No-Panties Promotion

SHAH ALAM: Female students in higher learning institutes here are being persuaded not to wear panties on Valentine's Day as an expression of true love for their boyfriends.

["Brighter and Breezier!" proclaims The Star headline, no doubt alluding to well-covered albeit dank nether regions that will definitely benefit from such an airing.]

The "no-panties promotion," being held for the first time, has apparently been gaining interest among the students, who are passing the news by word-of-mouth.

Two students in their 20s from Shah Alam, known only as Ummi and Melissa, said they were aware of the "promotion." "I feel it is personal," said Ummi with a smile.

"Valentine's Day is a good time to express one's love. And, what we use, or don't use, is our right, our freedom. But we will do what is right. It's a new world now."

Melissa claimed that there was already a large group who planned to go ahead with it. "We will know how many by Valentine's evening."

(The Star/ Friday 29 January 2010/ N21)


Kama Says: Hmmm... it's a new world indeed. Not only the mind boggles but this one is getting my knickers in a twist as well! I am sitting here trying to figure out how this 'promotion' works.

Ok, so you have a boyfriend. And on Valentine's Day you are persuaded not to wear panties, and so you don't. What's next then? Lift your skirt/sarong/unzip your pants for a sniff so dear boyfriend knows you are indeed 'free and easy' down there?

And why this special promotion? A run-up to a "Peek-a-Boo" session or "Have A Grope" invite? Or perhaps in honour of lowly cockles, in whose image 'da thing' resembles?

And what has pantyless crotch got to do with true love? Unless one is using Valentine's Day as a "Hump Me Quick" excuse...


[This piece with a yukky aftertaste somehow reminds me of a book I had read as a teenager, in which a high school girl was being persuaded to have her cherry popped by her boyfriend on the strength of "You Would If You Loved Me", which eventually became the title of the book. She refused, and was dumped...]

Red's In The Air

I'm seeing red everywhere I turn and it's making me dizzy.

No, I'm not on the warpath with anyone or anything; nothing of that sort at all. I'm talking the colour red, vivid and bright and overpowering, now gracing every nook and cranny of every shopping mall in town.

There is no way you can avoid the bold strokes of flaming red (and shimmering gold) on practically everything, from clothing to decorations to household items, at this time of the year.

Understandably so. After all, Chinese New Year is just around the corner and red is de rigueur for this Lunar celebration, just as green is to the Muslim Hari Raya.

I'm not a 'red' person. The colour, fierce and intense, upsets my equilibrium somewhat. Mousy shadewise, I am all gray and black and white, occasionally blue but most times indistinguishable from the furniture. And if not for my bulk, I'm hardly noticeable, for I fade easily.

All the same, I understand the significance of the colour red and gold in Chinese culture. Red means 'good luck' while gold symbolises 'wealth and happiness'. And I rejoice with my Chinese friends and acquaintances in welcoming the Year of the Tiger.

Red, in whatever shades or hues, may not be my thing, but the Chinese peony is something else altogether. I simply adore this exquisite blossom of empresses; it has an exotic, classical feel about it ....

Takziah & Tahniah

Sungguhpun saya bukan anak Johor, tetapi pernah bersekolah di Johor Baru, di Sekolah Tun Fatimah, Jalan Larkin, pada awal tujuh puluhan. Sehubungan itu, Johor dekat di hati saya.

Mak berserta suami dan anak-anaknya pula pernah bermastautin di Pengerang (berdekatan Desaru) lebih sedekad lamanya, kerana arwah Bapak bertugas di syarikat perlombongan bauxite di Teluk Rumenia.

Jadi kami pernah bernaung di bawah payung lindungan Al-Marhum. Semoga Allah swt mengampuni segala dosanya dan menempatkan rohnya dikalangan mereka yang solihin.

Di samping itu, kami sukacita mengalu-alukan pemasyhuran Tengku Ibrahim Ismail Al-Marhum Sultan Iskandar sebagai Sultan Johor Darul Takzim yang baru. Semoga Baginda Sultan Ibrahim Ismail akan memerintah dengan adil dan saksama.

Daulat Tuanku.

Minda Yang Terencat

Saya bukan kaki nonton TV. Tengok wayang jauh sekali. Bak kata orang Terengganu, doh nok buak guane, memang tak suka sejak zaman budak lagi. Mungkin kerana saya gemar membaca, hingga tumpul minat pada sinematografi.

Saya masih ingat nama dua filem yang saya tengok dalam tempoh 14 tahun; pada 1987 saya ikut rakan wartawan tonton 'Ruthless People', satu filem komidi lakunan Danny de Vito dan Bette Midler.

Lepas tu, tidaklah saya melangkah kaki ke panggung wayang lagi hinggalah tak lama selepas kawin dengan Pak Abu pada tahun 2001, di mana kami pi tengok 'Pearl Harbour'.

[Dan diwaktu itulah saya mengetahui satu kehebatan Pak Abu; dalam kebingitan bom berdentam dentum menghujani 'Pearl Harbour', Pak Abu nyenyak berdengkur dikerusi sebelah!]

Kini dah masuk sembilan tahun menjadi isteri Pak Abu, berapa kali dah ke panggung wayang (kini dipanggil pawagam) boleh bilang sebelah tangan. Lima jari pun tak lepas rasanya.

Filem terakhir kami tonton di pawagam ialah kisah seram 'Shutter', versi Inggeris, dua tahun yang lalu (versi asal Thai dah tengok terlebih dulu kat home video). Kalau harapkan orang macam saya, lingkuplah industri perfileman!

Bab menonton TV pulak, berita, dokumentari dan 'talk shows' jadi pilihan. Siri yang saya gemari hanya 'CSI' (tu pun tak consistent menonton). Filem dan sebarang program hiburan lain tak minat langsung (kecuali talent show 'American Idol').

