Pieces of Japan: Day 11 - No Man is an Island

29th December 2009

Matsushima Bay, Tohoku, Japan

The famous saying goes that "No man is an Island", supposedly hinting at how desolate a man if left in a state of isolation; and yet, as I peered out into the sea and saw a spread of beautiful little islands that sprinkled the glistering blue waters, I couldn't help but find a little irony in it all.

Hailed as one of the "Three Sights of Japan"(日本三景, Nihon Sankei), as recognized by the poet Hayashi Razen in the 1600s based on his travels throughout Japan, short-listing breath-taking views across the land and arriving at the most awe-inspiring three, Matsushima Bay lives up well to its legacy and reputation, with a breath-taking 260 islands scattered over the span of the bay (also famous for her flavourful oysters).

Mostly comprising of coniferous pines which dressed the little islands in shades of light green that provided a pleasing visual complement to the sparkling blue waters, the sunny setting provided a sharp contrast to the rainy climb up Yamadera and the harsh snows of the Hokkaido region that we had just experienced a mere days before. In fact, the sunny weather reminded us a bit of our tropical home, as Winter seemed like nothing more than a tinge at the back of our minds, as we stood at the rear of the Cruise Boat staring up into the clear blue sky, with the wind in our hair.

Squint Hard and the Monk might Stare back at You

Cruises on different routes are readily available hourly at Matsushima Bay, as we settled for 50-minute one (after some convincing, on my part) that made a short round around the bay, highlighting most of her essential sights. Almost each and every island had a name, mostly historically-named based on their resemblance to certain people or objects. The most famous of which are Niōjima, which was named for resembling the head-shape of an old monk (squint hard at the photo and you'll notice), and Senganjima, Masamune Date's favourite island, which he joked about bringing back to his palace to his men while coasting the bay.

Seagulls followed the wake of the boat tirelessly, as they were probably conditioned to understand that a moving boat equates to a free meal, as the locals and tourists alike bought packets of prawn crackers and threw them skyward, only to be quickly swooped up by the agility of the following gulls. The flock of white slowly turned to brown, as the ratio between hawks and seagulls inversed as we moved further and further out to sea, eventually evolving into a cloud of brown with specks of white, before reverting to its original form as we returned to shallow waters.

And yet, the double irony of it all is thatthe admiration of the beauty and that each of these lonesome little islands provided when standing proudly on their amidst the wavering sea-waves, my inner reflections were more akin towards the beauty of their unity, patterns and spreads, reminding me on a conscious level, of the appreciation I had for the company more than surrounded me moreso than the beauty of isolation.

Creeping up on a Sleeping Duck, exactly what I mean

Through the last 11 days, though we've shared our ups and downs, our blames and shames; braved panic attacks, emotional mood swings, constant weariness and  the freezing cold; more than that, we had built many more unforgettable memories together, and while there is a joy to be had in travelling alone (which I was to validate in the months ahead), some things are simply better shared, and some experiences were amplified simply due to the presence of another - regardless of how distracted she could sometimes be, lost in her own world taking her photos, and just wandering off randomly. But more than that, the squeals of delight and the constant sense of wonder and amazement, or sometimes, just simply the knowing of her presence, definitely added much to the experience of travelling.

A long red bridge stood before us, sharply contrasting the clear blue waters that lay underneath. A splash of green lay at the other end, beckoning to us with its oriental bonsai-like shapes and luscious green leaves. Leading to Fukuura Island, one of the few islands in Matsushima that is open to the public, the local myth is that crossing the bridge with a partner in tow will eventually lead to a breakup. Fortunately, we were not local, hardly superstitious (at least not me), but most important, very much igonrant of this fact until very much later.

A fan of bridges, she was more excited about being on and crossing the bridge than anything else. I, on the other hand - while enjoying the salty sea-breeze in my hair, and  the change in pace of the foot-bound pilgrimage, as compared to our ship-lead expedition earlier -was my usual forward-looking self and sought the treasures that awaited us on the other end of the bridge.

And true enough, the memorial-treasures that awaited us on the other end were abundant enough for our long journey and much beyond that. Walking quietly around the island, sometimes off the beaten path, bathed in the golden sunlight seeping through the rustling tree leaves, the temperate flora and fauna created an impression of land and water unlike any of the typical coconut-laden beaches we had back home, and the sheer peace of the entire scene gave the impression that the island was made nicely just for two.

