Crete trip - Part 3
19/4 - Heraklion

In the early morning, my brother-in-law and I went to fetch someone from the airport at an unearthly time. I was very glad to see someone, since it meant I could go back to the hotel to sleep.

In the morning, we proceeded to the Heraklion Archaeological Museum. For once I agreed with the guidebook - the museum had a 19th century design, with rooms lit only with fluorescent tubes (so the light was harsh yet not quite bright enough - the cases weren't individually lit) and most items displayed on cabinet shelves and enclosed by glass, with perhaps one label per cabinet or shelf identifying what the group of objects were. Basically it was what Singapore's National Museum was like in the 70s. Meanwhile someone said it was exactly as a guidebook to the museum dating from 1968 described it.


Festos disc


Minoan priestess statuettes

A significant portion of the items had the label: "Unpublished. No photographs", "No photos, video shooting or drawing" or variants thereof. So basically if they haven't gotten round to taking photographs or otherwise recording their collection, neither can we. I think that if they've left their collection unphotographed since the 19th century, they're not going to get round to photographing it anytime soon!


Double headed axes from Minoan mansion at Miron Chani


Bull's head rhyton (libation vessel), maybe of chlorite from Zakos palace (16th c. BC)

The guidebook had a few pages on the museum - it was infinitely more informative than the information panels in the museum itself.


Libation vase of rock crystal from Zakos


Pithos


Bull leaping fresco




Portrait head of Augustus


Persephone and Pluto personifying Isis and Serapis

Only 2 rooms had a modern design - the one with the Ring of Minos and the one with depictions of sports.


Backyard of the museum


Blue Bear is usually hung out to dry like this, or worse.

We then went on to Arhanes, which had an archaeological museum the guidebook raved about. It was tiny, consisting of only one room. The collection was alright, but the best bits had been shipped to the Heraklion museum, and plaster casts left in their place. This is a good idea - why make tourists travel for days around the island visiting hundreds of museums to view the most important artefacts? It might be even better to ship the good stuff to Athens, making it even more accessible. Most of the best stuff has been carted off to the Louvre, British Museum and Met anyway.

We then visited the Minoan palace of Knossos.


South house, Knossos


West Magazines


Bull leaping fresco, copy of the one in Heraklion


"Throne room" according to Evans

Considering that this is the biggest and most important Minoan site in Crete and the world, as well as the most visited attraction in Crete, the lack of information was glaring. There were signs informing visitors what each location was, and a little about how it was used, but the information on the panels was sparse. There was no on-site museum (there was a shop, of course) and no audioguide either. I think English Heritage has spoiled me for other archaeological sites (every tiny site has an audioguide and museum), but really compared to the rest of Europe this is unacceptable; the mainland is somewhat better, but it still fails (even at Delphi, IIRC, though little panels informed visitors what each location was called, there was no information on the location itself). At Knossos at least they're probably trying to generate work for their exorbitant guided tours (€12 per head, IIRC) but other sites *have* no tours so there's no market to spoil.


Central Court


North Entrance, North Pillar Hall


North Lustral basin


View of centre area

Before lunch, we wanted to get the key to see some church, but the key was kept by the archaeological museum, which was due to close at 2:30 (just an hour after we asked for it), and so they refused to give it to us. The key used to be kept by a taverna, an eminently more sensible guardian since it has much longer opening hours. On a more general note, most Cretan (and probably Greek) archaeological sites close at 3 or 2:30pm (presumably so the wardens can go take a siesta), which is extremely annoying.

During lunch, a cat was annoying us. I gave my brother-in-law the perfect opportunity to take photographs by pouring a capful of water on the cat, but he didn't seize the opportunity. Gah. Meanwhile the cat took the water well, just walking away without any other reaction. Greek cats compare well with his cat Rosie, who runs away the moment the water spray bottle is shown her.

We then visited a nunnery - Savvathiana/Savathiana, in the mountains above Heraklion, where in one building there was a basin by a window ledge, insde of which were eyedrop bottles filled with oil (olive?) and bottles of calcium pills. Uhh.


Wisteria drooping down the side of the mountain


Gardened walkway


Me in doorway of the nunnery

My brother-in-law kept taking pictures of the nuns when he knew they didn't like their pictures taken. Bah.


Nunnery


View from Savathiana


Hand painted sign


The cheapest cigarettes I've seen in Europe. I should send this to my smoker friends with the caption: "Wish you were here".


Someone claims that she needs to sit in the front seat of the car (thereby relegating me to the rear) because her carsickness is worse when she's in the back. I suspect the reason this is so is that the front is more conducive for sleeping.

Most Greek restaurants on the mainland give patrons iced water for free. In Crete, no one drinks the tap water, and so we had to order mineral water for most meals. Even the hotel had a sign saying that the water was not for drinking. Actually the water is fine - it just tastes a bit odd (hard, according to my brother-in-law). But then after drinking the water from the Island of Doom, nothing fazes me anymore.

Many places had shorter opening hours than stated in our guidebook (published August 2004). Only a handful had *extended* them.

Oddly enough, Greek meat is well cooked and spiced. The seafood, on the other hand, is almost always just light battered and deep fried (or sometimes, grilled) and served with a wedge of lemon. It gets boring.

I keep forgetting that my camera's LCD makes images look brighter than they really are, so I keep underexposing my shots wrongly. Gah.

