Murky Clarity

Germany: learning the train routes

September 29, 2013

Cattles, I tell you.

"Where are you going?" he says.

"Mainz," I say. (Main-z)

He quirks an eyebrow. "What are you doing in MAI-NZ?"

Oops. "Conference."

"How long?"

"Flying back on the 6th."

He flicks my passport back toward me. Not even a smile. Sheesh.

Anyway, the first thing I do upon officiallty reaching Germany is take a long, satisfying leak. Been drinking too much in-flight -- and yes, I did use the toilet somewhere over Ukraine. Then, after retrieving our bags, Mr Azmi leads the way. He spent almost a year in Germany 8 years ago. I'm already in 3 layers of clothes: a thin T-shirt, a form-fitting sweater, and a jacket. Because of this, I don't really feel the cold when we exit the airport to wait for a shuttle to Terminal 1. But. BREATH-SMOKES! It's just after sunrise, and 10C, and the air is crisp and fresh and absolutely awesome.

For EU4.90 each, we take the regional train to Mainz. The coaches are almost empty, and as the train speeds along its track, Mr Azmi regales us with stories of his time here. We pass empty fields dotted with cylindrical bales, houses with uniformly tall slate roofs, and the collection of Opel complexes (Opel has its own train station--that's how big it is). We reach Mainz southwest of the river Rhine after slightly over 30 minutes. The buildings look architecturally old (I eventually learn that Mainz is over 2000 years old) and here and there are ruins of the Roman Empire. At first glance, it looks like a quaint township. Also, crisp winds blow from everywhere and I finally feel the cold.

I come from a land where the sun is still deep within the bones of buildings even though it is already half a world away, so 10C is COLD. Heh.One of the first things I notice, other than the warm scents of fresh pastries, is the amount of broken bottles that littered the pavements, and a certain sense of...emptiness. Granted, it's only 9 on a Sunday morning. I can't help but compare the Mainz I see with Fremantle, Australia, though in truth, it's so much bigger. Buses and trams stop in front of the train station, but since everything is in German, and we don't really know where our hotels are, Mr Azmi asks if we should just walk.

Hells, yeah.Turns out, I'm well-prepared for travel. Seeing that every 20MB of internet bandwidth costs RM48, my data roaming is off. However, I have installed an offline GPS-based city map app, CityMaps2Go several months ago, and Word Lens, an app that translates texts in other languages into English (I know, right?) when I hover the phone-camera over them. Word Lens was installed over a year ago, but I recently purchased German & French translations. Anyway, we part ways as my hotel is way farther down the road.

Breakfast spread consists of cereal, museli, huge bowls of fresh yoghurt, cuts of unidentifiable meat, breads and croissants, fruits, and several choices of hot brew and juices. I go for the safest bet, which is yoghurt dumped with mixed fruits, bread, croissants with Nutella, and juice. No tastebud explosion, but breakfast is still good. Then, having so many hours to kill, I decide to explore Frankfurt. The receptionist lets me keep my luggage in their conference room, so I just carry the Crumpler backpack I borrowed from Kasha. It's still heavy, mind, with all the camera gear and other junks I've shoved inside.

It's almost eleven and Frankfurt reminds me of Perth in winter. The temperature is still cool (15C) but not that bad, but hey, I'm in 3 layers of clothes. The sky is a crisp blue, with minimal clouds. However, Frankfurt also feels entirely different from Perth, because the vibe of a huge city still there. People walk fast, and cars and taxis are everywhere.

I check my map, not knowing where to go, but it's not that helpful. Fine, I still don't quite know how to use it.

Sheesh.

So what do I do? I walk a straight path from the station. And I just walk. And I snap photos. Surprisingly, the shops are all closed, leaving only restaurants and cafes open. Yeah, I kinda didn't know that in Germany, shops and malls are closed on Sundays (still not sure about public holidays). Like, what gives, right? Anyway, no chance to shop means more chance to not spend, which is always good. One of the malls has an observation deck on the 7th floor, so I make my way up, fist-bumping with a short German guy (my height) who has a bottle of whiskey in one hand.

"Garble garble garble Mr Jack Daniels garble garble," he says.

I nod. I assume he's praising the alcohol brand. We fist-bump again.

A city is a city is a city, right? Not quite. I've had the pleasure of getting a bird's-eye view of Kuala Lumpur, Johor Bahru, Penang, Bangkok, Jakarta, Perth and...oh, what the hey, Kota Bharu and Kota Kinabalu as well. Each city has its own character. Frankfurt has modern skyscrapers interspersed with huge cathedrals, and lined with railway tracks. The river Rhine runs along the city, and bridges of various sizes and shapes connect both banks.

Still. 7th floor is not high enough. I need to go higher. I activate data roaming long enough to check the the location of Main Tower (see the half-cylindrical building with the red-and-white rod sticking out? That's the tower). I wince as WhatsApp and email notifications come flooding in. THAT'S PRECIOUS BANDWIDTH, DAMNIT!

