About Carol Rolnick
Carol Barbier Rolnick grew up in Japan and Southeast Asia, traveling extensively as a child through Asia, the Mideast and Europe on family vacations. In her so-called adult life, Carol extended her roamings to North, Central and South America and southern Africa with repeat trips to Europe. They spent the summer of 2011 in the Netherlands and Carol and her husband, Michael are aiming towards Australia and Antarctica to round off their continental travels.
Latest Posts by Carol Rolnick
Luwak eating coffee berries
Part of the fun of traveling is to experience new foods and beverages. Part of the mystery of Asia is to discover exactly what it is you’re consuming, as the name may be misleading.
Take kopi luwak, for instance. A luwak is a civet, a member of the weasel family found in Indonesia. Normally weasels’ major contribution to humanity is small rodent control or fur (think minks) but in Indonesia, luwaks are prized for their feces. Yup, those little nuggets of luwak feces are as valuable as gold. Kopi luwaki is a highly praised and tasty coffee made from the fecal pellets of coffee. I know because I’ve drunk it.
The nocturnal luwak dines on ripe coffee berries. Somehow the civets’ digestive process gives the berries a robust, tasteful flavor — once the berries have been separated from the fecal matter and roasted, that is.
How did weasel shit become a worldwide phenomenon? Short History Lesson (SHL) #1:The Dutch controlled much of present day Indonesia for centuries. Among the spices and foods that made the Dutch East India Company the richest conglomerate in the world was the discovery of coffee. Soon coffee plantations sprouted all over Indonesia, and the natives, who formerly enjoyed cups of this tasty beverage while relaxing in the sun were transformed into near-slaves working the plantations while their Dutch masters enjoyed their coffee in the sun. In order to maximize profits, the Dutch forbid the Indonesians to consume any coffee.
At some point the workers noticed that luwak poop contained partly digested coffee berries which they collected, cleaned, roasted and brewed into a delicious tasting coffee. Kopi luwak or weasel coffee was born. Now it is an industry in Indonesia, Vietnam and other areas of Southeast Asia.
Nocturnal animals, luwaks snooze most of the day.
Kopi luwak is not without its production issues, however, not the least of which is animal abuse. In order to maximize their profits, Indonesians began to capture and keep luwaks in cages in order not to have to waste time searching for those small weasel pellets in the jungle. Often these cages are highly restrictive and the luwaks are forced to eat nothing but coffee berries, sparking a rash of protests from animal rights activists. From the natives’ point of view, caging luwaks is expedient.
Besides, there are poisonous snakes and other venomous creatures out there in the jungle, just waiting to nab some poor guy scooping up weasel poop from the jungle floor.
For the average Indonesian, luwak poop is a highly profitable commodity: one cup of this brew can sell between $30 to $100 in the U.S. Roasted and bagged for sale in the Western markets, the beans can sell for as much as $650 a kg (about $340+ per pound).
A pile of luwak feces with partially digested coffee beans. The beans are separated from the fecal matter, cleaned and roasted and are ready for brewing into “cat-poo-chino.”
Roasted coffee beans
Thankfully, the voices of activists have been heeded and many luwak coffee “growers” are providing more humane treatment of their captive luwaks or just plain harvesting the coffee dung the old-fashioned way.
One of the plantation’s luwaks awake near dusk and rarin’ to go…
Putting aside my scruples, however, I drank a cup of luwak coffee in Bali after forking over $5 USD, what is in Indonesia an outrageous sum. Yes, it was tasty, but so is a cup of well-brewed French or Italian roast coffee. The coffee plantation workers who were leading our tour and hawking the various coffees to us were somewhat amazed that any of these weird white folk were actually drinking weasel fecal-processed stuff, but hey: they were the ones pushing “Cat-poo-chino” as proclaimed on their T-shirts and menus.
Personally, I thought “Crap-pu-cino” had a snazzier ring to it but hey, I’m the consumer, not the marketer.
Egg coffee at Coffee Long in Hanoi
A more innocuous, coffee-based drink is the egg coffee consumed in northern Vietnam. While in Hanoi, we drank this delicious concoction. I’d expected coffee with curdled egg mixed in it, kind of like a a coffee-based egg-drop soup. Thankfully, the egg coffee was far more pleasant – very rich and sweet.
As recipes go, it couldn’t be more simple: brew some good, strong coffee, let it cool slightly, add sweetened, condensed milk and one egg yolk, and stir: egg coffee. Loved it.
Snakeskin fruit or salak in Bali
Snakeskin Fruit, Durian, Dragon fruit and Vietnamese Glutinous Wine
In the past five weeks of our Southeast Adventure, Michael and/or I have tried various other local delicacies. I ate some snakeskin fruit (salak in Indonesian) in Bali. The name is derived from its formidable looking skin which does resemble that of a brown snake. The cream colored wedges inside taste both sour and sweet at the same time with a nice crunch, not dissimilar to a slightly unripe pear.
Dragon fruit is upper left fruit in this Buddhist altar offering, Hoi An, Vietnam
Clockwise from top left: orange, dragon fruit and passion fruit
Dragon fruit looks quite formidable, earning its name. Inside, dragon fruit is white with tiny black seeds and a sweet, soft crunch. I eat it for breakfast almost every morning, along with passion fruit, if available. Passion fruit is a bit more of a visual-taste challenge. The seeds are encased in a glutinous jelly that reminds me of frog eggs. Once I got past the image, I could eat the pulpy mess which also tastes both sweet and very slightly sour.
Fresh durian with processed durian chips.
Durian is a challenge I’ve never mastered. People either love it or hate it. The majority of westerners fall into the latter category, but it’s worthy of note that Singapore bans open durian from any form of public transportation. When opened, durian stinks to high heaven. Processed into candied fruit bites or chips, however, it’s palatable.
Vietnamese “glutinous wine” causes pause when first encountered on a drinks menu. However, it’s just rice wine; whether it has a milky or glutinous quality depends on how well it has been distilled. Home-brewed rice wine will be both milky and quite glutinous with characteristics I really didn’t like to contemplate and that I’m sure were never in the glossary in a sommelier’s curriculum.
