laziness ... (photos of india june 2008)

Flaming Mingos (it is a folk song)

When you cross the line of 66 degrees north,
Exactly how many times did you dream?
Snowflakes explode in the sky
Shake hands with evil
Until the day is over
Crooked rain flows in the dustbin
Flaming Mingos arrive in town
Flaming…Flaming …Mingos
Flaming Mingos arrive in town.

Some people drink black coffee in the morning
The blue coat is still around the morning after
Breath hazes the glass window
Say hi, my dear brother
No one has the drive way forever
You are Flaming Mingos
Flaming… Flaming…Mingos…
You are Flaming Mingos

Constant happiness hides under the Christmas tree
If only love no longer fades away
Sesame oil floats in E major
Sing along Mr. Postman
Baby deers change their outfits
We are Flaming Mingos
Flaming.. Flaming..Mingos,
We are Flaming Mingos.

...passing by

搬家启示

这两天正在搬家，以后所有中文的文字会放在我的中文博客 http://blog.sina.com.cn/shenyielsie，敬请光领，此处只留英文的文字。

From now on, all Chinese posting will be found on my Sina Chinese blog http://blog.sina.com.cn/shenyielsie, you are welcome to visit. This blog is only dedicated to English postings.

Les Americains

Walking down the wetted pavement of rue de Richelieu and then to Palais Royale and heading towards home, rain drops and the cold air defines a typical Parisian Winter Season. I could not help replay the black and white images that I just saw in a new exhibition at Bibliotheque National de la France BNF. Exhibition is called 70’ La Photographie Americaine. 320 photographes chosen from a collection of 3000 images are exposed.

To me, it was a moving and personal experience. I relived the lectures of Professor Kevin Stranberg at Wesleyan. Every image I saw, I remembered every comment that went with that image during those lectures. That is marked as my first introduction to photography but more importantly an introduction to America.

For those who remember this famous image, which was the cover of a book – Les Americains of Robert Frank, first published in Paris in 1959. It made the beginning of the exhibition. The French chose a Ralph Gibson’s image of a beautiful lady by the car as the cover of the press communication, I would however have preferred to see this image of a segregated bus as it speaks for actuality, but it did not make to the exhibition.




Exactly 50 years later since the first edition of Robert Frank’s “Les Americains”. In the year of 2008, we will welcome the first African American president of America. Today is the day that will change history.

Of all those seven and half years which I spent in America, I never was able to have an “American Dream”, however, some where in me flows the blood of America in blue and red stripes. It was in America, where I grew from an teenager to a 25 year old woman,

So to Kevin who taught me how to develop my first roll of film; to my dear friend Norman who initiated me to Jazz, and made me a missing member of “they might be giants”; to Jno Cook who taught me one can be a photographer and not taking any photos himself; to Lisa who apologized when her mom voted for George W. Bush; to the most beautiful Sandy who gave me the love I never deserved; to the architect who taught me how to weld; to Frank for his book lists and ginger chicken, to those who loved me but I did not love back, and to those who I loved but nevered loved me back; to all the photographers and non-photographers; all Americans and non-Americans, Jewish pals and non Jewish pals in this country; to all the blueberry muffins and bagels with cream cheese; to a nation with honor and dignity; to this piece of land who gave me courage, maturity, tolerance and hope.

I -- owe you--America ---a service.

So today is the day I will return this service.

… by casting my vote to –

Barrack OBAMA as the President of United States of America!

Evening of Novemeber 4th. 2008 Paris

a drop of rain - lyrics w/o tune

lift the bench in the park
i stack it, on my library card
time becomes a boat
floating -into the night
love- shut in the drawer
waiting for the tide
waiting for the tide to wash it away
grass grows taller 'n brushes against my legs
i run,
a drop of rain

open the elevator door
i tape it on to my bedroom window
faith becomes a cloud
dancing - into the sky
love - shut in the drawer
waiting for the moon
waiting for the moon to melt it open
streets are wider 'n grow faster than cars and bikes,
i hide,
a drop of rain

Vicky, Cristina and Bardem

Coming out of the Cinema, it was only 15h00, beautiful afternoon sunshine, still – “Thank God my Day is not yet wasted”.

