4 Bamboo

On playing Mah Jong

This past Friday I had the good fortune to be invited to play Mah- jong with a group of ex pat women who meet every week in the afternoon to play for spare change and bragging rights. If you've never played (and I've never met anyone who has other than the ex pat who invited me), it's basically gin rummy with tiles. It's also insanely, almost comically addictive. I've certainly had my enthusiasms, and I have a "collector" personality-- one who likes to own whole sets of things and likes rare editions, but I the only thing I can compare this to is my interest in vintage Springbok jigsaw puzzles from a certain artist (and only this artist, and only if they're cut with a random die, not cut with a homogeneous die-- tell us again why you can't find a man, Auntie Naomi?).

Things that have captured the imagination of so many others (Poker, Sudoku, video games, YouTube, smart phones, the books of Nicholas Sparks, Dungeons and Dragons, and so on)- they leave me stone cold. My (not very flattering) attitude is "If the rest of America likes it, chance are it will totally bore me."

Well, as usual, I discover something that fires my spirit about 85 years too late (there was a huge mahjong craze in the 1920's). Let me see if I can codify the intense appeal of this game:

Social: Of course, the main draw is that you can play it like a shark or you can play sort of desultorily and for someone like me, who will never be good at games of skill and chance, it really makes little difference. Therefore, you can enjoy the flow of chit chat around you while you listen with half an ear, trying to build your hand. If you like stats and rules, as my friend Martha does, you can learn the complex rules (if you get the east wind three times and win, your winnings triple, if you're east, everyone pays you, if you're not, your opponent directly across from you pays, the points system --which is incredibly complex-- etc).

The element of chance: of course, it's super exciting to see what the "wall" will give you next, what your opponents will throw away, and what you'll build or not build. It's like a very mild drug taking.

The esthetic elements: the tiles themselves are lovely- classic examples of the delicate, modernistic, and yet timeless hand that all of the best Asian artifacts carry, and all aspects of the game are pleasing: the sound the tiles make, the crisp,cold feeling of touching them, the racks, the way the hands are dealt, the numbers (13 tiles to win), the suites (circles, characters, bamboo) and the honor tiles-- dragons, winds, and flowers. The rituals of play are sedate and circumscribed- there's none of the betting, raising, and checking that you find with poker. Even the jargon is delightful: "honors"-- the hands you build are full of chows, pungs, kongs, and pairs. You "twitter the sparrows" to mix them, and you "curtsey the wall" to make it easy to draw from. There's a flower wall, each seat represents a wind, and so on.

And then there's the hands themselves. I learned, at the advice of the ladies, to play "American" a slower moving version where you (essentially) choose one hand (using a book of illustrated hands) and commit to it, slowly building this hand, and this hand only. Your other choice is the fast and dirty Chinese version, where you can build any hand you like, as long as it has one pair in it.

Some hands from the American version:



They all have names: "Moon at the bottom of the well", "Three Philosophers" (I won with that one). It's hard to explain the almost poetic appeal of this-- for the right personality type, it's akin to visiting a museum full of art that you can touch and spend all day with-- there's an element of tradition, beauty, preservation of mystery, all that's best of "old" games.

For those playing "with the book" it's a mental and aesthetic work out-- you have to use your mind in a way that you may have never used it-- you feel alert yet relaxed. Seldom do I feel so immediately "in the zone" as when playing this game. Rarely do I enjoy visual games like this- I can rapidly become bored playing Tetris or Bejewled, for example, whereas my sister and brother both love computer games. 

Four hours wasn't enough of this for me.

The surroundings were also part of it: it was in the high rise apartment of a lady of leisure. Let's see if I can do justice to this joint: It's the kind of joint where when you walk in you kind of turn into James Dean in Giant, squinting around and trying to look tough, while keeping your hands jammed in your pockets and looking around with a silent whistle shaping your mouth.

A huge (and I mean huge) white on white space station floating in the sky with a view of the golf course and country club ("Insanely expensive to join, darling, insanely") , it was decorated with reams of spoils from years of travel and (no exaggeration) at least 50 bottles of Blue Label quality scotch (and there was a wine fridge, too). Sea foam green and teal rugs so silky they reflected light, dainty folk dolls from around Asia, the kind of lamps you see in department stores, "serious art", tons of family photos and tzochkes---and a bowl of glowing golden marigolds in a shallow bed of water at the door.