Cooked rice dumped out on a tarp before distilling in a Hoi An shophouse.
Home still for brewing “glutinous” (rice) wine in Hoi An, Vietnam
We actually sampled the rice wine from this still, then allowed ourselves to be “persuaded” to buy a bottle. I was a bit perturbed when the shopkeeper fished a filthy plastic bottle out of a bucket of other used bottles, then filled it for us from the still, but we paid the one dollar and took it. I fed the fishes with it later.
And I thought that home-brewed plain old glutinous rice wine was revolting…
Snake wine: cobra and other snakes fermenting in rice wine. Blood from the snakes give this wine its reddish-brown color.
The one local product I absolutely refused to sample was snake wine. The preferred snake in this type of rice wine is cobra, but smaller snakes usually are added to the brew.
Our guide poured snake wine fro this teapot after filling it from the jar of snake wine behind her.
Michael, however, was game. Quite honestly, I could barely take the pictures, but to the guide’s amazement, he downed the entire cup she poured for him.
As it turns out, Michael didn’t just drink snakes-fermented-in-rice-wine. He had “snake blood wine,” where the snakes’ bellies are slit to allow blood to seep into the mixture, giving the liquid that reddish tinge.
Michael drinking snake blood wine.
And, no, Michael didn’t go puke in the bushes afterwards. He wanted to buy some. I threatened divorce. (I think he sneaked some into his back pack so look out, friends.)
As we head off to Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar and Korea, I can only imagine what additional gustatory challenges await. But I know one thing: if it’s reptile, I ain’t touching it. Michael, go for it, babe!
Komodo Island, famous for its giant monitor lizards, is one of the thousands of islands comprising the Indonesian archipelago. Whether it is one of 1,700+ or 1,300+ Indonesian islands depends on if you’re including uninhabited islands and atolls in the count. Nevertheless, the ratio of inhabitants to dragons on Komodo is about 1:1, with the dragons winning because they’re allowed to occasionally maul and/or kill a villager whereas the hapless human inhabitants can’t touch the dragons: they’re protected by the Indonesian government as an endangered species and “national treasure.”
The majority of Komodo Island’s 300+ square kilometers is a National Park. Most of the park beyond the village and nearby Pink Beach is fairly rough terrain but is hikeable. Park and government regulations require that all visitors must be part of an organized tour led by an officially-approved guide, and no one is allowed in the park without at least one of the rangers to lead the group.
Tourists make their way to Komodo for one or both reasons: see the dragons and/or go scuba diving. Unfortunately, we were unable to go diving as our cruise’s allotted time in port wasn’t sufficient. But, I did organize a combined “dragon trek” and snorkeling tour which was a lot of fun. The guides and Komodo National Park rangers were very knowledgeable and great to talk to, and we learned a lot about the dragons and island.
For starters, the majority of the islanders are descended from convicts exiled to the island in the 19th century by the sultan of nearby Sumbawa. The dragons live here naturally, as well as on the nearby islands of Flores and Rinca. This small area of the Pacific is the only area in the world where the Komodo dragons naturally exist. The islanders are a mix of Muslim, Christians and Hindus. The dragons have no known religion, other than cannibalism…
Dear old Mom
In fact, these giant monitor lizards are not great parents. The female will lay about 15-30 eggs once a year; gestation is about 9 months. Like many reptiles, the female alone will guard the eggs initially, but once the young dragons emerge, the hatchlings have to take to the trees to avoid being eaten by Mom and her relatives.
Dragon hatchlings live the first couple of years up in the trees to avoid being eaten by more mature dragons. They hide out in holes pecked out by birds.
The first written recording of these giant lizards was about 1910 when Dutch sailors reported seeing fire-breathing monsters of up to 7 meters long (about 23 ft.). An exploratory expedition by the local Dutch Colonial Administration established the lizards were usually about 2 meters long, and could find no evidence of them breathing fire. The largest dragon on record was 3.1 m. (10.3 ft.), but these days the average male dragon usually measures much less than 2 meters, and the females are slightly smaller. While they don’t truly breathe fire, their saliva is toxic and can kill a good-sized human. They have an exceptionally keen sense of smell and can particularly hone in on blood. On board we were repeatedly warn not to shave the day we landed in Komodo, and menstruating women were not allowed on the island. (How that applies to villagers somewhat baffled me.)
Ironically, the first Komodo dragon I saw was at the ranger station, just about 100 feet from the beach – and it was trying to get away from the tourists as quickly as possible. I managed to snap this photo before it disappeared under one of the local’s houses.
Another fascinating feature about the dragons is their digestive process. They eat their prey whole, or at least in large chunks if it’s big enough, but their gastric juices are so powerful that they can digest almost everything, including the bones. Thus, in their scat, all you see is a mucous-like puddle with some whitish congealing which is all that’s left of the bones.
Dragon scat with dissolved bone material
Another major attraction in Komodo is Pink Beach, whose sand is a mixture of ground white and red corals from off-shore – which gives you an idea of the beauty of the coral and other underwater sights. Our snorkeling expedition off Pink Beach was a bit daunting do to an unusually strong current. However, there was enough coral and fish to make the effort worthwhile. In all, a unique island to have visited.
Especially the dragons.
Temple of Tanah Lot, southeastern Bali
Reflect on Bali, and near-mystical images spin through one’s mind. The mist hanging on smoking volcanic cones, people laying offerings by roadside shrines, ancient temples, solemn cremation ceremonies, gracefully peaked, ornamented houses, terraced rice paddies: all these scenes are a part of Bali that is timeless and untouchable. Yet, even as all these ancient scenes and settings are still plentiful here, so are the tourist-clogged mega malls, the surf hangouts and the tawdry bars. By comparison, images of South Pacific seem nostalgic. Thankfully, the “new” Bali is still somewhat contained in the southeast quarter of the island while “old” Bali can still be found within an hour or two drive of the 21st century hedonism that seems intent on drowning this ancient culture.