The most awaited film of the month from Woody Allen, “Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona”, is somehow another disappointment regardless of an all-star team: Scarlette Johanson, Penelope Gruz, Javier Bardem. Since most people have seen the movie by now, I will not repeat the story for you again.

Set on the topic of “love” and “relationships”, the most ancient yet never old topic of all human history, the film brings you for a very plain vanilla type of ride.

After a real comeback with the flawless “Match Point” in 2005, we thought Woody is set for a new era in his career, but unfortunately, that was just an illusion or hallucination on my own part.

This time, tired of London, Mr. Woody turned to the romantic and sunny Spain for new inspiration. Every image of the picture was so golden, sunny, soft, sweet and beautiful I only wish he got some money from the Ministry of Tourism from Spain, because it was the most effective advertising I have ever seen with an all-star crew; everyone in the movie theater starts to dream of a perfect vacation in Spain as soon as the projector was turned on. If I weren’t so turned off by Gaudi, I would have felt the same thing, summer in Barcelona, wow! (For me to love Barcelona, they would have to erase all the building designed by Gaudi from that city, this is another topic which merits another discussion.)

To analyze movies with bullet points has become a hobby of mine. Here are the issues which contributed to the final effect of this caramelized sweet picture of our dear Woody.

1. No conflicts in the story line, it was just so plain, linear and predictable that “effortless” was the real word to describe the experience for the viewer and also the actors. Where is Woody’s usual interest in “money” and “social status”? This could have presented some conflict to the Vicky character: struggling between “money” /”stability” and “love”?

2. As much as I love Javier Bardem, especially for his killer “killer” performance in the recent “No country for old man”, he was actually a bad choice for the painter – Juan Antonio Gonzalez. Bardem’s appearance as a painter seems to have a real stretch considering what we remembered him from “No country for old man”, but he actually acts and the fact that he went to art school at some point to study painting maybe also contributed to an almost too convincing and sincere Spanish painter, who is talented, emotional, seductive yet true and honest. None of the lines by Woody appeared ironic and funny anymore. If Woody had any intention to make fun of artists and people in that social class, that did not happen at all. All one can feel is that the American finance guy is really boring and one should just fall in love with someone sensual like Juan. Plus living with Bardem and Penelope Cruz in a threesome in a beautiful house on a hill in Barcelona would just be all dreams come true. After all, everyone is just on vacation in Barcelona.

3. Scarlette Johansen does not act, but it was okay, she was still perfect for the role – young, dolly and blonde. But she was way too cool, just comes and goes.

4. Color of lighting actually some kind of a key, emotionally directs viewers in the story line. Did Woody lose his sight again? Exact same lighting through out the movie. Or was he try to manage some accidental success with the French again?

Okay, that is enough, less is more. To make things work, here are some suggestions:

A) Vicky needs to be another person, a bit more pale and less pretty. Between Scarlette and Penelope, Woody has got enough beauty on the “tournage”, plus that will give him some more time to actually work on his script.

B) Cristina, the one who thought she was free spirit and up for all adventures, eventually got caught up in a mess with Juan and Marie Helen and suffers. Vicky is the one who controls everything, chooses practical things – financial stableness, commitment, family over anything else; yet she is the one who actually has the ability to feel something. So the blonde vs. the brunette. The brave but actually weak vs. the rational but actually sensual.

C) Bardem has to go. We need someone a bit unsure, or an artist want to be, but lacks real talent. All his attempts to seduce could then be a bit funny. I can’t think of anyone that is latin looking. Okay, so we keep Bardem, but he then has to kill someone in the course of the story. How about Cristina, her personality needs a bit tragedy to it.


D) Oh God, why Barcelona? Make the film in China! There is a vast selection of both pathetic artists and stupid girls.

In conclusion, better toss this one up and write another story.

