Speed time in Kuala Lumpur

The three days in Kuala Lumpur went by in a breath. I suffered from lack of sleep and lack of water. Air conditioning is lethal for me. I wasn’t aware that it would dehydrate me so violently. I did drink, but I drank lots of green tea, which, I later found out, is another way to dehydrate my body.

I came back to Hong Kong with my body covered with red rashes from very weak kidneys. My Chinese doctor would have fainted if she saw me in such a state.

The ride back on the bus was the most surreal ever. I managed an hour of sleep before I woke up to the sound of the strangest pop music I ever heard. Something between Freddy Mercury and some wacky Bollywood-inspired music gone heavy-metal with the singer belting, no, screaming in his high pitched voice. I didn’t know what it was, a musical or a solo album. We were all freezing of cold because the driver put the air conditioning at the lowest temperature. To kill all the germs, or to kill us? I did talk about it to him but the request didn’t seem make any sense to him.

I got back to Singapore in the wee hours of the morning. Where I was, I had no idea. There was a hotel where some of the passengers went to collapse on armchairs. I also managed to doze on and off for an hour, as late party goers would come back to their room. A young man with two girls wearing the shortest skirt I’d ever seen on a woman, a solitary drunken man, a couple of sexy long limbed girls…

Images and scenes from my past days in Kuala Lumpur and Vietnam came back to me in flashes.

I didn’t do much sightseeing in Kuala Lumpur. One mall then another. It seems malls are the only place to go out in modern Asia… I didn’t mind though, for it was a good way to stay away from the heat.

My mind wasn’t tuned for any visit to the museum. But watching the architecture was a treat for me. The mid-eastern oriental influence was even stronger. Places like Kuala Lumpur or Singapore or Saigon seem to hesitate between many possible directions, culturally, architecturally. Unfortunately they all opt for a rather flattened-down similar choice - or Westernized? Is this the only way many cultures can co-exist in one place? What seems to matter is to make fast money. My architect friends here all lament about that shortsightedness of the promoters. It’s not meant to last. They only want to milk the cow while it’s still giving fresh milk.

A night out at the club. A Malaysian diva who did her routine with extreme professionalism, another fashion show - albeit an underwear fashion show, that was only an excuse to display hunky models. Eating and more eating (the food is too oily here). One mall after another. Syrupy Christmas songs again and again to jingle you down to the point of madness. The malls are a test to people’s sanity - or sensibility: how to resist the lure of DG, LV, CC, GG, YSL, the newest i-This, the latest phone… I sometime wonder why people do not rebel against this glamorous but ruinous invasion in disguise that turn them into walking advertisement boards. 

So I had finally met Zen, after months of  chatting  thanks to the wonders of the internet technology. He accepted to write songs together. I will start sending sketches of my songs so he can work on ideas of his own and send them back to me. Such a long distance way of collaborating would have been unthinkable a few years back. The three persons I was to meet in Malaysia turned out to be wonderful persons. Edwin, Robin and Zen. It all started in the virtual world, even if I believe that virtuality only exists in one’s mind. Internet is like going to a café and seeing many people. Eventually, only a couple of people end up having a significant role in one’s life. 

When I got in Zen’s car and greeted him for the first time, it was in the most relaxed familiarity, as if we had known each other for many years already, which creates athis strange feeling of having skipped a few episodes of a beloved TV series. He was at the end of a relationship. A jealous boyfriend, he, drowning more and more in work. Gay or straight, it always follows the same pattern!

We talked a lot. I tried to find words of encouragement. He's got talent. But life in a country like Malaysia can be numbing for creativity. Will he do the big move? I felt confused as well. He seemed to enjoy the few moments of intimacy that we shared. We sat for an hour in his car, in the parking lot.What I wanted to do was to embrace him and get even closer to him. Time was whirling fast around us. If I felt confused, he certainly was even more. But the way he held my hand, or carressed it gently...

There’s much more for me to say and to hope from it. I’d rather remain silent and quiet and lay a good foundation. One year, one month, a few hours… Who knows. Time, once again, will be my best ally, if anything is to happen. For now, my wish is for us to write a few songs that we can be proud of.

I don’t particularly want to rush back to Paris if it isn’t to start my work on the album. I do feel the urge now.

As the coach was now leaving Kuala Lumpur, I had all these memories to cherish. I hadn’t felt that way in ages. I may be only starting to experience the wind of a deeper change.

[…]

I have managed to settle an early breakfast appointment at 7:00 a.m.with Geoff in Singapore, before flying back to Hong Kong. That was the only time we found. I was so grateful he made the effort to get up and meet me. There was no one on the street. Since I was early, I found shelter in the patio the National Library and tried to relax and meditate for a while.