Singapore opposition politician arrested for allegedly threatening election officials

By EN-LAI YEOH
Associated Press Writer

SINGAPORE (AP) -- A Singapore opposition politician was arrested Sunday for allegedly threatening the country's election officials, a day after he failed to win a seat in national elections, an aide said.

Workers' Party candidate James Gomez was arrested Sunday for alleged "criminal intimidation," his aide Jacob George said. Gomez was attempting to leave the country but was stopped by immigration officials, who turned him over to the police.

"We don't know the specifics, but it could be due to the minority certificate," said George, referring to an incident when Gomez initially accused officials of misplacing his election papers more than a week before Saturday's election.

He subsequently apologized after security camera footage showed he put the form into his bag. The academic claimed he was distracted.

Gomez was part of a five-member Workers' Party team that contested a multimember ward against the ruling People's Action Party, where a minority candidate is compulsory.

On Saturday, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong's PAP won 82 of 84 seats in Singapore's 10th general elections since independence in 1965.

"Police received a complaint against James Gomez from the Elections Department, and police are investigating," said police spokeswoman Siow Cheng Cheng. She did not elaborate.

A security official, speaking on condition of anonymity in line with policy, said Gomez has not been charged. If found guilty for criminal intimidation, Gomez could be jailed for up to seven years.

It is not immediately clear why the elections department waited till after the polls to file the complaint.

The incident was played up by ruling party politicians and local media, which rarely deviate from the government line.

Singapore's founding father Lee Kuan Yew, called Gomez, 40, "a liar" and a "bad egg."

"He's not a fool ... He's saying he's got brains," elder statesman Lee was quoted on state-broadcaster Channel NewsAsia's Web site as saying. "Well, what do you use those brains for?"

Lee is the father of the current prime minister and wields considerable influence as "Minister Mentor" in his son's cabinet.

The PAP said they targeted Gomez, a researcher with a Stockholm-based institute, as it was an issue of credibility.

--------------------------------------

Singapore says no climate of fear in city-state
Reuters
Singapore, May 27, 2005

Singapore's home affairs minister Wong Kan Seng said in a newspaper interview that citizens in the city-state have spoken up at public forums without reprisals and commentaries critical of government policies have also appeared in newspapers.

"What is the consequence of saying something that is challenged? Is the consequence being locked up in jail, disappearing in the middle of the night and you don't come back?" Wong was quoted as saying in Singapore's Straits Times.


Someone: "sane people will just be apolitical, apathetic, or emmigrate"

As Kreia said of the Mandalorians: "They will die a death that will last millennia, until all that remains is their code, their history, and, in the end, the shell of their armor upon the shell of a man, too easily slain by a Jedi."

Here follows part 2 of rae Ume's story of his experience as a Slave.

rey is in a state of delirium yet reserved excitement over the potential outcome of his Canadian asylum hearing and its implications for his self n his future agenda which possibly involves the evisceration of conscription from the tradition of singapore. if anyone who reads this is in vancouver he'll treat them to coffee

Part 1 of the tale of woe and despair


I probably could have endured NS normally like the average conscript. The physical aspect of it would probably be just slightly higher than mentally-detached tolerable, meaning that at least some mental acceptance and support are needed to survive. If one is sincere in participating in the activities of the SAF, it is very improbable that physical mishap can befall the common conscript and render death upon him, because that is extremely abhorred and unintended of by the SAF. Thus, the basic near-infallible survival mantra of NS would be to blindly follow, have basic belief and support for the system and not to use any intellect or human sense at all for the entire existence in NS. It is a cheap way to live, cheating one of his principles and beliefs. To think and question would be extremely strenuous and dangerous for the mind, as it would result in doubt and discontent, as well as notions of individualism. With regard to me, all this in a nutshell is that I did not manage to believe in NS at all, as I have been so incontrovertibly corrupted by my previous life experiences as a free intellectual that I could not possibly adapt to the oppressive mental state as demanded of me by the SAF. It does not even serve a purpose which I believe in, thus rendering any romantic sincerity on my part impossible to attain. In this way, it meant that to survive one must adopt the SAF mental regime; and since most will do just about anything to survive, it meant that this mental conversion and bondage will be a very big reality among conscripts. I would also perform remarkable feats to survive, and I performed an unorthodox one for myself, probably never expected of by the SAF.

