13 posts tagged “asia”

For some reason my brain has stopped working this Saturday, which can only benefit Autocade. Here are some of the models that were recently added, including some very rare Korean models. In fact, these are so rare there is no detailed mention of them on Wikipedia (the site I love to hate) yet the first listed here, the Saenara, is an important milestone in the history of the Korean motor industry, being its first proper passenger car. All four were built by companies that eventually became Daewoo.

Saenara (P310). 1962–3 (prod. 2,773). 4-door sedan. F/R, 1189 cm³ (4 cyl. OHV). Korean edition of Nissan Bluebird (P310), Korea’s first locally produced postwar sedan. Built on what was a modern assembly line. Styling, while 1950s in flavour, considered attractive in the Korean home market. Engine derived from Austin unit, with 55 hp.

Chevrolet 1700. 1972–8 (prod. 8,105). 4-door sedan, 5-door wagon. F/R, 1692 cm³ (4 cyl. CIH). Holden Torana (LJ), made by Saehan of Korea. Essentially a facsimile of the Australian original, but for an unusual station wagon model that looked more like an Opel at the back. Robust, but a failure on the Korean market, thanks to a perception that it was thirsty (the oil crisis did not help). In theory replaced by facelifted Camina in 1976, though it ran alongside it.

Camina. 1976–8 (prod. unknown). 4-door sedan. F/R, 1492 cm³ (4 cyl. CIH). Facelifted Holden Torana (LJ). No Chevrolet badge; made by GM Korea venture Saehan. Ran concurrently with Chevrolet 1700, which had proved a flop in Korea. Fairly tidy facelift, with the more modern, if bland, Chevrolet-like front end blending well with Torana’s mid-Pacific styling. Short production, and replaced (none too soon) by the Saehan Gemini, a version of the Isuzu Gemini (1976–9).

Daewoo Imperial. 1989–93 (prod. unknown). 4-door sedan. F/R, 2969 cm³ (6 cyl. OHC). Poshest vehicle on the GM V-car (Opel Rekord E) platform, Imperial was the ultimate development of the series at Daewoo. Conceived as a response to the Hyundai Sonata and Grandeur, with styling apeing top Chryslers (notably the last Imperial and the New Yorker) and Japanese luxury sedans. Formal roofline, and new front and rear ends, hid the Opel Senator roots. Double-D ornament on grille. Engine size meant to surpass what Hyundai had put in to the Sonata—the unit was shared with the Senator, and developed 156 hp.

That was impressive, especially since I am a loyalty card holder—not that they knew that. After saying less than charitable things about the Crowne Plaza Hotel in Gurgaon, guess who called? Monica from the hotel with a long-distance call, asking what the problem was, with an apology and a pledge that next time, the service would be top-notch. This blog obviously gets traffic I never even expected, and it has highlighted once again those world-beating service ideas that the Indian people hold. Now, if every hotel in the world cared that much …

I had never heard of Intopic until I bought one of its keyboards in Mongkok in Hong Kong. It turns out it’s a Taiwanese firm with a full line of keyboards and mice, as well as other products.
   So far, so good. I need a keyboard around 39 cm wide (this is 8 mm beyond that): any wider, I find that I develop RSI problems because of reaching for the mouse. This one is about one column of keys wider than what I generally like, but these days, in Hong Kong, it’s the narrowest multimedia keyboard money can buy.

Genius KB-19e

Intopic KBD-USB-10

XH7633

The first time I returned to Hong Kong (a.k.a. ‘Home’) in 2006, after a 30-year absence, I got to visit the street where I grew up, but I didn’t get to walk around the ’hood. Also, I didn’t take any digital shots, though a few rest on 35 mm film. Here, for Voxers, is Hong Kong this time around, as I flew back from New Delhi.
   You see, all the stuff about Central and how it’s all grown does not impress me, because I have no close connection to that. For the first years of my life, Kowloon was it. The Island—Hong Kong Island—was where family lived and we occasionally ventured across, and it is nice to see it on occasion, but if you have limited time to spare on a journey home, you want to revisit your old haunts.
   Your guided tour begins.

4 Victory Avenue

   This is the entrance to where I used to live, just underneath the Ace sign. Back then, this was a nice little neighbourhood of upper-middle-class families, and I do not recall a business set right in the façade of the building. While there were businesses along here, it was more residential. Let’s look across the road:

Across the street at Victory Avenue

In 1976, this was a building site. So, the building has been completed? You might ask. Yes, but since 1976 that new building has been torn down and other ones put up in its place. There were a bunch of same-again apartment blocks on this side of Victory Avenue, and it’s interesting to note that they are all gone.
   On my first visit back I noticed that despite this huge change, the character of the neighbourhood remained the same. In a way, it still is. Even communists dominating the Legislative Council have not changed the essential character of Kowloon and the Hong Kong people.

