Ching Ming

Paying respect en masse

Humidity hangs over the cemetery like a tent, trapping under it hordes of people squeezing by each other, snaking their way through the maze of plaques and urns, vainly looking for the little picture on the wall that looks familiar. Eyes are tearing through the haze of incense smoke, the buzz of muttered prayer worms its way past the layer of prespiration to run a chill down my back.

It has been a long walk from where the taxi dropped us off, to where we are now, and we're still not there. My aunt has a tissue over her nose, my 10-year-old cousin is coughing from the smoke.

The ones who have found their destination bring out their offerings - a conucorpia ranging from little bunches of flowers to a whole haunch of roast suckling pig. The ones whose family members have travelled far, kill two birds with one stone and hold their reunion meal by the graves, bringing out the paper plates, plastic cutlery, complete with the cleaver and chopping board for the roast. Aunts and uncles and cousins munch away at the spread placed before the gravestones, chatting and reminiscing, accompanied by the ghosts of relations from time past. A chilling yet somewhat tender tableau.

This is Ching Ming, the day of paying respect to the dead. Tomb-sweeping is also an integral part of this ritual. We were looking for my grandfather, my aunt, and my cousin. Their placques were high on the wall, Hong Kong having run out of space long ago to have more burial plots. Squeezing by the others to gently touch the placques, remembering my grandfather's name again, we moved back to give the thousands other placques on the wall their chance. In lieu of tombsweeping, the uncles take out some clothes to wipe grime and dirt off the placque, and scotchtaped little bunches of flowers next to the name of the dead.

We shuffled back further, and take turns to bow 3 times, ignoring the people snaking their way in front of us to get to one of the thousands of walls of ashes ahead.

After the hasty bows, we walk away from Unit 417, Block G, Area 6 of Diamond Hill cemetery past the cemetery directory, the portable toilets, and queued up for a taxi with hundreds of people hungry for their brunch. We had spent almost 1 hour in finding the placque and worming our way out, and a total of 3 minutes paying our respects. I suppose one could say it was the thought that counted, but I couldn't help thinking this was more an excuse for most to go out for brunch than anything else.

Rewind, rewind

So what has happened since September 27, 2005? (aka the last date I really posted something here)

It’s been over 6 months, for starters. Time flies before one actually has the nanosecond to wonder about it. Plenty has happened that I could blog about, but reminiscing can sometimes be very tiresome.. so I’m going to just post bits and pieces that have stuck in my head of the past one-hundred-and-eighty-days.

But for those who have an obsession with chronology, here are some highlights in calendar order:

Early November 2005 – was in Seoul when a pancake seller that was rather yummy (and not just his pancakes) made a pass at me.

Late November 2005 – went to New Zealand for three-week holiday, worked the portable hard drive to death with all the pictures we were taking, seen some mindbogglingly beautiful nature, and swore a blood oath against sandflies.

December 2005 – the turn of the year was spent on top of Lion Rock looking over a smoggy Victoria Harbor, nursing sore arms from climbing, to be topped off at home with a very fascinating documentary about hamsters.

January 2006 – one year from my grandmother’s passing. Four months to my grandfather turning 100.

February 2006 – my mother is in town! Well, sort of... 3 hours and 45 minutes away by plane.

March 2006 – I turn 32! And I finally get to spend more than 1 night in Bangkok.

April 2006 – My first time in paying respects to the dead in Hong Kong.

So here's an attempt at rewinding... posts will be all over the place... have fun!

Flirty Pancakes

Sometime in November, 2005

This time, I get to have more than the whirlwind 2-day-1-night sprint through Seoul. This time, my sister is also in Korea and we can have a groovy time, us girls only. For all of 4 days! Missynomad was in Korea on her way to the UK, and stopped in Seoul to experience the ultimate ironies in life – backpacker’s hostel for a few days, then 5-star corporate hotel for a few more. If the Westin’s Heavenly Beds weren’t so comfortable, the contrast would have made anyone’s head spin.

We went out walking a lot – street markets, curio shops, gawking at the gazillion posters of the same popular movie star in the same broody mournful pose, bonding, talking. It was nice to spend time together – talk about stuff we always talk about – boys, and parents. More importantly, you can always count on her to back you up when attempting to diplomatically walk away from a flirtatious pancake seller.

Especially one that has the build of a soldier boy, distinguished good looks, the charm of a Casanova and makes pancakes that taste like heaven on a crepe.

We walked by the stall when all we were going to spare it was a cursory glance. The glance froze on a picture that hung on the side of the tacky little stall. It was framed ornately, and was clearly very very old. In it was a young woman, holding up a pancake griddle or something that looks like it.

He waved us over to the hot griddle. “See? This is good! Makes strong bones,” he exclaimed, pointing at the pancakes.

The little pancakes had a slight green tint-they were mixed w green tea. He gestured towards a little sack, I peeked inside. "Good, put in pancake - tasty." Inside was a mix of raw cane sugar, sunflower seeds, and ground peanuts. My sister fished out 500won (50 us cents) and bought one for each of us.

What delight! Hot and fresh, with the perfect mix of fluffiness and chewines, oozing the sugar mix, munching was an act of pleasure itself. The petite little things were gone in a few bites, but what a few minutes of heaven.

My face must have given it away, as Mr Pancake beamed, draped his arm around me and said, "You like? Good! You want to take photo?" My sis gladly obliged ,snapping pictures of the brawny pancake seller, his strong biceps nudging at my neck, his gripping fingers at my shoulder.

This level of affection made me nervous. So I looked at him -- what I was going to say died on my tongue.

Mr. Pancake was chiseled-jaw, tall, bronzed, sharp-eyed samurai handsome. Up close, I lost my breath for a moment. He grinned, and my sis started to laugh. "So, chie, you like his pancakes?"

Before I could find my tongue, he gripped harder and waved at my sister. “You go, she stay. Thank you, byebye!”

I started to panic a bit. Oh no, kidnapped by pancake seller. Never mind that he’s got that rough edge that I find very attractive in men – he’s still a strange man in a strange city. I edged away a bit. “Thank you, very tired now, must go! Airport tomorrow!” My sis caught on. “No, no, she must go back to her husband.” *cross fingers behind back as I’m not wearing a wedding ring*

I managed to snake out from under his arm. In chorus, we were backing away and making our excuses. “Pancakes very nice! Good luck, bye bye! Must go! Taxi waiting!”

Mr. Pancake was waving as we turned away, we rounded a corner, and my sister looked at me straight-faced. “When was the last time you can say you were hit on by a pancake seller?” We dissolved into giggles, and the girl-bonding continued for the rest of the night.