The Accidental Tourist

I turned off my facebook account last week. Was talking to a friend and both of us lamenting that conversations seemed to be more real and sincere back in the days when people were talking on the phone. At least, I knew a guy wasn’t talking to me and 10 other girls on their facebook account and on MSN at the same time. Even if he is, then I don’t think it’s worth wasting my time. 

The strange thing is within a span of less than a week,  I got what seemed to be a suicide note on my facebook (it turned out to be false alarm and I blame an early SMS on a subject’s passing that made my brain go haywire), some event invites, a few requests that I join my friends in conquering the world in some RPG , comments of disbelief that i would actually turn off the digital life and lastly, a termination note on friendship. Ok I was still lurking around facebook but i won’t be answering any comments. And hopefully, I’ll be weaned off facebook by the end of next week. Creative Spark sent me a link that marvels the wonders of the internet and how far we have come with the internet. To put it simply, we live our life on the net. The fact that I’m actually typing this out for the world wide web is pretty ironic and scary at the same time. Note: WORLD WIDE. Talk about pouring your heart out. 

I love and hate the web at the same time. I hate it that we are all hiding behind the screens. The scene from Wall-e scared the crap out of me. Being computer science trained, my first interaction with the internet ranks highly in life experiences. Maybe right next to discovering I could lie to my parents and get away with it when I was 4 years old. I love the information that is readily available. It’s a great marketing tool for photographers. Go to www.deannang.com.  News, old camera manuals, buying stuff from half way across the globe. You could even find the condensed version of the novel that has taken you ages to read. Or u could google on Ex-BFs and find out what they have been up to. It caters to the voyeuristic side of me.  Just in case, you’re an ex-BF reading this, Hello and I hope life has treated you well.

Having said all that, I think too much info is not necessarily a good thing. Friend, who has terminated our friendship until 2011, is going through a rough patch and would like to keep me and all the information that I carry with me out of his life for a while. I respect that and I really hope that you get through it. On the other hand, friends, who have come to see my point of view, have decided that yes, real life conversations might be the way to go. So we’ll be heading out for supper tonight to catch up and i shall try not to hide behind this screen anymore.

Remember when you were young and when your mum told you that you can have a bite of chocolate cake, you would always try to get the biggest bite possible? You open your mouth really wide and try to stuff as much as possible? Or when your sibling offered you a sip of their yakult and you would try to hold your breath and take the longest sip ever? 

I haven’t had that feeling that i needed to maximise every opportunity available. Strangely, a bus ride from Vinh to Dong Hoi brought back that feeling. Tym and I were feeling smug (or at least I was) that we had scored a nice bus ride in a bus with curtains, A/C and a small LCD screen in the front playing vietnamese MTVs to boot. The conductor was a hard dude with a face weathered by the tough elements on the road. Tym described him as “the guy who could play the baddie in channel 8 dramas”. The inner auntie in me was feeling pleased that we had managed to bargain down the price from 100k dong to 60k dong although i found out later we were being ripped off (tourist price). No more crazy bus rides where the boss and his entourage smoking and partying at the back row. No more stranger’s feet hanging over my backpack and me waking up to seeing a foot in my face.  No more traffic jams or stops on the road where everyone would rush out to see what accident had costed the jam. No more trying  to rush to the toilet at the petrol kiosk in record time and worrying that the bus will drive off with my backpack and travel mate.  

How wrong was I? The engine started and the LCD screen was kept away. At least, I won’t get a ear worm with that vietnamese MTV that they have put on a loop. Thing were definitely not looking up when we noticed that the A/C never got turned on. Oh well, we can always look out the window. When a family, with their motorcycle helmets on, started turning up on the bus, I thought to myself “geez, poor things, must be a bad day for them. bikes must have broken down”. And then it happened. They pushed the motorcycle onto the bus. The bus was full and conceited me thought, this should be a fast ride since the 24 seater bus is full and they won’t stop to pick up passengers. Wrong again. the 24 seater packed 40 pax at our final count and hey the communists are fair people. You paid a fare, you’ll get a seat. Everyone is equal, ok? Cushions were put in the aisles. Plastic stools were pulled. Voila! Nothing is impossible! The guys on the bus were pretty nice people. They dropped Tym and I at a spot in Dong Hoi where it was easy for us to get accommodation. 