Sand and water still comprised the primary elements, but with drops of bright luscious green never too far away, and the unique oriental shapes of the darker green trees that presented themselves into the distance - as the islands got nearer and nearer to the horizon, silhouetted against the sun - they created an impression of a wholly different waterside aesthetic.

I walked to the edge of the viewing platform, tired from mapping and identifying the islands that stood in front of me based on the given map-like images; shelving extraneous knowledge aside simply to admire the Zen-like view of greens and blue, a perfect composition of trees, the sand, the waters and the sky singing in perfect visual harmony before my very eyes. Awe-struck and breath-taken, but hardly exaggerated or expressed; but rather, a simple and quiet type of awe that resonated deep within me as I looked on at nothing, and yet everything, clearing my mind and soothing my soul.

Rays of gold fell onto her soft, round face, as I took a moment off the sunset to look at her, with the usual child-like wonder in her eyes; smiling secretly to myself as I felt a sense of thankfulness amidst the entire setting. Reaching out for her hand, we sat there in silence, watching the golden setting sun slowly creep downwards, behind the silhouette of trees and islands that lay in the horizon, below eventually disappearing below it.

Matsushima Bay is said to have 4 different definite views to view the bay from, each supposedly providing a different perspective and aesthetic on the bay. I saw none of them, and yet, I didn't need either to justify or validate the beauty of the visual and mental photograph that I had just taken; an image that would rather surely be etched deeply in the recesses of my memory for a long, long time to come.

As we walked hand-in-hand, back across the bridge and under the pinkish hue of the dusk sky, I turned to look at her through the silence, and saw a silhouette of her face looking back at me, hardly being able to decipher her features within the silhouette, but enough to see warmness of a gentle heart smile smiling back at me. And through the silence, words rang out to me; words of wisdom, an age-old saying, indeed : "No Man is an Island".

BLU @ Shangri-La Hotel: 3rd Year Anniversary - The Experience

14th September 2010

"Any champagne to start the night, sir?" The waitress asked promptly, after we were firmly rested in our comfortable red seats.

"Two glasses, please," I replied, without batting an eyelid; and more detrimentally, without the slightest clue about the price.

Indeed, the mood of the night was set with that exemplary opening gesture - a night or pure indulgence and bliss, on a sensory and, more significantly, emotional level - as I reached out for her hand.

It all felt so natural by now - and it should afterall; considering that it has been exactly three years since I placed her hand firmly in mine, remembering the caption and the phrase of "holding happiness", from our initial and discreet hand-holding moment immortalized on film.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" The waitress asked politely, as I rested the base of the long champagne glass on the white table cloth, the bitter aftertaste that tore through the sweetness still lingering in my mouth - a delightful sensation. 

"We'll have 'The Experience Menu", I told the waitress. 

"The Experience Menu" - a more than apt word to sum up the dining encounter we had at the Shangri-La as we marked our landmark celebration. 

I've always believed dining to be an art in itself, and more importantly and more essentially, an 'experience' (for the lack of a more suitable word). "The Experience Menu" at the Shangri-La not only reinforces, but utterly validates my point.

Led by Chef Kevin Cherkas, with footprints imprinted on some of the globe's Michelin's Restaurant, his creativity and culinary abilities shone through as we were introduced to the concept of "progressive dining"; which was not only a feast for the stomach, but also one for the eyes and the mind, as we left the restaurant in full appreciation of not only his skills, but also his creative talent and hospitality.

"Foie gras is a must, lobster, beef and if possible, oysters." I recited to the waitress, as she noted my preferences down.

"The Experience Menu" at BLU is a special menu where patrons are asked for specific food preferences, allergies and the like; which is then reported to the chef, who will set customise a menu for the patron based on the patron's preferences, and maybe, a little bit based on the chef's mood on that day. Akin to a degustation menu, except that it is a two-way deal between chef and patron rather than a one-sided affair.

For us, even though the menu was recited to us, the names themselves were inventive and at the same time abstract, sometimes being a little bit difficult to visualize, leaving plenty of room for the chef to surprise us, and indeed, he did with one dish after another.