Bali, the first island east of Java in the Indonesian archipelago, is one of the most spiritual places on earth. And it is because of Bali’s spirituality that this island maintains its unique place in our modern world. By spirituality, I don’t mean strictly religious practice, although religion is not only present, but an ingrained part of Balinese life. “Religion” in Bali is a seamless melding of early Hinduism, Buddhism (also with origins in India), ancestor worship, and native animism. Life in Bali is not just about nominal participation in certain ceremonies at specific phases or benchmarks of life, or require participation in the occasional ceremony.
To the Balinese, religion is part of the living belief system, the daily acts of life, from rising in the morning, preparing food, going about pedestrian chores, to just being alive – and always remembering and honoring the multitude of gods, ancestors and spirits that surround and form daily life. For a Balinese, placing an offering at a small shrine on a median strip in the middle of a congested roadway is as natural and part of life as crossing that street.
Laying another small offering seemingly randomly in a passageway or entrance is a quotidian act of appeasement for any ground-based demon spirits that may lay lurking nearby. Of equal dedication and spirituality is the daily ritual of placing small packets of fruits, rice and other offerings to household gods and ancestors in the family temple.
Small shrines are found in every Balinese courtyard, on the roadside, in rice paddies.
Small offerings of rice or fruit are laid on paths, in doorways, or sidewalks to appease any evil spirits.
Traditional Balinese homes have their own family temples within the home kampong.
Temples abound in Bali, whose origin may have from the ancient Hindu religion, but have evolved over the centuries as just one source for the uniquely Balinese religion of Tirta. “Hindu” is a brand only recently given Tirta, but delve past the for-tourist-patter and you will find the differences. Yes, there are familiar Hindu-inspired gods nearly everywhere, but Tirta is so much more.
I am no expert in any of the multiple religious origins comprising Tirta but I will name some differences I’ve noticed. Unlike Hindus and some Buddhist sects, Balinese eat meat: chicken, beef, pork, seafood – all are part of the Balinese diet. An exception is the priests; they cannot eat the flesh of a four-legged animal. And while some animal-human figures, such as Ganesha, the Hindu god with the elephant visage, are honored, no animal is considered sacred, as in India. In fact, a favorite Balinese sport is cock fighting.
But the most important aspect of Balinese Tirta is water. Water is both life-giving and purifying, a blessing and a necessity. Some of the most important Balinese temples are either dedicated to specific bodies of water or are placed at specific conjunctions of land and water, such as the temple of Tanah Lot, the first picture in this posting.
At this point I will halt the verbiage and share mostly images of some of the shrines & temples we saw during our 3 day stop in Bali. Without a doubt, the temple of the holy water spring was my favorite and which I found so moving to witness.
Roosters bred for cock fighting are kept ratan cages to prevent unplanned skirmishes.
Entrance to the temple of the holy water, Pura temple Empul, built about 960 A.D.
Pura Tirta Empul’s purifying pool, fed by the holy water springs.
Young women praying in the pool, going from spout to spout, dousing themselves in a purification ritual.
Pool into which the two holy water springs feed.
Tirta priests, dressed completely in white, lead ceremonies within the sanctum of the Pura Tirta Empul.
Pura Dalem, temple in the midst of the Ubud Monkey Sanctuary.
Entrance to temple Uluwatu in the southernmost part of Bali
One of the temples at Uluwatu, perched on the mountainside.
A different viewpoint, demonstrating the height of the cliffs Uluwatu is perched upon.
In ending, I will simply share that my own interests in “religion” have gravitated more towards the “spirituality” of humankind, where there is a stronger tie to mutual acceptance of certain universal, benevolent precepts of how to conduct your life and less emphasis on monotheistic dogma. As a girl of 16 the Balinese perception and interaction with the universe made a great deal of sense to me. Nearly 50 years later, I’m so glad to find Tirta is still strong and an integral part of Balinese life.
I would like to thank Ketuk Singer for being the most wonderful guide in the 3 days we recently spent in Bali. Through is patience and thoughtful answers, I rediscovered the Bali I’d loved so much so many years ago.
One of the most fascinating aspects of Southeast Asia travel is to experience the dazzling weave of ethnic groups, languages, religions and customs, all blended yet distinct.
Penang Island, strategically poised at the head of the Straits of Malacca, has been endowed by geography and shaped by trade for centuries. Beginning with the Malays, other peoples have lent their influence (by whatever means) into the mix: Arab traders, Hindu and Chinese immigrant laborers, the European traders and colonists — Portuguese, then Dutch — and finally – British, both before and after World War II’s Japanese occupation. Sometimes it seems that only the Roman Empire has not left its genes and culture in the region.
View to the east of George Town, Penang Island, Malaysia
Still a lively port city, Penang of today shows most clearly the influence of four different cultures: Chinese, Malay, Hindu and British. However, despite being a region of Malaysia, a predominantly Muslim nation, Penang clearly reflects the culture, architecture and religion of its southern Chinese majority from the mid-19th century up to today.
Since its independence from Great Britain, the Malaysian government has “re-balanced” the Penang population so that the numbers of Chinese and Malays are now fairly even at 46% and 43%, respectively. Additionally, the inevitable blend of Chinese and Malays over the centuries has resulted in a unique culture, Peranakan, both in Penang and in other “Straits” cities such as Malacca and Singapore.
The Chinese influence is still quite visible in today’s Penang, especially in Chinatown and the more urban areas of the island, by the number of merchants and shops, and, not least, the number of Buddhist temples on the island. (Buddhists comprise 36% of the population, second only to Muslims at 45%.)
Tek Lok Si
Main temple at Kek Lok Si
Tek Lok Si is not only the largest Buddhist temple complex in Penang, but the largest in Southeast Asia. Also known as the “Chinese Buddhist Temple” and “Temple of 10,000 Buddhas,” Tek Lok Si is dazzling in size and beauty. The main temple was begun in 1890, with additional edifices constructed over the years.
