THIS IS GOOOD... Guacamole slightly different

Ingredients

avocado               1 large
tomato                 1 large
garlic                    to taste, I used about 6 cloves
habaneros             to taste, I used 3, if not available jalapenos is fine, or dried chili flakes
salt                        to taste
yoghurt                250 gr, I used firm Greek style yoghurt
tortilla chips        as many as you wish

Preparation

Mix the cut up avocado, the chopped tomato the finely chopped garlic, and the very finely chopped habaneros and stir well, add salt.

Taste.

Add the yoghurt stirring well.

Spoon it out with the chips.

NOW, if you have some leftovers! I had, and I ate it with Arab flat bread.

Cut the bread open, spread the guacamole on one side and add slices of ham. I used York ham
and some soft Italian cheese. I used Bocconcini because I had nothing else. But I think Buffalo Mozzarella will be nice too.

Close the bread and enjoy.

BIASA TOCH… (as usual)

When my friend's four-year old daughter had to be hospitalised and he was only able to look at her through a glass partition because the room had to be kept germ-free, he was very upset when he observed a stray cat cleaning itself in that "antiseptic" ward.

The nurse did not understand his point and why he was upset. Ok, it was a provincial hospital, and happened some years ago, but still. Biasa toch…

And when I was admitted with dengue to a Jakarta hospital, I asked why the intravenous needle the nurse was replacing, sticky with blood, was thrown into the waste basket where I had put empty Aqua bottles and used tissue paper, the answer was that the trash would be sorted downstairs. Biasa toch…

Luckily for the cleaning staff assigned to sort the medical from the non-medical trash, and who might by accident prick themselves on the bloody needle, I am not an AIDS sufferer, but I do not envy him his job.

Next time you ask for a daily necessity in your favourite supermarket or corner toko and the answer is kosong, sorry, we're out of stock, think biasa toch…

The sorry policeman, who maintains a steady flow of traffic on his intersection by directing those who want to turn right to drive straight on, does not understand that to clear his node results in more blockage somewhere else, because he cannot see that his part of the road is but a small cog in the metropolitan traffic system. Moreover, his experience is of a continuing, and worsening, traffic congestion, so why even think of possible improvements. Biasa toch…

All these instances are the result of forced rote learning, not so much because it's the system, but more because the teacher would not know how to answer questions about alternatives.

Huddled masses, shake off your tinted glasses and punch a hole in your box, let in the light of an alternative view and nurture the spark of creativity that is also inside YOU.

Make imaginative thinking and constructive criticism your own BIASA (usual way)…! 

HANOI – sights and more

Such an amazing city, especially in comparison to Jakarta, my residence. The total population of Greater Hanoi, that is the administrative region, was 7.1m in 2014, or 2.9m for the urban part and the remainder spread out over "rural" Hanoi. Nearly three million people, a great many cars and even more motorcycles and scooters in the city proper, and yet no traffic jams. And development appears to take place at an astonishing speed—the new Noi Bai airport and a new six-lane highway connecting it to Hanoi; new roads inside the town and flyovers being constructed; new high-rise offices, shopping centres, hotels, apartments. Exactly four years ago I was here on a project-assignment, the hotel I stayed (in the old town) was at six floors the largest building in the narrow street, now it is dwarfed by a fancy recent addition to the Hanoi hotel-world. And in contrast to Jakarta, the developmental activities appear to work as intended and are completed on time—the new highway, for example, is of superb quality and includes a magnificent bridge across the Red River.

Located on the right bank of the Red River, Hanoi marked its one-thousand years as a city in October 2010. It had been inhabited long before, since somewhere around 3000 BC in fact, but it was Emperor Ly Thai To who in 1010 moved his capital there. He renamed it Thang Long (Soaring Dragon) as he claimed to have seen a dragon rising from the Red River. In 1802 the capital was moved to Hué by Emperor Gia Long, founder of the Nguyen dynasty. In 1831 Thang Long was named Hanoi, and from 1902 to 1953 it served as the capital of French Indochina. And finally, after 30 years of war, Hanoi became the capital of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam in 1976.

Sights worth a visit.