Saya terpanggil menulis tentang topik ini kerana saya ingin memahami bagaimana sesetengah orang boleh mengadap TV berjam-jam lamanya, tengok rancangan yang dihidang bertali arus tanpa merehatkan mata. Tak pening ka? Kalau saya, sah dah migraine tu.

Dah gitu, channel surfing pulak. Sekelip mata dah flip saluran. Apa yang ditengok kalau asyik dok tekan butang tukar saluran memanjang? Snippets of conversations here and there; entah apa-apa jalan ceritanya pun tak dapat dipastikan.

Saya jenis yang mesti tahu mula dan akhir. Ada hujung, ada pangkalnya. Main copot kat tengah-tengah ni 'no can do' lah. Especially kalau watak tu tetiba kojol (tanpa disedari) dalam masa asyik dok surfing kat channel lain. Maik aiihh, punyalah frustrating, satu penyiksaan pada saya!

Lagi satu saya tak faham bagaimana sesetengah orang boleh multi-tasking; tengok TV sambil menjahit atau surfing the net atau main computer game ataupun bergebang kat talipon dengan member. Yang nonton TV sambil membaca pun ada!

I can only do one thing at a time. Mungkin sebab saya lembab sikit, susah nak comprehend orang yang cekap multi-task. Ada kemungkinan kelembapan inilah yang menyebabkan saya jadi irritable bila pengamatan diganggu.

So there goes the myth about women and multi-tasking. Menurut pakar, orang perempuan sangat cekap multi-tasking. I am sorry to note saya satu-satunya wanita yang takder kebolehan untuk multi-task! Mungkin minda dah terencat sikit kot....

Khadijah's Journey

She looked at me, this bright-eyed stranger, a slight smile on her lips and hope written all over her face. "Can I call you Ummi?" **

Holding back tears that were beginning to well, I responded with a motherly hug, big and warm, and in a barely audible voice answered, "Of course you may, dear."

She arrived with two others, all similarly garbed in austere black jubah (robes). They were friends of Nawwar from her Arabic and Islamic classes. I had met the other two before but this was my first meeting with purdah-clad Khadijah.

With Pak Abu away at golf and no other male members of the family around, off came the veils and the robes to reveal the modern dressing within. And such pretty faces too!

When she first stepped foot inside my house over the weekend, I didn't know what to make of this open-faced, light-skinned young woman who spoke in a strange mix of accented English and a hodge-podge of Malay in the dialects of Perlis, Pattani and Champa.

I had worked with the Thais long enough to hazard a guess at her mother tongue from that familiar singsong lilt. She could very well be Cambodian or Vietnamese, but my money was on her being Thai.

As it were, I was spot on. Her speech was punctuated with Thai words I could still recall from my TAT (Tourism Authority of Thailand) days. And she squealed with delight when I offered "chan phut thai nit nuay." (I speak a bit of Thai).

Khadijah, one of three siblings, was Bangkok-born and bred to a Chinese father and a Thai mother. In a staunchly Buddhist country, the family were practising Hindus.

Khadijah said she had a conventional and happy childhood. But things began to change when her sister converted to Islam very much against family wishes, married an Arab and followed him home to Bahrain.

Seeking a better life, Khadijah too packed up and headed for Bahrain. Despite being in Arabia and surrounded by Islam, she wasn't in the least interested in the religion and resisted with all her might her sister's numerous attempts to make her a Muslimah.

The subsequent loss of her passport and visa, however, had Khadijah cowering in her sister's home for months. The fear of being discovered without a valid travel document and the constant threats of deportation eventually took its toll on her.

Khadijah revealed the wave of anguish became so excruciating one day that she felt as though her heart was being torn asunder. In desolation she cried out, beseeching Divine help, after which she collapsed in a heap of tears.

To her total surprise, a miracle happened the very next day, said Khadijah. Cops came over to the house, bringing the missing document which had somehow been been found and returned by person/s unknown.

Although she was subsequently deported, for failing to report the loss and for overstaying, Khadijah said the return of her precious passport had somehow sown a small seed of faith within her. "I asked for God's help and He helped me, Ummi," said the girl tearfully.

Khadijah's return was heartbreaking. Where she had expected a joyful reunion, there was coldness instead. Her decision to embrace Islam did not sit well with her parents. Harsh words were exchanged and she was asked to leave.

The subsequent years saw her eking out a living as a tourist guide in Bangkok, where she met and eventually married a guy from Satun, Southern Thailand. Unfortunately it didn't last; she asked to be divorced upon learning he wasn't a practising Muslim.

"I needed someone to lead me, Ummi, not just a husband but a good husband who could teach me Islam. He was not that person as I found out later," mused the 29 year-old ruefully.

She later made her way south to Malaysia where friends put her in touch with Perkim, the country's official body that deals with matters pertaining to recent converts. Not long after, through the good office of Ustaz Haji Hussein Yee, founder of Islamic NGO, Al-Khadeem, Khadijah was absorbed into Al-Khadeem to study Islam and the Quran in a more structured manner.

In return for food and shelter, she helps run Al-Khadeem's orphanage for girls. The women of Al-Khadeem, Awwa and her fellow students in particular, spoke highly of Khadijah's deep commitment, both to her studies and to her charges at the orphanage.

I asked Khadijah about her family. "I went home once, Ummi, and managed to see my kid brother. My parents weren't around at the time. When they returned and saw me, they got angry and asked me to leave."

She added: "My sister too received the same treatment. She came home all the way from Bahrain, but they didn't want to see her."

Khadijah's inner strength was remarkable. "I miss my family, Ummi, and I pray everyday for God to open their hearts to accept us back. But I love Islam more and I will do what I can to become a better Muslim."

At this juncture, I was desperately reaching out for a wad of tissues myself. Now I fully understood why she needed to call me Ummi...

**Ummi - 'mother' in Arabic
PS: I was told, by Awwa and the rest, that Khadijah reads the Quran beautifully, despite having been a Muslim for just over two years and learning the Quran even later ....