The cavernous main temple is dominated by three golden statues of the Buddha in meditative pose. In a ship-board lecture series on Buddhism, I learned the symbolism of a three Buddha display: the center statue is of the current Buddha, the one who most Westerners think of as the Buddha, Sidhartha; the Buddha on the left depicts the future Buddha, while the one on the right represents the Buddha of the past.
The current Buddha
The Past Buddha
The Future Buddha.
The walls were lined with niches containing far smaller statuary of the Buddha. (We didn’t attempt to count them all!)
Kek Lok Si’s walls are rows of niches containing small, gold Buddha statues
The Wishing Tree
Incense wafted through the cavernous hall, where various folding tables displayed offerings for purchase to lay before the Buddha of choice. A “Wishing Tree” stood in one area, festooned with colorful ribbons upon which various blessings and wishful outcomes were written.
Elsewhere within the temple complex stands the seven-story Pagoda of the 10,000 Buddhas, along with additional prayer halls and plenty of stone and painted statuary nestled into the hillside. In addition to its height, the pagoda is unique in that it combines three different cultures’ temple architecture: Chinese, Thai and Burmese.
Another interesting feature is the 30 meter (99 feet) statue of Kuan Yin, an East Asian Buddhist deity of mercy and compassion. Most often Kuan Yin, also known as “Guanyin,” is depicted as a woman, although this statue seems more androgynous.
Reclining Buddha Temple
Wat Chayamangkalaram, better known as the “Reclining Buddha Temple” or “Thai Buddhist Temple,” holds the 3rd or 4th largest statue of the Buddha in a reclining pose, depending on your source. At 33 meters (108 ft.), the statue is quite imposing, especially as the Buddha’s robe is gold-plated.
A common misconception among Westerners is that the reclining figure of the Buddha shows him at rest or asleep. The reclining pose actually depicts the Buddha in his last illness, near his death.
Reclining Buddha at Wat Chayamangkalaram. At 33 m in length, this is one of the largest Reclining Buddhas in the world.
The Standing Buddha Temple
Directly across the street from the Reclining Buddha is Wat Dhammikarama, or the “Burmese Buddhist Temple.” Heavily ornate in its exterior, the simpler interior hall is dominated by the serenely calm “Standing Buddha.” Built in 1803, Dhammikarama was the first Buddhist temple in Penang and reflects the Burmese influence on the island at the time. Dhammikarama is also the only Burmese Buddhist temple outside of Myanmar (Burma).
Lion outside Standing Buddha;note detailed filigree on portico & roof
Gate to Burmese Temple
Selamat Tinggal, Penang*
The city of George Town and Penang Island have many more Buddhist and Hindu temples, mosques, and other natural and man-made wonders. Unfortunately, our port of call was only a half day, and these three temples were the only ones we managed to get to. On the more secular end of sights, we drove across both of the two bridges connecting Palau Penang (Penang Island) to the Malaysian mainland. (The newest, just opened in 2014, is the longest bridge in Asia at 27 kilometers.)
We also took the incredibly steep funicular up to the top of Bukit Bandera (Penang Hill). Regrettably, afternoon rain clouds had rolled in so the spectacular view from 800 m. (2,730 ft.) was obscured by the mists. The gardens on the Hill are beautiful, though, and splashes of color made up for the lack of a view.
Choco Pies, the favorite treat of both Koreas
Visiting a foreign country for the first time brings a certain amount of dissonance: new sights, unfamiliar language, different dress – certainly unusual smells and unknown dishes, even vastly different ways of eating. Even a seasoned traveler who has “prepped” for a new country can be thrown by incongruent sensory inputs. Even Choco Pies.
Much as I’d heard and read about “the two Koreas” and had lived as a child growing up in Asia, I’d never visited. So I prepped with a variety of political and cultural sources, scoured travel guides for ideas of where to go, what to see. I could even identify a few palaces or temples in the wall murals as we walked through Incheon International Airport.
Nevertheless, Korea managed to wag my tail and give me a few surprises.
First were the airport golf carts zipping through the terminal throngs, blaring “Fur Elise” like windup box toys converted from Swiss music boxes. What? Go-carts programmed with Beethoven?
With echoes of Für Elise around us, within about 40 minutes we’d cleared Immigration, retrieved our bags, struggled with the ATM’s questionable English version, gave up on the free shuttle and flagged a taxi to take us to our hotel in the Incheon Peninsula. Having received some recommendations upon check in, we went in search of a restaurant. We found Mama Nin’s and stood in the anteroom, staring at the dozen or so pairs of shoes line up on the floor, then peered through the lattice door at the low –very low – tables inside. Cultural awakening blossomed.
“Oh, Jeez,” I muttered. “I forgot. We’re in Korea.” (BIG “Duh.”) “We’re supposed to take off our shoes before entering. I guess that’s why there were those slippers at the door of our bedroom.”
Shoe overflow from storage bins at restaurant.
At this point, I’d been awake over 22 hours, a victim of my chronic inability to sleep on airplanes. To say I was fatigued and jetlagged wasn’t an understatement. But we were both hungry so we shucked our shoes and ungracefully lowered ourselves to the floor mats at the indicated table.
We noticed right off that our table, like all the others, featured a built-in wok. Several of our dining companions were busily stir-frying their dinners from dozens of little plates. Surveying the “English” version of the menu, we decided to order beef soup (there was a menu picture) and rice wine so as not to further embarrass ourselves as cultural morons. (Besides, neither of us could figure out the menu’s translations of various dishes, much less attempt to cook them.)
Traditional Korean restaurant. Note the flat metal disks in center of table. These are covers for the unused woks. Servers bring a pail of coals to place under wok to heat the pan for food preparation.
Meanwhile, the restaurant’s cell phone blared Für Elise with each incoming food order – and there were a lot of calls. And, nearly every person who wasn’t stuffing himself with food was staring into a cell phone – including about 7 young men who’d just been seated in one of the banquet rooms. In South Korea, which has the highest ratio of cell phones to population in the world, that’s a lot of cell phones. The combination of the non-Western restaurant ambiance and cell phones-with-Beethoven was a bit jarring.