The nearly four kilometres long Ceramic Road, based on the idea of journalist Nguyen Thu Thuy to transform the dyke system around Hanoi into a ceramic mosaic in celebration of 1000-years-Hanoi, was officially entered into the Guinness Book of World Records on 5 October 2010 as the largest mosaic in the world. It could even be called an international cooperative effort as foreign contributions can also be identified—see for instance the Spanish mosaic with its bottle of Rioja 2010 and the text Vamos a la Playa; and a bit further down Dutch windmills and tulips can also be identified. Definitely worth a visit.

In my previous blog I already mentioned that a stroll through the Old Town is highly enjoyable. Its 36 streets, some wide and others very narrow, are full of life. In the past these streets were arranged by trade—textiles, silverwork, shoes and sandals, and the like. Nowadays less so, but the exiting and intoxicating atmosphere and beautifully organised chaos is still strikingly evident.

The Ho Chi Minh Museum, as the name implies, is dedicated to a single person: Ho Chi Minh. Born Nguyen That Thanh, he adopted the name Ho Chi Minh, meaning the Bringer of Light, when he founded the Viet Minh, a communist-dominated independence movement, to fight the Japanese. Ho Chi Minh was the leader of the Vietnamese nationalist movement and the President of North Vietnam from 1954 till his death in 1969.

The museum is dedicated to his many contributions in the fields of culture, education and the arts, and his devotion to the national liberation of the Vietnamese people, and contributing to the common struggle of peoples for peace, national independence, democracy and social progress.[1]

The interesting aspect of the museum is that a wider and more multivariegated view than the politically correct version of UNESCO, is presented.

A bewildering assemblage of objects and images is shown. What to make, for instance, of these photos (shown below) reproduced on glass and accessible from both sides.

  

The interpretation of the ones below seems clear: …common struggle of peoples for peace, national independence, democracy and social progress.

Definitely worth a visit, and if the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum is open, I do recommend you join the silent queue of people filing past his tomb.

I also recommend a visit to the Temple of Literature. Within the temple the first university of Vietnam, the Imperial Academy, was established to educate the nobles, royalty, bureaucrats and other members of the elite. Founded in 1070 by Emperor Ly Thanh Tong, the temple, one of Hanoi's finest historical and cultural sites, is dedicated to Confucius.

Main entrance

 

 Serene tranquility inside the compound

 

Confucius

Hoa Lo Prison main gate

For those of us who remember Jane Fonda as an anti-war protester, a visit to the Hoa Lo Prison, or the Hanoi Hilton as it was called by the American prisoners of war, a visit would be interesting.

It is a bit simple in its portrayal of "how well we treated the American POWs" compared to "how badly the French treated our independence fighters", but worth a visit anyway.

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[1] UNESCO, Records of the General Conference, 24^th Session, Paris 1987

Welcome to HANOI and its delicious food

Em ỏi… very likely the first words in Vietnamese one hears upon landing. The curl on top of the "o" makes the sound veer towards "eu", but not too much. When I first heard it and had understood that it was to call someone's attention, I thought it was an informal way of doing so. Something like Hey you! But it is not, not informal, that is. It is the proper way to address a man or woman younger than oneself. An older woman is addressed as Chi ỏi and an older man as Anh ỏi. At my age I don't have to memorise those two as age-wise I'm in the top five percent of the population.

Hoan Kiem lake area at night

Old town 1 and 2

I've been in Hanoi now for slightly more than a week and enjoy every minute of it. For logistical reasons I'm staying in a hotel in Dong Da district bordering Hoan Kiem district on the west, which to me is the main tourist centre of Hanoi, as Hoan Kiem Lake and the old town are located within it. The lake, during the day, is a most enjoyable place to stroll and relax on one of the many benches nicely shaded by the trees. And evenings it is teeming with life, young couples and families unwinding after a day at work, while groups of elderly are doing calisthenics. The old town is a beautifully chaotic treasure of old houses and gnarled trees, shops and eateries spilling out on the sidewalks, motorcycles, scooters, cars, blaring horns and people, especially people. Fairly small, the old town consists of some 36 streets only. Originally, specialised merchants and trades were concentrated in a particular street. To some extent that can still be observed although in a watered down form.

From the number of eateries and the number of customers one could easily conclude that one half of the population is serving food to the other half. And what lovely food it is.

My favourites follow below:

Phở, the ubiquitous noodle soup with a rich, clear broth made from a long boiling of different meats.

