Memories are so strange

If something happens, and you form a memory of it, but then you forget it completely and no longer have awareness of its very existence, does that mean that it's the same as if it never happened?
If you then remember it some years later, when you find something random that triggers the secret path to that memory, and it seems so hyperacute, how is it possible for that lost moment to surface so quickly?

Why is it that even if you try really really hard to hold onto something, you still inevitably forget some things that you really really don't want to forget, because it was part of you.. but it's gone, and there's nothing you can do about it.

I feel like Watanabe, except I'm not yet 37 and not yet experienced a descent into Hamburg, but the feeling is exactly the same.

As time goes by, it gets harder and harder to recall him. The sound of his voice, the feel of his skin, the warmth of the feeling of being in love. At the beginning, it took a second, then a minute, then several.. and now even with the utmost concentration it feels as if one is looking through a fog and those memories are fuzzy in the past. 

Now I understand why we desperately wanted to affirm that we loved each other, because somehow we knew it would come to this.. that we would forget, and that it would all fade. Like ripples on the surface of water, once it passes it's as if the ripples were never there. 

But they were, and you were real. I have just moved to another place in my mind.

Dream: a riot in East Timor and stroke diagnosis with kava

In this dream, I'm attending a conference on developing world medicine. The venue is in a large swanky hotel in Dili, East Timor - though it appears modern, on closer inspection it's actually somewhat rundown - bits of paint peel and there's light mould growing in the corners.

We are in the conference room, and whilst having a tea break, see on TV that it is the day of the Timorese election. There aren't many people at this conference - 20 at most including a handful of local doctors. We watch the TV together intently, as the votes are counted.

Suddenly the TV coverage switches to the street, where there are people protesting in the street. We decide to go outside to see what is happening for ourselves, but when we get to the lobby of the hotel, we find the heavy doors closed and surrounded by security guards.

I go up to my room and from its window, I can see people rioting in the streets. It looks violent, with the distinct smell of burning tyres and short bursts of gunfire. People lie in pools of blood on every corner, and police tear around with large gas canisters spraying groups of shouting men.

There is an announcement on the PA system for us to re-attend the conference room. When we get there, the man who appears to have won the election (against whom everyone is protesting perhaps?) is standing on the podium. He starts a long speech about how he, as the newly elected president, will bring peace and prosperity to the Timorese people. He is the owner of this swanky hotel and he plans to take western money spent at the hotel, and give it to the poor.

Bullshit, I think. Another dictator in the making.

Suddenly he collapses and lies motionless on the ground. A few of the doctors from the conference and I go up to the stage and check on him - he's breathing with a good volume pulse, but is profoundly unconscious.

We start debating how we should get him to a hospital for a scan of his head, as it looks like he's had a stroke. Two of the doctors start saying he needs a CT angio! no, he needs a MRI. Someone points out that there is no MRI machine in the whole country.

A local doctor comes up with the idea that he has an ancient X-ray machine he was using as a museum exhibit item at the conference, a sort of show-and-tell item. He thought that we could maybe use it to do a contrast study. Another doctor suggests that we could use the local kava, which is apparently extremely radio-opaque. One of the president's bodyguards produces a bottle of the stuff, which is crusted with dirt and looks extremely dodgy.

It is a white liquid as we pour it out and down a funnel into a long metal needle we have inserted into the president's femoral vein. The first doctor snaps the X-rays efficiently, and soon we have a handful of images which develop slowly much like film. When the pictures come out they look amazingly like CT scans and I immediately spot the basilar artery thrombosis.

Look, he has basilar artery thrombosis causing posterior circulation stroke! I say to the crowd. We need to get him to a hospital for embolectomy.

The security guards step in and say that there's no way we can take the president to a hospital. Then I wake up. 

Hiram: moving out of the nest

We went to pick up Hiram on a sunny Sunday when the Guide Dogs association had their annual open day. Hiram and his brothers & sisters were part of the dog demonstrations where the trainers showed them off for their maximal cuteness value.

Of course we wondered which one of them we would get! Afterwards we headed over to the puppy pen.

And there was one lazy puppy sleeping whilst the others played around him.

Then there were two.

And then there were three.

The fourth to come was particularly pale and we thought this was our one because the trainers told us we had a light coloured one.

One of the six puppies had already gone to their home, so this is all five that were in the pen at the time.

This lazy puppy didn't even wake up for food!!

Time for a drink.

Training to sit.


All along we thought we had the super white one, but I secretly wanted the one that was sleeping the whole time. In the end when we were about to take our puppy home, the trainer came and picked out the sleepy one and he was ours after all! Hiram said goodbye to his brothers and sisters, and came home with us.

2 recent dreams: A touchable cloud and anaesthesia for prisoners

A touchable cloud

In this dream I was at the resort on daydream island - I can picture it so well, with the faint disinfectant smell in the corridors, the slightly dark corners, the mild tang of mustiness in our room. Sim and I had attended the  bedside critical care conference here last year, and everything was just as I remembered it.

