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Monday, November 4, 2013

THE MYSTERY OF K A S H M I R




Chiru’s sacrifice  becomes a  shawl to die for…


Mention Kashmir and its mystery and intrigue capture undivided interest.  Deep in history of wars and struggle, the valley of Kashmir is full of mighty mountains reducing everything else to miniscule size.  The enormity of the Himalaya range, with its twists and turns, voices echo between boulders of rock way above sea level, yet in the meadows, are spangled with daisies, hyacinths, and daffodils and almonds, cherry, apples and strawberries are in abundance.  Kashmir is considered as the “heaven brought on earth.” 


Fast forward within the enclaves of New York high society where ladies lunch, spring has sprung, still with a little nip in the air.  Too cold for a summer dress, not cold enough for a heavy coat, the Kashmiri Shatoosh shawl elegantly covers the shoulders of these sophisticated elite ladies.  Their last names could easily be a Rockefeller, Trump, Buckley or Santo Domingo with a few Shatoosh Pashimina shawls likely to be hanging off their nonchalant shoulders.



Back deep in the canyons of the Himalaya range, these Chiru goats roam from Tibet across the mountainous range to as far as Kashmir. The chiru antelope lives in one of the harshest environments on earth, at an altitude of over 5,000 meters. Their special type of down fur, which is both very light and warm, allows them to survive in the freezing conditions of the plateau where they gather at one point of the year.


 
The chin hairs of wild goats or Chirus have been claimed to shed onto bushes, trees and rocks and then painstakingly collected tuft by tuft by Tibetan nomads.   In actuality, they are made from the wool of the Tibetan antelope, a rare and endangered species found only on the desolate high plains of the Tibetan plateau in China.   Wildlife experts confirm that these antelopes are being slaughtered by poachers to keep up the demand for shawls in the Western world.   The Moghul emperors also sought after these ultra soft, ultra thin, ultra warm shawls.  Only Royals of yester-years were allowed to wear them for they were very expensive, it took skilled artisan to weave the delicate hair, measuring between 9 and 11 micrometer.  It extracts the lives of three Chiru to make one 2ms x 1ms lady’s shawl and double the lives of Chirus to produce a man’s shawl.  These shawls are so fine; they can be passed through a wedding ring, leading them to be known as “ring shawls.”

Giddily sipping Proséco, at a New York brasserie, these ladies who lunch or perhaps finished a gym session with their personal trainer, or ready to catch their chartered jets to the Paris fashion week got subpoenaed by Newark’s US Marshall  for illegally possessing these wonderful exquisite shawls that have now been deemed  “endangered species.”  They were subpoenaed to testify before a grand jury sitting in Newark and to bring with them “any and all shahtoosh shawls, other shahtoosh items, and items made from the Tibetan antelope, chiru or ibex,” to be confiscated.






The list of the multi-rich owners ranging from Begum Aga Khan to the Italian designer, Valentino, who’s personal collection boasts as many as 200.  Nan Kempner, New York City socialite says, “ Valentino has one in every known color, he’s got one to match every sweater and every coat and every suit.”  Saint Moritz society talks of Susan Gutfreund, wife of the Chairman of Soloman Brothers, had made a bed-throw for the late Greek shipping tycoon Stavros Niarchos.





Pray, tell – did voluntarily giving up those shawls to US Marshalls happen or did they go into hiding?   Pat Buckley, wife of the conservative columnist, William F. Buckley Jr, said, “I haven’t heard of anything so ridiculous in a long time.  Some of our friends will have to call a moving van.”

International trade in Tibetan-antelope wool has been prohibited since 1975. The United Nations Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora, and, unfortunately for the buyers of shahtooshes, conservation activists at the World Wildlife Fund, the Wildlife Conservation Society, and the Tibetan Plateau Project have prodded governments to crack down on the largely unregulated shahtoosh trade. In the US, knowing violation of the law with intent to sell is a felony punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000 for individuals or $500,000 for companies. Like ivory and tortoiseshell, shahtooshes are subject to confiscation by the U.S. Customs Service, a fact that has not been widely publicized until recently.

So with huge excitement and anticipation I finally had the opportunity last week, outside of the US, and inside the well guarded house of a S.E. Asian tycoon,  to touch and drape myself around several shatoosh shawls.  In the secret enclave of a well-known collector, shawls upon shawls were scattered before me.  It is indeed every bit an exclusive luxury, the softness, the lightness and although the expert was describing the difference, with the local Indian community bringing these pieces in, I could easily be duped into paying many thousands of dollars in order to feel special.



Undoubtedly these embroidered pieces are indeed exquisite.  Shahtoosh looks like an ordinary shawl until you feel it.   It has a smoothness of silk.  Once touched and handled, it’s like caressing cloud.  Difficult to control, the weavers in Kashmir are so deft and skilled that they can even embroider over these shawls.




The Indian Government has banned the killing of a Chiru..   Banning has not vanished its demands either. Suffice to say Shatoosh has re-emerged in mega rich homes of South East Asia, where I am luxuriating in now, sipping iced tea and delighting in the beauty.   As a New York socialite once said, “it’s a craving, if you have one, then you want another, and another.”  There are no alternatives to this King of Wool.