I take off my jacket as it's getting slightly warmer. Or, maybe my body has warmed up from all the walking. Before heading for the tower, I check out the mall next to the one I'm at, and I'm glad for the decision. Part of the glass roof is a funnel that arches up and widens toward one end.

The light that bathes the mall because of this is simply amazing. More inspired photos. Would have been better if the shops were open, but no matter.

I walk toward the general direction of the tower, craning my neck to make sure it's still within sight, and pass by a row of upscale brand stores. THANK GOD THEY'RE CLOSED! Further down the road, beyond a bend, is the entrance to the tower. EU8 to the observation deck.

Notice how I'm listing the price here? I almost never think about the cost of things, but with a 4.41 exchange rate where my RM5k is equivalent to EU1.3k, my expenditure counts! I even end up making a list on Evernote.

Moving on.

The view from the 55th floor is even more breathtaking, which causes my lungs to burn slightly because of the cold, crisp air.

Remember the train tracks and Rhine with its bridges I mentioned? There you go. You're welcome. I think it's over half-an-hour before I decide to come back down. Between snapping pictures, I just stand there, breathing in the fresh air, listening to people chatter in a language that's alien to me, and like I always do whenever I get to witness something this beautiful, I just...exist.

Masya-Allah. By the grace of Allah, I simply exist.

You see, for someone who's having an existential crisis, I get choked up by this reminder. It gladdens my heart that such beautiful things exist, and it saddens me knowing that there is so much more I haven't experienced, that there is so much more I will never get to experience.

So, for now, a little closer to the heavens, surrounded by strangers, I exist.

Then, after finally coming down back to the ground, I walk. My ultimate goal is the train station, but I'm not in a hurry. I cannot consider myself lost when I don't have a destination, so there is no fear, no agitation.

I walk along a path that cuts through a park dotted with sculptures. People are lying on the tall grass, in the sun. I mean, I'm so used to avoiding the sun that seeing this still fills me with wonder. I end up walking to the Alter Oper (opera house), where this lone guy is playing violin for an appreciative crowd. I snap a picture of him, but he turns away, so I just shrug and drop a EU1 coin into his collection box.

He calls me back to snap a proper picture of him playing. "Now you can take photo," he says, still playing the violin.

Heh.

Somehow I make it back to the train station. Well, the GPS-activated map helps. I hop on a train back to Mainz, not knowing that it's Mainz-Kessel, which is on the wrong side of the riverbank from my destination, Mainz Hbf. Good thing I have a day-ticket, huh?

I consider it a small blessing, because not only do I manage to learn the train schedules and platforms, but I also get to find wonderful gifts for Arwen.

One down, seven more family members to go.

Once I reach Mainz (the correct station this time), I walk back to the hotel, get in my room to shower and pray, and transfer-and-edit the photos I've taken.

Then I make my way back to Frankfurt.

Yes, I do.

 

Germany: the story begins

September 29, 2013

 

It is 09:52 in the morning in Kuala Lumpur, but it is only 03:52 in Germany. We are 10 hours into the flight, with slightly over 2 more hours to go. I am currently over Ukraine, and outside the window, the world is still dark. A steady light illuminates the wingtip, but not enough to light up the world. I can see patches of concentrated lights, patches of civilization spread across the land. Above, equally dark, is a sea of stars. Up here, where there is no light pollution, I can easily make out the pattern that makes up Ursa Major. I cannot see Polaris, the North Star, but I know it is out there somewhere.

There is a band just beyond the Eastern horizon. If you paint a swath of black using watercolor, and then swipe a line of white paint-tinged water, you will seee a band of lightness slowly spreading. That is what I am seeing right at this moment. We are traveling away from the sun, but even at over 800kmph, we cannot outrun it.

I look out the window again, and I imagine that the people who occupy the small patches of light must be sleeping right now. It is not yet time to wake up, to face what the coming day has to offer. I wonder how these people look like, almost a quarter world away from home. I wonder what my family and loved ones are doing at home. Are they still sleeping, as it is a lazy Sunday?

Most of the passengers in this flight are sleeping. There are those who are walking about, stretching their legs. There are those who are watching movies on their personal screens. And there are those like me, chronicling their first solo Europe trip.

I wish you could be here with me. I wish you could see the dark world with patches of light on the land and in the sky, with the promise of sunrise just beyond the horizon.

I know this is a poor substitute, but it would be great if we could be connected through time and space through these entries.

 

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Book Review: "The Female Cell" by Rumaizah Abu Bakar

I have a suspicion that by now, I may have built a reputation of tearing apart Malaysian-English works. Oh, well.

Moving on.