Steps up 4 Victory Avenue

   This is inside the apartment block. It’s pretty much identical, though it was cleaner in 1976. There’s a locked gate  right after this flight of stairs. I told my father that I was surprised at this but he assures me that the gate was there back then. I guess when you are a kid and your responsibilities did not include locking and unlocking the gate, you don’t commit its existence into your long-term memory.

Corner of Victory Avenue and Waterloo Road

On the corner of the street (other side of the road again): I could have sworn this was where the Fiat dealership used to be. If not this block, then one block down. In any case, Fiat is not as strong in Hong Kong today as it was then, though I did see a black 500 cruising around.

Waterloo Road 1

   Heading northeast down Waterloo Road, the main drag, which was the route I would have taken to get to kindergarten. The butcher is gone, as my grandmother used to shop there.

Waterloo Road and Pui Ching Road intersection

   I still remember some of these intersections. Just that my vantage point was several feet below this.

Crossing Waterloo Road 2

Man Kee Mansion sign below bus stop sign

   The kindergarten is gone. Man Kee Mansion is still there, just as it was—but Man Kee Kindergarten is history. It used to be around here, but I could not even locate the old driveway. It must have been totally levelled to build some of the new buildings.

Model car toy shop

   There are still plenty of model car shops, but once upon a time, I am pretty sure they sold cheaper fare. Those little Playart miniatures used to be available around this area. While this won’t be the exact location of that store, it is very close.
   One negative thing I will say is that the pollution was terrible. Far, far worse than my walks around New Delhi. That was one change that was not welcome over the last 32 years, and even the locals said it had got to a low point.
   To conclude, a shot of airport food. I ate at Food Junction, a take-out place, when heading to New Delhi; flying back it was Maxim’s, my customary yum char spot.

Chinese food is just called food here

You can’t beat Hong Kong yum char, and even so-called cheap airport stuff is better than what you can find at the best Chinese restaurants in New Zealand. It was great to relish food that didn’t taste like warmed-up leftovers, which is the best expats can rustle up while eating out in Enzed.
   Best moment: asking a lady where the old 大大 stores were. Her reply: ‘You must have been away for a long time. That place closed decades ago. You must have been away for a long time!’ All in Cantonese, of course. But at least she picked up that I was local, as many did. Some didn’t, speaking Mandarin to me (do I look like a northerner?).
   Overall, it was still very easy to fit back in, but one sad thing to note was that I would not choose to live back there now. Even two years ago, visiting when it was less polluted, I entertained the possibility. Not any more, not with the environment the way it is. I’ve gotten too used to the good life.

Nobody looks after you food-wise better than Chef Adil Khan of Shanti Home. My first made-in-India Indian breakfast was this, a masala omelette. This was cooked up when I said I was in a rush and had about 15 minutes. Well, they made it in five and delivered it, room service:

Shanti Home masala omelette

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Fruit for breakfast

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Since India has been extremely kind to me—the people here are amazing—I owe it to this nation to bust a few stereotypes.
   First, the food. It is excellent and in two days I have had no problems with my tummy. ‘Delhi belly’ is a cruel stereotype that I was given by some friends prior to my departure, though I knew instinctively it was cobblers. The same rule applies here as everywhere else: if you are careful about what you stick in your mouth, you are fine. People do know that in rural areas things can be tougher. Nevertheless, I can make this conclusion: Indian food is fab and way better than expat Indian restaurants.
   Secondly, this is certainly not a backward country, and anyone who has read books such as The World Is Flat would know that. Here I am, surfing on wifi, and at speeds and with connectivity better than what I might find in other parts of the world, and that includes New Zealand. There is a rich–poor gap and that does mean some poverty but that also generates invention. I saw booksellers yesterday with used books alongside new ones; we should be copying some of the recycling efforts that Indians undertake every day.
   If your impression of an Indian car park is old colonial hand-me-downs, think again: the Daewoo Lacetti (Chevrolet Optra) is newer than what many countries sell, including Australia and New Zealand:

Chevrolet Optra facelift

I’m not sure if you can do this sign in the US, but in New Zealand, you can with our sense of humour: it’s at the New Orleans bar (formerly Paris), on Lambton Quay, Wellington. Two of the staff are Frenchmen so we chatted more about the fact that Orléans is a French town. You can even do a President Bush impersonation and say, ‘I see the reconstruction’s fine, and you don’t need my help,’ and not get nasty glances.