In my reserved rebellion to the SAF I have turned from one of the fit to one of the least fit in my BMT company in 3 short weeks. I also fell sick with a bacterial infection of the throat, due to stress doubtless. I have reported sick and I have obtained medicine, but I never recovered because I had no rest. In fact, my sickness worsened because I had to participate in almost all of the activities of the platoon. I spent many nights awake, struggling within for the mastery between physical preservation and the matter of principles. At the end of third week field camp was scheduled to arrive. I was extremely frail on the night before and already had many nights of sleeplessness. The next day I went to report sick. I told my sergeant that I had a throat infection. He replied cynically that I should not report sick if it was not life-threatening. By that time I have pretty much gotten used to such attitudes and remarks, and my technique of handling them was to just act stupid and pitiful or remorseful. Anyway whatever the case I made sure I had my way. I managed to report sick and when I was interviewed by the MO, I told him that I actually was suffering from depression and that I could not tolerate the rigours of BMT anymore, and I told him that field camp was the main reason for it. I also broke down forcedly to make my case. With a threatening hand, as if to slap me, he ordered me to stop crying in a raised voice. Then he gave me a form for the suspension of BMT, and he dismissed me. I filled in the form in the toilet, with such a feeling of ecstasy within me! I had never been so excited. I was basically struggling from bursting out in hysterics. I was finally suspended from training! I returned to my company and filed my form to the clerk with relish. There is a space to be filled in by the MO for the reason of suspension, and for mine it read “Undisclosed”. I basically told everyone that I did not know why the doctor wrote it that, but my back was really hurting me! I must have appeared quite genuine because I was in such awesome spirits, it was quite difficult to imagine me being depressed. For the next few days, I did area cleaning and ad hoc duties around the company block. It was a good time for physical recuperation and refuge from mental and principle harassment. I had a routine interview with my platoon commander and there was not an ounce of sincere information he got from me. Even by then, the conscripts were asked to fill in many forms, and I had the good habit of misinforming in many of them. Giving false contact numbers and false educational backgrounds was a very normal routine. My contempt and disregard for the system were ever present.

My feelings at this time were quite relieved. I did not have to worry about suffering unrestrained indignity from my superiors, or adapting our minds to the subliminal programmes of our superiors or the SAF in general. I was rather much spared from the insidious influence of the social-reforming characteristic of NS. One time, the OOT conscripts were together at the water area filling up jerry cans. A sergeant walked in and stared at us. He told us that he had found a critique letter in the company office. The letter is yet unsigned and he wanted to know who wrote it! At that point he was hurling insults and threats at us with such rapidity and ferocity even I felt a little threatened, conditioned as I was to such abuse. He finally found out who the author was through his abuse. As he stood there condemning the poor conscript to hell, the rest of us, roughly 3 persons, stood there solemnly and observed the spectacle. As it was slowly revealed, it appeared that the conscript in question had written a letter to be sent to someone high up, and that the letter mentioned of abuse by the instructors by ignoring the conscript’s physical ailments, which was some sort of knee problem I presume. Anyway the sergeant was abusing him roundly with insults and knuckle-shaking, and as it that were not enough, he had to involve the conscript’s parents too in his abuse. Many times I wanted to step in, knowing that the sergeant had no authority over me and my opinions, but I was afraid that I might jeopardise my position as there are many creative and shady ways that he can make life hell for me. Since I was not really a pet among the instructors, I thought it unwise to butt in as I had no leverage in case of anything.

By then, I had already experienced myself changing, unconsciously being affected by the environment of “listen, obey, unquestioningly”. It was a feeling of fear, worry and wariness. Prior, I would normally spend a second or two thinking before committing an action, be it speech or movement. I was not a person who was bothered with appearing rude, even if I were aware of myself. I was not exceedingly polite too, unless if I wanted to. I was not rude, just not being over-polite. However, I began to change, and I had to be aware of my behaviour. I felt an obligation to be over-polite, as if acting the contrary might welcome some form of unhappiness. I began to behave in a reflexive, humiliating, servile and solicitous manner towards all forms of authority. Behaving like this made me feel “safe”, and such a feeling was very welcome in that minatory atmosphere. I would answer every command and question authority posed with enthusiasm and a smile, acting willing but incompetent. It was undignified but comforting, comforting to know that I might not be offending anyone with my seemingly “impertinent” attitude. It was perhaps controllable behaviour on my part, but I was too exhausted and wary to attempt anything that might appear offensive.

Life had begun to treat me better. I was beginning to settle down into my lifestyle, forgetting about my scruples and dissent. It was a laid-back country life, albeit a slave life. My company was still in field camp, and the OOTs had the whole company block to themselves. My normal routine would be to wake up, bring food from the cookhouse to the company block, and fill up the jerry cans with water whenever the trucks come back from field camp. There were many other ad hoc duties, but I do not remember anything now. The whole military experience was one that I loathed and tried hard to forget, and it would be impossible to recall complete, or even accurate, memories of what transpired. I was later posted to become a storeman in Murai Camp. The posting came a few days after my company came back from field camp. It will be from that moment on that I gradually and inexorably transformed into a lethargic, depressed, defeated individual, with no more motivation left for life. I wanted to defeat conscription with a professional and clinical attitude, one that I could adopt quite easily with my personality and previous expertise in family and social backgrounds. I have completed putting on my false front. This mask will unknowingly become so ingrained with my life that one day I will forget my goals and original self.

I turned into the veritable Kengster/slacker. I did what I could to master and exploit the system in my new surroundings. Murai Camp was a slack camp, a small establishment with the accompanying easy atmosphere. It was a stay-out camp and my department would come late by 10-15 minutes everyday. A department detachment in the neighbouring Tengah Airbase has no supervision, and those who were assigned there probably came late by half an hour each day. And the duties they performed were basically nothing but man the unused stores. They slept their time away there. My duties were slightly different. Since I was considered the most highly educated in the department, the only one who had gone through JC, I was supposed to take over the cookhouse record duties of the department. It was a job that required a lot of Excel and minute number sifting. I could have learned it and done it, but I did not. I was a good actor, I pretended to be a complete klutz with computers, and they bought it all. The person teaching me was a LCP conscript who had been there for some time. He was an interesting character, but basically almost everyone in the department had a story to tell, provided they wanted to tell it. There was Simon, the one I believed was the most pitiful, and who received my greatest sympathy, and Kumar, the married youngster who was really affable and interesting in his own way. There were many others too, but these two were the main ones that stood out in my memories. I proved (or pretended) to be the earnest but luckless dimwit who could not achieve in any endeavour, the pitiful complaisant little bastard who got on well with everyone, or mostly anyone with authority. The others I simply pitied, because they were conscripts like me, unwilling slaves, or perhaps who had become uninformed converts to the system through the grindstone of the military tradition. Those who got on my wrong side would be treated with frustration, but I did no more, and I could not do more, because it would be incorrect of me. Our lives never should have crossed, and never should have offended each other, if not for the monstrous effect of the military. We, as humans, should have and would have complemented each other. I was confident of my beliefs. Unfortunately, the brute brunt might of coercive power will crush everything in its path. Such was power.