The Weewee Trail & Other Short Takes

1. Men-watching In Beijing

By and large, Beijing men were darn good-looking. Abu's Angels made this delightful discovery during their recent China jaunt, an observation even head honcho Abu himself was hard put to deny. Not that he did, for he knew the score, with three starstruck women by his side.

Ann and Awwa just couldn't stop ogling: "Ooooh look at that guy, Ma! Hensemnya!" The skull-capped youngster serving our dishes, the ramrod straight Red Guard in front of Mao Tze Tung's mausoleum, the hotel concierge, the very 'cun' waiter at Ley Mo Cafe, the lean and trim chap swinging by in his leather jacket, stylish muffler and knee-length boots, even the street peddlar who offloaded some pictorial books on China on me, just outside the Forbidden City walls. My tired 55 year-old eyes were revitalised at such delectable eye candies!

They were taller and trimmer than the average Malaysian Chinese. Five days, and I didn't see a single obese Beijinger. Their features were sharper and well-defined (such beautiful upturned noses!), their eyes bigger. Add those rosy cheeks, high cheekbones and alabaster skin, and they had my girls oohing and aahing from the word 'go'. Eat your heart out, Tommy!

2. 'Hothouse' Hotel

The girl at the hotel's front office couldn't believe her ears. She understood English alright, but had to ask Lu Qiang the guide for reaffirmation.

A flurry of Mandarin flowed between the two. She explained, laughing. He listened intently, then turned to us, asking: "You say your room is too hot? You want your room colder??"

I could guess what was running through his mind: "Are these folks for real? It's freezing my nuts out there and these two crazy Malaysians are asking for their cosy, comfy heating to be turned down!"

I jumped in: "Yes Mr Lu, our room is too hot. Last night we slept on the bed cover and with the toilet door ajar to let the draught in. I know the room temperature is centrally-controlled; can you please ask them to make our room cooler?"

More rapidfire Mandarin. Finally the girl, still smiling broadly, turned to us and said: "Ok, we send our man to make your room cooler, yes?" "Thank you, thank you!" Darn, I couldn't sleep a wink, the room was like a furnace....

3. Along the Weewee Trail

Winter is cold and cold induces weewee; nothing could be further from the truth. Only that Beijing wasn't just cold, it was freezing. Gloveless for five minutes, and your fingers numbed over. Thus, our five-day trip was like a worn script:

- before stepping into the van at the hotel: "Oi! You guys better go toilet first.."

- upon arriving at any destination: "Where's the toilet?" (This especially applies to Pak Abu, the undisputed holder of the "Weewee Cup")

- before leaving any destination: "Wait, wait.. I go toilet first."

- while walking around or shopping: "Eh, where's [fill in the blank]"? The standard chorus: "Gone for a wee..."

- in the van, enroute: "Isyy, wanna wee laa...sejuukk!"

Recommended remedy: Bring lots of Baby Wipes/Wet Ones. Washrooms were generally clean (perhaps because it was winter.. less tourist usage) but there was no water for washing up, only for flushing.

Weewee anecdote: Enroute to The Great Wall, as our van crawled along:-

Awwa: Maaa! I saw a guy peeing in the snow by the roadside! Brrr, how can 'it' 'tahan'? It's soo cold! Hahaha!

Me: "Poor fellow. Must be one of the stranded motorists la tu. Where, where?"

Abu the Weewee Cup champion, piping in: "Alah, I'd do just the same if need be. You can't see anything anyway, with snow falling so hard... hehehe.."

4. Fat, Fat, Fat

The herbal centre guide took pains to expound the virtues of bian stone therapy. Speaking in both English and Bahasa Indonesia, she called upon each of us to participate in a demonstration, to prove her point.

Our cuticle was duly smeared with some cream and placed under a microscope. The resulting image was then flashed onto a big screen. Good results all around.... until my turn.

She hemmed and hawed."Uuuu, you see here? All these spots? Fat, fat, fat. You see here also? Fat, Fat, fat. Here? This part? Fat, fat, fat. This one? Fat, fat, fat. Madam, you have many, many fat!"

Thank you very much Miss, for pointing out the obvious! (sighhh...)

5. I Want My Change!

One cardinal rule: Have lots of small denominations on you at all times, especially when visiting tourist spots. And be prepared to be accosted by street peddlars, some very aggressive. And if you buy anything from them, give exact change, or risk not getting your change back.

I had just purchased three pictorial books on China when I saw Pak Abu unsuccessfully trying to ward off the attention of a middle-aged woman peddling leftover souvenirs from the 2008 Beijing Olympic.

Each time he walked away, she followed. She trailed and pestered him for at least 20 metres, half running and all the time repeating, "Cheap cheap! Cheap cheap! Ten yuan, ten yuan!"

Defeated, he decided to buy the keychain collection of the Olympic mascots, just to shake her off. He groped into all his pockets but could not find any small change, only bills of 100 yuan. So I offered him my 20 yuan bill.

Guess what? The woman snatched the bill from my hand, pushed a few more items into his palm and quickly walked away without turning back! Hoi! I don't want all these crap! Gimme back my change! Not a chance, buddy...

6. Klutz Takes A Holiday

What's a winter holiday if someone didn't slip or fall, at least once, in the snow or on ice? Under normal circumstances, I would be the family resident klutz, the one who could be counted on to provide comic relief for family entertainment. The only thing bruised usually was my ego, nothing more.

However, this klutz's luck held in China. No walking into doors, glass walls, furniture or people, no spilling of hot beverages (especially on other people's lap), not even an accidental breaking of wind. It was father and daughter who took up the klutzy mantle on my behalf.

We were walking towards the van after dinner when we heard an almighty thud followed by cries of 'Owwwww!' We turned around; there was Pak Abu splayed and sprawled in the snow, being helped up by the guide, Lu Qiang.Thankfully, he was alright.