"Iron Circle" Besieged

My love for trains and railways finally brought me to my new residence inside the "Iron Circle", in Chinese "Huan Tie". Black Bridge village is surrounded by a perfectly round shaped railway track; it is used by the ministry of transportation to test trains before they are put into commercial use. Inside the "Iron Circle", we have a big farmer's market, corn fields, wheat fields, prune trees, many factories, art supply stores and everything that you can think of for living. The path to the outside world is often interrupted by this scene "The train is arriving, please stop and be careful...." ; there are 4 or 5 entrances/exits like this on the perfectly round circle. Security guards stand at the gates 24 hours a day.

This morning as I was waiting for my turn to cross one of these exits on my electric bike, I suddenly remembered these words repeated way too many times:

Mariage is a like a fortress besieged, those who are outside want to get in and those who are inside want to get out. * Isn't it true with life in general?

I wonder if I am protected from the rest of the world or prisoned inside my own castle of "Iron Circle". Is my new residence helping me to live more truthfully as a human being or merely putting me inside this big fortress besieged!?

* supposedly a French proverb, used as a title of Qian Zhongshu's novel - Fortress Beseiged published in the 1940s.

Let's go swimming 咱游泳去！ (住黑桥，说黑话，黑着良心开黑店 I )

At the entrance of Black Bridge village, you will see a big black sign as shown on the photo above, meaning “Black Bridge Swimming Pool”. After a quick nap at mid-day in the middle of August, I joined some friends who decided to go swimming together. We arrived in front of this big sign and found a small window which looked like a ticket office, but no one was there. A small muddy road led us to the back of the sign; a large metal creature which resembles a boiler greeted us with poise.

After 45 minutes walking in some even muddier roads, going through corn fields, wheat fields and being traced by very mean dogs at every corner of the road, we decided to stop and question the actual existence of this swimming pool.

In China, you have the privilege of having a sign and running a complete different business underneath or just not having a business at all but use this wall because you kinda need it.

But somehow, this felt like the ending of a horror movie from the 70s, I missed the entire film, here is the last part – This big black sign of the black bridge swimming pool, and blood coming through from the top of the wall, in the middle part first, dripping over the character “游” and then more blood coming through this wall, from the top, from the bottom, from both sides, and eventually flooding over the entire wall with strength and speed. 2 seconds later, the sun shines and here is what you see: (but who knows what will happen when the sun goes down)


Do not walk alone in the dark at Black Bridge Village!

Lightening Rod

Huge thunderstorms hit Beijing this evening. I actually never spent summer here in Beijing before, and cannot quiet figure out if this is normal, but lightening and the heavy rain is definitely real. The loudness of the raindrops is beyond what one can imagine. I found 5 leaking spots from the roof, my pots and pans are just enough to fill their evening shifts.

I start to question the technical aspects of the building structure, I thought a sculptor would be the right person to ask. I sent a text message to my neighbour cross the courtyard, an honored graduate from the Central Academy of Arts, and a student of the renowned Chinese sculptor Sui Jianguo.

"it is as steady as how it is built" his answer.

I suddenly remembered a great ancient invention which protects humans from hitting my lightening - the lightening rod. It is often found on old country houses in the south where I am from.

"do you think we have lightening rod installed here?" I just thought I would ask.

"the human body is a lightening rod!"

Two seconds later, I received an MMS, it was a happy fat little pig running across the woods, I was not certain if it was a way to relieve my tension or just to make fun of me. But one thing I can be sure is that this pig neither has the shape nor the functionality of a lightening rod.

Welcome to black bridge - a lightening rod free community!

Crossing the border

It has been eight months since I moved back to China. This move is the most incomplete and the least rational. I left an entire apartment filled with all my books, Cds, twenty something cameras and memories around the marble chimney, which can never be washed away by the drizzling rains of Paris. Here, I have 250 square meters in a new established artist village outside Beijing called Black Bridge, yet, I am not sure what to bring in…I keep buying plants, it might however take an entire forest to fill the place. Of course I have all the time to pick and choose, and in my suitcase I still have a return ticket to my Paris apartment.