Looking out of the tall glass window over a quiet stretch that would eventually meander to the much busier Orchard Road, she spoke of how it reminded her of Otaru, or in general, Japan... again. Some things in life probably leave a deep imprint on one's soul, and travelling on a magical getaway is probably one that still thugs at her heartstrings ever so often. Nostalgia is sweet in itself, but perhaps more so for me than her, the memory of sharing special travelling moments with a loved one is more than the icing on the cake, it is the very essence of the Experience; one that can only be fostered over a period of a compromise between a passionate love and a comfortable trust built over a course of time.

Mushroom Bubble

A spoon with an odd-looking bubble-shaped object was placed in front of us, as we were instructed on how to consume it. Placing it on my tongue, I applied pressure from the top of my mouth onto the bubble, causing it to burst and releasing a potpourri of flavours, dominated by those of mushroom and an after-tinge of cranberry sauce.

Analogous to drinking of the potion in Alice in Wonderland, this little bubble only served as our entry point to the more fascinating things to come further down the rabbit hole.

Lobster "Thermidor"

Washing up onto the shores of our journey-towards-gourment-excellence next was the Lobster "Thermidor." A rich dish that served the most succulent bits of the Lobster coupled with a rich lobster-based broth that had roe floating on the surface, pieces that I almost missed completely in my blindness and negligence. The combination of the succulent meat with the mixture of the rich and thick lobster broth brought back memories and inevitable comparisons of the lobsters I had in Boston. 

Memories of a time of difficulty and a time of need, as I remember the lazy Sunday afternoons that I would be sitting in front of the laptop in my dorm room, literally reaching out to touch the face I saw on the monitor in hope of getting just that little bit closer to her, despite knowing an inch wouldn't make a difference to the miles apart, but still did so regardless. 

Stealing more than a Glance

That familiar smell, that beckoning texture; stood right before our eyes, as I uncontrollably used the knife to spread over the top of the slab, just to attest its texture and its firmness. Expectations rose by the millisecond as I dug my knife gently into it, watching it crumble softly, as I raised it to my mouth and pressed my lips tightly closed after putting it in my mouth.

Typical of those of the higher grades, the piece melted slowly in my mouth, emitting an assortment of flavours within my mouth; a tinge of saltiness, the familiar taste and an additional spruce of nuttiness thrown in for good measure, Foiegras@fruits.com (yes, the official name of the dish) quickly rocketed to the top of both our Foie Gras favourites list, sitting very closely to that of Le Saint Julien's, and playing hosts to a whole deluge of memories.

Foiegras@fruits.com (no, you can't click that)

Memories of the different times we shared Foie Gras. Perhaps a mark of luxury and celebration on our part, most major celebrations in our history is somehow always graced with a platter of Foie Gras at the table; and through these different occasions, I think it is safe to say that we have jointly established it as our favourite couple-dish. Mainly because of the taste, but partially for the memories, the numerous candlelights and romantic-slow-burn dinners we've had over the major occasions in the last 3 years closely associated to the taste of the dish.... the smiles, the tears; the birthdays and the kisses.

The Egg Came First, or so states Chef Kevin's witty answer to the age-old question. My retort: it doesn't matter which came first when the egg tastes THIS good. Cutting down the middle to allow for the yolk to soak in and through the thick onion broth, the combination of the inherent sweetness and saltiness from the egg combined with the sting of the onion in its broth was only made more heavenly with the sprinkle of bread crumbs that littered the top of the dish.

The Egg Came First

A refreshing refresher of grape yogurt and soda-infused grape later, our main courses were served. A fresh snapper with vanilla-scented paella for the Lady, simply entitled "Catch", and the manly Wagyu Beef Mustard for the Gentleman.

"Catch"

Well-coloured and even more well garnished, with the brown sauce taking the shape of a perfect diamond, the Wagyu Beef Mustard melted slowly in my mouth, rivalling the texture of the Kobe Beef that I had savoured in Japan a good while back, before the sting of the mustard kicked in to give the meat a sensational after-taste. Passing her a piece, I saw a similar reaction in her eyes as she savoured the meat through the consumption process.

Wagyu Beef Mustard - A Perfect Diamond

My personal belief is that a good relationship changes a person, ideally for the better; as we work towards the notion of becoming more "complete" through our partners. It wasn't too long ago at Morton's that I instigated and tempted her to break her abstinence from beef, never to look back. And while this is highly debateable on whether it is a change for the better or not (in my books, more than definitely), over the months and the years, I can safely say that we've both changed one another.