Not to be outdone, our last Beijing dinner the following evening ended with a painful 'Arrrgghhhh!'; Ann had choked on a fishbone. It took munching on a whole slice of bread and throwing everything up again, for the bone to be dislodged. Poor Ann had to turn in early while we went on our final walkabout (where Awwa avenged Ann's absence by haggling a cashmere scarf from 280 yuan to 50 yuan).

7. Cameraless In KL

The trusty Panasonic Lumix camera served us well, then it decided it had served us enough. The last night in Beijing, it dropped itself (with my unsolicited help, naturally) face down under the restaurant's dining table. It isn't quite RIP yet I think. A trip to the repair shop is forthcoming..

Holiday On A Shoestring

Entrance to Ma Dian Mosque, Beijing

How far does RM1,800 take you these days? The answer depends very much on your lifestyle and your spending habits.

To some, that amount is not even enough to cover the cost of a clutch bag. And I know of people who do not bat an eyelid forking out 10 crisp RM100 bills for a simple dress or a pair of heels.

To others, RM1,800 goes a long way indeed - rent and utility, food and grocery, kids and school, baby formula and disposable nappies, expenses for work (transportation, meals, attire). And we have not even factored in medication, let alone leisure.

I also know many regular families that exist on a lot less in a month, where only Dad works while Mom stays home to rule the roost. Money's tight always, but they make do with whatever's at hand and scrape through each time.

Me? I buy my clothes off-the-rack at department stores. Heck, there's nothing wrong with a RM50 blouse and a RM70 pair of kurung . And if the occasion calls for it, there's always dependable Ms Read, for the good cut and the ample sizes it affords. That's the limit of my splurge.

I am quoting RM1,800 because that was the nett cost of my five-day, four-night Beijing getaway (excluding shopping, of course). What I'm really trying to say is, one can still have loads of fun on a shoestring.

I don't plug holiday packages as a matter of course. But I'm doing it this instance because I think it is worth sharing. Also, the travel agency that we used, Rajawali Travel & Tours Sdn Bhd, located a walking distance from our home in TTDI, has lived up to our expectations by doing a good job all around.

We were placed in centrally located, four-star Long Ding Hua Hotel, only 10 minutes from Tiananmen Square and 30 minutes from the Beijing International Airport. The staff was courteous and the frontliners spoke decent English.

Meals were halal and delicious all the way, although one should not expect too much nor compare with home. Malaysians are spoilt by overabundance and choice that the standard spread (I'm speaking non-international chain here) would look somewhat meagre, so any comparison would be highly unfair.

Breakfast in Long Ding Hua, for example, was overtly Oriental - noodles and rices, Chinese buns (pau), omelettes and sunny side-ups (telur mata kerbau), sliced bread and butter & jam, sponge cakes and nut cookies, with a host of sauteed meats and vegetable dishes besides.

Pak Abu lamented the absence of a more Continental spread - cereals, croissants, breads and buns, meats and salads - but the girls and I were happy enough to tuck in fried rice and noodles to meet another freezing day.

Lunches and dinners were in restaurants offering Muslim cuisines. They were chosen not only for the types of dishes they offer but also for the availability of prayer space or vicinity to a mosque.

Our guide Lu Qiang and driver Jiang were gems in their own right. Both were polite, soft-spoken and punctual. Jiang's English extended to only greetings, so there wasn't much communication between us, except nods and smiles.

Lu, on the other hand, was a delight. Helpful and accomodating, we could sense from his careful English how he minded his Ps and Qs. We knew he enjoyed our interaction with him in this alien yet convenient tongue.

This Beijing 5D4N package is only RM498/pax. We were lucky to have purchased it at a time when MAS was having discounted fares; we paid RM1,300 nett/pax return for the flight tickets, so the total cost came to RM1,798 per person. And what did we get for this highly agreeable amount? Snowloads of fun, that's what!

Package of RM498/nett includes:
- Return airport transfer
- Four-night accomodation
- Full board (breakfast, lunch and dinner)
- Tours, as per itinerary
- English-speaking guide
- Entrance fees (tickets)

Package excludes:
- Air ticket
- Airport tax
- Personal expenses
- Excess baggage
- Tips for guide & driver

As I understand it, this price is valid until February 15, 2010. You may want to contact Rajawali Travel for updates on the Beijing package and whatever other packages that they may have. Their office tel: 03-77292022 /3022 /7022. For the record, some friends of Nawwar have already made bookings. We wish them a hassle-free, fun-filled holiday in Beijing....

Beijing - Shop Till You Drop

Scene from across the street, taken from our hotel entrance. The big building in yellow is a karaoke centre. Raucous singing could be heard until the wee hours.

Picture from Day Two, taken in the gardens of the Imperial Palace. The tall guy on the right, clad in dark jacket and light-coloured sneakers, was our soft-spoken, courteous guide Lu Qiang.


Ann & Awwa hamming it up for the camera.


Paraphernalia for tea making.

The girls' hotel room. On the bed was Ann, knocked out cold from all the walking.

Lunch came and went in double-quick time. We were always hungry!

Chicken kebab that was part of our last dinner in Beijing. Dishes served in this particular place were rather spicy, which was unusual compared to all the other Muslim cuisine restaurants we had been to. In all, we were taken to seven different restaurants. The types of dishes didn't vary much; it was the piquancy that differed.

Collection box for 'sadaqah' (alms) at a Beijing mosque where we stopped to have our solat.

Hostess with the mostest at Dr Tea Teahouse.

Abu's Angels at Dr Tea Teahouse.


The Bird Nest Stadium makes a good backdrop.

"Halal" certification in a Chinese Muslim restaurant.