I felt like a wreck, my body was covered with rashes, I was tired from all these sleepless nights, the heat and most obviously lack of water.

Geoff and I had a very nice and posh breakfast at the Intercontinental Hotel. Later I would be on the plane back to Hong Kong, then the ferry that would finally take me to Lamma Island. Peace and quiet. All I longed for was a comfortable bed and hours of sleep. People could be celebrating the New Year, I couldn’t care less.

My New Year had already begun.

Exploration

This trip is really the strangest. I went to three countries within one day yesterday. Morning in Saigon, noon in Singapore and evening in Kuala Lumpur.

I have decided to come back to Saigon to celebrate my first Chinese New Year in Vietnam. This year has marked my first time ever being away from France and family during all these jolly celebrations. I had some hesitation before deciding so. It’s a dilemma. The hardest thing is to get away from is family. I love my parents and they’re now getting old. So It’s paining me to know that I will not spend  more of their remaining time with them. In the Asian  tradition, none would dare to do so. I see all my friends here who still live with their family until the day comes when they are getting married or financially strong enough to look after themselves. Keep postponing like that and they’re likely to reach their forties and still afraid to leave the warm nest.

I don’t think it’s un-Asian to make the decision to leave the family at some point. Love has nothing to do with, one can always look after beloved one in many different ways. Not necessarily physically be there. But my parents would hate the idea of compelling me to stay instead of living my own life. There’s so much to achieve and do. For me, for them, for lots of people. I have embraced the idea that each particle of my life has to be created by me and not cloned from someone else’s.

I arrived in Singapore by noon. The weather was as hot as it is in Saigon. People are so nice and helpful. I got all the information I needed from one single person and proceeded to take the subway to the city. I immediately felt on familiar ground. The man indicated me a place where lots of agencies offered a coach ride to Kuala Lumpur. However, most of them were booked and the only one I found wouldn’t have me reach Kuala Lumpur before past midnight. I wasn’t so sure where I would be staying. A friend of mine Robin mentioned I was welcome to stay with him. And I could always find a cheap hotel room somewhere…

I had the whole afternoon to myself so I decided to go to the center. Being a freshly arrived tourist, I took a taxi, not realizing I could have walked, so short was the distance.

Raffles Hotel. A strange combination of Mediterranean style in an Asian setting. I could feel that we were at the border of Asia. India and the Middle East weren’t too far.

Contrary to Hong Kong or Japan where everything is squeezed for lack of space, Singapore gives an impression of space. Like this monumental building in the middle of a field of grass, looking even more imposing and frightening with all these neo-fascist gigantic bronze sculptures on the top, Albert Speer meets Fritz Lang‘s Metropolis.

I hardly saw anyone on the street. Middle of the afternoon, everyone works in offices. There aren’t any street life like in Hanoi or Saigon. Everyone has been cleaned out and white-washed which gives a ghost like impression of the city. I didn’t stay long enough to find out about other aspects of the city. Most of friends were out of town for the end of the year celebrations, my relatives had gone back to Paris to be with their family. The only place where I found some density of population was be in the shopping mall. To my surprise, I also bumped into the National Library during my aimless loitering and went there to cool off for an hour.

Lots of students there. The library offered a welcome shelter from the afternoon heat. But one hour didn’t make the whole afternoon go by and I resumed my wandering. Local shopping centers or markets are the best way to get a better sense of the people so I got into the one near the bus terminal. Not luxurious, no Prada nor Gucci or any of those now global brands, but some food stores, pirate CD shops selling Malaysian or Thai pop, cheap jewelers or grocers.

I had never traveled like that without knowing where I’d end. The trip was an exciting one. I was to see Zen, and a few other friends I have been keeping in touch with via e-mails or msn conversations. The modern way of communication!

I arrived at past one in the morning. My friend Robin, whom I managed to talk to only an hour before reaching Kuala Lumpur was waiting for me. I could never be grateful enough, for he had to drive quite a long distance to pick me up at the bus terminal. It’s strange to arrive somewhere in the middle of the night. It reminded of that time when I went to Vienna three years ago to join Simon. It was winter, the plane was three hours late and since it was a cheap flight from a low cost company, I also had to take a shuttle from Bratislava to Vienna. The ride in the middle of the night wasn’t unlike the one Paul Newman took in Torn Curtain.