I could provide irrelevant but interesting anecdotes in this account, but for the sake of consistency to the theme, which was the depressing and unmitigated transformation of an individual and his thinking into something very pitiful, corrupt and malevolent, I will reserve my camp stories for another time. During my time in camp, I socialised a lot with the RPs and the clerks from HQ. I would spread my dissident and subversive ideas to them, the condemnation of the system, the dirt of the system, the injustice and incorrectness of the system. Everyday is cursed for me. I would wake up in the morning to find myself deprived of sleep because I could not sleep the night before, or because I was ruminating on the system. I would spit so often, mostly because of the disgust and anger at some sudden thought on the system. I would swear so often, even at hapless and innocent people, like the old lady who stank or the volunteer worker doing a fund drive. I had lost my ability to rationalise or be sensible. It was a sad time to be alive. I was an angry man. A sad and angry man. There were many times when I curse my impotency and question why I did not perish on that fateful day. There were many times when I wonder why I am even still alive, why I have to continue serving. I wonder why I serve, whom I serve, and why I do not have the courage to stop doing such an infernal thing! Perhaps that would be my real self manifesting. My mask would normally not ask such questions but invest and enjoy the clinical yield from tactical manoeuvring and system exploitation and abuse. I would not involve more with the system, and I enjoyed my status as the useless storeman who knew nothing and did nothing. However, I was to be sent for the storeman course. I would not learn and participate, but falling short of an outright rebellion, my mask sprang into action. I went for the course. A few days into it, I went to TTSH to declare depression. It was actually quite true, because I was seemingly at my wits’ end as to how to end this complicity with the system. Ironically, the answer was to be honest, something which totally escaped my mask, but still ultimately got to my attention. The doctor at TTSH was quite bewildered and cynical, but who was I to bother? I was the one who have learned to curse at tottering old ladies. He wondered what depression a storeman could have. I could have explained it to him, but it would have required 5 cups of coffee and a lot of logical work from his mind, not to mention an inordinate amount of time. Since I had none of those, the truth is best kept with me. Anyways, who can determine depression truly? Only the depressed knows. Only he, has the benefit of the doubt. He, he, and he alone. That is why the system is ineffective and wrong. I was to be dropped from my course, but I passed the theory and practical test on the last day. I even managed to fulfil the minimum attendance requirement. I had quite a lot of days of absence. I had the ability to judge which authority was exploitable and which would be better off avoiding.

Time really crawled in the military. In time, I was to be called for a FFI review. If I passed, I would head back to BMT. I did not wish to experience the same routine again, and my mind always panicked when there was an FFI. There was a real incentive to beat the system, and I was sure this incentive applied to everyone. It was a competition, with real advantages, without any immorality, but utter rationality. I had luck. I suffered an acute back pain, without really knowing the cause. I went to a TCM practitioner. She gave me 2 weeks of MC. I knew it would have been an invalid MC, but I used it anyway. It was bold of me, but I knew I had everything going for me as I had never been told of such an impropriety of visiting a TCMP, and I had a genuine problem, which could probably have been verified by the western practice. After my hiatus was up, I went to validate my MC at the MO. The MO was an extremely nice reservist who did not even look twice at it before stamping its validity. We even discussed a little about how silly conscription was. When I submitted my MC to the administration office, they informed me there was a problem, and possibly a gigantic problem. They told me that TCM MCs were not accepted. I knew then that I could play my way out of it, because I had it validated, and I did not know anything about such a policy. Furthermore, the admin staff were all good friends of mine. In the end, they accepted it, but in an underhand sort of way. That problem would ultimately cause a referral from the MO to the SAFTI physiotherapist, starting a long term relationship with colossal camp-cutting. I would normally schedule my appointments in the afternoon, picking prime Fridays, and other assorted days, and definitely afternoon. If the appointment was at 3, I would leave camp at 1, arrive there at 2:30ish, get some food, go in for probably 20 minutes, come out and go home, and to be free from authority. Initially, it would be as frequently as 3 appointments a week, but it slowly slowed to once a week, and it was good too because my officers were already watching my back because I was probably the most notorious slacker in camp, even if I did not openly reveal my exploits in exploitation. If I were given any task, I would take 2-3 times the time for other people to do it, and I had no qualms with staying back. My method would be to 1st, expend as little energy as possible in the task and 2nd, build on my earnest but luckless dimwit image. I had to be extremely professional in all my hidden agendas, and my extensive early training in school on professionalism and perfection proved really useful to me. However, I proved to be extremely competent in tasks which I find advantageous in doing, like despatch which the QM department had many of, and other out-of-camp businesses. Ultimately, my working method won me abstinence from delegation for onerous hard labour, and assignment of many despatch tasks, of most which I was allowed to exploit the system and earn many benefits, like going straight home after business, or spending an inordinate period out of camp. Thinking back now, life was really cheap and pathetic then. I am ashamed that I harboured such attitudes and committed such actions. I am such an asshole. Such feelings manifest itself often, especially now, after I am free from that evil institution, and I still do not know how to deal with them. But I am digressing, and the next chapter begins.