Bún chả is a dish of grilled pork and noodle, which is thought to have originated from Hanoi. Bun cha is served with grilled fatty pork over a plate of white rice noodle and lots of green herbs with a side dish of dipping sauce.

Bánh cuốn is made from a thin, wide sheet of steamed fermented rice batter filled with seasoned ground pork, minced wood ear mushrooms. The dipping sauce is called nurac cham.

The rice sheet of bánh cuốn is extremely thin and delicate. It is made by steaming a slightly fermented rice batter on a cloth which is stretched over a pot of boiling water.

Bánh cuốn

Making of bánh cuốn sheet

Bánh my, a term for a type of bread that is derived from the French baguette. Typical fillings are roast pork belly, pork sausage, pork liver pâté, fried egg, to which is added fresh cucumber slices, cilantro, sliced chilies, spicy chili sauce and mayonnaise.

Papaya salad, made from shredded young papaya, herbs, various meats, such as slices of pork, pork liver or jerky, herbs, and with a vinegar based dressing.

Banh xeo, a flat pancake made of rice flour with turmeric and filled with shrimp, fatty pork, sliced onions, and button mushrooms. It is eaten with lettuce and various local herbs and dipped in nurac cham. Rice papers can be used as wrappers for the banh xeo and the accompanying vegetables. 

Nem cuon, fresh spring rolls, and nem ran, crispy deep fried spring rolls.

Lẩu is a Vietnamese rendition of steam boat with assorted vegetables, meats, seafood, and spicy herbs.

In my personal opinion, the best place to enjoy the full variety of Vietnamese cuisine is Quan An Ngon. In its four restaurants in Hanoi more than 300 local and street food dishes will give you an unforgettable experience.

Quan An Ngon, addresses in Hanoi:

1.       18 Phan Boi Chau

2.       34 Phan Ding Phung

3.       R4-B2 Vincom Royal City

4.       25T2 Trung Hoa Nhan Chinh

GENERATIONS

My great-grandfather was born 200 years ago… two hundred, that's correct! What a year that was! Napoleon met his Waterloo and Mount Tambora in the Dutch East Indies—now Indonesia—blew its top in the biggest explosive eruption in recorder history. Louis XVIII was brought back as King of France, and in Prussia Otto von Bismarck was born on April 1^st. And Saartjie Baartman died on 29 December. She was famous for her very large buttocks[1] and was displayed in freak shows in Europe under the name of Hottentot Venus.[2] The modern version of a freak show is reality TV such as Keeping Up with the Kardashians, and incidentally, Kim K's buttocks, although not of Saartjie's size, are quite ample, too.

Quite a colourful list of happenings. And maybe this did contribute to my great-grandfather's extra­ordinary life. But just imagine, two hundred years. A statistically-normal age gap of four generations is around 90 years. In my case the four-generation gap is 125 years, a whole "generation" was thus added without any visible bodies to show for it.

Saartjie Baartman, the Hottentot Venus

Great-grandfather, as recounted by my grandmother, was an excellent swimmer and an outstanding horseman. His third marriage, of which I'm a descendant, was to the artistic daughter of the then famous author, Karl Gutzkow. She, a penniless painter and 35 years his junior, instantly earned the contempt of her family. You have sold your soul, they scornfully told her. But the real reason, according to my grandmother, their only child, was that the family had hoped to be included in the will of the rich uncle—his sister's son had married the older Gutzkow daughter Clara.

Anyway, it hadn't gotten as far as a will yet. Great-grandfather, Jean Doré Wunderly, but called Père by his wife and daughter, was far from dead and produced a daughter, my grandmother Dora. A very lively and strong-willed lady who likely took after her father. He had made a name for himself by diving off the Rhine bridge in Mainz; later when managing the tropical products import firm in Amsterdam he became the talk of the town when he rode his horse up the stairs of the Gentlemen's Club. He had inherited the firm in Amsterdam from an uncle and it became the source of his great wealth. Born a German, he was a pre-European as he acquired the Dutch nationality for tax and administrative reasons, and when he foresaw a decline in the tropical oils and fats prospects, he sold out and left for Paris where he became a French national.

