In the haven designed by Valentina Audrito, I laid by the day bed in absolute bliss. Sipping on my piping hot Balinese coffee whilst watching the source of Life glisten against the private pool, I thought to myself, “Thank God I didn’t give this trip a miss,”.

My initial reservation came from an experience three months prior. I was visiting Bali for the first time and by the end of my stay, I was ready to make it my last. My hotel in Nusa Dua had a 6-star badge to brag, but it lacked character. Judging by its patrons, I felt like I was in a luxurious home for the Aged. To contrast, Kuta beach and its polluted waves of horny surfer cocks was a gentle reminder of why I retired from the party scene years ago. I do party, don’t get me wrong, and damn I party hard… but jesus, it felt as though there was a STD carrier every 5 steps I took. By the time I was harassed by a lunatic of a taxi driver who tried to pull me (literally) into his taxi, I was ready to kiss Bali goodbye.

Little did I imagine I would be kissing Bali again. But this time, it was a kiss to remember.

This was the villa I was in. Gorgeous, ain’t it?

This was my lovely bathroom.

Blessed with volcanic views tucked amidst traditional rice terraces, KISS offers 7 pockets of Heaven, with a total of 12 cozy and spacious bedrooms. In each villa, a private pool greets you against the blistering heat, alongside these lovely items included in their rates:

• airport transfer (both ways, and if you’re like me, you’d appreciate this)
• a 15-minutes stress break with a head and shoulder massage
• a nightcap of delicious chocolates (!)
• daily breakfast
• unlimited flow of bottled water, coffee and tea (you can imagine why I was such a happy bunny)
• 24-hour personalized butler, concierge and house-keeping service
• Complimentary hi-speed WIFI internet access  (yes, seriously, you don’t need to buy some freaking pre-paid card and wire up by the desk unlike most places)
• Complimentary Mini bar (first round only but damnnnn, since when was the Mini bar ever complimentary?!)

KISS was born from a relentless desire to offer a unique experience, away from the cookie cutter designs (like half of the soulless hotels we know in Bali), for discerning jetsetters escaping to this island. Influences of the 1970s glamour ooze through the sleek architecture and design of the Present. With only 7 precious villas, tranquility is guaranteed.

I was in dire need of a recharge and KISS gave me just that – the rejuvenation of my jaded soul and tired mind, in an expected kiss of nostalgia and utter bliss. A bit dramatic perhaps, but KISS has single-handedly restored my faith in Bali. In fact, I’m toying with the idea of working from KISS for a month a year. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, be sure to try your first KISS, if you’re visiting Bali. I’ll leave you now with some of the pictures my friend R and I took. All of them pretty ones were taken by her.

I wrote previously on how the complimentary walk provided by The Majestic Malacca is to die for. At risk of being a historical spoiler, allow me to share my experience with you the journey back in time in the rich history of this extraordinary empire.

Firstly, a bit of background (stuff like that somehow always impresses others anyway). Founded centuries ago by a Sumatran price named Parameswara, Malacca grew to become a powerful sultanate and the centre of the lucrative spice trade, visited by Arab, Tamil and Chinese merchants. Subjected to dominance by the Portuguese, Dutch and British respectively, the city is a unique gem reflecting the past of each occupant.

The 10am walk thangdynasty and I took shortly after breakfast began along the Malacca River, at the foot where The Majestic Malacca rests. Stories and legends unfold as the historical city awakes with the guide of our articulate resident historical guide, Donovan Louis.

This guided walk begins at The Majestic Malacca and passes through significant landmarks of the city’s history along the river ending at one of the oldest remnants of Portuguese colonial presence, the Porta de Santiago or A’Famosa Fort.

Our two-hour walk included:

• Sungai Melaka (Malacca River)
• Kampung Morten
• The ruins of St. Lawrence Church
• Jalan Bunga Raya & Kampung Java
• The Stadthuys
• The Victorian Fountain
• The Tan Beng Swee Clock
• St.Paul’s Hill
• Porta de Santiago

Enjoy the snapshots of history captured on that very journey below.

What was once the home to God, destroyed and now used as a carpark.

Do you know that there are trees that sweat??? I didn’t know it either but apparently, this last remaining tree sweats salt for human consumption.


