A Detour to The Tour

My world here is a huge contrast to the one I just left. Gone are the blue skies and the blue sea from my hotel window in Tanjong Bungah. I had promised myself to leave my footprints on the golden sand just a few steps from the hotel lobby but it was a promise I did not keep. The beach, ok, ok, maybe it’s not so golden, will always be there, I told myself as I dashed into the grab car at the unearthly hour of six o’clock on my last morning in Penang to catch the flight to Hanoi. I should have cancelled the remainder of my holiday and rushed back home but the thought of going back to grey skies and dead leaves on slippery ground in July didn’t appeal; neither did the idea of swapping my sandals and shorts for thick blankets and long dark nights. Ten o’clock in Penang is still early in the night when suppertime means choosing from uncountable choices such as oyster omelette aw chian, skinny satay sticks of goat, beef and chicken – why no pork? I asked the Malay guy, barbeque chicken wings basted in golden juices, and to finish with Penang char koay teow and Hokkien mee or going for a seafood spread of balitong, mud crabs, clams and grilled fish instead. Contrast that to a typical scene in Adelaide where ten o’clock means dozing off in front of the TV under a thick blanket. Rush home to Adelaide? I would have to be insane to do that.

The disciplinarian in me demanded that I cut short my holiday and go home. I had been handed a thick folder of music to learn by my former violin teacher, Dato’ Woon Wen Kin and I felt I should immediately drop everything and start learning the music quickly. The evergreen Dato’ Woon had carved his name in Malaysian history with his amazing contribution to classical music over the past five decades. When he returned from the UK with his degree in violin performance in the late 60s, the country was absent of a philharmonic orchestra apart from the RTM Orchestra in Kuala Lumpur. My eldest sister also returned from the UK around the same time but as a pianist and a budding cellist. Her cello captured my imagination. Even as a young boy, I was attracted to the idea of hugging a curvaceous body which her cello was that and more, with its mellow silky voice, a slender and long neck and a carved German scroll. Yes, not Italian and therefore not so fine. But, she talked me out of learning the cello. There wasn’t a half-size cello in Penang then and more critically, there was no cello teacher to teach me. So, I began my violin lessons with Mr Woon instead. I have called him Mr Woon since I was nine years old, so please forgive me if you think I am rude not to call him by his lofty title. I would have attained AMEB Grade 5 by the time he formed the Penang Symphony Orchestra (PSO). As a young teenager, I judged my teacher harshly and wrongly for venturing into teaching other instruments in the early 70s. How could a violin teacher teach brass and wind instruments, right? He also taught viola and cello but apart from learning to read music in different clefs, the concept of playing the other stringed instruments would not differ much, or so I thought. It seemed to me then that he compromised on his professional integrity. Today, I fully understand why he did that. He had no choice but to do that! It was the only way to create enough players to form an orchestra in Penang in the early 70s. So, bravo to Mr Woon! He deserves all the accolades he has received over his long career and more. Today, the 86-year-old maestro is still making great music and recently conducted an orchestra in Taiwan.

I was in Penang for a school reunion and finally honoured a long ago promise I made to my kids’ cello teacher, Mr Janis Laurs, to show him why Penang is famous as the world’s street food paradise. The cost of doing that was a five kg addition to my waistline in the six-day spree. Cellists are a different breed from violinists. They are collegial whereas violinists tend to keep to themselves like sopranos do. So, Mr Laurs did not disappoint and asked me to arrange a meet-up with cellists in Penang. Who could I turn to but of course, to my former violin teacher whom I had not met since I left my hometown in ’77. Mr Woon said to meet us in our hotel lobby. So, I got down there early, too early and waited and waited and waited. I could not forgive myself if I turned up late and found out that the great man was looking for me. I did not expect Mr Woon would have so many doppelgängers though. Remember, I had not seen him for exactly FIFTY years! Besides, I wasn’t sure he would recognise me, now a 65-year-old cranky old fart, as some of my friends would call me . Before he arrived, I had already approached two frail old men at the hotel lobby. One of them wore a white mask that hid most of his wan and grey face but I was sure he had the same big expressive eyes of Mr Woon’s.

“Er, Mr Woon?” I asked the elderly man.

He shook his head once and shuffled away, looking lost and obviously was waiting for someone or something. Hunched and with just a few white strands on his head, he wore a crumply old polo shirt that hung untidily over his un-ironed beige cargo pants. His thin frame and unsteady gait wandering aimlessly in the lobby persuaded me to ask him one more time. I walked towards him with obvious intent to prove he was Mr Woon.