During the French-Prussian war of 1870 he did, however, discover that he could not stand the French aggressively patriotic view of themselves and their fellow Europeans, and built himself a house in Bühlen, Switzerland. It is there that he met his to-be third wife, and where eventually my grandmother was born.

My grandmother who is the source of this information said that he was rather difficult and very strict in enforcing his wishes on those around him, but also interesting, and intellectually and physically alert. A nice epitaph, I think. 

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[1] Called steatopygiam a large accumulation of fat in and around the buttocks.

[2] Hottentot was then the name of the Khoikhoi people of southern Africa; now it is considered an offensive name. 

QUINOA, a very tasty seed...

I had read about quinoa quite some time ago. It was referred to as the Gold of the Andes for its nutritional value as it is high in protein. This seems to be confirmed by Wikipedia: Quinoa (the name is derived from the Spanish spelling of the Quecha name kinwa) originated in the Andean region of Ecuador, Bolivia, Colombia and Peru, where it was domesticated 3,000 to 4,000 years ago for human consumption... Quinoa seeds contain essential amino acids like lysine and acceptable quantities of calcium, phosphorus, and iron.

Interestingly, 2013 was declared the International Year of Quinoa by the United Nations General Assembly in recognition of the Andean people who have preserved it as a food for present and future generations, through knowledge and practices of living in harmony with nature.

And then I found it at the O Clinic (Jl. Prapanca Raya No.20, Kebayoran Baru, Jakarta) where I go once a month for acupuncture treatment. And while I have your attention, Dr Sisilia is a very accomplished acupuncturist and medical herbalist. Instructions on how to prepare quinoa were included, together with a few recipe suggestions.

I tried mixing quinoa with rice, which was not bad, but a bit bland. What I do, however, recommend is to mix quinoa into mashed potatoes. This is the way I made it.

Ingredients:

4-5 medium sized potatoes
1 cup of quinoa                                                                                                      
3-5 cloves of garlic crushed and chopped small
1/2 cup of sour cream, or, 1/3 cup of extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon of paprika powder
salt to taste

Directions:

1   Peel and quarter the potatoes and boil till done. And at the same time...
2   Boil the quinoa for 10 to 15 minutes in 2 cups of water (plus a little bit to avoid crusting at the bottom of the pan). The quinoa should be soft when done.
3   Mash the potatoes to the desired consistency and add the garlic and the sour cream (or olive oil) and paprika powder.
4   Add the quinoa, mix well, and salt to taste.

SEPTIC SHOCK, a shocker...

The doctor in Emergency expressed his surprise that I was still alive. This was the morning after I had been admitted in the middle of the night. At that age and the state he was in, he said, they normally die within a few hours, adding that I must have a very strong heart.

When I was admitted I was extremely short of breath and barely conscious. I was given oxygen and the hospital then wanted to know how I was going to pay for further treatment. A blood test showed that my kidneys did not function properly, and they guessed that my breathing problem was caused by pneumonia. This was later confirmed by a chest x-ray.

After clearing the financial matters I was put on an intravenous drip. A proper cocktail—antibiotics, liquid to prevent dehydration, a blood thinner to prevent clotting, and one or two more. I was also put on three-full-days of slow dialysis as my urea and creatinine levels were far too high due to my kidneys not functioning properly.

Of course, only much later, did I find that out. The first night in Emergency and the happenings during the subsequent four or five days in the Intensive Care Unit were revealed to me by Y who had handled the administrative and financial interactions with the hospital administration, and made recordings of the proceedings. On the photographs she had taken I hardly recognise myself... tubes and IVs, dark almost black blood going into the dialyser and coming out bright red, oxygen tubes in the nose, and my mouth half-open desperately trying to suck in more air. Looking at the photos now, I do understand the Emergency doctor's surprise that I was still alive.

When I finally started to notice my surroundings and the fact that I was lying in a hospital bed—still in ICU—I got another shock when I saw S standing at my bedside. I looked from her to Y and tried to ask how that was possible, but my dried out mouth and crusted lips could not form the right words. Apparently, when observing my confusion, S told Y, wait till he sees who else is in the room! And yes, I was nearly stupefied when I noticed E. For years she had refused to see me and talk to me, and now, there she was.