New Orleans blackboard

   This one at Get Funk’d might be more universal though:

Get Funk’d blackboard

We never found out if she did get fired.
   However, I did not know what to do with this one at the National Bank on Manners Street, Wellington:

Modern segregation

The first time I was not sure about this. I thought it was some modern form of segregation. I went to the regular queue with them white and brown folk. When I got to the teller, I asked him if the bank expected Kazakhs, Iranians, Indians and Asiatic Russians to go with the ‘Asian Banking’ sign. He was a bit humourless and it went over his head. But he did tell me that the staff were multilingual or spoke different dialects as I noted I did not speak Mandarin. I was welcome to go there next time.
   The second time I put this to the test. I figured that if the National Bank wanted all Asians—if you are one of the group descended from or related to the 3·7 billion from Asia—to turn right and not left, and segregate us, I would go along with it. Plus the teller from the time before said the staff were multilingual. I went to ask if any of the Chinese staff (I did not see any Japanese, Kazakhs, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis or any others) if they spoke Cantonese. They did not. Therefore, I went to queue up with the regular folk.
   The Mandarin-speaking woman working there did come to ask if she could help me. I said I wanted a cheque cashed. She said I was in the right queue. I remarked that I was just following the signs about segregation because I didn’t want to go all Rosa Parks-on-the-bus on them. (And the last time whites pulled this stunt with Chinese we got so pissed off that we brought down the Ching Dynasty in 1911, so bringing down a single bank is not too hard.)
   This time, my teller was (probably locally born) Chinese and could appreciate the nuances. She, like me, thought it was inappropriate for Chinese to be grouped with 3·7 billion people on the Asian continent. And we had very little in common with, say, the fictional Borat, who is from Asia. Or Emperor Hirohito. Or Gandhi. Or my friend Merrill Fernando who sells tea on TV.
   She said I was the first customer to have interpreted the sign as requesting Asians go to a separate part of the bank but she would raise it with the manager. I said that even the Chinese writing said ‘Asian banking’. But I still do not know what the sign means: clearly all ‘Asians’ cannot be assisted because there are only Mandarin-speaking staff in that section of the bank. Clearly there, the services are specialized and regular banking is still with the regular tellers. This was deceptive advertising.
   I am so glad I have closed the majority of our ANZ–National–Post Office Savings Bank–Countrywide–whatever-else-was-merged accounts. I don’t understand this lack of logic and it demonstrates a massive absence of cultural awareness. (As a non-customer it is a great thing to have a laugh about and I hope they will leave it up as a relic!)
   So they want Asians in another part of the bank but they don’t. And they can’t serve any Asians anyway unless you speak Mandarin, which is about 28 per cent of all Asians, but it’s pretty sweeping and arrogant to say all Asians should go that way. I do not know of any Chinese who would not find this sign either insulting, humorous, or stupid, which are probably three qualities that the National Bank wishes to convey. And I bet every other Asian, say folks from Tajikistan or Azerbaijan or Vietnam or India, are wondering why they can’t get served in that section or why their languages aren’t included on the sign or by the Chinese staff.
   The sign should read, in Chinese, ‘Specialized services for Mandarin-speaking customers’ which, believe it or not, would fit into the space they have anyway, and is probably what the bank means.
   Congratulations, National Bank, you’re stupid in two languages. Which is better than being stupid in three:

Large Black Coffee from "Role Models"

Former British PM Rt Hon Tony Blair gave the graduation speech for Yale University this year. It was an inspiring, largely non-political address.