Crete trip - Part 2
18/4 - Heraklion (Zhuo bo)

After collecting the car my brother-in-law and I considered our options. Someone was going to arrive the next day, so we didn't want to do anything good since we knew she'd want to do it too and force us to do it again. So we just ended up zhuo bo-ing (doing nothing) the whole day.

Greek dogs are very good-tempered (at least to humans). When we were in the village of Arhanes, one kept following my brother-in-law around, even pawing him (getting on his hind legs and placing the fore ones on his jeans) when he first saw him. When my brother-in-law went to look for pussies, it followed and started chasing them, so that was fun.


Dog which followed my brother-in-law around

After Arhanes, we went to the site of Vathypetro, which was heavily recommended by the guidebook. It was supposed to open at 8 during the winter season and 8:30 during the summer one. When we arrived at 8:50, no one was there. At 9:05, just as we were about to leave, a car came barreling down the extremely narrow pavement, and the man stepped out to unlock the place. Cretan time isn't exactly the same as Eastern European Time.


View from Vathypetros - Vineyard, village (Arhanes?) in background

Actually, if I were in charge of Vathypetro too, I would come late and leave early - there was no structure for the guy to sit in, so he was just sitting on the pavement with his feet in some vineyard (or soil, or some such) talking to his girlfriend. There was nothing there - not even an introductory panel telling one about the place, let alone ones telling visitors what each of the rooms were. No wonder it was free.

For the first time (and definitely not the last) we questioned the judgment of the guidebook author who'd gushed about Vathypetro so - it had 1/3 of a page dedicated to it, making you wonder what places with 2 lines and his recommendation that they were "remarkable" or "worth a visit" had going for them. Meanwhile, he was incredibly disparaging about the good places - he suggested readers quickly finish Heraklion's archaeological museum and Knossos and flee the city forthwith (presumably for places like Vathypetro).


The desolation of Vathypetros


Grape Vines

While driving on from Vathypetro, we turned the bend and suddenly the road was full of sheep being driven by an ah peh in a 4x4 (no need for sheep dogs). We had to let them by first.


Road full of sheep




Sheep running past car


Random village

We then proceeded to semi-abandoned village of Ethia, up 10km of vertiginous mountain roads. After racking up a headache in getting there, we saw why only 20 people were left (as of 2004) - all the smart people had migrated to better places. Needless to say, the guidebook had raved about the charm of this place. Brother-in-law: "Did the guy get laid at every little village or what? How come he can wax lyrical about all these little villages?... Can you not write that down?"


The desolation of Ethia. About half the buildings are as run down as this.

After visiting Ethia, I suggested that we ignore any place with half a page or less. We speculated the guy would probably say that Parthenon was horribly overrated.


Mountain near Tsoutsouros (about 14km away)

To get to the village of Tsoutsouros for lunch, we then went down 15km of unpaved rocky road with Area D-quality roughness in our Daewoo (with bad suspension). Parts were worse, my brother-in-law reported, than Shoalwater bay. It's no wonder no one else was on the road (which wasn't even marked on our road map) - maybe it was for mules.


More mountains

At the village of Tsoutsouros, we had what was definitely, on a per person basis, our most expensive meal - 500g or so of fish, some cuttlefish, fries, a Greek salad and 2 drinks cost us €32 - even the meal with lobster spaghetti didn't cost as much. The guy was so happy at being able to fleece us that he gave us 2 cucumbers, then a while later gave us 4 yellowish pear-shaped (and sour-tasting) fruit slightly bigger than ping pong balls.


Fruit and vegetables we got after being fleeced. The fruit is most likely a kumquat.


(欠$还$ - Owe money return money)
Seen in Heraklion market

The place where my brother-in-law and I had dinner had this dessert: "submarine (glass of water with a knob of vanilla)" (1€,50). I was intrigued by this and tried ordering it, but they were out of it. They also had what was simply labelled "Cock's Egg"; we had to look at the German menu in order to find out what it was (Chicken fillet grilled with 3 kinds of cheese).


I don't know why anyone would willingly eat a kebab/shoarma after having a gyros. Gyros have good quality meat in them, while kebabs get shit meat that would otherwise go into sausages. Gyros are usually moist and flavourful, while kebabs are dry (maybe that's why they soak up alcohol well).

More mysteries of life: why are there so many fat Greek women dressed in black in the countryside? And why're there so many pharmacies in Greece - do the Greeks get sick so easily (OTOH, I've seen almost no doctors/clinics)?

The sentiment from my contact list, expressed through messages, nicknames and status messages, is unanimous.

Bribes disgust people.