Communication was a pain. I couldn't talk as the words came out garbled or not at all, and my attempts at writing a cohesive sentence were not much better. I wanted to ask what had happened and what  progress had been made and started drawing a squiggly line. When that was not understood I indicate that I wanted to write,
I mant (meant) a a p r
   prooogress (with the "g" on top of the third "o") Scha^rrrt
     charnt
and finally, CHART

I remembered that before going to the hospital I had diagnosed myself as suffering from dengue, and consequently wanted info on the platelet count (thrombocytes, found in large numbers in blood and involved in clotting). This is what I wrote,  platatelets ? The platelet count had fallen to 22K (should be from 150-400K per mm³) but not because of dengue fever, but because of kidney malfunction, I was told.

And using writing as the medium of communication I finally found out what I was suffering from:  septic shock caused by pneumonia and acute kidney injury. I couldn't believe it. How could I suddenly develop pneumonia, and my kidneys were doing fine—urine clear and apart from the 2cm-stone that was sitting in the bladder, there was no injury as far as I remembered.

My last attempt at communicating was:
I wamt to savoe (with the "v" superimposed on the "o") this to remember the mame  (I want to save this to remember the name).

That was mid-September of last year. I have recuperated since then though still not sufficiently to have recovered the muscle-mass I lost. Tennis is thus still off for one or two months.  

The POISONWOOD BIBLE

Barbara Kingsolver's best seller, The Poisonwood Bible, was published in 1998. It's the gripping story of the Price family. Nathan, a Baptist preacher-missionary obsessed with ramming Jesus down African throats, moved his wife and four daughters in 1959 from Georgia (US) to the Belgian Congo. He is narrow minded and obsessed, a misogynist amidst his four women, inflexible and totally closed to the intricacies and strength of the culture and spiritual life of the village of Kilanga and its inhabitants. In this day and age, after 911 and incessant bombings in the US, the Middle East, and Indonesia, to name a few places, I believe, that mentality would be classified as hardliner, although I have never heard the term being applied to a Protestant. 

His wife Orleanna is a prime victim of the husband and the situation. The four daughters—Rachel who is very blond and 15 when they arrive in the Congo, wants nothing more than to return to Georgia and become the belle of the ball. The twins Leah and Adah, one year younger than Rachel, are identical in respect of their tremendous intelligence, but physically totally different. Leah is a tomboy daring, outspoken and enterprising, while Adah, hemiplegic[1] from birth, is restricted in her movements and does not want to speak. Ruth May, the five years old late arrival, is playful and independent and the first one to establish a contact with the village children.

The villagers are not interested in the fire and brimstone sermons of Nathan Price and strongly oppose his endeavours to baptise them in the river. His sermons are translated by Anatole, the highly intelligent village teacher and only one who speaks English. The village chief Tata Ndu is against the foreign intrusion and the attempts to erode his authority. A shadowy South African bush pilot delivers their monthly rations from Leopoldville.

When in 1960 the Congo gains independence from Belgium, Nathan Price is instructed by his Mission HQ to leave the Congo and return to America. He refuses and against the wishes of his females he decides to stay. The monthly rations are terminated together with the 50 dollar stipend.

Times are dire and just to feed the family a daily problem. When suddenly Tata Ndu pays them regular visits they are very confused not having any idea what is happening. When their helper Nelson, who has been placed there by Anatole, explains to Orleanna that the village chief wants to marry Rachel—because the blonde would be entertaining for his six wives. Rachel throws a tantrum and demands to be repatriated, which only results in her having to copy the appropriate Bible texts, the ones that refer to honouring thy father...

Nathan comes up with the idea to pretend that Rachel had already been promised to Eeben Axelroot, the bush pilot.

The evening I read that I woke up in the middle of the night, not really woke up, more like a vivid dream where I had a very active role to play as director and writer of the scenario. In a country where, after independence, whites were paraded naked in the streets of Leopoldville, or just shot, resisting the wishes of a village chief was not advisable. Would Eeben be shot, Rachel be abducted, the whole family chased out of the village, or poisoned...? I couldn't come up with a satisfactory solution.

I'm not going to tell you how it all ends. Read it yourself. It was a bestseller in 1998 and selected by Oprah for her book club, and it still is good. I strongly recommend.

Jakarta, 21 August 2013

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[1] Paralysis of one side of the body