Robin didn’t take me to his place, because  his flat was actually a room he shared with his brother! So he drove me instead to one of his friend’s, who had just  bought a new flat in a condo complex in the suburbs of Kuala Lumpur. I had no idea where we were going to. The ride was a long one. We were getting away from Kuala Lumpur. I didn’t even want to worry about that. I was so exhausted and on a high with all this traveling. To think that the same morning I was still talking to my cousin in Saigon… Robin eventually stopped his car in the parking place between too brand new buildings. They still smelt of plaster and concrete. Most of the flats were not even finished. His friend was one of the first to have settled there.

Walking in the white corridors at 3:00 a.m. I thought I had switched from Torn Curtain to Orson Welles’ The Trial.

I collapsed on the mattress after a cold shower. 

And when four o’clock came, a heard a distant rooster desperately practicing its morning cry for what seemed like hours.

Santa in Saigon

Winter in Saigon is like a hot summer in Europe. It’s less the temperature than the mindless use of air con that troubles me.

My cousin organized an improvised Christmas family gathering. Cousins  and relatives I have met once, seen in pictures or only heard of, showed up for the occasion. 

Nam had given me the number of a friend of his, Son, and we have already met quite frequently. One of them mentioned a Santa Claus service where I could buy  a present and have the ho ho ho man deliver it in person to the child! My cousin’s six-year-old twin sons loved it. It was their first meeting with the legendary figure and they were gaping in front of him, spellbound and speechless, while the Santa Claus man was sweating in hell, too fit and youthful he was in his outfit…

Everybody wondered how Santa Claus found his way to my cousin’s.  I didn’t say anything to keep the mystery alive. Santa Claus does indeed exist!!!

This stay in Saigon is too short. Tomorrow morning I will fly to Singapore. As for Vietnam I have no idea where or what or how or whom with. I just go and will decide on the spot according to the momentum.

Long time no see

Christmas Eve in Saigon.

I have never seen so many people on the street. The jolly celebration is just an excuse to gather on the streets, see the decorations, have a drink and meet friends.

I was yesterday at the Hanoi airport without any idea where I would end in Saigon. A friend of mine had offered to host me but it had been difficult to be in touch. I had a piece of paper with some numbers scribbled on it. I knew of a place where I could fid cheap hotels. I finally got hold of the number of cousin I had not seen for many, many years. She had since married, given birth to three children.

When she heard me on the phone, talking as naturally as if I last spoke to her only a few days before, she could only gasp. With some people, there is no explanation needed. The connection is there, no matter how long between the time we meet. A few hours later, I was having a ride on the back of her motorbike, then found myself in the middle of her wedding anniversary!

Santa outfit drying up on the balcony

Hanoi - last days

I can’t believe it’s nearly over. In two days, I will be flying down to Saigon. I don’t even know where I’m going to stay. I had this offer from a friend, Brian to crash at his place, but haven’t managed to get in touch with him. I don’t care really, because I know everything will be fine. It has been until now, and I like this way of traveling. Not knowing, just going and finding when the time is ripe.

A farewell party was organized for all the people involved in the festival, the members of the orchestra and the staff.  And it took place at the Goethe Institut!

I had a nice chance to have a long talk with Rohan de Saram. I really like the man. He has retained a fervor for music that so many lose at this stage of their career. I served as an agent and interpreter for my father and smoothly led to a commission for a new cello piece!

My father and I had  one of those moments worthy of those father and son dramas where the two reunite in a silent final encounter in nature. It didn’t happen on the top of a mountain, or in a deserted landscape in the wilderness of nature but in a spot near a lake where a legendary hero returned the sword that allowed him to defeat the enemy to the Turtle Genie. We sat on a bench for at least an hour, just happy to be together. How I wish I could also share such a moment with mother and brother.

Nam took me to some nice places to eat, then to a bar where youths are allowed to have fun until the bell would ring midnight. The place was packed and everybody was dancing joyfully and singing along to the tunes. One song I have been hearing a lot in Hanoi, an odd medley of Christmas songs from Jingle Bells to Joy to the World blended with… La Macarena, was played near the end to signal everyone to leave. And of course, everyone sang along, especially on Jingle Bells. Surreal!

From the mountain top

Premiere tonight. If the performance left much to be desired, it was a moving moment for my father as well as for many people in the audience. People in Vietnam are seldom given the chance to hear contemporary music, but it was beyond music. Everyone knew it was a special moment. Shall I say historical?

Combined with this first trip in seventeen years, this concert marks an important date in my life.

The opera house is one of the three that the French built during the colonial times. Another is to be found in Saigon. It reminds more of the theatres I have seen in Vienna or Praha. I believe it was restored not so long ago, for it looked quite new and shiny to me.

