A Curio Shop Where We Are The Curiosity

I've had just enough time to...   wander through all kinds of everything

Old books in an used suitcase left by the side of a street in Parma, Italy

On the same night that we met the fruit seller, we wandered into a curio shop. It was used books in an old suitcase placed on the walkway by the side of the street that stopped us in our tracks. Books that I have a weakness for like chocolate to some, sinfully delicious. Curiosity dragged us into the shop and into a world of wondrous things. Impractical, kitschy stuff mingled with surprising finds and genuine articles that may be Art to some and “what in heaven’s name is that?” to others.

The shop that sells "all kinds of everything"

I always love being in a shop of “all kinds of everything”. The mind wandered through a dozen cultures, hundreds of possibilities and impossibilities. It amuses and stimulates the imagination. Creative thoughts burst forth skipping from items to items never giving one chance to settle down before one’s attention is grasped and pulled away to yet another item of curiosity. A curio shop is fairy land and we are the child in a toy shop. The mad house is a testament of man’s creativity and insanity. 

Arts from many cultures of many lands and books of more...

There are two kinds of people running curio shops and if you do not come across the mercenary types, you are in luck. These other folks are like the items they sell - odd, impractical, amusing, interesting, warm with an earthly glow and what do you know? The Italian saint of Everything smiled on us. The old man with distinctive features and a pitchy voice manning the shop spoke to us – in Italian of course. And we did not understand, of course. We tried English, that didn’t work. He called for backups. His assistants, or friends or family appeared from the woodworks. They tried French, no good. German, sounded strange. We tried Mandarin, drew recognition but no comprehension. Filipino, that stumped them. Portugese, eh-ah. Spanish, ah a few words both sides knew, but too few. In desperation, Bahasa, Cantonese, Hokkien, Hainanese and we drew to an agreed conclusion. We didn’t know what the hell the other party were talking about. 

The owner among his treasures, he deals in dreams...

When words failed, smiles and laughter paved the way. We joked, laughed, more at ourselves than at the situation. In the shop of curios, we are the curiosity. We did not buy anything. But on the way out, the lady companion of the kindly old shopkeeper gave me a postcard of the shop as a memento. It was a good one. 

A precious gift of memory which is treasured...

The Curio Shop - The Interludes

Laughing dolls and painted soldiers

Standing in a row

Marching bands and ballerinas

Dancing on their toes

Carousels and photographs

Of memories that I know

You’ll find them all inside

Come see the curios

Come see the toys for sale,

There are so many things –

Oh, won’t you come inside?

The Girl Who Consumed Mistborn for Dinner

I've had just enough time to...   ask the girl what book she is reading...

Taken one evening of Harry's in Manhattan, Kansas

A very long time ago, when I was a young man; I found myself thousands of miles away from home in a small town called Manhattan. Not the one in the Big Apple. They called this “the little apple” and some Americans do not even know it exists. The taxi driver looked at me with suspicion for while he was loading the luggage, I promptly went over to his door and opened it only to discover we drove on different side of the road.

I learned a lot of things in my first winter. Snow balls hurt. You can only make two before your fingers froze. Why pushing a car up a very gentle but icy slope is so exhausting. I did not like the cold and the damp. Beyond the heavenly sight, I did not like anything about winter but hot coffee after the snow had never tasted so delicious. But what did I know? I was in my early twenties and have only known one type of weather before then. Experience has now taught me that the first impression is not necessarily the most accurate. Years later, I was sitting next to a lumberjack on my way to Canada and he has this glow as he described how cities depressed him and his most sublime moments are in the wild of the Canadian forest at minus forty.

Fine dining in a grand old restaurant with history...

Now I was back to this little town and the flood of nostalgia that I expected to hit me did not come. I have lost connections with most of the past I spent in this place. I still remembered some particular events that left a lasting impression but then I’ve always have these and my being there did not dredge out new ones from my subconscious. It was kind of disappointing. Maybe, it was because I spent too little time there this trip, only a day and working most of it.

In the evening, the ADM manager who was born in this town took us to his favourite restaurant – Harry’s. As students, we were too poor to dine in this fine place then. I was delighted to be assailed by the sombre atmosphere of a place leaden with history. I imagined the dining hall now populated by happy diners filled with water in the great Manhattan flood of 1951 and the restoration that made it what it is today. We were led to a private room at the very end separated by a glass partition.

The girl who consumed appetizer, dinner, dessert and book.

While waiting for our food, we chatted with our cheerful waitress and learned that she is from Australia. The world has gotten a whole lot smaller. My gaze wandered and rested on a girl seated in the most secluded corner of the restaurant. She was reading a book with her back towards me totally engrossed. I observed her throughout dinner from the appetizer to the main course and dessert. She has a good appetite and seemed to enjoy her food but she continued reading in between bites.

She and the book she was reading intrigued me. To my scale of attractiveness, next to a girl with a musical instrument (see “Did you fall in love with the music or the musician?”); is a girl with a book. Even after they cleared her table, she continued reading. As we were leaving the restaurant, I went over and asked her –

“Hi, I noticed that you were thoroughly enjoying this book. May I know what it is you are reading?
She looked up with a smile and said “Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson. It is good.”

“I am sure. I must get that book. Thank you”.

We left Manhattan the next morning and that evening in Kansas City, I asked the cashier in Barnes & Nobles if the book is in stock and she let me upstairs and found for me the box set of the Mistborn Trilogy. On the way out, I picked up “World War Z” which I read on the long flight back to Malaysia and which turned out to be the my most surprising read of the year. I would like to tell her that – it is good too. I enjoyed picking my souvenir this way.

Part I - The Monk & The Scriptures.

I've had just enough time to...   talk to the Monk about the scriptures.

Taken of the Monk & his books one night alone in Hangzhou, China.

“All the knowledge is in the scriptures”, the monk said.

“Studied it well and you will know all there is to know.”

The disciple took it to heart and studied it day and night.

And when he has memorized and could repeat every single word.

He went back to the monk with all he had learned.

“You have learned nothing”, the monk said.

“Except for the words you have read”

“The wisdom is not in the words”

“Go back and read some more!”

And the disciple burned the scriptures

And become a rich trader.

And the monk took another disciple

Who is asked to read more and more

And then some more…