Upon sitting at this banquet table, every man began to use his cellphone.
“Interesting décor,” I commented, looking up at the ceiling. “Those silver tubes extending from the ceiling look like they’re made of air duct piping.”
Michael glanced up and around and hissed, ”They are air ducts. For the cooking. They’re air vents for the woks. You pull them down – see?”
And as brain-dead as I was, I finally noticed some of the oblong smoke vents lowered over steaming woks. After futile attempts of claiming travel fatigue failed to wipe the smirk off Michael’s face, I steered my comments to a topic that wasn’t half as embarrassing.
“Did you know that North Koreans are crazy about Choco Pies?”
Choco Pies: the Weapon of the Wes
Choco pies have emerged as the most unpredictable weapon in the battle of the South (Korea) and the West (the U.S. and rest of the world) against the North (Korea). These innocuous, chocolate and marshmallow confections, a rip-off of the Moon Pie (sadly, an American invention), are revolutionizing the North. First introduced 10 years ago to North Korean workers as a form of wage compensation at a North-South joint venture factory in Kaesong, Choco Pies were sold or bartered by the workers for other necessities in the North. Hoarded then resold at exorbitant prices on the black market, fetching as much as $10 apiece – a veritable fortune in the impoverished North – Choco Pies became a dominant form of “currency,” and turned the North Korean economy on its ear.
The response of the North Korean government was predictable: Kim Jon-un, beloved, third-generation dictator, has banned Choco Pies.
Rise of the Choco Pie
The story behind the Choco Pie is so wonderfully a combination of capitalism and Korean culture and politics.
A visiting Korean businessman fell in love with Moon pies in a visit to the U.S.; this gustatory rapture spawned an “Ah ha!” moment, and by 1974 the Orion Company was manufacturing the confection in South Korea. Called “Choco Pies” in attempts to ward off yet another round of patent infringement accusations from Best Bud U.S., these chocolate covered cookies with a marshmallow filling became a huge hit among South Koreans.
Choco Pie, the brain child of Orion. Sound like “Oreo” to anyone?
Spin the dials forward to 2004: the two Koreas agreed to a joint manufacturing-industrial venture in Kaesong, NK, with the North supplying the labor and the South the facilities and managerial know-how. The Pyongyang (Northern) government selected almost exclusively women to work in these factories, with strict limitations on the amount of exposure and interchange with the South Korean managers. Moreover, the North wouldn’t allow the South to pay the workers directly, requiring the wages earned be remitted to the North to then be distributed to the workers. However, the Pyongyang government only paid their people about two-thirds of their earnings. The Southern managers began using Choco Pies as bonuses and incentives in 2005, and as the workers developed a taste for the treats, increased the number of cookies per day to as many as 20 per worker.
The women began to realize that if they loved the Choco Pies, their literally famished compatriots would as well. Thus began the illicit Coco Pie black market that nearly ruined the North Korean economy, such as it had devolved. Within five years, Pyongyang had denounced Choco Pies and closed down their “cooperative” involvement in the Kaesang experiment. By 2014, Kim Jong-un had banned Choco Pies.
The South Shall Rise Again
Not to be outdone by the North’s ban on their favorite, now politically-viral treat, South Korean activists, in response to the ban, sent airlifts of 10,000 Choco Pies to their northern brethren via helium balloons. (They also put anti-Pyongyang pamplets and other tasty goodies in the “gift” baskets.) A recent “airlift” received quite a bit of attention in the Western press. (Personally, I think the press was intrigued by these condom-shaped balloons, reminiscent of Woody Allen’s movie Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex. But maybe that’s just me.)
Photo by Ahn Young-Soon, AP
I can’t really imagine how horror-struck the retro hard-line government of Pyongyang must have been, seeing thousands of Choco Pies raining down on North Korea. If only South Korean ingenuity can be properly matched with Western dollars or euros or yen and plenty of Choco Pies as ammunition, there finally might be a downfall of the most repressive government existing today. One can only hope.
Who’d’ve thunk it? Choco Pies.
Note: The whole Choco Pie story is real. Just Google this confection and you’ll find it all. If you’re interested about how the North Korean government operates and still manages to exist, read The Impossible State: North Korea, Past and Future by Victor Cha.
The coda to this tale is that once in Korea, I embarked on a quest for a Choco Pie. One disgusting bite later, I had a hard time understanding Koreans’ fanaticism for this “treat.” Michael, on the other hand, finished it off, no problem.
I think I’ll leave Choco Pies to the Koreans.
With one look my husband fell in love with Dutch…cows. “They look so happy!” Michael exclaimed on our first train trip through central Holland. I pointed out he probably meant they appeared to be well-fed and watered, and thus are probably physically “content,” because it’s really not possible for human’s to assess an animal’s “happiness,” especially from a whizzing train. But, being Michael, he refused to budge from his anthropomorphic assessment of hundreds of bovines’ mental state.
“Cows in Holland are happy cows.”
Drawing on lessons from Psych 101, I canned logical argument and attempted to draw out his “reasoning” with an encouraging “Uh-huh?”
“The cows here are happy, because the grass is so green, there’s water everywhere, their udders are huge – and they look so happy!”
I summoned my nominal bovine knowledge and replied, “Full udders mean they need to be milked and the cows are probably wishing for nothing more right now than to get back to the barn, get out of this damn rain, and get milked so their udders won’t be so painful.” He, of course, ignored me.
And so he began calling the rain-soaked, canal-ringed-and-riddled, mostly-below-sea level Netherlands (italics are a clue, folks) “The Land of Happy Cows.”
So much for psychology.
To exacerbate my annoyance with such anthropomorphism, Michael began to “document” why Dutch cows look happy. He claims several people told him (I’ve not met one) the Dutch had passed laws years ago that restricted the amount of time cows could be kept penned within barns. In other words, lots of rain, fresh air, lush grass, and water produce healthier cows, which results (theoretically) in a higher quality of milk from which the fabulous Dutch cheese is made. And, as Michael insists: “happy cows.”
