The tree fungus 靈芝 / 灵芝 (Singapore)

靈芝 / 灵芝 língzhī (ganoderma*) is a tree fungus which is much prized for its near-magical healing properties.  

芝 zhī is the ganoderma bit.  

靈 / 灵 líng, as a noun, means “spirit” and adjectivally, it means “effective” (for cures in particular), among other things.  As demonstrated by the “spirit” and “effective” definitions, 靈 / 灵 is almost synonymous with “magical” or “miraculous” when used in the name of this tree fungus.  

靈芝 is gold dust in Chinese medicine or dried mushroom terms.  They are featured in carvings on gift boxes or decorative boxes, in sculpted paintings or paintings in relief that the Chinese like to hang on the wall, and often look like bonsai trees in these representations.

There’re classical Chinese stories featuring people having to steal 靈芝 from the heavily guarded gardens of the Heavenly Emperor at great risk to their own lives to save an ailing parent (usually a mother) on the point of near death.  

I only knew it as a name as a child, and as a vague crinkly half-moon shape image from films and decorations featuring it.  

We had three casuarina trees in our front garden at home, one of which had a semi-circular woody growth sticking out of the lower part of its trunk, about half an inch thick.  It was so hard that as a child, I could play entertaining guests at the tree and put my toy cups on it.  

One day, a man rang our bell and asked us if he could have it.  It’d always sat there, sticking out of the tree trunk, doing nothing, and we didn’t know what to do with it, so we broke it off and gave it to him.  A few months (or years??) later, it grew back to its former size, and the man came again.  Each time, he’d give us a box of chocolate to thank us.  After a couple more times, we asked him what he wanted it for.  He said it was to be used as a Chinese medicinal ingredient.  We didn’t know enough about Chinese medicinal ingredients, so we just let him have it.

About four months ago, some 50 years on, it suddenly struck me that it might be 靈芝.  Googling it produced the image of that semi-circular woody growth in our casuarina tree trunk.  We could’ve made a lot of money from it, but didn’t recognise its value at the time.

(Singapore, mid-60s)

* Ganoderma is a genus of polypore mushrooms which grow on wood, and include about 80 species, many from tropical regions.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganoderma

** Update 160224:  I've only just found out from a video clip that it’s also called turkey tail mushroom.  The maker of the video said his mother’s tumours were cured by it after her doctor(s) said she was too old for radiotherapy/chemotherapy.  Haha, as it happened, the video clip was sent by a friend from Turkey...

The Christmas hamper (London)

I was walking down my road one evening after Christmas when I came upon a black rubbish bag sitting out on the pavement atop a bamboo chest, which was obviously to be thrown out as well.  “That bamboo chest is in good condition,” I thought.  “It’d be a shame to throw it out.”  The chest was not empty like I’d thought, so I opened it to see what was inside, and discovered a leg, among other things.

I enlisted the help of the neighbour in my old flat, one floor above me (I’d put her name forward for my flat when I was moving out), and together we carried the chest home.  Once home, I was able to examine the contents at a more leisurely pace than out on a street pavement, and found that there were actually two legs, not one.  Whole legs of parma ham!  With the skin on and complete with bone!  Why would anyone throw anything so expensive out?

I went through the rest of the contents, and found: a bag of amaretti (Italian almond-flavoured biscuits), a block of parmesan cheese (vacuum-sealed), straw on the bottom of the chest and some wine tags.  The lid had a plain sticker on it, saying:  “Miss Mary Smith, xx Leigh Road, Highbury, Inghilterra.”  It was obviously a Christmas hamper with the bottles of vino removed.  Perhaps an unwelcome admirer from Italy, hence throwing out the rest of the hamper.  I could even understand why the much-prized hugely-expensive parma ham was binned, as one would need a slicer, or it’d at least be extremely fiddly to cut through the skin and fat to get at the ham, heavenly delicious though it might be.  But the parmesan cheese still in its vacuum pack?  Maybe not a cheese eater??

