Never Gave Any of His

Can’t pick the weather in the middle of October.  It’s still fall.  This morning it was cold out and I thought to leave the house with a coat on.  But now at 1:52PM, in the back of a slow moving cab with the mid day sun bearing down on my face and all up in my coat, I feel like I want to disrobe and ask for air conditioning.  Already by this time of day this Shang Di entrance to the fifth ring has slowed to a scrum.  God help the people who try to squeeze in here at rush hour.  

Heading down to Singapore today.  I haven’t been there in a decade.  Then later in the week, on to Indonesia.  I haven’t been there in far longer.  And I have never been to Jakarta which I’ll land in.  Every year or so business or vacation takes me someplace new.  But the number of major cities in East Asia that I haven’t ever been to is certainly finite at this point.

I look forward to waking up in the morning and hopefully hearing some strange tropical birdcalls.  I assume it will be hot and I’ll be able to give my short sleeves shirts one more walk around before they’re retired for the winter.  I seem to remember the local food in Singapore is called Peranakan.  I’ll probably be shuffled though into something contemporary.  

Here in Beijing, it really is a lovely fall day.  We’ve got a few trees starting to turn.  A few things that look like sumac but aren’t now turning yellow.  Most trees are still all green.  But it’s a tired green that doesn’t look like it has long to go before photosynthesizing is wrapped up for the winter.  In the mean time though it looks pretty nice, I must say.  This is always the best season.  By the time I’m back I suspect the leaves will look very different.  

I read Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness” yesterday.  It’s a good one-day read.  First I had to make my way through all the paeans to him by other author’s until we got to the penultimate indictment by Chinua Achebe.  He wasn’t a Conrad fan.  “He’s a bloody racist.”  It was satisfying to savor them both before commencing the journey upriver.  I want meditating on what H. L Mencken said, which was that the never gave any of his characters a way out.  No sentimentality.  Perhaps this is unique, about him.