The sun’s out again and so are the naked people in the Englischer Gartens.

Which isn’t all that great when you’re trying to do some writing but get distracted all the time. I suppose one could do worse.

Last night, of course, was Chiara’s little barbecue. Tons of Italian appetisers of which yours truly really gobbled up being extraordinarily hungry these days from the lack of sleep.

Met Hadi’s brother, Jo, who’s nothing like him, other than the fact they’re both Israeli Arab Christians, which kinda makes them anomalies. Also bumped into a couple of my Cantonese mates, Alex and Joe, and we pondered the insanity of Simon (an authentic native of Canton, yo) who’s is on holiday in Austria in midst of all the schlectwetter and flooding.

Basically I spent the enitre time yapping and eating way happily.

Of all Chiara’s friends, one was really interesting, or perhaps abnormal, as you shall soon see. The guy’s called Hansi, a Bavarian. I was saying how I’m rather off beer these days, perhaps weaning myself before heading back, where the beer’s less than lovely. But I’ll always have my essential red wine and a crisp gin tonic whenever.

Hanis turns to me and tells me that he doesn’t drink. A Bavarian. Not drink. As Erich would put it, that’s like a Chinese guy without the slanty eyes. His excuse? He doesn’t like the taste of alcohol.

Of course, there’s only one thing left to do. I persuaded him to have a sip of Hadi’s apocalyptic arak. He gulped, had That Look On The Face When You Drink Arak and told me it tasted aniseedy. And that it really went down the throat. And warms it up. I think he was trying really hard not to simply say it tasted unpleasant (my apologies to Hadi).

Me, I wouldn’t touch the stuff if you paid me. Yet, when I came down again after a quick trip to the Gent’s, I distinctly smelled aniseed in cup of red. Somebody had spiked my drink with arak. Bugger it. I’m neither sporting nor stupid enough to touch the damned thing.

(Good thing I always sniff my wine first, then.)

And the rest of the night spent in smoke the taste of apples…

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.