Some people enjoy choices in life but I am one of those who should never been given any choices. I hated choosing dishes for lunch at boarding school and often had whatever appeared on the top of the blackboard; I hated choosing majors in University and eventually went to a school, which did not have majors; I didn’t know where to find a real job and ended up working for a company started with letter “A”. I once loved two boys but did not want to choose, one of them became dad today (no one told me but I know) and the other would not forgive me, my only way of getting news from him is to google his name.

The choice of city or not choosing a city of residence would probably lead to less dramatic consequences, but somehow my heart tells me that I am crossing the border, this time with no return!

Go China, Go Bloggers!

Questions of the day are:

- "How many gold medals today?"  

-"Your car is odd number?"

- "Can I go through Tiananmen tomorrow it is the Olympics closing?" 

As the whole world is glued to the TV for the past 10 days or so and the Chinese all taking pride in their atheletic achievements in this Olympics.  As a new resident of Beijing, questions of the day are:

1. "how many gold medals today?"

2. "Is your car odd number?"

3."Can I go through Tiananmen tomorrow since it will be the Olympics closing?"  The little bit of pride I can find is way over shadowed by all the inconveniences I have to deal everyday.

However, the best news to me ever this month is -

Blogspot is no longer blocked in CHINA!!!  ... after several painful years... someone was wise enough to understand that there is nothing to be blockked that cannot be unblocked somehow.

Welcome back Ana, and Go bloggers! 

One meter safari - Part I (Jaisalmeer)

I found the exact turban that I was looking for in a tourist shop near the Jain Temple, five meters of white cotton turban for the desert overnight safari coming up later in the evening.

If you see the me in the picture, you understand how one meter is measured in the part of the world. The distance nose and the tip of your fingers - convenient and elegant.

The friendly Shop Keeper (SK) asked the same old question, "Are you married"?

Ana: Of course! (i believed this was the only answer one should ever give being a single woman in this country)
SK: Me too!
Ana: Really? You look young.
SK: I just got married last week.
Ana: Congratulations! I just missed the wedding then.
SK: No wedding. Because my wife and I are from different casts, her family is rich, but me, no rich... but we love each other. but her family was chasing after me, brothers, cousins, they want to kill me...
Ana: What? What did you do?
SK: We ran away, from Jodhpur to Udaipur, from Udaipur to Jaipur, you know, we go everywhere... and the family always running after us.
Ana: What happened?
SK: Finally, i went to see the judge. Because I am 20 years old and my girlfriend 19, we are old enough to get married ...you know...
Ana: And...so you succeeded, that is so great!
SK's face filled with joy and happiness.
Ana: so where is your wife?
SK: she lives outside the fort...

I paid for my turban and was so taken by this beautiful love story at 9h30 in the morning.

SK: Would you like a Chai? I invite you for Chai!

I shaked my hands, but the shopkeeper showed determination on his face, I had to sat down again.

Here this 20 year old man just shared his life story and is treating me to a morning Chai.

Ana: hmmm.... actually I am not married. (out of guilt, I thought I had to tell the truth)
The shopkeeper just stepped to fetch the tea cup, i was not sure if she heard me.
SK: So, you are not married.
Ana, smile, making a baby face.
SK: Well, me neither!
Ana: What?! (I jumped out of my chair)
How could you lie like that?

SK with a witty smile on his face: Who lied first?

... should I be taken by his wit or just embarrassed by my own stupidity?

a blue house in the blue city - Jodhpur

I am staying in a blue house in the blue city- Jodhpur, probably the most typical city of Rajasthan. With some luck I found this guesthouse run by a real local, and more so, the whole family lives on the ground floor and first floor. 2nd and 3rd floor are converted to guestrooms. The roof top has an amazing view of the Fort and all the blue houses in the city.

Walking through the narrow city streets, I get lost almost every 5 minutes: market places, street scenes, spice shops, jewlery dealers, old buildings and colorful turbans...all suggest that i am in Aladdin.

We feel the desert heat, definitely a big change from Mount Abu. I also got to know a new creature called Desert Cooler. It is essentially a local cheap version of air conditioning, it functions as a big fan and cold water going through a big metal box behind the fan. It makes huge noises, but some how it does cool the rooms. With all the noise and size of the big metal box, it is hard to imagine that it would actually consume less electricity than a real airconditioning. Since his is what local people prefers, I trust that they make good choices.