No more is she the wide-eyed gal with an infinite sense of wonderment, but blossoming into a butterfly of confidence and an opinion to back it up; and no more am I the impatient, self-centred jerk that I used to be, but blossoming into an impatient, and slightly less self-centred jerk now upgraded with enough room for two in my mind, trying my best to consider her thoughts and her feelings along the way alot more (ok, maybe I didn't change THAT much).

"It was still swimming yesterday, so that's super, super, super, SUPER fresh," he said, pointing to the fish. "Not that it makes it any more appetizing, but it makes it a lot healthier."    

A rarity to see the chef outside the kitchen, but yet Chef Kevin made it a point to make personal trips out of the kitchen over the course of the night to play host and explain his creations to the patrons in the small, cosy 40-to-50-seater lined with a traditional, but nonetheless, elegant decor of velvety reds and soft-wooden browns.

The candlelight continued flickering as her unsteady hand tried to capture a shot of our dessert. The Egg proved to be a highly innovative dessert, shaped convincingly like an egg, but tasting nothing like one - but instead, with a mango centre, and coconut white and finished with passion fruit sorbet at the bottom, the combination of flavours was fruity and refreshing, and served as an excellent finish (almost) to our "experience".

Candlelight is perhaps another one of the totems of our relationships, simply because the abundance of candles in the places we've graced, and when you have a predominant-couple-activity of (fine) dining, it is not hard to find the association.

More symbolically, and perhaps more exaggeratingly though, is that this love has indeed proven to be my Light-in-the-dark cliche. But as much as I hate to conform to such, the truth is that, no matter how frivolous and non-committal we wanted to establish it to be at the start, at many a time of darkness and gloom cast upon my career over the last three years, the romantic candle has often remained my source of strength, simply by the virtue of it's presence beside me, and perhaps to much (of her) chagrin, the listening ear to my neverending moping and the little haven for my perpetual brooding.

Customarily, I wrapped up the bill and passed it to her after paying for the dinner, as she picked up the hand-written menu based on our "Experience".

And as we walked out of the doors of the restaurant with happy bellies, I knew deep in my heart, that there was more to the night than that. More so than a Celebration of a Milestone, a Celebration of a Record, a Celebration of History, a Celebration of the Future, a Celebration of Memories, or a Celebration of Love - it was a Celebration of an Experience.

ex·pe·ri·ence (k-spîr-ns)

n.

c.  the totality of a person's perceptions, feelings, and memories



Pieces of Japan: Day 7 - White Christmas

25th December 2009
Niseko, Hokkaido, Japan

Muscles flexed at the thighs in an attempt to curb the wobbling of everything below the knees. Looking down, I saw the skis underfoot gyrating according to the little bumps along the somewhat steep slope.

"V, V, V," my mind shouted to my body, attempting to instil the advice the coach had just given me minutes ago. "Pressure on the knees, pressure on the knees," rang through my head, with a distinctively English accent.

An awkward contortion had me bringing my knees into the desired position, but wonder still ran through my head as I felt the pressure on my toes more than anywhere else.

Looking at my tremendous effort in forcing a V-shaped snow-plough with my legs, I smiled to myself, believing that I had finally gotten it right.

Wind rushing across my cheeks, as flakes of snow fiercely rose from the ground up till my lips, giving me a little taste of the powdery texture of the snow that lay underfoot.

I looked up, and there before me, in all her glorious beauty was Mt. Yotei - Ezo-Fuji, as the locals call it, due to some similarities to Japan's most famous peak. The golden sunlight shining off her snow-capped slopes, in turn dispersing and reflecting the rays of sunlight, giving the mountain an almost otherworldly glow.

She was beautiful.

As I stood with my mouth open; amazed at the visual splendour that laid before me and fuelled by the adrenaline of the pure velocity that my body was subjected to going downhill. An exhilarating orgy for the senses.

A splendour short-lived though, as the magic of the moment was almost too quickly disrupted by the familiar wobbling in the knees all over again.

"V, V, V!" I told myself again, as I willed my muscles into position, trying to draw in my now-parallel skis back into the supposed posture. 