I was walking along the corridor in a hurry, and the place was deserted. I knew I had to get back to my room because I had to get changed to go on a trip to a beach somewhere.

As I walked, I realised I had no idea which room I was in, so I started looking around for something to prompt me. I walked past the stairwell where you can see the pool just next to the building, but strangely there was no-one in the pool. The sun shone brightly and the surface of the water glimmered.

I paused there for a second. The sky suddenly darkened and I looked up to see the rapid approach of a large rain cloud. It was thick, dense and grey, signifying the imminent onset of rain.

I thought for a moment that maybe our beach trip was going to be ruined. Then I realised the cloud was coming down towards the earth like it was going to smother the whole resort. It was moving sideways as well as downwards and as it got closer, I could feel a whoosh of cold air brush my face.

I reached out and touched the cloud as it moved past me. I could feel it just in my fingertips, a roughness that resembled unprocessed wool. Then I felt an edge and realised that I was holding the edge of the cloud in my hand.

Then I woke up.


Anaesthesia for prisoners
In this dream I'm moderately old, maybe around 50.

I receive an email from someone, which says that the newly elected government has deemed that prisoners have no human rights and thus will no longer receive free healthcare under this government. I feel suitably enraged.

The next scene, I am inside an operating theatre and I intuitively know that I'm inside a jail. Everything is absolutely ancient - the ventilator is operated with rusted levers and a bellows that sticks to the sides of the canister, there's halothane in the vaporiser, everything looks non-disposable.. It's a scene from the developing world of yesteryear.

I realise that I am working with a volunteer surgeon as a volunteer anaesthetist, and we are operating on a man's lung cancer. The surgeon tells me with great regret that the cancer is too far advanced and that he wouldn't be able to cure the man, but if he had been there just months before he may well have been able to complete the operation.

We exchange angry words about the government, and finish the case. We walk outside and join some other volunteer surgeons and anaesthetists, and discuss our next mission. As we leave the jail, it is quite dark outside. We go in separate cars to the next jail, and it starts raining along the way. I'm in the car with a handful of other doctors, but I seem to be only interested in looking out the window.

When we get to the other jail, it is on a hilltop surrounded by huge fences. I wonder if it's a super maximum security jail, then we pull up into an empty carpark. We look around for the entrance but don't seem to see any. The rain is quite heavy and we are all getting soaked.

Finally a guard points us around the corner, and when we get to the entrance it's actually a large noisy bar full of tourists. The entrance to the jail is through a bar? I think in the dream, but we need to be sober to keep operating.

Then I wake up.

Food: Brisbane

Weekend of relaxation and eating in Brisbane.

Gunshop cafe, West End

This was a super popular cafe and it was easy to see why. The decor was a little quirky with a few antiques strewn casually about the place. The front part is a cosy old room (the old gun shop), and the back an open space with a wall of strawberry pot plants, so cute!

 This was the standout dish: french toast brioche with maple syrup, crispy bacon and bananas. None of us were hardcore bacon fans, but the elements of crisp/mushy, sweet/salty really worked in this dish. 

Lamb cutlets for breakfast.. a little unusual but well paired with tasty tomato relish and bubble&squeak.

Salmon bagel with poached egg.


Chouquette, New Farm

A French patisserie with all sorts of tempting cakes and slices. We had strawberry tart, lemon tart and a chocolate caramel slice.


Two

 A little change to our usual cheap & cheerful eating style, this was serious sit down food with tablecloths and polished cutlery. This was their special dish, roast suckling pig which was served with roasted winter vegetables (including an impossibly intense caramelised carrot). 


Boggo Rd Jail markets

Have to love the name! Mostly a fresh food market, it sold lots of local produce and had an interesting selection of breakfast stalls. We had a Venezuelan arepa (corn cake) filled with pulled pork and served with hot spicy sauce, an okonomiyaki with local pork and eggs (so much cheesy goodness) and a Hungarian langos. What a delicious way to increase one's cholesterol - deep fried puffy bread topped with cream cheese, smoked salmon and herbs. 

Riverbend Books, Bulimba

As usual we ate too much, so had to stop for a drink and browse through the funky suburb of Bulimba. This iced coffee was at the Riverbend Books & Teahouse, where they had adorable magnolias in mini bottles at every table.

Yeshi Buna, Moorooka
We debated where to have our last meal, a late Sunday lunch. I had woken in the morning with a craving for injera, and so though my companions were pretty sceptical, we headed to Moorooka to search out African food.

This is apparently the place where many Sudanese refugees have settled, and it's pretty obvious they have settled in well. A group of young men were perched on the footpath playing dominos outside the Sudanese restaurant (spaghetti, chicken & chips - is that what they really eat in Sudan??). One of the shopping arcades held an Ethiopian bakery in which young people lingered playing cards. We went into a shop that sold all sorts of strange things imported from the Middle East, and the random collection (jeans, next to palm oil) made us wonder if shops were like this in Sudan.