Sometimes I wonder if the population of cows in a city of Jodhpur actually exceeds the population of human beings. They are everywhere, they eat a lot, they don't do anything, they shit everywhere. and more importantly they are HOLY. Indians believe all spirits of god reside in the body of cow, and so: if you pray to the cow, you pray to all gods. To bring convenience to the spiritual life of the people, the indians have done a great job!

This is a city where 60% habitants are Hindis and 30% Muslins. At dawn, we hear the chantting from Hindu temples and Muslin Mosques compete against each other. As Hindis are mostly vegetarians and certainly don't eat cows, I can not help wonder what happens when the cows actually die. Do muslims just eat them? And if they do, what would the Hindis feel? and if not, what are they going to do with that big chunk of meat?

Lonely travellers on a lonely planet - from Udaipur to Mount Abu

It has been exactly one week since I started wondering around India. Never seen so many friendly faces and especially honored as I am often stopped by people on the streets who want to have pictures taken together me. I suppose Chinese are rare creatures in this part of the world.

Mount Abu, the only hill station in the region between Rajsthan and Gujarak, is a very popular tourist destination for local indians, and also a pigrimage place with numerous temples and spiritual organizations. The Nakki lake stiuated in the center of the city is believed to have holy spirit to it, some village people come here to leave the ashes of their loved ones. In this entire city, we are the only foreigners, me and an English couple who came on the same bus with me. We soon became good friends, if we are going to be stared at, might as well be stared at together!

I am typing away in a cyber cafe, where the keyboards are so worn out that the letters no longer show up anymore; however, the owner skillfully hand-wrote the letters with paint. Why not? if it works. This is also a city where taxi take hand written signs. So if you want to drive a taxi, just write in real big letter on your car "TAXI" it soon becomes a taxi. Nothing is going to stop the Indians.

Recommended once by our trekking guide, we now go to the same restuarant every meal, the cleanest and quietest we can find in town. But we are three stubborn tourists who come to the best indian restuarnt for non-indian food. I am now off my almond-only diet and switched to a mix of plain rice, veggie fried rice and sweet lassie diet. It is so much more nutritious.

Of all the great things we get to see, we are happy to be the lonely travellers on this lonely planet.

Ps: tips for Mt. Abu, a really amazing must see temple called Jain Temple, built 1000 - 13000AD, with all marbles, very little information on lonely planet or any guidebook, but abosulately breath taking.

Trekking in the mountains with a really good guide called Charlie, we even spotted a jackle.

The tomato eating tortoise - Udaipur

Raj Palace, the first place I found in my guide book, I thought I would try my luck. After some very buppy 16 hours on the so called "high way", the Rickshaw ride seemed so nice and smooth.

15 mins later, I settled in a nice room with a view of the roof top of an indian family. 30 mins later, I was having my first meal in two days in the garden of Raj Palace.

Cross the table, I discovered a very interesting creature - a tortoise. With my limited knowledge of animals, I think it is a mountain tortoise. The owner said the tortoise has made home of Raj Palace since 3 years, and he only eats tomotos. I vaguely remembered from high school zoology that tortoises eat insects like mosquitos, but maybe they all become vegtarians and hindis in this country. To prove his point, the owner had one of the workers bring out some chopped tomato pieces, and he started eating them... wow, it is way too cool. a tomato eating tortoise!!!

or am I just ignorant !?

Escape Monsoon - Mumbai Day 2

After a half day of wondering around the streets of Mumbai in heavy rain, I had enough of the joy of early Monsoon and decided to change my travel plans. In stead of heading down south on the Arabic coast, I would actually go up north to the state of Rajstan where I can see the cities of colors and maybe even reach Taj Mahal, one of the 7 wonders of the world. But of course, knowing me, that would only be a goal.