Thuds and bumps and thuds again, made it extraordinarily difficult to restore my position. Panic rose and anxiety raced through my mind as I started to feel myself going faster and faster down the slope, as my skis refused to un-parallel themselves.

A sudden high from the spike in adrenaline, as my mind tried to get a grasp over the body that I was losing control of by the second. A desperate attempt had my bending and swinging my knees inward, throwing my body into a side-ward position momentarily as I managed to put the brakes on my ever-increasing momentum mid-slope.

But before I could actually let out an actual sigh of relief, Gravity was already beckoning me once again with her inevitable pull; but this time, continuing my clockwise torque along with a general downward force, and below I knew it, I was in the V-shaped posture alright, except that I was facing backwards and saw the worrying sight of a mountain full of little skiers and snowboarders slaloming down the slopes from a distance above.

A sway left, and a swing right, as I attempted to keep my balance AND reverse my orientation. A sudden jerk at the heel, as I felt the ski dig into the snow for a split-second.

Breaking point.

That was the last thing I processed in my conscious memory, and I suspect for the next few seconds, I was a flailing mess spinning through the air in reckless abandon, bouncing and rolling down the slope. Severe bumps on my shoulder, a loud thud from my butt - the world spun much faster than it ought to.

When it all stopped and I opened my eyes, nothing lay before me but a face-full of white, powdery snow, as I emerged from the pile spitting and swiping my face. I was mere inches away from a steel pole for the ski-lifts, as the passengers looked down at me, legs swinging freely in mockery.

I looked at my feet, and realised that I had one ski lying a few centimetres away from my feet, and another halfway up the slope, allowing me to get a semblance of my trajectory taken down into despair, shame and ruin.

A helpful skier picked my long-lost ski up and brought it down-slope to me, asking: "Are you alright?"

At that very moment, I was dumbfounded and caught in the void between the "yes" and the "no"; but more certainly, I found an answer to something else, I found out what it tastes like to really suck, and the answer is that it tastes a little bit salty and a whole lot of powdery.

Looking the Part, That's all

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The Red Ski House: White Christmas

The irony of hardly a Silent Night on Christmas Night, as 3 different languages flew across the table at any one time - in fact, it was hardly a moment of silence at all. 

The Meaning of Christmas was hardly lost between the space of race and language, as people originally from France, Australia, UK, Native Japanese, and of course, us island-dwellers sat around the same table, just sharing idle conversation wherever language permitted, or glorious food wherever it didn't. It didn't really seem to matter if we all had different meanings to Christmas, more importantly, we all spoke the universal languages of joy, laughter and merry-making of the celebrations.

More impressive though, was the Spirit of Christmas reflected through our hosts, Andrew and Kaori, for not only opening their home to us - to provide a more than ideal place to just relax the muscles and joints after a long day in the cold and bitter snow; but also extending their heart to us, all of us present, by hosting a generous Christmas Dinner that fittingly-symbolised the occassion.

One of the few Christmases away from the traditional familial celebrations, but hardly any of the Spirit was lost over all those miles of ocean from home.

A White Christmas may be magical in it's own right, but it sure helps having a (red) roof over your head be fully enjoy the warmth of the festival.  

Room with a Mountain of a View

The Hosts

Birthday by the Beach : Sands of Time

10 -11 July 2010
Bintan Lagoon Resort, Indonesia

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Sky...

The sand slipped through my spread fingers, as the incoming tide crashed wave upon wave onto my body. Legs stretched out and submerged till my shoulders, the irregularity of the waves caused my seated body to bob about in the water; moving to the make-shift rhythm that the sea hummed to the shore.

I wanted more, and yet less. I wanted to be surrounded by nothing-ness. Wading about on all fours in the water; further and further from the shore, as the crawling transformed into a gradual breaststroke - a graceful rhythm that would guide me to nowhere.

Sufficiently distant from everything else, I turned over and floated on my back, eyes closed and ears only being able to hear the sound of my own breathing - the translation of sound in a different medium distorts it in peculiar ways.

Like a plank adrift at sea, my shipwrecked body was taking it all in - simply enjoying the nothing-ness, the void; a brief pocket of space and time in which I could think about nothing, nothing but keeping afloat in the open sea.

A tradition perhaps, to have too and desire to completely free my mind of all of its shackles come this time of the year.

