Body Imaging by Abby Robinson @ Pansuriya, Yangon
For the last week I have observed this awesome installation, and I finally got the gumption to do it myself... Could not recommend it more highly.
“There’s a really nice eye over there next to the boobs…. No, no, under the knobbly knee. Yep, that’s the one, above the crooked teeth.”
It was 8pm on Saturday night and I was seated in Pansuriya (a stunning gallery and restaurant located in a colonial building downtown Yangon), trying to explain to an English couple what was going on. After a week of watching this performance and photography installation called “Body Imaging” I was starting to get a picture of the idea (or an idea for a picture), but until I went into the “Doctor’s Office” I would not know for sure.
Abby Robinson is based in New York, and has the theory that there are only two professions that get close to body parts: doctors and photographers. Abby is a photographer, but claims to be “doctor adjacent” as her sister is a doctor. I concur with “doctor adjacent” as clearly there is no doctor/patient confidentiality agreement, even though people choose to think there is. Through this scenario she creates, people seem compelled to divulge the most extraordinary things: I have heard unique stories from her “clinic” which she has facilitated seven times in cities including New York, Shanghai, Las Vegas, Budapest and now Yangon.
An area of Pansuriya is cornered off with curtains, and as people sit in the “waiting room” they fill out a form (naturally on a clipboard), and after the requisite waiting period she calls on them, inviting them with doctorly precision (white coat and all) into her “office” for their consultation, during which time they choose which body part they would like photographed. The “patient” gets one copy.
And the other?
Adorning a large wall in the gallery are shots of tits, pits, nips, lips, lobes, fingers, knees and toes. I did query about hoo-hahs and ding-dongs, of which there have been many, but only one hoo-hah this week, which Abby agreed to photograph (she has never declined a request), but stated it would not be hung on the wall.
Watching this unfold in Pansuriya has been an experience, both as a spectator and in my own mind. Seeing people’s choices and being ever so curious as to the inspiration behind them led me to go down some rabbit holes of my own. Was this exercise in interaction? vanity? therapy? memory collection? liberation? demon confrontation? acceptance? memory liberation? demonic vanity? interactive acceptance?
My conclusion is that it is whatever you individually choose it to be. In my case it was therapeutic acceptance.
Tirol, Austria: Nine Wonderful Things To Try During Winter
This is a small selection of the fun to be had in Tirol over the ski season. Of course you should also go for a ski at some point.
1) GO TO THE KRAMPUS PARADE
(Photo from Reuters /Dominic Ebenbichler)
The season begins on the 5th of December with a parade in the St Anton pedestrian zone of big hairy beasts on tractors looking for trouble. It could be mistaken for an English stag do looking for the next bar, but in this case the snarling, possessed brutes with the red eyes are looking for bad children to punish for naughtiness with their whips which are made out of freshly cut willow tree branches.
It is an Alpine tradition called Krampus, a perfectly logical yang to Saint Nicholas, and rather than the saccharine gingerbread "ho ho ho" crap with a smiling fat man asking you to sit on his knee, the children who prefer to listen to the voice on their left shoulder are pursued by The Krampalar, who travel on foot or by big chugging tractors.
Children of all ages provoke them and shriek with a mixture of fear and delight whilst spectators look on sipping hot mulled wine (Gluhwein) and eating warm gooey cheesy delights from the market stalls.
2) EAT A SCHNITZEL
A delicious schnitzel in Tirol
In Austria, most things that begin with the letter "s" either taste, feel or sound good. Take Schnitzel for example. Not only is it a national dish, but "schnitzel" is such a sensational word. It can be used as a term of endearment, "oh Schnitzy, you were great last night" (referring to possible fornication, which funnily enough, the Austrian term for is Schnaxeln), when you make a mistake, "I totally schnitzelled it", or you can just eat it.
Where could you go wrong with meat (traditionally veal, pork is also very popular and sometimes chicken) fried in egg, flour and breadcrumbs? It is not for the gluten free, vegetarian, or living life intolerant, but for the rest it is the ultimate comfort food. Normally served with potatoes, lemon, and cranberry sauce (Preiselbeeren) it leaves you so close to full that the only thing you have room for is Strudel. And possibly a Schnaps. Or two. And more skiing.
3) WATCH SOME ALPINE SKI RACING
Of course in this case I was going for Hirscher.
In Austria Ski Racers are Gods, so you should probably familiarise yourself with the machinations of racing. You ready? Got your pen and paper ready to take notes? Ok, here it goes. The guy who gets from the top of the mountain to the bottom quickest wins the race.