Mind you, Michael is New York City born and bred and just because he learned to fix a tractor and ride a horse does not necessarily make him a Bovine Authority.
Being the curious sort, I finally got around to doing an internet search on Dutch laws concerning cows’ rights to stand out in the rain all day chewing their cuds. I found general laws on livestock husbandry, but nothing to indicate that the Dutch have embraced bovine grazing rights as banner legislation. In fact, I found the exact opposite: according to two 2013 reports, grazing among dairy cows is rapidly decreasing in Western Europe, including the Netherlands.
So — where’s the cow?
Cows are everywhere in Holland. You find them in the darnedest places.
The Bar Cow at Cafe Belgie
Trust the Dutch to decorate their bikes with cow pix.
And if you can’t find cows in the middle of Utrecht, you can bring along your own inflatable cow.
First, a bit of History of the Dutch Dairy Cow. All those cud-chewing, udderly fat cows that Michael claims are so happy are all Holstein-Friesian cows, usually called Holsteins, the hands-down best milk-producing bovines on the planet. And, of course, these cows developed in…Friesland, in northern Netherlands! Early Dutch settlers brought some Holsteins with them in the 1600’s when they settled in New Amsterdam (currently New York City) and upstate New York. As other colonists discovered the attributes of the breed in milk production, additional Holsteins were imported. By the late 19th c., the Holstein became the foundation of U.S. dairy production.
These black and white cows initially were bred to thrive on the native grasses of northern Netherlands, but on modern dairy farms, their diet is no longer exclusively grass. They are given feed supplements of both grain and dried grasses (hay), especially in the winter months.
A typical Holstein cow.
The Dutch Dairy Board website is chock-full of fascinating information about the dairy industry, including their “thematic goal” of maintaining grazing “at least at its current levels.” Having cows graze 6 hours per day, 120 days per year seems to be part of the “grazing goal.” However, while they note that 73.6% of dairy cows meet this “grazing goal,” 18.8% never graze at all, and the remaining 7.7% have an unspecified, “other type” of grazing.
What the Dutch do seem to regulate quite well are the limitation of unnecessary antibiotics, prohibition of hormones to increase milk production, the types of minerals (e.g. fertilizers, and other grass “enhancers”) put into the soil, veterinary “treatments,” as well as milk processing from milking to end dairy product – all good activities for consumer, bovine and environmental well-being.
So, in answer to the question heading this paragraph, nearly three-fourths of Dutch Holstein cows of today spend a lot of time standing in pastures during the months of April to November. They don’t seem to mind the rain, which is a good attribute, and despite the time of day, their udders always look full-to-bursting from all that lush, rain-soaked grass.
For a cute but short video of happy-looking cows being released from their barn in springtime, go to https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDvnUiO-LAk.
But as noted by the Dutch Dairy Board, this picturesque pastoral scene of contentedly grazing cows is rapidly changing. The small-holder dairy farms are facing increasing economic pressures and competition from larger “franchises,” and many solo farmers have been swallowed by these milk-production conglomerates.
So, Michael, enjoy your “happy” cows. For the foreseeable future we can both continue to call the Netherlands “The Land of Happy Cows,” and toast these joyous bovines who produce such good cheese.
Some Peripheral Information on Dairy Cows
If you’re sick of reading about cows and dairy production, skip “Dairy Facts” and go straight to “Famous Cows.” The latter is amusing, I guarantee it.
I know I get carried away in researching my blogs, but some of what I found out about the dairy industry, particularly in Holland, is interesting:
- According to a 2013 report by the Dutch Dairy Board, “Dairy is the engine of the Dutch economy.”
- There are 18,500 dairy farms and 1.97 million dairy cows in the Netherlands which produce 12 billion kilos of milk annually (about 26.45 billion pounds).
- 56% of Dutch dairy products is cheese.
- Dairy products accounts for 9% of the Dutch economy’s trade surplus.
And in the U.S.:
- The World Dairy Expo is the international trade organization for dairy cows is held annually in Madison, Wisconsin. It’s the largest dairy trade show in the world, but features dairy cattle from the U.S. and Canada.
- Black and white Holsteins (there is a recessive line of red and whites) have won “Supreme Champion” honors at the World Dairy Expo 32 times in the last 42 years, far more than any other breed of dairy cow.
- There are over 9 million dairy cows in the U.S., and 90% of them are of Holstein descent.
Famous Cows: (This is why blogs were invented….)
- A Canadian Holstein named Missy is the most expensive cow in the world, bringing $1.2 million in after being named “Supreme Cow” at the World Dairy Expo in 2011.
- A Holstein cow named “Ever-Green-View My 1326-ET” (no lie) won the world record for milk production in 2010 by producing over 72,000 pounds of milk in one year. The average Holstein produces 23,000 pounds of milk per year. Of note, “Ever-Green” is a Wisconsin cow.
- President William Howard Taft had not one – but TWO – pet cows at the White House. When the first official “Presidential Cow” Mooley Wooly died, Senator Isaac Stephenson of Wisconsin donated “Miss Pauline Wayne,” a Holstein from his farm. “Miss Wayne” served as “First Cow” for three years. She became popular at dairy trade shows where her milk, in miniature bottles, was sold as a novelty for 50 cents. (Talk about a cash cow…) When Taft left office, “Miss Wayne” was returned to Stephenson’s farm.
- “Miss Wayne” narrowly missed an ignominious death in 1911. She was returning from an appearance at a dairy show when her private train car was accidentally attached at a rail switch to a train of cattle cars found for the Chicago slaughter houses. Telegrams were sent throughout the land and a group of cow-loving vigilantes saved Miss Wayne. Apparently, they had a tough time convincing the stockyard that they were about to slaughter the President’s pet cow.
Revelers on the evening before King’s Day, at the Utrecht vrijmarkt, Friday, April 25.