"The Female Cell" is a collection of short works by Kedah-born Rumaizah Abu Bakar, published by Silverfish Books in 2011. Do note that I use 'works' instead of 'stories'. But I'll get to that later. Like usual, I'll talk about the cover first.

This book suffers from the same ailment other Silverfish titles seem to be afflicted with. I mean, the "Silverfish New Writing" titles had superb covers, but others are merely meh if not outright ugly. I love the high-grade brown paper between the covers, though, and the scent is just right.

The book itself is divided into two parts: Love, Lies and Lives, and Travel Tales. In the description, the first part consists of works of fiction. Short stories, in fact.

I beg to differ.

The book starts off with "Christmas in July", a story about jealousy and rivalry among chefs at a hotel. Immediately after finishing the story, I went, "Eh?". However, after spending a minute thinking about it, I realized that "Christmas in July" was a freaking brilliant read. It's one of those understated stories that makes you think, and in a good way. It has a complete arc (beginning, middle, ending), and the protagonist is transformed at the end. Yu, a sous chef at one of the restaurants in the hotel, has always been denied a promotion, and has to watch younger chefs brought in from other countries rise and bask in fame. At the end of the story, Yu, who has quit the job and is now married and has two children, has opened his own business, whereas the star chef he's always been jealous of remains the same, serving the same food.

Brilliant, I tell you.

Then the problem starts. Just like Chua Kok Yee's book "Without Anchovies", the editor must have realized the strength of the opening story and placed it there on purpose. Good strategy, I have to say. However, it would have been better if the story had been followed up by other solid, complete stories.

The rest of the first section are vignettes. Not stories, but single scenes without beginnings or endings. They feel like exercises to describe scenes the writer witnessed at that particular time. The pieces are told in the first person perspective, present tense. Actually all the pieces in this book are told the same way. There are merits, and there are drawbacks, of course. And the merits don't become apparent until the second part.

I felt something was off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it until I started reading Travel Tales. Then it hit me. Except for "Christmas in July", the narrator in the pieces is merely a witness, not an active participant. When you write a story in first-person, the reader inadvertedly assumes the identity of the narrator. Being forced to play a passive role in a story isn't a good enough experience. Just like "The Great Gatsby".

Put these two factors together--single-scene vignettes and passive first-person narration--and you get a frustrating read. There isn't any character development, and as a reader I don't feel invested. And it's a shame, because Rumaizah's writing style is smooth and excellent. She doesn't pretend, and she doesn't try too hard to impress. In fact, the entire book feels like having a thirty-something lady sit across from me at a cozy cafe, regaling me with snippets of her interesting life (or interesting observation of life). The author's presence is barely felt, and I can really get lost in the tales.

Especially during the second part. Oh, the second part.

Travel Tales is a travelogue, pure and simple. And this is where Rumaizah shines. The pieces are still vignettes, and the style of writing is the same, with the same first-person present-tense perspective, but this time, the narrator is an active participant, and by extension, so is the reader. I have not been to a lot of these places, and traveling vicariously through these tales is awesome. I especially liked the tales of Turkey.

Now. On to the technicalities of this book.

I mentioned the cover. I seriously feel that Silverfish Books needs a (new) cover artist. FIXI (and its imprint FIXI NOVO) is doing a great job coming up with brilliant covers, and even the Readings from Readings series has a distinct, beautiful cover concept. Whatever is said and done, we still judge a word-only book by its cover, and using ugly covers is selling the author(s) short.

This book also has the same problem as "Without Anchovies". Great opening piece, followed by a disappointing read, made more so because both these authors show an amazing potential through their opening stories.

I didn't detect that many typos, but there was an abuse of the semi-colon. Especially in the first piece. And I would have appreciated less adverbs, and more strong verbs. I'm not against adverbs, but having them back-to-back can be a tad annoying.

I would have gotten rid of the first part of the book (except for the opening story) and concentrated on the travelogues instead. Travel Tales is indeed an engaging read, not indulgent at all, and would have raised the author's name higher.

First-person present-tense perspective is a delicate thing to handle, and doesn't work all the time. I would have appreciated some of the pieces told in the past tense, or even an active-participant third-person perspective. As it is, the narrative voice sounds exactly the same for all the pieces, and I'm quite certain the first part is told by different people/narrators.

I also mentioned that the entire book feels like a thirty-something woman chatting with me across the table. What I wanted, and didn't get, was a sense of weaving all the threads into one tapestry. Even Scheherazade, with her 1001 Nights, had a bigger, more encompassing arc that tied together everything. Or Khaled Hosseini's "And the Mountains Echoed", even.

This book is far from perfect, for the reasons stated above. But I will judge the author based on the first story and the travelogues. Rumaizah is a raw, unpolished gem. I believe that she will go far if she is given the right guidance and exposure.

I give this book a 3.5/5. It's above average, but it's not quite there.

It is, however, definitely worth the purchase and the read.