Looked like Starbucks and the frothy cappuccino even tasted like the one served at Starbucks but hey...... it's Ley Mo Coffee. Pak Abu and I chanced upon this little cafe, a few metres up the road from Hongqiao Market, when we decided to check out if there were shops selling Mandarin karaoke CDs nearby. As it were, there was a small store but none of the CDs had Hanyu Pin Yin (Romanised Chinese), and I don't read Mandarin.. :(

Day Four
All these years and I never knew my daughter Nawwar could bargain like an old pro while shopping. It took a trip to 'haggler's heaven' Beijing to know she has indeed inherited her grandmother's enviable haggling skills.

'Tok' (grandma) was known to wear salespeople down. As her frequent shopping companion-cum-basket carrier in days of yore when I was her daughter-in-law, there were times when I had wished for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

This usually happened when she started haranguing hapless salesgirls into giving in. She never backed down nor took no for an answer. For the record, she won each time.

On the other hand, my other daughter, Ann, was a carbon copy of yours truly in traits and personality. Neither of us had the ability, zest or staying power to argue with aggressive salespeople.

We were inclined to either cave in or beat a hasty retreat. Worse, while retreating, we would be racked by feelings of guilt for depriving them of business.

Day Four was the designated "Shop Till You Drop" Day in our packed itinerary. Pak Abu's darkening brows notwithstanding, we were not going to waste a single minute of it. After all, by this time the following morning, we would already be on the flight home.

But first we had to find an ATM machine for our yuan was depleting fast and neither Pak Abu nor I had the foresight to bring enough ringgit with us. Again we had underestimated Beijing's lure, when we naively thought the yuan we had brought from home would suffice.

Credit card is history to Pak Abu and I for we had weaned off them long ago. Only the girls carried them. I swore off them when my consultancy went under during the 1997 financial crash, while Pak Abu made the same decision when he went into voluntary retirement a year later, in 1998.

In Beijing, the debit card was our preferred choice while hard cash was the best as far as shopping went. Unfortunately, we had issues with the debit card each time it was presented for payment, and this drove an irate Pak Abu stomping into Maybank's representative office in downtown Beijing for an explanation.

Pak Abu took it as the gospel truth when he was told, upon collecting his debit card from Maybank two years ago, that he could use it anywhere in the world from thereon without any hassle.

Well, we only managed to use the card once in Beijing. Calls to KL for clarification went unanswered. An e-mail sent to Maybank enquiring the same was only answered a day after we returned home (pull up your customer service socks, Maybank!)

I had, however, guessed correctly that Pak Abu should have alerted the bank of his overseas travel intention (this very explanation was relayed to him when he finally got through to KL from the Beijing office). The way I look at it, what the bank had said two years before has no bearing on what it says or does today.

I understood only too well why the bank (or any financial institution for that matter) was being extra-cautious when dealing with transactions by its clients and customers abroad. They were just covering their arse should anything untoward happened.

Still it did not excuse their unavailability when we needed them the most. What good is a hotline on the card if no one attends to it 24/7? We only got through after two days of trying and a frantic search for the bank's Beijing address on the Internet. All these had vexed us somewhat but the feeling, thankfully, didn't last very long.

As it were, cash was king; an ATM machine was duly located on the ground floor of the skyscraper that housed Maybank's office. While Pak Abu and Ann went to stock up on cash, Awwa and I stepped into a nearby Starbucks for frappuchino and hot chocolate.

Wallet and purses well-padded once again, we swung merrily to face the biggest challenge in our Beijing vacation - how to shop without turning into a pauper overnight.

But first, to the 'must-visit' places. These were destinations pre-determined by the Chinese government for all tourists visiting China. They were mostly state-run centres or shops for silk, jade and precious stones, tea and herbal products, cultural attractions and the like.

We had covered most of the customary ones like centres for silk, jade, cloisonne, pearl, crystals and herbs. This morning it was to a tea house, a centre specialising in traditional treatment for burns and scalds, and a jewellery shop across the multi-carriageway from the Beijing Olympic Village.

The Beijing National Stadium, colloquially known as the "Bird Nest Stadium" for its unique design, was indeed an imposing edifice. Built to accommodate the 2008 Summer Olympics, the US$423 million stadium ranked as the world's biggest steel structure.

Onwards to the jewellery store nearby we marched, although our collective minds were already dwelling on the bazaars and the shopping malls to come. Still, purchases of pale jade bracelets and a matching necklace were duly made, because ... gee, I don't know.. but the lady manager was pretty nice to us.. (I'm running out of excuses, truly).

Dr Tea, a well-known teahouse where hostesses prepared different types of tea and led one through the history of tea and an interesting session of continuous sipping, slurping and lip smacking, came next.

Because we are a family of tea-lovers, it was no surprise that we gladly spent a fair bit here; jasmine tea, aromatic and strong; litchi tea, my favourite for its strange piquancy; and golden green tea for Pak Abu who habitually drinks Japanese green tea at home.

Our last stop before lunch was Beijing Bao Shu Chinese Herbal Medicine Co., formulator of the well-known 'baofuling', the compound camphor cream mainly used in the treatment of burns and scalds.

It was here that we got acquainted with 'bianshi', the energy-giving bian stone that pre-dates acupuncture in Chinese traditional healing. Bian stone therapy is one of the more popular, non-invasive medicinal treatments in China today.

Lunch was good but we couldn't wait to get back on the streets to shop. Our Malaysian tour agent's itinerary provided three options; Russian Bazaar, Wangfujing Street Market and Yue Xiu Market.

But for our last hurrah we decided upon Hongqiao Market, commonly known as Pearl Market; a misnomer really, because only a small fraction of this market dealt with pearls.

This multi-level shopping mall had everything from clothes to handbags, hats to shoes, household items to electronic products of every conceivable kind, accessories, trinkets, souvenirs, silk and other fabrics, carpet shops and 24-hour tailoring service, antiques real and fake, toys and all kinds of gadgetry.

It was chaotic and noisy in there, like Ampang Complex, Ampang Mall, Sg Wang Plaza, Pertama Complex and Subang Parade combined. It was the heaven for fake products and the abode of aggressive salesgirls, the kind who who run after you.