From across the river, we could hear birds chirping but there were no birds in sight. Turns out, it was a recorder installed by shrewd businessmen luring the swallows into their industrial building as you see in this picture for that lucrative produce – bird’s nest.

What the Dutch left behind.

Don’t let the state of these homes fool you. The affluent Chinese in Malacca aren’t typically fond of flaunting their wealth, and would much rather stay in such living conditions with a monthly rent of merely 50 ringgit. These houses are owned by various Chinese clans in the city and are heavily subsidized.

Clogs were introduced by the Dutch during their occupancy. And to think I thought it was from China! Sadly, like in Singapore, clog making is a dying trade in Malacca.

Regular tour guides probably won’t talk about this bridge, but I’m thankful Donovan did. This bridge is found at the forefront of the route women used to take to get to the market in the mornings. During World War II, the Japanese would decapitate the heads of the women’s fathers, husbands, brothers and friends and hang them by this bridge. I have nothing against the Japanese now, mind you. I’m just glad history was told as is.

The Indian Gooseberry tree of which apparently, Malacca was named after. No, I think the myth’s about how some fugitive prince was impressed that a rat managed to scare off his dog and thereafter named the city he stumbled upon after the tree he was under is pretty far fetched.

We took a break and had authentic local coffee at this shophouse. The coffee was excellent.

The famous red Christ Church. Due to a lack of resources back in the day, the Dutch tore down Portuguese’s’ tombstones in order to produce floor tiles for the church. Imagine that.

This clock tower is unique in such that the passage way doesn’t go upwards but rather, downwards. Donated by some Mr Tan businessman, this clock tower served as a secret exit route from the governor’s house in the event of attacks.

Many of us credit Abraham Lincoln for demolishing slavery but guess what? Our dear Queen Victoria actually beat him to it years before. This water fountain was erected as a tribute to her for relieving us of such human cruelty.

I couldn’t stop laughing when I saw this. Malaysians are so much ahead of time, they have a museum for democracy.

One of the most beautiful architecture I’ve ever seen – the remains of St. Francis Xavier Church.

The significant Saint Francis Xavier.

Inside St. Francis Xavier Church.

Members of Freemasonry were sworn to secrecy of their affiliation with the fraternity for as long as they lived. As, the only time they are able to declare their identity proudly is upon death, on their tombstones. The skull and crossbones are a symbol of Freemasonry. Yeah, I was stoked to learn of this too.

The A’Famosa Fortress is one of the oldest surviving remnants of European architecture in Asia. Once part of a mighty fortress, this tiny gate known as the Porta de Santiago, is all that history has spared. Quite interestingly, the fort was to be demolished by the British and it could’ve happened if not for Sir Stanford Raffles (yeah, our guy). He persuaded the English to not demolish Porta de Santiago for history’s sake. That explains the palm tree planted next to this fort. It was planted in tribute to him.

The gate’s entrance is built in a spiral manner so that the mostly right-handed soldiers would be able to swing their swords from behind the pillar at intruders.

This is why I think the Indian Gooseberry tree myth is a little far fetched. Explorers from the world of colonies knew that they were on a one-way ticket to a new home. As a tribute to one’s motherland, the explorers often named the city after the port of which they have departed from. Does Malaga sound familiar?

I wish you were with us when we went back in time that day. You can’t put a price to an experience like this, really.

I’m back from my five-day business-cum-leisure trip in Ho Chinh Minh City, Vietnam. I loved her then, I love her even more now. More to come, as soon as I’m done clearing my mountain of emails tomorrow. Meanwhile, check out this funny looking mutt I spotted at Bui Vien. Shortly after this picture was taken, the mutt told me to bark off. Heh.

I have never been too crazy about hotels. It’s not that I don’t appreciate fine merino wool backed with a thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets, but rather, my relationships with the hotels have been rather transactional. Blessed with a multi-international family scattered all around the world from Brussels to London to Washington DC, I’ve been spoilt rotten with the comfort and warmth of a home a hotel can never seem to provide, regardless of the number of stars TripAdvisor knights it with.

After all, I awake to the sun kissing down on my skin in London like this.

And I enjoy my morning cup of home brewed coffee alongside with my cigarette, to a beautifully manicured garden in Brussels like this.

This picture shows merely one-third of the size of my Uncle’s garden, by the way.