Now, it was very much "new money", but baby, who's counting? Our hostess was a very outgoing, earthy and funny older woman (my guess is 50's), with black hair and the "leisure tan" skin you sometimes see around here- tan skin that has kept it's tan for years. Her eyes were golden green, with heavy lids, her best feature, and she had a resemblance to Emma Thompson, the actress, with a cute, slight underbite that gave her an appealing pugnacious quality.

There was a buffet style spread-- jugs of fresh juice, wine, champagne, cookies, crackers, coffee, and all of it put out by the silent, nearly invisible maid, who disappeared behind the swinging door leading to the kitchen now and then to bring out more for us.

The tables (there were 3) were set up with immaculate white tablecloths embroidered with a mahjong theme, and there were copies of "the book" for all of us. This dame knew what she was doing, and we all reaped the fruits of her labors.

This was the kind of place where when you compliment someone of her little frock, and ask "May I ask where you got it?" They say, with a straight face "Diane Von something or other, I think?" and the shoes by the door are Jimmy Choo, Manolo, and Gucci (and Vans-- me.)

Just the place to take off your shoes and step back in time, to a more gracious age of champagne and afternoon mahjong games with gossip and a view that goes on for miles.

What swag will and won't buy you

PART II!!

Let's see....last time we left off as Irene and hustled out of the airport and headed back to city for some activities more my style- cocktails, high heels, ill advised bad boys, large mixed crowds of half strangers- you know, the whole "Bright Lights, Big City" thing.

As a side note, for those of you who've seen 'The Descendants', the various scenes of the family hopping on a plane to fly from place to place the way you might get in car are pretty accurate for those of us that live on an archipelago-- flights are cheap and cramming yourself into a tin can to bounce across the friendly skies for about a Benji are commonplace.

After a rest, we dressed up a bit- Irene wearing a killer dress straight out of the Victoria Beckham school of severe sexiness-- a little hounds-tooth sheath that kind of showed more than it hid, if you get my drift, while still being pretty conservative.

We popped into Las Flores, this little tapas and couture cocktail place that I brought a very confused, yet dazzled, Govind a few weeks ago. (We came in separate cabs and by chance I saw a lost soul wandering the streets wearing a badly chosen tee shirt with glitter (proof positive of why you shouldn't let men loose on the SM men's department) on it-- that was him. "Get in the car, yaar!" I yelled. Govind started as if shot and then scuttled over, shirt sparkling, and we toddled over to get some of the BEST cocktails I've ever had).

At Las Flores we mostly talked about dudes we've known and if it's advisable to date a friend or what. (Answer, in short: make sure the dude you're dating is worth the price. I could name names, but I won't!!)

Then soon enough it was time to toddle over to this place Skinny Mike's, where Haydn had assembled a crowd to hang out. In a very typical set up, I dimly recall casually mentioning that Irene was coming to town and exhorting Haydn to find out what the Hollywood 10 were up to, and then forgetting all about it. Then on Friday I get an (as usual) oddly worded text "If you have credit call me." (Uh, street cred? Are we in jail and need bail? Do we want to purchase something online? Nope, he meant "Prepaid minutes". heh.) Turns out that behind the scenes he had rustled up some entertainment and Ash's friend somebody or other was opening a sports bar and we're invited.

Wheels started turning: Irene had been hinting that maybe if the right dude came along, she would be amenable to a date, or maybe more... Ash was cute--- maybe Cupid could strike? Seldom have I been more wrong.

I failed to account for the vast difference between Irene's taste (cute nebbishy dudes who are surprisingly fit, yet wimpsters nonetheless, dedicated, tortured journalists, tall thin drinks of water with 1000 yard stares, etc) and mine (mobsters, professional gamblers, alpha males, street brawlers, international playboys, Russell Brand, etc). The thing is, sometimes we agree on who's cute, so I foolishly thought the raffish, disheveled, arrogant charm of Ash that had floored me, combined with his exceptional eyes and cute accent, would have the same effect on her that it did on me. I sort of forgot a few things: Irene doesn't really like to "play" the game where a charming hustler is hustling you and you both know it, and she doesn't think a man acting like a rooster is in any way adorable. Result: Ash brings out more and more of what women usually like in him, looking like a bigger and bigger fool, while Irene rolls her eyes and looks around for an exit.

Well, 9 drinks and 4 shots between the two of us later and still no dice. Ash was, however, getting a big rise out of table from shooting off such one liners as "I can buy a girl a drink anytime I want to" (Even though Irene said that we'd see about that, he did manage to buy her one) to the general hilarity of those watching him go down in flames. Good times.