There are different disciplines and so forth, but it is easy to catch on. Most importantly, you must ALWAYS go for Austria: I don't care how good looking Felix Neureuther is, he's German, and if you are caught cheering for him in public you will draw ire from the locals. The one and only exception to this rule is Italian Racers from Sud-Tirol, as they are Tirolean, and the locals are first Tirolean and then Austrian.
If you can go to an actual ski race, the atmosphere is unrivaled.
4) LISTEN TO SOME AUSTRIAN MUSIC
Unfortunately, not all Austrian music is yodeling and Hansi Hinterseer. I know, I know. It should be. If they had living National Treasures in Austria he would be it. This yodeling ex-ski racer dressed in white with those beautifully coiffed locks is the ideal Austrian man. For Grannies.
Almost as cool as Hansi (but not quite) is Parov Stelar. His wildly creative electro-swing music deserves to be inducted into the Hall of Awesome. Even better live.
5) USE TINDER IN SKI RESORT
Ski resorts are just like Tinder in real life, aside form the proportion of men to women. St Anton is referred to as Manton, and the Picadilly Bar is fondly known as Pick-a-willy.
So I was thinking, using Tinder could streamline the whole process. Rather than talking to randoms in the bars and swiping left in person, you could ask all the relevant information about prospective mates from the comfort of your abode, even set up a "Love-Ski" - an Alpine themed date. Then, when you get down to the Schnaxeln part of the night (more likely to be in a boot room than in front of an open fire) put on some Hansi Hinterseer as a mood enhancer.
6) HAVE A SAUNA
You should probably be warned though, the Austrian Sauna culture is something quite special. You go naked, and I am not talking about to the waist. I am talking butt naked: ding-dongs and Muschis (take a guess what that is Austrian slang for) on full display. If you are feeling really brave, you can do a whole day of nakedness, apparently referred to as "Wellness" at the Aqua Dome in Längenfeld.
7) WEAR A DIRNDL
Dirndls in Tirol
Dirndls and Lederhosen are traditional Austrian and Bavarian dress, which were not invented for Oktoberfest but for special occasions such as weddings, christenings and drinking. The beauty of a Dirndl is that it can make even the most pedestrian rack look tremendous.
They are well worth investing in, and even though they tend to be very expensive cheaper options are available if you go to a Trachtenwelt.
8) TRY A WILLY AT APRES SKI
No, I am not talking about an Austrian's wing-wang, but knock yourself out. In this case I am referring to Pear Williams Schnaps, which is astoundingly popular during Apres Ski. Basically it is served in a shot glass, with a ball of pear on a plastic cocktail stick that you are to eat afterwards, to soften the taste. Some people toast the pears like a little sword fight (which occasionally progresses to miniature jousting tournament), others just ignore it.
Either way as long as you look everyone in the eye and say, "Prost" (cheers) before you drink all else is forgiven (not looking people in the eye before you drink results in seven years of bad sex). Try and order 6 shots of Williams in German and keep a straight face. "Sechs Willies bitte". Tip for Apres Ski: doing it half assed is not an option.
9) WATCH THE WEISSE RAUSCH
. http://www.arlbergadler.eu The White Thrill 2012 - The first competition of the challenging triathlon -The Arlberg Adler- fascinates St. Anton's winter athletes. The aim is to tame the "monster" Valluga. http://www.arlbergadler.eu
Lycra. Lots of lycra.
The "White Rush" will take place in St Anton am Arlberg on the 18th of April, 2015. This annual skl race, which is part of a unique "triathlon" called the Arlberg Adler normally has 500-700 hundred entrants (strictly limited). Basically there are three different start groups, depending on age and category.
Everyone in that group starts together, and a kamikaze all the way to the bottom ensues, with a little hike in the middle thrown in for good measure. As if this isn't challenging enough, when they get to the bottom of the mountain, exhausted, there is a huge crowd watching and they have to climb over a sizable mound of snow. Then they fall over the finish line half dead but happy to be alive (glass half empty half full thing) and wait for someone to give them a Schnaps.
The Germans and English Love Mallorca: But Apparently Not Each Other
For a minute there I thought that I was holidaying in Germany.
“I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad.”
The 2013/2014 ski season was not one of the best I had experienced, so when it started snowing in May I decided that, "Better late than never" is not always the case, and the more useful adage under these circumstances would be, "Get out whilst you can."
A friend was on a road trip and told me that she would be arriving on the Spanish island of Mallorca that Friday. I had a quick look at flights at no one's suggestion, and you can only imagine my delight when I found a one way ticket on Skyscanner from Munich to Mallorca that very Thursday for 60 Euros, so I locked it in, then called her to invite myself. You can only imagine her delight!!