You can imagine my surprise when I arrived at the Majestic Malacca, feeling like I’ve just walked into the house of an extended Peranakan family in Malacca I’ve never knew I had.

The grand entrance of Majestic Hotel, by day.

The grand entrance of Majestic Hotel, by night.

The homely lobby that greeted us as we set foot into the hotel.

Resting comfortably at the cultural crossroad since the 1920s, gazing serenely across the Malacca River, the Majestic Malacca felt like home from the first foot into the lobby. I felt the need to remove my shoes for Christ’s sake. The assistant manager of Housekeeping, Mitsuhiro Yamaga, welcomed my traveling companion, ThangDynasty, and I at the reception.

A Japanese in Housekeeping. In Malacca. How oddly pleasant. We all know how reputable they are with service standards.

Waiting for our room to be ready at the lobby.

Me, camwhoring as usual.

My childhood returned to me in the form of a jar.

Having managed luxury alcohol brands in my past life as an Ad girl staying in no less than USD500.00 per night luxury hotels for my business trips (with a personal female butler), I appreciated Mitushiro for not being overzealous. I don’t know what it is with 5-star hotels and ridiculously friendly employees. I’m quite sure they don’t smile that way to their own chambermaids. To be honest, I feel a tad insulted when hotel employees get too friendly.

I’m not dumb, you smiling idiot. You and I are Asians. We are pragmatic, not friendly. We greet with “Have you eaten?”, not “How are you? Lovely hair! OMG I love your jeans!”

Mitushiro’s genuineness was a relief. I didn’t feel like I was in that capitalistic world where one needs to pay top dollar to be treated well. Escapism began from the lobby of the hotel, imagine that.

The cozy library that is enabled with free WIFI.

The gorgeous pool at the foot of the award-winning Spa Village

Walking pass the cozy room library of knowledge at the lobby, the reflections of the city in a lovely swimming pool, and the award-winning Spa Village, ThangDynasty and I were brought into our Deluxe King room by a petite lady named Ayumi. Yes, another Japanese. Don’t ask me why.

For the first time ever in my experience with hotels, my jaws dropped.  Heaven greeted us with open arms.

At first sight.

I think there’s space for two.

The view from the other side.

The amazing bathroom (bath space?)

You’d find it hard not to smile too, if you were in my socks.

Each room melds luxury, modernity and tradition. Sumptuously appointed in rich teak and fine silk, a four-poster bed awaits, whilst an ohmygodineedthis bathtub rests open to the room, promising a smoothing, lingering soak.

I won’t break a song on how falala the room was but this is newsworthy: 4 spare power sockets located above the writing desk.  That belief shared by YTL Hotels’ president, James McBride, comes into mind.

“The difference between good and exceptional is in the details.”

Any business traveler will appreciate this little detail. For the love of God, my MacBook Air, iPhone, Canon G9 digital camera, and the unfortunate need for a constant flow of freshly brewed coffee, having not one, but FOUR power sockets is a dream come true. Think about it. When was the last time you could recharge all your business weapons at the same time without the need to sacrifice a hot cup of coffee? Also, when was the last time we had more than a couple of power sockets located ABOVE the writing desk? My weather-predicting back and legs are most grateful.

I challenge you to find me another hotel that provides 4 power sockets above a writing desk in each of its rooms.

While I am still digesting the overwhelming experience I’ve had in Malacca, I’d recommend you swing over to ThangDynasty’s blog now. She has a useful guide on Malacca beyond chicken rice balls, durian chendol, Jonkers Street and the Little Nonya.

Meanwhile, here’s my little 2 Ringgit worth about Majestic Malacca, besides the façade I’ve already waxed lyrical about.

1 | BEST FOR
The Architecture and History lover, who needs more soul than just fancy decoration from the likes of Simone Micheli. The Majestic Malacca was formerly home to a Peranakan family of 15 people (or is that more?). I’ve got to hand it to them for painstakingly restoring the 1920s building.

2 | THE RATES
Quite evidently, the Majestic Malacca isn’t Hotel 81. You pay peanuts, you get, well, the monkey quarters. I recommend emailing them to check for special deals.