If this were a sci-fi tale, it would begin with an extraterrestrial creature painting the Netherlands in a day-glow orange with magical properties that turns people inside-out, changes their personalities, and causes riots in the streets. Well, for two days this past weekend the Dutch were awash in orange, the national color, but the orange hues were self-applied, often in interesting styles. And while no one rioted in the streets (this year), the normally sensible, quiet Dutch were replaced by ecstatically happy, noisily-partying Dutch of all ages and stripes. The squares and parks were filled with musical entertainment for all ages, the streets and bars packed with party-goers, and orange-themed party boats sailed the canals, music and horns blaring.
Cute girl and father with matching hats. (Typical guy — still has the sales tag on it!)
I stopped to take a photo and in turn was toasted by these mid-day party-boaters. What fun!
The occasion? Koningsdag, or King’s Day, the first ever. Hence the riotous parties and wild orange attire. Since 1890, the Netherlands’ titular ruler has been a female member of the House of Orange-Nassau, the Dutch royal family. (The Dutch recognize the oldest child – not the oldest son – as the heir to the throne.) Back in the 1880’s, Princess Day was created to celebrate the birthday of the then heir apparent, Princess Wilhelmina. When Wilhelmina assumed the throne, the celebration logically became Queen’s Day. Since then, the country has usually celebrated the monarch’s birthday as Queen’s Day. (The exception was Queen Beatrix, Willem’s mother, who kept her mother’s April 30 birthdate as Queen’s Day as her own birthday was at the end of January – not exactly a great time to be having an outdoor party.)
More importantly, Queen’s Day (now King’s Day) has become the biggest national celebration in the Netherlands over the years. Sure, there are hard-core royalists who actually are honoring the monarch, but for the majority of Dutch, it’s just an opportunity to let loose and have one huge party all over the country. Flags were flown, public entertainment abounded, and the beer flowed, some of it orange…
The Dutch flag with an orange pennant at the top. The orange pennant, signifying the House of Orange-Nassau, the Dutch Royal Family, is attached on King’s Day and on royal birthdays.
And why is this King’s Day so important? Last April 30, Queen Beatrix abdicated in favor of her son, Willem-Alexander, and there was neither a Queen’s or King’s Day, but a coronation. So, King’s Day 2014 was the highly anticipated blow-out of a party all over the country.
King’s Day in Utrecht
Even the Dom Toren was decked out in orange.
The major cities of the Netherlands are known for their unique spin on this annual celebration. Den Haag is known for its many musical venues at night, Utrecht for having the largest open air flea market, and Amsterdam, well, of course Amsterdam just has the biggest block party in the entire country.
Utrecht’s King’s Day celebrations begin at 6 p.m. the night before with the opening of the Vrijmarkt, literally “free market,” or flea market. Dutch throughout the country spread out blankets and set up stalls or card tables, to display for sale whatever trinkets, clothing, records, appliances or unwanted birthday gifts that have been collecting dust over the years. However, Utrecht simply has the biggest vrijmarkt in the country. Streets throughout the old part of the city were packed with gewgaws and people poring over them for something they just had to have.
Because we didn’t get started walking through the vrijmarkt until after 10 Friday night, the streets were packed with bargain hunters and revelers were in full swing. Nonetheless, there were still many bargains to be had, often for € 1 or less, and the entire city was in party mode.
What was remarkable was how neat the partiers were that first night….
Only the Dutch would neatly line up their trash. (It didn’t last.)
Saturday, April 26, was the main celebration of King’s Day. Michael and I donned our orange – sunglasses for him, an orange scarf & tee for me – and started out fairly early, shortly after noon, in search of the festivities. We walked a circular route through the binnestad (inner city) of old Utrecht, which is bisected by two canals, the Oudegracht (Old Canal) and Nieuwegracht (New Canal – which is over 500 years old!).
This being Holland, canals abound – everywhere – providing the perfect opportunity to get your friends together and take to the water for your party. Some boats brought their own DJ, other boats brought their own band. It’s a good thing these boats are fairly flat-bottomed: everyone was singing, dancing and tooting horns or whirling noise-makers.
Check out the various costumes and accessories on this party boat. Note the people sitting on the bridge above — best seats in the house.
Happy party boat on the Oudegracht (Old Canal). Note the police patrol boat to the right and how amused they are!
Party boats at a narrow section of the Oudegracht. The old Fish Market was held over the bridge; the small square is an outdoor cafe now.
We stopped at several locales to quaff our thirst and take in the merriment. Part of the fun was checking out the various costumes. Unfortunately, I too often wasn’t quick enough or at the right angle to get a pic of some of the more entertaining, like a guy dressed in an orange “ermine” cloak and a huge crown on his head.
Check out those checkered pants on the cyclist whizzing by.
Check out that handsome dude with the orange zonnebrils (sunglasses).
And walking through several streets converted to flea markets:
Hardbollen Street – the Ladies in Windows are no more. (The city relocated the prostitutes of Hardbollen St. to another party of Utrecht.)
Breedstraat, around the corner from where we lived the first year, is normally a quiet interlude — not during King’s Day!
And of course, checking out the entertainment, from DJs on café sidewalks and in the smaller squares to bands galore.
Willie and the Billies
Our absolute favorite that day was a rockin’ band of guys in pink called Willie and the Billies. Their rousing, bouncy music was a combination of big band, jazz and polka along with on-stage antics. They were hysterically funny doing their schtick.
Ironically, Willie et al. were playing in a little courtyard across from the apartment we had the first year in Utrecht. If we were still in that apartment, we could have sat on our balcony and enjoyed the band from there!
By about 4 in the afternoon, the inner city was packed. Some spots on our agenda we had to give up on because literally you could not push your way through the crowds. Sardines in a cannery have more wiggle room. Beer cans (almost exclusively Heineken – it’s like the Dutch version of Budweiser) and wine bottles rolled underfoot on all the streets – all attempts at tidiness had disappeared.
We threaded our way through the crowds to a popular corner on the Oudegracht with four or five watering holes, didn’t see any of our friends (they’d given up too, it turned out) so we finally headed back home for a rest. Eventually we wandered back out for dinner and another short walk along the canals to round out our first King’s Day. And what an experience it was!