My landlord Fred knew a Mr Pezzani whose house was 10 minutes’ walk away by Highbury Fields, who used to run an Italian restaurant, so we invited him round to try and solve the mystery.  He sniffed, scraped, and tasted a bit of one leg, and pronounced it perfectly edible, seconding my puzzlement.  As he had a professional slicer at home, I gave him one of the legs.  Every two weeks, he’d slice up a batch and deliver them, and I’d give some to Fred and Nora.  This went on for quite a few months, and when the supply from the first leg was exhausted, I gave Mr Pezzani the second leg, and we started the next cycle of fortnightly parma ham for another few months.

Mrs Pezzani, in the meantime, had gone to Italy on holiday and returned, reporting she’d had a look around the shops, and found that my block of parmesan cheese was worth something like £120, as it was the Regina brand—the queen of parmesan cheese in more than just its brand name.

So, retrieving that binned bamboo chest to recycle it had netted me something like a few hundred pounds sterling of fine Italian preserved food!

(London, 1987)

Oxymoronic situation: 01 (The pay phone) (London)

I moved into Belfiore Lodge in Highbury on 28 December 1985 after waiting for a year and a half for one of the attic flats.  

It was a Victorian house that looked like it’d come out of a Dracula film set, with a Virginia creeper covering the front wall, honeysuckle and sweet peas covering the side wall, and turrets and a wind vane on the roof.  

The interior was equally time-frozen with, among other things going back to the 1940s–1960s, a pay phone on the wall in the ground floor hall.  There was a bell on the ground floor, and another on the attic floor just outside my door, so that all eight flats (from basement to attic) could hear the ringing of any incoming call.

One day, I was at home all day, marking 200 ‘O’ level Chinese exam papers when the phone rang.  Not expecting any calls, I ignored it.  

The ringing went on for a long time, then stopped.  A few minutes later, it started again, going on and on and on.  This happened at least half a dozen times, each time ringing for ages.  It was driving me to distraction.  

I wanted to run downstairs, pick up the phone and shout at the caller, “Will you stop ringing!  You’ve been ringing non-stop.  Can’t you tell nobody’s home!?!”

(London, 1986)

The glass boot (Vienna, Heidelberg and London)

A Singapore childhood friend, Jin, came to London for a 10-week course at the London Business School, then went on a 21-day package tour of 20 European cities with his wife.  

In Vienna, they played a game involving taking turns to drink lager out of a glass boot.  When the lager got down to the level of the horizontal section of the boot, especially if it was confined to the tip of the boot, the drinker had to tilt the boot gently or the lager would suddenly gush out and splatter him/her, earning him/her a penalty drink.  It was a vicious cycle:  the more the drinker is penalised, the less able s/he is to handle the tilting of the boot, so the more s/he is penalised.

Jin and his wife loved the game, and thought, “We must get hold of one of these glass boots, so that we can play this game when we get home to Singapore.”  They were told that this game was one played in German-speaking countries.  The next stop, Heidelberg, was also their last Germanic venue, therefore their final opportunity to track down a glass boot.  They arrived at 4.30pm, half an hour before closing time, so they rushed around, scouring the shops, ignoring the famous castle.  Eventually, they got their glass boot.  Happy at last.

When they got back to London, they decided to do more shopping during their three-day stay.  As they emerged from Oxford Circus Tube station, the first thing that met their eyes was a shop window displaying these glass boots, and at a much lower price than what they’d paid in Heidelberg.

(Vienna, Heidelberg and London, 1985)

The assertiveness of Americans:: 03 (London)

An old friend Valerio’s American wife Natalie came over one summer to London with her sister Roberta on a short visit, and stayed at a hotel in Paddington.  

The Paddington area has lots of multi-storey terraced houses turned into hotels.  

One day, Roberta was walking around their hotel room in only her underwear when Natalie spotted a man at a window on the same floor of a house across the road, looking their way.  