In this particular Chinese home, where I had my first encounter with Shatoosh, I wondered out aloud if they ate Shark’s Fin, yet another endangered species. There was an uncomfortable shifting of positions with suspicion of my intent, their body language expressed uneasiness.  Apparently dissention within the family through their daughter’s opposing such collection of heirlooms, as she is campaigning against endangered species; Shark’s fin normally eaten is banned from the house and supporting Shatoosh was not spoken about in her presence.   Turning around I caught a glimpse of elephant tusks in the next room.   Pray, they are plastic?  I never knew.

I came away with an awkward thought.  Exploitation of animals, so that pocket-power, taste and exclusivity puts one above the ranks of others undeniably leaves a bad taste in the mouth.  Or perhaps the teenager daughter need to be made aware that  the art and craftsmanship in weaving and embroidering employs about 80,000 people in the Indian state of Jammu and Kashmir. The State has its own laws regarding endangered species.  Twelve established families in Srinagar control the Shahtoosh business.



Belinda Wright film-maker and photographer of The Wildlife Protection Society of India says, “the people with most to lose from a successful choking off of the shahtoosh trade are about a dozen wealthy businessmen.”  She added, “The artisans who spin and weave it would continue with their customary trade in cashmere, which is produced from a domestic goat.”   

So we have an alternative.  

Could I convince my newly found friend with an extreme passion for collecting Shatoosh that there is a new wool called Shahmina, a wool developed recently in India, with virtually the same weight, texture and warmth as shahtoosh, produced from pure strains of high-altitude goats. With no bloodshed involved.



He nods, but unconvinced.  Banned goods, illegal, hard to get, almost at extinction never tasted so good.

. 

 



It



Sunday, October 27, 2013

ADDICTION




I hate to admit I have an addictive personality.   It is in the genes. 

Besides my addiction to strong dark coffee; strong & dark chocolates;, I have found that there are numerous things of the legal kind that I find myself unable to be without.

It has become something I am very well aware all the time, and don’t even try to address the problem.  

It’s called  “the screen addiction.”




I wake up in the middle of the night; I check my smart phone.  Pretending to check the time, there are always messages in different application modes, from around the world.    No emergencies from loved ones, I go back to sleep.   First thing in the morning, I check my smart phone.  Go through the messages and email before morning ablutions.  With my dark strong coffee, I then go to my laptop and go through emails, facebook, linkedin, and any other applications that invade my crowded machine, while CNN is discussing Obamacare on my 29 inch TV.  This is just the first 3 hours of my waking moments and I’ve already clocked 2h:20 minutes on screen addiction.    This is just me.   




What about the rest of the world?


 
In 2000 there were roughly 500 million cell phones in the world.  Ten years later that number is nearing 5 billion.  And these phones aren’t merely devices for talking with friends;  they take pictures, send emails, play movies, surf the Web and even track fertility times, to ensure more humanoids multiply to repeat same.







Now this picture on the right is seriously bad  >>>>>



The Kaiser Family Foundation, focusing on major health care issues facing the US and the US role in global health policy, published the results of a study that 8 to 18- year-olds log an average of 71/2 hours a day with media, including television, computers, cell phones, and music players.  I do not  fall in that age group, but my daily exposure to electronic media is an almost unbelievable 10 hours per day.




Do I have to go to and declare, as in “My name is Ruby and I am a Screen Addict.”

How would going cold turkey help with my life when all things on my laptop and Iphone practically runs “everything” in my life. 

I shall not be weaned off it.   Its attached to me forever.



Friday, October 25, 2013

M&M Palisades


                                                                                       not of the chocolaty variety




Bearing  your compass to the North East of Thailand, Khao Yai is a mere 3 hours of careful driving outside of Bangkok.  It has become the new “in” place for the “IT” people to satisfy their weekend holiday jaunts.   The scenery from a hilly point almost matches lush green valleys and mountains of Switzerland.   Village huts in the distance bring us to reality that we are indeed in Thailand in the province of Nakorn Nayok or Nakorn Ratchasima whichever way you are facing.



Deemed a tourist by my companions, the truth of the matter was – I was.   Teased for jungle creepy crawlies that my city condo has never seen, not even mosquitoes or the essential house lizard, I was embracing myself for the inevitable jumping frogs, flying mantis, or monitor lizards. It was a first time for me, and a leveler for a city girl, whose daily morning scenery is the concrete jungle.

Layered into the factor of anticipation was meeting new Facebook friends for the first time, the weekend was going to either be a burst of friendship or an explosion of quiet polite enemies.

Transport my host’s skills to any weekend destination in the world, you would have the dream organizer who has reached a height of excelled guests’ anticipation.  Even a fastidious hotelier would have to grudgingly defer.   My host’s additional talent is capturing the essence of the characters together for blending what is to be a life long association. A friendship that skims on the surface of sharp witted, fused with energy among highly cerebral people. A friendship that most jaded people convince themselves, “its just another frolicking weekend.” In actual fact this was a foray of emotions, plunging into personality depths that drew on the empathy of each other’s daily fight, shared good food, peeled the layers of our disposition and had an immense time uniting our common bond.