“Hi there, Mr Woon!” I asked him, this time purposely loudly and joyfully.

“No!” he growled from behind his white mask and glared at me with his big expressive eyes.

Alright, he is definitely not Mr Woon, I told myself. The only time Mr Woon growled at me was when I did not practise enough for a lesson, but his growl was higher in pitch than this man’s.

Soon after, I broke into a happy smile when I saw Nen Kin got out of a car. She is my eldest sister’s best friend, Mr Woon’s sister. And then, I saw Mr Woon. Still elegant, still professorial in a loose khaki jacket, he walked towards me with wide open arms and a beaming smile. The maestro looked great with a prosperous nose that took attention away from his receding hairline.

“Mr Woon!” I called out gleefully and gave him a big hug before introducing Mr Laurs to the siblings. The evening was filled with a continuous flow of wine and beers and amidst the laughter and joy, the convivial conversations never deviated from music and precious memories of bygone years of old Penang and its orchestral heritage. It was this same gleeful joy that I experienced in my few years at the PSO as a young teenager that made me suggest to my new bride whom I married in ’81 that should we be blessed with children, that they be given the same opportunity to play in their school orchestras.

Guess what, as a founding player of the PSO, I have benefits that I was unaware of. Mr Woon invited me to join his orchestra to tour China this September! The PSO will be performing in three cities apparently – Guangzhou, Shenzhen and Xiamen.

“What?” I asked, not feigning panic in the way I questioned him.

“That’s in just SIX weeks’ time!” I exclaimed, with delight in my voice but also with inner trepidation of the challenge to be ready to perform in such a short time. After all, I did not pick up my violin for 49 years and it was only when I turned 64 that I held a violin again. So, it was not so long ago that I played like a church mouse in my local orchestra in Burnside.

The programme, although less challenging than playing a big symphonic work or a concerto, is still demanding nevertheless. I will have to apply myself a few hours every day to learn the music for First Violins quickly and then get up to speed. The pieces include Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld Overture, Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Pas De Deux, Chopin Polonaise No.1, Grieg Hochzeitstag Auf Troldhaugen No. 6, de Abreu’s Tico Tico, Tchaikovsky Swan Lake No.1 Scene, and a suite of traditional Malay dance music.

Last season, I proved to myself that with steadfast dedication and proper application, I can be a useful player in the second violin section. After all, my repertoire now include Wagner’s Lonhengrin Act III, Beethoven’s Piano Concert No. 5 and his Eroica Symphony No. 3, Rossini William Tell Overture, Dvorak Cello Concerto, Prokofiev Symphony No. 5 (fiendishly difficult but I managed to play all the notes), Liszt Piano Concerto No. 2 and Sibelius’s gorgeous Symphony No. 2.

So, should I have cancelled the rest of my holiday? Hanoi beckoned and after that, nine days in Singapore with my twin sons. A rare family reunion not to be missed. So, guided by Lao Tzu’s wise words, I decided to take the detour to the tour and not rush home to practise. I hope I made the right decision! China, here I come, ready or not, with my violin!

If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading

Lao Tzu

Five Days in Hanoi.

Our first night at the Hanoi Old Quarter was a memorable one – the Foodie Tour gave us a great sample of the best local foods in Hanoi including Banh Cuon, Bun Ca at Hang Gai and pho bo (be sure to pronounce it carefully, ‘fur’ not ‘for’, the latter meaning whore) but before that, we worked out a huge appetite with the Old Quarter Walking Tour soaking in the vibes and sights of 13th century architecture such as St Joseph’s Cathedral and Hang Trong Temple. We ended our first night with an hour’s ride on a rickshaw to our hotel, the luxurious Apricot Hotel by Hoan Kiem lake.

Day Two.

If you are not sure of winning, don’t fight

Ho Chi Minh

First stop was at the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum where we learned so much about the history of Vietnam especially under French rule for 95 years and after that, the war between the US Empire and the Viet Congs. President Ho Chi Minh’s famous words lingered long in my memory. We visited his lovely timber house on stilts, a Tay tribe architecture. Later, we asked Tai, our tour guide to add a brief tour to a lacquer factory, so impressed were we with the lavish lacquer work in the house. Tai accommodated our extra request with a pleasant smile. He was great!
We finished the morning visiting the One Pillar Pagoda.