"in the Singapore press and in Singapore in general, people have this v brainless idea that when advancing an argument you must have a thesis and an antithesis and must come to a balanced conclusion. This is delusory. For example, if I were to debate about holocaust denial, the proper response to those proponents of such a disgusting world view would be 'fuck you', not 'ok, write an article and we'll come to a balanced conclusion'."

***

Someone: "once i walked into rj bridge club and then someone blurted out my blog address in my face
and i was like huh? and that guy went, have you ever read agagooga? gssq?
he said u were interested in my blog
anyway he then proceeded to tell me your life history and about how i should read your blog
and i was like fuck you lah can we play bridge? and he was like yeah. so we played bridge."


Someone else: i told them i memorised all the reasons for the why-be-a-doc question

Me: you need to know how to fake insecerity
or another gambit is to say to them "screw it. everyone's lying to you. let me tell you my real reasons"

Someone else: come on lah. EVERYONE who wants to enter medicine wants to earn big bucks and be the envy of the society. it's just that the degree of this kind of thinking is different for different people
even the most altruistic doc out there wants to earn big bucks

will u work for over 24 hour shifts and have to sleep, eat and bathe in the hospital if u are paid peanuts? and most of the surgeons have to do this for a few times a week

Me: it's like teaching
must be a "passion"

Someone else: passion to earn lots of $$!:D
and no matter how much they complain they have to slog like hours just to earn 'so little'

i myself saw toilet cleaners who have to work 12 hours a day in the hospital and paid thousands of dollars less
that is REALLY A LITTLE
and those toilet cleaners earn so little they have to stay at the hospital
some may even get their salaries cheated. !@$#$%^&!
i heard a woman cried because they refuse to give her one month's salary

but can u imagine some people out there have to raise a family with those few hundred $$?

so u can't blame students entering med because they want to be rich and have financial security
no body says they have a passion to serve the public by washing toilets, or they enjoy washing toilets so they want to be toilet cleaners

Me: :P
I think those are noble causes
I don't get why medicine is so treasured

Someone else: i dont too. being able to cure other people doesnt mean u're a god

Me: I think one rejoinder in interviews is "why not be a nurse?"


Someone: It's people like the security guard who says, "I'm voting for the PAP because they gave me money" (referring to the recent progress package) that actually makes me feel ashamed of living here.

the reason i'm planning to transfer halfway through my studies to us, and apply for pr or something.
singapore has no hope
=p

Crete trip - Part 1
16/4, 17/4 - Brussels, Athens

My flight to Athens was from Brussels Airport. There're flights to Athens from Schiphol (Amsterdam), but I couldn't find any by low cost carriers, so Brussels was the next best choice. My original plan was to wake up early and visit Brussels, exploring the city for a day, before embarking for Athens. Of course, it didn't work out that way, since I slept at almost 3am or so the night before since I was packing and chatting with people. In the end I left at about 3:30, due to reach Brussels at 7:19pm.

The announcer on the train to Brussels spoke French like she was speaking Dutch. It was quite funny, given how other announcers speak Dutch like they're speaking French.

Just before reaching Brussels Noord, looking out from the train window I saw below the train track many prostitutes parading in windows. Meanwhile, the group of old people sitting around me all seemed very excited (and seemed to be looking down), a state which passed once we'd passed the prostitutes.

Seen near Brussels Noord station: "Hotel Chaochow Palace". Wth.

When I got off at Brussels Central station, I smelled piss. I was not surprised, but still - gah. The place also looked quite run down - quite surprising considering that it was the Central Station of Brussels.


Gardens across from Place de l'Albertine


Fountain outside Musee du Cinema


Navenstein sculpture

When I arrived at the Brussels Central station just before 7:30, a minimart and a hotdog stand were open, but less than an hour later everything was closed. Taking a short sub-hour Walk around Brussels (~19kg backpack notwithstanding), I found that everything was closed, even the restaurants - I found not a single one open (and I was so looking forward to a French meal before flying off). Probably the only people working in Brussels were the prostitutes. At first I was wondering why, but then realised it was Easter Sunday. Then again, though this was not the best time to be anywhere, I was surprised that even the restaurants were closed - even in Crete where people are more religious there were restaurants open on Easter Sunday. So it was lucky that I'd decided to sleep in in Utrecht, or the only thing to do in Brussels would've been to sleep somewhere else.

On the train to the airport, one girl mysteriously walked quickly down the aisle just a minute before the conductor appeared. Hmm.

Even at the airport, almost all the shops were closed. The cafeteria was expensive and unappetising so I went for the deep blue sea and patronised the Pizza Hut Express, having 2 slices of ham and witloof pizza (the bitter Belgian vegetable like cabbage). Besides it being exotic and new to my palette, I chose it because the 2 other choices were vegetarian and margherita.

After dinner I still had a lot of time to kill, so I found a power plug in a deserted area of Brussels airport and amused myself with my laptop. If I hadn't brought it I'd have been bored to death, for sure. I must remember to load up my PDA with games for future trips.


If you're caught on the wrong side of the door at Brussels Airport you're doomed. Good luck to you.

The French word for worship (in the phrase 'worship services') is "cultes". How appropriate.

Near the gate for my flight to Athens was a painting, "Embarkment for Cythera at Sunset" by Robert Groslot, 2004. It incorporated photo-realistic figures which were almost all women, some topless. Gotta love these Europeans.