So, after 100 years of Class Days, finally you get a British speaker.
   What took you so long? Did that little disagreement of 1776 rankle so much? And why now? Is it because the British election campaigns only last four weeks long?
   For whatever reason, it is an honour to be here and to say to the Yale College Class of 2008: you did it; you came through; from all of us to all of you, congratulations, well done.
   The invitation to a former British prime minister to address a college which boasts five former presidents, many former vice presidents and senators too numerous to mention, is either to give me an exaggerated sense of my own importance or you a reduced sense of yours.
   It was Churchill or Oscar Wilde, and there is a difference, who called us ‘two nations divided by a common language’—actually it may have been George Bernard Shaw—and so we are. You try being in the European Union.
   I had an unfortunate experience earlier in my premiership, when doing a press conference with a French Prime Minister. I speak French, but not quite as well as I thought.  We decided to do the press conference live, in French. I was asked whether there were any policy positions of the French Prime Minister I desired to emulate. There is a particular phrase, in French, which you must use with care. I didn’t.
   I meant to say there are many different policies of the French Prime Minister that I desired to emulate. What I actually said was that I desire the French Prime Minister in many different positions.
   Anyway, here I am at Yale and set to come back for the fall semester. My old Oxford tutor was, I’m afraid, horrified to hear I had been taken on by Yale. His worries were all for Yale, I may say. He said, ‘I only hope for their sake you’re going there to learn rather than to teach.’
   Now, I know you Yale guys are smart. So what can I tell you that you don’t already think you know?
   I can tell you something of the world as I see it.
   Three days ago, in my role as Middle East envoy, I stood in the heart of Bethlehem. On one side of me lay the concrete barrier which now separates Israel and Palestine. On the other, the historic birthplace of Jesus and the land of Palestine beyond.
   A few days before that, I was in Jericho. If you look up from the town centre, to the left is the Mount of Temptation, where Jesus stayed 40 days and nights. To the right, you can see Mount Nebo where Moses looked down on the Promised Land. And right in front of you is the Valley of Jordan.
   My guide, a Muslim, turned to me, and said, ‘Moses, Jesus, Muhammad—why in God's name did they all have to come here?’
   But in God’s name, they came, and for centuries, their followers have waged war in the name of prophets whose life work was in pursuit of peace.
   Today, the land that encompasses Israel and Palestine, which is small, has the conflict symbolizes the wider prospects of the entire, vast region of the Middle East and beyond. There, the forces of modernization and moderation battle with those of reaction and extremism. The shadow of Iran looms large.
   What is at stake is immense. Will those who believe in peaceful coexistence triumph, matching the growing economic power and wealth with a politics and a culture at ease with the twenty-first century? Or will the victors be those that seek to use that economic wealth to create a politics and culture more relevant to the feudal Middle Ages?
   Thousands of miles from here, this struggle is being played out in the suburbs of Baghdad and Beirut and the Gaza Strip. But the impact of its outcome on our security here and way of life here will register in the core of our well-being.
   In fact, if I had to sum up my view of the world, I would say to you: turn your thoughts to the east. Not just to the Middle East. But to the Far East. For the first time in many centuries, power is moving east.
   China and India each have populations roughly double those of America and Europe combined. In the next two decades, those two countries together will undergo industrialization four times the size of the USA’s and at five times the speed.
   We must be mindful that as these ancient civilizations become somehow younger and more vibrant, our young civilization does not grow old. Most of all we should know that in this new world, we must clear a path to partnership, not stand off against each other, competing for power.
   The world in which you, in time to come, will take the reins, cannot afford a return to twentieth-century struggles for hegemony.
   The characteristic of this modern world is the pace and scope and scale of globalization. Globalization is driving the change and people are driving globalization.
   The consequence is that the world opens up, its boundaries diminish, we are pushed closer together. The conclusion is that we make it work together or not at all.
   The issues you must wrestle with—the threat of climate change, food scarcity, and population growth, worldwide terror based on religion, the interdependence of the world economy—my student generation would barely recognize. But the difference today is that they are all essentially global in nature.
   You understand this. Yale has become a melting pot of culture, language and civilization. You are the global generation. So be global citizens.
   Each new generation finds the world they enter. But they fashion the world they leave. So, what do you inherit and what do you pass on?
   The history of humankind is marked by great events but it’s written by great people. People like you.
   Given Yale’s record of achievement, perhaps by you.
   At this point, I would like to thank the seniors, who invited my son Euan to the Yale naked parties. I would like to thank my son Euan for having refused the invitation.
   So to you as individuals, what wisdom, if any, have I learned?
   First, in fact, keep learning. Always be alive to the possibilities of the next experience, of thinking, doing and being.
   When the Buddha was asked, near the end of his life, to describe his secret, he answered bluntly, ‘I’m awake.’
   So be awake.