3 | HOSPITALITY EXCELLENCE
The hotel staff were polite, helpful, but not overtly friendly to a point of being pretentious. ThangDynasty has this thing about room service being part of her traveling ritual. Unfortunately for us, room service wasn’t available in the hotel. In spite of that, the hotel staff were happy to make an exception and delivered our dinner right to our door step. In addition, they refused our tip because “it wasn’t right”. If that isn’t hospitality excellence, I don’t know what is.

4 | THE FOOD AT THE MANSION
The Nyonya chicken broth was orgasmic, the Fillet Mignon was alright, but alas, the Rib eye steak was forgettable. While I appreciate the semi-buffet style approach that saves me from having to queue in a line with some noisy family of 4, I have to say there is definitely room for improvement all in all.

5 | THE SPA VILLAGE

Peranakan day beds at The Spa Village

The Spa Village honours the healing traditions of the region in which it is located. As a result, the 2-storey Spa Village Malacca offers the world’s only Peranakan spa, reflected not only through the therapies, but also within the architecture of the spa. My 3-hour long therapy was molded around my energy – defined warm, based on Peranakan belief and inspired by Traditional Chinese Medicine.  For all curious, my therapy comprised of:

• Yoghurt-Guava Leaves Body Scrub
• Egg Rolling Body Therapy (didn’t like this much because of the heat emitting from the hard boiled eggs)
• Limau Kasturi-Yoghurt Hair Mask (I love this bit the most, although the flower stuck in my hair thereafter the hair treatment by my therapist Inuh was hilarious)
• Bird’s Nest Facial with Star Fruit Mask (no, I didn’t attempt to lick my face)

Sounds delicious no? ThangDynasty thought I smelt like the Nyonya chicken broth we had for dinner.

6 | THE HISTORICAL WALK

The route to Malacca’s history by foot

The best Majestic Malacca has to offer that makes her so special, in my opinion. The hotel offers daily complimentary tours at either 10am or 5pm. The 2-hour route to Malacca’s history provides a glimpse into the splendid saga of an extraordinary empire. Many of us remember Malacca for her Peranakan heritage, food and Jonker Street. How many of us know of Malacca for the way it was born in commerce and conflict, wrapped in history and lore? While I had initially contemplated giving the historical tour a miss (what can you show me that I can’t explore on my own, my arrogance hissed), I shall remain eternally grateful I did not. Our resident historical guide, Donovan Louis, didn’t recite from the Lonely Planet guidebook like the typical guide would. Instead, Donovan imparted knowledge of his city’s history.  Knowledge that I will so dearly pay for. This historical tour is a MUST GO for all.

I shall be sharing his knowledge with you in a separate post when the festive season is over and I’m not too busy getting fat on brie, turkey and champagne.

Til then, Merry Christmas and God bless.

2009 has been quite a ride. While I wouldn’t exchange the experience for anything else in the world, I must admit this engine of mine needs to unwind and recharge. The last idea I’ve brewed taste somewhat bland. Being a stubborn, prideful idiot who refuses to recycle any idea from one client to another, my creative juices’ evaporating faster than a Suit can say “I want it yesterday”.

The Majestic Malacca is a much-needed recharge for my mind, body and soul. In this small town that was once occupied by the world’s major colonial powers, The Majestic Malacca rests peacefully on the banks of the Malacca River. With 54 exquisitely designed guestrooms, the hotel integrates the richness of her Peranakan history with the luxury of the Present.

Quite incidentally, The Majestic Malacca is a client of my company which unfortunately, I don’t work on. Can you just imagine the fun I’d have if I was working on the The Majestic Malacca account? Damn. I’m make sure we conduct weekly WIP meetings by the pool with cendol.

Ahhhhhhh. Paradise awaits. I will be away from 17 December 2009 – 19 December 2009. Got recommendations on what I should be doing in this lovely town? Leave me a comment and I’d bring you back a souvenir in return.

For those interested in my journey in Malacca, be sure to follow my Geotweets.

I need to stop making trips where I spend more time in the air than I do on land. Alright, I’m exaggerating in the instance of my recent trip this week to Hong Kong for Asia PR Awards 2009, but still, I wish I could spend a long time in this beautiful urban jungle.

Here’s what I managed to do, in less than 48 hours in Hong Kong.

