A very sober work trip

This post is going to be a rambling of some sort, although the word rambling, which means to write in a long-winded and aimless fashion, may not apply most accurately to the description of this post since I intend to focus my ramble on my recent visit to Shanghai.

So yes, in my usual state of confused affairs, I can still afford to have some focus.

Anyway, let's start off with my inability to count. You would think that a woman with an incredible ability to do mental calculations super fast would give birth to children with the same mathematical prowess. Unfortunately, mummy chose to share her mathematical prowess only with Kenny, so poor Derek and I were left to fumble with numbers.

I can't count to save my life... and my pocket. I bought these two books in a hurry at the Shanghai Pudong International Airport, thinking triumphantly that I can finally read Chinese literature classics IN ENGLISH! The price tags showed RMB315 and RMB200.

With the exchange rate of RMB5 to S$1, those books should cost S$63 and S$40 (yes, I used a calculator on my desktop to arrive at these figures) respectively. Yet, my numerically-challenged mind (mis)informed me at the point of purchase that the books cost S$30 and S$20, and were therefore OK to buy.

Don't ask me how I arrived at those numbers.

So now, with the knowledge that these two books cost me S$103, I'm feeling really sad, especially since the contents were in a frustratingly strange flow of English.

For example this line: "I fear you could not support the fatigue". Why did the translator not simply say "I fear you could not take the physical strain?"

And another: "What is there difficulty in that?" I shall leave you to go determine how else that sentence could have been written.

I have to admit at this point that Chinese literature has to be read in its original form to fully appreciate its beauty. Meanings get lost in translation. I'm sure 聊斋志异 or in this case, Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, would have been a lot more haunting if I had read it in Mandarin.

Unfortunately, if I had tried to read 聊斋志异 in Mandarin, I would take a million years to complete it. :(

Still on the Mandarin language, I visited the new Jumeirah Himalayas Hotel in Shanghai and was intrigued by this ceiling design:

Would you have guessed that these lines are in fact strokes of Chinese characters that spell out the various Chinese surnames? Amazing. I stood there for a moment, trying to pick out my surname, but failed. Gah. I have a rare surname anyway (so said a number of Chinamen, and if Chinamen said I have a rare surname, I had better believe them), so I shouldn't feel so sore.

Alas, I did not stay at that hotel. I put up instead at the Portman Ritz-Carlton, which was just across the exhibition hall.

Comfortable as the room may be, I wished I had gone and stayed in one of the latest additions in the city. And there are SO many!

Oh! Did I tell you that I was sober every night on this trip? I'm so proud of myself. But it wasn't a deliberate attempt on my part to love my liver. Rather, every drop of poison that touched my lips left a bitter after-taste, making it hard for me to enjoy whatever I was having.

The downside to staying sober every night was the difficulty I had in falling asleep. :(

Now, my rambling will end at this photo of death:

I wish The Straits Times was daring enough to use such captivating images on the front page. Now, don't you find his eyes strangely serene?