Distorted sounds of laughter rang through the waves. That was Us just minutes ago...

...Racing along the choppy waves on the back of a jetski. Finger firmly on the throttle, legs flexed and arms fixed in a death-lock on the handle-bar. Shrills of excitement and uncontrollable laughter set the soundtrack to the thuds and thwomps, as drops of salted water brushed off our faces in raging splatters and playful splashes.

Looking up, we saw Infinity. We saw the horizon at which the sky meets the sea; with nothing in the way between us and the end of the world.

Looking up, we saw the Light. Streaks of setting sunlight penetrating through the clouds - a sense of reverence and a sense of holiness encapsulating the sight and the scene...

Subjecting your body to Nature's rhythm has a soothing effect on the soul. Perhaps it is true that Cancerians have a stronger affinity towards water, as it felt almost second-nature to just lie motionless in the sea.

I opened up eyes and stared at the sky, watching the clouds sweep gently by. No images, no relations, no imagination, no depictions. Up and down and up and down - suddenly the sky didn't seem so far away...

    

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Bintan Lagoon Resort : Within and Without

The Room

Overview

Full Frontal

Lunch

Poolside

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Stars...

The sound of the waves in the distance; hearing without seeing, as the darkness engulfed the sea, and only left her gentle melody to us as an ambient piece.

Activity continued to bustle through the transparent glass walls of the 3 Degrees Signature Restaurant, as the sight of other diners reminded me of how full I was from the grilled meat platter.

The clanking of glasses added a harmony to the ambient melody, as I raised my glass, bringing the straw to my lips, and inhaling a good portion of tropical goodness.

Through the mist of greens and blues, was a taste that was a mix of fruity sweet and tropical sour, with a tinge of bitterness from the alcohol that was in-between. 

Habitually, I stretched my arms across the rattan sofa and let out a huge post-alcoholic-relaxant sigh. Looking up into the darkness above, I squinted hard looking for the stars, the stars that were so visible moments ago...

There we stood, in the junction of shadows of the open field, ensuring darkness from almost all angles; a hidden haven from the light. Looking up, we saw the stars - countless speckles in the sky and in their perfect form and alignment. Constellations eluded us as they were all so cluttered, and yet so clear.

The sparkle in her eyes - more than a reflection of the lights from above. Wonderment and amazement radiated from her soul, as she exclaimed at the beauty of Nature's diamonds...

Another clank as the glass hit the table, as I leaned forward, peering into the darkness ahead; finding nothing but the Sound of the Sea...

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Sands...

Nothing but the sound of my very own breathing, body floating according to the fancy of the waves. Sunlight warmed my face and seared through the darkness of my eyelids. A subtly burning sensation; she was much harsher than the day before.

I took an upright position, and looked around. Nothing-ness surrounded me, and nothing-ness paved the path between the shore and I.

A sense of freedom invoked through the sheer openness, similar to the one experienced minutes ago...

The murkiness cleared as the sunlight streamed in, slowly revealing parts of a picture that lay beneath.

A school of fish quickly darted past before I had time react, much less point it out to her.

Her legs still kicking awkwardly, but at least she was moving. I had learned to grow accustomed to breathing through the pipe, already forgetting the saltiness I tasted upon the first bite.

Pulsating corals of different shapes, forms and sizes lay beneath us, as fish darted over, under and between them. Marine life as never experienced before; a whole new world beneath us - in every sense of the word -riddled with her delightful secrets and her picturesque scenes.

Rising up to take a break, I took a look around, looking into the distance. Through the expanse at which my eyes could run towards the horizon, I realised the freedom that we were swimming in...

A familiar silhouette strolled along the shoreline was my cue to start my swim back to reality.

As the water got shallower and my limps made contact with the ground beneath, I turned around, faced the horizon, legs outstretched and submerged my body till my shoulders. Closing my eyes, I let my body be subjected to the rhythm of the waves once again, swaying and moving according to her tantrums.

I reached into the ground with my right hand, clenching a fist-full of sand firmly within my fingers. Waves came and waves went, as I held the sand within my hands.

Eventually, I finally loosened my grip, as the sand quickly rushed out and slipped through my fingers with the passing of the waves.

Another year is lost, another year is gained.... Happy Birthday.