A well-made but fake Pr*d* handbag was priced at 850 yuan (abt RM400). I took a fancy to it but absolutely refused to go beyond 100 yuan (abt RM50). The salesgirl gave me an exasperated look, muttering "You madam tough! You madam tough!"

I glared back, pointing to Pak Abu and saying "And this is Mr Tough!" While Pak Abu was trying out his newly acquired 'Mr Tough' look, the girl finally backed down and I got my Pr*d* for RM50!

At another stall, Awwa was haggling over a pair of cute flannel pyjama bottom, from 120 yuan to 40 yuan. The salesgirl shouted, "You, you crazy!" The usually unflappable Awwa roared back, "You are crazier! Why would I want to pay RM60 for one pyjama bottom??" The girl gave up; Awwa got it for RM20.

I noticed that Caucasian tourists had it worse. I guess it was because, unlike Asians, haggling wasn't quite the 'white man' thing. Also, when compared to their Euros and US dollars, everything priced in yuan seemed ridiculously low that they had no qualms forking out the asking prices.

We chanced upon a stall manned by a Malay-speaking Chinese girl. Her Bahasa would put videographer-turned-politician Gwo Burn to shame, believe me. Her lilt was charming enough for us to give her a fair bit of business that afternoon.

She had never been to Malaysia but had friends who had studied in Malaysia, from whom she learned to speak Malay, said she. She also picked up Bahasa from Malaysian tourists, she added.

We returned to the hotel at 3pm to rest awhile before going out again at 7pm for dinner, after which we took a stroll along the street where the hotel was, just to see what the stores and the shops had to offer.

Awwa put her bargaining skills to good use once again in one of the shops when she haggled the price of a cashmere long scarf from 280 yuan (abt RM140) down to 50 yuan (RM25).

By the way, there was no snowfall the whole day. Instead freezing north winds blew continuously, from dawn to dusk. We finally called it a day around 10pm.

Goodbye Beijing!
Day Five saw us awakened from our deep slumber by the hotel wake-up service at 4.30am. We left for the airport an hour later to catch our 9am flight home.

Since the hotel's coffeehouse only started operating at 6am, the staff had thoughtfully packed our breakfast to go. It was a sweet gesture on their part, for which we were truly touched.

As we bid goodbye to our driver Jiang and guide Lu Qiang, I resolved to come to China again some day, to see more of Beijing and to travel further north to the Muslim provinces and the autonomous regions.

If there is one thing I had learned from this trip, it was that we should leave our prejudices, no matter how deep-seated, at home when we travel.

China is a vast country of more than a billion people. For every horror story that I had heard from fellow Malaysians about travelling in China, there were ten heartwarming ones that we had experienced personally, ones that would forever remain etched in our hearts.

Beijing - Bewitched in Badaling

Pristine snow covering the sidewalk and shrubbery outside our hotel.

Summer Palace - the imperial tea house made completely from marble.

Summer Palace - Buddhist Temple on Longevity Hill. In the foreground is the Kun Ming Lake.

Summer Palace - barges docked for the winter.

Haaa.. go figure.. he he he..

Awwa's moment of treasure..

Pak Abu trying to outshine Christmas lights in front of an upmarket shopping complex.

Our "Ice, Ice Baby" van..

Refuelling in anticipation of a long day at the Wall.

One for the road before leaving for Badaling. Pix taken in front of the hotel.

Wall decoration in a Muslim restaurant enroute the Great Wall.

The restaurant's prayer room.

Decorative vase made of cloisonne.

Gelato in the middle of winter? Ice cream stand at the entrance of the cloisonne centre.

Before the climb..

"Off with the head!" Check out the array of Chinese ancient weaponry on display at the Wall.

Ploughing into knee-deep snow just to get the pavilion as backdrop for this picture.

Day Three
A thick blanket of snow greeted our third day in Beijing. From my hotel room, excited whoops and shouts filtered through, emanating from the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

Taking a peep through bleary eyes, I spied three youngsters throwing snowballs at each other. It was not yet seven on a Sunday morning, yet there was already a sizeable number of folks up and about, taking in the heavy fall.

We were to learn later that it was the heaviest snowfall Beijing had experienced since 1951. In the northern parts of the city towards the mountains, snow was waist-deep, with temperature plunging to -23 C. Small wonder there was so much excitement around.

The whiteness dazzled as we stepped out into the cottony hail. There was magic in the air as plum-cheeked children scampered about and woolen-clad canines paraded past, straining on leashes held by adults togged in fashionable winter gear.

The evening before we concluded our day's tour with a brief visit to the Summer Palace, the retreat of China's imperial rulers during the hot summer months, for almost one thousand years.

This complex of halls, pavilions, bridges, courtyards and temples, with its equally magnificent classical Chinese garden named Yi He Yuan (Garden of Peace and Harmony), dates back to the Jin Dynasty (1115-1234).

Located in the northwest suburbs of Beijing 12 kilometres away, the Summer Palace is the largest and best-preserved imperial garden in China, not to mention the best existing example of classical Chinese garden arts.

Although best viewed in spring or summer when the flowers are in full bloom, the stark beauty of its naked trees and shrubs, frozen ponds and snow-covered stone gardens and cobbled pathways could not be denied.

Outstanding features of this sprawling complex include the huge man-made Kun Ming Lake, the nearby Longevity Hill and the Buddhist Temple perched atop it. It is interesting to note that Longevity Hill too is man-made, built from silt excavated and dredged to build the lake.

An interesting footnote: The garden was plundered many times over the centuries due to various skirmishes. In 1860 it was destroyed once again when Anglo-French Allied Forces invaded Beijing during the Opium Wars, in the reign of Emperor Xianfeng.