We were grateful for the shopkeeper's suggestion that we try the restaurant next to the post office. I was highly amused to see that it's called Yeshi Buna, the name of a popular cafe chain in Addis Ababa. The place was super bright (yellow) and cheerful, with traditional Ethiopian eating tables scattered around simple normal tables. The owner was friendly and the food was homely, could not ask for more.

We had a mixed plate with meat & vegetable options - as in Ethiopia the tastiest were the lentil dish and the spinach dish. My friends didn';t like the injera, but it did take me quite a while to get used to it when I visited Ethiopia as well. This was a toned down version, hardly fermented at all with only a very mild sour taste. I was impressed that they even had breakfast options like firfir and chechebsa - I wish they were in Sydney so I could go there for breakfast! The coffee came served in the old school Ethiopian claypots, intensely strong and sweet, albeit without the popcorn that was served to other customers.

 

A tale of two water villages

The area around Shanghai is well known for its water villages, where people traditionally lived around a canal system. The water supplied all their needs, served as a form of transport, and most importantly contributed to the agriculture around the region, such that this became a prosperous area.

I first heard about all this 15 years ago when I was still in high school, back in China on a visit. A friend told me about taking an overnight trip to discover Zhouzhuang, and like so many other things it just got filed at the back of my mind. In the years between then and now, I've been to a number of water villages, most of which fell to tourism much before my visit. I never entertained the thought of visiting the "original" water village to open up to tourism, because I always thought it would be awful.

And it was, in the tacky Chinese way of being overcrowded with groups and megaphones, shops and touts, terrible food, rubbish everywhere..

Yet one could not deny the natural beauty of Zhouzhuang, with canals sprouting everywhere you turn and quaint old stone bridges connecting different residential areas.. I mean tourist shops.

People still live here in these old houses, but now the whole town caters only to the whims of tourists. These blue canvas-topped gondolas were everywhere, cluttering up the canals and creating mini gondola-jams. Looking away from the crowds, one could still find a little hint of nature.

  Ivy covering an abandoned house.

Pretty little flowers by the canal

Like so many things in China, some places are super "hot" and others near it might be just the same but no-one goes there because it's not famous. We went to Jinze, the town adjacent to Zhouzhuang, and to be honest I wasn't expecting much. Was I really the first person ever to think, hey maybe the town next to this place would be similar but not so touristy?? 

Apparently, I'm not so Chinese in thought, for we couldn't even find the village and had to stop in the "new town" to ask for directions to the "old town". 

We parked near the canal leading up to the entrance to the old town. As we approached the bridge, a local man came up to us and said (rather proudly): you can drive inside now! we've done up all the streets so cars can get in. 

Jinze is famous for its bridges, which are each attached to a temple. Many of the temples are now ruined, but some were being renovated when we were visiting. 

Refreshingly, there was no steep entrance fee (Y130 ~ $20 to enter Zhouzhuang) and the streets were practically deserted. A few old people came out of their houses to stare at us, and children played by the canal. 

A shopkeeper stopped us and directed us to the "gondola kiosk" which I was somewhat sceptical about (thinking it would be like every other gondola trip in south China). When we got there, the shutters were closed and a mobile number was scrawled across in red paint. When we called the number, the man told us to wait while he was finishing his meal. Our Chinese family friends complained about his lack of earnestness in moneymaking, but I didn't mind the idling by the river.

One of the bridges had been redone to be "modern" and it was interesting to see what the ideas of "modern" are. It's painted entirely in red, in contrast to all the other bridges in original stone or wood. Garish lion heads poked out of random beams, and the whole thing looked like it fitted better in a playground.

An old bridge

I'm pretty anti touristy boat rides, but this guy was enthusiastic as he showed us around. He told us he was the only boat operator in Jinze so far (indeed his business name is No. 1 boat of Jinze), and he was praying that the tourism trade would take off as it did in so many other water towns in the region. His wife came in at the end, made us all tea in their little shop and beseeched us to advertise Jinze to the outside world. It felt like the China of yesteryear, I couldn't believe we were merely 20km from Zhouzhuang..

Shanghai - a little nostalgia

I grew up in a grand old house in the heart of Shanghai's French Concession. No one knows how old the place is, but it was probably built during the period of French occupation and eventually fell into the hands of a rich businessman. After he and his family fled to Hong Kong, the government divided the house into ten separate living spaces and gave them out to various families. This is how my family came to live in this place in 1959.

The house has been crumbling for as long as I can remember - the walls peel, the floors creak and the space under the floors is occupied by all sorts of random animals from wild rats to wild cats. The pipes freeze over in winter and sometimes the water stops. Despite this, it has a real charm to it that perhaps everyone attaches to their childhood home.

 The original windows leading out to the deck

Spring is a beautiful season to be in Shanghai. The maple trees in the French Concession somehow escaped the exploding development of metropolitan Shanghai, standing stubbornly by the roadside as they have done for many decades.

Looking down the street near my house.

Alley near the German consulate on my street

 

 I wonder who carved my street name on a tree?

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