At the end of the boarding announcement, the Virgin Express representative said, "Thank you for your trust in our company". I found this odd, as it was the first time I'd been thanked for trusting an airline. I was almost as shocked as when I'd first been subjected to the Trouble Prayer on Royal Brunei Airways; perhaps there was a reason why Virgin Express should not be trusted? Or maybe it's one of those linguistic translation things - for example, one of my flatmates refers to the rest of us as "colleagues".

I was wondering how they'd do the safety demonstration in three languages (Dutch, French, English) - it's usually rushed enough as it is in one and two is a horror. In the end it was only done in English. Hah (and hooray to globalization)!

One woman brought her dog on board the flight. She wrapped it in a blanket and carried it in her arms like a baby, and it didn't bark or make any other sound throughout that I heard.

On the flight I only got 2 1/2 hours of sleep, not the 3 1/2 I'd been expecting, because I forgot that Greece was an hour ahead of Central European Time; this was also because the flight reached Athens 20 mins ahead of schedule - this is the first time I've ever been upset at arriving early. When I reached Athens airport I tried to hunker down for some shut eye, but didn't manage to due to the annoying music and announcements constantly filling the air (Brussels in contrast had deathly quiet corners). So I ended up wandering the streets like a zombie - a bad state to be in considering how psychotic Greek drivers are (worse than Malaysians, I think).

Cigarettes retail for as cheap as €2-€2,10 for 25 in Greece. And I thought €3 for 20 in Vienna was cheap. I wonder about China.

After taking the Metro into town, I headed for the Larissa railway station, intending to deposit most of my luggage there and then wander the city. To my horror, it had no left luggage facilities or services - I'd thought all railway stations in the civilized world offered them. The counter staff very unhelpfully suggested the Metro station might have left luggage facilities - bah. So in the end I ended up sitting in the park for almost 2 hours waiting for the tourist information centre to open, since walking around a busy city with only 2 1/2 hrs of sleep and 19kg on my back was not my idea of a good time, as a brief but tiring walk to break the monotony amply demonstrated.


Rear of Hadrian's gate. 2 years after Exercise Minotaur, the scaffolding has come off.

After depositing my luggage at a left luggage service, I headed for the National Archaeological Museum, one of the few Greek (or indeed any) museums open on a Monday. When I was in Greece on Exercise Minotaur, it was closed for renovation, which was incredibly infuriating. Irritatingly though, they'd closed the place off on Monday mornings for professional photography so I had to find other diversions, namely stumbling about the streets of Athens trying to avoid being run down by madmen and looking for gyros.

Tickets to/from the airport to town on the Metro used to cost €2,90, and also be valid for travel on all forms of Athens public transport for 24 hours. Now they are €6, and only valid for 90 minutes after validation. Bloody hell. I bet the fares were jacked up just after the last of the Olympic tourists went home.

After 2 months in the Netherlands, I smile whenever I see a shop with a sign reading "Coffee shop".

I don't know why so many cities have trams and (more rarely) buses that run with power from overhead cables. Firstly, you ruin the city by stringing ugly power cables everywhere. For the former, you then have to waste precious road space building tram lines that can't be used by other vehicles. For your troubles you get limited routes, and if one vehicle breaks down you're screwed. The only advantage is that the trams get to bypass traffic (with the cost of reducing road space available for others), but then they're still stopped at traffic lights.

There're cock cars in Athens (and Crete) also. They've invaded the whole of Europe. I notice that some of them had advertisements on them. This is probably because they're so cock that people take notice of them.

The Athens metro is very helpful. They inform you that if you don't have a proper ticket, you'll be fined 40x the fare in penalty (actually I think the penalty has stayed the same despite a fare increase so the fine is now only 35x the fare). So if you know you'll be caught only once ever 35 trips or less, it'll be worth your while to cheat on transport fares. This is especially so on the airport route, where the fine is only €10, while you have to pay a whopping €5,20 more in train fare - the choice is obvious.

I couldn't find any Turkish places at all in Athens or Crete. It's amazing. Greece must be the only part of Europe to have successfully resisted the Turkish (culinary) invasion, but then they threw off the Turkish yoke less than 2 centuries ago, and hate the Turks with a vengeance, so.

For some reason for much of the day I couldn't find any places selling Greek rough and ready (aka fast) food (Gyros and Souvlaki) - there were Greek restaurants, and lots and lots of cafes selling Italian-French sandwhiches/breads/pastries/baked goods. I might've been in the wrong part of town, since I was where all the banks were. In the end I settled for a Calzone for lunch, since sleep deprication alone was bad enough (as Murphy's Law would have it, I found a few of the joints I was looking for after lunch). Wanderings in later days confirmed my initial observation, though - you have to know where to look for these places, as they aren't everywhere as one might expect.

Seen: "Laboratory of Liberal Studies". Wth.

There weren't any Muslim men selling Ah Beng Parthenon souveniors, or Black men tying strings around people's wrists/palms and then asking for money, but there were men palming balls which sizzled when they touched each other and women selling baby dolls which cried. The former was dominated by Indian-looking men, with Chinese making up the remainder, and all of the latter were Chinese. Also, the pirated DVD market in Athens seems to be monopolised by black men whose sixth sense tells then when the police are coming, at which they quickly disappear down the alleys with minutes to spare.

Some places (and in Crete also) were still selling Athens 2004 Olympic merchandise (at a substantial discount of course). Gah.