Apparently, symphonic concerts are rare. The venue hosts all kind of events there, from plays to pop concerts.

My father did hope a concert such as this one would draw more curiosity from the people. Quite expectedly, no one, save a couple of teachers from the Hanoi music conservatory deigned to show up, using lousy excuse like ‘being too busy’… when they just didn’t want to, or were not interested, which is regrettable, for this rather common self-centered attitude will not help rise the level of music in Vietnam.

Anyway, we were there. I brought my friend Nam, as well as Tiên and his wife - also named An, who took me to the pagodas and the local ceramic manufactures the other day.

I don’t why when it comes to send musicians to musically under-developed countries such as Vietnam, Western nations act haughtily and provide second rates ones. Maybe they think (not so wrongly, I must concede) that since the audience is much less demanding - or less knowledgeable, there is no need to pay some top level musicians for the occasion. Any good technician can do. However I was amused to see that the one who applauded between the movements of the piano concerto was not a Vietnamese but a white man in suit…

The last minute replacement French conductor had no feel for Grieg, Ravel's Bolero nor my father’s music. I don’t know how good the original choice would have been but it was a disappointment for us. 

Fortunately, Rohan De Saram who was the Arditi Quartet cellist did marvels on my father’s concerto. This was one of the persons one would describe as sunny. He appearance on stage was a like a ray of light piercing through a thick grey sky.

My dad talking to the musicians after the rehearsal

Rohan during the last run through of the concert

My father's score

After 17 years

I booked my ticket from Saigon to Singapore then back to Hong Kong.  It’s like playing a game. It’s a tentative move to the unknown. I have decided it would be a good idea to take the train from Hanoi down to Saigon. It might not the most comfortable way to travel, I know. But I need to make this trip on a train, to see the people and the land.  Nicolas has told me to bring back some sand in a bottle, as a token from the land of my roots.

My little stop over in Singapore will be an occasion to see my dear brudda Zen. The two of us get along extremely well and share similar views on many different topics. He’s a very talented songwriter and musician. And he also forgot to be ugly! He sent me the demo of a pop ballad he wrote with his own vocals and I was completely enchanted. Yes the song is a standard ballad, but I sensed he could come up with great music when given the right opportunity. So we want to write a few songs together. He will be providing the Chinese lyrics…

Vietnam...

It’s been 17 years, and I didn’t even go to Hanoi then. But it feels, if not like home, at least very familiar and comfortable. I didn’t have much thought about his trip, no expectation, no hope, I just knew I was coming to support my father for his first world premiere in his native land.
But as soon as I stepped out of the plane, I felt happy. Simple and pure joy. I do not consider myself a Vietnamese in the patriotic sense, but there is a bond that comes alive whenever I spend time in Asia, and even more now that I am here, in Vietnam.

Now it’s been three days already. Three days of welcome change from the craziness of Hong Kong. The craziness is of another kind here, maybe more good-natured. Crossing the street has become one of my favorite activities. Even if I see hundreds of cars, bikes and motorcycles coming from all direction, I know I can just walk smoothly accross the street in the middle of a concert of honking. As long as the drivers see you, they avoid you like fish in a river.

I didn’t plan to do any sightseeing this time. But a friend has taken me to a small village specialized in china. China being one of my soft spots I found it quite challenging to resist the sights of all these beautiful vases and teapots - oh yes, the resistance didn’t last long because I brought back a couple of items... 

Làn gôm

I went to the general rehearsal for the concert this morning. The concert progam includes Grieg’s über-famous Piano Concerto in A minor, as well as his German song cycle, Ravel’s Bolero and finally my father’s Cello Concerto. The orchestra isn’t the strongest I’ve ever heard, to put it mildly, and the conductor happened to be a last minute replacement for the chief one, a female conductor who was pregnant - why on earth didn’t the organizers think of that when they asked her ???

As my father so wisely put it: ’If there’s is no time, if the players are not good enough, better concentrate on the general instead of the particular’.

At least they are trying their best. The life of a musician in Vietnam is a tough one. Their monthly wage doesn't amount to more than 50 US$... They have to juggle different jobs to survive. Some musicians could only come to the last rehearsal; they also had to hire a harpist from Hong Kong because there was none available in the whole country!
My father knew of this state of things so he was more sympathetic and encouraged everyone the best he could.

His Cello Concerto is a beautiful piece of music, not so much a concerto, but more a dialogue between cello, percussions and the strings.

I know that’s the way things are in countries like Vietnam: rich people vs. poor people. Somehow, I have never seen so many smiling faces here in Hanoi. A striking contrast from the gilded coldness of Hong Kong.