   Understand conventional wisdom, but be prepared to change it.
   Feel as well as analyse. Use your instinct alongside your reason. Calculate too much and you miscalculate. Be prepared to fail as well as to succeed, because it is failure, not success, that defines character.
   I spent years trying to be a politician, failing at every attempt and nearly gave up. I know you’re thinking: I should have. Sir Paul McCartney reminded me that the first record company the Beatles approached rejected them as a band no one would want to listen to.
   Be good to people on your way up, because you never know if you will meet them again on your way down.
   Judge someone by how they treat those below them not those above them.
   Be a firm friend, not a fair-weather friend. It’s your friendships, including those here at Yale, at this time, that will sustain and enrich the human spirit.
   A good test of a person is who turns up at their funeral and with what sincerity. Try not to sit the test too early, of course.
   Recently, I attended a funeral, and the speaker said he would like to begin by reading a list of all those whose funerals he would rather have been attending, but the list was too long. It was kind of a sweet compliment to our friend.
   Alternatively, there was Spike Milligan, the quintessential English comic who, when he was asked what he would like as the epitaph on his tombstone, replied, ‘They should write: “I told you I was ill.”’
   There was a colleague of mine in the British Parliament who once asked another, ‘Why do people take such an instant dislike to me?’ and got the reply, ‘Because it saves time.’
   So, when others think of you, let them think not with their lips, but their hearts, of a good friend and a gracious acquaintance.
   Above all, however, have a purpose in life. Life is not about living but about striving. When you get up, get up motivated. Live with a perpetual sense of urgency. And make at least part of that purpose about something bigger than you.
   There are great careers. There are also great causes. At least let some of them into your lives. Giving lifts the heart in a way that getting never can. Maybe it really was Oscar Wilde who said, ‘No one ever died saying, “If only I had one more day at the office.”’
   One small but shocking sentence: each year, three million children die in Africa from preventable disease or conflict. The key word? Preventable.
   When all is said and done, there is usually more said than done. So be a doer, not a commentator. Seek responsibility rather than shirk it.
   People often ask me about leadership. And I say: leadership is about wanting the responsibility to be on your shoulders, not ignoring its weight but knowing someone has to carry it, and reaching out for that person to be you. Leaders are heat-seekers, not heat-deflectors.
   And luck?
   You have all the luck you need. You are here, at Yale, and what, apart from the hats, could be better?
   And you have something else: your parents.
   You know, when you are your age, you can never imagine being our age. But believe me, when you’re our age, we remember clearly being your age. That’s why I am so careful about young men and my daughter: ‘Don’t tell me what you're thinking. I know what you’re thinking.’
   But as a parent, let me tell you something about parents. Despite all rational impulses, despite all evidence to the contrary, despite what we think you do to us and what you think we do to you—and yes, it is often hell on both sides—the plain, unvarnished truth is that we love you. Simply, profoundly and utterly.
   I remember, back in the mists of time my Dad greeting me off the train at Durham Railway Station. I was a student at Oxford. Oxford and Cambridge are for Britain kind of like Yale and Harvard, only more so. It was a big deal. I had been away for my first year and I was coming home.
   I stepped off the train. My hair was roughly the length of Rumpelstiltskin’s, and unwashed. I had no shoes and no shirt. My jeans were torn, and this was in the days before this became a fashion item. Worst of all, we had just moved house. Mum had thrown out the sitting room drapes. I had retrieved them and made a sleeveless long coat with them.
   My Dad greeted me. There were all his friends at the station. Beside me, their kids looked like paragons of respectability.
   He saw the drapes. He visibly winced. They did kind of stand out. I took pity on him.
   ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘There’s good news. I don’t do drugs.’
   My Dad looked me in the eye and said, ‘Son, the bad news is if you’re looking like this and you’re not doing drugs, we’ve got a real problem.’
   Your parents look at you today with love. They know how hard it is to make the grade and they respect you for making it.
   And tomorrow, as I know, as a parent of one of the graudate classes, as you receive your graduation, their hearts will beat with the natural rhythm of pride. Pride in what you have achieved. Pride in who you are.
   They will be nervous for you as you stand on the threshold of a new adventure, for they know the many obstacles that lie ahead.
   But they will be confident that you can surmount those obstacles, for they know also the strength of character and of spirit that has taken you thus far.
   So, to my fellow parents, I say: let us rejoice and be glad together. And to the Yale College Class of 2008, I say: well done, and may blessings and good fortune be yours in all the years to come.

The politically correct camp will say this is racist toward Chinese. I find it bloody funny and, PC thugs, I don’t need you defending me and implying that I can’t do so myself. I am perfectly capable of doing so if I need to—and with Alf Hill, I don’t need to.
   This is an early Chinaman gag; later ones were cleverer with the puns, but it’s still fun to see the genesis of Mr Chow Mein. It’s also funny because Hill doesn’t put Chow into a stereotypical vocation, so I would say few Chinese will think: ‘Here we go again—another Chinaman working in a laundry.’
   I would hope south Asians will think similarly of Bob Todd’s character.