking, could have turned against meat.)

So we thought we had an easy task until we get to the supermarket (one supposedly caters to foreigners). We couldn’t find white mushroom! I held up a fresh shiitake, but my husband insisted it won’t work. Even vegetables by the same name look different. Pampered by aisles of selection, I was shocked to find only Kraft Thousand Island and Miracle Whip for dressings. I wandered all over the supermarket, hoping to find one lone can of olive misplaced somewhere… And I realize that, after spending half of my life each in two different countries, I have became a perpetual expat, a sucker forever paying outrageous price for that taste of a home half a world away.

The River at the Centre of the World

by Simon Winchester

First of all, the way I came across this book was something of, if not a miracle, an amazing serendipity.

I learnt of this book at a swap on Book Obsessed, and decided to wishlist it. However, on Bookmooch, I guess I clicked on I HAVE IT instead of I WANT IT, so the next thing I know, another moocher requested the book.  How embarassing to have to reject the request and explain the situation.

Then, a few hours later, I was volunteering at the library, packing donated books for the booksale, when a sorter came by and put down a book with the comment, hmm, this one looks interesting. And it’s The River at the Centre of the World!! Unbelievable!  What’s more, I am in charge of paperback fiction, and this book technically belongs to travel. If she had routed it to the correct box I may never have seen it.

The moment I decided I like this book came when I read the writer’s observations in Shanghai.  He saw a Chinese navy ship, and commented on how leisurely the navy walked around on board, with lines of clothes hung to dry… and in general how it seemed inconceivable that China would militarily threaten the world.  He then went on to say that, Chinese afterall invented gun power, but did not put it to much use except for fireworks.  I went aha, that is exactly what I always thought.  Chinese people invented gun power but are now known in the world for making firework displays.  They put out a big envoy of navy, went all the way to Africa, and brought back…giraffe!!!  Not to say that Chinese are exactly a peace loving, gentle breed, but then for the record, over the long historical timeline, they did not invade Japan, their close neighbor, but Japan set her troops onto the country during WWII.

The writer has keen observations, and I like his stance that he neither looked down nor worshipped the country he visited.  The exchange between him, a gentleman from the Royal British Empire, and his companion Lily, a woman grew up on Chinese communist ideology, while heated at times, proves interesting and contrasting. 

Very well researched, entertaining and informative.  I love this book a lot.

The Obsessive Traveller

by David Dale

This book is a pure delight! I kept reading passages to share with my husband.  Some of my favorites:

(on cuisines from different countries) “The English don’t see any point in trying. The Americans try very hard… The fundamental culinary principle here is: nothing succeeds like excess.”

(on different tour guides) “Let’s Go tells you how to avoid bad drugs and where to find a hamburger in countries that don’t serve them.”

(on the search for a White Christmas for a guy born on the wrong hemisphere) “Manhattan does a highly satisfying real Christmas, but there is one vital detail to remember: you can’t call it Christmas.  You must wish people only “happy holidays” or “compliments of the season” to avoid making the arrogant assumption that Christianity is any more important than the other religions followed by large segments of the city’s population.”

“In 1756 M. Boulangerm who sold very good soup in his Dining Room in Paris, put up a board outside which said Venite ad me; vos qui stomacho laboratis et ego restaurabo vos (Come to me, those with laboured stomachs and I will restore you).  M. Boulanger’s soup became known as a restaurant (restorative) and the word came to be applied to the establishment itself and finally to any Dining Room which provided high quality food.”

Rather than a travelogue in chronological manner, Dale compares notes on various topics (waiters, museums, public transportation, etc.) drawn from his extensive travel (mostly to Europe and U.S.)  It is an interesting perspective to read a travel book by an Australian writer, and I definitely hope for a chance to read more of Dale’s work.

Learning to Bow: Inside the Heart of Japan

by Bruce Feiler

Another excellent book that I won’t have come across were it not for BookCrossing. 

I thought I know a bit about Japanese school system from all the mangas I read, but this book is so educating!  It delves from the funny, such as Bruce’s not-too-auspicious nampa adventures (concerns that Bruce is too “big” for Japanese women), to the thought-provoking, such as the little-known caste of burakumin and the conflict between the inaka and the metropolis. 

I also garnered interesting facts such as the perfect lenghth of chopsticks (15% of your height), and that Japanese school days are a whooping 60 days longer than American school days.

The book provides an excellent insight into the heart of Japanese culture. Certainly there are pros and cons for both school systems, the two are probably as far apart as can be among industrialized nations.  From the education of children, you can see the big picture of the national identity, business practice and the possible future of the countries.

The book is however a bit dated.  I didn’t have a clue how old it is until I came across pop culture references like Hikari Genji that are, in terms of pop culture, two generations ancient.  I don’t know how much things have changed, but certainly students are still required to clean the classrooms, hazing and suicide is still going on, and cramming for entrance exams still very much part of a student’s life.  Therefore, while the popstars are stars no more, the observations made and messages conveyed still hold true.

A Cook’s Tour

by Anthony Bourdain

This is my first Bourdain book and I enjoyed it tremedously.  (I gave him lots of bonus points for professing his love for durian, but had them all deducted for his rabbit killing spree and vegetarian bashing…) 

Like an excellent dish, the book is craftily prepared: colorful, flavorful, authentic, with complex layers of tastes, slightly exotic, teasing you to indulge in forkful after forkful. I wonder if Bourdain has a ghost writer.  Otherwise, his talent with pen certainly matches the one with pan!

Bourdain is not shy about exposing his intimate thoughts and feelings, which makes this travelogue and food guide that much more entertaining.  Very often, he would start talking about a dish, a cuisine, and then it will delve deeper.  Like when he visited France, in the end he realized that he didn’t go there to look for the perfect meal.  He didn’t go there to look for his childhood home. He went to look for his father, who was no longer there, or anywhere.   Similarly, his visit to Cambodia unleashed some very strong comments about US foreign policy.

Something I find weird about the book though – it looks like the editor hit a shuffle play button on his computer.  The chapters hop around, from Portugal to Vietnam to Spain to Japan then to Vietnam and Japan again… Not that it matters much as each chapter pretty much stands along, just kind of weird.

Namma – A Tibetan Love Story

by Kate Karko

My first book to finish in 2007. : )

I can’t help comparing it to The White Masai and notice the difference of the two protoganists beyond the similarity of their exotic marriages. For starter, by page 3 of the prologue, the dating is over and the couple is married, whereas in TWM, a good portion of the story was spent on the chase.

Kate Karko is, by comparison, more observative and reflective, delving deeper into the nature of the people she spent time with – their social structure, the effect of modernization and sinonization, their spiritual belief and so forth, from her unique position as both an insider and outsider. The life she painted is quieter and deeper, the dramas less exciting, whereas in TWM the plot pulls you. This gets me wondering, at this risk of sounding stereotyping, whether their natures draw them to the guys, the cultures, they fall for.

This Tibetan Love Story is more about love for
Tibet, its land and its people, rather than for one Tibetan.

Tsedup, Kate’s husband, made an interesting comment. Kate’s friends from
England came for a visit, and at the end of the day, she commented that it was a good day. Tsedup said that the westerners always like to measure their days. His words got me thinking. Maybe because we measure the days, we are depressed by the sad ones, and become overwhelmed by the need to make each day a happy one? How do we not measure the days and still be immersed in life’s experience?

One common experience in both stories saddens me though: in both places, the husband, as a native tribeman, was discriminated against when he tried to enter a premise reserved for rich foreign visitors.