Pitched dark, no lights round the windy road, except for the car headlights, my host, gently suggests to her husband, for fun, to turn off the headlights.  I guess this was for the benefit of us city folks whose neon signs, and bustling city lights can never be dimmed…..or maybe this was their romantic interlude before the  weekend begins.  He chuckles at her suggestion, and keeps on going, oblivious to her remarks.  They have done this many times before.

In the dark, we arrived at M&M Palisades just in time for what my English friends would call a “light supper.”   “Light” it was, but “supper” was more like a “feast,” enough to feed a platoon.     The wooden long table that would easily seat 14 or more people was laden with delicacies I had as a child.  It was comfort food, dialed to the max and I gorged myself as if the last meal I had, was way back in the distance.   In reality, on the journey of only three hours, snacks of wonderful pastries were passed around in the car – just in case – hunger strikes.   She thought of everything.

Romeo & Juliet was my assigned room.  The thick wooden door with a heavy latch, deterring any Romeo wandering through in the night looking for his Juliet was simply but enchantingly decorated.   The room said everything of my host.  Practical, logical, fastidious, meticulous, charming, warm, right-brain, with a quirky sense of humor.  A basket embroidered EMERGENCY BOX had everything you need, forgotten items or things simply that might be needed.   Equipped with everything from Paracetamols, mosquito repellent, sewing kit to toothpaste – I did not look further just in case there was the essential French-letter perchance Romeo came through the window.

An eye opener for me was a tour down the valley of Khao Yai.   The locals like to compare their surroundings to that of Tuscany from climate to vineyards.   They forget, you need to have a history into the “making” of the place.   Take Palio Mall. 

It could be a rich man’s folly or perhaps, a rich man’s sons’ inability  to secure a proper job after an expensive education, escaping farming the fields of Cassava plantation by turning it into a Mall.   The grand idea has been to bring the charm of Tuscany to the green heart of Thailand. Both places share a cool, sunny climate and both grow wine – although not to the same distinction. Indeed a tenuous link, it does bring the essence of Tuscany to those unable to manage the plane ride.  

Unlike most Malls,  Palio is a picturesque shopping centre, themed around a Tuscan village where out-of-the-ordinary combination of clothes and gift shopping, gourmet Gelato’s and Waffles in replace of the local north-eastern delicacies of Somtum & Nua Yang variation.  It has the essence of Universal Studios, or Genting Highlands where unreality turns fantasy in cardboard fashion.   In low season, their accountants would not need to start deducting taxes for the fantasy doubles up as backdrop for a TV or film set that offsets any balance sheet.




Next stop Toscana.   No, it is not Italy.  But Toscana Valley Khao Yai.   A significant investment was made to hire an award-winning architect from California.  Aram Bassenian and Carl Lagoni have transformed part of the National Park of Thailand into a miniature Italian oasis. Aram Bassenian, an Armenian architect from Long Beach California, and Carl Lagoni are experienced in planning residential communities.   It is understandable for second and third generation of  Italian and Armenian extract yearning for their home country to need to reproduce their past.  With Mexican and Spanish history, it is only natural that with their experience and success bringing about the Tuscan farmhouse, stone brick and wood to lend a distinctly Tuscan atmosphere in California does seem to fit well with Hispanic Americans.    I ask myself, why Khao Yai? Was I sleeping in my history class – I thought all along that Thailand was never colonized by Tuscanians or any other foreign moghuls. 



From Toscana we pass Kensington Gardens resort, and a few more kilometers we are in the Cotswolds .  I did not leap over the English Channel but cruising on the Mitraparb Highway and still very firmly in Thai terracotta.  It is obvious that nationalism is not flavor of the month and the next generation need to be pricked and poked to avoid sublimation of values.

Even the prescribed shop had a life size Teddington bear by the door.  






Evening descended with my tongue dancing for some wine, our vehicle somehow managed to veer itself from the highway and turn into Alcidini Vineyard. A family enterprise started in 2001 by Suphot Krikpitudh with his wife and son.   On offer for tasting was a four month old Alcidini Recioto 2013 having just won the Food & Beverage Association (FBAT) Bronze award.   Slightly sweet, made from Shiraz grapes Alcidini got a “very good” rating, from the wine competition held in Hong Kong against 1,300 entries from around the world.   Not pretending to be a wine connoisseur, it did not have the hint of the kind of sophistication I’m used to, but it was fruity and very drinkable. 



It is an amazing feat how the body can adapt to vast quantities of food when under normal circumstance; two light meals are the norm. Another feast awaits us under the stars.   BBQ on the grill, salads, cheese platter and to follow homemade carrot cake, Fak-Tong, (Tong meaning Golden – I will leave the other meaning unclear) caramel custard to list just a few as the table was oozing abundance.  

It was a weekend of privilege.  

And I learnt a new speices.  

Clitoria Ternatea. 

I leave you to fantasize, ruminate and even pontificate its’ meaning.  This should certainly be the mascot for Khao Yai  as  the “Lilly” is for Italy. 





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