I was not phased by the 6am departure time: sitting up all night at an airport to save 20 Euros is always worth it, especially when you have three Ryan Gosling movies to watch. I mean when else are you going to be able to watch them whilst on holiday?
Why would I sit up all night you ask? Well, the last trains arrive at Munich at 1 am, and getting a hotel would defeat the whole purpose of saving that flight money. But didn't I spend more than 20 Euros on snacks and coffee whilst I was waiting, you ask? No, I only spent 18 Euros.
When I did arrive in Mallorca, and wanted to check baggage claim, I noticed that there were a few other arrivals from Germany, but I did not think anything of it, as, funnily enough I was incapable of thinking, perhaps due to frying my brain watching three Ryan Gosling movies. Nor did I think anything of it when the information at my first hotel in Palma Mallorca was in German before it was in Spanish.
My friend picked me up on Friday morning, as she had got the overnight ferry with her car from Barcelona to Palma de Mallorca. (In my hasty enthusiasm I had booked my flight a day too early, meaning that I spent a night in Palma, costing me — you guessed it — more than the flight) and we took the scenic route to Alcudia via Port de Soller. The Port was just what I had imagined Mallorca to be like, small and intimate with the undulating Mediterranean as a backdrop and the promise of tapas.
Alcudia on the other hand was not what I had imagined Mallorca should be like. Had I heeded the warnings, perhaps I would have been prepared for the Bettenburgen "bed mountains" that lay in front of me: 60's style, soulless, multistory blocks overflowing with geriatric Germans reveling in the packaged, pre-organised nature of these resorts.
When I checked in, the receptionist asked me why I couldn't speak German, and I informed her I could, but up until this very moment I was under the obviously misguided impression that I was in Spain. I think that the deal breaker came at dinner where the food was, well, traditional German food, prepared specifically for a demographic that may have digestion problems with spicy food and a preference for soft portions so as not to play havoc with dentures. Really bringing it home was the advertisement for weekly rentals on walkers and wheel chairs.
I do not have anything against Germans or geriatrics. However as George Bernard Shaw said, "I dislike feeling at home when I am abroad." That was where the discomfort lay, for I am not ready for retirement from whatever it is that I do.
My travel companion was in 100% agreement that we were not yet ready to be put out to pasture, and that we required a bit more spice and adventure in our voyages, so we looked into alternatives and decided that Port de Soller was our happy place. We made reservations to stay at Esplendido, a **** hotel (that is four stars, not a four letter profanity) on the beach for eight days, starting Monday, which left a whole weekend ahead of me.
As I had already watched all the Ryan Gosling movies I had downloaded for the holiday, I had some time to do some Nancy Drew type sleuthing to see if Alcudia had more to offer, and I discovered that there was also a shitload (an Australian standardised unit of measurement representing "a lot") of English tourists. We are not talking posh, pinky up whilst drinking a cup of tea English: we are talking talk show English. Not the Oprah type talk show, but that one that you go on so you can tell your brother that you are cheating on him with your father. And here is the best part: the German and English infestation of the island in the summer months is not harmonious.
In fact, a quick search of "Germans and English in Mallorca" came up with about three million hits. From what I can gather, the German's like to get up early and reserve their place on the beach with their towels, and the only way that the English can compete is to stay up all night and then jump off the balcony to get there before them, resulting in "balcony legs" and "vodka breath". These and other ailments are described in a hilarious cartoon (seriously, who said the the Germans were not funny?) published by German paper Bild. The English rebuttal was a cliché-ridden cartoon in response, but not an entirely accurate one. Another was that the English should embrace the stereotype and feel no shame.
My sleuthing (and hunger) took me to the promenade, and then it hit me: in the German/English battle for Mallorcan holiday territory I had found myself on the front line. I could feel the characters depicted in the cartoons above walking towards each other and neither was willing to retreat. All those arrivals at the airport? Troops. And the Easy Rider Mobility Hire? Wheelchairs my ass! High Tech transport logistics I am thinking. The hotel filled with geriatrics? It must be the German command centre. The sky may as well have turned black when I realised Summer still had a long way to go, and this was nothing compared to what was going to ensue in the coming months.
So I left them wielding their artillery of towels and rolled up Daily Mails, went back to the hotel, ate some sausage and sauerkraut from the buffet, and downloaded some more Ryan Gosling movies whilst I wondered what Spain was like.
*I would like to state, that the main picture from this article was by no means taken in Alcudia. It was the drive on the way. And also on the way back. To where you ask? Back to our happy place, Esplendido Hotel in Soller, where we had the most wonderful week of great breakfasts, a comfortable stay and the most central point for exploring. Splurgeworthy? Hell yes!