The next day we had a total spa day: 3 hours by the Intercon pool, just sunning and swimming, then pedicures. We also went for high tea at TWG, a Singaporean tea merchant and tea house, that served, bar none, the most delicious tea I have ever tasted. They have over 100 blends, all so intensely flavorful and yet delicate that it lead me to remark: "This is tea that tastes like wine." It was that complex, rich, and delightful.

Then a relatively quiet night out: Harbor View and then White Moon bar, which had 180 degree views of the harbor and was lovely, and chatted about funny stories from the golden years in Buffalo.

Here's the story Irene is referring to in her mysterious FB post:

Irene broke up with her BF of 4 years, Brian, and then found out through a mutual friend, Joe, that Brian may have been cheating on her when the relationship was in its final stages. She explained how she was sure of this using the following tangled logic:

Joe was correct in his evaluation of an unrelated 3rd party as a "smokestack beerslut"
Joe had let information somehow slip that led her to believe Brian had played around
Since Joe was such an unimpeachable source of truth (see above "smokestack beerslut"), he must be right
Hence Brian really had cheated. (Not with, surprisingly, aforementioned "smokestack beerslut")

Needless to say this is the SHORT version and minus the 2 glasses of wine that used to turn bookish librarian Irene into wild- eyed- Courtney- Love Irene. Now it's at LEAST 4 until we get to C.L. Irene.

This memory was triggered by seeing the red smokestack on the pleasure boats moored in the harbor. I asked her "Oooh, remember "smokestack beerslut"?" Her (with a funny look) "No! What's THAT?" Heh.

Monday was pretty low key- just breakfast at Bizu, then a bit of shopping, then rest, then a low key dinner at Army Navy, then a few drinks at Heckle. (She had to wake up at like 4 AM for her flight, so we didn't want to go crazy). Oh, and we saw "Beautiful Creatures" at the movie house. Fun, fluffy good times.

Overall, a wonderful trip and a great chance to show off my city to a good friend.

"This is India, Irene" (Part I)

She'll get it.


My college (and beyond) friend from the US visited me as part of her "world tour"-- a global Odyssey that included stops in London, Northern India, and finally the Phil for 6 days of fun in the sun (literally).

I'll try to give you the details while they're still fresh in my mind--- but I might go back and add more later.

Wed: Irene arrives, looking fresh as a daisy off a 24 hour flight (I on the other hand am wrung out, after working a full shift at work before picking her up), and we taxi back to the house to drop off her stuff. Then it's off to eat and have some cocktails- I picked on of my favorite places, Sala Bistro, for a late afternoon pick up of flat pizzas and mojitos. We wandered to a few bars as the sun set, while she caught me up on all the places she's visited in India and various events that I've missed in the last 3 years. We had one final cocktail at Thai Silk (lemongrass martini) and talked about culture shock and traveling, then off to bed.

A full 12 hours later, we went to Apartment 1B for breakfast, then home to pack to go to Palawan for island hopping for 3 days and 2 nights. We took a plane to Palawan, checked into the hotel, then got a beer and went for a dip in the rooftop pool. (I have exceptionally good karma when picking hotels--I'm a hotel ninja). Irene picked a restaurant from Trip Advisor, La Terrasse, and we ate a very nice meal there. Off to a small local pub for a nightcap and then early to bed since we had to be up at 6 AM for the island hopping tour we had planned for the next day.

The island hopping trip goes to three spots: A coral reef that you can swim and snorkel around, Starfish Island, and Pandan Island. Irene was totally jazzed, myself less so, since I am not a strong swimmer and I've never snorkeled, but I champed it out and tried it, and while I can't say I enjoyed it 100%, I can see the appeal.

The main issue was this: the guide asked if anyone was a weak swimmer and I was the only person in the group with the stones to raise my hands and embarrass myself. Well, if you're a weak swimmer they give you a boat man who swims with a life ring and basically tows you around. I deliberately waited until a few people from other groups had gone before getting in the water when sure enough these two JERKS from my party swim up and literally push me out of the way to HOG the life ring and kick and push me the entire time. Uh, exsqueeze me? Baking Powder? I believe I was the weak swimmer here?

Anyway, it was a snorkel mosh pit. Had I rented flippers instead of swim shoes I would have swum out on my own, but as it was I wasn't feeling super confident about my swimming so I just gritted my teeth while some entitled b**** next to me jostled me around a World UNESCO Heritage coral reef (that was very lovely, however.). I can say that next time (if there ever is such a time) I'll go on my own, or with a much smaller group.