1. Caught up with my cousin at The Pawn for lunch.

The Pawn was a pawn shop owned by the Lo family, some well-known local pawnshop trader for over a century, before it turned into a heritage building now adapted into restaurant to fill stomachs instead of wallets. Due to time constraint, I didn’t capture as many photographs as I wish I did. Nonetheless, this place is a must-visit for all Italian loving vintage junkies.

2. Explored the area around my hotel, for like, 15 minutes.

Couldn’t resist this shot of an elderly man checking a woman out.

3. Attended Asia PR Awards 2009 with my partner-in-crime, Tania.

Special thanks to TANGS for sponsoring our gorgeous threads that night.

4. Conducted a couple of Digital Influence trainings for both the regional and local offices at our office in Hong Kong.

Sorry, ain’t got no pictures here cos well, I was training. T’was great meeting my fellow colleagues from Hong Kong.

5. Met up with one of the world’s finest tattoo artists and a good friend, Leon.

I adore this photograph. Leon brought me to this serene courtyard tucked behind the concrete jungle of Lan Kwai Fong. It feels almost as though this courtyard had managed to escape capitalism somewhat. We found ourselves catching up on each other’s lives, new tattoos, and why pretentious art connoisseur wannabies make us buff. Its a shame my wife couldn’t be there. You should watch them rattle off in French. I’d be lucky if I catch more than a sentence. The rolled-up canvas on the left is a painting he did of 27 monks which ends up being a gift to me. Why 27? I don’t know and frankly, I don’t care.

So there you go, what I did in less than 48 hours in Hong Kong. I’m still sore I didn’t managed to visit G.O.D. Maybe the next time.

Enjoy the rest of the photographs.

Four suitcases that combine to remind you of home, wherever you go. Redefines the term Couch Surfing, doesn’t it? Not much details available here but the Suited Case by Nieuwe Heren is likely to be a concept pending mass production.

Conceptualised and designed by Piet Blom in 1970s, originally planted in Helmond, the iconic Kubuswoning (Cubic Houses) was constructed on top of a pedestrian bridge into an urban jungle of abstract trees in 1984, from an invitation from the city of Rotterdam.

The cubes tilt and rest on hexagon-shaped pole structures, each containing living areas sliced into three levels. I did not manage to enter the cubes, but I hear that the first level contains the living area, the middle level holds the bedroom and bathroom whilst the top level provides the extra space for the occasional guest.

I explored the city with the decorated writer, Chen Ko-Hua, during the spare hours we had before the rehearsals of Tears of Barren Hill. The Kubuswoning was a must-visit, my wife had said. The promenade level greeted us with warmth spilling off the roof. It’s hard not to wonder if this is how heaven would be like – gorgeous architecture, warmth, serenity robbed from our society eons ago. It’s a shame we have to ruin the beauty with our litter. I must’ve stepped over one coke can too many whilst exploring this urban jungle.

If you’re visiting Rotterdam, visiting Kubuswoning should be on your agenda. Aren’t you sick of wannabie condominums with cheesy-ass unpronounciable names already?

Address:
Oudenavenkade
Rotterdam, Netherlands
3011

Enjoy the pictures below.

Left to right: Lan Tian, Shi Xiaomei, Yuewai, Dong Hongsong

Danny Yung. Hong Kong. Experimental stage director, filmmaker, producer, multi-disciplinary artist, curator and founder of well-respected art association, Zuni Icosahedron. Possibly the last member of the Chinese Intellectuals from days when Nanyang existed. When Kuo Pao Kun was still alive.

Chen Ko-Hua. Taiwan. Ophthalmologist and a highly acclaimed writer. Made his writing debut in 1983. Has over fifty published works to his name.  Speaks as though he is reciting a poetry he has just penned. Perhaps he is.

Shi Xiaomei. China. One of China’s most respected veterans in Chinese opera since Mei Lanfang. Distinctively beautiful, but so immaculately handsome, she played only male roles for over 3 decades, breaking thousands of fragile hearts along the way. Watching her as she was getting made up as a female for the first time was my greatest honour.

Danny and I at breakfast

Chen Ko-hua and I

The ever so lovely Shi Xiaomei and I. Guess how old is she?

For 3 days in Rotterdam, my ignorant, culturally deprived, narrow-minded soul was in the company of these rich, culturally evolved beings. I struggled badly with my mediocre command of the language, Mandarin, while they sang poetry effortlessly. I will have you know that for the first time ever, I was truly ashamed by how disgustingly handicapped I was, of my own mother tongue.