 A few days later, we were in Dong Ha. Tym was doing her hotel research and I was feeling miserable as it was raining non stop. I was ready to skip Dong Ha and move on to Hue. Even our travel agent asked “why are you in Dong Ha, not Hue?”  While waiting, I was standing by the roadside and trying to get some rainy day Vietnam shots. Then I saw our good friend. The conductor from the super packed bus ride. The bus was cruising down the road trying to pick up new passengers. He waved at me and I took a picture. It’s nice to have friends in small towns in Vietnam. :) 

Meet Mr and Mrs Ng Wai Mun. You probably can’t tell from the picture but Mr Ng has nose cancer. When I first met him, he had tubes going down his nose as he can’t eat and has to go on a liquid diet. The tubes in his noses got choked up and the doctors changed it to a tube that’s going directly into his stomach. The two of them are also one of the sweetest couple that I have ever met. Even the cynic in me thought that “hey, true love is possible after all!”

I started shooting for the Lien Foundation’s Life before Death champaign about 4 months ago. Initially, I found it hard to talk to my friends about it. I was depressed. More so than the patients themselves. I couldn’t help but to think that the end road was death. In our society, it’s still taboo to talk about death and to talk about death seems inauspicious. Almost seems like I’m wishing the worst on the person. I’m not an emotional person. I don’t think I am. I didn’t cry at my own grandmother’s funeral when i was 16. I teared ‘coz I saw my dad crying and I felt sad for him. I still feel a pang of sadness when i open my dad’s wardrobe and see that he still has my grandmother’s pictures on his wardrobe door. When my own uncle passed away from throat cancer last year, I dreaded giving the news to my mum who was overseas. All i could think of was she will be sad and how do I break the news to her. In the end, my brother told her.  To put it simply, I fear death and I fear the sadness that surrounds it.

But something clicked tonight. A friend mentioned that thank god that I was back from India with the bombing happening in Mumbai. I reminded him that i was in Bangalore, not Mumbai, which was miles away. I don’t mean to sound unkind but I’ve always said that you can choke on tofu and die. I thought that at least the hospice patients have a chance to say good bye to their family. Initially, when we started on the champaign, I thought it was impossible to shoot happy pictures of the hospices patients. Looking back, I think my own depressing mood was affecting my pictures. After meeting more hospices patients,  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve grown accustomed to talking about death or the strength of the families who chosen  to celebrate what they have at the moment, but I’m not afraid of talking about it anymore. Or maybe I choose to look on the bright side now. Someone once said to me that the destination is not important, but the journey is. I guess the celebration of life as a journey makes the destination insignificant.

Sorry but there’s no better way to describe India. Nothing can prepare you for it. Sure, friends have warned me about the infamous Indian Diarrhea (which i did not get). Ex-Colleagues who used to come straight to the workplace after hopping off the plane from India had that incredulous aroma of Jasmine mixed with coconut oil and sometimes BO. Uncles who came back from india, told me strange tales of how the cows own the road and a cow, in the middle of the road, parts traffic like Moses parted the red sea. If you watched enough of the Amazing Race, you will know that women get groped in the trains and the buses. 

I didn’t get the Indian Diarrhea. I think I did acquire that Indian Aroma minus the BO, of course. My dressing table smells strangely of Jasmine and coconut oil even though I can’t put my finger to where the smell is coming from. Yes, the cow own the roads and it’s something that you need to see to believe. Lastly, I did not get groped. Although friends make fun about it (yes i get the joke and my ego is bruised etc etc…), I’m glad my chastity is intact. Thank you very much.

I never thought I will see the day i blog about this but I got kinky friend with fetish. To be exact, fetish with Ispahan. In case, you’re wondering what is Ispahan, it’s rose, lychee and raspberry. 

For the past hour, Miss FO has been trying to convince me that once i get to Tokyo, I must march myself to a PH outlet and at least, get a bite of the famous Ispahan macaroons. To quote her “ so i’m telling u to spend ur hard earned $$ to taste these yummies”.  I secretly suspect she’s feeling a bit unbalanced since she had to share her PH sweets with her BF in Paris. 

