Showing posts with label sarong. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sarong. Show all posts

Sunday, 8 March 2026

How to trap sea fish (Singapore)


This is a method of night sea fishing using a kelong -- a Malay word for a fishing platform sitting out at sea on stilts.


(from googling)

Quote

A kelong is a traditional offshore wooden fishing platform or stilts-based structure commonly found in the waters of Malaysia, the Philippines, and Indonesia, used for fishing, fish farming, and sometimes as a dwellingThese structures are typically built using timber, nibong palm, and rattan, and are often used to catch fish by, for example, lowering large nets at night.

Unquote


    It works, in principle, like how the wine bottle traps fruit flies -- see blog https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2026/03/how-to-trap-fruit-flies.html.

    As bait, a lamp is suspended over the submerged net (like the residual wine at the bottom of the bottle), which the fish all around can see in the dark sea.  The fish will swim towards the light, but once there, they can't see their way out.  The fisherman just has to raise the net at regular intervals.

    Back in 1973 or 1974, one of my maternal cousins owned a kelong, so my eldest sister, who was always coming up with novel ways for her group of friends to spend their weekends, approached him about letting her and her friends spend Saturday evening there.  I tagged along with a friend (Cheok Ah Hua from secretarial school).

    We arrived just after dark (which is 6.30/7pm in Singapore, one degree north of the equator).

    My cousin's kelong had raised walkways (on stilts) around the rectangular area where the net sat in the water.

    On the side of one walkway was an extension which housed the fisherman's sleeping quarters.

    On the side of another walkway was an extension which housed the kitchen and a room next to it, where my sister and her friends set up a table for mahjong and one for poker, for them to party through the night.

    Ah Hua and I went to another walkway where we lay down to watch the starry sky and listen to the lapping of the sea water against the stilts -- and dozed off within no time at all, as it was nice and cool in the tropical setting.

    Every two hours or so, the fisherman would get up from his nap and raise the net.  My sister and her friends would pick what they liked from the catch, e.g., prawns, squid.  The sea food was so fresh that it was tasty as it was -- without much cooking needed (with help from sauces and extras like garlic, onion and ginger).  We could just rub the prawns between our palms to partly cook them (and eat straightaway), or dip the squid briefly into boiling water, then into our mouths.

    The next morning, a Malay man in a sarong and a sampan boat approached the kelong. 

    It turned out that he had a long-standing arrangement with the kelong.  Every x months, he'd come along and scrape off the mussels growing on the kelong stilts in return for a sampan-load of mussels which he'd take back to shore, to shell and dry in the sun -- either for his own consumption or to sell somewhere.  What timing!  What a treat it was for us to be present to watch this cleaning process, as (according to AI) it takes something like "6–12 months for mussels to grow to marketable size" for tropical waters.

    Ah Hua and I lay on our tummies on the floor of the fisherman's sleeping quarters, stuck our heads out of an opening in the wall that came down to the bottom of the floor, and watched the proceedings right below us.

    The man removed his sarong, and dived into the water.  No goggles/mask, snorkel or a swimming cap.  Very simple mode of operation, which is enough in tropical waters.

    Within a few minutes, he surfaced with a cluster of mussels (yes, they grow in clusters, primarily for stability against waves, among other things), which he tossed into his sampan.  This was repeated until he'd filled the first sampan, which the kelong man then emptied (for the kelong).

    Something like another three or four loads later, the Malay man went back to shore with the last load for himself.

    Such a simplistic life style.

    Googling kelong tells me that:  Quote Many are now tourist destinations offering rustic, off-grid fishing stays.  Unquote

    I must've been one of the last to have experienced the kelong as a real-life work concept.  Maybe my eldest sister was to blame for having used it for a novel Saturday night party experience, with everyone following suit...

(Singapore, 1973 or 1974)


sampan:  [from googling] traditional, flat-bottomed Asian wooden boats (8–30 ft) with optional shelters, often used for coastal transport or as homes


Thursday, 11 December 2025

Chinese generation name: 03 (Instant identification)


Albert (born 1950, of the 智 generation, the fourth in the series of generation names in my family when I was growing up) was left behind in Singapore to live with his paternal aunt when his father (of the 平 generation) went off to work on Christmas Island.  Perhaps he was already at school, so the father didn't want to disrupt his education.

    That branch of the family was a bit Peranakan in their lifestyle -- they didn't speak much dialect, never mind Mandarin.

    Peranakan is the term for describing mostly, but not exclusively, Chinese people who'd settled in S.E.Asia adopting a Malay lifestyle:  in dress (wearing sarong), in dietary habits (eating Malay food, and using their hands instead of cutlery), and in language (speaking Malay).

    Fast forward to Albert now being in his teens, about 17.  He met my brother, David (of the 平 generation, one generation above his), through Johnny (the son of my mother's midwifery colleague).

    Albert then wrote to his father on Christmas Island, excitedly announcing, "I've made a new friend who shares our surname.  And guess what?!  He also has a 平 in his Chinese name, just like you!"

    His father, making the connection instantly, wrote back and said, "He's your uncle, you fool!"

    After that, I'd relentlessly press Albert whenever I saw him, "Call me Auntie, call me Auntie!" although he was three years older.


(Singapore, late 60s)



Monday, 11 November 2024

The nature vs nurture of food: 02 (Durian)

 

Durian is another marmite-effect item.


(MBP dictionary)

Quote

a spiny oval tropical fruit containing a creamy pulp. Despite its fetid smell it is highly valued for its flavour.

Unquote


Note the use of “fetid” for describing its smell.  Obviously written up by a non durian fan (and most likely a Westerner), because it’s not fetid at all to lots of S.E.Asian people.  Mind you, “fetid” is not as disgusting as some of the other words I’ve heard that are used for describing the smell of durian.


    I grew up hearing a saying: 


出,沙 / 榴出,沙

liúlián chū, shālóng tuō

“durian emerge, sarong remove”


    This means that when the durians come out on the market, the smell is so irresistible that the native people will take off their sarongs and pawn them to get the money to buy one.


    An English friend called Guy, who’d worked for Reuters, loved durians.  He was once in Bangkok with another Westerner who wanted to sample Bangkok’s red light area.  Guy said to go and buy his durians first before the stalls packed up, as the red light district would be open all night, so his friend agreed to it.


    Shopping done, they walked down the red light street, with Guy dangling his durians.  The prostitutes all fled.  Guy’s friend was not half pleased with him for ruining his evening.