Twenty-five years later, in 1885, Empress Dowager Cixi restored the garden to its original splendour with funds brazenly embezzled from the Imperial Navy. (Trust a woman to do the job! She just knew where to find the money!)

Our van, caked with hardened snow, arrived promptly at 8 am. Its heated interior offered such cosy comfort from the relentless snowstorm outside that we clambered to get in.

We could tell from the body language of driver Jiang and tour guide Lu as they chatted animatedly that they shared a mutual worry - the inclement weather.

We were headed toward Badaling, 65 kilometres northwest of Beijing and site of the most visited section of the Great Wall. The portion running through this site was built during the Ming Dynasty, along with a military outpost reflecting the importance of this strategic location.

The severity of this year's winter became more apparent as we inched our way towards Badaling. The going was painfully slow; a portion of the highway was chock-a-block with hundreds of lorries, trucks and other heavy vehicles unable to go any further due to road closure.

This was because the climbing highway had become progressively slippery and could endanger lives. Only vehicles with nine passengers and less were allowed to proceed. This ruled out tour buses as well.

Under normal circumstances, the drive to Badaling from Beijing city centre would take no more than 45 minutes. But we had been on the road for two hours since and had covered only a small section of the journey.

Looking at cars stalled by the roadside and the winding jam ahead, we began to worry if we would ever reach the Great Wall on this maiden trip. Our driver Jiang tried a side road, but turned back when he realised it would not make the going any faster.

Enroute, we stopped by a jade centre but prices were rather steep. Still, a deep green 'live' jade stone beckoned invitingly, and I ended up making a purchase (there was an unexpected twist to this, but the tale's for another day).

The traffic crawl also called for a slight shift in plan. Earlier, it was to have been the Wall first and then lunch and a visit to a cloisonne manufacturing centre.

Since the centre was along the same route, and the Chinese Muslim restaurant was housed under the same roof - coupled with the fact that it was already noon and we were oh so hungry - we decided to eat, pray and shop first before continuing our journey.

This particular restaurant, located on the third floor of the centre, had a spacious curtained-off prayer area adjacent to its dining hall and a very clean, well laid-out 'wudhu' area for taking ablution.

Frankly, all my worries about cleanliness, ablution and prayer places in Beijing were unfounded. I had to constantly remind myself that China has a long Islamic history dating back to the year 651, just two decades after the death of Prophet Muhammad (saw).

This was when Prophet Muhammad's (saw) uncle, Sa'ad ibn Abi Waqqas, was sent as a special envoy to Emperor Gaozong during the era of Caliph Uthman.

Today China has some 40 million Muslims from 10 ten ethnic groups - Hui, Uyghur, Kazakh, DongXiang, Khalkhas, Salar, Tajik, Uzbek, Baoan and Tartar - each with its own written and spoken languages, cultures and unique traditions.

Back at the cloisonne centre, the girls and I were doing the rounds as Pak Abu stepped out for a smoke. The bright hues of cloisonne jewellery tempted us enough to purchase a couple of charm bracelets.

Cloisonne, in a nutshell, is traditional enamelware. In China, this art form dates back as far as the Yuan Dynasty (1271 - 1368) and became popular during the reign of the Ming Emperors in the 1400s.

All done, we stepped out the shop and into the frigid weather once again to continue our journey. The tortoise pace continued; stomach full and lulled by the crawl we nodded off, even snoring contentedly.

Soon traffic came to a standstill. People poured out from cars behind us and started walking. We stayed put in the van whilst guide Lu left to check on the snow-plowing progress and assess the situation. Pak Abu and Ann followed.

Soon Mr Lu returned. Pointing to a hazy outline high up the mountains ahead he exclaimed, "You can see the Great Wall from here. We can start walking now because it's not very far." And walked we did, up the winding road into knee-deep fresh snow, where an incredible sight awaited.

In the snowy fuzz loomed The Great Wall of China in all its majestic splendour, snaking its way along the peaks as far as the eyes could see. No word could adequately describe the spectacular sight of this precious cultural treasure that epitomises the ingenuity and tenacity of the Chinese people.

The climb was arduous yet invigorating. We had to be on constant alert for ice, to avoid slipping. Whilst the rest headed for the towers in the distance, I contented myself with just ambling along.

I had no desire to conquer any tower; being able to walk any distance on the Great Wall of China while taking in the absolutely beautiful whiteness of the surrounds was good enough for me.

It felt surreal to be there. There were not many moments in my life when I stopped to 'smell the flowers" - life had been one long harried and hurried buzz - but on the Wall I sat, in quiet contemplation, of the greatness of God.

It was almost 7pm by the time we returned to the city. Along the way were hundreds of lorries and trucks still stranded on the other side of the highway, thus clogging this main artery connecting Beijing and China's northern provinces.

We were told the mountain passes and gaps had been closed due to snowstorm. Pak Abu mulled over the fate of two fellow Malaysians who were also guests at the hotel we stayed in.

The young Malay couple (they looked like honeymooners) had left the hotel for Badaling around the same time as we did. Their plan was to climb the Great Wall after which they were to proceed to a mountain resort further up for a bit of skiing. They couldn't possibly have gone through; the mountain road was completely snowed in.

We also saw emergency vehicles unloading and distributing boxes to the stranded motorists. Our guide explained that the boxes contained foodstuffs and blankets for them to survive the sub-zero night until the roads were cleared.

Dinner was a quiet affair (except where Pak Abu slipped on ice and fell on his cushiony bums in front of the restaurant, but that too is another story).

We were completely knackered by the events of the day but it didn't stop us from polishing our food down to the last morsel. Somehow, the meals seemed to be getting more delicious as the days progressed....

It was past 9 pm when we finally got back to the hotel, worn and weary from all the walking and climbing, but absolutely thrilled that we made it to the Great Wall of China after all...

Beguiling Beijing - A Winter Wonderland

The two 'ninjas', Awwa (left) and Ann, all bundled up to ward off the cold. By the time we finished walking across the Imperial Palace two hours later, Awa's toes were frozen stiff and she could hardly walk, no thanks to those dainty summer shoes..