King’s Day Trivia:
- April 26, 2014 was the first King’s Day EVER in the Netherlands. There has been no male monarch since 1890.
- Utrecht had a major role in the origins of the celebration of the reigning monarch’s birthday. A Utrecht newspaper editor proposed a “Princess’s Day” in honor of the Crown Princess Wilhelmina upon her 5th birthday in 1885. When she became Queen in 1890, the holiday became Queen’s Day.
- King Willem-Alexander’s actual birthday is April 27. However, the Dutch do not celebrate Queen’s or King’s Day on a Sunday, which is why the official holiday was the day before — a Saturday.
- King Willem-Alexander was born here in Utrecht, at the Utrecht University Medical Center (where Michael teaches). He was born April 27, 1967.
- He was the first Dutch male royal baby born since 1851.
- King Willem-Alexander is the youngest monarch in Europe.
- In his youth, the king was called “Prince Pils” because of his partying life at university. He’s been trying to repackage and restore his image ever since. (Oh those rollickin’ Royals! Who’d have ever thunk it?)
Happy King’s Day!
As far back as 1945, the Dutch have held a national day of remembrance honoring those civilians and military who died during WWII, and all wars or peace-keeping missions thereafter. At 8:00 p.m. on May 4 all over the country a two-minute period of absolute silence is observed. Cars, buses, bicycles, trains and trams stop where they are. People come quietly together in public squares, waiting for the traditional bugle call for silence. People still making their way home stop on the sidewalks, doff their hats and bow their heads to acknowledge those who died in defense of freedom and liberty.
The commemoration is solemn and sobering, intended so every citizen, no matter how young or aged, whether recent citizen or WWII survivor, will never forget that freedom can be costly to win – and to hold onto – and to silently thank as well as remember those who died. There are no firecrackers, no block parties and barbecues, no brash brass bands; the festivities will come the next day when Dutch across the country will celebrate liberation on May 5, 1945 from Nazi occupation.
By far, the largest May 4 public commemoration takes place in Amsterdam at the National Memorial on the Dam, the main square of Amsterdam, in front of the Royal Palace, and the nearby Nieuwe Kerk (New Church). Members of the royal family and various dignitaries lead the crowds and nation in the tributes. However every city and village plans its own version of Remembrance Day, all activity stops for those long two minutes at 8 p.m. for silent commemoration.
For me, one of the most touching features of the Day of Remembrance is not just how the Dutch still honor and remember their own dead. They also honor and swear never to forget how so many non-Dutch fought and died in order to liberate Holland from Nazi occupation — the thousands of British, Canadian, American and Polish soldiers who also gave their lives in World War II.
The Netherlands American Cemetery in Margratan, southeast Netherlands. The cemetery is the only one in the Netherlands for Americans who died during the months of military operations leading to the May,1945 liberation. Over 8,000 American soldiers are buried here; an additional 1.723 are listed as missing in action and whose remains were never found.
This lesson in history and appreciation of freedom was brought home to me soon after our arrival in the Netherlands, three years ago. We met by chance at a medical conference a young (mid-30s) physician from Maastricht, in southeastern Holland. Upon hearing we were Americans, he asked if we knew about the U.S. WWII cemetery in Margratan, just outside of Maastricht. We did not, much to our subsequent embarrassment.
He told us how thousands of Dutch have “adopted” a dead U.S. or Canadian soldier, as the majority of the liberating forces in southern Holland were either Canadian or American. As part of the remembrances observances, the people go every May 4 – if not more often – to tend “their” soldier’s graveside, to lay flowers, and to just remember why that man is buried there. He said he takes his young children, then about 5-7 years old, every year to honor “their soldier,” because “I never want them to forget.”
Yesterday was our first Remembrance Day in the Netherlands. We had been invited to dinner by our next door neighbors, John and Leduine. As we rang their bell, I noticed John had the Dutch flag at half mast, so we asked what is their form of observance of the two minutes of silence.
“Why, of course, we observe the two minutes of silence,” said John. “We will start our first course of dinner, then about 7:40 I will turn on the television, and we will watch the ceremonies in the Dam Square in Amsterdam. The King and Queen will come out of the Royal Palace just before 8 p.m. to lay the first wreath, and then the whole country goes silent.”
And, so we did. Thousands of people crowded into Dam Square, with trails of observers standing in the many side streets leading to the square and the national monument. Comprising these hundreds of thousands were multi-generational Dutch families, WWII veterans, former Resistance members, Jewish Holocaust survivors, recent immigrants, military representatives from around the world — yet hardly a person spoke, and those who did, whispered. It was truly amazing to see how quiet thousands of people could be.
Right before 8 King Willem-Alexander and Queen Maxima walked solemnly from the palace to the monument, and laid an immense wreath for all the Dutch war dead. Still without saying a word, they stepped back and waited for the bugle’s call for silence, followed by eight peals of the church bells exactly at 8 p.m. The ensuing silence was moving as well as astonishing. Not a sound, nor whisper, hardly a clearing of throats. I couldn’t imagine having so many people in one place in the U.S. staying silent and respectful as the Dam crowd did.
It was truly a moment that brought home how powerful silence can be, not just in rendering respect for those who died, but bringing together those alive and present in acknowledging those people’s sacrifices, and most importantly, standing as one, a disparate crowd of people — with all their differences — finding unity and purpose in giving silent thanks.
The Liberty Statue, also known as the Resistance Monument, stands outside the Dom (cathedral) of Utrecht. On Sunday, May 4 ceremonies were held here in front of the cathedral, much like the one on the Dam Square in Amsterdam, just smaller. Many wreaths of remembrance were laid here at the foot of the statue.
May 5 was Liberation Day when the Dutch celebrate the surrender of the occupying Nazi Army and the liberation of the Netherlands.
Top photo is of crowds honoring WWII and other Dutch dead in Dam Square, Amsterdam. Source: http://www.rnw.nl/.