Natalie drew Roberta’s attention to this, at which Roberta said, “It’s HIS problem, not mine!”

(London, 1990s)

The assertiveness of Americans: 02 (London)

I was working at the Apple Mac in the equipment room on the third floor at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) on a Saturday, meeting a deadline, when a newly-arrived young American academic approached me, asking where he could get something to eat for lunch.  

I took him to a sandwich bar near Russell Square Tube station.  He ordered a sandwich, it cost 42p, he paid, and got 8p in change.  He said to the woman, “I gave you a pound.  You should be giving me 58p in change.”  The woman said, “You did not give me a pound.”  The American said, “Yes, I did.”  The woman said, “But there’s no pound coin in my till, so you couldn’t have given me a pound.”  The American said, “That’s YOUR problem, not mine.  I know I gave you a pound.”

(London, 1990)

Double standards 01 (Taiwan)

When I was working with Conoco Taiwan 1975-76, we’d have visiting geologists and geophysicists from other offices.  

The usual practice in those days, in Taiwan and Singapore, was to ring up the airline company and ask if (a) the flight in question was on time; (b) the passenger had actually got on.  This was to save us a wasted trip to the airport in case the flight was delayed or the passenger had missed it.

For one such phone call, I decided to use Mandarin out of courtesy to the host country, since Mandarin was their working language, even though the default language in Singapore tended to be English for official phone calls.

This was what took place between me and the staff member at Northwest Orient, with the conversation conducted in Mandarin:

NWO:  (In Mandarin) Northwest Orient.

Me:  (In Mandarin) Hello.  I’d like to know if Flight 123 from San Francisco, due to land at 10.30am today, will be arriving on time.

NWO:  (Brusquely, in Mandarin) Wait a minute.  (Receiver clattered loudly onto the table as she went to check.)  Yes, it is.  (CLICK -- she hung up before I could ask my next question.)

I had to re-dial the number.

Me:  (In Mandarin) I’m ringing up about your Flight 123 from San Francisco which is landing at 10.30am today.  Can you please check your passenger list to see if Mr John Smith is on that flight.

NWO:  (Brusquely, in Mandarin) Wait a minute.  (Receiver clattered loudly onto the table as she went to check.)  Yes, he is.  (CLICK -- she hung up.)

A few weeks later, another visitor was coming over from our head office.  This time, I decided to speak in English.

Me:  (In English) Hello.  I’d like to know if Flight 456 from San Francisco, due to land at 2.30pm today, will be arriving on time.

NWO:  (Politely in English)  Just a moment, please, Ma’am.  (The receiver was placed gently down onto the table as she went to check.  Then, very politely) Sorry to keep you waiting, Ma’am.  Yes, Flight 456 from San Francisco is landing on time at 2.30pm.  (Here, I was expecting her to hang up.)  Is there anything else, Ma’am?

Me:  (I was so surprised I nearly dropped my telephone.  In English, and in shock)  Oh yes, yes.  Can you check the passenger list and see if Mr Robert Jones is on that flight.

NWO:  (In English, politely)  Just a moment, please, Ma’am. 

(The receiver was placed gently down onto the table as she went to check.  I then heard her say to her colleague in Mandarin), 死*美国人，问东问西的！ / Goddamned American, all these questions!)

(Politely in English)  Sorry to keep you waiting, Ma’am.  Yes, Mr Robert Jones is on the flight.  Is there anything else, Ma’am?

So, when I used Mandarin for my first call, she thought I was one of them (from Taiwan), and treated me with brusqueness and rudeness.  When I used English for my second call, she thought I was American, and treated me with courtesy, even if only superficial.  

Whilst there are undoubtedly nice people out there as well, this is unfortunately something I’ve encountered regularly throughout all the Chinese-speaking countries and even as recently as 2011.

(*死 sǐ / “to die” is used in Chinese as a noun-prefix for expressing extreme odium towards something/someone, when berating or cursing someone.)

(Taiwan, 1975)