After the coral reef, we hopped to two more islands, Starfish, where we could feed the fish, swim and snorkel, and Pandan, where there was a bar, kubos, and tables, and a large beach and swimming area. We had a picnic lunch and got some sun, while the island cats and dogs (all very well fed from left overs) wandered around. These island cats were so large they looked like a miniature pride of lions sauntering around in packs, king of all the surveyed, bopping the Labradors on the nose when they got to close, and generally looking tough.

We checked out a super cute little place called The Gypsy's Lair Art Cafe

 for dinner, which was a great choice, and then went home and crashed. Breakfast was at the same place (it was super good) and Irene hung out there for a bit while I went souvenir shopping and then it was back on the plane for Manila.

That was Sat AM.

PM and part 2 later!!!

I thought that's just what people did when they came back from the war...

Just to get it out of the way, for those that might be somehow behind the curve....there's no more boyfriend, but it wasn't epic, or anything. Just another victim of the 24/7 work culture and Indian work- a- holism combined-- I just couldn't do it anymore, no matter how good it was, and it was good. There were other factors- he had this distance that almost all Indian men from India have- this odd combination of doting on you, adoring you, and yet somehow not really caring a whit about you, your thoughts, feelings, and opinions. It's hard to explain unless you've been there. Anyhow, it's for the best- although it's hard now, it's okay in the end.

Anyway, onto more exciting topics, like the events of the past few weeks- my birthday dinner and a few other ex pat events.

Birthday Dinner: It was at Lusso, and the attendees were: Haydn and Dee, Mark and Beth, Nimmi, and her two friends-- Shah and his wife Maria. Shah and Maria are from Pakistan (at least I assume she is, since he met her there and NO ONE visits Pakistan on some kind of vacation). We already know the aforementioned  men and their ladies (Haydn and Dee, Mark and Beth) so let me describe the latter 3. Nimmi is a new friend I met a few weeks ago. She's a banking exec by way of Dubai, with a warm, bubbly personality, and she's one of the few women who's ever successfully "Listen, cookie-d" me (She warned me to just have fun with Allwyn, as there was no way it was going to work. And lo, she was right!). She's always impeccably dressed, as ex pats from non European countries often are.

Her friend Shah is from work- they've known each other 8 years or so. Shah is a great example of the reason that I'm sort of screwed on the dating front-- I probably will never go back to American guys of any race after being exposed to the other types I've met "out here", but neither are these other types a good match (NOT that he's on the market, he's just a very distinctive type I've met here). There are many completely unique, different from any American I've ever met,  men here. (Well, I can think of one American who is unlike any man I've ever met, who I'll never forget, this dude Mike Lair, who was my muse for about 3 years, but he is the exception to the rule).

The self possession, power, control, deep sensuality, self mastery, confidence, and global views these men have FAR surpasses anything any American I've ever met has ever had, and this includes extreme high roller businessmen. Now, Americans, including me, have a sweetness, innocence, and openness about them that extremely attractive to worldly, powerful, old souls like these guys, which is why I've been landed on like a piano about 8572 times in the last 2 and a half years. As I told a friend recently "These men make most white guys look like children." And they do. Shah himself is tall, and not super exceptionally good looking, but he has made the most of what he has to an almost laughable degree: perfectly fitting clothes, an excellent hair cut, and all of his details are managed- his skin, nails,and teeth are all clean and correct. He has a deep dimple on one side of his face that gives him a rakish charm, and he also has what I think of as "an aristocratic lisp"-- just the slightest hint of a lisp that international types often carry.

However, despite these considerable charms, this guy can make your blood run cold with hints of his nature (which he did not choose, it was instilled in him by his culture). A primo example is how, at last night's outing, he read the tapas menu at the bar (ignoring both me and his wife waggling our fingers for it) and declared there was no vegetarian food so "just eat at home". AND THAT WAS THAT. Menu back to the waiter, with that devastating dimpled grin. (We three were the only vegetarians at the table). He handled all the interactions with the waiter, and let me tell you, at this table were super high powered women, some of whom were older and more powerful than him. No matter. He had the one thing that really matters over here: the "cash and prizes" that comes with being a man. This is just how it is. These guys make you feel simultaneously like a million bucks and half a lottery ticket... from yesterday.


More later...