Like a good number of Singaporean Chinese living in our multi-cultural society, I identify myself as a Singaporean before I do, as a Chinese. And I will admit to this – when I was younger, I suffered from severe superiority complex when travelling to less-developed neighbouring countries. I mistook my ability to communicate in English for supremacy. Yes, I was an ignorant prick. Sadly, some of us still are.

I was educated under a system that essentially implied that English was more important than my mother tongue. I could afford to fuck up my Chinese and get away with it, but if I did the same for English, I would have to kiss my education goodbye. Pronto. It wasn’t as though I didn’t try  – bless those endless nights of Chinese tuition, but language isn’t something you could learn overnight, is it? My peers spoke Chinese as crude and clumsily as I did, and my teachers were a bit too preoccupied trying to ensure the passing rate was maintained to bother to waste any time trying to make us appreciate the language instead. The latter is an investment not all’s willing to make, I suppose.

I think we Singaporeans sometimes forget how young we are as a country. For fuck sakes, Beijing Opera alone is about 170 years older than Singapore. We all belong somewhere else, some time ago. What gave us the right to disregard, or belittle even, the place we originally came from? Capitalism? Hollywood?

I won’t go as far as to say I hated Chinese growing up, but yes, I was called names because of my disregard of my heritage.

She’s a Yellow Banana.

Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.

This girl eats potatoes only.

As opposed to rice, as favoured by the Chinese.

I wasn’t flattered, but I wasn’t insulted neither. I was indifferent. The colour of my skin never mattered much to me, considering how multi-racial and intercontinental my family is. It was only when I had the opportunity to hang out with these fine souls that I realised how much I’ve been deprived of, no thanks to my preconceived judgement. For the record, not all Chinese are into stealing people’s husbands or producing counterfeit Louis Vuitton bags.

The Government invests a good amount of money each year, marketing Chinese as a language all Singaporean Chinese should use. It’s cool, they said. How so? The television commercial is memorable, no doubt, but does it really make me want to use the language? Let’s not even talk about the posters. What? Chinese is cool because some Singaporean singer says so? My apologies for being harsh, but that’s not about to make someone as detached as I am convinced.

I’m thankful for the experience I’ve had in Rotterdam. I’m thankful for the exposure I’ve had with the true purveyors of the language. I can only wish that one day, you, my fellow yellow bananas, will understand how I feel, being a Chinese.

The unassuming entrance of Studio Hergebruik

Yesterday: a milk carton. Today: a multi-purpose clutch bag.

Yesterday: an art director’s proof of color perfection. Today: the laptop bag for his PowerBook.

Yesterday: the tyres of a 7-year-old girl’s bicycle. Today: her mum’s evening purse.

Every product of mass consumerism gets a second life in Studio Hergebruik. Tucked at the corner of Coolsingel, Rotterdam, Studio Hergebruik houses a retail store, an exhibition space, and a workshop all under the same roof. The brutal 30-minute walk whilst lugging 2 kilogrammes over my right shoulder was worthwhile. There I was, at the entrance of Rotterdam’s finest display of eco-consciousness, in utter awe of the collection before my eyes.

I was very tempted to purchase that FREITAG bag.

This picture reveals barely one-tenth of the actual size of the studio.

Yup, those quirky lights are made of recycled materials too.

Ah. My old Finance textbook can finally be put into good use.

For your pen and your toothbrush.

Recycle. Don’t sit on it.

I would’ve bought this if not for the fact that I’d look pretty dumb lugging this into an opera theatre.

Studio Hergebruik provides all kinds of items, from bags to sandals to furniture and even dinner lamps, with a common DNA – they are made from recycled materials. Conceptualised by the highly charismatic Jan De Haas (if my emails with him is anything to go by), Studio Hergebruik is a design junkie’s Mecca never to be missed when visiting Rotterdam. God knows how long it took before I could peel myself away from the studio so as to make it to Operadagen Rotterdam 2009‘s opening night on time.

Studio Hergebruik
Coolsingel 53
3012 AA Rotterdam
Tel: 010 – 413 36 60
Website: www.studiohergebruik.nl

Check out the rest of the photographs taken that day in the slideshow below.