Since it was past 1pm, I could finally proceed to the National Archaeological Museum. One great thing about Greece is that museums and archaeological sites run by the Ministry of Culture are free for EU students to enter (also for journalists - maybe they want good reviews), so I saved a great deal of money on this trip.


Attic Sarcophagus, AD 150-175


Statue of a lion, mid 4th century


Mask of Agamemnon - Finally, I see the real thing!


Gold coverings for the body and face of an infant


Gold signet rings


3 type A swords, 1 type B sword and a dagger.


Copper oxhide ingot, ~30kg


Agate and Lapis Lazuli seal stones


Boar's tusk helmet, partially reconstructed


This item incites hate and must be destroyed.


Statue of a Kouros found in Sounion, c. 600 BC
This was described as being imported from Constantinople. Wth.


Herm, 520 BC


Hoplite grave stele, 510 BC


Bronze statuettes of Peplophoroses, 450-425 BC, 455 BC


Bronze statue of Zeus/Poseidon, c. 460 BC
Ridiculously, this crazy staff member claimed that I was not allowed to use the small lamp on my camera that blinks when the timer is set since it was counted as flash photography. Next they're going to tell me to cover my watch face and remove my glasses since they reflect light.


Votive relief from Elesium, c. 440-430 BC


Grave stele, c. 420 BC

All photography and video filming was forbidden for at least one piece - the Lady of Kalymnos. It'd been recovered from a shipwreck and heavily restored. I could kind of see why the prohibition was in place - if idiots flashed away continuously at it, the fragile surface might fade (I had no idea what strange cosmic waves video cameras emitted though). Coincidentally, it was also a great piece to front a postcard.

The security surrounding the Lady of Kalymnos was interestingly tight. Firstly, all of the museum staff seemed to be citizen volunteers, and they had no uniform, only wearing a nametag around their necks. So one of them was sitting on a chair near the Lady, reading a novel. He was so non-descript that at first I thought he was a visitor - I only knew him for who he really was when he exchanged a word with another staff member entering a restricted area. And then when he went off he got someone to replace him.


Vaginal dilator


Artemis figurine, 4th c. BC, Seated Demeter (?), 470 BC


Bronze sheet from Olympia, 600 BC


Varvakeion Athena, copy of Phideas' sculpture


Votive amphiylyphon, c. 410 BC


Artemisian jockey


Boxing children fresco, Akrotiri, Thera


One of the wooden plaques of Pitsa


Funerary lebes-kalp, 350 BC

The pottery collection of the museum was very extensive, with examples from many phases of Greek pottery, but not impressive. It was either because my feet hurt, I was rushing to finish most of the rooms before meeting my brother in law or all the good stuff was already in the Louvre, the Met and the British Museum. I suspect the last. Actually this applied to a lesser extent to the rest of the collection, excepting the highlights and the funerary steles which were excellent.

In the early evening, I rendezvoued with my brother in law, telling him that I was glad to see him since it meant I could dump some of the stuff I wanted him to bring back to Singapore. we then went to Piraeus to catch our ferry to Heraklion. I think it was my first time on a big cruise ship, and definitely the first time I was on one overnight. The cabin was quite cramped for 4 people's usage, but after Eurail couchettes, nothing fazes me anymore.

At various staircase landings, and even corridors outside cabins in more deserted parts of the ship, there were refugees laying out their sleeping bags or comforters on the floor and utilising the power sockets in the walls. I suspect they were "deck class" passengers; at first I was considering deck class, but my brother in law kindly got a 4 person cabin for us both - I was wondering if deck class meant you'd sit on the top deck and be sprayed by the sea for 5 hours as flying fish soared above you. Our guess was that those in deck class got to sit and sleep in chairs in big rooms in which Greek TV was blaring - no wonder they chose to go be refugees instead. A chat later in an Athens youth hostel revealed however that deck class really meant you sat on a bench on the open top deck (regardless of inclement), where all the dogs were chained and barking; however, when my source asked on boarding where he should sit, he was told "anywhere" - it seems they don't care where you put up for the night. The chairs in the enclosed rooms were "air-type seats". Meanwhile, there were also passengers in "distinguished class" - presumably cabins for 1 or 2. Gotta love the translations (then again it might reflect a Greek tendency for verbal flamboyence, as an extract below will show).

I suggested to my brother-in-law that I compile cock files for him as well. He wasn't very keen on the idea.

When the two of us went for dinner (not in the section for Distinguished Class passengers, unfortunately) we saw one guy who ordered spaghetti and dumped quite literally a whole mountain of cheese on it. And then 2 kids came and had fries and bread rolls (and nothing else).


I got a booklet on Athens and Attica from the Tourist Information Office. Many parts of the booklet were officious and pompous, but this part was especially, and hilariously so:

The general atmosphere
Try a glass of ouzo or wine with fried octopus or any other Greek dish, sitting in the shade of a tree in a small taqverna by the seafront, on an Aegean island. Try to repeat the experience in your home country, preparing the same dish, and helping yourself to the same drink. You may try it anywhere, but you will soon realise that the flavour is not the same. Don't try again. Your palate has not changed, nor is there something lacking in your cooking skills. The Greek food experience, in particular the combination of what you eat and where you eat it, are unique, and cannot be exported or imitated. It is simply something you can find, taste and enjoy only in Greece.