Food Glorious Food!
We were treated to a sumptuous lunch at Chaha Thang Long in Cua Dong, a Michelin Star lunch of fried fish wrapped in vermicelli and herbs. It was a massive lunch which we partook and had to walk off the extra calories at the Temple of Literature. For afternoon tea, we stopped by at Dien Bien / Hang Bong and waited for the local train to pass us by! I did not expect the train to be travelling so close to my face! After that, we went to find real coffee, in fact real coffee with three egg yolks at Cafe Dinh in Hang Bac.
Dinner was another Michelin Star experience at Hang Bac, Quán Thánh. Unfortunately, we forgot to note down the name of the fabulous restaurant where from our table, we admired the stunning views of Hoan Kiem lake.

Day Three.
The typhoon arrived on the day we were scheduled to cruise Ha Long Bay! We spent a day, somewhat crestfallen at first but eventually, we warmed to the charms of the two hour journey through the lush countryside to the south of the Red River delta to Ninh Binh province. The sampan ride was tranquil and serene, no less beautiful than Ha Long Bay, and we could even boast to have visited an ancient temple at Truong Yen and a bird sanctuary at Thung Nham Bird Park. At the bird park, a group of local tourists ignored the many signs that dotted the river system to be quiet and cackled away like happy kookaburras despite our best efforts to hush them up. It was clear we were more annoyed than the birds. A fabulous lunch at Nha Hang Truong An Restaurant managed to smooth our ruffled feathers.
Dinner was average at Toan An, a local restaurant in Ninh Binh. Tai misunderstood us when we requested a good “local” dinner. He thought we wanted a dinner that local people normally have, but the beef was tough, the chicken tasteless, and the only dish we finished was the stir fried veggies. The local hotel was resort-like, a good replacement for the overnight cruise that we missed out at Lan Ha Bay.

Day Four.
Food Glorious Food (again)!
We returned to the Old Quarter for our last day in Hanoi. After checking into the Apricot Hotel again, we were feeling famished. Tai recommended The East Restaurant – taste of Indochine, and I must say, Tai knows the best restaurants in Hanoi! He surprised us with a wonderful, complimentary Michelin star dinner for his misunderstanding the previous night. The Viet Rice Essence has to rank as one of the best restaurants that we have ever enjoyed, a culinary experience to brag about, actually.

Day Five.
Sadly, we had to bid Hanoi goodbye. But, we promised ourselves we would be back as we looked out of the window of our VietJet plane.

Clowns in Singapore.

The detour to the China Tour continued for another nine days in Singapore. There, I made a fool of myself when I was alarmed at a big blob of dried bird poo on the roof of my son’s Mini. I proceeded to check if I could scrape it off with ease.

“Ba, that’s not my car,” my son said with some embarrassment as he looked at the car’s owner who had rushed towards us.

But, I was not the only one to be clownish. It happened to The Mrs also. Struggling with the Singapore humidity and heat, she got inside the car with both her hands clutching at the bags of fruits and veggies only to discover that the man sitting in the driver’s seat was not our son. She too had assumed the Mini was his. I think I should advise our son to get a less common car the next time we visit him.

The Mrs’ sister didn’t fare too well either. I suggested to my son that he wasn’t fair to his beautiful Ranchu goldfish.

“It’s cruel to put him in solitary confinement,” I said.

“But, there’s the little neon tetra to keep him company,” he countered. I kept silent, knowing I had said too much already.

The following day, he took us to the aquarium shop nearby. I knew I had pricked his mind enough to find a friend for his Ranchu. Life is too short to live alone, right? So, with some excitement, we went shopping for another goldfish, maybe another Ranchu or Oranda or Ryukin, I thought. I tagged along, marvelling at the cheap prices of such exotic fish and water plants. I had my heart set on a beautiful Oranda with a perfect shape and a big redcap on a snow white body. Let him choose his own fish, I thought to myself. Whichever he chooses will be nice, anyway. He had his twin brother with him. The two of them always choose the best of everything or so I believed. Anyway, when we arrived home, he said he had let his aunt decide for him instead. What we released into his aquarium that day were two silver-white koi fish. We all knew that koi thrive only in big ponds yet for some unfathomable reason, she had decided that morning that koi fish was goldfish. Three clowns all in one house, sorry, guys. Luckily, we did not stay long in Singapore.