Snow covered benches in the grounds of Forbidden City; a welcome respite for many a weary traveller at other times of the year.

Kami 'mao' bergambar berlatarkan potret Mao Tze Tung... !

Stone carving of a dragon, symbol of imperial China (specifically Chinese emperors), captured here gracing one of the corridors leading to the Great Hall. The royal symbol for empresses, dowagers and queens is the phoenix.

Awaiting lunch after a three-hour walkabout.

Food glorious food! That's chicken hotplate on the right and mutton cooked with cashews and nuts on the left.

Worker shoveling snow in the grounds of Forbidden City.

The white expanse behind us is the moat, now frozen solid, encircling the Forbidden City.

Beijing's Nan Dou Ya Mosque, built during the Ming Dynasty some 300 years ago. We had our Zuhur prayers here.


The two girls doing their solat after lunch.

The mosque's beautiful ceiling, with its intricate goemetric designs.


Rooftops covered with snow at the foot of the Great Wall.


The First Tower is in the background. Everyone made it to the tower, except yours truly. I decided to sit in the snow instead. It was deliciously COLD.


Fir trees alongside the Wall.

A monument to something or someone, I am not sure. All I am sure about is that the second tier of the stone monument made good seat for my weary rear..

Day One
All we had asked for before leaving for Beijing on the morning of January first was for a bit of snow, given Beijing's below-freezing temperature and also just to make Nawwar's day, for she had not experienced snow before.

She had spent one summer in London many years ago. The temperature then, hovering in the 40s C, was even hotter than Kuala Lumpur. Where Malaysia is hot and humid, London summers tend to sear.

It was a tolerable -5C when we set foot on Beijing soil just past 3pm, after a six-hour flight. We were met at the airport by soft-spoken Lu Qiang, a strapping six-footer in his early 30s, who was to be our guide for the rest of our Beijing stay.

I was impressed by his good, measured English that I keypohly asked what he did for a living. Whaddaya know, he taught English at a language academy! Guiding was his part-time job, when he didn't have classes to conduct. Recently married, Lu's wife was also an English teacher at the same academy.

The 20-minute ride to the hotel was smooth, it being a public holiday. After a two-hour respite at the hotel, we were taken to an acrobatic show. China has always been big on gymnastics and acrobatics, so it was no surprise that the show was very entertaining, especially the death-defying finale.

I had seen similar stunts before, but never five superbikes with riders without protective helmets, criss-crossing the inside of a small steel cage. One misstep and they could all tumble into a horrifying heap. Their timing and precision was simply awesome.

Dinner, at a nearby Chinese Muslim restaurant, was wholesome and delicious. There were rice, chicken and beef dishes, sauteed vegetables, omelette, consomme soup and fresh fruits. Somehow, the piping hot Chinese tea in Beijing tasted better than the standard fare at home. Must be the cold!

Day Two
We were up early the following morning since subuh was at 5.59am and our first visit of the day - to Tianamen Square and the Forbidden City - started at 8am. A thin layer of snow, probably four inches, covered the roads and the pavements. It had snowed while we snored! Our affable guide Mr Lu said it was Beijing's first snowfall this winter.

We realised how unprepared we were, and how much we had underestimated Beijing winter, when we took in Tianamen Square and the Forbidden City, after a hearty breakfast of bread, noodles and rice.

While our bodies were amply clad, our feet were poorly shod. "But these are summer shoes!" exclaimed Mr Lu, casting an incredulous look at my leather court shoes, Awwa's Crocs, Ann's sneakers and Pak Abu's moccasins. And we thought thick socks would help keep the cold away....

Snow had begun to fall steadily as we trampled the vast grounds of the Imperial Palace complex, taking a peep at the pampered isolation of the Chinese emperors and their myriad of concubines and royal children.

There was even a special bridal chamber, in the corner of which was a four-poster wooden bed (much like the Baba and Nyonya bridal bed) with intricate carvings and lavishly decorated with gorgeous silken spreads and drapes.

As I stood there gaping at the bed and its blazing red accoutrement, I couldn't help thinking of the thousands of young ladies who had sat nervously by the bedside as recent as a hundred years ago, waiting with a knot in their stomach for the arrival of their ultimate Master...

There were lots of stairways to tackle in Forbidden City. Our inadequate shoes made walking and climbing rather uncomfortable, especially as the ground had by now become slippery due to snow and ice.

We resolved to head for a shopping mall after the two-hour tour to get proper boots. The girls bought matching calf-length boots with woolen lining while Pak Abu and I settled for laced walking shoes with ribbed soles. It felt secure to be clad in such sturdy shoes.

After lunch at a Chinese Muslim restaurant not far from the shopping mall, we headed towards Nan Dou Ya Mosque for prayers. Built during the Ming Dynasty, Nan Dou Ya is one of a hundred or so mosques that can be found in and around Beijing.

Then it was off to a herbal centre to have our feet massaged and palms analysed for any health problems. We had our feet soaked in warm water in which were placed sachets of a mixture of 20 herbs gathered from the Tibetan highlands, and scented with sandalwood. It was heavenly!

A pearl centre came next. It was a government-run complex that turned freshwater pearls into intricate jewellery for sale. The arrays of pearl accessories (and their decent prices) boggled the mind. Out of the blue, Pak Abu offered to buy me a pearl ring.... say whaaa....? and who was I to refuse?

It got progressively colder towards the evening and snow started to fall again, albeit slightly. Our guide Mr Lu informed that heavy fall was expected the following day. How heavy? "Oh, much heavier than today according to reports," responded Mr Lu.

Be that as it may, none of us had anticipated a freezing front with some 16 inches of snow, one that choked traffic all the way to the Great Wall and beyond, that nearly wreak havoc with our Beijing adventure...

To be continued..