I’m more amused by her reaction than the macaroons. Yes, I will try to get a bite of the macaroons and try to achieve nirvana with it……and yes, I’m heading Japan! Woohoo!! Time to put my half past six Japanese to use! 

When i saw the papers this morning, I was thinking to myself “Finally!”. After days of reportage on TV and papers about the shortage of rice (which resulted in mass hysteria among the market aunties), our national propaganda machine paper, ST has finally done the right thing by showing a picture of a plentiful supply of rice. The photo in the paper was shot by Terence Tan. 

Interestingly, another friend was also documenting this mass hysteria by shooting the empty shelves in the supermarket. I was wondering, just wondering, if he had published that picture with empty shelves, it would have probably caused greater panic to everyone. But this is the truth, the markets are empty ‘coz of mass hysteria. As photographers, we are simply documenting the facts. Photographers are documentarists. Visually, we saw the people in the supper market holding on to the packs of rice for their dear life, empty shelves, stacks of rice in the trolleys, etc. 

I guess this is one example about how a photo can make a difference. Maybe it was the photo editor’s choice of picture. Maybe it was responsible photojournalism. Or just a brief from the big brothers up there. At the end of the day, the picture was made for a purpose and hopefully, it has served its purpose. Stop buying rice lah! 

I’m going to risk sounding like a bitch and say this. Do not pay people for pictures!

See example above. At the riverside of Cho 12 in Hanoi, this sweet old lady, a fish monger, saw me with the camera from far and started peddling over. Her old but nimble limbs started posing. Squat down. Standing up. Holding her oar on the left. Lifting it higher. Then, it started. “1 dollar , 1 dollar.” The dreaded 1 dollar chant.

Walking through Cho 12, I had already hear the chant. Mind you, this is a local’s market, not a tourist attraction. But they have been spoiled by the hordes of tourists coming through and paying them for pictures. Some of the store owners were nice. Once a conversation was striked up, they were open to pictures. Or buy stuff from them. Buy roast dog meat and eat it right infront of them. They will be amused by you and you get better pictures. Buy coffee for your mum at home. Buy some local tibits and just give to the hotel staff at the front desk. Whatever you do, DO NOT PAY for pictures. Why? ‘Coz you spoil it for the rest of us. These people make a living out of selling their wares, not posing for pictures. And don’t insult them by offering money.

Dragon.

I’ll be the first to admit this. I do not understand Contemporary Photography or Art. When I visited NY last year, visits to Chelsea Art Galleries often had me going, WTF is that? Can wads of chewing gum on a canvas pass off as Art?

If photography is an Art, how do we define it? Or do we define it at all? In Mauricio Alejo’s class over the weekend, he mentioned that Photography’s primary function is still to document, no matter you’re a documentary or contemporary or fashion photographer. We are all documenting. You could be documenting an great moment in mankind, an idea or the hottest trend. Strangely, this self reasoning suddenly puts contemporary photography into perspective for myself. Pictures are an archive of information. The idea of Indexal and Iconic pictures came in play. Indexal pictures were explained as eg, a photo of a foot print. An example of Iconic picture was of Gregory Crewdson’s where the idea came before the picture and the picture was constructed to show the idea. I’m not sure that the word “idea” explains the concept. Point of View? Vision? Hmm….

I’m still trying to process that mind cramping session that we had. Lots of information and theories were discussed. It did make the assignment of reading a chapter in Susan Sontag’s On Photography a little easier. Though I’m still trying to string all this information together and try to see the big picture.

At the end of class, I was reminded that I love looking at paintings and I don’t rationalised paintings when I look at them as compared to lookinng at Photographs. I enjoy a painting just because of the way it makes me feel. I remember seeing Picasso’s painting of Torso in SAM and going “wow, cubes also can show a human body and how strong that body felt.” Maybe it’s time for me to think less and just enjoy the photos and let them speak to me instead of trying to rationalise what was the message behind the photos.

“At one end of the spectrum, photographs are objective data; at the end, they are items of psychological science fiction.”
Susan Sontag, On Photography.