I let a good travel agent talked me into buying a very expensive bus ticket from Mumbai to Udaipur, sleeper, A/C and all and most importantly - "this is a bus especially for foreigners like you", guiltily and surely, that was the most convincing argument of his sale. 6pm, I was on the bus, 9 pm i woke up, finding the bus still stuck somewhere at the out skirts of Mumbai, the Driver missing. By then the empty bus which I got on 3 hours ago is now filled with Indians, I was the only foreigner on it. One of the friendly passenger helped me situate myself - "it should take another 16 hours before we reach Udaipur" and he also explained to me that the driver, guess what, he is trying to fill the bus with more passengers. As I saw a family of husband and wife and 3 kids all crammed on the double bed facing me, I wondered where the driver would put other passengers. I also noticed one other problem - no bathroom on the bus. hmmm....??? I guess I would have to stop drinking water.

This is the day, I abandoned all local eateries to avoid stomach problems and reduced my alimentation to only almonds and raisins. As my nutritionist told me, almonds have all necessary vitamins, proteins and fat one would need in a meal. I was quiet certain that I can survive with no problem on almonds and stay healthy for the rest of my journey. There I happily opened my big bag of almonds for a late night snack.

In the freezing air conditioned upper sleeper with no sheets or blankets, I was ready for a real escape of Monsoon to the dry land of Rajstan.

Tatian, Tatan, Tatiana? - Mumbai Day 1

This is the first day when I said goodbye to my five star inter-continnental club room and ventured on to the streets of Mumbai. I was with my backpack charged with rolls of films, waiting to melt in the summer indian steam. 100 meters outside the hotel, I found a Rickshaw, successfully took me to the nearest train station.

Well, as soon as I got off the auto rickshaw, the steam mixed with rotten food filled my nose, my mouth and my entire head for the next 72 hours at least. This is not the kinda RER train stations which I am familiar with. After some effort, i located the entrance, but 5 long lines right in front of me, quequing to get tickets. You gotta be kidding me! No machines? Huh, there are machines, but how do they work. I looked 360 degrees around me trying to locate some friendly face, and english speaking friendly face...did not find one. hmmm... maybe the conceige had a point, as he strongly recommended me NOT to take the train.

There I saw a fair skin girl, eating breakfast...I tried with English and it worked. She took out her little carnet of tickets and gave 2 pieces of precious green paper, they had 8 RS face value, I offered to pay, she said no need. As we were walking towards the platform, i had a better look at the kind of jungle I was in. She seemed in command. She was wearing modern clothes and that she was going shopping with friends in Colaba Bay, near Taj Mahal Hotel.

She pointed me to the platform and said she would take the same train, I could not help my curiocity, "where are you from?"
"I am from here."
"here?"
"yes, here. you?"
"China."
"Singapore?"
"no, China."
after a few seconds of silence, I heard
"I am tibetan"
"Oh...you mean originally from ..."
"I am refugee here, as the Chinese occupied Tibet, my parents had nowhere to go, they came here."
I had chills in my necks, not sure what to say.
"I was born here though."
As the train was coming into the station, she started walking fast and almost running "we have to find the women's coach"
I could not quiet follow her "you mean women ride in a separate coach?"

Before I knew it, we were already on it, the women's coach, blue, yellow, green, red, pink, indian women in sarees...me with a big backpack and my new tibetan friend with her innocent eyes.

The scene completely took my breath away, i felt the heat as sweat just came off of my forehead like raindrops, they were so elegant, those indian women, every single one of them, and some smiled at me...

Just as I was focused on all the women and the hand rails in the women's coach, my tibetan friend said that she had to get off and wished me a happy journey.
"wait, what is your name?"
"Tatain" (maybe tatanian, tatian..) i heard something..
"me, Elsie..." i quickly took out a card and gave it to her, "email me please!"
few seconds later, she was gone with the crowd...

"email me"?! about what? so that she can tell me what really happened to her parents? Or that i can teach her about the history how Tibet has been part of China since Yuan Dynasty. Or that she comes to find me on the address given on the card in Paris, I take her shopping and meet French boys? Will she be more interested in Louis Vuitton than history of her origin? Was I more embarrassed about my inability in this mega city of India than my potential ignorance of past history I am about to find out from Tatian, Tatan or Tatiana???

Here my first 45 mins alone in Mumbai... the adventure continues...